The Gate of Bones (39 page)

“Not all of us.”

“They hunger for flesh, soul, and Magick, and we, above all, have to fear that.”

“For right now, I can hold them. That's all that counts.”

“For now? For now?” Isabella looked down her nose at him. Jonnard fought the instinct to grit his teeth. His intention of reassuring her evolved into one of withstanding her recovering scorn and outrage. “What about later?”

“Now is all that counts.”

“How can you say that? How can you even
think
it?” She slapped a hand down on her writing desk. The furniture shivered under the blow, but he did not move a muscle except to answer her.

“How can I not? Did you think any further when you created the Leucators?”

She met his stare. Long moments passed in which he said nothing more, silently daring her to answer. Then, finally, her gaze flicked away. “It came out of necessity.”

“We have an advantage. This Gate generates a Magick we can bend to our uses. It also creates fear, and we can use that as well. The obvious, you don't seem to have grasped. I am a Gatekeeper, Isabella.” Jon leaned forward intently. “I've done it once, I can do it again.”

“That is a Gate we dare not pass.”

“Perhaps. We haven't tried yet, have we?” He sat back in his chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him, crossing his boots at the ankles.

“You can't be serious!”

“Can't I? You asked me for a bloody miracle, and you got one! But am I given credit? No. When did you get old, Mother? When did you grow so cautious?”

“Silence!”

Jonnard held back his next words, watching Isabella's face. Handsome rather than pretty, strong features, strong nose, lustrous dark hair that now showed a single strand here and there of silvery cast. But she'd lived centuries longer than he, and he knew she hadn't done it by accident. She'd done it by sheer power of her will and her intelligence as well as her Magick, even though the toll had begun to catch up with her.

She stirred, with a rustle of the fine satin of her gown. He wondered how many gowns she'd packed away when they'd fled to Haven, and how long her finery would last her on this rustic world. She tapped one fingertip upon the highly polished sheen of her desk. “What you have done is remarkable, Jonnard, I give you that.”

He inclined his head at her acknowledgment. “But . . .”

“Yes, but. That is the crux of it. We have no idea of the consequences of what you've done, other than the initial outcome, and I'm not inclined to want to investigate. It may take resources we don't have, and it may bring to pass things we cannot handle.”

“Or it may not. Look here. I am not forgetting who you are or what you've accomplished, and I know you are speaking from experience. Still, we have an opportunity here, and I am excited by it. I will be cautious, but I expect to be able to use this to consolidate our position here as well as elsewhere.”

“Then study it, but cautiously. You are of no use to me dead, Jonnard.”

He sprang to his feet and then paused in her doorway. “Thank you for both the permission and concern, Isabella.” Hiding his grin, he left her stewing in her study.

T
HERE'S A BODY in my kitchen!” Rebecca Landau let out a shriek, and her voice wailed throughout the academy, from floor to floor, waking anyone who wasn't already awake and drifting down wondering what might be happening this morning.

It was, Bailey would say later, a scream loud enough to wake the dead, except, of course, it wasn't, for Gregory the Gray continued to sleep peacefully right through it, even as Magickers stampeded down to the kitchen in response to Rebecca's terrified yell. Bailey and Jason stumbled down to the kitchen last, her hair looking a wee bit like a pack rat's nest, and his eyes all bleary as he rubbed them and looked upon the sight. Even stiff-legged Rich made it to the scene of the crime before they did.

All Gavan could say was, “Good lord,” and he sat down abruptly on a nearby stool, staring through the translucent part of the coffin at the face of his old teacher long thought to be dead and gone in the mists of time.

Rebecca took a deep breath. “Gavan Rainwater. I've put up with a lot. You came to me and said, ‘May we teach your daughter sorcery,' and I said, ‘Well, okay, if that's what she really wants.' You say, ‘She has to go to another world to be safe,' and I say, ‘Well, all right.' You say, ‘You've got to come, too,' and I say, ‘Well, if I have to,' and you say, ‘There's nothing for you to do here but be a glorified kitchen maid,' and I say, ‘Well, as long as I'm helping,' but This! This!” And she pointed a trembling hand at the sarcophagus. “I draw the line at this!”

