The man moved forward with a slight limp, speaking rapidly in the Gardier language. The guards hesitated, looking to an officer. The officer reluctantly nodded, as if confirming the strange man’s order.
The guards stepped back, motioning for them to continue.
Everyone looked uncertainly at Halian, who swallowed hard and looked at Giliead. Moving like a sleepwalker, Giliead straightened slowly and followed the guards.
The Gardier prodded them down a series of low tunnels starkly lit by bare electric bulbs, then into a long room where corrugated metal walls covered the stone. They passed heavy doors with narrow barred grilles in the center and Gerard could hear the soft movements and voices of the prisoners within. He caught a few disjointed words in Bisran, Aderassi, Rienish, Parscian.
They were prodded through a door at the far end into a long room with a barred cell along one side. Giliead hesitated, threw a glance back at the guns that were pointed at them, then entered the cell. Gerard followed with the others and the door slammed behind them with a note of finality.
The guards departed and everyone breathed a little more freely, shifting to try to find comfortable positions. It was narrow and there was barely enough room for all of them to crouch on the floor. Gerard rolled his shoulder tentatively, wincing. Everyone seemed to be nursing injuries. Gyan moved around so he could sit next to Dyani. Watching Gerard gravely, he leaned past her to say, “Thank you.”
“No trouble at all,” Gerard replied automatically. He wasn’t sure what the Gardier had wanted with her, but from Intelligence sources in Adera it was rumored that when the Gardier took prisoners they simply murdered anyone too young or too old or too sick to work. The girl was short and very young; they might have thought her a child.
He heard someone whisper, “Who did we lose?”
“Barias, Kevlead,” someone else reported softly.
“Jian and Nias, too,” another voice added.
The tally continued with other names Gerard didn’t recognize; they had lost nine men altogether. Halian swore softly, looking away.
Giliead hadn’t moved, though Gerard saw a muscle jump in his cheek as the names of the dead men were spoken. He was staring at the door into the cell area. Waiting. There was a little space around him as if the others had unconsciously drawn back, even Halian.
From what he had observed, Gerard could think of only one man who could make Giliead react that way. He shifted toward him to ask, “That was Ixion?”
Giliead glanced at him, so tense that the movement was stiff. “Yes.”
“Ah.” Gerard hesitated. To say he was on sensitive ground was a vast understatement. “I understood he was decapitated.”
“So did we,” Gyan muttered.
“He was,” Halian put in grimly. “I saw the severed head.”
Giliead’s head jerked up. “Quiet.”
A moment later Gerard heard the footfalls outside in the runnel. An uneasy rustle swept over the group and Dyani burrowed further back between Gyan and Gerard. Then the door rattled and swung open.
An armed Gardier entered first, followed by Ixion.
Gerard’s eyes narrowed as he studied the Syprian wizard. A sorcerer capable of the transformations Giliead and Ilias had described would be capable of advanced healing spells but. . .
How do you cast without a head
? The man must have prepared it all ahead of time, creating something like the architecture of a Great Spell: a magical construct so powerful, so carefully crafted that it would stand alone without a sorcerer to manipulate it.
Something that would activate just at his death. . .
. Gerard lifted his brows.
Chancy, but apparently it worked
.
Ixion stepped close to the bars near Giliead, saying, “It’s all right, they can’t speak Syrnaic.” He eased down into a sitting position with a grimace of pain. “The amulets they use to speak to their enemies don’t work with our language, either.” He glanced up at the other two Gardier who had followed him in. One was a guard, but the other was an officer, wearing one of the translator disks. His eyes met Ixion’s with barely concealed contempt and disgust.
Ixion shook his head, smiling as he turned back to Giliead. “They’re very odd. If you were invading a foreign land, wouldn’t you learn the language first?” His voice was cultured and mild, somehow not what Gerard would have expected. “They don’t even seem to understand the concept of learning a different tongue, even their scholars. The ones who learn even a few words are looked down on. Ridiculous, isn’t it?”
Gerard filed that information away for hopefully future use. Giliead’s stony expression didn’t alter. He said, “You looked better dead.”
“Oh, yes.” Ixion sighed, but his eyes were like chips of agate. “I had to re-create myself. Thanks to you and Ilias.” He looked around at the others. His eyes lingered for a moment on Gerard. “I see he isn’t here.”
