True Magics (53 page)

“Ride!” said Henry, and led them into the city.

“Henry, where did…” Thomas realized it was a stupid question and rephrased it. “How did the White Wolves get here?”

“The king sent all over the country for troops months ago,” said Henry. “Just as we were coming back. He figured the Church was going to try to seize power.”

“You didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t know. I found out yesterday morning when he summoned me to the castle.”

Thomas looked at the grim knights around him. “And John sent the Wolves.”

“They’re loyal to me,” said Henry. “It was probably better for him to move them out of Frostmire, anyway. They arrived two days ago.” He looked at the sky. “Three, I should say. We’ve been up all night.” They turned onto a main thoroughfare. There were corpses lying on the cobbles and nearby Thomas could hear the sound of fighting. “It’s been a long, bad night and it’s going to be a worse day.” He sighed. “I thought you were dead. All of you. Then I heard the Quill was under siege and took a chance.”

“Thank the Four you did,” said Thomas.

“What happened to your chest?”

Thomas looked at the bloody mess on the front of his uniform. “Crossbow bolt. Healed it.”

“Lucky.”

It took an hour for them just to reach the city walls. Somewhere, a single bell rang out the second hour of the morning. Twice they dodged singing mobs of Church supporters and once Henry’s scouts galloped back, warning of Church cavalry. Henry led them down the twisting side streets and through a dozen turns before he brought them back on their route.

Ahead, the sounds of fighting grew louder and louder. “Brace yourselves,” said Henry. “This is going to be ugly.”

A barricade five feet high, made of wagons, barrels, crates, and furniture encircled the old gatehouse. The king’s flag had been raised in the middle of it, and the people inside were yelling, “For King Harold and Criethe!” as they fought.

Hundreds of townsfolk were in the square, charging the barricades. They were armed with knives and sticks and homemade spears. The ones who hadn’t reached the barricades yet were singing a battle hymn. The men and women behind the gates—burghers and tradesmen and workmen, reinforced by the king’s guards—were barely holding them off.

“The Archbishop’s letting the people fight each other,” said Henry. He spat. “That way he keeps his troops fresh until he needs them.”

“Henry!” One of the Wolves called from the back. “Cavalry coming! Fast!”

Henry swore. “Thomas, Eileen, stay in the middle and stay out of the fight! Wolves, we have to reach the barricade! Charge!”

The Wolves howled and galloped out of the side street, swords hacking and steel-shod hooves trampling through the Church supporters. The defenders behind the gates saw the Wolves charging and cheered. The people on the ground tried to fight back, but they were barely armoured and no match at all for Henry’s knights. The Wolves cut through them like a jagged knife, leaving a trail of bloody, broken bodies behind them.

“They come!” shouted one of the Wolves.

“Back line wheel and charge!” yelled Henry, his voice pitched high to be heard over the battle. Ten of the wolves turned their horses and charged at the cavalry, George among them. In front of Thomas, the Wolves broke to either side, clearing a lane to the wall. “Thomas, Eileen! Get over the wall!”

Thomas kicked his horse forward, Eileen beside him. He reached the wall and the king’s men on the other side held out their hands. Thomas reached out with his good arm, kicked his legs free of the stirrups and let them haul him over. The soldiers grabbed Eileen’s hands and pulled her onto the wall. “George!” she called. “George! Come here!”

One of the Wolves sounded a horn and the entire company wheeled away and out of the square, taking George with them. Eileen screamed his name until a soldier pulled her down from the wall. Thomas grabbed her and pulled her close. “He’ll be all right. He’s with Henry. He’ll be fine.”

Who are you?” the soldier demanded. “What are doing here?”

“Thomas Flarety. Here to report to Sir Walter Deehan.” said Thomas. “Where is he?”

“In there,” the soldier pointed through the gate. “The old custom house, just inside.”

Thomas grabbed Eileen’s hand and they ran, dodging men and women with makeshift weapons heading for the wall. The guards at the gate ushered them through and into the middle of an army, standing ready to attack.

“Thomas?” The surprise in Sir Walter’s voice would have been funny, under other circumstances. The man was sitting on horseback, surrounded by a dozen other knights. Thomas ran to him, Eileen dogging his heels. “Sir Walter. Where are the magicians?”

“What?”

“The magicians. What did you do with them?”

Sir Walter stared down at Thomas, then whistled loudly. Two of the king’s messengers rode up. “Give them your horses,” he ordered. “Quickly.”

The messengers dismounted and helped Eileen and Thomas into their saddles. Sir Walter wheeled his horse and set off at a brisk trot. Thomas and Eileen kicked their own beasts into motion and followed. Six other knights followed them. Thomas urged his horse faster until he was alongside Sir Walter. “Where are the magicians? What’s happening?”

“We’re losing,” said Sir Walter. “Badly. Too many people are dying. The Bishop’s forces outnumber ours and when they breach the gates and overrun the inner city, the king will have no choice but to surrender.
”

“But the magicians—”

“The Archbishop has sent terms for the king’s surrender. He must swear fealty to the High Father, restore women to their proper places in the kingdom, and hand over all witches to be cleansed of their sins. Probably by fire. Look.”

Thomas looked. A dozen bodies lay around the fountain. Most wore normal clothes, and had makeshift weapons. “They were inside the gates. Just supporters, no troops. They marched up to the palace walls and we had to drive them back.”

“Why aren’t you using the magicians?” Thomas demanded. “They could have helped.”

“They’re more help where they are.”

“And where’s that?”

“The old watchtower. The king wanted them in one place to show his good will, should the need arise.”

“But…” Thomas was flabbergast. “You saw what Robert and I did. And that was just two of us. There are seven—”

“The king gave the order,” said Sir Walter. “I followed it.”

