The Sorcery Code (11 page)

Out of the corner of her eye, Augusta spotted a young sorceress approaching them and pausing deferentially a few feet away.

“Um, excuse me, my lady . . .” The woman appeared uncomfortable, her hands nervously twisting together.

Barson smirked, clearly amused by the girl’s reverent manner, and Augusta turned her head toward him, giving him a narrow-eyed look. “What is it?” she asked the girl, annoyed to be interrupted.

“Master Ganir sent me to look for you,” the sorceress quickly explained. “He is requesting your presence in his office.”

Augusta frowned, unhappy at being summoned like an acolyte. Had Ganir already heard about the battle and her involvement in it? If so, that was fast, even for him.

“Maybe he wants to explain how three hundred peasants became three thousand,” Barson murmured, bending his head so that the girl couldn’t hear him.

Startled, Augusta looked up at him, meeting his coolly mocking gaze. Was Barson implying that Ganir had misinformed them on purpose?

Tucking that thought away for further analysis, she told her lover, “I will see you later,” and walked decisively down the hall, forcing the young woman to jump out of her way.

It was best to get this unpleasantness over with quickly.

Chapter 16: Barson
 

As soon as Augusta was out of sight, Barson left the sorcerers’ quarters and headed toward the Guard barracks in the west wing of the Tower. He and Augusta had ridden ahead of his soldiers, and he had less than an hour to do what needed to get done.

Walking in, he saw the familiar hallway with the row of rooms where he and his men lived when they were on duty. His own quarters were nearly as lavish as those of the sorcerers, but even his lowest-ranked soldiers had comfortable accommodations. It was something he’d made sure of when he’d taken over as Captain of the Guard.

Normally, after a hard trip like this one, he would’ve gone straight to his room to take a long bath, but there was no time to waste. He had to confront the traitor—and he had to do it now, while he could still catch him unaware.

Stopping in front of Siur’s room, he paused to listen to the sounds coming from within. It seemed that his trusted lieutenant was engaged in a bit of bed play.

All the better, Barson thought, a thin smile appearing on his lips. There was nothing better than catching your enemy with his pants down—literally.

Without further ado, he pushed open the door and entered Siur’s bedroom.

As he had suspected, there were two naked bodies on the bed. From the moans and the flashes of red hair he could see under Siur’s straining bulk, the woman had to be one of the local whores that frequently visited the guards. The two of them were so occupied with each other, they didn’t even react to Barson’s entry.

Starting to get annoyed, Barson banged his gauntleted fist against the wall. Siur and his bedmate jumped, cursing, and Barson watched with cruel amusement as the woman scrambled out of bed, pulling a sheet around her plump naked body.

“Captain!” Siur gasped, hopping out of bed and swiftly pulling on his britches. “I didn’t see you there . . .” The wide-eyed look of shock on his face was almost comical.

“Surprised to see me?” Barson asked in a silky tone, watching as the whore ran out of the room. “Or just surprised to see me alive?”

“What? No, Captain! I mean, yes—” Siur was clearly caught off-guard. His eyes were shifting from side to side, reminding Barson of a trapped animal.

“Why were you unable to join this mission?” Barson demanded, not giving the man a chance to regain his composure. “Why did you stay behind?”

“Well, I—” Siur clearly wasn’t expecting to be questioned, and Barson could see him frantically trying to come up with a plausible answer. His hesitation was damning.

“Tell me everything,” Barson ordered, looking at the man he’d once regarded as a brother. “Why did you do this?”

Siur blinked, backing away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Don’t lie to me. At least show me that much respect.”

“Captain, Barson, I—” The soldier kept moving backward, and Barson saw what he was after the very second the man’s hand closed around his sword.

Barson unsheathed his own sword. “Tell me the truth,” he said coldly, “and you will die quickly and painlessly.” He was glad the traitor was showing his true colors; up until that moment, he hadn’t been completely sure of the man’s guilt.

With an enraged cry, Siur attacked. His momentum carried him across the room, his sword swinging.

