The Queen of Mages (49 page)

“When is this to begin?” Lord Marin asked,
sounding peevish. “Some of us have matters to attend—”

“Quiet,” Nyera snapped.

It so happened that behind the Eltasi nobles
sat a large hearth. Fresh logs had been laid in it but not yet lit,
which gave Amira an idea. She released the net around Nyera and
formed a new bead, then held out her hand and placed it above her
palm. She pushed just enough energy into it to make it begin to
glow with light that all could see.

The other nobles gasped and exclaimed one by
one as they noticed the glowing speck. Amira curved her palm around
the bead, then flung it at the fireplace while pretending to throw
it with her hand. As soon as the bead touched the wood, she pushed
every ounce of energy into it that she could, dragging it back and
forth along the logs.

Flames sprung up with a series of dry pops
as bubbles of sap in the wood burst. In seconds the fire raged
along the whole hearth. Those nearest to it backed away hurriedly,
as if the fire might decide to come after them next.

No damage had been done so far, but Amira
could not resist a final flourish. She raised her hand and brought
her bead up to the wood panelling above the hearth. Drawing it down
to a fine point, she began to char a jagged black line along the
wood. It hissed and smoked for several seconds, and when she was
done, a stylized symbol of a flame had been burned into the
wall.

Amira turned to Lady Nyera, who alone among
the Eltasi had not moved. Amira bowed very slightly, meaning to
insult the rude old woman. “I do hope you are impressed, my lady,”
she said, then went to stand by Dardan’s side. He looked alarmed,
but she gave him her best smile and squeezed his hand.

The Eltasi had all gathered together,
whispering fiercely. After a remarkably short time, Lady Nyera
turned to face Amira. “I think… I think I shall conduct you to the
duke now.”

———

Lady Nyera took them to a chilly arched
hall. Gray light slipped in through narrow windows, and Amira could
hear the distant surf through a balcony door in the far wall. At
one end of a long table sat an old, withered man, dressed in rich
furs and apparently in the last stages of a meal. Amira recalled
that she had met Duke Fortarin Eltasi at the summer ball, but she
had also met a hundred other nobles that day and one face blurred
into the next.

Nyera led the way into the hall, motioned
for Amira and her companions to stay at the door, and went to speak
with her father. Her
vala
followed, casting dark glances at
Amira and Dardan.

Amira looked around. Two guards stood behind
the duke, along with a younger man who must be the duke’s
valo
, and a pair of footmen, hovering and ready to attend to
the duke at a moment’s notice. After several minutes of whispered
conversation, Lady Nyera turned and beckoned to them. Dardan and
Amira led the way, with Garen and Mason right behind them.

The duke looked up at his daughter. “Nyera,
dear, that will be all.” The woman seemed disappointed, Amira
thought, but she graciously withdrew with her
vala
, giving
one last astonished glance at Amira.

Dardan bowed deeply to the duke. Amira
curtseyed as low as her dress would let her. “Your grace. It is an
honor to meet you again,” Dardan said.

In contrast to the rudeness of the other
Eltasi, Duke Fortarin smiled and spoke in a friendly manner.
“Likewise, my boy. I was saddened to hear of your father’s death. I
cannot claim to have known him well, but I never heard a bad word
said against him, except by those with spite and jealousy in their
hearts. Please, have a seat.” He waved grandly at the long, empty
table before him as he examined his guests. His sunken, pale blue
eyes lingered on them each in turn.

“Thank you, your grace.” Dardan and Amira
sat at his left hand. Mason stayed standing behind them. Garen
wavered, seeming unsure whether to sit or stand.

“Your
valo
and Warden Iris may sit as
well,” the duke said, smiling. Several of the duke’s teeth were
missing, replaced with a wooden denture, painted off-white to match
his remaining teeth. Something about it made Amira a little queasy,
but she kept a soft smile plastered on her face.

Garen seemed to realize that the duke
thought that
he
was Dardan’s
valo
, so he shrugged and
sat down. Mason declined. “Thank you, your grace, but sitting in
plate armor is never comfortable,” he said. Amira wondered if Mason
would say anything else, or try to explain how he had come to
accompany them. She hoped not.

