Legacy of Kings (42 page)

Colivar.

There were reasons to want him alive, she told herself. He was ancient enough that his word was respected, and powerful enough that he did not need to fear the displeasure of any other Magister. And he had hinted that he might help her untangle herself from the mess she had gotten herself into with Raven’s murder. Losing that kind of assistance was no small thing. So if she wanted to keep him alive, it was for purely practical reasons. Guilt had nothing to do with it.

No one noticed her leaving the palace. Why should they? A single bird, rising up from an empty balcony into the morning sky, was of no interest to anyone. Eyes turned away from her without knowing why. Sorcerous defenses let her pass without a ripple of awareness. Sulah remained focused on his map, and all the things that normally took place in a royal palace continued to take place, as normal.

Sunlight warming her wings, heart cold with dread, Kamala turned toward Tefilat.

Chapter 23

T

EFILAT WAS dry. Dry in a way that sucked all the moisture out of one’s flesh, making every cell in one’s body scream out for water. It seemed to Kamala that she could feel her skin aging as she stood there, and though she had dressed lightly for the trip, allowing for the desert heat, she now added a long, loose robe to her ensemble, to protect her from the worst of the blazing sun.

Surely only madmen would choose to live in such a place.

She scouted the ancient city in the form of a bird at first, then as a lizard, scuttling over the red earth, freezing whenever she caught sight of any motion. Despite her experiment with Sulah she was loath to trust too much to the strange power of the ikati queen, lest she make careless assumptions about its parameters.

But when a bird of prey passed overhead and did not even glance down at her lizardlike body, she felt a tingle of triumph. Was it possible that no creature could see her at all? Not Magisters, not morati? It was a heady concept.

Stay focused,
she told herself.
You have a job to do here.

She could just barely make out Colivar’s trail across the canyon floor. It was a faint trail, as befitted a Magister who habitually took great care to erase all signs of his passage. But one could never erase such traces completely. By now she had interacted with him often enough (intimately enough?) that she was able to pick out the faint traces of his resonance, untangling them from all the other traces that clung to the place, and from the random sparks of power that buzzed about the place like frenzied horseflies.

She could see where he had entered the central plaza, where he had stood for a while, no doubt studying his surroundings. And she could see where his trail led up a short flight of stairs, into the most opulent structure facing the plaza. There were traces of sorcery hanging about the building’s façade that appeared to be his, perhaps a ward of some kind. She considered for a moment whether or not she wanted to disturb it—a spell that was primed to deliver information to him might be the fastest way to locate him—but she decided upon a more cautious approach. This whole place made her skin crawl as it was; she didn’t want to disturb it any more than she had to.

Of Colivar himself there was no sign. None. The traces of his passage were cold, dead things, that seemed to have no living source. If he had been taken somewhere far away, would they look like that? She had never attempted to track a Magister in this manner before, so she did not know. Ethanus’ lessons had not included such things.

He is not dead,
she thought stubbornly.
I need him too much for him to be dead.

Wary of disturbing the main entrance, she changed back into lizard form and scuttled up the wall. It took considerable effort, and her skin itched when the change was done, as if she had not done it quite right. But it was worth the effort. Anyone watching for a Magister’s arrival at the upper level would probably be watching for winged creatures, as that was the form sorcerers habitually used for travel. A sandstone-colored lizard would hardly be noticed. And then there was Kamala’s unique sorcery. If the power of the ikati queen could turn living eyes away from her, could it cause sorcery to look past her presence as well? There were so many questions she needed answers for, but she had no one to help her answer them. She was a brand new creature with unknown, unnamed powers, and only by trial and error would she learn what her limits were.

She clung to the wall of the canyon for a good while, looking the place over with her sorcery. From up here it was easier to get a fix on things, and at last she felt satisfied that she was genuinely alone.

Which was not a good thing, since there was someone she wanted to find.