Thomas swore. “Did you at least leave them the spell books?”

“No. The king took them to the Royal Library. The easier to hand them over when we surrender.”

We can’t surrender.
Thomas remembered the small cell where the Inquisitor had held him before; remembered what they had done to Charles and the others.
I can’t surrender.
He looked down and saw more blood on the streets. Thomas wished he could wipe away the fighting and drive the soldiers off the streets and wash all the blood from the cobbles until the city was clean and sparkling.
“Where are you taking us, Sir Walter?”

“The palace,” said Sir Walter. “The king ordered you be put there if you survived.”

“Take us to the old watchtower instead.”

Sir Walter’s eyes narrowed. “The king wants you in the palace.”

“The king wants to win the war,” said Thomas. “Since he can’t have both, which do you think he wants more?”

Sir Walter hesitated.

“What have you got to lose?” Thomas demanded. “Let me talk to the magicians! We can help. I know it. Please!”

Sir Walter considered a moment longer. Then he kicked his horse to a gallop. “This way.”

The old watchtower had been built before the city walls. Heavily fortified and eighty feet tall, it dwarfed the buildings around it. It had been used to spot attacking pirates on the seaward side and bandits on the landward side. Now it was mainly for watching for incoming storms. The guards at the door snapped to attention when the troop reined in their horses in front of the tower.

“Which floor?” demanded Sir Walter.

“Second,” said one of the guards. “There’s been some yelling, but they haven’t tried anything.”

Sir Walter pushed the door open and led them inside and up the stairs. The second floor was a mess hall, with chairs and tables and a fireplace that send a small amount of heat into the room.

Around the central table sat the magicians of Hawksmouth, arguing.

They were all fairly normal-looking in the daylight. The one with the deep voice was a long, thin man, with short dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard. Beside him sat a young man with the same build and hair. Next to them were two matrons, both stout and both looking quite annoyed. On the other side of the table were Robert the baker and a fat man who was sweating and red, despite the relative cool of the room. A tall woman in a rich green dress rounded out the group.

“It is not seemly,” the tall man was saying as they entered. “They can’t just keep us here for no reason!” He glared at Robert. “You said the king needed us!”

“He does,” said Thomas. “Come to the battlements. Now.”

“Thomas!” Robert jumped to his feet. “Thank the Four!”

“What is going on?” demanded the rich-looking woman. “Why are we prisoners?”

“Sir Walter?” said Thomas, starting up the stone stairs to the next floor.

“Do as you’re told,” barked Sir Walter. “Now!”

The seven magicians rose and followed, their steps slow and sullen. Eileen followed behind, urging them upward.

The third floor of the tower had bunks in it. The fourth floor had barrels of arrows and crates of supplies. The fifth floor was empty and had only a ladder leading up to the roof. Thomas went up, shoving open the trap door and causing the men above to jump and swear.

“Who are you?” demanded one burly fellow, his hand on his sword.

“Servant of the king,” said Thomas, pulling himself out of the trap door. The roof of the tower was circled with battlements, and from it Thomas could see the entire of the city. “We need you to clear the roof.”

“What?”

Thomas turned in a circle as the magicians came up the ladder. He could see the ships in the harbour, and the rough, cold spring sea on the other side of the breakwater. The sky above was still clear. There was moisture in the air, though not the heavy promise of rain.

Sir Walter came up last. “Now what?”

“Now we stop the fighting,” said Thomas. “Everyone join hands.”

“What do you mean, you foolish boy?” said one of the matrons. “Our magic can’t stop anyone.”

“It can if we work together,” said Thomas.

“Now, look here, boy,” began the deep voiced one. “You’ve gotten us dragged into—”

“SHUT UP!” Thomas shouted, startling them all. “The king is losing the war. The Church will burn us alive. And the only way we can stop it is to stop the fighting so shut up and do as you’re told! Now everyone hold hands!”

“What… what are we doing?” asked the boy as the magicians took each other’s hands. “Are we going to kill people?”

“No,” said Thomas.
I hope.
“Everyone take a deep breath and let it out slowly.”

Six of them did at once. The tall man looked ready to argue but the rich woman prodded him with an elbow and he breathed deeply as well.

“Good,” said Thomas. “Another. And another. Now everyone close your eyes and think about your magic. Envision it passing through your body, travelling out your left hand into the right hand of the person beside you. The person beside you will feel the magic flowing into them. And don’t let go. No matter how powerful the magic gets. Understand?” Thomas took Robert’s left hand in his right, and the rich woman’s in his left, completing the circle. One by one the magicians closed their eyes, and when they had all shut them, Thomas closed his own. It took him a few moments to remember the words.
I hope I have this right.

“Let the circle’s magic be brought together. Let it be subject to our will, and guided through my body. Let it be directed where I will, and let it be bent to my purpose.”

He closed his eyes and willed his own magic to flow. He heard the rich woman gasp in surprise and felt her start, but she didn’t let go of his hand. Around the circle, others gasped as magic flowed from one body to another. It moved slowly at first, but quickly gained speed, moving faster and faster until it was impossible to tell whose magic was whose.

The magic began growing stronger.

Thomas felt the power begin to vibrate. Not the deep, rhythmic vibration that he’d felt in the stone circle last summer, but something higher, faster. The magic made his entire body shake, and its power kept growing. Around the circle he heard the other magicians exclaiming in wonder.

“Keep your hands joined,” said Thomas, praying it wouldn’t interrupt the spell. The vibrations of the magic threatened to shake Thomas’s teeth loose. The power racing around the circle began to heat up.

“How much longer?” asked the boy, through what sounded like gritted teeth. “It’s starting to hurt!”

“I know,” shouted Thomas. “Just a bit longer!”