“Nyuku?” The color drained from Colivar’s face so quickly that he could not stop it. The sorcerous tendrils surrounding him began to prick at his mental armor like a thousand tiny spears, seeking insight into his reaction; it took all his skill—and emotional composure—to fend them off. He could not afford to let these Magisters see how much that name stirred his blood, lest they guess at the cause.
Nyuku is here. In my world. The name sent emotions surging through his veins that he thought he’d conquered long ago. Deep inside, where none of the other Magisters could see, he trembled.
But if Lazaroth noticed his guest’s discomfort, he showed no sign of it. “Aye. The name was cited several times in Anukyat’s records, as that of the Kannoket who negotiated with him. He may have played a leadership role in the invasion or simply been left behind to guard its flank. Either way, he left his mark all over the terrain, as did one particular Souleater. The fact that those two traces were almost always found together would seem to imply there was some kind of working relationship between them, though we haven’t yet determined its nature. When Nyuku left Alkali, after Anukyat’s death, apparently the Souleater did so as well.” He paused. “All in all, my witches estimate that approximately three dozen Souleaters crossed through the breach. A guard has now been established to watch for any new arrivals, but I suspect that plan will amount to . . . “ He sighed. “I believe the applicable phrase is, ‘shutting the barn door after the horse has left.’ ”
Most of the colony must have come south, Colivar thought. He was stunned by the revelation. How could they all have managed the crossing? Even with one of the Spears damaged, the Wrath still remained a formidable barrier. Only the strongest individuals should have been able to cross it.
Or the weakest.
Cold. The memories were so cold. Colivar felt an urge to wrap his arms about himself, as if that could somehow ward them off. Cursing silently, he forced himself to relax his body instead. But it was too late. Ramirus had clearly taken note of his fleeting disquiet, and his eyes were fixed on Colivar now, trying to determine its cause. Though direct sorcerous inquiries would net him nothing, human insight alone was a powerful tool. Colivar would rather face a hundred sorcerers on the battlefield than try to keep secrets from this one.
“You know this Nyuku?” Ramirus asked him quietly.
Colivar knew that he would have to choose his lies carefully; he could not afford to make a mistake with this many Magisters present. “Long ago . . . as you know . . . I lived in the north. There were rumors back then of someone who had crossed the Wrath and lived to talk about it. I heard the name Nyuku mentioned. Whether that was the same man I do not know.”
“What else did you hear about him?” Lazaroth asked.
You mean, what else that I am willing of speak of? He drew in a deep breath, his mind racing as he tried to decide just how much information to offer up. Too little would just convince them that he was hiding something important. Too much would lead to questions he dared not answer. “It was said that north of the Wrath there were men who had established some sort of partnership with the Souleaters. Each man was allied to a particular ikati in a sort of . . . spiritual union. Supposedly the creatures were willing to carry these men upon their backs. They had to be mutilated in order to make that possible—some of the dorsal spikes had to be removed—but I guess the ikati found that acceptable. Or so legends claimed, back then.” He glanced at Ramirus. “The one that Rhys killed had been mutilated thus. That is why I guessed what I did about its origins.”
“Aye,” Ramirus said thoughtfully. “I remember that.”
Sulah’s eyes narrowed skeptically. “Tradition says that any man who comes too close to a Souleater will be drained of life. But that can’t be the case if men are using them for transport.”
Colivar shrugged stiffly. “These were only tales that I heard, many centuries ago.” Would his tone sound truthful enough? This was dangerous ground. “I cannot even vouch for their source, much less their accuracy.”
“So it may be that this Nyuku and his Souleater were such a pair,” Lazaroth said thoughtfully. “That would certainly explain the traces we found.”
“And I think possibly we have seen another one,” Ramirus said.
“You mean Kostas?” Sulah asked. “That was Danton’s Magister Royal, yes?”