Barson met his fierce attack, parrying every blow and watching carefully for an opening to disarm his opponent. Normally, Siur would’ve already been dead, but Barson didn’t want to kill him yet. He needed information, and the traitor was the only one who could provide it.

Siur fought like a berserker. Faced with the prospect of interrogation, the man was apparently trying to go for a quick, glorious death—something that Barson had no intention of allowing. They fought for what seemed like forever. If Barson hadn’t been so tired from his earlier ordeal, this would’ve been easier. As it was, he had to restrain himself from killing Siur every couple of minutes, while simultaneously preventing the soldier’s deadly blows from reaching his body.

His moment finally came when Siur made a violent thrust at Barson’s shoulder. With one flick of his sword, Barson grazed his opponent’s left side, drawing the first blood. Siur jumped back with a pained hiss, then attacked Barson with even more desperation. The soldier knew he would now grow weaker with every minute that passed, and Barson found it more difficult to restrain himself from dealing the traitor a killing blow.

“You can’t make me talk, no matter what you do,” Siur panted, executing a triple feint attack. Barson easily defended himself; he’d personally taught this maneuver to Siur, and the man had never particularly excelled at it. That Siur used it now was a sign that he was no longer thinking straight.

Silently taking advantage of this opening, Barson slashed the man’s right shoulder, slicing through his naked flesh with ease. It was fortunate the soldier wasn’t wearing armor; otherwise, Barson’s task would’ve been even more difficult. Siur stumbled, letting out a pained cry, but pressed on, his eyes glittering with rage and desperation.

A trickle of sweat ran down Barson’s back, intensifying his longing for a bath. Deciding to bring the fight to its inevitable conclusion, he pretended to favor his right side, leaving his left exposed for a brief moment. Siur immediately took the bait, going for a killing blow to the heart.

At the last moment, Barson twisted his body, letting the man’s sharp sword scrape the side of his armor, cutting through it and leaving a shallow scratch on his skin. At the same time, Barson’s gauntleted fist landed on Siur’s right arm with massive force, causing the traitor’s sword to fly across the room.

“Now we talk,” Barson muttered, punching Siur in the face and knocking him out.

Chapter 17: Augusta
 

The wizened old man was working behind his desk when Augusta entered his lavish study. His workspace was nearly the size of her entire quarters in the Tower. Being the head of the Council certainly had its privileges.

“Augusta.” He raised his head, regarding her with a pale blue gaze. Although Ganir’s face was wrinkled and weathered, his white hair was still thick, flowing down to his narrow shoulders in a style that had been popular seven decades ago.

“Master Ganir,” she responded, slightly bowing her head. Despite her dislike of him, she couldn’t help feeling a certain grudging respect for the Council Leader. Ganir was among the oldest and most powerful sorcerers in existence, as well as the inventor of the Life Capture Sphere.

“You need not be so formal with me, child,” he said, surprising her with his warm tone.

“As you wish, Ganir,” Augusta said warily. Why was he being kind to her? This was very much unlike him. She had always gotten the impression that the old sorcerer didn’t care for her. Blaise had once let slip that Ganir thought they didn’t suit each other—an obvious insult to Augusta, since the old man had treated Blaise and his brother with an almost fatherly regard.

In response to her unspoken question, Ganir leaned back in his chair, regarding her with an inscrutable gaze. “I have a delicate matter to discuss with you,” he said, lightly drumming his fingers on his desk.

Augusta raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to continue. She wouldn’t have thought her interference with the rebels was a particularly delicate matter, and she didn’t know why he didn’t just bring up her actions at the next Council meeting. Of course, it was possible he wanted something from her—a possibility that made her uneasy.

“As you know, when you were with Blaise, I did not always act approvingly,” Ganir began, shocking her by echoing her earlier thoughts. “I have since come to regret that attitude.” Pausing, he let her digest his words.

Caught completely off-guard, all Augusta could do was stare at him. She had no idea why he was bringing up ancient history now, but it didn’t seem like a good sign to her.