With a brief check for wards at the upper windows (there were none), she slipped inside the building and reclaimed her human form. The room she was in was dusty, with a fine reddish grit that had drifted into dunes along the walls. No footprints were visible, nor any other sign of recent passage. But that meant very little, she knew. She was using sorcery to smooth the dust behind her own passage, so that she left no footprints of her own; someone else could have done the same.

Carefully she made her way through the upper chambers, room by room, searching for . . . what? What kind of clue did you look for when a Magister had disappeared? There was nothing of interest on the upper level. On the lower level she picked up Colivar’s trace once more. He had walked through this place under his own power, it seemed. That was a good sign, at least. She followed his trail into a room filled with furniture and supplies, but it did not appear that he had touched anything, nor was there a residue of his sorcery anywhere that she could detect. None of these objects had mattered to him.

They did not matter to her.

Deeper she went into the complex, scratching marks into the walls as she went so she could find her way back later, not wanting to use any more sorcery than she had to in this place. She did have to conjure light for herself once she left the front chambers, but she kept it to a minimum, and she bound it to her own body so that no traces of it would be left behind. She wanted to leave as little of her own resonance in this place as possible.

You won’t find him here,
she told herself.
At best, maybe you’ll find some clue that tells you where to look for him next. If that.

At last she came to a what looked like a dead end. The tunnel she had been following terminated in a small chamber whose far wall had collapsed, leaving a steep slope of rubble blocking the way. Colivar’s trail headed straight toward the slope and then seemed to pass underneath it. Had the way been open when Colivar came through here? Might he have gotten trapped in a surprise rockfall? That would be an ignominious end for a Magister, she thought soberly. It was also a humbling reminder that for all their power, sorcerers could be as fragile as the morati if they were surprised. Sorcery took time and concentration to muster, and if you did not have enough time, or failed to concentrate properly, then the most complex and powerful of defenses were meaningless. You would die just as Kostas had died, the night that Gwynofar cut his head off.

She stared in frustration at the rubble, trying to decide what to do next. Obviously the obstruction was too massive for her to clear out by purely physical means. But shifting or banishing that much mass would require considerable sorcery, and she was loath to throw power around on that scale until she knew exactly what had happened here. Perhaps if she reached into the rubble with her senses and simply looked for a dead body, she could at least determine if Colivar had met his end here. That at least would be something.

She had just began to gather her sorcery in preparation for the effort when she caught sight of something glinting amidst the rocks. Reaching down, she pulled loose a small metal object.

A silver ring.

She brushed the dirt from it so that she could make it out more clearly. And a shudder ran up her spine as she recognized it. Colivar had worn this ring the day they’d had their picnic. She closed her hand over it, pressing it into her palm, and trembled slightly. What would she do if he were really gone? she asked herself. Who would guide her through the maze of Magister politics then?

“So many guests.” The voice came from behind her. “I should have put out refreshments.”

Kamala whipped about, summoning power even as she did so. Or trying to. But her legs seemed strangely numb, and they would not obey her; she fell heavily to her knees, banging them painfully against rough stone floor. Her power slipped from her grasp even as she struggled to control it. Her head and heart pounded wildly. The room began to spin about her. The ring dropped from her hand.

“I did not expect a woman,” the voice mused.

Before her stood a figure dressed in black. Magister black. His face was shadowed by a deep hood, but his voice sounded strangely familiar. She tried to focus her mind enough to identify it but could not. The whole of her past history was becoming a blur now, and trying to summon specific memories was impossible. All she knew was that her hand burned where Colivar’s ring had been pressed into it, and it seemed to her she could feel the venom it had carried seeping through her skin and into her bloodstream.

How could she have been so foolish?

She looked up at the figure and tried to mouth words. A question, perhaps. Or a curse. But she had forgotten how to speak, and the only sound that came out was a muffled cry. Then a thick, choking fog began to wrap itself around her, layer by layer, and try as she might she could not banish it.

