The words became a mantra, the mantra a melody. Her steps slowed with each fractional gain in her self-control.
“Walk faster,” the man on her right ordered gruffly. Her half-limped steps quickened a little. “Walk faster.”
“You twisted the boy’s knee,” the man on the left muttered. “Be thankful we need the limp as an excuse to take him off the streets, should anyone ask.”
It’s okay . . . I have time . . . and . . . and if they’re taking me to the temple, the paper roaches will see me . . . I just have to figure out . . . figure out the weak points in this controlling spell. It’s an amulet, not a collar, which means if I can somehow detach the adhesion spell, I can get rid of it and time my escape . . .
Time wasn’t on her side; the Consulate was not that far from the back door to the temple. Giving up her resistance to the body commands, she focused on trying to feel the resonances, the vibrations of the spell. Two spells, rather, one to command and one to cling. One tingled all through her body, threatening to turn her flesh numb. The other itched against her skin.
Rexei already had a spell to counteract itching, a useful ward to know when traveling through some of the more bug-infested stretches of the land. With a bit of thought, she started weaving that song into her warding melody, the one that cut down all magic in her immediate vicinity, and tied it into a countermelody to the itch. It was a long shot since she didn’t know if it would work—
Just as they reached the back door and the third man pulled it open, the stone popped off her throat. It dropped into the neckline of her winter coat. She faked a stumble the moment she felt it slithering down between the layers of wool, only to fall for real as all three men overreacted in their opposing efforts to get her steadied. Thankfully, their soft curses and grumblings hid the clack of the control stone hitting the paving stones of the alleyway. Rexei was free, yes, but only of the spell’s effects. Elbows and knees bruised, she realized from the way they were grabbing her that physically she would not be able to get away, even if she was magically free.
A scrap of colorful paper caught her eye. Quickly, she passed her hand over the doorsill, scraping the crushed paper roach out of the crack where it had been squished and left behind. She wasn’t sure if she could pull off a repair, but there was a way to transfer a bit of magic from one piece of paper to another . . . such as her brother’s note. At least, she knew the theory of it. Vaguely.
Guildra, help me, she prayed earnestly as they hauled her back onto her feet and pushed her into the temple’s back corridors. No one noticed the missing stone or the scrap of paper hidden in her hand.
Though the stone no longer forced her body into obeying their commands, she was still trapped. Two men, she could put to sleep with a spell. Three . . . four. No, five . . . six . . . Gods! Forcing her expression into the dulled look of one of the mages who had been collared, Rexei kept her fingers curled around the rumpled paper spy. All these years, I escaped and escaped and escaped . . . but now that Mekha is gone, now is when I get trapped by the priests?
Guildra . . . if this is a joke, it isn’t funny. If it’s a priestly test of my faith, that would not be funny, either.
Archbishop Elcarei stepped into view. Moving up to her, he grasped Rexei’s jaw, lifting her head. She tried not to look too self-aware while he peered at her. His brown eyes were distant, almost clinical, then his lips moved. “Bend over and kiss my crotch.”
The only thing that saved her was how her gaze instantly dropped. Oh Netherhells . . . ! Guildra, you had better give me a chance to get free. Stooping, she puckered up her lips, aiming for a spot below the belt of his blue velvet robes. There has to be a point where they’ll leave me alone . . . I hope . . .
“Stop,” he ordered sharply. Rexei froze, balancing as best she could on her toes. “Straighten up, Longshanks, and walk down to the holding pens. First ring, first door on the right. You remember it, don’t you? The first prisoner you walked out of here? Go there, now. You, go with him. You, go fetch a control collar.”
Yes, if they leave me alone . . . she thought, turning to walk toward the first set of stairs, the ones that led up to the forbidden door . . . Gears! Three of them are still coming with me? Can’t I get a break?
Hands gripped her elbows. Fingers brushed back her scarf—No, no, NO! Panicked, Rexei quickly stepped up the state of her humming. Metal touched her neck, and for a while, the world went away, smothered in a fog of mental wool.
FIFTEEN
Both women alighted gently upon the balcony outside Alonnen’s study, each wrapped in a bubble-shield to keep them from being harmed by either the waters or the magical energies of the Vortex.
Orana looked much the same as ever: a youngish woman in her early twenties, her blonde hair braided and wrapped around her head, with a deep-sleeved robe worn over trousers and a tunic in shades of blue and cut in some foreign but comfortable-looking style. The outer robe was half black and half white, each side marked with a tower keep embroidered in the opposite color; the inner lining, of course, was pitch-black, for it was a Darkhanan Witch-robe, the symbol and possible source of her priestly powers. Alonnen didn’t know and didn’t mind not knowing.
Pelai, on the other hand, had arrived in what she thought was adequate winter clothes, a long-sleeved shirt and vest over a strange, knee-length pleated skirt made from colorfully cross-striped linen. Wool would have been much better, since she had only sandals to cover the rest of her tattoo-covered legs. Seeing the dark-haired woman shiver, Ora tucked her hands up her sleeves and pulled out a bundle of bluish green fabric.
“Here, Pelai,” she stated, her words delivered in flawless Mekhanan. “The colors will clash with the red, gold, and black of your clothes, but these leggings should keep you warm, and that’s the important part. Master Tall . . . I am pleased to meet you again. The Dark informs me that you now have a priesthood you can trust. Does this priesthood have a Guild Master?”
“Yes, but Guild Master Longshanks is in Heiastowne at the moment,” he admitted, turning his back politely so that the Mendhite could slip out of her sandals and struggle into the leggings with a semblance of privacy. He didn’t think the balcony overlooking the Vortex was all that cold, but then he was dressed for winter, with layers of wool over his linens. The scarf and cap had been set aside, leaving his lower face, throat, and carroty curls bare, but he also hadn’t just come from a country located close to the Sun’s Belt region of the world. “Why do you need to know the location of the head of our new Holy Guild, Orana?”
“I have information for the new high priest and for any followers,” Ora explained. “I used the mirror on Nightfall Isle which connected to the Guardian of Koral-tai—bypassing the Fountainways of Nightfall, which were inaccessible due to the Convocation—and asked the nuns there to look up any holy spells or prayers which a true priest could use to banish and remove demons, plus prayer-spells to cleanse Netherhell-fouled ground. Mother Naima in turn passed along my request to Pelai, here, who has done some research of her own.”