Magic Steps - Пирс Тамора - Страница 30

Sandry blinked. "Oh. Thank you."

"My lady." Captain Qais had come in he bowed to hen "All done?" he asked the investigator who had questioned Sandry. She nodded. He jerked his head toward the door. The woman bowed to Sandry and left, taking the scribe with her.

"Well," the captain said, his dark face wooden. "I must say, my lady, it would have been better if you had left this—unmagic—to Master Wulfric's assistants." The captain tucked his thumbs in his belt. "I am sure his grace will be most displeased when he learns of your involvement here."

Sandry rubbed her hands over her face. "At least you had the sense not to interrupt me while I was working," she informed the man, ignoring his indignant gasp. "And my uncle will understand why I involved myself. Pasco really is related to you? Because he's not at all stiff." She was being rude, as rude as her friend Tris. She would probably spend days writing a properly apologetic note after this was all over, but just now she didn't care.

"You are under a strain, lady." Qais appeared more wooden than ever. "I have told you, violent scenes like this are no place for a gently reared young woman. And while our family is gratified by your interest in my scape grace nephew, it does no good to encourage him in his odd imaginings. Dancing, even dancing magic, whatever that means, will not clothe him or feed his children when he is a man. It would be better for you to send him to Lightsbridge or Winding Circle for lessons, and for him to settle once and for all into the training he needs for real work.”

Sandry got to her feet. This time she trembled with fury as she stared up into the captains eyes. "Until you know more of magic, you will not voice opinions about it.” Each word dropped from her lips like a chunk of ice. “For your information, I am proud and honored to be Pasco's teacher. He will be a credit to me. If he's a 'scape grace' with 'odd imaginings,’ perhaps it's because no one gave him reason to think he had anything good to offer." The captain came to a jarring halt against a windowsill, she had backed him out of the inner office and across the outer one, "He will settle for wherever his power takes him. And if the mages of Winding Circle temple can't tell where that is, I really don't think you should even hazard a guess. Am I done here?»

The. captain nodded, tight-lipped.

"Then I have business that will not wait. Sandry looked around to see if she had forgotten anything, "Good day to you, Captain Qais." She strode out of the room and down the hall, ignoring the Provost's Guards who were there.

Wulf’s assistants were on the ground floor. She stopped, to tell them where she had left the unmagic she collected. Even, in the dim lamplight on that floor Sandry could see that Ulrina's eyes were red and swollen from weeping. Captain Behazin's voice was hoarse. At Sandry's request they agreed to hold on to the stores of recovered unmagic that Wulfric had kept, as well as what they had gathered that day, until they heard from her.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered to them. "I wasn't quick enough—we had no idea they were here—," She squeezed her hands so tightly that her nails bit into her palms.

Both the captain and the lieutenant shook their heads. "It's this curst magic they've got," Behazin told her roughly. "We've no way to register it like we have other magics. He said he thought if anyone could think of a way to handle the unmagic, it would be you."

That was too much for Sandry. She bolted for the door, not even thanking Kwaben as he held it open. A Provost's Guard was holding their horses; when Sandry mounted Russet, the Guard gently patted her hand. She managed a smile for the woman, then turned her horse east.

"Shouldn't we go to Duke's Citadel?" demanded Oama, trotting her mount to catch up. "His grace will be fit to be tied if he hears of this—“

"I know, and I can't help that," replied Sandry, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. "I need to talk to the mage council at Winding Circle." She glanced over at Kwaben.

"You must see a healer about that cut," she said flatly. "Why don't you take word back to the Citadel that I'm all right?"

He shook his head. “There are healers at Winding Circle, aren't there?" he asked. "We can send a messenger bird to his grace."

"You have to keep us with you, Lady Sandry," Oama said. "Otherwise we could end up hanging over the inner gate by our ankles for letting you walk into a trap."

"I didn't—," protested Sandry. "You couldn't have—oh, never mind." She kicked Russet into a trot. The sooner she got to Winding Circle, the sooner she would know if they'd found a way to handle a mage who dealt in unmagic, or if she would have to try something of her own.

Please, gods, she thought fiercely, let them have a way to settle this. Please don't make me do it.

There was no way Sandry could break the news gently to Duke Vedris. "I'm going to lay a trap for the Dihanurs. The mages at Winding Circle think I have a chance."

For a moment there was only silence as the duke's eyes met hers. Then he said, "No. We have provosts mages, even battle-mages, with more experience in the taking of killers than you."

"This is different, Uncle."

“I forbid you to put yourself in such danger," the duke said tightly.

Sandry gulped and stood her ground. "I don't like it either, but I don't see another way. They must be stopped.

The duke turned his gaze to Lark, who stood just behind Sandry. "How can this be? Of all the mages at Winding Circle, how is my great-niece the only one who can handle this monster?"

"Not just me, Uncle," Sandry told him. "Pasco's going to help." The moment she spoke the words, she wished she could unsay them—or at least unsay her student's name.

The duke rested his shaved head on his hands. "That feckless, rattle-pated… Well. Knowing that he will assist you makes all the difference. Now, instead of wishing to throw Winding Circle's mage council into the harbor, I will do so. Immediately."

"Your grace, you know we can't allow that," Lark said gravely.

He looked up, and raised a finger. "Ah. You are powerful enough to stop me from tossing your council bodily into my harbor, but you tell me you cannot stop the Dihanur assassins and their mage. Can you see that I might feel somewhat—confused?"

Lark settled herself in a chair in front of Duke Vedris's desk. "You may as well get comfortable, dear," she advised Sandry. "He's going to be difficult." Sandry obeyed, taking the seat beside hers. To the duke Lark said, "We will do all we can—prepare the materials she needs, guard her and Pasco when the time comes, and dispose of what remains of the enemy's work. We won't send a fourteen-year-old girl and a twelve-year-old boy naked to do battle with a blighted mage."

"Strange," remarked Erdogun. He sat just behind the duke's chair. "That's what it sounds like to me."

Lark folded her hands. "You know I am classed as a great mage." The duke nodded. "I work spells by passing them through my thread. I must bind my power to real thread and whatever I use to handle it, or none of my spells work. That's true of every weaver-mage I know—except Sandry. She handles magic itself like I work thread. She can spin magic. She can weave it. She can embroider, or knot, or even tie a fringe with it, if she wants to—,"

"Lark," Sandry protested.

"No, my dear, it's important that people know how unique your gift is. In this case it's vital—I'd hate to have to fight the Dihanur mage and his grace."

The duke smiled, but his eyes were grim. "I'm honored that you would think the task difficult."

"But why?" Erdogun demanded. "You're a great mage—your fellows on the council are great mages, legendary for power and craft. You have an arsenal of capture-magics and spells to drain the power of other mages. Do you really expect us to believe you people can't take this—fellow—and turn him into a tea cozy, if that's your fancy? However powerful this madman may be, I do not believe that he can stand against all of you."