Full Circle (sample)

Prologue 

The Witch-King had thought that time was meaningless.

He was a lich, after all, a dead body held permanently in suspension by magic.  He had waited for a thousand years for his plans to come to fruition and he could have happily waited another thousand, if necessary.  What did the passage of time mean to him when there were minds to bend and living people to manipulate like pieces on a game board?  Indeed, part of him would even miss the sensation of covertly steering events from his lofty vantage, ensuring that matters went the way that best pleased him.

But now ... time was moving again.

Deferens - the Emperor, his tool - had taken power and was readying himself to deliver the magic that would end the Witch-King’s long rest and bring him back into the world of men.  Other pieces, carefully groomed for their roles, were already playing their parts, spreading chaos across the world.  There would be no organised resistance as the Empire slipped into civil war, nothing to stop the Witch-King returning to the Golden City to take power and finish the work he had begun, thousands of years ago.  The hour of victory was at hand ...

And yet, randomness was the enemy.

He'd always known that randomness might disrupt his plans.  His ability to influence even the greatest magicians was limited, while his ability to steer the paths of mundanes was non-existent.  Sheer random chance had impeded his plans before ... but then, he’d always been able to pull back, secure in the knowledge that his existence, let alone his influence, remained unsuspected.  Now, a handful of people did know of him; knew of him, feared him and intended to destroy him.  Their prospects of success were laughable, at best, and yet the thought nagged at his mind.  He’d seen too many carefully-constructed plans fall apart as randomness took hold, to dismiss them entirely ...

... And now, he couldn't pull back and wait for centuries before trying again.

They could destroy me, he thought.

It wasn't something he wanted to contemplate.  He’d gone further than anyone else in his studies of magic, exploring vast vistas that most magicians refused to consider even existed - and he’d succeeded.  The simple fact that he’d survived over a thousand years without going mad was proof of his success.  But now there was another magician who understood the deeper layers of magic, bonded to a young man who had no idea of the true nature of his powers.  The tools to destroy the Witch-King were at hand, if they knew how to use them, and they’d been spared the contamination that would have opened their minds to his influence.  

He was vulnerable.  He could be destroyed.

Part of him regretted what had to be done.  He had never talked to a true equal since he’d hidden himself away, fearing what would happen if a newcomer learnt his true nature.  It would be nice, perhaps, to bandy words with them before killing them, to talk as equals across a table ...

... But not at the cost of his own survival.  And he’d lived too long to place his life at risk now.

He reached out with his mind, feeling the threads of magic that linked him to hundreds of magicians.  Deferens, his mind permanently on the brink between sanity and madness, was his tool, even though he would never know it.  The ambition that burnt through him was easy to steer to a new target, feeding an obsession that had no logical cause.  His forces would swoop forward and claim the Principality Ida, then hold it while the Witch-King rose from the shadows and took power.  Nothing would be allowed to get in the way.

And yet, matters were so close ...

Standing at the cusp of godhood - or nemesis - the Witch-King waited.  

He could do nothing else.

Chapter One

The dragon didn't like her.

Charity, former Head of House Conidian, quivered as the dragon’s massive eyes turned to follow her.  It was an immense beast, easily the size of a small house, with giant bat-like wings and eyes that glowed like embers of coal.  Its teeth were sharp, covered in stains that had to be blood; its claws flexed, tearing great holes in the ground.  It was hard, so hard, to stand close to the creature and not turn and flee.  She was convinced that the only thing saving her from becoming a tasty snack was the iron will of her master, Emperor Vlad.

“Get up,” the Emperor ordered, curtly.

Charity swallowed as the oath she’d sworn to him forced her forward.  It grew hotter as she approached the dragon, the warmth a reminder of the fire in its belly, but the scales on its back were surprisingly cool.  Somehow, she managed to scramble up onto the dragon’s back and sit there, clinging to the scales for dear life.  The Emperor snickered, then turned to his men and glowered at them.

“If a mere woman can do it,” he growled, “so can you.”

Bastard, Charity thought coldly, as snowflakes drifted down around her.  Cursing him in her mind was the only thing she could do to keep herself sane, after everything he'd done to her.  Making her wear a harem outfit that was utterly unsuited to the cold weather was the least of it.  You don’t have them under obedience charms and oaths.

She looked down at the Emperor, feeling bitter hatred and helplessness curdling in her gut.  He was a tall muscular man, wearing a red shirt and kilt; a wand, a sword and a handful of daggers glinted at his belt.  His long black hair hung down around his shoulders, wild and unkempt; the neatly-trimmed beard provided an odd contrast, a message Charity didn't really understand at all.  But she knew him too well to feel any attraction; he’d killed the Grand Sorceress, claimed the throne and then offered her a flat choice between serving him or immediate death.  In hindsight, death would have been preferable.

The Emperor smirked as his men - the red-robed magicians, the oath-bound Inquisitors and a number of his private guards - climbed onto their dragons, then he scrambled up beside Charity and sat in front of her.  Charity was almost relieved, even though she would sooner have cuddled up to a man-eating yeti than the Emperor.  At least she wouldn't be riding the dragon alone.

“Up,” the Emperor commanded.

Charity braced herself, just in time.  The dragon unfurled its wings, flapped them once and hurled itself into the air.  Charity looked down as they rose higher, feeling an unaccustomed sense of vertigo as the Golden City shrank beneath them.  The skies echoed with howls from the dragons, a sound unheard for nearly a thousand years.  It had been a long time since the very last dragon was exterminated.  Now, even though the Emperor was bringing them back into the world, there was no one alive who knew how to stop a dragon.  They’d torn through the wards of a dozen Great Houses as though they were made of paper.

The air grew colder, rapidly, as they rose above the Seven Peaks and stared down at the remains of the Watchtower.  Once, the Inquisitors had watched over the Golden City, their firm but fair judgements respected by all.  Now, the Watchtower was gone - and no one knew how it had been destroyed - while the Inquisitors, oath-bound to serve the Emperor, followed Vlad and did his bidding.  They couldn't break their sworn oaths and live.

Magic crackled around them - the Emperor let out a whoop of pure glee - as the dragons flew over the mountains, heading straight for the nearest city.  Knawel Haldane stood only a bare couple of hours from the Golden City - less, if one rode the Iron Dragons - and it had always been loyal to the Empire.  But now, with rumours flying everywhere and hundreds of Court Wizards either dead or trapped in the Golden City, the Empire was coming apart.  Kings were declaring independence, rogue magicians were carving out states of their own ...

... And everyone else was caught in the middle.

Charity shuddered at the thought, helplessly.  She’d never really cared about the mundanes, about those unlucky enough to be born without magic.  Indeed, she hadn't cared that much about her Powerless brother ... and hadn’t that turned into a joke, now Johan had become a dangerously powerful and unstable magician?  Who cared about the opinions of people who were helpless against even the mildest compulsion hex?  But now, her enslavement - and she was a slave, no matter her official title - showed her just how the mundanes must have felt, when they looked at her powerful family.  Helpless, unable to do anything to protect themselves ...

Jamal enjoyed wielding his power, she thought, bitterly.  It was true; her eldest brother had been a bullying sadist, picking on everyone weaker than him.  But was I really that much better?

It was an uncomfortable question.  She'd expected to find herself married off to an older magician, not to find herself Head of House Conidian.  Jamal would inherit the title, after all; everyone else would be expected to deport themselves to support him.  And so she’d spent her days going to parties, shopping and generally having fun.  There had been no thought of preparing herself for any other life.  But now House Conidian was in ruins, her two younger siblings hostages and she was a slave.

“Knawel Haldane,” the Emperor said.  “Burn!”

Charity felt her stomach rebel as the dragon swooped down, opening its mouth to spew out a raging torrent of flame.  The guardhouse below exploded into fire, the handful of guards and makeshift defences incinerated before they had a chance to do anything ... as if there was anything they could do.  She shuddered as the dragon pulled up, then blasted a stream of fire into a line of houses, exploding them one by one.  An arrow glanced off the dragon’s scales as someone tried to fight back, only to be vaporised by a blast of fire a second later.

“A real man,” the Emperor said.  His deep voice was tinged with heavy satisfaction.  “But also a fool.”

Magic flickered around them, again, as a handful of wizards tried to mount a defence, shooting off hexes and curses from their tower.  The Emperor snickered as five of the dragons detached themselves from the rest and threw themselves on the tower, ripping it apart with casual ease.  A lone figure, standing on top of the tower and waving her arms as she tried to cast a protective ward that might stand against the dragons, fell to her death in the flames.  Charity felt a stab of pity, but she knew there was no point in saying anything.  The Emperor regarded female magicians as abominations, wastes of potential when a powerful woman should have been having powerful sons.  It made her wonder if he intended her to have children sooner or later, choosing her husband to suit himself.  It was a terrifying thought. 

The dragon rose, soaring up into the air.  Charity looked down; half the dragons had taken up positions outside the gates, their human riders raising wards intended to trap the population inside the city, while the remainder flocked over the city, breathing down fire on anyone foolish enough to challenge them.  Several large fires were raging through the houses, although many of the wealthier parts of the city looked untouched.  Their homes would be warded against flames, Charity knew.  They’d be untouched  unless the dragons targeted them specifically.  

But the poor will be forced out of their homes, she thought.  And then they will die.

“We land,” the Emperor said.

The dragon dropped down and landed before the remains of the first gatehouse.  Charity gagged as she smelt the burning human flesh, then followed the Emperor as he jumped off the dragon and landed neatly on the remains of the road.  His followers bowed to him; he nodded back, then turned his attention to the city.  Behind them, Charity could hear the sound of his marching army advancing from the Golden City.  It wouldn't be long before Knawel Haldane was completely surrounded.  Resistance would be utterly futile.

She looked up as she saw a handful of people picking their way through the gatehouse and walking towards them.  The leader was a middle-aged man wearing a merchant’s outfit; here, away from the Golden City, a man didn't have to be a magician to rule.  Indeed, unless she missed her guess, the man behind the leader was a magician.  He was definitely carrying a wand on his belt, although he was careful to show that he wasn't holding it at the ready.  The last three men looked like bureaucrats, probably tax collectors.  They never visited House Conidian, of course, but anyone without the power to stand up to them would find himself plucked like a chicken.

“Well,” the Emperor said.  He took a step forward, his red cloak spilling out behind him as he struck a dramatic pose.  “Kneel.”

The representatives hesitated, then dropped to their knees.  Charity felt another pang of pity, mixed with helpless outrage; they weren't under any spells and yet they were kneeling in front of the Emperor!  But the dragons were a convincing argument in the Emperor’s favour and the representatives had already watched them tear through the city’s puny defences as if there was truly nothing standing in their way.  They had to know there was no point in further resistance, not when the city was surrounded.  The Emperor could burn their city to ash whenever he chose.

“So,” the Emperor said, coldly.  “Who comes to speak with me?”

“I am Goodman Chaney,” the leader said.  Merchant or not, he couldn't keep the unease out of his voice.  “I speak for the City Fathers.”

“Good,” the Emperor said.  “I want your complete and total surrender.”

Chaney blinked.  “But sire ...”

“You are at my mercy,” the Emperor said.  She couldn't see his face, but Charity was sure he was leering.  The Emperor enjoyed watching people squirm.  “I have orders for you.  If they are not carried out, your city will be burnt to the ground and any survivors sold into the most unpleasant slavery.”

He allowed a moment for his words to sink in, then leant forward.  “Every young man between fifteen and twenty is to report to my camp, where they will be conscripted into my army,” he said.  “Every magician in the city, from the lowliest hedge witch to the highest sorcerer, is to report to my magicians for induction.  Any magical artefacts within the city are to be handed over, regardless of who owns them.  Knawel Haldane itself is to provide everything my army might require, including food, military supplies and billets.  Your families, in particular, will be handed over to us so we have hostages for your good behaviour.”

Charity winced, inwardly.  The Emperor wasn't doing anything to soften the demands, not even offering Chaney a chance to rise in the new order in exchange for doing what he was told.  But then, the Emperor probably held a mere merchant in contempt.  He was no magician, no warrior ... nothing the Emperor might find admirable, even if he could be useful.  And Chaney had no cards to play unless he was willing to countenance the destruction of the entire city.

“It will be done, Your Supremacy,” Chaney said, bowing his head.

“Good,” the Emperor said.  “Send a messenger to your families.  I expect your wives and children - and those of the other City Fathers - to be here within half an hour.  Should they not be here ...”

He patted the dragon, affectionately.  The dragon’s mouth lolled open, revealing his teeth and inhumanly long tongue.  Chaney paled still further, then turned and hurried off, followed by the rest of the representatives.

“You could have given them more time,” Charity said, before she could stop herself.

“They would have had time to plan an escape,” the Emperor said.  He looked past her to General Vetch.  “General.  Organise the troops to occupy the city, once the hostages arrive; billet them on prosperous houses.  The dragons will provide support, if necessary.”

Charity followed the Emperor like a stray dog as he moved from group to group, issuing orders, patting the dragons and generally keeping himself on top of what was going on.  No one looked at her, not overtly, but she could feel their gazes following her, their eyes mocking her silently.  They knew who she’d been, before she’d bent the knee to the Emperor; now, she was little more than a whore and they rejoiced in her fall.  No doubt they came up with all sorts of stories about what the Emperor made her do, although he’d never touched her.  But how could she blame them?  She'd been so far above them that they could only watch her with envy, before the fall.

“The hostages have arrived, Your Supremacy,” General Vetch reported.

“Excellent,” the Emperor said.  He strode over to where the hostages were waiting, eying the dragons nervously.  Charity followed him, feeling her heart sink.  She had a nasty feeling the Emperor had something horrible in mind for the hostages.  The little cluster of wives and children standing next to their husbands and fathers almost broke her heart.  “Order them to be outfitted with slave collars.  We might as well make some use of them.”

Chaney stared in horror.  “Your Supremacy ...”

The Emperor smiled at him.  “Are you defying me?”

He waved a hand dismissively.  One of the dragons moved forward with astonishing speed and opened its mouth.  Chaney had no time to scream before the dragon swallowed him in a single gulp.  A woman fainted - his wife, Charity assumed - while her children started to scream in horror.  The Emperor showed nothing but cold amusement as he surveyed the remaining City Fathers.  They looked as if they were torn between mounting a suicidal resistance and complete submission.

“Have them fitted with collars,” the Emperor ordered.  He nodded at the woman lying on the ground.  “And have her thrown to the men.  She's useless.”

The City Fathers offered no further resistance, even when the slave collars were fitted and the hostages were marched off to an unknown fate.  Charity hoped they’d be treated reasonably well - there was something to be gained from treating them as guests - but she knew the experience would be horrific.  A compulsion charm could be fought, even broken, by a person of strong will and determination; a slave collar was almost impossible to resist.  And if their husbands and fathers chose to resist later, they could simply be ordered to cut their own throats.

“Have the magical artefacts brought to my tent,” the Emperor ordered, curtly.  “My aide” - he nodded at Charity - “will inspect them.”

