Ruslan looked at Kiran. “Well,
akhelysh?
What information did we glean from our quarry?”
Kiran struggled to order his mind. Though his emotions had calmed, his thoughts still felt dismayingly scattered, the flame of his
ikilhia
oddly erratic. “He uses the blood of his victims in some fashion, though I don’t see how blood from the dead can support any significant spellwork…” Even old blood could hold power, true, but far less than metals or gems. “Whatever his method of magic, it cannot be sustained for long; he was concerned about it running out. He cursed with the name Vaz-Kavash, like it was a god’s name, but I’ve never read of that god in the southern or eastern pantheons. That implies he’s not Varkevian, Sulanian, or Arkennlander by heritage.”
“Vaz-Kavash is the name certain Kaithan tribes give the lord of dust and bone, the carrier of dead souls,” Lizaveta said thoughtfully.
Ruslan nodded. “That combined with their myths about ghouls makes me think our quarry is Kaithan by birth. But his heritage is far less important than the implication of his attitude toward mages. Hard as it may be to believe, I suspect our quarry is
nathahlen
.”
“Not a mage?” Mikail sounded stunned. “But…how can that be? Mere charms can’t provide such thorough protection against defensive magic. Even the Tainted cannot stand against mages as this man has done.”
Kiran had to agree with Mikail. “I don’t see how an untalented man could have survived the strike I cast against him in the workroom this morning, let alone disappear as if by will.”
Ruslan shook his head, slowly. “I share your confusion,
akhelyshen.
If he is merely a mage’s catspaw, then that mage is far cleverer than I had imagined to cover his participation so well. The man whose thoughts we heard believes himself the architect of these attacks.”
“How interesting.” Lizaveta traced a finger along her slender silver blade. “A
nathahlen
enemy…we have not been threatened by such a one in countless long years.”
“A threat we must remove soon.” Ruslan’s tone was far heavier than Kiran would have expected. “Sister mine, I fear my pessimism is confirmed. The deaths and attempted disruption of water magic are secondary to our enemy’s main aim: the destruction of the confluence.”
“The confluence?” Kiran stared, shock piercing layers of calm. “‘The great wound in the mother-vein, cauterized at last’…that’s what you think he means? How could he possibly hope to do it?” That incredible sea of magic, so wild and deep that even the spells of the
akheli
left no more than ripples on its surface…Kiran couldn’t imagine how any mage could seriously affect it, let alone a
nathahlen
.
“It has happened before,” Ruslan said. “Far from here, and with a confluence much smaller in size…but I have seen it done.” His eyes held Lizaveta’s, sharing some memory that turned their faces strange and ancient, a brief glimpse of the centuries that lay beneath their unchanging vitality. “A confluence exists because a balance of forces within the earth restricts the usual flow of magic, instead causing it to pool like water in a cistern. Disrupt those forces enough, and the magic will burst free to seek new paths, in similar fashion to spell energies when a channel pattern is too weak to control their flow.”
“But a backlash of forces as powerful as the confluence’s…” Kiran went cold.
Soon, all the vipers will burn…
“That would kill every mage in the entire Painted Valley.” Along with any
nathahlen
bound to them; and the
nathahlen
who survived the initial magical conflagration would find themselves without water.
“Yes,” Ruslan said simply. “And distance will not save any mages who might flee. All of us who reside here have made blood vows to Sechaveh that link us irrevocably to the confluence.”
Kiran swallowed. He didn’t remember making any such vows, though it could well have happened in the days he’d lost. Not that it mattered—the mark-bond he and Mikail shared with Ruslan meant any vows Ruslan had made linked them just as tightly to the confluence.
“Isn’t there some way we might dissolve that link?” Mikail asked. “If the binding could be released, we could seek safety elsewhere, and return afterward—”
Ruslan snorted. “To what? Should our enemy succeed, this valley will be left as barren of magic as the mountains. I will not run away like some sniveling charm-maker. Lizaveta and I searched for long decades to find a source of magic plentiful as this one. No one, mage or
nathahlen
, will take it from me.”
“If you know how this disruption of forces is done—how do we counter him?” Kiran asked.
