Bookworm II: The Very Ugly Duckling (39 page)

He nodded towards one of the pieces of machinery. “They thought that this would make them the equals of the god-touched,” he said, darkly. “I proved them wrong.”

Johan shivered. The god-touched was a very old name for magicians, one that suggested that
they
were the only true humans living in the mortal world. Jamal had brought it up more than once to use as a weapon against Johan, calling him a soulless monster fit only to hew wood and draw water. The religion that sprouted such nonsense was very popular among magicians outside the Golden City, but utterly hated by non-magicians. It was easy to see why.

“When the gods made men, they made some of them out of clay,” Hawthorne observed, darkly. “And they made others out of their own godly essence.” He waved his hand in the air, causing a blaze of light to appear in the room. “How could the clay-men presume to match those who were made from the essence of the gods?”

He was insane, Johan realised. The cold chill running down his back grew worse. But there was also method in his madness. The attack on the city had been concentrated on where the Iron Dragons were produced, the people he’d killed specifically had worked on the Iron Dragons ... and this complex, whatever it was, was connected to them too. Hawthorne had targeted his attacks on places that most magicians doubted had the right to exist. If he hadn’t killed so many people, there might have been little enthusiasm for giving chase.

“The god came to me at night and whispered that it was my duty to destroy the dreams of the soulless,” Hawthorne informed him. His voice shone with conviction. “He told me that there would come a time when I could leave my imprisonment and escape – and he was right. I fled and came here, obeying the orders he sent me in dreams. I shall be rewarded beyond the dreams of even sorcerers!”

Definitely insane
, Johan thought. There were people who claimed to have had visions from the gods, but their stories rarely stood up when they were tested under truth spells. Their believers claimed that the truth of their particular god was not for unbelievers; Johan suspected that most of them were just frauds, claiming to talk with the gods to collect worshippers. It was one of the very few points on which he ever agreed with Jamal.

“They were defenceless, of course,” Hawthorne proclaimed, turning away to walk down the stacks of machinery. “What could they do against me?”

Johan followed him ... and almost threw up again as the horrific sight came into view. Hawthorne had frozen his prey, then killed them one by one; one young man had been crucified, another seemed to have been flogged to death ... he couldn’t even
look
at a young woman whose body had been ritualistically cut open. His gorge rose and he retched helplessly. If there had been something left in his stomach, he knew, it would have joined the blood in pooling on the floor.

“You people have no nerve,” Hawthorne said. “They talked of beating magicians, of creating a kind of magic of their own, yet when I arrived they fell over themselves to beg for mercy from me. One of them even offered to be my servant, my slave, if only I would spare his life. How brave are those who never have to face those they scorn. All those papers suggesting that mundanes should consider themselves the equal of magicians ...”

He laughed, a low rumbling sound that rapidly became an insane cackle. Johan stared at his back as he turned away to look at one of the pieces of machinery, a long metal tube with a pair of metal balls sitting next to it. The purpose of the device, if device it was, baffled him; the balls might fit inside the tube, but then what?

“This,” Hawthorne said, “is a weapon. Or so they say. But what good would it do them against
me
?”

“I do not know,” Johan said, speaking for the first time. “But you didn’t have to kill them all.”

“He
speaks
!” Hawthorne proclaimed. “And there I was thinking that someone had accidentally torn out your tongue.”

He turned back to face Johan, one hand twisting into a claw. “I could do that,” he added, darkly. “Or I could ... oh, I could turn you into a mouse and set my cats on you. I did that to some of the people here.”

Johan looked at one of the bodies, lying on the ground, and believed him. Someone who was killed while transfigured would return to normal upon the moment of their death, along with their wounds. A tiny cut for a mouse might leave a human ripped open from end to end. He couldn’t even begin to imagine just how horrific their final moments must have been. For all of his faults, for all of his cruelty and the pranks he had played on Johan, Jamal was no dark wizard.

But he might be getting there
, Johan thought. Or was he? Jamal could have wiped out the entire group of Levellers with his magic, if he’d thought of it. Instead, he’d tormented them ...