“Well.” Duke Eltasi considered the Warden
for a few moments. “I suppose that is true. It’s been ages since I
had to wear plate. The mind forgets.” He turned and clapped
liver-spotted hands. “Refreshments for my guests!”

A platter of wine, soft bread, cheese, and
fruit was brought out for them. Dardan, Amira noticed, did not
touch it, though he nodded graciously and thanked the duke. Garen
waited until no one was looking and began sneaking morsels. Amira
nibbled on a little cheese, just to be polite. Her stomach flipped
every so often. Throwing up on the duke would be no more polite
than incinerating him.

“So tell me what it is that brings you here
today,” the duke said, folding his wrinkled hands together. His own
plate had been cleared away and he watched them all intently.

Dardan laid out much the same story as he’d
told to Elmer Brahim all those weeks ago, and later to Count
Barnard. Except now he hid nothing. Amira’s power had been openly
revealed to the rest of the Eltasi, and there was nothing they had
reason to hide from the duke… except for Sir Gaelan Thoriss’s
death, which Dardan did not mention.

Duke Eltasi interrupted frequently to ask
questions about this detail or that. Dardan did all the talking,
and so Amira was at leisure to observe the old man. His eyes
flicked around constantly, usually between his four guests, but
occasionally to the heavy oak doors they’d come in through. They
were closed now.

The fifth time he glanced at the doors,
Amira began to feel uneasy. Was he expecting someone? It had been
only a few days since Dardan had been to Seawatch the first time;
surely not long enough to get a message to Edon, wherever he was
now.

Amira looked around. They’d been here nearly
an hour. The footmen had all withdrawn. Even the duke’s
valo
had gone out at some point, leaving only the two house guards.

The duke’s
valo
returned just as
Dardan began to describe how he had come to Seawatch and met with
Gennevan and Nyera. The
valo
stepped near to his master and
cleared his throat gently. “Excuse me,” the duke said, and the
valo
bent down to whisper to him. “Oh dear,” the duke said,
not sounding put out at all. “You must pardon me,” he said, rising
to his feet. Amira, Dardan, and Garen all stood as well, bowing or
curtseying as was required. “I must attend to a delicate matter. I
will be back directly.” He shuffled away toward the heavy oak
doors. His
valo
trailed him, as well as the two guards. When
the doors clicked shut behind them, Amira and her companions were
left alone in the dining hall.

“That was odd,” she said.

“I’m surprised he wasn’t interrupted
sooner,” Dardan said. “Dukes rarely have a moment’s peace, even at
home—”

Suddenly Mason had drawn his sword, and was
facing the door. Then he looked up at the high walls to either side
of it. Amira followed his gaze. The walls were the same dark wood
as the doors, carved with elaborate seascapes, scenes of battle,
wildlife. “What is it?” she whispered.

“Under the table!” he shouted, and shoved
her away. She did not hesitate, and scrambled to the floor, putting
the heavy table over her head. Dardan had drawn his sword as well.
“All of you!”

The order was punctuated by a
twang
,
just as Mason leapt to the side. A crossbow quarrel clanged off his
armor and spun away, a glancing blow that would have punched
straight through him had he not moved. Amira couldn’t see where it
had come from, but there must have been murder-holes hidden up in
those carvings. She couldn’t see them from under the table, or try
to strike at whoever had shot at them.

Garen had taken the hint and darted under
the table as well, followed at once by Dardan. Only Mason among
them wore armor. “Garen!” Amira hissed. “I can’t hit them. You have
to!”

He twisted around to look at her. There was
fear in his eyes, but also determination. “What? Where?”

“On the wall, high up. Tear the whole thing
down if you have to!”

Garen was breathing hard, and she saw him
shaking. But he nodded. By now, Mason had gotten behind the end of
the table farthest from the carved wall. His armor was too bulky
for him to get on the floor and crawl under the table easily, but
the edge of the table and the duke’s chair might provide some
cover.

Garen stuck his head out the other side of
the table and then immediately jerked back. His momentary
appearance was rewarded with another quarrel thwacking off the
floor an inch from his head. He leaned out again at once. Whoever
had shot at him would be reloading. And Amira knew that Garen’s
response would take only a moment.