“Perhaps,” Ramirus said. “Or perhaps he was something else, that simply posed as a Magister. Do not mistake me: He did have real power at his disposal. Enough to convince Danton that he was one of us. But according to my investigations, all his spells were small ones. Showy on occasion, but always limited in scope. So he might have been using some kind of witchery rather than true sorcery.” He paused. “Or perhaps there is a third variant of power that we do not yet know about, which these invaders wield. At any rate, the appearance of a Souleater within minutes of Kostas’ death certainly suggests they were connected. And if the stories Colivar heard are correct . . . then the mutilation we saw would imply that both of them were from north of the Wrath.”
“If Kostas and Nyuku were working together,” Lazaroth said, “then I think we can guess at their intentions. Nyuku used Anukyat to manipulate the Alkali Guardians, and through them an entire Protectorate. Kostas sought a position as counselor to one of the most powerful men on the continent. They seek control over morati society.”
“Predators with political aspirations,” Ramirus mused. “Interesting.”
“How many do you think are playing that game?” Sulah asked. “Passing themselves off as locals—or Magisters—as they quietly move into positions of authority?”
Ramirus shook his head sharply. “Not many are likely to be successful at that game. Remember, this Nyuku kept to the shadows for as long as he could. He never tested his disguise at court. And Kostas, who lived more openly, was peculiar enough in his demeanor that even Danton’s servants took note of it. Such men are easy to pick out once the full light of day shines upon them.”
“Aye,” Lazaroth mused, “I remember hearing rumors that Danton’s new Magister was not a human being at all, but rather some kind of malevolent spirit. Perhaps even a demon.” He shrugged. “Magisters collect rumors about them the way whores collect trinkets, so I didn’t bother to investigate. But perhaps these invaders don’t play the human game as well as they think they do. If so, that’s a factor we can exploit.”
“When did the Alkali invasion begin?” Colivar asked him. “Do we have any idea?”
“All the traces we could find appear to be recent,” Lazaroth told him. “Our best guess is that the crossing began earlier this year. Master Favias says that the Alkali Guardians stopped visiting the other Protectorates a few months ago, and disturbances in the Wrath were also noted about the same time. We are guessing that is the most likely time frame.”
Colivar nodded. “Which means that Kostas was a newcomer to our world when he first appeared at Danton’s court. His people had been isolated for centuries, trapped in one of the harshest regions on earth, with beasts as their closest companions. Our entire world was alien to him. Sorcery could have provided him with the raw knowledge he needed to walk among us, to speak our language, and not to make major gaffs, but internalizing all that knowledge would have required time and practice. He might have planned to put more time into training before making his public debut, had Ramirus not forced his hand by leaving Danton’s service prematurely. An opportunity that could not be missed. Under the circumstances, it’s to his credit that he managed to appear as human as he did.
“But those who follow after him will not necessarily suffer from the same handicaps. The longer these invaders are in our world, the more time they will have to perfect their masquerade. And even if there are still signs that give such men away, how do you propose we seek them out? With Magisters it is easy to say ‘all new faces are suspect’ and investigate anyone who made his first appearance among us in the past few months, but there are far too many morati in the world to support tha
t kind of strategy. Can you imagine the chaos that would ensue if the human hordes found out that any stranger in their midst might be the vanguard of an invading army? The streets would run red with blood.”
Ramirus’ deep-set eyes fixed on him. “Do you really believe that a man from such an alien world could adapt himself perfectly enough to this one to become indistinguishable from . . . say . . . you or me?”
Colivar drew in a sharp breath. Did Ramirus mean that question to be the double-edged sword it was? Or was it just an accident of phrasing? He kept his voice carefully neutral as he responded, “Human beings are extraordinarily adaptable. In time . . . with sorcery and sufficient practice . . . yes, I believe such a man might be able to pass as human. A normal human, that is. “ He looked at Ramirus and added, “Well enough to fool even you.”
