Faces (20 page)

“This way,” Mara said, and led them to the steps that went down to the boardwalk. Chell and Keltan walked in front, Chell with his sword drawn, Keltan with his crossbow at the ready. Hyram served as rear guard.

Off to their left, shouting and the clash of steel shattered the night. A man screamed hoarsely. “Antril has attacked,” Chell murmured.

Mara, trying desperately to pierce the darkness ahead, said nothing. They had almost reached the waterwheel. Its rumble shook the boardwalk, and the white splash of the water pouring over it gleamed like a pale ghost in the starlight.

Ahead, a figure appeared, silhouetted just for an instant against the nearest torch. Keltan's crossbow sang, and the man tumbled over the edge of the boardwalk, the sound of his fall lost in the rumble of the waterwheel. Mara pulled his magic into her amulet as he dropped out of sight.
Every little bit helps
.

“I've found a ladder,” Chell said. Mara could just make him out, crouched by the side of the boardwalk. Keltan stood a little farther along the walk, silhouetted against the torches, reloading his crossbow. More shouts echoed from the far side of the stream. Something moved on the fringe of the pool of light ahead of them. Keltan fired again, and the dim shape jerked and vanished. No magic rushed to Mara; the man still lived. Keltan reloaded.

And then more shouting erupted, this time coming from the direction of the minehead. Swords clashed. Footsteps pounded along the boardwalk, heading away from them. “Edrik's attacking,” Chell said. “Quickly! Mara, help Hyram sling the rope on Whiteblaze. Keltan goes down first. Then Mara. We lower Whiteblaze and come after you.”

Hyram was already pulling a coil of rope from his pack. Mara, fumbling in the dark, helped him tie it around the wolf, who stood quietly, trusting her. “You follow,” she whispered to Whiteblaze. “I need you.”

His tail wagged and he licked her face. Grimacing, she wiped her cheek. Wolf breath was no better than dog breath. She turned toward the ladder, where Keltan already waited to descend. “Go,” she said, and he disappeared down into the trench.

Mara followed, on rungs made slippery by the cold spray from the turning waterwheel so close at hand. At the bottom she found herself on another boardwalk, running alongside the pool into which the water tumbled. The stream flowed out of the pool along a channel dug into the north side of the trench, which took it around the minehead at the far end and out of the compound. The center of the trench was taken up, she knew, by a series of upright posts, each of which had a giant bolt driven sideways through it at the top. Centered on each bolt was a shorter upright beam, able to swing freely, which in turn was attached at both ends to the massive beams, each longer and thicker than the masts on Chell's lost ships, which rocked back and forth with the turning of the wheel.

The noise was deafening this close to the waterwheel and the reciprocating beams. Mara turned and stared up the ladder. The earlier cloud cover was beginning to clear, patches of stars showing through, and against that starlight she saw the shaggy silhouette of Whiteblaze as he was lowered to her. She untied him the moment his paws touched the planks, and gave him a quick hug—and got a lick in return—before moving aside.

Chell and Keltan joined them a moment later. “Fighting still going on at the entrance to the mine,” Chell said. “And up there.” He gestured, barely visible, at the other side of the trench. “Everyone's busy. They won't be looking down here.”

“I hope so,” Mara said. “Let's go.”

They trotted along the boardwalk. As the noise of the waterwheel fell behind them, they could hear the sounds of battle above and to their right. To their left, Mara heard nothing. She hoped that meant Antril and his men had cleared away all the villagers from that side. Antril had impressed her in the short time she'd known him. Despite his youth, he did what he had to, time and time again. Like her, she supposed, except unlike her, he tended to succeed, whereas she always seemed to fail.

Not this time
, she swore to herself. Neither Antril nor anyone else would be “all right” if she couldn't somehow stop the Lady.

