The Unmage (9 page)

If . . . she looked at Rorik . . .
when
Rorik died she would have no political allies. Was it too late? There was no one on council she could cultivate, and she wouldn’t be able to offer newly minted Mages anything. There were a few Apprentices ready to move to Journeyman. Could she take one on? Would they become her ally or another threat?

Maybe the girl—the one who had helped Timo get into the Hall of Records. What was her name? Ah, yes. Barra Eska. She was Inigo’s Apprentice. It might be a delicate matter to gain her trust, but she could always appeal to her as a woman, couldn’t she? Would the girl be loyal to her, or had she already been poisoned by Inigo?

Hours after Rorik left, Arabella remained in her sitting room. She had to try to cultivate allies as soon as possible. When Rorik died she would be alone.

REO SET THE
map on the table, and Kara leaned over his shoulder to look at it.

“We should wait until dusk,” Reo said. “Santos will spell us invisible but a boat carrying all of us will produce a noticeable wake.” He turned to her. “Have you talked to Giona?”

“Yes,” Kara said. “I’ll reinforce the barriers before I go. He’s adding a spell to notify him if anyone uses magic against it.”

“I still don’t like risking both you and Santos,” Reo said. “You’re his heir.”

“And the children are mine,” Kara said. Years ago Santos had discovered that Kara was related to him through her mother. Only a living heir ensured that Old Rillidi Island remained free from the guilds. “He’s my brother.”

She looked down and met Reo’s eyes. His lips softened into a sad smile, and she knew he agreed.

“My skills will be needed,” she added.

“I know,” he said. “But I don’t have to like it.” Reo sighed and turned back to the map.

“Can we make sure Timo’s there?” Kara asked. “Mole’s contacts say he hasn’t been outside of Rorik’s quarters in almost a week.”

“I’ll tell him,” Mole said. “Next time I see him.”

He lounged on the opposite side of the table, and Kara gritted her teeth and stifled a retort. He seemed too relaxed—and so unconcerned about this trip to Mage Guild Island that she wanted to slap him.

Mole had been stealing onto Mage Guild Island for over a year without being noticed but Kara wanted—
needed
—them all ready for anything. Until Timo was safe she’d be uneasy. Mole’s description of her brother’s life made her desperate to help him.

“Kara, you’ll be with me. Once I enter the Guild Hall, all eyes will be on me,” Santos said.

Kara wanted to slap him too, for grinning like he was a kid going on a great adventure. Her brother’s life was at stake!

“We’ll leave Mole invisible and hope that Timo will be able to see him,” Reo said.

“I can,” Kara said. To her, someone with an invisibility spell was simply covered in mage mist. “We have to assume he can too.”

Santos was going to proclaim himself—truthfully—as the Mage Guild Primus and insist on giving the greeting. He didn’t really expect to be allowed to speak but very few people outside of the Mage Guild Council knew he was still Primus. His announcement would cause an uproar.

“Once Mole has Timo we’ll need to form up,” Reo said. “As small a group as possible for Kara to shield. Then we make our way back to the boat and home.”

“You don’t expect fighting,” Kara said. She’d been told that it would be quick and secretive. No one would realize Timo was gone until he was safely away.

“There will be verbal fighting,” Santos said. “I don’t expect magic to be used. We’ll be so covered in defenses that nothing will be able to touch us anyway.” Santos looked across the table and met her gaze. “I don’t think anyone in this room cares if Mage Guild destroys itself.”

“Not once Timo’s out,” Reo said. Then he looked over his shoulder at Kara. “Unless you want us to warn your mother?”

“No.” Kara shook her head. “My mother made her choices long ago. I don’t owe her anything.” Nor would Arabella Fonti thank her daughter for her trouble, Kara thought darkly. She probably wouldn’t even miss Timo once he was gone.

“That’s it. We all know what to expect,” Reo said. “In two days, Mole will talk to Timo, and in five days, we’ll be on Mage Guild Island.”

“And in six days, we’ll be home with Timo,” Mole said, and Kara hoped he was right.