There was a sound like a tree snapping in
half—she was reminded of the huge pine outside Hugh Hamm’s house
falling into the brush—and she saw shards of wood rain to the
floor. Amira risked a glance of her own from farther back, and saw
a pumpkin-sized hole in the wall, about ten feet off the ground.
Behind it was an open space, some hidden gallery that allowed for
secret observation—or exactly the kind of ambush that had just
occurred. After a moment, a man’s face peered out through the hole,
looking astonished.

Amira’s blood raged. She was far beyond any
kind of caution or mercy. She made her bead into a focused point
and flung it at the man. There was a sizzle and the man screamed,
falling back out of sight.

“The door!” Mason shouted.

“Garen, blast open the door!” Amira
repeated. “All your strength!” She could see it from here, between
the far legs of the table. Garen crawled that way. Amira heard an
irregular beat, and began to make out the sounds of boots thumping
somewhere, and orders being shouted. There must be armed men out in
the hall, preparing to rush in and kill them all.

Dardan risked a glance out the other side of
the table and almost had his head pierced by a crossbow bolt. He
jerked away from it as it thunked into the arm of a chair. “There’s
another one up there,” he grunted. “Go after Garen. They’ll have a
harder time hitting the foot of the table.”

Amira heard a
clank
behind her and
looked back. Mason had sheathed his sword and flopped onto his
back, then used the table legs to slide himself head-first toward
her. It was an odd way to move, but perhaps his only choice, given
the confined space under the table and his heavy armor.

She began to crawl after Garen, who had made
it to the far end of the long table. He gripped the table legs and
focused on the door beyond. Amira had to look away when the bead
reached its brightest, just before the detonation. The doors and a
good chunk of the walls surrounding them exploded into a storm of
wooden shards, mostly directed into the corridor beyond.

“Go!” Amira shouted. Garen crawled out
quickly, got to his feet, and plastered himself against the wall
next to the gaping ruins of the doorway. Whoever was shooting at
them from up above would not be able to hit him there. Amira
followed Garen out, with Dardan close on her heels. She put herself
opposite Garen, and then Dardan put himself in front of her.
“Behind me, you dolt,” she said, yanking him away by the arm so
that she could see.

He protested, but he was little more than an
obstruction to her just now. She could see a sliver of the corridor
and heard voices and movement. She caught Garen’s eye and pointed
over her shoulder, into the corridor. He nodded, leaned out, and a
moment later there was another crack from that direction, and
several agonized shouts.

She darted around the ruins of the doorframe
and looked the other way down the corridor. Up above must be the
hidden gallery, but there was no obvious way to reach it from here.
In the corridor were several men in disarray, holding swords or
crossbows. Some stood, some leaned against the wall in shock, and
others lay on the floor, injured or dying or dead.

A faint glimmer of sympathy surfaced in the
corner of Amira’s mind. But she reminded herself that these men
were trying to kill her, and she could give no quarter without
risking her life—and that of her husband, and Garen, and Mason, who
had finally extricated himself from under the table and taken up
position next to Garen. Mason, for all his oaths, was no fool;
Eltasi was trying to kill him, and his haunted expression showed
that he knew it.

One by one, Amira pushed her ember into the
calf muscle of each Eltasi soldier who remained standing, meaning
only to disable them for now.
Your mercy will be the death of
you,
a voice came unbidden, as each man screeched and fell to
the floor.

She would not show such mercy to Duke Eltasi
if she found him. She had a fancy for a moment of hunting down the
old bastard and killing him for his treachery, but he could be
anywhere by now, and they had to get out of here. “Mason. Lead the
way out. Garen and I will be at your sides. Dardan, watch our
back.”

The men all goggled at her for a moment, but
one by one they nodded. She felt a tightness in her chest, and knew
that if she stopped to think about it she’d fall to pieces right
here in the corridor. So she steeled herself, lifted the hem of her
skirt a little to avoid tripping on it, and marched down the
corridor beside an oathbound Warden, a blacksmith’s apprentice, and
an exiled count.