“Anyone can apply the spells to the Vortex if they have permission to use its energies,” Pelai pointed out calmly. “Appoint a temporary Guardian—under oath so as to ensure they give it back at the appointed time—and then you can go.”
Alonnen gave her a sharp look. He kept the cone cupped to his ear, but he heard nothing other than the slight aetheric hiss that said the talker-box on the other end was still active. Unsure what to make of the foreigner’s request, he lifted a brow.
She lifted her hand palm up in return, gesturing toward the inactive mirror, the one hung sideways instead of vertically. “Have we not seen over the last year how Guardian Serina exchanged places many times with Guardian Naima, the Mother-Superior of the Temple of Koral-Thai? Select your apprentice to handle the matter, and you can go.”
“I don’t have an apprentice,” he dismissed. “Not one within reach. Storshei, Gavros, and I were apprenticed to Guardian Millanei, but Gavros is up in the far north. Storshei normally works locally with the Hydraulics Guild, but he was sent to a dam a hundred miles north that was experiencing a problem with the sluice gates freezing shut just when they need to be opened to relieve some of the meltwater backing up in the reservoir up there.” He scowled . . . then focused his gaze on Orana. “You. I trust you. I know you’ll hand the Vortex back to me—”
“Whoa!” The Witch-Knight quickly held up both hands. “Not me. I was able to shield myself against the energies of the Fountains in order to travel here, but I cannot be allowed to touch any singularity. The energy contained is too much for me to handle.”
That confused Alonnen. “But . . . you’re the strongest mage we’ve ever heard of! All the stories passed down through the Mages Guild . . . How can a Fountain be too powerful for you to control?”
The blonde shrugged. “It tries to spill its energy straight into me, like a giant waterskin exploding in my grip—no control and too much for me to hold. I’m not the only one with this problem; Morganen of Nightfall also suffers from it. At most, all I could do would be to channel it for someone else. I cannot use it. I would also be of far more use accompanying you to the temple to help rescue Longshanks. There are very, very few spells out there for which I do not know a counter . . . and by myself I am a match for a dozen mages without breaking a sweat.”
“Good. You can go,” Gabria muttered, fingers still curled around the edges of the crystal scrying tablet. “I’m not going anywhere near that place—sorry, Alonnen, but I am not going anywhere near anything related to a God.”
“It’s okay,” he reassured her. Part of him was disappointed she could not get over her fear, but a larger part did understand. He turned to the Painted Warrior in their midst. “You’re Guardian Tipa’thia’s apprentice. You said you’d swear an oath?”
She nodded her head. “I can have one written up in two minutes for your approval.” Lifting a tanned hand, she tapped the side of her equally browned face, where a set of pale blue lines and swirls had been inked from the base of her throat up to her ear and around her right eye. “I have a translation tattoo which will allow me to write it in the local tongue for you.”
“Do it. I’m going to the Vortex armory to get some weapons—Pioton, man the talker-box,” he ordered.
“I was about to offer to go with you,” the mage stated. “You’ll need all the mages you can get, even with the Holy Knight’s help.” At his side Jenden nodded, including himself.
“I’ll do that,” Gabria offered immediately. “It’s probably Marta on duty. I’ll let her know you’re on your way with mages to help, then I can go back to scrying for what’s happening in the temple. I won’t go near it, but I will watch what’s happening and send word when I can.”
“I’ll give you a communications Artifact that will allow you to reach me immediately,” Orana offered, moving to the younger woman’s side as Gabria took over the earpiece from Alonnen. Once again, Ora’s hands moved to the deep cuffs of her robes. “I’ve based it on an idea I saw while staying on Nightfall Isle . . .”
“The Vortex?” Pelai prompted Alonnen. “If these are the demon summoners, and you fear for the life of this Master Longshanks, then if we can seal off the ability to cast Portals of any kind, we can prevent the summoning that is the reason for Longshanks’ capture. If nothing else, it should delay them as they check their warding runes to see why the summoning is not working.”
“You know how to summon demons?” Alonnen asked, wary.
The tall woman gave him a pointed look, one hand going to her hip. “I also know exactly where to stab a human so that they bleed to death from one of their major arteries, either at throat, armpit, or groin. Do you see me stabbing anyone? Fetch me pen and paper, and I shall write an oathbinding that forswears my using your Fountain’s powers for anything that would harm anyone you care about. That would limit my use very strictly to just implementing the aether disruptions, as that will not hurt anyone.”
He had to trust her. Alonnen’s older brother was very good at his job, but Rogen was no mage. No one in the militia was a mage. The more of those Alonnen had on his side when riding in to rescue Rexei, the safer everyone would be . . . and that meant leading his guild into battle. Gabria’s reluctance to go anywhere near that temple was not a fear he himself could afford to display. So he had to trust Pelai of Mendhi.
Nodding sharply, he gestured at his desk. “There’s a charcoal pencil on my desk and plenty of paper. Start writing your oath. I’ll be back to witness it as soon as we’ve been to the armory. Pioton, Jenden, I’ll handle the inner circle; the two of you divide up the middle ring and snag any mage willing to come fight.”
“Barclei’s off-duty and more than willing to face down the priests,” Jenden told him. “He’ll know the names of the others who are equally ready.”
“None of us are ready,” Alonnen muttered, grabbing his glasses and scarf from their resting places near the door. “We have less training, incomplete knowledge, limited numbers . . . The one thing we’re good at is shielding and blocking spells. Orana Niel, I’m afraid you’ll have to be our main cannon in this fight. Make every shot count.”
Nodding with that same constant level of calm she had always displayed for as long as he could remember, the Darkhanan Witch followed Alonnen and the other two Guildarans out the door. Behind them, Gabria listened at the talker-box, craning her neck to stare at the mirrors every few seconds, while Pelai crossed to the desk and sat down.
• • •
They left Rexei in one of the cells with the order to, “Sit down,” but no other commands. So she sat on the edge of the cot and waited, bottom still feeling a little sore. The strangers left the cell room first, while Archbishop Elcarei glared down at her. Rexei kept her gaze unfocused and aimed across the room, as if unaware of his presence, though her peripheral vision strained, as did her ears, for any sign she was in immediate danger from the middle-aged man.
Finally, he left, doing nothing more dangerous than closing the door. A key ka-chunked in the lock a few seconds later, and a hint of magic shimmered across the door, sealing her inside. Rexei slowly counted to ten, ears straining for any sounds. There was a bit of muffled talking right outside her door, but she couldn’t make sense of it. After a few moments, the noises went away.
Humming hard in her mind, she tested the spell on the collar. She already knew her legs could move. Her arms could move. She could even twist as she sat on the bed, and she was able to set down the carefully cradled, half-smashed paper cockroach . . . but getting up off the wool-draped pallet was not easy. In fact, it triggered a painful shower of sparks through the backs of her eyes. Dizzy from the moment she reached her feet, she had to brace one hand on the wall. She could move, but only slowly, gingerly feeling her way; the pain interfered with her sense of balance.