Part 21 (2/2)

The five magicians ignored Duon and came walking carefully towards Noetos.

'We believe this will work, particularly if they are not expecting it,' Anomer said. There were a number of uncertain faces in front of him, but there was not time to explain. 'If it fails, we will draw strength from all of you, but not enough to place anyone in danger. This is what we agreed to, remember. If any of you repent of the agreement, leave now.'

No one moved.

Here was the test. Could they draw magical power from a powerful magician using sheer strength of numbers? Would their distance from Raceme reduce their strength? Were the five magicians stronger than the brave thousand?

Now, sister, he said.

Noetos felt Arathe reach through him towards the magicians. The pull of her magic was immense. A thousand people, she had said in his mind. A few weakly gifted, but all possessing essenza she could tap into.

The leftmost of the magicians winced. 'What is that?' he asked. 'Are you-is anyone?' His face went white and he fell to the floor.

'You all felt that,' Noetos said. 'Who else wants to be drained dry?'

The four pale faces looked uncertainly at each other. Then, as one, they took to their heels and ran for the south door. Their fellow writhed on the floor, crying in a soft, unregarded voice.

'Be strong, now,' Anomer told those gathered on the hillside. 'And do not flinch, no matter what is demanded of you. No matter what you sense, what you see. As they have done to your countrymen-and as they would do to you-so must be done to them, if we are ever to be safe.'

Some of the people who had remained steadfast through pain and magical drain stood and walked away. Knowing even better than they did what was to come, Arathe did not blame them. But she knew her father would never accept surrender from those who had murdered his family. Her family. The grandparents, aunts and uncles she would never meet. Today she felt some of her father's rage.

She clenched her teeth and dug her feet into the turf beneath her, determined to do what needed to be done.

Noetos and Duon met in the middle of the room when the butchery was over. Some of it was fierce swordplay, but much of it had been simple execution. The fisherman knew he would regret this until his dying day. Not the defeat of the Neherians, but the manner in which it had been achieved. The human mind, he knew, was simply not resilient enough to cope with what he had just seen, with what he had just done.

But his soul, ever treacherous, sang in delight.

The room is even more colourful now, it said, and the realisation he was capable of such a thought sickened him.

The southerner, now his brother in arms, wore an obscene coat of red over his clothes. Noetos's own garments were torn and soaking wet, and he knew by looking at the man before him how he himself appeared. 'Like a b.l.o.o.d.y sunset,' he said. 'The sunset of Neherian power.'

Duon grinned fiercely, then frowned and put a hand to the back of his head. 'Oh!' he said. His eyes widened, his head swung around wildly, and he rushed for one of the windows, retching as he went.

'We had better leave,' Noetos said. Guards had come, alerted by the screaming, and at least one had escaped. The fisherman had no sense that his power was about to falter, but he knew he could take nothing for granted. And Duon had clearly lost his own source of strength.

'Come on.' He grabbed at the man's arm.

'Give me a moment.'

As Duon composed himself, Noetos began to hear the moans of the dying. Not every stroke had been clean, and there were those who would take time to die. Others, perhaps, who would live. He hoped so. This story needed to become part of history.

And it was his key to gain entrance to Andratan. Oh yes, the hero of Raceme would have unfettered access to the Undying Man.

'We must go,' Noetos insisted. The sooner he left the room, the less it would engrave itself on his memory.

'Which way?'

'The north door, then over the battlements and down to the d.u.c.h.ess's Walk. I'll explain the rest when we get there.'

Noetos had chosen wisely, he knew. The main force of soldiers in the Summer Palace were garrisoned in the Underfort, on the landward or southern side of the palace. They would come up the Flame Path and through the south door to the ballroom. No doubt were coming at this moment.

Noetos and Duon encountered two servants on their way to the d.u.c.h.ess's Walk. Both women wailed at the sight of them; one fell at their feet and begged to be spared, the other ran down a side corridor. The bespattered fugitives ignored them both.

They burst into the open and realised it was full night. Noetos had lost track of time in the ballroom, and wondered if what he planned was possible.

'Hoy!' someone shouted from somewhere to their left. Yes, of course, they were visible from lower levels, though were probably little more than shadows. 'Have you seen them?'

'Through the north door!' Noetos called back.

The one who had shouted to them was perhaps forty paces away and one level down, separated from the fugitives by a stone wall. There were steps, however, not far from where he had hailed them.

'Been there! No sign of them! Is it true they've slaughtered-' The ensuing silence was no doubt the man figuring out that the men he was speaking to must have come from the south door.

'Stand still!' he cried; bravely, Noetos thought.

'I've had enough of killing,' Duon said quietly.

'As have I. Can you swim?'

'Yes. But not with a sword at my side.'

'I'm not leaving this behind,' Noetos said. He fingered the hilt of the Heirsword.

'Then we must hope our benefactors can a.s.sist us,' Duon said. 'Where is the water?'

To their left the soldier clattered up the stairs, and would be on them in a moment.

'Down there.' Noetos pointed over the battlements. 'I've done this before.' Only once, and that when you were a much younger and more foolish man. 'You must leap at least three paces outwards from the wall to clear the rocks.'

'Rocks? Ah. How far down?'

'Does it matter? Into the dark, that's all we need to know.'

'Then let us leap.' The man stood on the crenellation, bunched his legs and jumped. Not far enough.

Noetos sighed, and followed the southerner over the edge.

CHAPTER 10.

LAKE WOE.

'THIS CAN'T GO ON.'

Arathe sighed, stretching her aching limbs. Morning. Noetos was making his way home, so there were no immediate demands on the ragged remnants of her strength. Sleep, more sleep, was the thing. Weeks since she'd had anything approaching a full night's rest. Still, as Anomer continually reminded her, there were many others suffering.

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