They were almost to the minehead. Torches inside the building cast a dim yellow glow through the opening through which the massive beams slid back and forth. It was nothing more than a slit, framed with large timbers. The bottom of the opening was a good six feet above the boardwalk, which formed an L-shape at its end to run along the base of the minehead. Within the opening, it looked like there might be four feet of clearance beneath the lowermost of the restless timbers.

“We'll have to crawl in there under the beams,” Chell said. “Sitting ducks if we're seen.”

“Headless ones if we rise up and that beam catches us,” Hyram muttered.

“We have to try,” Mara said. “
I
have to try.” Somewhere beneath their feet, the Lady was systematically cleansing the mine of an entire shift's worth of unMasked laborers. How many dozens had she slain already? How much magic could she absorb?

“Too high to scramble up on your own,” Chell said. “And you can't go first.”

“I'll go first,” Keltan said. “You can lift me up far enough to see in, then push me up the rest of the way. Once I'm in, I can pull Mara and the rest of you up behind me.”

“I'm bigger and stronger,” Hyram said. “I should go first.”

“No,” Keltan said. “I—”

“Hyram is right,” Chell said. “He goes first. I go second. Then Mara. Then you. You lift up the wolf and come in last to guard the rear.”

Even in the dim light Mara could see Keltan's disapproving frown, but he nodded without further objection.

Together Chell and Keltan, with folded hands beneath his booted feet, boosted Hyram up far enough to peer inside. “No one in sight,” he whispered back, “but I can't see much. Push me up the rest of the way.”

With a mutual grunt, Chell and Keltan lifted him higher. He clambered over the edge and vanished, reappearing a moment later with his hands outstretched. “Prince Chell.”

Chell grabbed the proffered hands and clambered up the wall. Mara followed, pushed up from behind by Keltan (who, she had the irrelevant thought, was certainly taking a hands-on approach to “guarding her rear”), and pulled up by Hyram from above. Inside, she glanced around. They crouched in deep shadow and not, as she had thought, at floor level: instead, they were on a raised platform with a railing around it and a short ladder reaching down to the floor, about the same distance below as the walkway inside the trench from which they had just climbed. The reciprocating beams so terrifyingly close above them stretched past the end of the platform, out over the floor, to the mechanism that transferred their horizontal movement into vertical movement: two more beams (really a series of beams cobbled together, probably by magic, since the mine was hundreds of feet deep) that moved up and down in tandem. Attached to them for their entire lengths were platforms which met at the end of each stroke. To descend into the depths, you stepped from platform to platform, taken lower with each transfer. To ascend, you reversed the process.

It was the most terrifying device Mara had ever been on. Fatal accidents, she'd been told, were not uncommon. And yet the Lady, well over eighty years old, had apparently negotiated it with no problem: another sign of how much stronger stolen magic had made her.

Whiteblaze, uncomplaining, was lifted up over the edge of the platform, scrabbled for purchase, and then trotted over and pushed his head against her leg. She rubbed his ears while Keltan was pulled up, mentally preparing herself for what she had to do next.

“I'll go down into the mine,” she said when they were all together again. “I'll try to trap the Lady down there. But if she comes up, you must be prepared to kill her the moment you see her, before she can use her magic.”

“If Whiteblaze cannot go with you,” said Chell, “where will you find your own magic?”

“There may be some in the mine. And I'm still carrying some from . . . before.”
Mayson's
. She wondered what nightmares lay in wait for her if she slept with Mayson's soulprint still inside her and without Whiteblaze at hand.

Whatever they are, I'll deserve them
. Then she snorted. She was about to face the Lady of Pain and Fire in head-to-head conflict. It seemed unlikely she'd ever sleep, or dream, again.

“Let me come with you,” Keltan said urgently. “You've drawn magic from me before. I'm not afraid—”

“No,” Mara said, snapping the word so vehemently he drew back in startlement. “No,” she repeated, more gently. “You'd be throwing your life away. I cannot overpower her with magic, no matter how much I take with me. My only hope is to take her unaware and bring the roof down on her. I have enough magic for that.”

