Mayer Alan Brenner - Spell of Fate

“Since Gadol surely failed,” Romm said, “I should pronounce the indictment. Maximillian V’Dirapal, I arrest you under the authority and in the name of...”

The Great Karlini finished crawling from the water onto the ledge at the base of the bridge pier and collapsed on his face. “Thanks,” he managed. “I know I couldn’t have done this without you.”

Behind him, the bottle-nosed sea mammal that had towed him from the channel nuzzled him again and made another comment in its high-pitched squeaky voice. The creature had dragged him out of the way of the iceberg with not too much time left to spare. As far as Karlini was concerned, though, it was time for a vacation. The world could go on with its plots without him for -

A scream split his head from the inside out. Karlini jackknifed convulsively up, his ears ringing as the shriek cut suddenly off, even though he knew his ears hadn’t actually been what had done the hearing. The low-level back-of-the-mind link they’d maintained for so long he’d barely thought about it in years had exploded with so much agonal force that -

Karlini looked miserably across the intervening water at the city-side seawall and its crowded staircase, then sighed and jumped back in the water. With a cry like that he knew he’d be too late - he was too late already - but he had to know. Roni -

“Why is this vehicle so slow?” yelled Gashanatantra. “And so unstable,” he added, as the brass ball beneath him suddenly quivered, rolled, and lurched again toward the ground. For an instant the top was the side, and he was hanging over a five-story drop with only his precarious grip on a protruding circulation vent saving him from entering free-fall above the pavement.

“It’s not designed for this!” honked the speaking-tube. “You could just land and commandeer a wagon.”

“Shut up and fly! Time is critical!”

“Then you might have planned ahead for your transportation,” muttered Favored. Another block of flats slid past below them in a reasonably straight diagonal line.

“I didn’t think he would move so fast,” Gash said grudgingly, almost to himself. His head was cocked to the side as though he was listening to something not in the immediate vicinity. “Or with so much force. Faster!” he repeated. They were still too far out of range ...

Behind us echoed a despairing wail. Iskendarian turned. He’d been contemplating the scene in front of us for what had felt to me like minutes but had probably been only a second or two. Atop the vista of exploding fire and collapsing woodwork had been added the glittering meshwork of spells going off, scooping up and channeling the broth gushing from the vats through overlapping balls glowing azure and aquamarine. As his vision shifted, though, it became apparent that the destruction was thus far limited to the corner of the building he’d struck. The entry hall was still intact. Backlit by the light from the street and tinted dancing red by the flames was the open-mouthed figure of Tildamire Mont, chest heaving from her run through the front door Iskendarian had left unlocked, the horrified anguish on her face clearly visible.

Beneath Iskendarian’s arm was the stack of paperwork he’d gathered up, and in that hand Monoch the walking stick, but that still left the other arm free. He raised it and pointed it at the girl. I could feel the power crackle as he spoke the trigger-word –

Another person dove in through the open door, snatched Tildamire away with one arm, carried her to the floor with him off to the side, and hugged the boards, covering her with his body as the entry hall erupted into flame.

“Isn’t there anything you can do about this?” Leen hissed at Shaa.

“I can see what develops,” Shaa told her. “You might choose to do the same. You don’t look too uncomfortable.”

Indeed, he was the one chained to the wall. Leen was merely tied to a chair, and an overstuffed armchair at that. Of course, unlike a straight-back chair, the armchair would be impossible to lift with oneself and move, and the deep cushion gave exactly the wrong leverage to try to manipulate oneself to one’s feet. “This is no dungeon, either,” he added. “You don’t have to worry about rats.” Shaa hesitated, then went ahead, addressing his words to the man across the room. “Also, I swore an oath.”

Arznaak didn’t bother to turn to face him, instead continuing to busy himself clinking glasses at the sideboard. He waved his free hand idly; it was a matter of little significance. “Then I absolve you of it.”

“That is one thing you can’t do. The oath was to Dad, not you, as you know quite well.”

Arznaak leaned back against the sideboard, twirling a snifter in his hand. He raised into position for a toast. “To Dad, who isn’t around, t’sk t’sk. Very well then, it’s your choice. If you want to consider this a convenient excuse to prepare for suicide, be my guest.”

“How can you two be acting this way?” Leen sputtered.

They both opened their mouths to provide each his own dryly barbed rejoinder, but just then a new person appeared in the doorway. “Ah,” said the Scapula, “the true guest of honor.”

“I have it,” Jardin panted. “I have it at last. He went through with our bargain, the fool human.”

“What bargain?” said Shaa, his voice much flatter than usual.

“In time,” his brother told him. “Bring it here, then, my friend.”

Jardin dragged himself across the room. His shoulders were sagging, he was carrying himself stiffly as though he was covered with bruises, his sling-supported arm was clearly weighing him down, even his voice lacked energy; he radiated comprehensive and thorough exhaustion. Who has he fallen afoul of? Shaa wondered. Had Jardin’s reverses, whatever they had been, caused him to make the bargain he’d mentioned? Jardin reached into a pocket and held up a ring.

“Keeping your jaw dropped in such a manner lacks decorum, my brother,” chided Arznaak. “Now -”

“Now you will examine this ring,” Jardin ordered.

“Very well,” said the Scapula. He caressed the air above Jardin’s hand, closed his eyes -

“I thought you had very little advanced training,” Shaa observed. “If anyone here is examining anything it should be me.”

Arznaak sighed and made another pass. “Unfortunately my brother has his own agendas. It would be foolish to trust him. I -”

“Does he know?” said Jardin.

“Also in time; everything in its time. Jardin, this ring is clean. Maximillian’s trivial safeguards will fall away before your mighty power.”

“If you’re lying I’ll eat your heart,” Jardin said, took the ring from his palm, and slipped it onto his finger.

What had he wandered into? With Max out of circulation, his plan would have left the way clear to pursue his added goal of insinuating himself into the company of Max’s compatriots. There were undoubtedly secrets in their midst ripe for the taking, information that would help him position himself against his own patron. The girl had been an obvious target, and she had been fulfilling her ordained role with remarkable precision. With everyone else in Max’s organization out at the Running - who would be anywhere else? - it had seemed a perfect opportunity to raid their facility. Tildamire could get him through the defenses and reveal through her enamored talk any caches of hidden worth -

But then where had Spilkas come from, and where had he developed such destructive power - and why was he using it? And why had he looked so nasty, too, in the brief glimpse Fradjikan had had of him as he’d dove through the door?

Fradi knew he should have turned around and left the vicinity as quickly as possible at the first sight of this scene. Instead, he’d acted on impulse. Yes, he’d saved the girl, for the moment, but that only meant that Spilkas would try to finish the job with the next blow. They had to get out -