Charity was almost relieved.  Poking magical artefacts ran the risk of being hexed or killed, if the owner had placed security charms on them, but at least she’d be away from the Emperor for a few hours.  She didn't trust his temper - or his sense of humour - and she knew, all too well, just how cruel he could be.  He was worse than Jamal ... who, at least, had never had her helplessly at his beck and call ...

But he had the maids at his command, she thought, as she made her way towards the royal tent.  The soldiers were putting together a large camp outside the city, although a number of the men would be billeted inside the town.  She hoped the civilians would keep their heads down and stay out of trouble.  What did he do to them?

She sat down, inside the tent, and waited for the first box of artefacts to arrive.  They all looked common, something that didn't really surprise her.  Anything really old or powerful would be hidden, rather than tamely surrendered.  She picked her way through a case of old wands, then checked a handful of basic spellbooks.  None of them were more complex than anything she’d seen during her first year of schooling, although one of them had a number of scrawled annotations that made her smile.  Clearly, whoever had owned the book had been something of a genius.  But, if he or she had joined in the battle, probably also now dead.

And the dead magicians might be the lucky ones, she thought.  She knew what the Emperor had in mind for the magicians of Knawel Haldane, those who weren't strong enough to be helpful.  They’d be sacrificed, their power fed into storage crystals and used to summon more monsters from the other realms.  They won’t have to see what the Emperor does to the rest of the world.

She pushed the thought aside bitterly - she was helpless and enslaved - and turned her attention to the next box.  An old Hand of Glory, burnt and useless; a Ring of Power, the gem cracked and broken; a Soul Drainer ... she shuddered, remembering how her father had insisted on using one on Johan, hoping to spark his magic; a knife that felt oddly familiar ...

It was familiar!  The Conidian Crest was emblazed on the hilt, while magic - family magic - crackled around the blade.  She remembered watching, years ago, as her father had presented it to Jamal, on the day he’d turned sixteen.  The blade was charmed; it would be lethal, instantly lethal, to anyone it cut, unless they were a close relation.  Charity could hold it safely, she knew, and even cut herself ... but anyone else?

And if it’s here, she asked herself slowly, how in all the hells did it get here?

Jamal had carried the blade everywhere, she knew.  She was sure it would still work for him, even after he’d lost his magic.  The blade was linked to the family’s bloodline, not his magical signature, yet the blade still thought Jamal was its master.  And that meant ... her older brother was somewhere in the city, alive and well.  She hesitated, unsure if she wanted to ask the Emperor for permission to look for him, then rose to her feet.  Perhaps he'd give her permission to find him ...

... And if he did, at least she wouldn't be alone any longer.

Chapter Two

“That’s Falcone’s Nest,” Dread said.  “Dead ahead.”

Elaine nodded, cursing her weakness under her breath.  Two days of hard riding had left her tired, sore and bruised in places she hadn't known she had.  Horses didn't like her, as far as she could tell, and they didn't like the spells she used to make the ride a little easier.  She’d been lucky to have avoided falling off more than twice.

“It’s different,” Johan said.  She could sense his admiration through the apprenticeship bond they shared.  “Very different.”

Elaine smiled as she looked down the road towards Falcone’s Nest.  It was a mid-sized town - absently, she estimated that the population couldn't be larger than ten thousand souls - built on the far side of a river.  The district of the town facing her was dotted with shipyards and harbours, packed with ocean-going galleons and large barges for the inland canal network, the latter loaded with goods for trade.  It looked reassuringly normal, although she could see a handful of armed City Guardsmen watching warily as the riders cantered up to the bridge, backed up by a pair of magicians.  They had to know that something was badly wrong.

They could have had word passed to them from the Golden City, she thought, grimly.  The Emperor had taken down the network of linked crystal balls that bound the Empire together, but there wasn't any shortage of powerful magicians in the Golden City.  One of them could easily have sent a message to a friend via magic.  Or someone could have ridden ahead of us while we were trying to escape Dread.

She winced at the memory, looking up at the former Inquisitor.  Magicians who lost their magic tended to go mad - or die - very quickly, but so far Dread seemed to be almost unchanged by the experience.  His hard face - rugged, scarred after years on active service - showed no hint of emotion, no doubt or fear about the future.  She envied him his confidence, even as she mistrusted the soundness of his judgement.  Two days ago, he’d been one of the most powerful and capable magicians in the world.  Now, he was just another powerless mundane.

But that doesn't make him helpless, she reminded herself, sharply.  The Levellers proved that when they brought down the Watchtower.

Johan pulled his horse alongside hers.  “You’re being depressed again.”

Elaine felt herself flush.  Johan could sense her emotions as easily as she could sense his; indeed, the mere fact that they were closer in age than most masters and apprentices made them more open with one another.  It was embarrassing to feel so naked in front of him, even though she was wearing a shirt, a pair of long trousers and a travelling cloak.  But then, he felt the same way too.

“I just worry,” she said.  They hadn't seen any signs of pursuit since they’d stolen Dread’s magic - as far as he knew, he was the only person sent after them - but she knew that would change.  The Witch-King wouldn't be content to let them vanish into the countryside, not if he suspected what she knew.  Deferens would send his entire army after them rather than risk utter disaster.  “Don’t you?”

“I don’t have time to worry,” Johan said, shortly.

Elaine gave him a sharp look.  Johan had wanted to drink himself senseless at the first inn they’d reached, which she’d forbidden.  They’d argued backwards and forwards until Daria had threatened to bang their heads together, but they’d apologised to each other in the morning.  Now, Johan seemed almost as driven as Elaine herself.  Discovering that he had a relative who’d died almost as soon as he’d met her - and that his family was enslaved - had changed him.

“Watch what you say,” Dread warned, as they approached the bridge.  “You never know who might be listening.”

He spurred his horse forward, pulling up just in front of the guardhouse.  Elaine watched the magicians eying him sharply, then turning away.  She knew they would never have shown such blatant disrespect for an Inquisitor, but as far as they knew Dread ... was just another mundane.  In some ways, it was a relief, yet she knew it had to hurt the older man.  He’d spent his life building up his magic, only to lose it in a split-second.

But he would have remained a slave if he'd kept it, she thought, numbly.  And if we tried to restore it, who knows what would happen?

Johan leant his head over to hers.  “You think they’re buying the cover story?”

Elaine shrugged.  There were five guardsmen and two magicians; Johan’s odd magic might be enough to take them both out, along with the guards, but it would attract attention.  Deferens would hear of it and know precisely where to look for them.  And then ... she shook her head, tiredly.  As humiliating as it was to tell people that she was being married off to a magical family on the other side of the continent, it was a reasonably plausible story that explained her small escort.  No bandits in their right mind would attack a magician and her guards.  

And if I try to assert my authority, she reminded herself, they might refuse to accept it.

She shook her head.  Had it really only been seven months since she’d become Head Librarian, as well as a Privy Councillor?  She’d had power and position that would have been considered unimaginable to the poor orphan girl she’d been, even though she wasn't a very powerful magician.  But the knowledge in her head more than made up for her lack of power, if she had time to cast her spells.  She rubbed her forehead, feeling the weight of centuries of accumulated knowledge pressing against her mind.  If she fell into Deferens’s hands ...

He has the Great Library now, if he can get through the wards, she thought.  She'd locked the wards in place when she’d left, but she knew all too well that any ward could be broken, given enough power and determination.  Does he really need me any longer?

“Come,” Dread called.

Elaine cursed mentally and spurred the horse onwards, Johan cantering beside her while Daria - in wolf form - brought up the rear.  She was no less pleased than Elaine at pretending to be an oversized wolfhound - Elaine was mildly surprised that anyone was fooled - but it did give them an additional wand, if necessary.  Besides, horses disliked werewolves far more than they disliked Elaine.  Daria wouldn’t have been able to ride a horse without using magic to force it to obey.  

“I used to dream about sailing the seven seas,” Johan said, as they crossed the bridge.  “It wouldn't have been that hard to get a berth on a merchantman, then work my way up the ranks.  But father ...”

He shook his head.  Elaine sensed his sudden pang of guilt, mixed with a bitterness that had never faded, and winced in sympathy.  Johan's father hadn't killed Johan outright, as he’d had every right to do when one of his children was born without magic, but he’d kept Johan inside House Conidian and firmly under control.  And when Johan’s magic had exploded into life he’d done everything he could to bring Johan back under his thumb.  Johan resented his father - and hated him too - yet he still felt guilt for stealing his father’s magic.  It had crippled House Conidian when it needed strong leadership.

She reached out and squeezed his arm.  “Don’t worry about it,” she said.  It wasn't enough, but she’d never been good at knowing what to say when someone needed comfort or reassurance.  “We can go sailing later, if you like.”

A dull rumble echoed through the air as an iron dragon crossed the closest bridge, heading west towards the Golden City.  Elaine wondered if the passengers knew that most of the lines were broken, or if they intended to stop well before they reached Knawel Haldane.  Or even if they wanted to go to Knawel Haldane itself.  Had the city been attacked and taken?  She knew little about military strategy, but Knawel Haldane was the major gateway to the Golden City.  It was unlikely that Deferens would leave it alone.

“I’d like that,” Johan said, giving her a shy smile.  “Or we could just go riding instead ...”

“Not on your life,” Elaine said.  She looked down at the horse’s mane, then shook her head firmly.  “The sooner I can stop riding, the better.”

“You just have to get used to it,” Johan said.  “It’s easy once you have the confidence to look the horse in the eye and make it obey.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Elaine said, as they reached the far end of the bridge.  The smell of salt water was pushed aside by the aroma of rotting fish.  She swallowed hard, then cast a spell to protect their noses from the stench.  The thankful look Daria tossed her made the small effort worthwhile.  “Maybe you just have to be tougher to make the horse obey you.”

She sensed Johan’s amusement, although he managed to keep it off his face.  “My baby sisters rode horses,” he said.  “I ...”

He broke off, a sudden sense of guilt, regret and melancholy echoing through the link.  His little sisters had bullied him mercilessly, as soon as they’d come into their powers; he still carried the scars from hundreds of pranks and japes that were only funny if the victim had the magic to undo the spells.  He’d hated them and he’d enjoyed scaring them with his new reputation, but Cass’s letter had made him think about just what sort of person he wanted to be.  Now, she knew he’d want to see his sisters again, if only to ensure they were safe.

“We’ll see them again, I'm sure,” she said, gently.  “You can take care of them ...”

“If they’re still alive,” Johan said, quietly.  “What if Deferens has killed them?”

Dread cleared his throat.  “The guards said we could stay in the city for five days, but we'd have to leave after that unless we register and pay a tax,” he said.  “Where do you want to go from here?”

Johan frowned.  “The Jumping Jody,” he said, after a moment’s thought.  “That's the name we were given back in Knawel Haldane.”

Elaine smiled.  “They do seem to like using inns as bases, don’t they?”

“Practical,” Dread grunted.  As an Inquisitor, it had been his job to hunt the Levellers down; now, the Levellers were about the only people who could help.  “Inns are good places to hear the latest news, while no one is surprised when guests pack their bags and leave in the middle of the night.  And we can probably change our horses there too.”

“Good,” Elaine said.  The horse under her shivered, as if it knew she was looking forward to getting off.  “Did they buy the story?”

“Didn’t question it very much,” Dread said, as he swung the horse around.  “You’re clearly a magician, while there aren't enough of us to cause real trouble.  They’re not likely to question us as long as we don’t attract too much attention.”

He cantered down a cobbled road that was badly stained.  Elaine followed, allowing Johan and Daria to bring up the rear.  Falcone’s Nest was crowded, but there was an undertone of fear in the air that worried her, even though she knew the cause.  A herald was caterwauling in the square as they passed, telling everyone within earshot that five men and two women were in the stocks for spreading false rumours.  Elaine caught sight of the prisoners and winced in sympathy - the crowd was already gathering to throw rotten fruits and vegetables at the unlucky prisoners - but she knew there was nothing she could do.  Besides, it was quite possible they deserved their punishment.

Let’s hope they don’t start throwing stones, she thought, shivering.  The orphanage staff had taken the children to watch prisoners in the stocks once or twice, just to make sure they knew what fate awaited anyone who ran afoul of the law.  Some of the crowd had pelted a false witness with stones, breaking his nose and leaving blood spilling into the streets.  It would kill the poor bastards.

Johan slipped up beside her.  “We could break them free at night ...”

“And then get caught ourselves,” Elaine said.  She shook her head.  “Bad idea, I think.”

She sucked in her breath as the Jumping Jody came into view.  It was a large wooden building, carefully structured to pack as many people as possible inside; behind it, she could see a cookhouse with signs advertising food from all over the world.  A handful of dogs sat outside, their tongues lolling out of their mouths.  She guessed, as Dread dismounted and helped her down to the ground, that their owners were inside the inn.

“Wait here,” Dread ordered curtly.  “I’ll go speak to the innkeeper.”

He turned and strode inside.  Anyone who looked at him, Elaine was sure, would know him for a dangerous man, although they’d never see him as an Inquisitor.  Dread could simply have commandeered everything they needed, if his skull-ring had still worked for him.  But it didn't, forcing them to buy what they needed.  She had a nasty feeling that they would run out of money, sooner or later.

Johan dropped down beside her, holding the horse’s reins in one hand.  “You think the beds will be comfortable?”

Elaine shrugged.  She hadn’t stayed in many inns and only one of them, as far as she could recall, had been reasonably comfortable.  The others had had itchy bedding, cold water and insects scuttling across the floor when she’d doused the lamp.  There was no reason to expect anything better from the Jumping Jody.  The dogs started to bark in unison and she looked up, sharply. A man with faintly canine features was walking past them, his eyes fixed firmly on Daria.

“We’re further up the river,” he said, so quietly that Elaine had to strain her ears to hear his words.  Daria’s ears, sharper than any normal human, would have no trouble.  “Come see us, sister.”

He walked on, leaving Elaine staring after him.  Daria showed no visible reaction, but sniffed once or twice, as if she was testing the man’s scent.  Dread reappeared and led them into the inn, tapping his lips gently when Elaine made to speak.  Walls had ears, even when the innkeepers weren't magical.  She gritted her teeth as she smelt beer in the air, then averted her eyes as she saw dozens of men quaffing down ale as though it was on the verge of running out.  Two fights were taking place, the fighters surrounded by several other men who were placing bets on the outcome; a handful of women, wearing beer-stained aprons, were quietly collecting used glasses and placing them back on the bar for reuse.  It didn't look as though they were being washed first.

“I ordered a single large room, in keeping with our cover story,” Dread said, shortly.  He stopped outside a door, opening it with an iron key.  “There should be enough room for all of us.”

Elaine sensed a flicker of mixed emotions from Johan as they stepped into the room and glanced around.  It wasn’t particularly clean, although Elaine had been expecting worse; a pair of beds, a handful of lamps and a window allowing them to look out onto the streets below.  She glanced through a paper-thin wooden door and saw a tiny bathroom, complete with bucket, iron bath and pump.  Clearly, the fad for indoor plumbing hadn't reached Falcone’s Nest yet.  Even the orphanage in the Golden City had had hot and cold running water, as well as real toilets.  She hastily cast another spell to hide the worst of the stench, then slipped back into the bedroom.