FOUNDERS DAY WAS
less than a week away, and Timo hadn’t heard from Mole. He hadn’t said when he’d return so it was up to Timo to get himself to Old Rillidi. He hoped Kara really did want him there.

As he shuffled out of his workroom into the long hallway, he glanced towards Rorik’s workroom door. It was closed, as it always was these days, but he knew the Primus wasn’t working. The man could only stand for a few minutes at a time anymore—his health had failed that quickly.

The door to the workroom suddenly opened, and Timo met his mother’s frown as she exited the room.

“Get your Master some broth,” she said as she strode down the hallway towards him.

“He can’t swallow it,” Timo whispered. “He chokes.”

His mother stood in front him, her frown deepening as she stared at him. “Then do something else useful,” she finally said. “I’ll be at home if anything . . . happens.”

“Yes, Donna,” Timo said. He knew she meant if Rorik died. The Healer hadn’t been able to do much for the man except keep him comfortable, and now he couldn’t even do that. Rorik was in constant pain and each breath was a struggle.

His mother strode down the hallway to the door that led outside without a single glance at him.

What had she meant about him doing something useful? Was that a request for him to try to remove the spell? Did she know that Rorik was cursed? Rorik could barely speak—soon he would no longer be able to ask Timo for help. Had she been urging him to use his unmagic?

If he did nothing, Rorik would be dead in a few hours, a day or two at the most. The man wouldn’t live to see Founders Day, not at the rate he’d been deteriorating. If Timo was to have any chance to save him, he’d have to do it now.

He pushed open the door to Rorik’s workroom and entered. One small mage light hovered overhead, but Timo didn’t need that light to see into the room. The hunched figure of Rorik was illuminated by a thick swathe of gold mage mist. It lazily circled his neck and upper chest, throwing his face into stark relief. The man’s eyes had sunk into their sockets, and his once robust face was gaunt and etched with pain.

“Arabella?” Rorik whispered. He started to turn his head but the small movement sent him into a convulsion. He doubled over in his chair, coughing and gasping for breath.

“No, it’s me,” Timo said. He sidled over to stand in front of the man. “I came to see if there was anything you needed, anything I could do to help.”

“Timo.” Rorik’s voice was barely audible, and one papery hand lifted off his lap for a moment before it dropped back down in defeat.

“I want to try,” Timo said, and Rorik’s head came up. Timo met his watery eyes. “I don’t know what to do, but I want to try, if you’ll let me.”

Rorik sighed softly, and his chin dropped onto his chest. “Yes.” The word was spoken so quietly that Timo had to lean over to hear it.

“Then may Gyda guide me,” Timo said. He straightened up and looked around the room. Was there anything he needed? Anything that would help him? He shook his head. Kara hadn’t needed anything when she’d removed Rorik’s curses almost two years ago, but she had walked around Rorik studying and testing the spells. Would that help him?

He stood behind Rorik. The mage mist seemed just a bit thinner at the back of his neck. He poked at it with a finger, and the gold mist eddied away from him. He shivered. The closer he came the more strongly he felt the malevolence of the spell.

Timo peered at it. Was the mist moving faster? He waved at it with his hand. Rorik grunted, and surprised, Timo leaned away. The mist was definitely moving faster. He stepped in front of Rorik and met the Mage’s pain shrouded eyes. The Primus blinked once then closed his eyes, his mouth set in a firm line.

All right
. Rorik wanted him to proceed.

Timo nervously watched the mage mist. It circled Rorik’s neck and chest so quickly that he could no longer tell where it was thinner. Tentatively he reached his right hand towards the mage mist, which collapsed away from him, tightening around Rorik’s neck. Timo snatched his hand back but the gold mist continued to contract.

Rorik choked and his eyes flew open. Weak hands scrabbled at his neck. His eyes met Timo’s, the panic in them igniting Timo’s fear. Rorik opened his mouth and gasped, futilely trying to suck in a breath.