“I wish I had supported you then, back when you and Blaise were together,” the Council Leader continued, and the sadness in his voice was as unusual as it was surprising. “He was one of our brightest stars . . .”

“Yes, he was,” Augusta said, frowning. They both knew what lay behind Blaise’s self-exile. It was Ganir’s own invention that had led to that disastrous situation with Louie—and to Augusta losing the man she had loved.

Then, with a sudden leap of intuition, she knew. Ganir’s summons had nothing to do with the battle she’d just returned from . . . and everything to do with the man she’d been trying to forget for the past two years.

“What happened to Blaise?” she asked sharply, a sickening coldness spreading through her veins. Even now, despite her growing feelings for Barson, the mere thought of Blaise in danger was enough to send her into panic.

Ganir’s faded gaze held sorrow. “I’m afraid his depression has led him to a new low,” he said quietly. “Augusta, I think Blaise has become a Life Capture addict.”

“What?” This was not at all what she had expected to hear. She wasn’t sure what she did expect, but this was definitely not it. “A Life Capture addict?” She stared at Ganir in disbelief. “That doesn’t sound like Blaise at all. He would consider it a weakness to drown himself in someone else’s memories. In his work, yes, but not in other people’s minds—”

“I had trouble believing this at first as well. The only thing I can think of is perhaps the isolation has broken his spirit . . .” He shrugged sadly.

“No, I don’t see how this could be true,” Augusta said firmly. “If nothing else, he would never abandon his research. What made you decide that he’s an addict?”

“I have someone reporting to me from his village,” Ganir explained. “According to my source, Blaise has been getting enormous amounts of Life Capture droplets. Enough to stay in a dream world all waking hours.”

Augusta’s eyes narrowed. “Are you spying on him?” she asked, unable to keep the accusatory note out of her voice. She hated the way the old man seemed to have his tentacles in everything these days.

“I’m not spying on the boy,” the Council Leader denied, his white eyebrows coming together. “I just want to make sure he’s healthy and well. You know he doesn’t talk to me either, right?”

Augusta nodded. She knew that. As much as she disliked Ganir, she could see that he was hurting, too. He had been close to Dasbraw’s sons, and Blaise’s coldness had to be as upsetting to him as it was to Augusta herself. “All right,” she said in a more conciliatory tone, “so your source is telling you that Blaise acquired a lot of Life Captures?”

“A lot is an understatement. What he got is worth a fortune on the black market.”

Ganir was right; this didn’t sound good. Why would Blaise need so much of that stuff if he was not addicted? Augusta had always considered Life Captures to be dangerous, and she was extremely cautious in how she used the droplets herself. She had even spoken up about the risks of Ganir’s invention in the beginning—a fact that she suspected had something to do with the old sorcerer’s dislike of her.

“What makes you so sure he got them for himself?” she wondered out loud.

“It’s not definitive, of course,” Ganir admitted. “However, no one has seen him for months. He hasn’t even shown up in his village.”

Augusta did not think this was that unusual, but combined with the large quantity of droplets, it did not paint a pretty picture. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked, even though she was beginning to get an inkling of the Council Leader’s intentions.

“I want you to talk to Blaise,” Ganir said. “He will hear you out. I wouldn’t be surprised if he still loves you. Maybe that’s why he’s suffering so much—”

“Blaise left
me
, not the other way around,” Augusta said sharply. How dare Ganir imply that their parting was to blame for Blaise’s current state? Everyone knew it was the loss of his brother that drove Blaise out of the Council—a tragedy for which they all bore varying degrees of responsibility.

Why hadn’t she voted differently? Augusta wondered bitterly for a thousandth time. Why hadn’t at least one other member of the Council? Every time she thought of that disastrous event, she felt consumed with regret. If she had known that her vote wouldn’t matter—that the entire Council, with the exception of Blaise, would vote to punish Louie—she would’ve gone against her convictions and voted to spare Blaise’s brother. But she hadn’t. What Louie had done—giving a magical object to the commoners—was one of the worst crimes Augusta could imagine, and she’d voted according to her conscience.