“And if you can't take her unaware?” Keltan said.

“Then I'll . . . talk to her.”

“You will not challenge me again.”
She heard the Lady's voice in her head as if Arilla were standing right next to her.

Sure, talk to her.
That
'll do the trick.

“Aren't
you
throwing
your
life away?” Chell said.

“I hope not,” Mara said. “But if I am, or if I fail . . . you must stand ready.”

Someone shouted from above. Footsteps clattered down the stairs.

“Might be difficult,” Chell said, unsheathing his sword. “I think they just spotted us.”

E
VERYTHING SUDDENLY
started happening very fast. Keltan leaped down to the floor of the minehead and raised his crossbow, but in the same instant cried out and twisted left, the crossbow flying from his hands. It skittered to the edge of the shaft, but didn't fall in. Keltan clutched his upper arm, blood welling between his fingers. The arrow that had clipped him quivered in the wooden floor. Then he released the wound, tore his sword from its scabbard, and leaped toward the stairs.

Mara, suddenly terrified she would lose either the opportunity or the nerve to do what had to be done, jumped down from the platform and dashed toward the man-engine.

A villager appeared as if from nowhere from behind the housing, sword drawn, his expression masklike—and for the same reason as those who wore actual Masks, Mara knew now, though this mask was flesh and blood. With senses heightened by the magic she held within her, she could see the glow of the magic ensorcelling him: the magic of the Lady, sewn into the very fiber of his mind, bending weft and warp to her will.

She stopped, gasping—and Whiteblaze went by her like a streak of furred light, leaping and tearing. Blood sprayed through the air as his teeth found the man's throat.

Steel flashed and rang as Hyram, Chell, and Keltan met the villagers who had just reached the bottom of the stairs. At the top of the stairs, the sound of battle between villagers and Edrik's men continued. More than just the Cadre were involved now: with the villagers having been turned against the unMasked Army and Chell's men, many more must be rushing to the minehead. Presumably, so were more of Edrik's and Chell's fighters. There would be running battles throughout the compound.

But here, around the man-engine, there was an oasis of calm. Mara took a deep breath and stepped onto the platform that had just reached the top.

It took her down several feet. She stepped onto the next one. Down farther. There were twelve levels in all. As she passed each level, she strained her senses for some sign of the Lady's presence, but all were quiet—deathly quiet. No chisels rang against stone, no overseers shouted, no one waited at the levels' entrances with baskets of ore to be sent up the shaft by the dangling ropes that hung from a crane high overhead. The mine had already shut down, and Mara could only think of one reason:

The Lady had already killed everyone within it.

But she hadn't come up. Mara was certain of that. Arilla was still down here somewhere, and though Mara had only a small reservoir of magic to draw on, her senses remained keen. She passed the tenth level. The eleventh.

And then she was at the very bottom of the mine, the level where she and Katia had worked, where she had had her arm broken, where Katia's previous partner, Shimma, still lay entombed beneath tons of rock.

And there, at last, she sensed the Lady.

She stepped off the man-engine onto the cold stone floor. As she did so, she heard a scream in the distance, echoing off the tunnel walls, and felt brushed by the edge of the magic from a dying . . . girl. She knew it had been a girl, though the power had just touched her.

She knew then that she had been far too slow. She could sense no other life on the level. She had sensed no life during the descent.

The Lady had done it. She had slain every unMasked laborer in the mine, taken as much of their magic into herself as she could. And Mara . . .

Mara had the remnants of Mayson's magic, and the Warden and Watcher who had died with him, and a little from the villager shot on the boardwalk above, and that was all.

She'll squash me like an insect.

Every instinct of self-preservation screamed at her to step back onto the man-engine, ride it to the top. But she stayed where she was.

And the Lady came to her, returning from the farthest regions of that lowest level of the mine. Mara saw the penumbra of her magic first, lighting the darkness for her Gifted sight, though had Keltan or Chell stood beside her, they would have seen nothing.