“By destroying him,” Ruslan said. “We have not the time to counter him otherwise. To hold the balance of forces, we would first have to map their every detail; whereas our enemy needs no such knowledge. Think of a spinning top: easy for a child to flick it over with a finger. Far more difficult to use that same finger to keep the top in continuous motion. Thankfully, our enemy’s mediocre level of talent once again works in our favor. If he had the strength to alter confluence currents as we
akheli
can, he could have pulled the earth-forces out of balance long since. But instead of altering the currents to his design, I believe he waits for the confluence’s natural pattern to be in a propitious alignment, and then causes upheavals large enough to send the currents battering against the forces that contain them. A crude, brute-force method, and one that will need time and repetition to succeed. I think we have a week, perhaps even two, before he can increase the stability of the confluence beyond recovery.”
A week didn’t sound very long to Kiran at all. He exchanged a troubled glance with Mikail, who asked, “Do you know the alignment he seeks, and can we predict its next occurrence? If we knew when he would next strike…”
“Prediction is always challenging with currents as complex as those of the confluence, but yes, I intend to anticipate him,” Ruslan said. “Then we will see how he fares when facing not one
akheli
, but four.” The smile he swept over Kiran, Mikail and Lizaveta shone with savage anticipation.
No wonder Ruslan had wanted him to study wounding spells. Kiran would have no hesitation whatsoever casting against the man who’d so badly injured both him and Mikail.
Lizaveta stretched, slow and languid. “A shame we’ll have to kill him swiftly. Death seems so meager a payment for the trouble he’s caused us
.
But here, brother…your
akhelyshen
are wavering on their feet. Show them some kindness and let them rest while I help you analyze the confluence currents.”
It was true, Mikail looked exhausted, and Kiran felt little better. Even without his active participation, the spellcasting had left him drained and weary, especially coming so soon upon his body’s healing.
“Your advice is as excellent as ever.” Ruslan kissed her hand and nodded to Kiran and Mikail. “Rest while you can. The hunt will come soon, and I need you both ready to cast.”
Kiran followed his mage-brother out of the workroom, the stained anchor stone looming large in his mind. Ready to cast…he had to get over his reluctance over blood magic, and soon. With the life of every mage in Ninavel resting on their spellwork, he couldn’t afford to balk. If he could only understand why he struggled so with the idea of harming
nathahlen…
He stopped short near the base of the staircase. “Mikail.”
Mikail swung around. His gaze flicked to Kiran’s white-knuckled grip on the iron banister. “What’s wrong?”
“Something happened, didn’t it? In the time I can’t remember. Something to do with a
nathahlen
, that caused the…squeamishness I feel now. You have to tell me what it was.”
Mikail’s mouth set in a hard line. “Nothing happened.”
Kiran descended to take his shoulders. “Don’t lie. Not to me. Please, Mikail…” He bent his forehead against Mikail’s. “Something changed me, left me weak. I know it in my bones. How can I overcome the weakness if I don’t know the cause?”
Mikail’s breathing faltered. His hands slid up to tangle in Kiran’s hair. “You’re not weak, Kiran. You’re just…recovering. Believe me, remembering the past wouldn’t help that recovery one jot.”
“You don’t know that,” Kiran insisted.
Mikail let out a laugh that was halfway to a sob. He drew back, enough so he could hold Kiran’s gaze. “Little brother,
trust
me. You know I’d give my life for you. The past has nothing you need. If you’ve any love for me…then promise me you’ll leave this be.”
He waited, eyes fierce. Kiran pulled him close again, so Mikail couldn’t see his face, and said quietly, “I promise.”
A pang of guilt stabbed him when Mikail relaxed. But it was love that had driven him to lie; if he didn’t want Mikail punished for his sake, he had to find the key to remove his own reluctance. Besides, he’d meant part of the promise: he wouldn’t task Mikail with any more questions.
Mikail wasn’t the only person he could ask. Once Mikail had fallen into exhausted sleep, and Ruslan and Lizaveta were barricaded behind wards to study the confluence, Kiran would have a precious window of time in which he could leave the house unhindered and unobserved. A chance he didn’t intend to waste.
