The Gate of Gods (Fall of the Ile-Rien) (49 page)

A
gain, Tremaine found herself with nothing to do except wait and feel her nerves slowly disintegrate from tension. The spheres had been given to five cautious sorcerers, who were now using them to build new wards around the town. Gerard had been right, the Master’s act of necromancy had made the wards powerful enough to keep out the Gardier, but also impossible to do anything else with. Magic involving death, even a voluntary death, was terribly powerful but also tended to distort and corrupt any other etheric structures associated with it. Gerard had had a more involved and technical explanation, but that was all Tremaine had bothered to listen to. The other Lodun Masters had apparently known this; the Second Master had already taken certain texts out of the locked section of the Aldebaran Library and been boning up on the technique for his sacrifice.

For some time Gerard had been at work building the circle in the east quadrangle, a park surrounded on three sides by the pillared galleries of the Philosophy College and on the fourth by a narrow avenue that led out toward the Medical College. Gerard, using the sphere, was marking the circle out with paint on the paved area on the center of the green. He was paced by Adel Kashani, a Parscian sorceress who was trying to learn the spell, and several students. Giliead was down there with him, watching the Rienish sorcerers with enigmatic caution.

Gerard was nearly finished, though he was moving much more slowly now. Building the circle in the conventional way was slower but apparently much less physically taxing than connecting the premade symbols. And Barshion, with the Master Physician, had at least persuaded Gerard to drink a glass of wine and eat some cheese and bread before beginning. Now he looked like death warmed over instead of just death.

The Lodun town council and the university Masters were having a meeting under the gallery of the Philosophy College, with more people, from Masters and Scholars with university gowns over their battered and much-mended suits to students in shirtsleeves and summer dresses to farmers, laborers and merchants, all coming and going and spreading the news. To avoid questions she was in no mood to answer, Tremaine went up the gallery stair to the open portico that ran along the college roof. There was a good view of the court from there and part of the avenue.

The university was a maze of interconnected college courts, with houses and private gardens for the Masters and Scholars as well as student halls scattered among them. Buildings of old stone, with ancient round towers or more modern spires or green-stained copper domes stood next to the newer brick constructions. Past the low and mostly useless university wall were the houses and shops of the town, and past them the barrier.

Ilias had followed her, leaning against the balustrade to look up at the frieze carved into the pediment of the roof above. It was something about the advance of philosophy, and mainly showed a lot of old men handing each other significant objects too small to really make out. Tremaine thought the profusion of gargoyles on the Medical College more interesting.

The barrier made the air perpetually warm, giving the whole town a hothouse quality. Tremaine had dumped her jacket down on the gallery and rolled her sleeves up, though she still kept her bag over her shoulder, not willing to leave the explosives and ammunition unguarded. Ilias and Giliead had abandoned their coats as well. Ilias’s queue was still coming apart and he was bare-armed and nearly bare-chested in the wine-red shirt she liked, with her ring on a thong around his neck. He was a colorful contrast against the gray stone, with the patterns stamped into the leather of his boots and pants, the curved horn hilt of the sword slung across his back, the copper in his armbands and earrings. He and Giliead both made exotic figures, and in the comings and goings below she could see Giliead was drawing almost as much attention as the circle.

Ilias turned around, looking down at the court. She hadn’t thought he would say anything, but after a moment he asked, “What’s wrong?”

This time Tremaine couldn’t make herself answer “Nothing.” There was no point in putting it off any longer. They had brought spheres to Lodun. If the
Falaise
and the
Ravenna
reached Parscia, the spheres they carried to the sorcerers there would keep the Gardier from crossing the borders. But the war would go on, possibly for years. It would surely take at least that long to convince Castines or whatever was driving the Gardier on that it couldn’t get what it wanted in Ile-Rien, not anymore. There was no point in Ilias continuing to risk himself. And she knew if a stuck-up prig like Cletia was willing to unbend enough to admit she wanted him, there had to be other Syprian women willing to do the same. And all of them would be better for him than her. Not looking at him, she put her hands on the balustrade, feeling the old stone grit against her skin. “We both know this isn’t going to work.”