Then the Lady herself appeared, so full of magic that she blazed like a star fallen to Earth, the power pouring out of her skin, so bright it was as if she were naked, her clothes invisible to Mara's sight. The revealed body looked young, young as Mara herself: young as the Lady had been when her power had first manifested and she had fled with her father into the Wild to fight against the Autarch, all those decades ago.

The Lady smiled when she saw Mara. “You came,” she said. “I thought you would, even though I forbade it. I did not really think you could resist the call.”

“The call of what?” Mara said, barely able to speak through the terror choking her . . . terror, and a rising anger at this woman who had betrayed her and lied to her in so many ways.

“The call of power,” the Lady said. “To feed the hunger.” She took a deep breath. “I have taken all I could find. I could take even more. But I have enough to give you some. To satiate your need.” Her eyes narrowed then. “Though you do have a little. I sense an active soulprint . . .”

“From a Watcher I killed,” Mara said.

“And you failed to draw it through the amulet? Oh, Mara, you still have so much to learn.” The Lady smiled as she spread her hands. “And I will gladly, gladly teach you. I forgive you for disobeying me. Shall we ascend? Now we are ready to march on Tamita. We no longer need anyone else. Together, we will free the land of the Autarch.”

Mara licked her lips. “No,” she said.

“No?” The Lady cocked her head. “I don't understand.”

“Your block on my memories is gone,” Mara said. She tried to speak calmly, steadily, but the fear and fury mingled inside her made her voice quaver. “I remember everything you said to me in the cavern of magic. I remember what you did there. I know what you've done here. You've been
usin
g me. You used me to get into Aygrima. You used me to help you capture the new mine and this one, so you could kill the unMasked and strip them of their magic. And you have something else planned for me—what, I don't know, but I know it will be evil.”

“I see,” the Lady said. She didn't seem particularly concerned. “Just out of curiosity, how did you regain your memories?”

“Because of the Watcher I killed. The one whose magic bypassed the amulet.”

The Lady raised an eyebrow. “Really? What was so special about one Watcher?”

“His name was Mayson,” Mara said. “He was my friend. Once one of my best friends.”

“Ah.” The Lady nodded. “Yes, a sudden emotional surge . . . I can understand why the memory block fell. Just as the iron Mask shattered when you witnessed your father's death.” She gave Mara a curious look. “If your memories have returned, why are you down here with me? Why didn't you simply flee?”

“I came to stop you,” Mara said.

The Lady laughed, the clear, delighted laughter of a young girl. “Oh, Mara. You jest, of course.”

“I'm not joking,” Mara said. “You've killed countless unMasked in this mine alone; more at the ravine. They're the people we're supposed to be rescuing. You see them as cattle. You see them as . . . food.” The anger she had used to such deadly effect in the attack on the camp rose higher, swamping the fear. “You are everything I was warned I would become if I used my power. Everything you told me, trying to convince me I would
not
become those horrible things, was a lie. You are a monster. And if I continue to help you, to use my power as you want me to, I'll become a monster, too.
And I won't allow that to happen
.”

The Lady straightened her head. Her lip quirked into a smile. “You won't.”

“No.”

“But it's already begun,” the Lady said. “You've tasted the power. You blasted a hole in the wall of Tamita itself, when your father died. You entombed a troop of Watchers and horses in the earth. You tore down the wall outside the ravine, using magic you took from the unMasked without a second thought. You ripped the stockade from the ground and opened this camp to attack. You may think you can turn your back on all that, but you're deluding yourself. The Gift you and I have . . . it's more powerful than you can imagine yet. Even if you could kill me now—which you can't, the very idea is preposterous—you would still become what I am.” She spread her hands. “Not a monster, Mara. A goddess.”

“Goddesses are immortal,” Mara said. “You aren't. The Autarch is having to take more and more magic to stave off old age. So will you. Eventually there won't be enough magic in the whole world to keep you hale.”