“And such a masquerade may not be necessary for all of them,” Lazaroth pointed out. “Not if they have allies in the southern kingdoms.”
For a moment there was silence. The name of Siderea Aminestas hung in the air between them, unvoiced but not unacknowledged.
“Ramirus. Sulah.” Lazaroth leaned forward, steepling his fingers on the table before him. “You, like myself, never patronized the great whore. Colivar . . . I’ve heard that she collected tokens from her lovers, to serve as anchors for her witchery. But that she no longer has yours. Is that true?”
“She used it to call me to her in Corialanus,” Colivar responded. “And I did not replace it. So yes, that much is true.”
“Is there anyone else for whom that is the case?”
Colivar hesitated. “Fadir was summoned the same day that I was, so his token was also destroyed. I don’t know if he ever replaced it. Or how many other Magisters she might also have summoned the same day, who chose not to respond. But matters with Siderea went downhill very quickly after that; I would be surprised if any Magister would have been willing to give her a new token once he saw what was happening to her.”
Lazaroth nodded. “So five of us know for a fact that we are free of her influence. How many others can say the same?”
Colivar’s eyes narrowed slightly. “The tokens you speak of are destroyed by even the most casual use. The owner’s trace is tenuous at best, and will not support a spell of any significance. Such items would not have been given to a morati if they had any real power.”
“I credit you with believing that,” Lazaroth said coldly, “though I am sure you would tell me the same story even if you didn’t. That said, I also credit Queen Siderea with being intelligent enough to know how to leverage those bits of power to greatest effect.”
“Without doubt,” Ramirus muttered.
“A man’s purpose can be swayed by a single dream, his plans undermined by a single well-placed doubt. The men who gave her tokens were her lovers, her companions, her advisers—which means that she knows them as well as any morati can. Are you going to tell me now, with absolute certainty, that she would not know how to conjure such a dream, or insert such a doubt? Or that such tokens could not help her target Magisters with an even greater act of witchery, by circumventing their normal defenses?”
For a moment Colivar said nothing. Even the thoughts in his head were still. “No,” he said at last. “I can’t tell you that.”
Lazaroth leaned back in the chair, his expression darkly triumphant. “From what I hear, her ex-lovers are scouring the world to figure out where she has gone. They want their toys back. Yet it seems that no sorcery can find her. Nor can it locate the Souleaters. Three dozen demons may be loose in our world, and the most powerful men in existence cannot conjure up so much as a piddling clue as to where they went. That worries me, Magisters. It worries me a lot.” He paused, then suggested quietly, “Perhaps we should be worrying about it together.”
Ramirus raised an eyebrow. “You are proposing some kind of cooperative effort?”
“You know as well as I do what will happen if we fail to get this situation under control.”
“That was not my question.”
Lazaroth nodded. “Then, yes, I am suggesting we four pool our efforts. And we could invite Fadir to join us, if you think he would be an asset. But no others. For the reasons already discussed.”
“Others could not be trusted,” Colivar said. The irony of the concept amused him.
“Precisely.”
Colivar looked at Ramirus. The expression on the Magister’s face was neither surprised nor derisive. In fact, Ramirus had told Colivar a while back that some kind of cooperative effort might become necessary in time. Doubtless he was contemplating whether this particular effort was the one he’d been waiting for.
If Ramirus is still working for House Aurelius, Colivar mused, then we serve rival monarchs once more. Will he commit to becoming my ally in one war while we are still enemies in another?
But of course he knew the answer to that. Ramirus lived for this kind of challenge. The fact that it might prove genuinely dangerous only added spice to the game. How many things were there in the world that could threaten a Magister in any meaningful way?
The white-haired Magister nodded slowly, his fingers stroking his long beard as he spoke. “Your argument is a bit unorthodox, Lazaroth, but there is no denying its merit. I am skeptical about how well the details will play out, but it’s clear we’ve come to a crossroads here, and we cannot just stagger blindly forward.