Somehow, in the back of her mind, she had assumed that he would take the easy way out as soon as she offered it. Every other man she had ever offered it to had certainly taken it. Not counting those who had bolted before she could indicate the exit. Instead, Ilias stared at her, then demanded, “What ‘this’? I don’t know what ‘this’ you mean.”

He was so agitated his command of Rienish had slipped. Still not looking at him, Tremaine switched to Syrnaic, and continued doggedly, “You know what I mean. Us this. I mean, us. It’s not going to work.”

“I don’t understand.” This time he sounded more stubborn than emotional.

She made herself look at him. “Yes, you do.” He just stood there glaring at her. She pressed her lips together.
He’s actually going to make me say it. He’s going to stand there and play dumb until I say it.
“We—as in, you and me—are not married anymore.”

Ilias took that in quietly. He transferred the glare to the view of the green court below. Then he said calmly, “No.”

Tremaine lifted her brows. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“You can’t do that,” he explained with annoying patience. “We’re still married. Karima can’t give back the price, she doesn’t have it anymore.”

Tremaine felt her jaw tighten.
Surprise, surprise, you knew he was stubborn.
“I don’t want the money back. I waive all claim to the money. She can keep it.”

“You can’t do that. If you don’t take it back, we’re still married. And Karima doesn’t have it. So it’s against our laws.”

Tremaine flung her arms in the air. “Oh, that’s a damn lie. You people have like three laws and they’re all about curses. You’re telling me in the whole history of the Syrnai nobody ever broke up a marriage without getting the money back.”

“Yes. No. Never.” Ilias folded his arms.

Tremaine tapped her fingers on the stone, seething. She kept expecting this to segue into “there’s another man, isn’t there” except Ilias was Syprian and could care less if there were half a dozen other men. She decided to try insults. “Oh, so this is a money thing, is it? You just want to stay married for my family’s land and money and… things.” She tried to suppress a wince.
Oh, that was convincing.

Ilias appeared equally unmoved. He snorted derisively. “Like the house in Capistown your father was supposed to burn down? Or the land that has the Gardier camped all over it?”

Tremaine pushed a hand through her hair, snarling in frustration. “You can get married again.”

“No, I can’t,” he explained, mock-patiently. “I’m still married to you.”

She glared at him. “I’m trying to make this easy.”

His expression said plainly that if she thought this was easy, she was crazy. He told her, “I don’t know what’s in your head, but when you get over it, I’ll be here.”

Swearing, Tremaine looked away. She saw that Gerard had finished the circle and was sitting on the steps of the college’s gallery, his head in his hands. She pushed away from the balustrade and started for the stairs. Ilias, of course, followed her.

As she came down the gallery steps and out onto the grass, Giliead looked up, brows drawn together in worry. “What?”

Tremaine had hoped her expression was under control, but obviously it wasn’t. She sensed eye-rolling and gestures going on behind her and clenched her jaw. “Nothing,” she said pointedly. It had occurred to her that she would also be losing Giliead, and Gyan and Kias and the others back in Cineth.
You got along without them before,
she reminded herself.
Oh right, and how was that plan for killing yourself going?

Gerard pushed wearily to his feet, collecting the sphere from the ground at his side. “I’ll make a test first,” he told Barshion and the others gathered around.

Tremaine came over to stand beside him. “You need a volunteer?” she asked.

“No,” he told her, writing something in his notebook. He tore the page out and gave her a brief glance from under lowered brows. “The acoustics in this court are excellent, by the way.”

Tremaine grimaced. One of the young students hurried up to hand Gerard a rock and a section of twine. As Gerard tied the note to the rock, she said, “Are you going to say ‘I told you so’?”

“I’m considering saying it to Ilias,” Gerard said dryly. He tossed the rock into the circle and looked at the sphere thoughtfully for a moment.

Tremaine gazed at the perpetual storm clouds above, counting to ten in Aderassi. She knew the rock had vanished by the excited murmurs from the watching crowd. She managed to say calmly, “I have my reasons.”

Gerard lifted a brow, enigmatic. “I don’t doubt that you do.”

