Legacy of Kings (47 page)

Lips tight, Ramirus raised a hand over Colivar’s body, to conjure what information he could from the spell itself. Power flowed forth from his fingertips and swirled in the air over the prone body. Colors gathered together in the still, hot air, but they were slow to coalesce; whatever the spell was that was wrapped so tightly around Colivar, it was not going to give up its secrets without a fight.

Finally hazy images began to take shape. Not as substantial as with a normal conjuring, but clear enough for them to make out some general details. Kamala saw Colivar moving through an underground passage, then coming out into a chamber with richly carved walls. Her Sight could pick out the glimmer of power that lay hidden in the deepest portions of that relief, and she leaned forward, trying to get a better view of it. But all she could make out was that something was clinging to the walls that was not supposed to be there, something far more organized and malevolent than the normal resident energies of the place.

And then that
something
whipped forth from the walls—all the walls at once—assaulting Colivar from every side. For a moment she thought she could detect its form—some sort of net or web, made of filaments so thin that the light passed through them. A spiderweb of power. It wrapped itself about Colivar as if it were a sentient creature, and she saw him cry out in surprise and pain as it adhered itself to all the visible portions of his skin. Where the sorcerous strands fell upon his clothing, they seemed to pass through it, or perhaps they were absorbed into it. The vision was not clear enough to tell.

She watched as Colivar fell. His body shook violently as he began to wrestle with the power, struggling to keep open a channel through which the life-essence of his consort could continue to pass. A lifeline to the outside world. While that battle was being waged, it would not be possible for him to do anything else.

Ramirus’ vision faded. “So that’s the trap he walked into. Designed for him.” He shook his head. “He should have seen it coming. That much power . . . you can’t disguise such a thing. He should have known walking into that room that something was amiss.”

“Tefilat is a metaphysical mess,” she pointed out. Not wanting to tell him that Lazaroth’s sorcery might be uniquely undetectable, because then she would have to explain why. “The signs of a single spell could get lost in all that.”

Leaning down close to Colivar, Kamala studied the portions of skin that were visible. Her Sight could pick out faint remnants of the original web, lines of power from which the spell emanated, crisscrossing his body. There must have been some physical structure to give it that shape originally, she thought. A material anchor that Siderea had imbued with power, which had affixed itself to Colivar’s skin. Normally such a thing would have a different resonance than his own flesh did, which is what you could use to remove it. But if she had really made it out of his own body somehow, that would explain what Kamala was seeing. The webwork shimmered against his skin as if it had grown there organically, as much a part of him as his hair or nails, indivisible from his flesh. How did you remove such a thing without destroying the man himself?

Reaching up to the neck of his shirt, she parted the material to see what lay beneath. Colivar flinched reflexively as she touched him. So he was at least peripherally aware of what was going on, even if he could not respond to anything. She wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad sign. The pale skin beneath his shirt appeared at first sight to be unblemished, but as her Sight came into focus, she could see that it, too, was crosshatched with the same mysterious patterns of power. She reached out a finger to touch one of the lines; it seemed to vibrate beneath her fingertip.

“You have the Sight?” Ramirus asked, watching her closely.

She nodded.

“What can it tell you that sorcery does not?”

She narrowed her eyes, considering the question. “I can see where the anchor lies. It has merged with his flesh, but its power hasn’t dissipated into the rest of his body. It’s still localized.”

“You’re talking about the web we saw.”

“Yes.” She shut her eyes for a moment, trying to process all that she had seen. Testing solutions in her mind. “Destroy the web, and it might be possible to banish the spell that is anchored to it.”

“If it has become one with his flesh, how do we destroy one without the other?”

She opened her eyes again. “We destroy that portion of his flesh it is anchored to and spare the rest.”

Ramirus drew in a sharp breath. “You can make out its shape clearly enough to do that?”

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

“You know that such an assault on his person may well disturb his focus. If there’s any delay in banishing the spell after that, he may die.”

“He’ll have a few seconds,” she reminded him. “A Magister who goes into transition doesn’t die immediately. Hopefully that will be enough time.” She looked up at him. “How quickly can you banish the thing, once I detach it?”