“Elaine and Daria will get the beds,” Dread said, as he locked the door.  “I ...”

He stopped, grimly.  “Elaine, can you ward the rooms?”

Elaine nodded, drawing her wand and casting a handful of spells of her own design.  Most of them were breakable - most magicians outshone her as the sun outshone the moon - but their true strength lay in the fact they were almost impossible to perceive, except at very close range.  A magician who tried to spy on them from a distance would find it very difficult ... and if the wards started to fail, Elaine would know about it at once.

And Dread would have done it for himself, once, she thought, bitterly.  Now ... now, he can’t.

“I’ll share a bed with Daria,” she said, as her friend snapped back into her human form.  The men hastily averted their eyes as Elaine passed Daria her robe.  “You two can have the other bed.”

“I’ll be taking the first watch,” Dread said, gruffly.  He didn't sound as though the loss of his magic was working on him, but she knew it had to be affecting him badly.  “You three get some sleep, if you need it.”

“I need a bath,” Elaine said.  She could heat the water using magic, if she tried.  “Do you have a plan for contacting the Levellers?”

“We have code phrases,” Johan reminded her.  He turned to look out of the window.  “They don’t know, do they?”

“They know something,” Dread grunted.  “That’s another reason to go for a wander, once we’ve had a rest.  We need to know what they know.”

Elaine looked at him.  “Can they do anything if they did know?”

“I don’t know,” Dread admitted.  He didn't sound as though he believed his own words.  Vlad Deferens had dragons, hundreds of magicians and an entire army.  Falcone’s Nest had nothing more than a handful of magicians and the City Guard.  “But at least they can try.”

Chapter Three

The guards outside the Emperor’s tent bowed to Charity as she approached, then allowed her to step through without searching her.  It wasn't a sign of respect, Charity knew; it was a sign of contempt, a reminder that she literally couldn't pose any threat to her master even though she was carrying a wand and a charmed knife.  She pushed the tent flap aside, then stepped into the chamber and hastily prostrated herself while waiting for the Emperor to notice her.  She’d learnt the hard way that Emperor Vlad didn't like interruptions.

“There are riots in the Western Hills,” General Vetch was saying.  He glanced briefly at her, then looked back at the Emperor, dismissing Charity as unimportant.  “And the citizens in Rising Shadow have overthrown their king and declared independence.”

“It isn't an important matter,” the Emperor said, curtly.  He was looking down at a map on the table, as if he wasn’t quite listening to his General.  “We can reclaim control of Rising Shadow later, once we hold Ida.”

“Ida isn't a major state, Your Supremacy,” General Vetch said.  He sounded as though he was pleading, expecting the Emperor to listen to him.  Charity knew it was futile.  The Emperor seemed dangerously obsessed with Ida, almost as obsessed with the tiny state as he was with the Head Librarian.  “Rising Shadow controls trade and transport links to a fifth of the continent.  If we lose control of the state, we run the risk of losing the other states ...”

“I have dragons,” the Emperor snarled.  “Are they going to stand against my dragons?”

“Dragons are not invincible, Your Supremacy,” General Vetch reminded him.  “They can be beaten ...”

“One or two dragons can be beaten,” the Emperor snarled.  “I have dozens.”

He rose to his feet.  “See that the men are well-rested,” he added, nastily.  “I intend to march onwards within two days.  We’ll leave a garrison in the city to ensure it behaves itself.”

General Vetch turned and stalked out of the tent.  Charity thought, for a chilling moment, that he was about to kick her before he walked onwards.  The Emperor glowered after him, one hand flexing in a manner that suggested he was about to cast a spell, then peered down at Charity instead.  She hastily pressed her face into the tent floor in absolute submission, hoping he wasn't feeling sadistic.  He’d once left her in that position for hours.

“Rise,” the Emperor growled.  He stamped back to his seat and sat down.  “Pour me a drink.”

Charity obeyed, feeling a glimmer of sympathy for the maids and servants who’d worked for House Conidian before the fall.  The Emperor took the glass she passed him, drank it hastily and slammed it down on the table so hard it cracked.  Charity looked at the map, trying not to make it obvious, and frowned inwardly.  If the map was correct, Rising Shadow wasn't the only state intent on breaking free of the Empire.  Five more were also about to collapse into chaos.

“The General does not understand the true importance of our work,” the Emperor said, his voice icy cold.  Charity had the odd feeling he wasn't talking to himself, even though the words weren't aimed at her.  “His concerns are purely mundane.”

“Yes, Your Supremacy,” Charity said.

“I should send a swarm of dragons to Rising Shadow and burn their capital to the ground,” the Emperor mused.  “It would convince them to behave themselves, would it not?”

“Of course, Your Supremacy,” Charity said.

The Emperor’s eyes sharpened, suddenly.  “What are you doing here?”

Charity swallowed, then held up the knife.  “This belonged to my brother,” she said.  “And the link between it and its owner is still alive.”

“Johan?”  The Emperor asked.  His face twisted with an emotion she didn't recognise.  “He’s here?”

“No, Your Supremacy,” Charity said.  “Jamal.”

“How nice,” the Emperor said, after a moment.  He took the knife, turned it over and over in his hand, then passed it back to her.  “And so?”

“The records say the knife came from a slave warehouse,” Charity said.  There was no way to be sure that Jamal was still there - and she had no idea what he was doing in a slave warehouse anyway - but it was a good place to start.  “I could go find him.  If he’s still alive ...”

“You could torment him as he tormented you,” the Emperor sneered.  “He’s powerless now, is he not?  Why not attempt to make him suffer?”

His face twisted into a leer.  “Is that what you want?”

Charity hesitated.  She couldn't lie to him ... and yet, she wasn't sure what she wanted from Jamal.  Revenge?  She could humiliate him, if the Emperor let her, but at least he would be safe from everyone else.  And yet, she knew Jamal didn't deserve to be safe.  If he hadn't been such an unpleasant bully, would Johan have gone off the deep end too?

“I want him to be safe,” she said, finally.  “Having him know his safety is dependent on me will be revenge enough.”

“How like a woman,” the Emperor said.  “Very well.  You may go find him, if you wish, and bring him here.  I will have a use for him.”

“Thank you, Your Supremacy,” Charity said.  She looked down at the gauze covering her breasts.  “May I change first?”

“I think not,” the Emperor said.  He smiled at her, nastily.  “But you may use magic to defend yourself against all threats, save for me.  Now go.”

Charity turned automatically and walked out of the tent, her legs moving of their own accord.  Outside, it was growing darker, but not dark enough to hide the harem outfit.  She hesitated, cursing the Emperor in the privacy of her own thoughts, then drew her wand and cast an illusion spell over herself.  Most magicians, seeing the glamour, would assume she was hiding a mole or making her clothes appear finer than they were, rather than hiding her body beneath an illusion.  She just hoped that no one tried to cancel the spell for a joke.  One of the students at the Peerless School had ended up naked after using magic to dress herself in finery, rather than buying them with her own money.  Her enemy had cancelled the spell in the middle of class.

She turned and walked through the camp, ignoring the long lines of inductees, slaves and magicians being hauled over to the sacrificial altar.  The Emperor hadn't hesitated to start killing magicians, particularly the weak ones who were of no other use to him.  She shuddered as she passed a line of children, their magic not yet awake; they’d be dead long before their magic came to life.  The red-robed were watching them carefully, ready to use spells or brute force to keep the children in line.  There was no hope of escape.

The remains of the gates, manned by a handful of soldiers, loomed up in front of her.  She held up the token the Emperor had given her - it felt like years ago - and they stepped back, allowing her to pass unmolested.  Knawel Haldane seemed almost deserted, the handful of people on the streets hidden under hoods as they slipped through the darkness, trying to remain unnoticed by the soldiers.  Charity had heard enough to know precisely how the soldiers were treating the civilians, particularly anyone unfortunate enough to be young, female and vulnerable.  She clutched her wand tightly as she strode past a tavern, then cursed inwardly as a handful of drunken soldiers staggered towards her.  Gritting her teeth, she raised her wand and turned them into snails.

The Emperor may punish me for this, she thought.  The spell wouldn't last long, but there would be ample time for something to happen to the soldiers before it wore off.  But he did give me permission to defend myself.

No one else tried to block her way until she reached the slave warehouse.  She’d never been to one before, not when her father preferred to enslave servants using his own magic.  The faint stench of human waste touched her nose as she tapped on the solid door, wondering if the dealer was still at work.  No doubt there was something to be said for the chance to sell slaves to the army ...

She shuddered, feeling the cold wafting across her unprotected body.  How was she any different from the poor bastards in the underground cages, just waiting for a buyer to take them home?

The door opened, revealing a fat man carrying a wand.  He relaxed slightly as he saw her, although his piggy eyes never left her face.  It wasn't a lustful look, more of a wary one; he could sense her magic, she was sure, even though he probably didn't know who or what she was.  A gust of warm air blew out of the building as she stepped inside.

“I carry a message from the Emperor,” she said, as she pulled the knife from her belt.  “He wants to find the person who gave you this blade.”

The slaver gave her a surprised look.  “You mean Lot #453?  He was telling the truth?”

Charity frowned.  “What did he tell you?”

“That he was a magician and that he was from a powerful family,” the slaver said.  His pudgy face started to look nervous as he waved her into an office, then motioned for her to take a seat.  “Was he telling the truth?”

“Partly,” Charity said.  “Where is he now?”

“In the cells,” the slaver said.  “We assumed he’d stolen the knife.”

Charity took a breath.  “What happened?”

The slaver stumbled over a long and complex explanation that reminded Charity of studying at the Peerless School, where something that could be said in a dozen words was often stretched into a dozen sentences.  She had to resist the temptation to order him to get to the point, fearing it would only make matters worse.  Eventually, she figured out that Jamal had fled the Golden City - without ever trying to recover his possessions from House Conidian - and made his way to Knawel Haldane, where he’d started a fight in a bar.  Without his magic, he’d been beaten to a pulp and - as he didn't have the money to pay for the repairs - he’d been sold into slavery.  His knife had been taken and kept by the slaver, then handed over to the occupation force when it had arrived.

“And it was a right waste of money,” the slaver concluded.  “No one wants him!  No one!  Not even as a drudge slave!  I’ll have to sell him to the mines!”

Charity snickered, despite herself.  She had no trouble believing that no one would want Jamal, even as a spellbound slave.  The mines would probably have taken him, eventually, and worked him to death.  He’d really been quite lucky that his knife had fallen into her hands.

“Bring him here,” she ordered, shortly.  “I’ll take him with me when I go.”

The slaver hesitated.  “There is the matter of the money I paid for him ...”

“The Emperor wants him,” Charity said, cutting him off.  “And seeing you’re here, without being conscripted ... I’d bet you don’t really want to change that, do you?”

She smiled as the slaver turned and hurried away.  He was a magician, although a very minor one; she was mildly surprised he hadn’t been added to the magicians awaiting their turn on the sacrificial altar.  But then, his speciality - enslavement spells - might come in handy for the Emperor.  He’d probably find himself leaving with the army, when the time came, and practicing his art on prisoners of war.  Given what he’d done to his victims, she found it hard to feel sorry for him.

It was nearly thirty minutes before the door opened again, revealing the slaver - and Jamal, wearing a slave’s loincloth and a collar around his neck.  Charity almost didn't recognise him; he’d once been tall and reasonably handsome, but now he looked dirty, hungry and thoroughly unshaved.  He’d never learnt how to shave himself, not when he could use magic to do it; hell, he’d been dependent on magic for almost everything.  His eyes went wide when he saw her.

“Kneel,” the slaver said.  Jamal, compelled by the collar, fell to his knees.  “Is this the person you expected?”

Charity hesitated, caught in a complex whirlwind of emotions.  How often had Jamal humiliated her in front of her friends and family?  How easy would it be to use the collar to force him to humiliate himself?  Or simply whip out her wand and show him exactly what it felt like to be at the mercy of someone with more power than himself?  Her hand itched; she knew a dozen spells she could use and she'd laugh while she cast them.  But ... he was her brother, even though he was a horrible bully.  Part of her was horrified to see what he had become.

“Yes,” she said, when she trusted herself to speak clearly.  “He’s ... he’s the person I expected.”

The slaver nodded, slowly.  “I can remove the collar, if you wish,” he said.  “Or do you want it left in place?”

Jamal’s eyes flashed with sudden hope, but Charity shook her head.  “Leave it,” she ordered, shortly.  “Transfer master authority to me.”

The slaver pressed his hands together and bowed, then touched the collar while murmuring a spell under his breath.  “Hear this,” he said.  “Your servitude is transferred to this young lady, who will be your mistress.  Hear her orders and obey them.”

He waved a hand.  Jamal’s body froze.

“Touch the collar to establish the link,” he said.  “And then you may do what you like with him.”

Charity touched the collar, feeling a flicker of magic as it accepted her command over its victim.  Jamal looked up at her, seemingly torn between hope and fear; Charity kept her face as impassive as she could, even though part of her just wanted to rub his situation in as much as possible.  The slaver thanked her, then released the spell on Jamal and indicated the door.

“Thank you,” Charity said.  She looked at Jamal.  “Follow me.  Do not speak without my permission.”

Jamal followed her as she strode back through the streets, always keeping two paces behind her.  Charity couldn't help feeling a cold sense of pleasure at his predicament, even though he was helpless.  No doubt he’d tried to force a woman when he’d entered Knawel Haldane and discovered, the hard way, that he no longer had the power to protect himself.  She smiled at the thought as they entered the camp and walked to the Emperor’s tent.  Jamal said nothing -he couldn't escape the commands she’d given him - but she sensed his burning curiosity as she told him to wait outside, then stepped into the tent.

“I found my brother, Your Supremacy,” she said.  “He’s a slave.”

“Good,” the Emperor said.  He waved a hand in the air.  A guard stepped into the tent seconds later.  “Fetch Moeder from her tent.”

“Yes, Your Supremacy,” the guard said.

The Emperor looked at Charity.  “And what condition is he in?”

“He seems reasonably healthy,” Charity said, “but he has a slave collar ...”

“Then we can bargain,” the Emperor said.  “Bring him into the tent.”

Charity obeyed, wondering just how Jamal would react to discovering that she was practically a slave too.  But then, what could he do?  His eyes widened as he saw the Emperor, then he knelt in front of Charity.  The Emperor seemed amused at his expression.

“So passes a once-great House,” he said, softly.

The flap opened again, revealing a middle-aged woman with long brown hair and a thin expression that Charity found oddly familiar, even though she was sure she’d never seen the woman before.  She prostrated herself in front of the Emperor, but there was something in the way she moved that suggested she was not under any form of compulsion.  She’d offered her loyalty freely ...