He looked up at Hawthorne and knew that, whatever else happened, he would never be scared of his brother again.

Hawthorne rubbed his clawed hands together, then smiled. “The god commands your death,” he informed Johan. A wave of his hand had Johan’s feet fixed firmly to the floor. “But how best to do it? There are so many ways you could die.”

“Tell me something,” Johan said, trying to buy time. Sheer terror was making it hard to think clearly. “If the clay-men are so worthless, why can we use their blood for magical rites?”

“We can use the blood of dumber animals in magical rites,” Hawthorne pointed out, snidely. “The mere fact that their blood has ... uses does not mean that they are our equals, does it?”

Johan winced. He’d hoped that trying to undermine Hawthorne’s faith in his crazy religion would work, but it hadn’t. Hawthorne believed every word he said.

“And they can give birth to magical children,” he said, desperately. “Why would that make them useless?”

“The gods sometimes choose to give us new blood,” Hawthorne said. “They cause the child to appear in a clay-woman’s womb, formed from their essence. Or are you not aware that there are spells that allow a human child to be brought to term inside a cow?”

His face twisted into a sneer. “I find your lack of faith disturbing,” he announced. “All rationalisation by a clay-man unwilling to accept his place in the world. And you bore me.”

He lifted his hand, holding it up in front of Johan’s face. “Goodbye,” he said. “Your death will be ...”

A streak of brilliant blue light stuck him, sending him flying backwards.

***

Elaine searched through her bag as soon as she left the office, hunting for the vial of Johan’s blood. She’d never had the time to run any tests on it, but it would suffice for one thing; Johan couldn’t hope to cut the link between it and himself. Blood called to blood, no matter the distance between them. Only the most powerful magicians could alter their blood to break the connection; she’d been careful not to even
mention
the possibility to Johan.

“All right,” she muttered, as she felt the magic take hold. “Where
are
you?”

The vial seemed to be pulling her back towards the Golden City; the sense of distance suggested that Johan was still walking. Muttering curses under her breath, unsure of what was going through his mind, Elaine walked quickly to the nearest stable and passed the stable boy several gold coins. In return, she got a domesticated horse that had been enhanced by magic and trained by the best. She couldn’t help eying the beast nervously as the boy brought him out onto the street – she’d never ridden a horse in her life, let alone a big black stallion that was taller than herself – but the beast gave her an oddly reassuring look.

“Arcane is trained and experienced,” the stable boy assured her. “And your magic can help you to guide him.”

He was right, Elaine discovered, when she finally managed to mount him. Once she was on the horse’s back, it was surprisingly easy to guide him in the right direction, even if the horse seemed inclined to move faster than she would have preferred. She dug a ration bar out of her bag as they cantered out of the town, heading southwards. If Johan was on foot, she told herself, they would overtake him very quickly. Instead, the land grew rougher, harder for the horse to traverse. It didn’t take too long for Elaine to realise that Johan was following a straight line rather than the roads.

“Now,” she asked the horse, “why would he do that?”

There was no reply, of course. The stories of talking animals she’d read as a child had no basis in reality. Even a transfigured human couldn’t talk in animal form, although with the right sort of mental link they could still communicate. The best she could do with the horse was read its emotions and they were very basic, barely more than enough to tell her that
he
thought they could move faster.

Johan should have known better than to go off the roads, Elaine thought. They’d spent enough time exploring the hills and mountains to know that pathways and roads made it
much
easier to move faster. But Johan was definitely moving in a straight line ... why would he do that, even if he were trying to hide? It made no sense unless he was aiming directly for somewhere ... or someone. Her blood ran cold as she realised that Johan was actually following the Dark Wizard. Somehow – the gods alone knew how – he’d discovered a way to track him. And, instead of waiting for the Inquisitors, he’d gone off on his own.