“No.” Giliead smiled, his mouth a thin cold line. “You missed him.”
Ixion turned back toward him, something deliberate and snakelike in the motion. He watched Giliead thoughtfully. “We both know he’ll come after you.”
Giliead looked away, but his expression didn’t change.
He doesn’t believe they can come back
, Gerard realized. He wondered what Ixion had done that made Giliead feel Ilias was better off now. That being trapped in a strange world was a preferable fate for his friend.
Ixion shifted forward. “And when he comes, I want you to take me with you.”
Giliead’s eyes flicked up but he studied Ixion without surprise. “Which part of you would you like me to take this time?”
Ixion laughed. “I was lucky I had already started growing this body. When you severed my head I had only a few instants to transfer my consciousness.” He let out a sad sigh. “I was alone for a very long time, in the dark. I missed you both.”
Giliead jerked his chin at the Gardier. “You made new friends.”
“I only helped them because I had to.” Ixion widened his eyes. “They’re holding me prisoner.”
“Were they holding your leviathan prisoner too?”
“Now, if I didn’t help them capture you, I wouldn’t have a way off the island. I had actually made the creature before you killed me; it was sleeping in the bottom of one of the sea caves, and I woke it to help them search for you.” He considered Giliead again. “They want to know where the wizard is, the one who killed my poor leviathan.”
Giliead’s gaze didn’t waver. “He went back to his own land when the ship went down.”
“Ah.” Ixion spoke to the Gardier officer, who received this information with a grunt.
They saw the portal open and close
, Gerard thought. Perhaps their sorcerers could sense it, somehow, at least when it was within eyeshot.
The Gardier stared at them narrowly, then replied to Ixion. Ixion sighed, and told Giliead, “He says you’re lying. They think everybody is lying.” He frowned. “Why were you helping a foreign wizard?”
“He found your curse.” Giliead looked at him thoughtfully. “Right under the hearthstone where you left it. I destroyed it myself, stabbed it right through the heart. It screamed like a stuck pig.”
“Did he?” Ixion blinked. His half-formed features were hard to read. He seemed able to express exaggerated emotions, but Gerard suspected the real, spontaneous ones were too subtle to convey. His gaze returned to Gerard. “I don’t recognize your new friend.”
Gerard went still. Giliead didn’t react, but beside him Gerard felt Halian tense.
Gerard knew his mistake almost immediately. Halian was the only one of the others looking at Ixion. The other men were looking at the walls, the ceiling, at Halian or Giliead. Dyani had her head buried against Gyan’s arm. Gerard had been scrutinizing the sorcerer with thoughtful interest and that had set him apart, at least for Ixion. He smiled grimly, thinking,
Well, I might not be able to do anything to the Gardier but I’ll be happy to have a go at you
.
His white face expressionless, Ixion said, “I can smell my own kind, you know. There were two foreign wizards on the
Swift
. The second is no longer here. But perhaps he’s left something behind and will soon be back for it, like Ilias.” He stood slowly, and his gaze flicked from Giliead to Gerard. He said, “I could tell them, but they wouldn’t like me the better for it.”
Ixion walked out of the cell, the Gardier officer following him, barking questions, the other guards behind him. As the outer door clanged shut, the men made muttered exclamations of relief. Gerard leaned back against the stone wall, feeling his tension drain away and the pain of various bruises return.
“We’re well and truly in it,” Gyan said softly.
“You said it,” Arites agreed, sounding glum.
Halian was watching Giliead, who glared contemplatively at the cell door. Then Giliead turned his head slightly, saying, “Two wizards.”
“What?” Halian asked sharply.
Giliead stirred, turning toward them. “He said there were two wizards on the
Swift
.”
Gerard nodded, considering the man’s words thoughtfully. “He did.”
Halian glanced at Gerard, frowning. “Florian is part wizard, isn’t she? That must be what set him off.”
“Yes, I suppose it could be,” Gerard agreed reluctantly. He could think of one other prospect, but it seemed unlikely. At least he hoped it was unlikely.
F
Chapter 18
F
T
remaine asked Niles’s secretary Giaren to find some warm clothes for Ilias to supplement his own, which were inadequate for the weather. Then she found a room for him down the hall from hers and gave a brief lesson in how to work the bathroom taps. While he was changing, she went downstairs; there were a couple of things she had to do before they could go to town.