“I for one am old enough to remember the Dark Ages. I do not wish to return to that time. Ever.” He nodded shortly. “So yes. I would be willing to share information with this company, as it pertains to the Souleater invasion. To see what our common resources can make of it.”
“As would I,” Sulah offered.
Lazaroth looked at Colivar. There was a challenge in his eyes.
“I will do the same,” Colivar said quietly.
How carefully you crafted that promise, Ramirus! Promising the world but committing to nothing. Was that for my benefit? Did you fear that I would shy away from a commitment to share everything I knew? Or were you just wary of making such a promise yourself?
You have always hungered after my knowledge, and now you have a context in which to lay claim to it. How pleased you must be that Lazaroth’s’ plan serves your agenda so well!
Of course, he mused, that was probably not a coincidence. Ramirus was not the kind of Magister who left things to chance. The only question was whether he had actually conspired with Lazaroth or had relied upon more subtle means to manipulate him into doing what he wanted. Knowing Ramirus as well as he did, Colivar guessed the latter was more likely.
My ancient and esteemed rival, he thought soberly, you are more dangerous to me than all the Souleaters put together.
Given his personal history, that was a truly daunting thought.
Standing on the walkway that edged the roof of Kierdwyn Castle, observing how the late afternoon sun shimmered on the snow-capped mountains to the north, Colivar waited. Normally he would have left the Protectorate as soon as Lazaroth’s meeting was over, but he still had one more piece of business to take care of.
Then the iron-banded door opened, and a Magister stepped through.
Ramirus.
Colivar nodded as the other man came to where he stood and gazed out at the view by his side. Colivar said nothing immediately, just ran his finger along the edge of the parapet, pausing to note where a dark stain marked the coarse stone. “I gather there was a suicide here once,” he said in a companionable tone.
Ramirus glanced down at the mark. “Almost. It was interrupted.”
Colivar bound enough sorcery to identify the blood’s owner. “Rhys.”
Ramirus nodded. “The despair of a man who suddenly discovers that he has betrayed someone he cares about can drive him to desperate extremes. It also makes for an interesting study.”
“A death wish that strong is never completely overcome,” Colivar said quietly, “though it may take on other guises. Sometimes the thing we call ‘courage’ is simply its public
face.”
Ramirus raised an eyebrow. “You think Rhys’ courage was no more than that? A death wish?”
“No. I researched his history, and I’m satisfied he was a genuine martyr. Rare as that breed may be. But I wonder . . . had he hungered for life in his final hours, the way men naturally do, might it have made a difference? Might he have made different choices at key moments? Leading to different paths, different options, and ultimately a way to accomplish his goal without dying?” He shrugged. “I was not at the battle, so I don’t know all the details of what went on there. But it’s an interesting question to contemplate.”
Ramirus snorted softly. “You wax philosophical tonight.”
Colivar shrugged. “Perhaps the current state of the world brings out the philosopher in me.” He wiped his finger on his shirt, leaving a streak of dust behind. “The Alkali campaign was interesting, at any rate. With some interesting participants. I was especially intrigued by the witch who helped us out. The red-headed one. What was her name?”
“Kamala?”
“A curious creature. What did you make of her?”
Ramirus shrugged. “She is very skilled. She knows her art. She also knows Magister customs better than outsiders usually do; I would not be surprised to learn that she served as companion to a Magister at one point.” He stared out at the mountains once more. “I found it easy to read her emotions, impossible to read her soul. Sorcery slides right off her —but I am sure you know all that.”
“She used her power very freely,” he suggested.
“A woman in love does foolish things, sometimes. And a man, for that matter. I have seen witches burn up their final athra for less.” He looked at Colivar curiously. “You have a special interest in this woman?”
“I have a special interest in any witch willing to expend her life-essence for a cause. If we can find enough of them, the Magisters can keep to the sidelines in this war.”