“Mom,” said Bailey, catching her hand. “Chill.”

Jason shot a look at her. “I thought you were going to sit with him.”

“I did. He didn't do anything, and I got sleepy, so I went to bed.” Bailey wrinkled her nose at Jason. “I planned on being up before anyone else.” She shrugged.

Gavan swiveled around on his stool, his clear blue eyes staring at them. “You two knew about this?”

“We found him,” Bailey stated proudly.

Jason shook his head. “We knew, but we didn't really find him. That is, he's never actually been lost. He, ummm,” and Jason cleared his throat uncertainly. He always found it difficult to tell anything remotely like an untruth. Rich, still pale and a little uneasy on his leg, watched him, while Stef paced back and forth, rolling an eye now and then at the seemingly dead man. He looked as though his grip on his bear self had reached the breaking point.

“I had him, Gavan,” snapped Freyah from the doorway. She looked at him from her tiny height, silver hair practically sparking about her face. “I will leave immediately if we're not wanted.”

“Not wanted? How could you be not wanted?” Gavan's mouth moved a few more times, soundlessly, and he turned to Tomaz whose solid body filled the doorway to the outside, a crow perched on each shoulder. He waved soundlessly at Tomaz.

“I think he means we're honored and moved at the sacrifice you've made all these years to keep watch on Gregory. It is a burden we'll gladly share with you now,” Tomaz said humbly.

Freyah's indignant expression immediately melted, and she gathered her robes about her, with a sniffle.

Gavan cleared his throat. “Right. Exactly that.” He reached out and touched the coffin. “This looks familiar.”

Freyah colored slightly. “Hmm. Well, um. It might. I do believe that was the ancestral coffin meant for you someday, Gavan. I, hmmm, borrowed it, rather.”

Gavan blinked. He stroked the side of the chiseled artifact. “Well done.”

“Do you think so? Your family didn't mind. I paid them well for it. I suppose they thought it was for you, after all, having lost you so young to Magicking.”

Gavan nodded. In those days, Magickers walked away from their families to avoid political and religious troubles. He'd been little more than an orphan, studying under Gregory. He stood up slowly. His fingers went to the latches covering the translucent part of the coffin.

“No!” Jason leaped forward. He charged toward Gavan. “You can't wake him. Not yet. I don't know why, I just know you can't.”

Freyah crossed the room swiftly, backing up Jason. “The lad is right. My brother left specific instructions no one was to wake him. He sleeps, but it is a part of some bargain, and he'll wake when his time is due.”

“Bargains,” muttered Gavan. “Some good, some bad. Who is to know? But I gather waking a sleeping wizard is even more unwise than waking a sleeping dog. So.” He patted the latches back down firmly into place. “He stays.”

“That is good.” Madame Qi, who'd been standing quietly, leaning a little on Ting, tapped her cane. “One less mouth to feed at the moment.”

“What kind of bargain could he have made? And with whom?”

Freyah shook her head. “Even if I knew, Rainwater, I couldn't tell you. It is his wish. Not even Eleanora is to know.” She frowned, dark eyes snapping. “Not got her back yet?”

“No. Not yet.” Gavan ran his hand through his hair.

“What's keeping you?”

“At the moment? Finding someone sleeping in my coffin, in my kitchen.” He made a distracted gesture. “We'll have to find someplace to put you, someplace that Isabella with all her wiles can't detect.” His brow arched. “Ah, and I might have just the spot.”

“Ooooh,” breathed Bailey, in recognition. “Just don't trip the trapdoor!”

“I do not like small places,” Freyah stated. “Cozy, yes, small and confining, no.”

Tomaz shook his crows off into the morning sky, and came fully into the kitchen. “It is best.”

She eyed him. Then Freyah gave a little sigh. “All right, but only until I find another cottage. You, and you, accompany me. You have Talent and absolutely no schooling or discipline,” Freyah pointed at Rebecca whose only response was to stutter a denial, and then she pointed at Madame Qi, “while you have discipline but not much flexibility. If I'm going to be bored, I might as well be teaching.”

