“Not without the proper rituals, Iver’son,” Wyln said. “And those can be performed anywhere.” He had been standing a little apart, but he now joined the klatch at the darkness. “However, you are right, this should not be allowed to remain as it would become an attraction for other unwholesomeness.”
I had a sudden image of dark wisps and threads slipping along the cracks and crevices of Freston to congregate here. A shiver coursed down my back.
“And so become a sinkhole full of corruption,” Jusson said, echoing my thoughts. “Well, I’ve no desire for this to become known as Jusson’s Bane. How do we get rid of it?”
Laurel had been examining the high windows and now, at the king’s question, he beckoned to Arlie, standing next to Thadro—who stayed put. I frowned. “Arlis,” I began.
“See to the Faena, Guardsman Arlis,” Thadro said over me.
Saluting Thadro, Arlie went over to Laurel, who immediately sent him out of the warehouse. However, he quickly returned and handed Laurel a large chunk of the yard’s wall. After moving everyone back, Laurel hefted it a couple of times, then threw it at one of the windows. The stone shattered the glass, the grimy pieces falling onto the floor with a tinkling crash, and sunlight flooded the interior. The patch of dark roiled before disappearing in a puff of oily smoke, leaving a round, shallow pan sitting on the floor. It was a plain, everyday one—my ma had several like it that she used to bake pies—filled to the brim, with clear water that lay placid in the light.
“Water aspect,” Wyln said.
“Yes,” Laurel agreed. “The unfortunate’s wounds were frozen.”
There was nothing overtly wrong about either the pan or the water, but as Laurel and Wyln talked, I found myself backing up, stopping only as I bumped into Jeff standing behind me.
“It is the twisting of the aspect that you’re feeling Two Trees’son,” Wyln said. “Ujan’s adepts used fire for their summoning. I’d been close enough to feel it and it was like a razor against my heart.”
I looked away from the reflecting water, about to say that I hadn’t felt anything—not the working, not even Menck’s ritual murder—when I became aware of Chadde’s interested gaze. I kept silent.
“Earth or fire?” Laurel asked Wyln.
“Fire,” Wyln decided. “It will cleanse.” He held out his hand and his fire sphere flew into it. “Like this, Two Trees’son.”
Remembering how my sphere had stood off from me, I wondered if it would come at my call. However, when I pulled off my glove and held out my own hand, the sphere immediately flitted to my palm.
“On my mark, throw it on the pan,” Wyln said. He lifted his hand, counting, and at three we both flung the spheres down on the water. It boiled and hissed before also disappearing in a puff—this time of white steam. The flames followed the steam up in a column of fire until all was consumed. Then the flames flowed down upon the pan and the surrounding floor, where they burned yellow with flickers of white. After a few moments, the flames divided into two spheres once more, leaving behind a melted puddle of metal.
“That’s it?” Jusson gave a short laugh. “I expected something a little more complicated, with elaborate words, smells and sounds. Not breaking a window and saying ‘one, two, three.’”
“We’re not quite done yet, honored king,” Laurel said. “I’d have your church elder perform a purification rite to rid this place of lingering effects.”
“Lingering effects,” Jusson repeated.
“Have you ever been in places where great evil was done and felt a coldness or oppression?” Laurel asked. “Even though the evil happened years past?”
“Ah,” Jusson said, nodding. “The palace at Iversly has a few spots like that—” He broke off, realizing what he was saying and who he was saying it to.
“Cold spots in the palace?” Wyln asked, interested. “Where? In the throne room? Or perhaps in the seraglio and its nursery?”
In the silence I could hear the clicking and popping of the melted pan as it cooled. Jusson then smiled. “Let’s deal with what’s before us, Lord Wyln, before we start on what’s past.”
“As you wish, Iver’son,” Wyln murmured, his flame-filled eyes bright.
Jusson ignored the enchanter, turning to Thadro. “Send a guard to see if Doyen Dyfrig can come immediately. I do not want any effects lingering about any longer than necessary.”
“Yes, sire,” Thadro said, and sent a guardsman running.
Jusson glanced around as the guardsman’s footsteps faded, his mouth pulled down as if he tasted something foul. He then started walking towards the door, his pace once more brisk. “I’ve had enough of this place. We will await his reverence outside.”
There wasn’t any mad scramble among the guards to follow Jusson outside. Thadro had them too well trained for that. But there was a certain tightness to their formation as they fell in behind the king, no one willing to be last. That was left to me and Jeff.
Jusson let loose a small sigh as he stepped out into the yard, lifting his face to the sun rising over the rooftop. After counting heads and making sure everyone was out, I closed the door and hurried to stake a claim on my own patch of sunshine, Jeff right behind me, the earth and fire spheres hovering over my shoulders. The guards shifted easily to make room for me, despite the spheres, despite Thadro’s constant carping, despite my being held helpless as a baby as Laurel touched me with his rune. A knot or two in my spine loosened. It tightened again, though, when I caught Chadde’s speculative stare. My face went stony again.
Jusson lowered his gaze to the building. “A rather ordinary place, even so.” He turned to Wyln who, despite Thadro’s vigilance, was standing next to him. “What shall we do about the sorcery? How do we find out the who of it, along with the what and why?”
Wyln moved his shoulders, more of an easing of tight muscles than a shrug, all hint of amusement gone. “You’d think that something of this magnitude would blaze like a city on a mountaintop, Iver’son. But whoever has done this has hidden it well.”
“A master sorcerer, honored king,” Laurel put in from where he’d joined me in my patch of sunshine. “One who has learned how to mask his actions.”
“There must be a way to find out who,” Jusson insisted. “How does your Fyrst do it?”
“Contrary to popular belief, the Border is not teeming with practitioners of the dark arts,’ Wyln said, his amusement returning. “Magus Kareste was the first in a long while. But when we do suspect sorcery, we hunt the practitioner just like we would any other criminal.”
“It’s very similar to finding a murderer,” Laurel said. “Means and motive. What was done to whom and why? We have part of the puzzle with the attack on Rabbit and the unfortunate Menck’s death, but we need to find the rest to flesh out the solution. A good place to start is the honored peacekeeper’s investigation into the unfortunate’s death.”
“So we’ve circled right back to the questions first posed,” Jusson said. He turned his gaze back on the building. “I suppose that we should find out who this belongs to, if only to let them know what has been done inside. Is that a question that can be answered without puzzle pieces, Peacekeeper Chadde?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Chadde said. “It’s owned by a family that, since the closure of Eastgate, has fallen on hard times. I doubt that they’ve had anything to do with this, but I will make inquiries.”
“Oh, yes,” Jusson said. “The bricked-up gate. Tell me, why was that done? Isn’t Eastgate where the King’s Road intersects Freston?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Chadde said again. “At least, it was before the closure.”