The King's Sons (The Herezoth Trilogy) (22 page)

Terrance
Vole.

Francie
shrieked, pushing back against her headboard with what little strength she had
as Vane dove to the floor, off the bed’s edge and away from her, to prevent any
spells shot at him from threatening her as well. Having shown himself a
sorcerer, the duke figured he would be Terrance’s main target, and he wanted to
keep Francie out of range of a magic duel. Vane yelled an incantation as he
tumbled, to make sure he had Terrance’s full attention. At the same time, Howar
barged into the room at full speed.

Vane
succeeded in distracting Linstrom’s man from Francie; the baker skidded to a
halt just shy of the spot where Vane’s binding spell, a magic jet of lavender,
collided with a second strip of fire from Terrance, aimed at his rival sorcerer.
Each spell was knocked off course. Vane’s struck a metal water jug on the
bedpost, wrapping around it, causing it to fall with a splatter. Terrance’s
shot of fire bounced back and hit the wooden wall some three feet to his right,
igniting it.

From
the rugless floor Vane yelled, “
Kaiga!
”
That incantation would trip Terrance, and succeeded not only in throwing the
man off balance, but also in interrupting the spell he tried to cast: what
spell, Vane shuddered to consider. It wasn’t one he recognized. Meanwhile, Howar
carried a bread knife, sharp and long, and took advantage of Terrance’s stumble
to rush upon him.

Terrance
cast a transfer spell, the same one Vane had whispered to move the Lifestone to
Francie’s shoe. His placement was precise, behind the shield Vane projected to
defend Howar. The duke’s ice blue barrier proved useless when Terrance sent no
ball or jet of magic energy to be blocked, with the result that one moment
Howar gripped his knife and the next it stood before him, blade inward. The
baker’s momentum ran the steel between two ribs; he tumbled with a shout,
clutching the handle that protruded from his chest.

The
flaming wall behind Terrance had begun to smoke. Gray fumes made the sorcerer
cough, which gave Vane an opportunity; the noxious air had not yet reached the
floor, where the duke still lay after his dive from the bed. He yelled, “
Contfabla!
”

A
muting spell. Terrance’s hacking cut off short as a yellow energy ball struck
him in the face. Unable to cast without a voice—incantations were useless
if not spoken—the intruder darted for the door, but Vane made a sound
barrier and sealed him in. The duke clambered to one knee and got out half the
incantation to freeze a man like a statue before Linstrom’s accomplice barreled
into him, slamming him hard enough back down to knock the air from his lungs.

With
no breath to cast, Vane tussled with Terrance on the floorboards. He pried the
man’s fingers from his throat, then gasped when Terrance kneed him in the stomach.
Vane’s one thought was that he mustn’t lose this struggle. He mustn’t die, or
Terrance would steal the Lifestone and kill Francie. Vane had to throw off his
assailant, and soon; more smoke filled the room by the second.

Vane
swung at Terrance’s face. The effort felt like it broke Vane’s fist, but at
least a brittle snap told him he’d cracked the man’s jaw. Terrance drew back,
to regroup, which gave the duke a second to draw a fume-tainted breath. Vane
willed himself not to choke on it, to force out one last incantation as his
attacker lunged forward; he stretched out to wrestle Terrance while casting a
spell he had used only once, to kill the Duke of Yangerton.

“
Abra Pechum!
”

As
Terrance fell Vane’s hands caught his face, one finger scratching an eye. Two
thin but long gashes, forming an X, had opened the man’s chest and also his
thin shirt, which had not been the case with Carson Amison ten years back.
Vane’s magic had grown, and Terrance’s blood spattered everywhere: on Vane’s
tunic, his arms, the bottom of the nearest wall. Terrance grasped for Vane’s clothing,
but his arm dropped, convulsing, as he snatched empty air. Smoky air.

There
was little time, certainly none to waste shaking in stupefaction. Vane crawled
from under Terrance’s body to bend over Howar. The pool of blood expanding from
the man’s knife wound was small, small enough for Vane to hope he could save
his ally.