“But I have a solution to that, Mara,” the Lady said. “A solution you are a part of.” She spread her hands, indicating her glowing body, nude beneath the pale shadows of clothing to Mara's Gifted sight. “Even if I am not a goddess, I am as close to one as the world will ever know. The unGifted, even those with the ordinary Gifts—they will obey me. They will bow down and worship me, if I demand it. With the power I will wield, I will hold their lives in my hand. I will reward those who serve me, and punish those who oppose me. I will make Aygrima the most powerful nation in the world. Chell's little kingdom will not be able to stand against us. This Stonefell he is so frightened of will fall as easily.” She stepped forward then, reaching out to Mara as if to embrace her. “Don't fight me, Mara. Join me. I still need you. I do not want to destroy you.” Something darker flashed through her expression. “But I will, if I have to.”

Mara took a step back. “I will not join you,” she said. “I will stop you.” And with that, she released the magic she had been hoarding, driving it with the full force of her boiling fury.

She did not hurl it at the Lady. She knew that would be futile. Instead she aimed it at the rock above the Lady. Every time she had been forced to crawl through the tunnels to the rock face she and Katia had been working she had been horribly aware of the countless tons of stone over her head, aware that the slightest shrug of the earth could crush her like an insect. She hoped to bury the Lady before she could react.

Just as she had planned, her magic tore into the stone, cracking it with a noise of thunder . . .

...and it simply flowed back together again, re-formed as though it had never been broken, sun-bright magic blazing from the Lady to knit the rock together as fast as it broke apart.

Mara had no more magic. The Lady had brushed aside her attack as though it had been a gnat. Her anger evaporated. Fear flooded back to take its place.

“Mara,” Arilla said. “Now do you see how futile your resistance is?” She strode forward, and flicked her hand. A flash of red light, and Mara felt a force like a giant wind pick her up and throw her across the floor, so that she tumbled like a windblown weed, fetching up against the wall with a thump that almost drove the breath from her body. Aching, she sat up. “I will see you on the surface,” the Lady said, “and we will discuss what I have in mind for you next . . . after I have dealt with whomever I find there.” She stepped onto the man-engine and was gone.

Keltan!
Mara stumbled across the floor and leaped onto the next platform that presented itself. Platform by platform she ascended the shaft, dreading what she would find at the top. She and the Lady were locked into the same rate of ascent, and the Lady had been at least half a minute ahead of her.

Half a minute could be an eternity.

She looked into each dark level she passed, and still sensed nothing living: only the sun-like presence of the Lady, somewhere above her.

Three more platforms. Two. The final one. She rose above the floor of the minehead and leaped off.

The Lady, blazing with the light that only Mara could see, stood in the middle of the building, surveying the scene but taking no action. Glancing frantically around, Mara saw Chell fighting at the base of the stairs and Hyram slumped against the wall, clutching his side, blood pouring over his fingers. Three of the Lady's Cadre lay dead, one lying just at the edge of the pool of light from the torches atop the shaft. Whiteblaze lay against one wall, his sides heaving but his eyes closed.

But she didn't see Keltan.

Her heart pounded in her chest.
Where is he?

“Can you feel it, Mara?” said the Lady, as though simply continuing a conversation. Even through the clash of blades and the shouting atop the stairs, her voice carried as clearly to Mara as though spoken directly into her ear. “Can you feel the magic in all those active, battling bodies, fighting each other so futilely? I can take it all: drain the magic, the very life, from your friends, my villagers, the unMasked dregs still cowering in their longhouses. And once I do, I will need no one's help to free Tamita from the bloated, poisonous spider spinning his flimsy webs at the city's heart.”

“I will not become like you,” Mara gasped out, her own voice, half-lost in the drumbeat of her pounding pulse, sounding weaker than the Lady's in her ears. “I'd rather die.”