... And that was odd.  A man, sure; Charity knew that thousands of men had pledged their loyalty to the Emperor.  But a woman?  And clearly one of some resource ... it didn't make sense.  She’d been forced to give her oath to the Emperor.

“Jamal Conidian,” the Emperor said.  “You are a slave.  There is no hope for freedom, unless you pledge yourself to me.”

Charity blinked.  He already had Jamal as a slave.  It wouldn't be hard for the Emperor to make her pass command authority to him.  He didn't need Jamal to do anything.

“I have a task that needs doing, one you can perform,” the Emperor continued.  “If you complete the task to my satisfaction, you will be freed.”

He looked at Charity.  “Tell him he may speak freely.”

“You may speak freely,” Charity said to Jamal.

Jamal stared at her.  “What happened to you?”

“She is mine,” the Emperor said.  “And so are you.  Do you accept my offer?”

“Yes, sir,” Jamal said.

“That’s Your Supremacy,” the Emperor said.  He didn't sound annoyed, merely amused.  But then, Jamal had left the city before he’d claimed the Golden Throne.  “The Head Librarian is ahead of us, heading towards Ida, in company with your brother.  You, Moeder and a squad of my guards will intercept them.  Moeder will deal with the Head Librarian while you kill your brother.  If this task is completed properly, you will be freed.”

Jamal nodded, immediately.  “I will do it.”

“I imagine you don’t like being a slave,” the Emperor said.  He reached out and touched the collar gently, very gently.  “You will swear oaths once the collar is removed, oaths binding even on a powerless mundane.  And if you betray me, you will suffer in ways deemed unimaginable.”

He smiled, coldly.  “Charity, take your brother to your tent, clean him up and make sure he gets some sleep,” he ordered.  “We’ll swear the oaths tomorrow, then he can depart.”

“Yes, Your Supremacy,” Charity said.

Chapter Four

Johan didn't sleep well.

It wasn't Elaine’s fault, he knew; indeed, the sense of her presence at the back of his mind was comforting.  But there were some problems he wanted to deal with himself, without help, which made the bond between them awkward at best and embarrassing at worst.  He waited until Elaine had slipped into sleep, then sat up and climbed out of bed.  Dread gave him a sharp look, then tapped his lips sharply.  Johan nodded, glanced at where Elaine and Daria were sleeping, then walked over to the window.  Outside, night was falling over Falcone’s Nest.

There’s still hundreds of people on the streets, he thought, slowly.  What are they doing now?

Dread came up behind him, walking so quietly that Johan didn’t hear him coming.  He wouldn’t have known the former Inquisitor was there if he hadn't seen the reflection in the mirror.  The older man moved with surprising stealth for his age.  But then, he would have spent most of his career chasing Dark Wizards and Rogue Mages.  He wouldn't have survived if he hadn't been very good at sneaking around.

“You should get some sleep,” Dread said, very quietly.  “We might need to leave in a hurry.”

Johan turned to look at him.  “You think we’ll be attacked?”

“A team of soldiers could cover the distance between Knawel Haldane and Falcone’s Nest in less than a day, if they exchange horses at each coachhouse along the way,” Dread said, flatly.  “We stayed off the main roads too, while they can take the direct route.  They could be searching for us now.”

“But they won’t find us,” Johan said.  “Will they?”

Dread shrugged.  “You’d be astonished just how much gets noticed,” he said, dryly.  “A person asking the right questions in the right place may locate us very quickly.”

Johan swallowed.  “We told the guards that Elaine was going to be married,” he said, ignoring the odd feeling in his chest at the words.  “They’re not going to connect a high-born magical brat with the Head Librarian, are they?”

“Depends on what they think they’re looking for,” Dread warned.  “The cover story won’t hold together if someone starts asking the right questions.”

“Like just who she’s going to marry,” Johan said. He’d known his father had planned to organise marriages for his siblings, marriages that could easily have taken his sisters away from the Golden City; surely, he wouldn't have sent them off without telling them who they were going to marry.  “And the dowry and other matters.”

“The first question would be bad enough,” Dread said, wryly.  He shook his head.  “We’ll go downstairs once the girls wake up and try and make contact.  If we fail, we head onwards tomorrow without waiting any longer.”

Johan nodded, slowly.

“But enough of that,” Dread said.  “How are you feeling?”

“I should be asking you that,” Johan said.  His father and Jamal had been broken when he’d taken their magic, but Dread ... seemed almost unchanged.  “How are you feeling?”

“You didn't have a choice,” Dread said, curtly.  “I told you that, remember?  I can't blame you for taking my magic.”

“My brother would consider it a fate worse than death,” Johan muttered.

“Which suggests a lack of imagination,” Dread commented.  “There are far worse fates than losing one’s magic.”

He met Johan's eyes.  “How are you feeling?”

“Odd,” Johan confessed.  “I keep thinking about my sisters.  Cass ... Cass told me I was being nasty to them, that I was being like Jamal.”

“You probably were, if she called you out on it,” Dread said.  He didn’t try to offer any false reassurance.  “Cass was always very perceptive.”

“I wish I thought she was wrong,” Johan said.  “Will I end up like Jamal?”

“Make a choice,” Dread advised.  “And then stick to it.”

Johan gave him a sharp look.  “That makes no sense.”

“It makes plenty of sense,” Dread said.  “You have power.  What you do with that power is up to you.  Using it to torment your sisters is a choice.  So is using it to heal the sick and save countless lives.  You’re not” - he glanced around the darkening room - “a cockroach, scuttling helplessly across the floor.  Make a choice about what you want to do with your life and stick to it.”

He shrugged.  “But I think you know what it’s like to be helpless,” he added, after a long moment.  “Do you really want to make anyone else feel that way?”

Johan shook his head, quickly.

“You’re talking too loudly,” Daria said, sitting up.  “I can hear you even in my sleep.”

“I’m sorry,” Johan said, quickly.  He felt a tingle in his mind as Elaine awoke too.  “I didn't mean to wake you.”

“Stay here,” Dread said.  “Johan and I will try to make contact with the Levellers.  Keep the door closed and don’t open to anyone, except us.”

“Understood,” Elaine said.  She rubbed her tired eyes as she sat up next to Daria.  “Good luck.”

Johan had to force himself to look away.  Elaine was cute, rather than pretty ... and yet he felt a surge of attraction that surprised him.  It struck him, a moment later, that she would sense his feelings ... flushing bright red, he opened the door and stepped outside, glancing up and down the darkened corridor for any signs of life.  Dread followed him, closing the door firmly.  Elaine’s wards would keep out anyone without magic who wasn't already keyed into them.

“Follow me,” Dread ordered.  “And keep one hand on your pouch at all times.”

“Yes, sir,” Johan said.  There was something about Dread that just compelled respect from him, even though he was no longer an Inquisitor.  “Shouldn’t I be carrying a sword?”

Dread gave him a sharp look.  “Do you know how to use a sword?”

“No,” Johan said.  “You point the sharp end towards the enemy, right?”

“It’s a little more complex than that,” Dread said, sarcastically.  “Unless you spend hours training with a mundane blade, you’re not going to be anything more than dead meat if you get into a swordfight.  I’ll try and teach you a few tricks, if you like, but you won’t find it easy.”

He led the way down the stairs and into the bar.  A handful of men were still boozing, but most of the patrons seemed to have left the bar and headed home.  Dread looked around, then headed straight towards the bartender.  The blonde-haired girl standing behind the bartender eyed them both sourly, her eyes promising mayhem if they even dared try any games with her.  Johan stepped up next to Dread, then cleared his throat.

“Knowledge is power,” he said.

The bartender scowled.  “Oh, piss off.”

“But power is knowledge,” the girl said.  Her eyes glinted with sudden suspicion.  “I don’t recall seeing either of you before.”

“We’re from the Golden City,” Dread said.  “And we need to talk.”

“Hawke sent us,” Johan added.

“I’ll take them into the backroom, father,” the girl said.  Her voice was brisk, rather than harsh or subservient.  Indeed, she sounded like someone who was used to taking control.  “Can you close up here?”

Johan looked from one to the other, puzzled.  He’d assumed the bartender would be the Leveller, but it was the girl?  On the other hand, he had to admit that no one would believe she was a Leveller.  Bar wrenches weren’t expected to do anything more than hand out the beer, take the money and put up with being groped by drunken patrons.  It was the perfect cover, assuming someone was prepared to tolerate the job.  And the girl looked tough; her long blonde hair and dirty dress didn't disguise the muscles on her arms.  Johan wouldn't have cared to get into a fight with her, not without magic.

The girl led them into a backroom, then closed the door and waved her hand.  Johan’s ability to sense magic was very limited, but it was clear she’d cast a privacy ward of some kind.  The door locked of its own accord a second later, keeping everyone else out.  It didn't escape Johan's notice that they were also locked in with a magician of unknown power.  If the meeting went wrong, they could end up in deep trouble.

He closed his eyes, gently touching Elaine through the bond.  She'd be looking through his eyes, for all the good it would do.  Maybe, if the meeting went badly wrong, Elaine and Daria could escape before it was too late.  He felt a flicker of concern on the other end of the link, then nothing more than calm patience.  Elaine had always been more patient than him.

“My name is Sarah,” the girl said, shortly.  “The reports from Knawel Haldane are not good.”

Dread leant forward, urgently.  “What do they say?”

“The city has been attacked by dragons, werewolves, basilisks and hundreds of other creatures out of legend,” Sarah said.  She didn't sound particularly concerned.  “We don’t know how seriously to take them.”

“The Emperor is using dragons, summoned using the magic of sacrificial victims,” Dread said, flatly.  “I imagine he won’t have any difficulty summoning other creatures, if he wishes.”

He cleared his throat.  “And does that convince you,” he added, “or do you want to keep the truth spell up?”

Johan blinked in surprise.  He hadn't sensed the truth spell!  How had Dread known it was there?  Did he have some residual sensitivity to magic?  Or had he recognised her casting the spell?  Or had he tried to lie and found it impossible?

“I’d prefer to keep it for the moment,” Sarah said.  She gave them a crooked smile.  “You’ll be surprised just how many infiltrators have tried to sneak into our ranks.”

“I wouldn't be,” Johan said.  He cleared his throat.  “I saved Hawke’s” - he tried to say son, but failed - “daughter.  He was willing to pass on code words to us in exchange.”

“So I hear,” Sarah said.  She studied him for a long moment, as if she was attempting to peer under his skin.  “Did the Watchtower really fall?”

“It did,” Dread said.  He cleared his throat.  “The Emperor is advancing towards Ida, for various reasons.  There is ... something ... hidden there, we believe, that will utterly change the world.  We have to get there first, before his army.  However, we also need to slow the army down as much as possible.”

“And recruit other magicians,” Johan added.  It was an insulting question, but it had to be asked.  “How powerful are you?”

Sarah gave him a nasty look.  “Would you like boils on your bum?”

“I’ve had worse,” Johan said.  It was true.  Jamal had once tested a torture curse on him, back when he’d been home from school.  “I’ve met nastier sadists than you.”

“I was taught by a friend here,” Sarah said, after a moment.  “I never went to the Peerless School ... or any school, really.  My wand is a hand-me-down that doesn't always work.”

“And you cast the truth spell on the whole room, rather than just the two of us,” Dread said, flatly.  “You don’t have the power to isolate a couple of subjects ...”

“I have enough to keep the patrons from doing anything too bad,” Sarah said.

“You’re a magician,” Johan said.  “Why are you also a Leveller?”

Sarah’s face darkened.  “Do you think it’s easy being a very low-power magician when there are hundreds far more powerful and capable?”

“No,” Johan said.  He thought, suddenly, of Elaine.  She could have been like Sarah if things had been a little different.  Enough magic to make her different, but not enough to become truly great.  And yet, given enough knowledge, Elaine had managed to start rewriting her spells to do more with less.  “I know it isn't easy.”

“I am a Leveller, first and foremost,” Sarah said.  She waved a finger at Johan, threateningly.  “Do you want to question me further?”

“No,” Dread said.  “We do, however, need to discuss planning with you.”

Sarah shrugged, then sat down on a hard wooden chair and scowled at them.  “What do you want us to do?  Bear in mind that we aren’t going to risk our lives too far.”

Dread met her eyes.  “First, tell me what the political situation here is like.”

“The City Fathers are in a mess,” Sarah said, after a moment’s thought.  “They’ve been hammering everyone who dares to repeat rumours from Knawel Haldane, even though the entire city knows.  The City Guard is on alert, but they don't know who or what they’re going to fight.  Us?  We’ve been keeping our heads down and trying to decide what to do about it.”

“I see,” Dread said.  “Do you have any allies on the City Council?”

Sarah snorted, rudely.  “Do you really think that any of them would ally themselves with us?  We do have a handful of allies in the City Guard, but no one with enough power to force the City Fathers to see reason.”

“I’ll give it some thought,” Dread said.  “How many of you are there and how many are magicians?”

“I would prefer not to answer that question,” Sarah said.  She waved a hand in the air, dispelling the truth spell.  “I will tell you that I’m not the only magician.”

Johan leant forward.  “Is there anyone significantly more powerful than you?”

“Some,” Sarah said, flatly.

“There are spells we could teach them, new spells,” Dread said.  “You might find them useful.”

“I’m sure,” Sarah said.  “Enough to stand up to a dragon?”

Dread looked uncomfortable.  “I would prefer not to allow those spells to become common knowledge,” he said.  He cleared his throat.  “Do you have any way of taking over the city?”

“Probably not,” Sarah said.  “We’d wind up with a civil war.”

“Then we need your magicians to come with us,” Dread said.  “In the meantime, we also need to bring down the bridges and make it harder for the enemy to ship his men across the river.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Sarah said in a tone that reminded Johan of Charity in a snit, “but dragons fly, don’t they?  There’s nothing stopping one flying over the river and bathing the city in fire.  Or do you think a dragon will refuse to fly over the water for fear of its wings suddenly failing and plunging into the icy waves?”

Johan felt himself flush, angrily.  His power, his strange power, rose to the forefront of his mind.  He could humble her, he could break her, he could strip her magic ...

Calm, Elaine said, through the link.  Take a deep breath and be calm.

I’m trying, Johan sent back, but ...

He forced himself to take a long breath, calming down.  It wasn't easy.  No one had talked to him like Sarah had since he’d gained his powers.  It brought back all the bitter memories of endless humiliations at the hands of his family, the people who should have loved him no matter what happened.  And it would be so easy to revenge himself on them.

“The Emperor wishes to push an army at Ida,” Dread said, calmly.  “The nearest natural ford on the Lug River is ninety miles to the north.  Taking down the bridges will force him, at the very least, to divert men and material to build pontoon bridges.  Unless” - he quirked an eyebrow - “it’s possible to swim the Lug?”

“Not here,” Sarah said.  She smiled, rather coldly.  Johan couldn't help thinking of a predatory animal moving towards its prey.  “The river looks deceptively tranquil, but only a complete idiot would attempt to swim it.  There are all sorts of nasty currents towards the middle.  I know sailors who turn pale at the thought of trying to navigate through the river.”