The
baker was dead. The knife must have hit his heart, hit it squarely. Vane would
never know for sure; to verify with magic Howar breathed no more was enough.
Francie lived still, and Vane had to move her from the burning bakery, had to
do so before soldiers came or Linstrom made his presence known through some
other sense than sight.

Vane
stumbled to the bed, his neck sweating, eyes streaming from the smoke, which
was so thick now it billowed around him and constricted his throat when he
inhaled. Francie, he felt more than saw, had lost consciousness, either from
the fumes or her horror at viewing Terrance again. Perhaps both.

That
blasted smoke…. Vane would never cast a spell in the room, never get a word
out. He dropped to the floor, where the air was purer than above, and took a
few sharp breaths. He muttered the incantation for a much needed energy spell,
and felt it take effect. Reassured, he took Francie in his arms and then
crouched again as he prepared to transport away. He would leave the corpses to
be cremated; that way, the manner of Terrance’s death would remain Vane’s
secret. No one would surmise the Duke of Ingleton had killed him with the same
magic he had used to slaughter a peer.

Francie
was too weak to transport, but Vane had no choice. He could take her to
Oakdowns, for he’d kept his manor open to travel magic, shunning his uncle’s
example. Zalski Forzythe had protected the Palace against transports after
taking control of the building, but Vane needed the security to exit his home
from any room. When he’d found an incantation to secure a space from magical
intrusion among his uncle’s spellbooks, preserved by Rexson, he had never
intended to cast it. The magicked had been among his supporters, not his
enemies. Now he condemned his willful ignorance.

Linstrom
could transport within his walls with just the mutter of some syllables. The
man was Vane’s enemy, if he was the king’s, and could even now be inside Vane’s
manor. Had Linstrom found Vane out, sent Terrance to the bakery? Vane must
return to Oakdowns, must risk Francie’s health transporting her there and
entrust her to Kora while he rummaged for that spell to protect his family.
Some nights ago—he shivered despite the inferno—any number of
nights ago, Linstrom could have stood outside Vane’s grounds, spied the manor,
and taken himself by transport to the interior side of any window he saw. He
could have made short work of Vane himself, and August as they slept. Of their
children, their servants….

Vane
must cast that spell. He should have done so as soon as he’d heard of Evant
Linstrom. First, though, he had to transport.

The
air was clean enough at ground level for Vane to clear his throat and voice the
spell he needed to move Francie to safety. He appeared, crouching and with a
sputtering cough, on the floor of Kansten’s room in Oakdowns. Kora, he soon
realized, was alone there. She had removed any sound barriers, and Vane cast
one of his own while Kora threw a red chain off her neck and ran to stoop near
her host.

“Vane!
Vane, what’s happened? Good Giver!”

Vane
realized he was soot-streaked and blood-soaked. Must have made quite a sight.
“I’m unharmed,” he assured her. “Francie’s ill, though. She inhaled a lot of
smoke.”

Kora
helped the duke move Terrance’s victim to the bed. “Vane,” she asked, “what…?”

The
duke coughed some more.

“Terrance
Vole found us. He killed Howar and I killed him. I…. August, my children, where
are they?”

“In
the manor, I’d imagine,” said Kora. “Vane….”

“I
have to find them, and a spell to protect Oakdowns from transports. My cover’s
blown. Linstrom….”

Kora’s
face turned gray. “Linstrom suspects nothing as of yet, but you should cast
that incantation, and now. I’ll do what I can for Francie. I know healing
spells…. The girl was weak already, you said?”

“Linstrom
bled her,” Vane muttered with a curse. He glanced out the window to see his
family in the garden, August and all four of their children. They were speaking
with Zacry and Kansten. Paling, he transported to them.

“I’m
all right,” he assured everyone, at the sight of their horrified faces. “Let’s
get inside, all of us.” Between Vane and Zacry, the group transported to the
parlor, where they found Wilhem and Walten studying spellbooks. Vane ordered
Kora’s children, “Go to your mother. Boys, you know healing magic?” They nodded,
stiff and speechless. “You can take over for her, then. Care for Francie Rafe
so she can use her chain. I need her with that necklace, need to know where
Linstrom is. If she has news about him you report it straight to me,
understand? I’ll be in this room. Kansten, you stay with them. They can protect
you if Linstrom attacks. Where’s Jane Trand?”