Panicked, Timo pushed his hand into the mage mist—through it—until he touched Rorik’s neck. Where his hand met the mage mist his skin felt cool and damp, but the gold mist continued to circle Rorik’s neck, sweeping over his hand. He felt pressure as the mist constricted even more tightly around Rorik’s neck. He pulled his hand off of the Primus’ neck, hoping that he could lift the mage mist, but the mist parted to let his hand pass through and continued tightening around Rorik’s neck. Timo tried to
grab
the mist but there was nothing to grasp, nothing solid to hold on to.

Rorik’s head slumped to his chest, and Timo stared in horror. The man was dying. Frantically, Timo placed his hands around Rorik’s neck and tried take the force of the mist on his hands but it slid beneath his fingers.

“Gyda,” he whispered hoarsely. “Don’t let him die, please, let me help him.” The spell felt even more ominous now, clammy and cold where it touched his skin. Concentrating, Timo tried to
force
the spell away. It wavered for a second, and he redoubled his efforts.

“Go away,” he screamed, willing the spell to leave. It shimmered, briefly, but then it collapsed until it was one, single, tight band of gold circling Rorik’s neck.

“No, no, no,” Timo moaned when he saw the way the spell now bit into Rorik’s skin. It tightened until a thin line of red appeared beneath the gold. Rorik sagged forward and slid off the chair onto the floor. Timo slid down beside him, weeping.

“I’m so sorry,” he said to his Master. “I didn’t know how to do it.” Angry, Timo lifted Rorik’s head up and looked into his lifeless eyes. “You were my teacher but neither you nor my mother wanted to help me learn.” He gently settled Rorik’s head down on his chest. “And you wouldn’t let me get help from my sister, the only person who could teach me.”

Timo drew his knees up under his chest and set his chin on top of them. He should do something, tell someone, but he felt numb. Why couldn’t Mole have come to take him away before he’d killed Rorik? He wiped the tears from his cheeks and breathed in deeply. He had no time to feel sorry for himself. Rorik was dead, in part because of him, and there were things he must do. Tell his mother, for one.

Timo started to rise but stopped when something moved.

“Rorik?” he asked. But it wasn’t Rorik’s movement he’d noticed—it was the mage mist that had killed him. Slowly it unwound from Rorik’s neck and snaked across the room towards the door.

Timo scrambled to his feet. “What in Gyda’s name . . .” He followed the mage mist through the workroom door and out into the hallway. The spell was still active—there must be a second part to it. Inigo must have embedded an alert, something that would notify him when Rorik was dead. Timo stopped, unable to take a breath. Would the alert tell Inigo that the spell had been tampered with? That someone had tried to remove it? Timo watched the spell seep under the door and out of Rorik’s house. He had to find his mother.

“
IS RORIK DEAD
?” Arabella Fonti asked.

She was sitting in her workroom, reading from a journal. She’d barely looked up when Annya had announced him.

“Yes, Mother,” Timo said. “Just now.” He paused. “I . . .”

His mother looked at him now, her dark eyes boring into him. “You what,” she said. “Did you do something? I must know.”

“I,” Timo started again. He stopped and stared down at his feet. “I tried to help him.”

“No,” his mother said. She stood up and the journal fell to the floor with a thud. “How could you? After all these years, how could you expose yourself,
expose me
, in this way?” She stood in front of him.

“How could I?” Timo replied, angry now. He stared into her face, inches away from his own. “He was dying! You’re the one who told me I should do something useful. I thought you meant . . .”

“I never would have meant that!” Arabella said. She stepped back. “How could you even think that?”

“But he was dying,” Timo said, his voice faltering.

“Yes,” Arabella said, more calmly. She paced a few steps in front of him, clearly under control now. “He was dying. He needed no interference from you.”

“I was trying to help.” And he had been, no matter the result.

“But you didn’t, did you? No, all you’ve done is complicate things.” Arabella turned and stared at him, her arms crossed over her chest. “You’ve forced me into a position I never wanted to be in.” Her lips tightened. “Rorik told me it was Inigo.”