“Hey, Elcarei,” Alonnen called out as the two headed for the front door. “Don’t do it.”
One hand on the door, pushing it just open enough to let in a spill of bright sunlight and cold air, the ex-priest frowned back at the long-nosed redhead. “Don’t do what?”
“Don’t summon what you’re planning to summon. Don’t betray humanity,” Alonnen warned him.
Rexei flinched under the swift, sharp look the ex-archbishop flicked her way. She frowned at Alonnen, but he kept his gaze on the middle-aged priest. Not wanting to make any movement that would draw more attention to herself, Rexei bit her tongue to keep silent.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Elcarei finally stated, lifting his chin just enough to look down his nose at the shorter man.
“Don’t do it. Or I swear, in Guildra’s name,” Alonnen promised, “you will be thrown out of this land and hunted through every other nation across the face of this world until you come to your end.”
Elcarei raked his gaze down over Alonnen’s plain, somewhat worn gray woolens, his slim frame, and unintimidating height. “What, should I be afraid of you? Your threats are meaningless.”
“Not mine,” Alonnen warned him. “Prophecy will be your downfall.”
“Prophecy is a bunch of Gods-spewed shit, boy, designed to herd us onto a path of Their choosing,” he told Alonnen, who was clearly old enough to grow a beard, given the hint of ginger stubble along his jaw. Elcarei pushed the door wide. “But They also gave us free will . . . or haven’t you heard?”
“Then don’t summon the demons They predicted you would,” Alonnen said, his tone calm and matter-of-fact.
For a few seconds, the ex-archbishop lingered in the doorway, backlit by the white of the sun on snow and framed by a gust of icy wind that ruffled his robes. Then his mouth twisted in a sneer, and he turned away, striding down the clean-swept steps. The door swung shut in the wake of the novice, extinguishing the excess light and leaving Rexei and Alonnen for a moment in what felt like darkness, despite the glow pouring in from the narrow windows to either side of the double-wide entrance.
“I really wish you hadn’t done that,” Rexei finally muttered.
Alonnen looked at her. “Hadn’t done what? Given him a warning? Hoped against hope that he might change his mind? I have an obligation to stop him, you know.”
She sighed and rubbed at the tension in her forehead. “Not that. I meant, told him in the first place that you know about the demon-summoning thing. Because that put his attention on me. I may not be Gabria, shrinking from even the thought of a God or Goddess getting anywhere near me, but I am not comfortable catching the scrutiny of a bunch of men whose sole job in life—for generations!—was to capture and torture and suck the life-energy out of our people.”
She said the last in a hiss, because she wasn’t comfortable with the thought of anyone else overhearing even that much. The look he gave her was rueful and apologetic, enough to mollify some of her stress. Not all of it, but some of it.
“Sorry, Rexei,” Alonnen muttered. “I guess . . . I guess I’m so energized by the thought of finally being rid of the threat of Mekha over our heads, I forgot the men who followed Him are still quite dangerous, even if they don’t have His foul power to back their efforts anymore.”
“Just . . . try to remember that,” she sighed, for a moment letting go of her humming as she rubbed again at her forehead.
“Well, if it’s any consolation,” he told her, “you do have the top dozen most dangerous men and women in the whole world at your back. I told them you’re the Gearman of the prophecy, and they’ll do whatever it takes to help keep your strength up.”
“Oh, that makes me feel better,” she muttered. “I just wanted to avoid the priesthood, live my life, and . . . and maybe find what’s left of my lost family. I miss my brothers and father, especially now that we’re almost completely free.”
“We’ll look for them, too.” He rubbed her arms through the oversized coat he had scrounged for her, urging her toward the back of the Consulate. “Come on, put on your coat. The roads are clear all the way home, so we’re headed back there now. I need to consult with my colleagues on a safe way to spy on the idiots from a distance, like you suggested. Since I’m certain they’ll decide to continue being complete and utter imbeciles, in spite of my warning.”
Debating, Rexei decided not to put on her returned clothes. Not until the others in the Mages Guild had checked them for tracking spells. And for binding spells; she didn’t want to be found or rendered helpless simply from being careless. When they returned to the formidable protections of the Vortex, she would find someone who could examine her coat and hat for spells, and then break any if need be.
For the time being, all she could do was hum her anti-magic songs and push the field outward, enveloping not only herself but Alonnen, and when they reached it, the motorcart. The others were already bundled in the back and waiting, while the driver kept one foot on the galloper to warm up the engine and the other foot on the stopper pedal to hold the vehicle in place until they were ready to go.
• • •
“. . . Live my life, and . . . and maybe find what’s left of my lost family. I miss my brothers and father, especially now that we’re almost completely free.”
Elcarei nodded to himself, seizing on that piece of information. If that Aian mage was right, they might want several sacrifices, mage and non-mage, to bind a truly powerful demon to their cause—and to a Netherhell with that long-nosed fellow’s warnings. Elcarei didn’t even believe in Seers; there hadn’t been a single one born within Mekhana’s borders for over four hundred years, and all the fancy predictions of that freak of a Seer-King to the east hadn’t lost them an inch of Mekhanan soil in hundreds of years.
The enchantments on the cap and coat were doing their job. He listened as the other man spoke. “We’ll look for them, too,” the deeper voice stated. “Come, put on your coat. The roads are clear all the way home, so we’re headed back there now.”
Elcarei wished he knew the man’s name; he knew the fellow was a visiting Guild Master simply because he’d been one of the unfamiliar faces at the head table last night. Then again, the ex-priest wished he knew who the head of the so-called Mages Guild was. Or the head of that so-called Holy Guild . . . what a piece of effrontery!
“I need to consult with my colleagues on a safe way to spy on the idiots from a distance, like you suggested. Since I’m certain they’ll decide to continue being complete and utter imbeciles, in spite of my warning.”
The cheek of the man! Elcarei took special care in cracking and grinding the ice of a puddle under his boot heel as he strode back toward the temple. I’ll show him who the imbecile is. But not hastily, no, he reminded himself, recalling Torven’s warnings on the matter. No. Slowly, carefully, and with such subtlety that they will never realize my vengeance is cold but fully matured, until it is too late to stop their prolonged suffering.
He kept the seeker amulet pressed to his ear, enchanted not only to track down the boy, Longshanks, but to listen in on the youth’s conversations via the metaphysical link between discarded hair and head . . . but didn’t hear anything more. Which was odd. He knew the amulet was enchanted correctly. It had taken him quite a bit of his own personal energy to craft the spell and imbue it with enough power to work over a distance of fifty full miles, all of it linked to the precious, short, dark hairs liberated from the boy’s winter coat and knitted cap. But Elcarei wasn’t hearing a peep now. Not a word, not a footstep, not even a hint of the boy breathing.