“Don’t fight the effect,” the Magister told her. “It will only make it hurt more.”

It was the last thing she heard.

Chapter 24

“S

ALVATOR AURELIUS, son of Danton Aurelius, High King, Priest Emeritus, Scion of the One True Church.”

The words echoed from the vaulted ceiling high overhead, resonating along the sweeping stone arches of the sanctuary. Tall, narrow windows capped with stained glass sent shafts of light streaming across the polished stone floor, alternating with bands of knife-edged shadow. Nine throne-like chairs on a raised platform were arranged in a U shape facing the entrance, four on each side and one at the far end. Each man seated along the sides wore a long robe and a stiffened cap of deep crimson wool, with the narrow bands of a priest’s stola flanking the medallion of the Primus Council on his chest. The one woman among them was dressed identically, her small frame the only overt indication of her sex. Beyond the question of clothing, the variance among them was striking. Salvator recognized the black-skinned Primus Naga, broadshouldered and solid as a rock; milk-pale Primus Argentus, his hair like spun gold; and ruddy-faced Primus Pisaro, slit-eyed and pockmarked. Salvator did not recognize the others, but it was clear from their appearance that they had come from every corner of the earth. A rare and impressive gathering, indeed.

The man who was speaking stood at end of the room. Primus Soltan was a tall man, physically impressive even without his formal robes, doubly intimidating with them. His voice was strong and solemn, and authority echoed in its depths. Salvator had met him twice before, once when he had first been anointed as Priest, later at his coronation. The man had impressed him, and that was saying a lot; the son of Danton Aurelius was not easily impressed.

In front of Soltan a young woman knelt, her head bowed, hands covering her face. A witch no doubt, who had offered to sacrifice a portion of her life to serve the Council in this meeting. Most likely she was maintaining a channel of mental communication among the primi, so they could confer secretly while Salvator stood in front of them. But that was only a guess.

“You have called us from the four corners of the earth,” Soltan pronounced. His tone was solemn, with just a hint of challenge in its depths. “A long journey for some, and in several cases a costly one. Now we are here, to attend upon the words of the Penitent High King. What business do you have for us that merits such a meeting?”

The formality of the challenge made Salvator glad that he had worn his most impressive costume to the meeting. He had toyed with the idea of coming here in a simple gown, unadorned, a statement of his continuing humility before God. But Gwynofar had quashed that idea as soon as she’d heard it, and he trusted her instincts in this sort of thing. Danton would have been proud of him now, standing there in his royal gown of black-and-gold damask, the double-headed Aurelius eagle resplendent upon his chest. The fact that the silken grandeur of his outfit was in stark contrast to the three ragged Souleater scars running across his face lent those wounds additional power.

Look like a High King,
his mother had said,
and they will treat you like a High King
. She was right, as always. Gwynofar Aurelius, costumier to kings.

“Esteemed Primi.” He bowed his head respectfully, but not too deeply. There was no established protocol for determining the balance of authority between a High King and his primus, and therefore no precedent to guide them. He must give this man the respect he was due without offering undue submission. It was a delicate dance.

The fact that these foreign primi had answered his summons at all was a vast concession to his power. Somewhere down the line he knew that he was going to have to pay for that.

Once we were brothers in faith,
he thought.
Now we are rivals in politics.

“Fellow servants of the Creator,” he said, “I thank you for receiving me. On this day, the Church and the High Kingdom are bound together in the spirit of faith and common purpose. May the Creator look favorably upon my words, offered in humble service to His will.” He could see the lips of several primi moving silently, and he could almost hear the unvoiced benediction:
Amen
.

“Earlier this summer, as your Eminences know, the ancient barrier in the northlands was breached, and a colony of Souleaters entered the human kingdoms. Though Penitents and pagans alike were braced for battle with them, ready to die if necessary in defense of the human kingdoms, the creatures did not attack immediately. Rather, they disappeared into the mists, to gather their strength in solitude, preparing for a greater campaign.