Madame Qi bowed from her waist. “I shall be honored.”

The men and boys took up the weight of the sarcophagus and followed Gavan through the academy to the silent hallway where Bailey had found herself imprisoned. They left the doors standing open, and took their breakfast in there, and let Freyah know of the plans to attack the Dark Hand fortress and all that had happened to each of them since she saw them last. George trotted from Magicker to Magicker like a happy pup, just to nudge them and say hello. So the day began.

 

High Noon.

They crouched at the foot of the inner stair, Gavan gesturing warningly behind him to Jason and Trent, stilling them. Not that they needed that. The fortress was not empty as they'd hoped. Worse, Jonnard and Isabella seemed to be about.

“It's not now or never,” Jason whispered. “But now is better.”

They'd split into two groups, Tomaz taking Stef and Rich as a decoy from their movements inside the fortress. Henry stayed, frowning, with Freyah and the others at the academy. His job was to distract Jonnard if Jon should try to draw from him again, giving him false ideas of what might be going on. The look on his face had been one of extreme unhappiness as they'd Crystaled out.

Now he might be one of their only hopes to Crystal back safely. None of them alone could anchor; all were too tapped out, just as none of them dared attack alone. They would succeed together or not at all, but only failure would meet those acting alone.

Jason felt his pulse pound in his throat as he waited for Gavan to signal their progress upstairs. Behind him, Trent put a hand on his back, fingers drumming to an unheard tempo. He could feel the tension in Trent as easily as he felt it in himself. Gavan looked over his shoulder, making a motion that looked as if he were plucking harp strings in the air with his hand. He was asking Trent if he saw any sign of magic streaming their way.

Trent shook his head slowly, but held his hand up, and indicated an invisible line down the stairway. Not for them specifically but built into the fortress, much as they'd warded the academy. Gavan made a sign that he understood, and beckoned them up the stair, staying well away from the warding. As near as Jason could tell, it would act like a laser beam on an alarm system . . . touch it and it would trip. What sort of trap, exactly, it could spring, they had no idea. Knowing Jonnard, it was bound to be nasty.

Gavan paused. In a whisper pitched so low that they could barely catch it, he said, “That way are Leucators. Stay here. I'm going to check something.”

Jason sat down on the step, his back to the safe wall. His body shook slightly, with eagerness and adrenaline, and he could feel the same emotions running through Trent. Trent looked at him, then checked back the way they'd come. He motioned with his hands at the web of enchantments they'd crept through, indicating the holes were getting bigger and bigger.

Jason decided it was because they approached the living floors of the fort and they couldn't have people setting off alarms all the time, could they? He mimicked foot traffic by walking his fingers about, and Trent grinned. He either agreed with Jason or thought he'd suddenly gone crazy. Jason laughed silently back, ducking his head.

Gavan returned after long moments. He drew the boys close, his face grave. “The Leucators are gone.”

“What?

“Nothing left but their stench. Stay close to me. I don't dare leave anyone behind.”

Trent shook his head emphatically at Jason. Isabella drew energy from Leucators like vampires drink blood from their victims. As despicable as Leucators were, they held great value to Isabella. Where were they, then, and why? The two got to their feet, and followed on Gavan's heels.

On the second landing, he slowed, casting about for any sign of Eleanora that he could catch. Boot steps thudded down the hall, and he pulled both Trent and Jason to him, throwing a dark shadow over the three of them. They held their breaths as Jason watched the raiders disappear into the stairwell. Trent blinked. He stepped out of the cloak and saluted Gavan. Then he leaned over as if picking a piece of lint off the ground. He held it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Music,” he said quietly. “It's a strand of music. Don't ask me how.”

“Eleanora!” Gavan said fiercely, his voice pitched low but intense. “They've got her blocked, but they couldn't block that. Lead on!”

Trent took up that which only he could see. Jason stayed at the rear, alert, ready to fight or do whatever else was necessary.