Anne Bishop - Tangled Webs

“He hamstrung you, Bastard,” Lucivar said. “He used words instead of a blade, but he hamstrung you. He counted on you doing exactly what you did—play by his rules. Surreal and Rainier, too, since they’re still in there.”

Jaenelle joined them. “There are three Black Widows who spun the illusions around this place. Every time Craft is used, the people in the house become more ensnared in the webs. And there are death spells tangled in with the rest. If you take a step over the boundary, you’ll be caught in the spells.”

“If you play by the rules,” Lucivar said. “The sun’s going to shine in Hell before I play by someone else’s rules—especially some landen prick who wants one of us to help him commit suicide.”

“He’s Blood, not landen,” Daemon said. “I don’t think he expected anyone to know he was behind this game, so I doubt he anticipated experiencing a slow execution firsthand as fodder for one of his stories.”

Lucivar stared at him as if half his brains had just fallen out of his ears.

“Even someone as strong as you can get caught by webs like this,” Jaenelle said. “Have you forgotten when we got caught in the Jhinka attack a few years ago? Those weren’t the same kind of webs, but close enough.”

“No, I haven’t forgotten,” Lucivar replied. “I’ve learned a few things since then.” He looked at Daemon. “That’s why I know you can’t go into that house—and I can.”

“What makes you think—?” Daemon began.

Lucivar swung his arm out, shoulder high, his hand in a tight fist.

Daemon felt the punch of Ebon-gray power as it hit the tangled webs that surrounded the house.

The house shook. It felt like a violent gust of wind—or a fist—had slammed into the house, trying to knock it off its foundation.

“Hell’s fire,” Rainier said. “What was that?”

Daemon had been able to feel the webs around the spooky house. Now he saw them. Lucivar’s power lit them up—and revealed some of the things they hid. Just for a moment. Just long enough.

“No wonder the house didn’t look balanced on the land,” Jaenelle said. “There’s actually three attached houses here, and two of them were sight shielded.”

Lucivar nodded. “Spells wrapped around places of transition—like a staircase or door—can be used to move people without their being aware of it. The illusion spell preys on their sense of where they are and how long they’ve been doing something simple. They think they’re going up a regular flight of stairs or going through a door, but they’re really being herded down a corridor that leads somewhere else. Surreal and Rainier are probably in the second or third house by now.”

“I’ve never heard of illusion spells that could do this,” Daemon said, glancing at Jaenelle. “Have you?”

“No,” she replied, sounding as puzzled and intrigued as he felt.

Lucivar looked at both of them and shrugged. “I guess it’s not part of the Hourglass’s standard training.”

“So where did you learn about this?” Daemon asked.

“From Tersa.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I learned about trap spells and transition illusions from Tersa.”

“Tersa walks in the Twisted Kingdom,” Jaenelle said. “You know that.”

Lucivar shrugged again. “Most people think in straight lines; Tersa thinks in squiggles. Just means it takes a little longer to get an answer when you ask her a question.”

Daemon rubbed his forehead, trying to dispel the headache that was brewing. “You talk to Tersa?”

“I visit her a couple times a month. I’ve done that for a few years now. We sit in the kitchen and drink ale and eat nutcakes.”

He saw Jaenelle shudder at that combination of tastes. The combination didn’t appeal to him either, but it brought up other questions. “Why don’t you have to drink milk in order to get nutcakes?”

Lucivar grinned. “I told her ale was Eyrien milk.”

You prick, Daemon thought, feeling resentful because he’d never thought of something like that. “You visit my mother.”

“Yes,” Lucivar replied.

“You never mentioned that.”

“It’s none of your business.”

He rocked back on his heels, not sure how to respond. It wasn’t any of his business as long as Tersa wasn’t harmed by it.

“I don’t know what you’re fussing about,” Lucivar said. “I drop in, ask a question, and just listen while I have a glass of ale. A lot of what Tersa says has nothing to do with the question, and some of it makes no sense to me at all, but she picks up all the scattered pieces of information as she wanders the paths within her mind. It’s up to the listener to recognize what he needs and put the pieces together.”

He could picture them in the kitchen of Tersa’s cottage, with Allista hovering nearby. And it occurred to him that it might be a relief to Tersa to have the company of someone who could recognize her gifts of knowledge and experience without asking her to think in straight lines.

That was something he needed to consider more carefully at another time.

“You’ve been learning the Hourglass’s Craft from Tersa?” Jaenelle asked.

“No, I’ve been learning about the Hourglass’s Craft and how to defend against some kinds of spells,” Lucivar replied. “You can punch your way out of a trap spell, but you have to do it fast and you have to do it before you use Craft enough times for the spell to hook into you and start feeding off your own strength. Of course, part of the point of a trap spell is to drain the prey’s power, so there’s a backlash spell attached to the trap. The first time you try to punch out, you’ll get hit with a blast of power. It will hurt like a wicked bitch, even if you’re shielded. And you might have to take a second hit. After that, it’s strength against strength. The trap spell will keep trying to close up, so you just keep breaking through and moving forward until you’re out.”

“Mother Night,” Daemon muttered as he stared at the house.

“One of them would have tried to break through the spells,” Jaenelle said.

Lucivar nodded. “And took a hard enough hit to discourage them from trying again. So they’re playing the game—and moving deeper into the trap. And that means whoever goes in to find them has to deal with whatever is in that house without using Craft. Which is why I can go in and neither of you can.”

Lucivar unbuckled his everyday belt and vanished it. Then he called in the double-buckle fighting belt that Eyriens wore in battle. The hunting knife Eyrien males wore as standard dress was replaced by a hunting knife that was a little bigger, a little heavier, and a lot meaner. A palm-sized knife was slipped into a sheath between the belt buckles. Two more knives went into the sheaths in Lucivar’s boots. Then…

“Wait wait wait,” Jaenelle said. “What is that ?”

Daemon felt the shield that formed around Lucivar like a second skin. He knew what it was. He’d just never expected to feel it again.

Lucivar frowned at her as he closed the leather gauntlets over his wrists and forearms. “It’s an Ebony shield.” Using Craft, he put chain mail over the light leather vest he was wearing in place of a shirt. “You may not wear Ebony Jewels anymore, Cat, but the power you put into the Rings of Honor is still there and the shields you built into those Rings still work.”

Jaenelle stared at him. So did Daemon.

In Kaeleer, a Ring of Honor was given to every male who served in a court’s First Circle. Worn around the cock, it was a symbol of the Queen’s control over every aspect of a male’s life. It also allowed her to monitor the emotions of her males, and the Rings were usually set to raise an alarm if anger, pain, or fear indicated the male was in trouble and needed help.