She frowned.  “But what’s to stop him from bringing his men over on dragons?”

“Very little,” Dread said.  “But it will take a very long time for him to merely move them from one side of the river to the other, if he’s completely dependent on dragons.  Anything that slows the main body of his army is worth doing, I think.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Sarah said.  “He’ll still take it out on the city, won’t he?”

Johan took a long breath.  “Yes, he will,” he said.  “But I don’t think you can expect to be treated well in any case.”

“The rumours from Knawel Haldane make that clear,” Sarah agreed.  She stood, brushing her hands down her filthy dress.  “I will, of course, have to discuss it with my fellows.  Those of us who are magicians will be interested ...”

“I would hope so,” Dread said.  He frowned.  “There really isn't much time.  I imagine they could be here within hours if they wanted to merely rely on the dragons.”

“I’ll tell them,” Sarah assured her.  “You’ll be safe in your room, for the moment.”

“Thank you,” Johan said.  He hesitated, then asked the question that had been nagging at his mind ever since he’d realised that Sarah was a magician.  “Why do you work here?”

Sarah shrugged.  “My father owns the inn,” she said.  “It's a good place to hear what’s going on - and besides, without me, one of the fights would burn the whole building to the ground soon enough.”

“But can’t you get a better job?”  Johan asked.  “Somewhere where you can use your magic?”

“Not when I barely have enough to light a candle,” Sarah snapped.  “I don’t even have enough to be interesting on the marriage market.”

She opened the door and nodded to the stairs.  “We’ll be in touch within the next couple of hours,” she added.  “Don’t leave the building; if you need food, ask one of the other wenches to get it for you.  I wouldn't advise eating anything from here unless you want to spend the next few hours on the pot.”

Johan shuddered in disgust.  Sarah smirked at him.

“You’re a long way from the Golden City,” she said.  “Welcome to how the rest of the world lives.”

Chapter Five

“I can still talk,” Jamal said, once he and Charity were alone in her tent.  “What happened to you?”

Charity glowered at him.  “You left me in charge of the family, you bastard,” she said.  The nasty part of her mind wondered if Jamal was a literal bastard.  But no, her father would have tested him as soon as he was born.  And besides, he looked more like his father - and Johan - than any of them would have preferred.  “I didn't have a choice.”

Jamal looked at her, sharply.  “To do what?”

“To pledge myself to the Emperor,” Charity snapped.  “To become his pawn - his puppet - in exchange for the safety of my remaining siblings.”

“Our remaining siblings,” Jamal said.

“You’re a slave,” Charity said.  “You have no siblings.”

Jamal smiled, rather thinly.  “So are you.”

“Shut up,” Charity ordered.  Jamal’s mouth snapped closed.  “Don’t say another word until I say otherwise.”

She glared at her older brother.  His eyes seemed to be glimmering with amusement, although a single word from her could have had him cutting his own throat.  And yet, the Emperor had a use for him.  She could no more defy the Emperor than Jamal could defy her - and he knew it, the bastard.  A slave had no kin, a slave was nothing but property ... and she was a slave too.  Jamal had been quite right.

“The Emperor wants you to kill Johan,” she said.  “Do you think you can?”

“I don’t seem to have a choice,” Jamal said, taking her question as permission to speak.  “I want to be free.”

“Yes, it is awkward having to do what you’re told,” Charity sniped.  She might have felt sorry for him if he hadn't cast compulsion charms on her while she was growing up.  “Do you really think the Emperor will free you?”

“He said he’d remove the collar,” Jamal reminded her.  “Are you allowed to suggest he might break his word?”

“I haven't been told otherwise,” Charity said.  She picked up a bell from the table and rang it, once.  Moments later, a maid - the slave collar around her neck clearly visible - stepped through the flap and into the tent.  “Fetch a large basin of warm water, a cloth, a towel and some commoner clothes for my brother.”

“Yes, Your Ladyship,” the maid said.  She looked Jamal up and down, silently gauging his measurements, then turned towards the flap.  “I will be back as soon as possible.”

“Now there’s someone obedient,” Jamal remarked.  “She hardly needs the collar.”

Charity shook her head in disbelief.  “Have you forgotten the collar around your neck already?”

She allowed her voice to harden.  “Tell me what happened after you lost your powers - and don’t try to hide anything.”

Jamal’s face twisted as he tried to fight the collar for a long moment.  Charity watched him absently, wondering if Jamal was strong enough to defeat the enchantment - and what she would do if he was.  But he had no magic and force of will alone wasn't enough to defeat such an intrusive spell.  In the end, he couldn't hold out any longer.

“I fled through the tunnels and out into the countryside,” Jamal said.  His voice became a whine.  “There were too many people who would want revenge.  I reached Knawel Haldane and rented a room at an inn while I tried to decide what to do.  But I ran out of money very quickly and they refused to extend any credit!  They didn't know who I was!”

“Of course not,” Charity said, nastily.  “Everyone knows that House Conidian only produces powerful magicians, not Powerless.”

Jamal glowered at her.  “They took me, shoved me into a cell and snapped a collar on me,” he added, bitterly.  “And then no one would even buy me!”

Charity laughed, even though it wasn't particularly funny.  If the Emperor hadn't attacked Knawel Haldane, Jamal would eventually have been sold to the mines - or worse - and worked to death.  The thought of her snooty bully of an older brother slaving away deep underground, digging up coal or gold, was surprisingly amusing.  No one would ever have known what had happened to him, nor would anyone have really cared.  House Conidian was better off without him.

“It must have suited you,” she said, finally.  “And it was precisely what you deserved.”

“I am the Prime Heir to House Conidian,” Jamal said.  “I ...”

“You were the Prime Heir right up until the moment you lost your magic,” Charity said.  Their father might have stripped Jamal of his position anyway - the gods knew the old man had been running out of patience, once Jamal had been arrested by the Inquisitors - but it no longer mattered.  “A Powerless can't be Family Head.”

Jamal flushed at her words.  How often had he thrown them at Johan, before casting a spell that had left the younger boy humiliated?  Losing his magic had to be the worst fate Jamal could imagine, if only because of all the people who’d want revenge.  Charity wouldn't have bet a single bronze coin on his surviving longer than a week.  But he had, barely.

He would have been worked to death in the mines, she reminded herself, as the tent flap opened and a pair of male attendants carried in a large washing tub.  She’d heard stories about the mines and none of them were good.  He wouldn't have survived more than a few weeks.

“Undress, then wash yourself,” she ordered.  The servants bowed to her, then turned and left the tent.  “I want you completely clean, so don’t forget to wash the collar.  And keep your mouth shut, unless you have an urgent question.”

Jamal’s face burnt with humiliation.  “I need to ... ah ... take a shit.”

Charity flushed in embarrassment.  “There’s a bucket in the washroom,” she said.  Trust Jamal to get under her skin, even when she held all the power.  “Do your business there, then wash yourself.  Once you are clean and dressed, call for me.”

She touched her wand at her belt, then headed through the flap into the next room.  The maid would give Jamal the clothes, once they were ready, and the collar would keep him from doing anything she’d find objectionable.  Until then ... she sat down at her desk and stared at the handful of remaining artefacts, wondering what surprises they might hold.  But as she started to work her way through them, it became clear that they simply weren't particularly interesting.

At least the knife might be useful, she thought, touching it gingerly.  She might not have been its mistress, but the charms on the blade would work for her too.  I can use it, if necessary.

It was nearly an hour before Jamal called her name.  Charity sighed, then rose to her feet and stepped back through the flap.  Jamal was standing in front of the maid, wearing a long brown outfit that reminded her of the farmers she’d seen before the family had headed to the Golden City ... and fallen apart.  It was cleaner, though, than anything a farmer would wear and would probably attract attention.  She had to force herself to resist the urge to order Jamal to roll in the mud a few times before taking him back to the Emperor.  Instead, she settled for beckoning him to follow her as she strode out of the tent.

Night had fallen completely, but the camp was lit up by hundreds of glowing lanterns, throwing shadows everywhere.  She hesitated, then led Jamal towards the sacrificial pits, where a dozen red-robed sorcerers were systematically butchering the magicians unfortunate enough to live in Knawel Haldane.  Their hands chained with magic-resistant cuffs, the poor sorcerers didn't have a chance.  One by one, they were marched to the block and beheaded, their magic extracted from their body and channelled into the Emperor’s crystals.  Their dead bodies were carried off by slaves to a nearby tent, where the bodies were stripped of anything useful for dark rituals.  The sorcerers didn't stop being valuable after their deaths.

She smiled, inwardly, as she heard Jamal gag.  He’d been an asshole, all right; he’d bullied his younger siblings and anyone who didn't have the magic to stand up to him.  But he’d never killed, as far as she knew, and he’d certainly never set out to slaughter hundreds of lesser magicians for their magic and blood.  He knew, as well as she did, just what one could do with the remains of a dead magician.  To see what the Emperor was capable of ...

It might make him think, she thought, although she suspected it wouldn’t.  Jamal was a slave, helpless and trapped.  He’d do anything to escape that fate, no matter how vile.  By now, Johan’s death would seem a minor price for freedom.  If she’d been offered the same choice, Charity asked herself, what would she have done?  Killed Johan ... if, of course, it was possible.  Johan’s magic was so strange that no one really understood how it worked.  Jamal might end up dead instead.

“Let me go,” a voice screamed.  Charity looked towards the line of magicians and saw a girl who couldn't be much older than herself, struggling helplessly against her restraints.  “Let me go!”

A red-robed sorcerer pointed a wand at her and she screamed in pain, falling to the ground and thrashing helplessly.  Her fellows made no move to help her, but then ... there was nothing they could do.  The red-robed sorcerers, their robes the colour of blood, picked the girl up, threw her over the altar and nodded to the headsman.  A second later, her head hit the ground and a surge of magic flared into one of the crystals.  Jamal swallowed, loudly enough for Charity to hear, as the remains of her body were taken away.

“I never asked,” Charity muttered, as they slipped away from the bloodstained altar.  “Why did you keep picking on us?”

Jamal’s face contorted as he struggled to keep his treacherous mouth shut.  “Because it was fun,” he said, finally.  “I liked watching you all under my power.”

Charity wished she was surprised.  She’d been told at the Peerless School that a certain amount of bullying was acceptable, if only to encourage young magicians to learn how to defend themselves.  Jamal had once even had the nerve to tell her that the itching hex he’d hidden on her robes was for her own good.  But Jamal had taken it far too far ... and the only reason he’d done it was because he enjoyed it.  Their father had never tormented Jamal merely to force him to become better.

“You’re sick,” she said, finally.

“Fuck you, little sis,” Jamal snapped back.  “Which of us pledged herself to the Emperor?”

“Shut up,” Charity snarled.  He was right, of course; his collar could be removed, but her oaths were binding until the day she died.  “And pinch yourself as hard as you can.”

Jamal grunted in pain.  Charity felt a brief moment of satisfaction before it was washed away by despair.  Jamal would be freed; she’d remain a slave for the rest of her life.  It wasn't fair ... she pushed the thought aside as she stepped into the tent, then prostrated herself in front of the Emperor.  He was staring into the distance, his face oddly slack.  For an odd moment, she was half-convinced she was prostrating herself in front of the wrong person.

“Charity,” the Emperor said, shaking himself out of his funk.  “Is Jamal ready to depart?”

“Yes, Your Supremacy,” Charity said.  “All he needs is the collar removed.”

“So he does,” the Emperor said.  He waved a hand at Jamal and the younger man froze, unable to move.  “We will start with a blood oath.”

He produced a dagger from his belt and carefully placed the blade against Jamal’s neck, breaking the skin just enough to produce a tiny line of blood.  Charity watched, torn between fascination and horror, as the Emperor muttered the words of a spell, magic flickering around the cut and shimmering into Jamal’s body.  She’d never seen anything quite like it, but somehow she wasn't surprised the Emperor would use such a ritual.  Blood was the single most potent magical substance that could be extracted from the human body.

“Your task is the death of your brother Johan,” the Emperor said.  “This oath will push you onwards until your brother is dead, whereupon it will break and you will be free.”

At least he mentioned Johan by name, Charity thought.  Their younger brothers were at the Peerless School, reasonably safe ... or as safe as they could be, with a mad Emperor on the Golden Throne.  An oath that didn’t specify which brother had to die could be subverted quite easily.  Jay and Jolie will be safe.

She shuddered in horror.  The Emperor had made her take children from the Peerless School, children who had been used in a ritual for summoning entities from beyond.  Yes, they’d been newborn magicians, with no families to complain ... but the Emperor was now so powerful that the remaining Great Houses didn't have a hope in hell of stopping him.  He could take Jay and Jolie from the Peerless School if he wished, unless the Administrator stood up to him ...

And that isn't going to happen, she thought.  He doesn’t have a backbone, let alone the support of the staff.

The Emperor muttered another set of words in an unknown language, then smiled.  “You may remove the collar.”

Charity groaned inwardly, then reached for the collar and pulled it off effortlessly.  She was its mistress after all.  Jamal didn't move, of course; the Emperor’s spell was still holding him in place.  And then the spell broke and he lunged at her, only to be thrown back by her protective wards.  His body hit the side of the tent and fell to the ground.

“I hope you will be more careful when attacking your brother,” the Emperor observed, as Jamal slowly picked himself up from the ground.  “Trying to attack your sister when she has her magic ... my, what an idiot you are.”

He looked at Charity.  “Hurt him.”

Charity lifted her wand and cast a simple spell.  Their mother had taught her the spell when she’d started her menses, telling her that it was an effective deterrent to any man who thought he could force himself on her.  Jamal’s eyes widened, then he grabbed for his crotch, screaming in pain.  Charity pushed more power into the spell as he hit the ground again, curling up into a ball.  It didn't matter what he did, she knew.  He had no magic to counter the spell.

“Enough,” the Emperor said, quietly.  He smiled at her, showing impeccable teeth, as Jamal slowly pulled himself back to his feet.  “Did you enjoy that?”

Charity didn't want to answer, but she had no choice.  “Yes.”

“Good,” the Emperor said.  He clapped his hands together, once.  “Moeder!”

The rear flap opened, revealing the older woman.  Charity stepped aside as she nodded to the Emperor, wondering - again - at the odd sense she knew the woman from somewhere.  The woman ignored her completely, her dark eyes travelling over Jamal and clearly dismissing him.  Jamal looked back at her, then glanced at Charity.  His eyes were wide with fear.

It hurts, Charity thought, vindictively.  Doesn't it?  To be helpless as someone hurts you because they can.

“Jamal has a blood link to Johan,” the Emperor said, curtly.  “You will take a dragon and move ahead of us, towards Ida.  Once you have a clear line to Johan, you will close in on him and kill him, then capture the Head Librarian.  You know what to do then.”

“Yes,” Moeder said.

She didn't offer any honorific, Charity thought, shocked.  Who is this woman?