One of those things should have been a nap but the strong coffee she had been drinking for the past hour had made sleep impossible. She went back to the temporary infirmary but the nurse wouldn’t let her see Florian and Ander, claiming that while Ander seemed improved, he was still in serious condition and that Florian needed to rest. Muttering to herself, Tremaine went through a green baize doorway at the bottom of the stairs and found her way through the cramped hall beyond it. The muted buzz of the wireless led her to the room where the hotel’s switchboards were located. She knocked on the partly open door and peered around it to see a crowded little room packed with telephone equipment. A young man was seated in the old operator’s chair going through a pile of logbooks. He looked up with a frown. “Yes? Can I help you?”
Tremaine pasted an affable smile on her face. “I need to make a trunk call.”
“Oh?” The operator looked doubtful. Personal calls were supposed to be kept to a minimum at all times.
“I’m Tremaine Valiarde. I need to call my uncle Galiard and let him know I’m all right before he leaves town.” Tremaine widened her eyes and concentrated on looking earnest. “He gets so worried.”
Even though the Institute was under government control now, the Valiarde name still worked. “Well, all right, of course you’ll have to keep it short. . . .” He pushed the set toward her.
“Oh, of course.” Tremaine picked up the receiver, feeling that rush of excitement that was becoming almost familiar. Familiarity hadn’t diminished its appeal. Now she understood a little better how her father, Uncle Arisilde, all the others she had met over the years, could become addicted to this. When the switchboard operator answered, she said, “Garbardin 34222.”
She saw the wireless man glance up briefly. It wasn’t a particularly good neighborhood but it was a very old one and it would make sense that the Valiardes might have connections there. The man would probably be very surprised, possibly fatally so, to find out what kind of connections they were. While she was waiting for the operator to respond, the wireless man said, “I’m from Garbardin and I don’t recognize that exchange.”
Damn
. Her heart pounding, Tremaine covered the receiver. “It’s a private one.” She rolled her eyes and smiled. “You know how these old families are.”
He’s going to think I’m a fatuous moron but that’s fine as long as I get the damn call through
.
The wireless man gave her a polite smile back and nodded, returning to his logs. In her ear the tinny voice of the switchboard operator said, “One hour delay.”
Goddammit
. But it was only to be expected; the wires were probably swamped with calls. The army might even have started cutting them, to keep the Gardier from making use of the system. Tremaine hesitated. She could ask for the Institute priority code that would get the call put through immediately, but that would just draw attention to it. “Right.” She hung up, smiled at the wireless man again, and strolled out into the hall.
Tremaine tapped her teeth thoughtfully, her eyes on the door to Colonel Averi’s office.
Now the hard part
. The staff would be destroying the official military documents by now. The Institute people who hadn’t already left were getting rid of theirs down in the ballroom.
Here goes nothing
.
She walked in briskly. This had probably been the office of one of the hotel’s lesser managers: It had the same fine wood wainscoting and lily-shaped light fixtures of the more public rooms, but it was small and low-ceilinged. The original furniture had been removed and replaced with a makeshift desk fashioned out of a console table and paper file boxes were stacked on the floor. She smiled at the secretary, an older woman in an army auxiliary uniform, and said, “I’d like to see Colonel Averi, please.” Tremaine had watched Averi leave the hotel while she was looking for Niles’s assistant.
The woman glanced up at her uncertainly. She was sorting documents out of a file box, setting a stack aside on the desk. The discards, the ones that would be burned so they didn’t fall into Gardier hands, were on the floor in a wooden packing crate. “He isn’t here, miss. He’s gone down to the docks.”
Tremaine looked a little flustered. “Oh. He was supposed to leave a letter for me. Can you see if it’s in his desk?”
The woman obligingly got up and stepped into the inner office. Tremaine had a few quick seconds to burrow through the discard box. These weren’t secret documents—the secretary wouldn’t have been allowed to handle those. But Tremaine didn’t need secrets, she just needed the standard form that the Vienne War Office used to send Averi his orders. She found an old one almost immediately, giving Averi authorization to bring Captain Feraim in on the Institute’s project.
Perfect
.