Chapter Sixteen
(Dev)
“H
ere we go,” I muttered to Lena, and pushed open the door of the Silvermule tavern’s back room. Inside waited Red Dal, lounging in a battered old chair with his legs kicked out before him and a drink in his hand. His collar was open, the wide crimson birthmark that’d inspired his name showing like a splash of blood at the hollow of his throat. The warm glow of the oil lamp overhead revealed signs of age the darkness had hidden during my vigil outside his Tainter den. Gray threaded his dark curls, and the lines graven in his mahogany skin were far deeper and more numerous than I remembered. He still bore the glint of mischief in his eyes that’d charmed me blind as a kid.
I hadn’t been in the same room with him in years. Even after all this time, seeing him up close burned like I’d swallowed magefire. Yet at the same time, a near-manic anticipation bubbled through me, strong as any I’d felt upon climbing the final pitch up a mountain summit. After all these months, I’d walk out of this room with Melly’s freedom assured at last.
Red Dal raised his glass in greeting. Ward charms glinted on his wrists, though his real protection was his arrangement with Acaltar’s top ganglord. Anyone who touched him would answer to her deathdealers. Word was she even employed a mage or two to take care of particularly tough targets.
Red Dal said, “It’s been a long time, Dev, hasn’t it? Nice to see you’ve turned your hand to brokering. I always like to see one of my kids do well for himself, and you were one of my best.”
His words were warm, his expression fond with a wistful hint of nostalgia. Bitterness scalded me. “I see you’ve the same smooth tongue.”
Red Dal’s dimples deepened. “Sit, and let’s discuss what I can do for you…and your employer.” His laughing brown eyes raked over the silver sigils patterning Lena’s overtunic. If he was surprised to see me working for a mage, he was too canny to show it.
Two equally hard-used chairs sat facing his. The windowless room was barren of all else. Red Dal didn’t bother with an office. Enough streetside taverns had private rooms and owners willing to keep their mouths shut that he didn’t lack in spots to meet potential clients.
Lena stalked over to the nearest chair and lowered herself to sit piton-straight on the very edge of the seat, doing a fair imitation of Stevan at his most icily impassive. I followed, but didn’t sit, instead standing behind and to her left like a sulaikh-servant.
Red Dal sipped from his cup, watching her over the rim. “I must say I’m a trifle puzzled, now you’re here. Dev’s message implied we might do business…but what can a humble man like myself do for a mage?”
“I require a certain commodity I was told you could provide.” Lena’s tone was as coldly polite as her face.
Red Dal’s eyes took on a gleam of interest. “And this commodity would be?” Plenty of scholars and highside collectors hired Taint thieves to steal items out of a rival’s house. Mages didn’t usually do the same, since the Taint wasn’t much good against active casting, but it happened on rare occasion.
“I am researching the interaction of the Taint and magic, and I need a strongly Tainted subject for study,” Lena said.
Red Dal lost a little of his smile. “Oh my. I’m afraid that could be difficult. Unless…” The smile returned, full force. “How old would the subject need to be?”
I knew what the rat bastard was thinking. He wouldn’t want to lose an experienced Tainter at the height of his or her power, but a toddler just old enough to show real talent would be a different story. It’s not easy to find strongly Tainted kids, but certainly not impossible.
“The best subject for my research would be a child close to their Change. I’m told you have a girl nearing that age.” Lena didn’t look at me, but Red Dal did, his eyes sharp.
“You surprise me, Dev. I thought you had a fond spot for my kids.”
I kept my body relaxed and my expression sardonic. “So? Fondness doesn’t mean shit when it comes to a payday. Learned that from you, in fact.” I gave him a sandcat’s razored grin. “You know the one law in Ninavel.”
“Profit over all,” Red Dal agreed, with a sly, conspiratorial wink that made my hand ache for my boneshatter charm.
Lena allowed a hint of irritation to cross her face. “Is the child available, or isn’t she?”
Red Dal set his cup down on the floor, his expression shifting to one of pained regret. “Unfortunately, she’s already spoken for, and my next oldest is still a good few years shy of his Change. I could make inquiries for you in other districts…”
He was far too cagey to have signed a contract yet. He just didn’t want to lose the nice fat windfall the bids for Melly had promised him. I bit my tongue and didn’t look at Lena. I’d warned her he might not cooperate at first. Now she’d have to get creative.
“I’ve made my own inquires,” Lena said, colder than ever. “Your oldest child is the closest match for my needs. Are you saying you refuse me?” She lifted a hand, silver light sparking on her rings. Red Dal’s tin cup glowed cherry red and melted into a sludge of metal.