Zacry
said, “She brought the king to the Palace before going for her students.”

August
kissed her children, and Vane spoke some words of comfort. The twins were
wide-eyed as they peered at their father in his disastrous state, and little
Dalen’s lip was quivering. Seven-year-old Harren had broken into a sweat. Vane
swore inwardly to stand before them looking such a fright, and smiled to
reassure them, because while he longed to pat Dalen on the head or give him a
swing through the air to cheer him up, he refused to cover the boy in soot and
blood.

The
smile, at least, made Vane’s girls nod at him, while Harren’s panic visibly
calmed. Only Dalen still looked frightened, shrinking from his father’s scary
figure, so Vane made one of the silly faces that always made the boy laugh.
Dalen giggled, his fear dissipated, and Luce took his hand as their mother
directed them to go play on the far side of the room, where they had a basket
of puzzles and other toys. She didn’t want them out of her sight. Vane had to
approve the inclination to keep them close, at least until he found that spell.

“Go
to your mother,” Zacry ordered Kora’s children. “You heard Vane’s instructions.
Go!”

Walten,
Wilhem, and Kansten sprinted off, skidding to a halt when Vane told them,
“Francie’s alive. She needs help, but she’ll live, despite how she might look.
Tell your mother to get back to her chain. If Linstrom discovers he’s been
harboring a spy….” Silence fell, and Kora’s children took off again, Kansten
leading. As soon as they were gone, Vane explained the crisis, the need to
protect the manor.

Zacry
asked, “Where’s the spell you need?”

Vane
knew the book, though he had never memorized the incantation. He transported to
the master bedroom, where he stored all his spellbooks to keep them from
curious eyes: mainly those of his daughters. They sat in a row on a long wooden
shelf above a settee. The tome he sought was the third from the right, bulky, leather-bound,
and copied by hand some two or three centuries before. He found a towel and a
fresh bowl of water on the bedside table, and cleaned the grime from his face
and arms before daring to touch an artifact as old as that spell collection. He
could wash more thoroughly when he knew his family safe.

Normally
a tidy man, Vane dropped the soot-stained linen to fall where it would. Then he
took the tome and transported back to the parlor. He forced himself to relax at
the background noise of his children playing; the twins were deep in soft
conversation as they worked together to arrange a difficult puzzle. Harren
sounded out words as he read to himself and to Dalen, who half-listened while
he dragged a plush dog around the room, taking it for a walk.

Vane
told August, “We should let Hune give Dalen one of that beagle’s puppies when
they’re born. He offered it, remember?”

August
admonished, “Now’s not the time. Is that the book?”

“The
spell’s toward the end,” said Vane, and opened from the back cover to find the
incantation he sought. Zacry peered over his shoulder, and when Vane paused at
the proper page, they caught one another’s eye. Each knew a spell was stronger
when multiple sorcerers cast it.

“
Protayha Edfiso.
”

Luce
and Esper gasped as the walls, the floor, the ceiling—even the
furniture—glowed a momentary violet. Harren fumbled his book, and Dalen
pulled his plush pup close. The rich coloring faded after some seconds, and as
August went to comfort her children, Zacry told Vane, “That should do it.”

Vane
nodded. Zacry was a brother to him; he could admit to the man, “I failed to
save the baker. Terrance worked around my shield. Stabbed Howar with his own
knife, using a transfer spell.”

“No
energy reached out from Terrance to the sword, then? No invisible wave?”

“The
shield would have blocked that.”

“Good
to know how that spell works. A nice experiment Terrance ran for us….” At the
horrified look on Vane’s face, Zacry said, “I never met Howar, but I can’t
imagine he’d blame you. He’d probably be grateful his death taught us something
useful, and Vane, you did what you could.”

“It’s
thanks to him I’m alive. I’d have had no clue Terrance was around. The man
would have struck me down none the wiser, but I heard Howar blunder up after him.
I felt something was wrong….”