How strange it felt, to talk about transition in front of him like this! As if there were nothing at all remarkable about the fact that she knew the Magisters’ darkest secret.

“As quickly as is needed,” he told her.

Sitting back on her heels, she prepared to gather the full force of her power.
So your life is in our hands now, Colivar. Can you hear what we’re planning? Would you advise us not to try this, if you could?

Drawing in a deep breath, she focused her attention inward, to where the source of her own power lay. Cold, stolen athra, which had been robbed of its living heat long ago. She must mold it into a force that could not only destroy the flesh surrounding the invasive anchor, but cauterize the area as well. Otherwise Colivar might bleed to death from a thousand wounds before he could summon enough power to heal himself.

She knew of no gentle way to begin.

Forgive me, Colivar. You’ve always treated me well, even if your motives weren’t altruistic. I wish there were a better way to do this.

When she thought she was ready at last, she opened her eyes. The web that had melded itself into Colivar’s flesh seemed to blaze in her Sight, silver lines shimmering like mercury as they rippled across his skin. She could feel the power rising up from the thing, like heat lapping at her face. Not sorcery, but not simple witchery either. Something hot and poisonous and boiling with hatred, that was a twisted amalgam of the two.

“Now,” she whispered.

She released her power into the web. Sorcerous flames blazed to life, searing all flesh that they touched. She heard Colivar scream as they traveled down the lines of power, until they engulfed his entire body. The sickening smell of burning flesh filled the air as he convulsed in pain, his back arching with such force that it seemed his spine must surely snap. Still the fire raged on, hungry to devour the alien anchor in its entirety. Channels were seared deep into his flesh, their walls cauterized by fire. Now that the anchor was being destroyed, she sensed Ramirus adding his own sorcery into the mix, struggling to banish the containment spell before it could attach itself to some new part of Colivar’s body. If it did that, then it would not be the spell that killed him; Kamala’s own sorcery would spread across every inch of his body in pursuit of it, frying him to a cinder.

But at last the fire seemed to run out of fuel, and after a final few sputtering flares, it was extinguished. And then there was silence. The body lying before them was a gruesome spectacle now, with charred and bloody lines cross-hatching every visible surface. Even Colivar’s face had deep channels running across it, and where one of his eyes had once stared into space there was now only an empty hole with blackened edges. Spasms of pain rippled through his body as wild, unfocused sorcery flickered in fits and starts along his skin. Was he trying to heal himself? Or was he fighting off remnants of Siderea’s spell, that they had failed to banish? Beads of sweat appeared on the few patches of skin that were still undamaged, and tremors ran through his body as his soul wrestled with unseen enemies.

Then: “It is done,” Ramirus told her.

Perhaps it was his pronouncement that quieted Colivar, or perhaps it was some more private revelation. Either way, the tremors finally subsided, and for a moment the wounded Magister lay still on the ground, barely breathing. And then, slowly, he began to heal himself. The edges of charred skin curled in on themselves and began to take on living color. Channels that had been gouged deep into muscle filled with blood, then with strands of spongy wet flesh, and finally with solid meat. The empty eye socket shed its lining of black cinders, revealing a newly formed lid beneath ash. And that in turn opened, revealing an eye that was shot with crimson, but clearly functional.

When the healing was done, Colivar lay still upon the sandstone surface, too exhausted to even try to get his bearings. Ramirus and Kamala waited in silence. Finally the bloodshot eyes seemed to focus on Ramirus, then on Kamala, then on Ramirus again.

“Why?” he croaked.

“You are useful,” Ramirus told him.

Colivar shut his eyes. The crusted detritus of his healing turned to dust and a strong breeze swept it away. “What the hells happened?” he whispered.

“You walked into a trap. One that appears to have been designed especially for you.” He paused. “It seems you underestimated your enemies.”

Raising himself up on one elbow, Colivar looked about the mesa. Then, slowly, he got to his feet. Kamala could see how hard he was struggling not to let his ancient rival see just how weak he was, but it was a losing battle; his legs trembled as he forced them to support him.

“Sulah betrayed me,” Colivar said hoarsely. “Perhaps not deliberately. Perhaps he was just a fool. Siderea is adept at manipulating fools. Either way, she played him like a puppet.”