Before Tremaine could reply, a young man shouldered his way through the crowd, breathing hard. He did a double take at the sight of Ilias and Giliead, then stepped up to Gerard. “I’m sorry, they sent for me— They said— I’m Cathber Niles—”

“You’re Breidan Niles’s brother?” Gerard asked, startled. “He should be here any—”

Niles appeared in the circle to a chorus of startled and gratified exclamations from the crowd. “Hello there,” he said, spotting Gerard and Tremaine first and starting toward them. “I see everything is working as—” He stopped, staring as his brother stepped forward. “Cathber?”

“God, you’re alive!” Cathber flung himself on Niles in an enthusiastic greeting.

The expression on Niles’s face was too personal, too painfully relieved to watch. Tremaine leaned over to ask Gerard, “Did you ask about Colonel Averi’s wife?”

Gerard’s expression went still. “Yes. When the barrier first appeared, it cut across a number of lodging houses and homes on the north side of town. Everyone in its path was killed. After the Master augmented the wards, the barrier was pushed back slightly and they managed to recover the bodies. She was a nurse, and had been visiting a patient in one of the lodging houses.”

“Goddammit.” Tremaine rubbed her eyes. She had to find some way to avoid being the one to pass that news along. At least with Ilias and Giliead back in Cineth, she would never know when they eventually tackled a wizard they couldn’t kill. Unable to help herself, she broke her rule and looked at them.

Ilias was staring off toward the people still gathered on the portico, managing to appear completely unaffected. So Tremaine was the first one to see Giliead, who had been frowning absently at him, stiffen suddenly and spin around, looking toward the open end of the court. “Gerard—” Tremaine began, the back of her neck prickling with unease. Ilias turned, watching Giliead worriedly.

Giliead said, “There’s a Gardier circle, I just felt it.”

“Where?” Gerard shouted. Tremaine could see the sphere in his hands twitching and sparking.

Giliead moved further out into the court, head lifted, listening. “Back there somewhere!” He pointed across the left wing of the Philosophy College, to the towers behind it.

Swearing bitterly, Tremaine bolted down the court. She didn’t know Lodun at all, except for brief visits years ago. She hoped someone was following her who would know the shortcuts and byways of the college courts. Behind her she could hear Gerard shouting, Barshion and Kashani echoing him, people running in all directions.

She reached the end of the gallery where an alley ran back between the Philosophy College and the wall of the women’s college. She ran down it, hoping it went where she thought it did. It opened into another court, smaller and shaded by half a dozen trees, where someone had strung up an entire laundry’s worth of sheets. Giliead caught up with her at that point, seized her arm and dragged her back behind him. Tremaine flattened herself against the wall. Beside her, Ilias glared. “If you try to get yourself killed, I’ll— I’ll—” He finished with a snarl of frustration.

“Yeah, you and who else?” Tremaine shot back at random, desperate to ignore that insight into her character. She leaned out past him to see that several students had followed them: a couple of young men in Scholars’ gowns over their suits, a few men and women in battered work clothes stained with mud, as if they had just come in from gardening, and one wide-eyed young blond woman in a flower print dress. None of them seemed to be armed, but firearms were problematic where the Gardier were concerned anyway. “Nobody brought a sphere?” Tremaine asked. “You know, the thing we need to fight the Gardier?”

Giliead nudged her, showing her the copper metal ball tucked under his arm. “Gerard gave me his. The others are with the wizards working to make the new barrier.”

“Right.” Gerard was without a sphere, and Tremaine didn’t like that, but he must realize he wasn’t up to running and dodging through these courts. “Are any of you sorcerers?” she asked the students hopefully.

“All of us,” one of the young men assured her.

Giliead held up the sphere, saying urgently in Rienish, “I can smell and see the Gardier curses, but I can’t make this do things to stop them. Which of you is the best wizard?”

Everyone turned to the young lady in the flowered dress. She looked around at the others, and shrugged. “I suppose that’s me.”

Great,
Tremaine thought, trying to ignore Ilias where he was pressed against her side.
Our lives are in the hands of someone who looks like she should be organizing the First Year Play or charity dinners for the Old Students’ Club.
She heard bells start to ring, an urgent peal of warning. As Giliead handed the sphere to the young woman, Tremaine pulled her pistol out of the back of her belt, chambering a round. “You listen to him, you understand, all of you? To both of them. They’ve been doing this a long time. What’s your name?”