“We won’t fail you,” Jamal stammered.  “I won’t let you down.”

“See that you don’t,” the Emperor said.  “The consequences will be very unpleasant if you do.”

He closed his eyes for a long moment, summoning a dragon, then led the way through the flap and out into the field.  A large dragon settled to the ground moments later, beady eyes inspecting the passengers as though they were nothing more than a snack.  Charity had to smile at Jamal’s reaction - he wouldn't have seen the dragons as they tore through the city’s defences - and then stepped backwards as the dragon looked at her.  Like the one that had carried her earlier, it didn't seem to like her.

“You should be able to get there before daybreak,” the Emperor said, as the guards mounted the dragon.  “I don’t want the dragon seen, if possible.”

“We will do our best,” Moeder said.  “But by now rumours will be spreading everywhere.”

“Of course they will,” the Emperor said.  “Will they be believed?”

Probably not, Charity thought.  The last dragons, as far as anyone knew, had died out hundreds of years ago.  Dragonhide cloaks, capable of repelling almost any curse, were worth literally millions of gold coins ... if, of course, one could find a seller.  No one will believe there are more dragons now, not when they don’t know where they come from ...

The Emperor turned to her.  “Do you want to say anything to your brother?”

Rot in hell, Charity thought.

She cleared her throat.  “I hope I never see you again,” she said.  “And you are no longer part of House Conidian.”

Jamal opened his mouth to say something cutting, but Moeder pushed him onto the dragon and then scrambled up after him.  The dragon flapped its wings, then leapt into the air, leaving nothing but warm air behind.  Moments later, it had vanished completely in the darkness.

No one will see it, Charity thought.  She wondered, briefly, what Johan was doing, then shook her head.  No one will see the dragon until it’s far too late.

Chapter Six

“Welcome to one of our lairs,” Sarah said, as Elaine followed her through the door.  “I trust I can rely on you to keep your mouth shut?”

Elaine nodded, looking around with interest.  The Leveller base was really nothing more than a private school, one of the places where middle-class children received an education that might - might - allow them to aspire to rise in the world.  A handful of orphans had won scholarships to similar schools in the Golden City, she recalled; she'd hoped to win one herself before she’d discovered she already had a place at the Peerless School.  And if she’d been a little different, she might have ended up like Sarah.

The schoolhouse had four classrooms, she discovered as they walked through them, and a single large hall for games.  She puzzled over it for a moment - there was plenty of space outside for the children to burn off energy - and then realised it provided an excuse to have a large space that could double up as a training room.  A handful of wards brushed against her awareness as she passed through the door, spying seven other magicians sitting on the floor waiting for her.  Five of them had their faces hidden behind glamours; the other two, both young women, were staring at her defiantly.  She wondered if she would recognise them, but when she took a closer look neither of the women were recognisable.

“This is Elaine,” Sarah said.  “I believe she has something to teach us.”

“I do,” Elaine said.

One of the glamoured magicians snorted.  “What can a librarian teach us?”

“You would have been taught spells designed for magicians with far more power,” Elaine said, bluntly.  There was no time to be polite.  “Like me, you will have had real problems making them work because you don’t have the magic to smooth over the cracks.  This put you all at a major disadvantage when facing more powerful magicians.”

She took a breath.  She disliked talking to strangers, let alone trying to teach them something important.  Vane had handled all such matters in the Great Library.  But Vane was dead or enslaved, Daria didn't know the material and Dread couldn't teach magic any longer.  Hell, he couldn’t have mastered her spells even if he’d still had his powers.  She was the only hope they had.

“I’ve spent the last six months devising spells that use less power, but have the same effects,” she continued, carefully.  “There's no reason why you shouldn't be able to use those spells too.”

The first magician snorted, again.  “I was told that was impossible.”

Elaine raised her wand and cast the first spell, generating a ball of light hanging in the air.  If she’d used the standard spell, it would have begun to flicker very quickly as it took a toll on her magic; now, it just glowed permanently.  The speaker made a spluttering sound, then drew his own wand and cast a diagnostic charm.  There was hardly any link between her and the ball of light, now it was drifting away from her.

“That’s impossible,” he said.

“No, it isn't,” Elaine said.  She hesitated, then took the plunge.  “Your tutors didn't really comprehend how their magic worked.  They never really realised that there were ways to cut down the power requirements.”

Sarah stared at the light, her face transfixed.  “But how?”

Elaine took a moment to think of an example.  “Pretend you want to build a bridge over a river,” she said.  “You can cut down a tree and use it as a bridge - one solid piece of wood - or you can build the bridge up from many smaller components.  My spells” - she nodded to the glowing ball - “are composed of a number of small spells, working together to produce a perfect result.  The overall power requirements are much weaker than casting the whole spell in a single effort.”

“You’d need a great deal of concentration,” the first speaker said.

“She has it,” Sarah said.  “And so do you, Brian.”

“No names,” Brian hissed.

“We all pledged ourselves to secrecy,” Sarah reminded him.  “And if we get caught, we’re doomed anyway.”

Elaine nodded.  The Empire hadn't cared much about the Levellers - although it was growing increasingly clear that that had been a mistake - but the Grand Sorcerers would be horrified at the thought of magicians turning against the Empire.  Sarah and her allies might be weak magicians, yet they were still magicians.  They couldn’t expect anything other than an unpleasant death from the Grand Sorcerers, let alone the Emperor.  But then, with the Empire falling apart and the Witch-King preparing to return to the world, it was quite possible that no one would be around to care.

“I have a number of other adapted spells,” Elaine said.  She'd planned to teach them at the Peerless School, before Johan had come into her life.  Light Spinner had seen the value, even if many other traditional magicians had not.  “I can teach them, if you are willing to learn, but there’s something we need in exchange.”

Sarah gave her a sharp look.  “And that would be ...?”

“We need you to come with us,” Elaine said.  “Some of the spells I devised will be too revealing if used before we’re ready.”

“That would mean abandoning my wife and family,” Brian said, coldly.  “Or do you expect them to come with us?”

“If they will,” Elaine said.  Given Brian’s level of power, it was unlikely he’d married into a magical family.  His wife was probably a mundane and his children ... either weak magicians or mundanes themselves.  Would they count as Powerless?  Probably.  “I have spells that should take down a dragon, but if they’re used too early the Emperor will be able to take countermeasures.”

“Dragons,” Brian sneered.

“They’re real,” Elaine said, quietly.  She’d had nightmares about the creatures wheeling over the Golden City.  Inquisitor Cass and Lady Light Spinner had been killed by the dragons, according to Dread, and they’d both been powerful magicians.  “The Emperor intends to use them to crush all resistance.”

“He’s likely to succeed,” one of the girls said.  “What do we have here that can stop a dragon?”

There was a long pause.  Elaine worked her way through the knowledge in her head, but the only solution the ancients had found involved either sacrificial magic or dragons of their own.  A dozen magicians working together might just kill a dragon, if they managed to hold together long enough, yet while they were killing one dragon the others might tear them apart.  And dragons were tough.  Swords, spears and arrows just glanced off their armoured hides.  A lone man on a horseback had about as much chance of surviving as a mundane at the Peerless School.

“We could always try to drown them,” Sarah offered, after a moment.  “A simple spell would make them much heavier, plunging them downwards.  If we cast the spells at the right time, they’d go straight into the Lug.”

“And then the spell would be countered by the Emperor and his servants,” Brian pointed out, rudely.  “We could use water bubbles.”

“They’d breath fire and the water would turn to steam,” the girl snapped.  “Unless it was a lot of water.”

“Flame-repelling charms might work,” Sarah said.

“They breathe magical fire,” Elaine said.  Part of her was enjoying the session - it was the kind of brainstorming she’d never really had at the Peerless School - but there just wasn't time.  “They’d go through charms and burn their way through wards.”

“We could ward parts of the city,” Sarah said.

“It wouldn't last very long, even if every magician got involved,” Brian said.  “We just don’t have the power to seal off the entire city.”

He cleared his throat.  “I will send my family out on a boat,” he said.  “We have relatives on Casaubon.  My wife and children can stay there, for the moment, while I leave the city with you.”

Sarah lifted her eyebrows.  “You’ve changed your mind.”

“Shut your mouth, wench,” Brian said, without heat.  “If we can't stop the dragons, we need to get out of here before it’s too late.  My wife will be safe enough without me, for the moment, as long as she’s well away from here.”

Sarah looked from face to face.  “I can send a messenger to our families,” she said.  “Is there anyone here who doesn't want to accompany our friends to their final destination?”

“I can't leave the city,” one of the other glamoured magicians said.  He - no, Elaine realised, she - rose to her feet.  “I’ll take the messages, if you wish.”

Elaine sat back, silently gathering her thoughts, as the magicians hastily wrote out messages for their families.  She hoped the families readied themselves to leave at once - surely, the Levellers would have plans to escape the city the moment word got out - and left by the end of the day.  There was no way to know what the Emperor was doing, but it wouldn't take long for a handful of dragons to fly to Falcone’s Nest and attack.  Dread wanted to leave tomorrow, whatever happened, and he’d made it clear that he thought they were cutting it fine.  

“Very well,” she said, once the six remaining magicians had settled down in front of her, ready to learn.  “This is the first defensive spell ...”

It took nearly an hour for them to master the first spell, not entirely to her surprise.  They’d been taught to overpower their spells, which was inconvenient when they simply didn't have the power to make it work.  She had to go through the spell component by component, demonstrating how it went together to form a seamless whole before pushing them into trying to cast it for themselves.  It was a well-chosen spell, she thought.  Anyone trying to cheat would find themselves rapidly running out of magic.

“It’s a weird effect,” Brian said.  He’d been the first to master it.  “Like a thousand little spells rather than one.”

“That’s the point,” Elaine said.  “Think of it as sharing the weight amongst those spells ...”

“Like having three other people help to pick up a box, rather than carrying it yourself,” Sarah said.  She sounded frustrated.  Her spell wasn't working out so well.  “You might have to coordinate properly, but at least you won’t be doing all the work yourself.”

“You’re still trying to force your way through,” Elaine said, gently.  “Don’t push so much power into the spells.”

Sarah gave her a nasty look.  Elaine understood; Sarah had been told, years ago, that she had to force the spells to work, even though she didn't have the reserves to make them stick.  It was a lesson that had plagued Elaine too, right up until she’d learnt how to rewrite the spells herself.  But then, if she’d been as determined to prove herself as Sarah, she might have pushed herself to breaking point trying to coax more magic out of her body.

“You’re either overbalancing or destroying the spells,” she added.  “Let the magic flow naturally, once the spells are ready.”

“There,” Sarah said.  “It works.”

“And you’re not even being drained,” Elaine pointed out.  “Just think about using these spells in combat.”

Sarah frowned.  “What’s to stop them doing the same?  The Emperor’s forces, I mean.  These spells aren't that difficult.”

Elaine bit down on the temptation to point out that Sarah had been the last magician to master the spell.  She doubted Sarah would thank her for pointing it out.  Instead, she tapped the scorch marks on the floor where Sarah’s spells had disintegrated into light and heat.

“They had the same training as you,” she said, “but they weren't so frustrated.  Right now, making magic work through force of will is second nature to them.  They wouldn't see any downsides because they have power to spare.”

She had to fight down a stab of envy.  Dread had had power to spare; Light Spinner and the Privy Council had been among the most powerful magicians in the world.  Millicent - her oldest enemy - had been powerful enough to get courted by dozens of magicians, including a number who were considerably older than her.  But Elaine had never had those power reserves and, no matter what she did, there was no way to gain them without courting madness.  The powerful magicians would always have an unfair advantage.  

Bitterly, she forced the feeling aside.  “They won’t be able to alter the way they cast their spells easily,” she added, as reassuringly as she could.  Sarah and she had far too much in common.  “Even if they start learning my rewritten spells, casting them would force them to unlearn everything they’d mastered at the Peerless School.”

“They could do it,” Sarah said.

“Not easily,” Elaine repeated.  She took a breath.  “They’d really have to go all the way down to bedrock, while they’d see their greater power reserves as a way to jump forward.  It would take them years to master my spells to the point where they can use them to save energy while casting the more powerful spells.”

“I hope you’re right,” Sarah muttered.

Elaine smiled.  “Do you remember how the more powerful students always used to have trouble with their potions?”

“I didn't go to the Peerless School,” Sarah snapped.  “And I never had any talent for potions.”

“They had real problems mastering the art of using their magic to blend the ingredients together,” Elaine said.  She’d known, intellectually, that Sarah wasn't formally trained, but she hadn't really believed it.  But then, she hadn't grown up outside the Golden City, where magical students were identified before their magic came to life.  “It was the middle-ranked students who tended to be best at brewing potions.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Sarah said.  She cast the spell again, shaking her head in disbelief as a glowing orb of light appeared in front of her.  “What else can you teach us?”

Elaine smiled.

It was, she decided afterwards, one of the most interesting experiences of her life.  She’d never been nominated to tutor anyone at the Peerless School - she simply didn't have the power reserves to cow a first-year student, let alone anyone else - and she honestly didn't like the idea of tutoring anyone.  And yet, there was something about watching them cast her spells and make them work that thrilled her.  She rubbed her eyes, feeling the glamour in place that hid her eyes from casual inspection.  If it wasn't so tiring, she might even have suggested they stay at work right up until dusk.

“There’s dinner in the upper room,” Sarah said, straightening up.  “Make sure you eat as much as you can.”

“Yes, mother,” Brian said.

Sarah jabbed her finger at him; he raised a defence, just in time, as the spell splattered into his protections and flashed out of existence.  Elaine sighed, inwardly; she'd wondered if Brian had been the one to teach Sarah, but it was clear she didn't treat him like a tutor.  Brian, at least, had had some formal schooling.  The thought made her smile as she followed Sarah up the stairs and into the dining room.

“I meant to ask,” she said.  “Do you teach magic here?”

“Not officially,” Sarah said.  She gave Elaine a wintery smile.  “But we do watch for students with potential and try to steer them towards us.  If we’d known about your spells ...”

She paused, suddenly.  “Do the Inquisitors know about them?”

“I’m not sure,” Elaine said, honestly.  Dread knew, of course, but had he discussed the matter with anyone other than Light Spinner?  Come to think of it, had Light Spinner talked about it with her advisers?  Elaine doubted it - powerful magicians wouldn't have wanted to consider spells that might make lesser magicians their equals - but it was possible.  “I was talking about them with a few people, but I don’t know how many others they might have told.”

“You should have kept them for yourself,” Sarah said, curtly.  “Or shared them with us.”

“I didn't know about you at the time,” Elaine said.  She'd only heard vague rumours of the Levellers before Johan had met Hawke ... and she’d never taken them seriously.  “And we were short of trained magicians.  Too many died in the Golden City.”

“Good,” Sarah said.  “The Empire is rotten to the core.  It needs to die.”

“There will be war,” Elaine said.  “Kingdoms will declare independence, then wage war on their neighbours.  Dark Wizards will tear through entire countries ...”