“He’s the one who alerted me to your disappearance.”

“That may have been part of the game.” He paused. “What of Lazaroth?”

“Dead. We believe.”

“We hope, “ Kamala said..

Colivar glanced at her. A spark of black amusement flickered in his eyes.
Have you killed another Magister, my dear?
He was about to speak when Kamala spotted something in the distance, circling the dust cloud that was Tefilat. She stiffened.

“I believe your transportation has arrived,” she told Colivar.

The two men turned to look. As he saw what she was pointing at, Colivar growled in his throat. It was not the sort of sound one expected to hear from a human being, but it seemed strangely appropriate.

In the distance was a Souleater. It banked toward them as they watched, its wings catching the sunlight. Jeweled colors glittered against a backdrop of red dust, beautiful and deadly. Even from this far away they could feel the creature’s mesmeric power lapping over them, and Kamala could feel the same sickening sensation she had experienced at Danton’s castle, the desire to surrender herself to this creature and allow it to feed upon her.

Then the creature turned in its flight and began to head directly toward them.

“If he sees us . . . .” Colivar began.

“He won’t,” Kamala assured him.

How little effort it took now, for her to wrap the power of a Souleater queen around them all! A witch might be able to see through it, if she tried hard enough, or Siderea herself, but no male Souleater would be able to do so. Nor any man bound to a Souleater.

And indeed . . . . this Souleater did not see them. It circled the area twice as they watched, but it did not come any closer to them. Colivar never took his eyes from the creature, Kamala noticed, but Ramirus . . . Ramirus kept his eyes on Colivar. Lips tight, eyes narrow, icy blue gaze drinking in the other man’s every motion, every expression. Every breath.

Then the glittering wings finally turned south, and within a few minutes the Souleater was out of sight. Kamala let out a breath she had not realized she was holding.

“Colivar.” Ramirus’ voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the cold strength behind it. “The time for secrets is over now. Do you understand? We can no longer afford to play these games.” When Colivar did not respond, his expression darkened. “It’s time for you to surrender your secrets. And remember, I’m old enough to guess at just how many you have, so don’t think I will be diverted easily.”

Still Colivar said nothing. His eyes remained fixed on the horizon as he ignored the request . . . and its speaker.

Stepping forward suddenly, Ramirus grabbed Colivar by the shoulder and spun him around to face him. The movement was so unexpected that Kamala instinctively took a step backward.

“You
failed
, Colivar.” Ramirus’ expression was black with scorn. “Do you understand that? Failed! Your prize student set you up, and you never saw it coming. Your morati lover laid a trap for you, and you walked right into it. A Magister of half your power and less than half your intelligence held you prisoner, and you could not muster the strength to raise a hand against him. And finally, yes, your greatest rival had to carry you away from danger, like a helpless baby in his arms.” The disdain in his voice was palpable. “You are weak, Colivar.
Weak.
Unfit to lead others. It’s time to stop pretending you are otherwise.”

He stepped back two paces, making room between them. Then he pointed to the ground before him. “Kneel to me.”

Colivar did not move. His dark eyes narrowed—fury blazed in their depths—but he said nothing.

“Acknowledge your weakness before it consumes us all,” Ramirus insisted. His voice, his expression, were merciless. “
Kneel
.”

Sensing the storm that was about to break, Kamala began to step forward. “Ramirus, don’t—”

“Silence!”
A cold and terrible fury was in his eyes as he turned to her. “
You
have brought us to this pass, as much as he has! Fool! What did you think our Law was? A simple legal code? A fancy written contract, perhaps, with pretty illumination about the edges?” He drew in a sharp breath. “It was
sorcery
, woman! A grand conjuration that we all submitted to, in order to safeguard our human souls. So what did you think would happen when you trampled upon that compact? That we would just erase a clause and move on?” He shook his head sharply. “Your actions have compromised our security more than any mundane treachery ever could. And any Magister who fails to prosecute you for your crime—including myself—helps to undermine it. The reasons one gives for it won’t matter. Sorcery doesn’t give a damn about reasons. The compact that kept us all human has begun to crumble, and it will continue to crumble for as long as the Law remains compromised.” He turned back to Colivar. “Am I wrong?” he demanded.