Idiot
, Elaine thought. Her thoughts communicated themselves to the horse, who whinnied uncomfortably. Elaine looked down at the vial of blood and concentrated, trying to get a fix on Johan’s exact position. He didn’t seem to be moving any longer. In fact ... the horse twisted, unwilling to go among the trees, then led her to a tiny road, half-hidden by a handful of aversion spells. She wouldn’t have sensed it at all if the horse hadn’t taken her right through the concealment spells.

But the spells didn’t look powerful enough to be the work of a Dark Wizard ...

She slipped off the horse, wand in hand, as the building came into view. It didn’t look special enough to be the lair of a Dark Wizard either, not when they normally took over castles or even built themselves homes amongst the clouds. Maybe Hawthorne was smarter than the average Dark Wizard ... but if he were smart, he wouldn’t have attacked the city. Light Spinner couldn’t let something like that go by; she’d have Hawthorne’s head, even if she had to send a small army after him to get it. And Hawthorne had definitely been captured before and sentenced to death.

Elaine hesitated. The blood said that Johan was inside, but the gods alone knew what
else
was inside. Part of her wanted to summon the Inquisitors, part of her knew that she didn’t dare wait for help. She cast a quick summoning charm in the air, calling the nearest Inquisitor, then headed towards the door. One look at the battered piece of wood told her that Hawthorne had broken his way into the building. Whatever this was, it wasn’t his hideout. It was his next target. She cast a concealment charm over herself, then stepped inside.

She heard a high-pitched voice as she crept inside, speaking of a religion that many lower-level magicians embraced fervently. It made them feel superior to the mundanes, Elaine knew; somehow, she had never been tempted by such talk, even though she was a low-power magician. But then, she’d known mundanes in the orphanage. They had never been strange creatures to her, even if they had never fully been her friends either.

Careful
, she warned herself, as she tiptoed around the pieces of machinery.
Your spells aren’t perfect
...

The sight of Hawthorne chilled her, even though she’d seen worse – much worse – in the books that had been crammed into her head. He actually looked surprisingly human, apart from the pale skin and very black eyes. At least they weren’t red, she realised; red eyes were the mark of wild magic, suggesting that the person with them had been up to something
very
dangerous. Hawthorne had probably been experimenting on himself and wound up with ... what? She tensed as he seemed to look right at her, then past her. The spells were holding.

I hope
, she thought, trying desperately to decide what to do. Hawthorne was dangerous, too dangerous for her; he’d killed several Inquisitors as well as other magicians. And Johan was a wild card, without any real training in fighting or duelling. His magic didn’t really lend itself to proper duelling. She hoped he remembered how to protect himself, if nothing else. A reflected curse might be enough to kill Hawthorne ...

The Dark Wizard lifted his hand; Elaine knew that she could wait no longer. Lifting her wand, she cast the strongest stunner she could, blasting Hawthorne across the room and into a piece of machinery. It should have knocked him out, but his protections were stronger than that ... and her concealment spells would no longer work now that he was looking for her.

“Die,” Hawthorne grated, staggering to his feet. “Die now!”

Elaine cast the counter-charm at Johan’s feet, then jumped to one side as a flash of absolute blackness blasted past her. She didn’t dare let that spell touch her, even with her enhanced protections. It would have killed her on the spot.

“Get out of here,” she shouted at Johan. “Move!”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Hawthorne spoke a word that sounded like shattering glass. Elaine swore and ducked behind a table, just before a piece of machinery exploded into red-hot fragments. She lost sight of Johan and prayed that he was running, before she peeked out from cover and fired another spell towards the Dark Wizard. He raised one clawed hand and shot a burst of Balefire back at her, forcing her to jump back and duck behind another table.

“You need a wand,” Hawthorne observed, as his magic advanced forward. Elaine felt a tingle as his power rippled through the air, trying to get a hold on her. She banished it with a counter-spell of her own invention, knowing that he would find it hard to stop. “You must be weak indeed.”

Trying to get under my skin
, Elaine thought, as she moved behind another table. A blast of fire that barely missed her indicated that her motion hadn’t gone unspotted.
Millicent did it better
.