Sarah smiled as she passed Elaine a plate of food, wrapped in a stasis spell.  “Tell me,” she said, sweetly.  “What exactly do you have sitting on the Golden Throne?”

“A monster,” Elaine said.  She had no doubt of that, not after Deferens had cast a spell on her that would eventually have worn her down, if she hadn’t managed to free herself just in time.  And he’d sacrificed children to summon the dragons back into the world.  “Deferens is a monster in human form.”

And he has the Witch-King pulling his strings, she added, silently.  Everything Deferens has done must benefit him in some way.

“Exactly,” Sarah said.  “Or, in other words, a Dark Wizard.”

Elaine sat down and began to eat, barely tasting the food.  The Empire had ruled the entire world for over a thousand years.  Indeed, most people believed the Empire to have been around for far longer; Elaine suspected that only the Witch-King and she knew better.  But now, with a tyrant on the Golden Throne and the Inquisitors at his beck and call ... the Empire had become a nightmare.  Perhaps it was time for it to go.

But if we can't hold it together, she thought, remembering when she’d been on the Privy Council, what will take its place?

Chapter Seven

“So that’s how you did it,” Dread said, looking down at the barrel of Firepowder.  “And there’s no magic here at all?”

“None,” the chemist confirmed.  He hadn't shared his name; indeed, he’d refused to meet their eyes as he showed them the Firepowder.  “And I can't make any more either.”

Johan cursed under his breath.  “There’s three bridges,” he said.  “Do we have enough to bring them all down?”

“The first bridge can be burnt,” Bill said.  Sarah had introduced him to them, then headed off with Elaine to learn magic.  “It’s the other two that are the real problem.  I don’t think we have enough Firepowder to wreck them both.”

Johan turned to look at him.  He was fat and bald, although there were muscles rippling under his arms that suggested he would be a nasty customer in a fight.  Johan suspected, from the way he had looked at Sarah, that he had a crush on her, although there was no way to be sure if it was anything more.  They certainly hadn't acted like lovers, but that might not mean anything.

“Getting onto the bridge will be a problem,” the chemist said, bluntly.  “There aren't any Iron Dragons at night, but the bridges are guarded at both ends.”

Dread leant back, thinking hard.  “We couldn't just blow a hole in the middle,” he said, slowly.  “That could be repaired quickly, perhaps even before the enemy arrives.  We’d need to wreck the spans.”

“There are other ways to produce fire,” Johan said.  His power could produce something, he was sure.  “Couldn't we go out there and see?”

“We might have to,” Dread said.  He looked at Bill.  “Can you take us near the bridges so we can inspect them?”

“Of course,” Bill said.  “What do you want to do with the Firepowder?”

“Leave it here, for the moment,” Dread said.  He threw a glance at Daria, still in wolf-form, then nodded.  “We’ll come back for it if we see a way to put it to use.”

Johan followed Dread and Bill out of the hidden workplace and down through the streets towards the river.  The smell of rotting fish grew stronger; he had to force himself not to gag as they passed a market, the tables strewn with fish, shellfish and even a single giant whale being slowly cut down into its component pieces.  Bill explained, as they headed onwards, that Falcone’s Nest sent out a handful of whaling ships, although the whales tended to be very good at fighting back.  It wasn't uncommon for whalers to vanish somewhere in the cold ocean.

He looked down the river towards the sea as it came into view, then tilted his head to look at the bridges.  They were spectacular, strange mixtures of wood, stone and iron - the latter quite resistant to magic - that dominated the river.  It must have been an immense task to build even one of them, he reasoned; the cost in lives must have been terrifyingly high before the river had finally been tamed.  And yet ... he peered towards the waters and shuddered as he saw the currents, out in the midst of the river.  Sarah was right.  The Lug was still a treacherous piece of water.

“Guardhouses at both sides,” Dread said, quietly.  “And reinforcements on call, ready to intervene if we did anything.  Those structures may even be tougher than the Watchtower.”

“And the blast needs to strike the spans,” Bill added, equally quietly.  “Firepowder doesn’t work like blasting hexes, sir.  If you put a barrel beside the span the blast will follow the path of least resistance.”

“Then we’d need to get the Firepowder inside,” Dread reasoned.  “But how?”

He shook his head.  “I need to consider the possibilities,” he added.  “Can you give us some time here?”

“Sure,” Bill said.  “Just meet up with us at the inn.”

He turned and strode away, whistling cheerfully to himself.  Dread sat down on a wooden bench, stroking Daria’s fur absently.  Johan had to fight to keep the amusement off his face; Daria was, after all, a werewolf.  Surely, someone had noticed by now.  It wasn't as if she was the same size as a regular dog.

But few werewolves would pretend to be normal, he reminded himself.  They might refuse to believe that a werewolf could act like a dog.

“I don’t see any way to do it, unless your magic can work,” Dread said, softly.  “Do you think you can damage the bridges?”

“I’m not sure,” Johan admitted.  On one hand, his power cut through normal wards and protections as if they weren't there; on the other, he’d never tried anything so large.  A normal magician could summon fire and use it as a weapon, but would it be enough?  “Do you think I should try?”

“I think there isn't any other choice,” Dread said.  They’d talked a little about his power in the days since Dread had lost his, although it hadn't been a pleasant conversation for either of them.  “We’ll try at night, unless you want to try now.”

Johan nodded.  “We’d have time to warn the others,” he said.  “Will they try to close the gates?”

“That’s a problem,” Dread agreed.  “But we can probably slip out, if necessary.  There’s usually a tunnel or two running under the walls.”

They rose, then returned to the inn.  Daria snapped back into human form as soon as they were safely in their room and headed for the bathroom, while Johan lay down on the bed and watched darkness slowly descending over the city.  Dread spoke briefly to Sarah - and an exhausted Elaine - and then ordered food for the rest of them.  Elaine, it seemed, had already eaten.  Johan watched her sleeping for a long moment, then turned his attention to Dread and Sarah.

“The families are already out of the city,” Sarah said, shortly.  “Those of us who are magicians are going to be coming with you, as you wanted.  The others ... are going to be making themselves useful when the Emperor arrives.”

“You can't stop him,” Dread said.  

“We can at least try to make his life miserable,” Sarah said.  “The City Fathers will bend the knee to him at once, should they live so long.  We, on the other hand ...”

“Very good,” Dread said.  He leant forward.  “We’ll slip out of the inn once it gets completely dark.”

“Just make sure you stick to the shadows,” Sarah advised.  “Can either of you cast a glamour?”

“ ... No,” Dread said.

“Then make sure you take some coins to bribe the Watch, should they catch sight of you,” Sarah said.  “You don’t want to spend the rest of the night in the pokey.”

“Of course not,” Dread agreed.  “Can you get me some equipment?  I need a rope and a set of janitor’s tools.”

Sarah smiled.  “Planning a spot of burglary?  They hang thieves here, you know.”

Johan shuddered.  It wasn't a pleasant thought.

They set out again an hour later, picking their way through the darkened streets.  Johan couldn't help feeling that the streets were darker than before, as if the city was slowly becoming aware of the danger confronting it.  There were only a handful of lanterns, while many of the citizens seemed to be heading indoors as fast as they could.  The marketplace, so full of life when he’d seen it earlier, was now deserted; he slipped on a piece of fish and swore quietly as he almost landed on his rear.

“Careful,” Dread hissed.  “You don’t know if there's anyone on guard.”

Johan nodded as they slipped down to the river and peered into the darkness.  It was eerie; he could see a handful of lights, where a number of boats floated in midstream drifting up and down with the tide.  The bridges themselves were illuminated by lanterns hanging down from the railings, indicating their positions to anyone foolish enough to try to sail up or downriver in the pitch darkness.  And, on the other side of the water, he saw nothing.  There wasn't even a single light shining out in the shadows.  

“There could be anything out there,” he breathed.

“You’re getting the idea,” Dread said.  There was a grim note to his voice.  “The Emperor could have moved advance scouts to the Lug under cover of darkness.”

Johan looked up.  The stars were twinkling overhead.  Were there dragons up there too, unseen and unheard, just waiting for the command to attack the city?  It would be hard to hide something so big from detection, but if the magicians weren't looking for dragons who knew if they’d sense anything?  Did dragons have a magical signature?  There was no way to know until one of them crossed a ward intended to sense magic-users ...

Dread touched Johan’s shoulder.  He jumped.

“There isn't much time,” Dread warned.  “Try to take out the bridges now.”

Johan nodded, taking a deep breath.  No matter what Elaine said, his power just didn't work normally.  Using it was difficult, nothing like Elaine’s careful building up of spells for maximum effect.  Indeed, it only worked well when he really - really - wanted something, be it freedom from Jamal or revenge on his cursed family.  And he didn't really want to destroy the bridges.  They were brilliant.

He clenched his fists, summoning hatred.  They were dangerous.  The Emperor could use them to ship troops across the Lug and take Falcone’s Nest, then advance onwards to Ida.  It could not be allowed.  He forced himself to think of the innocent civilians who were in deadly danger, concentrating his anger on the bridges.  Again, there was a strange shimmer of power ...

... And he hated.  He hated the bridges.

The first bridge went up like a fireball, the heat so intense that steam boiled up from the water as the bridge melted like a snowflake caught in bright sunlight.  Johan heard someone screaming as night turned to day, but he had no time to care as he switched his hatred to the second bridge.  It was easier, now, to generate the rage that boiled through him, tearing through the bridge and sending great gouts of flame spewing in all directions.  The third and final bridge seemed made of stronger stuff, for a long second, and then it too melted as the flames grew hotter and hotter.  The heat slapped his face, setting a dozen wooden ships on fire, their sleeping crews trapped beneath the decks as flames roared through their boats ...

... And he was killing them.

He sagged to his knees, anger gone.  How many people had he just killed?  The Levellers had been sure there were no people on the bridges at night - apparently, it was a guaranteed whipping to be caught trying to sneak across under cover of darkness - but they hadn't bargained on him incinerating the boats.  Guilt stabbed him, a bitter guilt that tore through his rationalisations.  The bridges had had to die - of that he was sure - but did the innocent civilians deserve to die too?

“Impressive.” Dread said, neutrally.

Johan looked up.  The first bridge was gone; little remained, save for a handful of foundations poking out of the water.  Flames crackled along the water’s edge, incinerating the remains of the guardhouse.  Beyond it, the second bridge was a twisted ruin - the iron, it seemed, had survived the fires - while the third bridge was still burning brightly.  Somehow, Johan doubted that anything could cross now.  All the City Fathers would have to do to keep themselves safe - or safer - was round up the boats and move them to their side of the Lug.  

He saw a burning boat and shuddered.  How many had he killed?

“We can't stay here,” Dread said.  Someone had started to ring the bells - and, in the dark hours before dawn, it could only be to warn of danger.  The fires were dying down, throwing the riverside back into darkness, but it wouldn't be long before guardsmen were scouring the shoreline for signs of who - or what - had destroyed the bridges.  “They’ll catch us.”

Johan barely heard him.  He reached out for Elaine’s presence in his mind, but she was sleeping.  There would be no comfort from her ... if, of course, there was anything she could say to make him feel better.  He’d just killed at least a hundred innocent people to save thousands more.  He didn't deserve comfort, he deserved punishment.  How was he any different from Jamal?

“Come on,” Dread snapped.  “They’re coming!”

He pulled Johan to his feet, then up towards the darkened streets as the sound of running footsteps echoed through the air.  They were just in time; a long line of armed men ran past, heading down to the shore.  The bells were growing louder as more and more temples added their bells to the chimes, alerting the population to ... what?  Johan wondered, as Dread pulled him further into the darkness, if the City Fathers would finally believe in the dragons.  A dragon could easily rip a bridge to shreds if it wanted.  

Or if the Emperor ordered them to cut the links between Falcone’s Nest and the other riverside, he thought.  Maybe he’d want to keep rumours from spreading further.

“Keep quiet,” Dread ordered.  “And stay in the shadows.  We don’t want to be caught anywhere near the riverbank.”

Johan nodded and followed Dread as they returned to the market place.  A handful of men carrying improvised weapons stood in the centre, looking for potential threats.  They didn’t look very professional, but he knew that didn't stop them from being dangerous.  Gritting his teeth, he stayed low and followed Dread as he crawled under the tables and into the alleyway at the far side of the marketplace.  The smell of fish faded, to be replaced by the smell of humans trying to find a place to stay for the night.  A handful of men were huddling together against the wall, wrapped in blankets.  He felt a stab of pity as they crawled past them and onwards, back towards the inn.

“Hey,” a voice bellowed.  Johan jumped.  “Stop!”

Dread muttered a curse as Johan turned to see a City Guardsman running towards them, club in hand.  There was a nasty expression on his face as he approached, a strange combination of glee and fear.  Johan puzzled over it for a moment, then realised the guardsman must be torn between the rewards and dangers of catching the people responsible for destroying the bridges.  But would they have the slightest idea what had happened?

“Show me your papers, now,” the guardsman demanded.  “Why are you out this late?”

“It’s like this, officer,” Dread said.  “I ...”

He slammed a fist into the guardsman’s throat, crushing it instantly.  The guardsman, already dead, fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes.  Dread checked his pouch, removed a handful of coins and a small wallet of papers, then dragged the body into the shadows and dumped it there.

“The body will be stripped by the homeless when they find it,” he said, when he noticed Johan staring at him.  “They’ll mess up any signatures a magician can use to track us, if they even try.  Guardsmen die all the time.”

Johan shuddered, fighting hard not to lose his dinner.  Dread had killed the man so ... so casually.  Johan had killed far too many people when he’d taken down the bridges, but that had been different.  Dread had done it with his bare hands.  It ... 

“I don’t think we’re going to be able to get back to the inn,” Dread said, as he pulled Johan further down the maze of alleyways.  The noise of an alerted population was growing louder and louder.  It wouldn't be long until they stumbled over the body.  “I wonder ...”

He looked up at the windows, then nodded to himself and scrambled up the side of the wall like a monkey.  Johan had no time to do more than stare as Dread opened the window, slipped inside and vanished.  Moments later, he stuck his head back out of the window and dangled a long line of rope down to Johan.  Bracing himself, Johan gripped hold and climbed up the wall and through the window.  Inside, it was a musty room with a tiny bed.  A young man lay there, staring at them in horror.  Dread had tied his hands and feet, then shoved a cloth in his mouth.

“We’re not going to harm you,” Dread whispered, “as long as you answer a few questions truthfully.  This is a doss-house, right?”

The man nodded, frantically.  “Good,” Dread said.  He reached into his pouch and produced a pair of gold coins.  “You stay quiet and don’t do anything and you can have this when we leave.”

Johan blinked.  “I ...”

“Tiny room, communal bathroom and little else,” Dread said, curtly.  “Just the sort of place for an apprentice craftsman until he graduates.  And no one pays any attention to any of them, as long as there isn't a riot underway.”

“Good,” Johan said.  Outside, he could hear running footsteps.  “What happens tomorrow?”

“We’ll see,” Dread said.

Johan nodded, then froze as he sensed a sudden flash of alarm from Elaine. Something was wrong.  She was in danger!

“What happened?”  Dread asked.  “Johan?”

“She’s in danger,” Johan said.  “I have to go to her.”

“It’s suicide right now,” Dread said, grimly.  He looked down at the dirty floor.  “They must have started rounding up outsiders, people from outside the city.  Shit!”

Johan swallowed.  The cover story, already flimsy, wouldn't last very long when Elaine’s captors realised her two guards were missing.  They had to get back to her ...

... But with so many people on the streets, it would be impossible.

He closed his eyes, reaching for her presence in his mind.  I’m sorry, he sent.  But we’ll be there as soon as we can.

Chapter Eight

Elaine started awake when she heard the bells.

For a long moment, she thought she was back in the Golden City.  The bells had woken her when she’d been an ordinary librarian, with little to look forward to beyond endlessly shelving books.  Not that it had been a bad life, she had to admit; boring, perhaps, but it was all she’d ever wanted.  And then she recalled just where she was and sat upright, feeling her head spinning in pain.  She’d drained herself too far teaching magic to the Levellers.

Daria snapped back into human form and walked over to the window.  “There’s a riot outside,” she said, peering through the murky glass.  “And flames in the distance.”

Elaine sat upright.  Her ears were nowhere near as sharp as Daria’s, but she could hear hundreds of people shouting, barely audible under the deafening sound of the bells.  She grabbed for her wand from where it was hidden, under her pillow, yet she barely had the energy to produce a spark of magic.  She gritted her teeth, then reached for Johan's mind through the mental link, but all she sensed was a flurry of odd feelings.  Her tiredness had weakened the link.

“Shit,” she muttered.  “What are they rioting about?”

“I’m not sure,” Daria said.  “But the flames seem to be coming from the bridge.”

Elaine massaged her temples.  Dread and Johan had set out to wreck the bridge and, judging by the flames, it looked as if they’d succeeded.  And the people below were rioting ...?  Did they think the enemy was at the gates?

“We might need to get out of here,” Daria said, sharply.  The sound of the crowd was turning nasty.  “Someone’s shouting about dirty foreigners.”

There was a crashing sound from downstairs.  Elaine swung her legs out of bed and stood, despite the tiredness in her muscles.  The shouting was growing louder, the sound of the crowd as it surged out of control echoing in her ears.  It made no sense - Falcone’s Nest was a trading town; there were hundreds of foreigners within the walls - but it was happening.  She remembered the rioting in the Golden City and shuddered, just as the entire building shook violently.  Here, there were no Inquisitors to stop the riot.

“They’re crashing upstairs,” Daria said.  “We need to get out of here.”

She snapped back into wolf form and sniffed the air, growling faintly.  The sound sent shivers down Elaine’s spine.  She’d never really been scared of Daria, not after learning her long-time friend was a born werewolf, but now she understood why so many people were terrified of werewolves.  She gritted her teeth, then raised her wand as the sound of running footsteps grew closer.  There didn't seem to be any easy escape.

The door burst open, revealing four wild-eyed men.  They looked at Elaine and stared, their mouths dropping open in horror.  It took Elaine a moment to realise that she’d forgotten to renew the glamour on her eyes and it had faded when she’d fallen asleep.  To them, she had to look like a monster - or worse.  Daria growled and lunged forward, teeth and claws ready to fight; one of the men raised a wand and slammed a spell into her, tossing her right across the room.  She landed on her feet and came back, teeth bared, but the second spell threw her right through the window.  Elaine desperately reached for a spell, even a tiny one, yet her magic was too drained to respond.  She scrambled backwards in terror and fell, tripping over her own feet.  There was a dull thud as her head hit the wooden floor and everything blurred out for a long moment ...

“Kill the bitch,” someone growled.

“No,” another voice said.  “You heard the boss.  Take the foreigners to the pit.”

“She’s a monster,” a third voice said.  “Red eyes are never good.”

Elaine fought to reorder her thoughts.  Her head was spinning madly, a dull ache reminding her that she’d banged her skull against the ground.  There was a heavy weight on her shoulders, leaving her wondering if her entire head was dead or numb.  It took her several minutes, in her confused state, to reason out that she would be dead, if her neck had been snapped.  No magic could keep someone alive like that for longer than a few minutes ...

And they’d seen her eyes.  It was too late to try to hide them, even if she could.  The third voice had been right; red eyes were never good.  They almost always marked a brush with wild magic.  And ... did Deferens know she had red eyes?  Dread knew, but had he told Deferens during his unwilling servitude?  Or had Light Spinner told him when he’d asked - as Elaine knew he had - why Elaine was serving on the Privy Council?  Did he know he was looking for a woman with red eyes?

Her hands weren't working; her eyes were puffy.  Slowly, despite the pain, she forced her eyelids open, fighting down the urge to squeeze them shut.  She was kneeling on the floor, a wooden block resting on her shoulders; it took her a moment, through the haze, to realise that her hands were trapped in the block, holding them firmly in place.  The runes carved on the wood, combined with keeping her hands largely immobile, would make it very difficult to use magic ... if, of course, she’d had a spark left.  It would be hours, at best, before she regained the ability to cast even the simplest spell.

She felt sick and had to swallow hard to keep from throwing up.  Healing wasn't one of her skills, but she was fairly sure she had a concussion.  She swallowed again, then looked around as best she could.  Five others, three men and two women, were kneeling against the wall, their hands blocked up too.  A pair of children, a boy and a girl, sat next to them, their eyes wide with fright.  Judging by their clothes, they too were outsiders.

Johan, she thought, trying to speak through the bond.  I ...

A wave of nausea overcame her, forcing her to stop trying to reopen the bond.  She wasn't sure if it was the blow to the head, or the charms on the block, that were keeping her from touching Johan's mind, but it didn't matter.  All that mattered was that she was a prisoner ... she looked past the other prisoners, trying to see their captors.  A handful of grim-faced young men were leaning against the wall, one of them holding Elaine’s wand in his hand as he looked around.  The magician?  She had no way to sense his presence without magic of her own.

“Get them on their feet,” the magician snapped.  “Hurry!”

One of the male prisoners sneered at him.  “Do you think there's going to be a trade deal after this?”

“Dirty foreigner,” the magician said.  He nodded to one of his men, who punched the prisoner in the stomach, then dragged him to his feet and shoved him against the wall.  “We don’t need your trade!”

The statement was so absurd that Elaine stared at him in disbelief.  Falcone’s Nest depended on trade.  Ships would dock, bringing trade goods from all around the world, and depart carrying trade goods from the Golden City or any of the inland states.  There was no way Falcone’s Nest could survive for long without trade.  Attacking foreign traders - and long-term residents - was nothing more than a fancy way of committing suicide.  What were they thinking?

She scowled inwardly as she was helped to her feet.  The plank made it damn near impossible to do anything more complex than standing straight; if she fell, she’d be unable to break her fall.  Her captors sneered at her as she was pushed against the wall, then searched her quickly and efficiently.  The magician poked at her pouch carefully before pocketing it.  Elaine knew there was no point in trying to protest, even though there were a dozen gold coins concealed within the pouch.  There was no hope of escape until her magic recovered and she could make contact - again - with Johan.

I should be used to this by now, she thought, feeling an odd flicker of amusement.  At least they haven’t hit me with any spells.

The thought jarred a memory loose from her mind.  Daria had been blown out of a window ... and then, what?  A werewolf could survive anything short of powerful magic or a silver blade - her brain offered a dozen ways to use magic to overwhelm a werewolf - but it had been a long fall, right into the midst of an angry crowd.  Was she all right?  Had she had the sense to run and hide?  She could find Johan and Dread and lead them to Elaine with her nose ... or was she sneaking around somewhere, waiting for an opportunity?  There was no way to know.

She pushed the thought out of her mind as her captors started pushing the prisoners forward, through the door and out into the bar.  The innkeeper - Sarah’s father - met her eyes for a brief moment, but said nothing as she walked past him.  His clients weren't so restrained; they hooted and jeered, while one of them threw a mug of beer at one of the captive woman.  She lowered her head as much as possible as the beer soaked into her thin nightdress, leaving it clinging to her skin.  Elaine silently promised herself the chance to hex the man, when her magic returned, then braced herself as the doorway was pushed open.  Outside, the sun was just starting to rise.

I must have been out for hours, she thought, numbly.  It had felt like seconds, but she had a feeling her judgement was unreliable.  It was dark when the riot started, wasn't it?

The streets were jammed with people, staring at the foreigners as they were marched out of the inn and into the middle of the road.  Elaine cringed inwardly as more insults - along with a handful of rotten vegetables - were thrown at her and the other captives.  She gritted her teeth as she saw an egg strike one of the children, the thrower snickering loudly, as if he'd done something worthy of applause.  The crowd laughed as the little boy started to cry ...

This isn't normal, Elaine thought, numbly.  Something’s forcing them to act this way.

But was that true?  She'd seen hangings - and other public punishments - and the crowds watching hadn't behaved any differently.  They’d jeered at men walking towards the gallows, they’d laughed at women placed in the stocks for the night; they’d even hurled stones at criminals who were particularly unpopular.  Maybe it was human nature always to mock the weak, just as she’d been mocked in the Peerless School.  Or maybe the Witch-King was behind it, urging the crowd on.  He had to know where they were going, after all, and a purge of foreigners might well catch one or more of them.

It did catch one of us, Elaine thought, as they were herded into a public park.  It caught me.

“Stand still,” the magician growled.  He held her wand in front of her, then snapped it effortlessly.  “Would you like these pieces inserted where the sun doesn't shine?”

Elaine did her best to ignore him, pretending to be in shock.  They didn't know she could do wandless magic; hell, if they had bothered to calculate her potential, they'd be damn sure she couldn't do wandless magic.  It wasn't easy to cast a spell without using a focus - a wand was really nothing more than a stick - but she could do it.  If, of course, she managed to get her hands out of the block.

She closed her eyes for a long moment, steadying herself, then looked at the wood.  The runes were designed to direct magic away from the wood, breaking the spell down into nothingness.  It wasn't a bad piece of work, she had to admit, but it was outdated.  The Inquisitors had devised far more capable handcuffs for magical prisoners.  Given time, she was sure she could overpower the runes and escape ...

If they give me the time, she thought, glancing around.  The park was slowly filling with prisoners, all clearly foreigners.  Men, women and children, many looking terrified as the crowd stared at them, anger and hatred written over their faces.  Were they going to be publicly lynched?  Sold into slavery?  Or merely left here to rot as the crowd jeered and threw things?  What are they doing?

“Kneel,” the magician ordered.  “Get down on your knees.”

Elaine scowled, but resistance was clearly futile.  The grass was muddy and stained her trousers, leaving her feeling cold and powerless.  She was trapped ... which, she knew, was how they wanted her to feel.  Gritting her teeth again, she kept studying the runes.  Breaking free would be simple enough, if she could muster the power ...

She frowned as she saw a man, wearing dark blue robes, levitating himself into the air and clearing his throat.  He must have used an amplification spell; she had no difficulty in hearing his words, even over the roar of the crowd.  And he must have been important, because as he started to speak the crowd quietened down.  Even the hail of rotten vegetables and pieces of mouldy fish came to a halt.

“For too long, we have been dependent upon foreigners,” he said.  His voice was so compelling that Elaine knew he had to be using magic.  It was almost hypnotic; anyone who thought, even slightly, that he might be right wouldn't be able to avoid falling under his spell.  “They have taken our wealth and what have they given us in return?  Nothing!”

“NOTHING,” the crowd echoed.

“They have even destroyed our bridges, our pride and joy, our triumph over the Lug,” the speaker continued.  “The entire world hated and feared the power we showed when we tamed the river and opened the far side of the continent to trade.  Now, they have ruined our bridges and ruined our lives.

“I, Alfred of House Godwin, say NO MORE!”

“NO MORE,” the crowd echoed.

“Today, we purge the dirty foreigners from our city,” Alfred screamed.  His dark moustache wobbled as he spoke.  “Today, we obliterate all foreign interference and return to the days of our forefathers!  Today, we show them the power that tamed the Lug!”

Elaine stared at the crowd, feeling sick.  They couldn't believe it, could they?  But they wanted to believe it.  Falcone’s Nest really wasn't that important, save as a trading post; they had to resent their position even as they valued the money it brought.  As far as she knew, the city didn't really produce anything, apart from dried fish.  But the crowd wanted to believe him and, as long as they wanted it, they were easy prey for his spell.  

They don’t have a hope, she thought, bitterly.  Even if Deferens wasn't a few days away, they’d never be able to survive.  There are five other states dependent on trade links through Falcone’s Nest.  It wouldn't be long before an invasion force brought the trading post to heel.

She cursed, inwardly, as she saw the plan.  Falcone’s Nest would have a civil war, sooner rather than later, making it easier for Deferens to enter the city.  Yes, the bridges were gone - at least, she hoped they were gone - but he’d still be able to fly troops over the river and land outside Falcone’s Nest.  The city wouldn't have a hope of mounting a defence.

The Witch-King is clearing the way for his tool, she thought, as she peered at Alfred.  Even from a distance, it was clear the sorcerer wasn't entirely in his right mind.  Like Hawthorne, he’d been touched by the Witch-King; like Deferens, he was sacrificing his own advantage for the Witch-King, probably without having the slightest idea that he was being manipulated.  This city would be a great place to slow him down, if the City Fathers could be convinced to mount a defence.

She wondered, again, just how the trick was done.  Most compulsion spells tended to be blindingly obvious, at least to an outsider, but the Witch-King’s spells were undetectable.  Or so she assumed.  Any reasonably capable Great House would regularly check its own people for traces of outside influence - and, she assumed, Deferens’s family would have done the same for him.  And yet they’d found nothing.  She wondered, briefly, if she’d have the chance to examine Alfred, then dismissed it as unlikely.  There was no way he’d sit down and let her poke and prod at his mind for a few hours.

“The dirty foreigners will be paraded around the city, then butchered in the pit,” Alfred said, loudly.  “They will see - the entire world will see - just how we defend our rights!”

Elaine shuddered as the crowd roared its approval.  It was madness, absolute madness.  Once word got out - and it would - there wouldn't be a single ship docking at Falcone’s Nest.  And the friends and relatives of the dead would be furious.  Alfred was likely to wake up in a few days and see an army approaching his city ...

Another army, she thought, ruefully.

“On your feet,” the guards snapped.  “The city wants to see you.”

“Please, no,” a woman shouted, as Elaine rose.  “Please ...”

The guards ripped her shirt away, revealing her bare breasts.  Elaine looked away as the crowd cat-called, mocking the poor woman.  The guards prodded Elaine with their staffs, forcing her to stumble forward.  She reminded herself that she’d survived worse - Millicent had been very inventive, back at school - and shuffled forwards.  Once she had her magic back ...

And the others are still out there, she reminded herself.  They’re free.