Catherine Fisher - The Lost Heiress

White-faced, the dwarf stared up at him. The cave was black, crackling with power. The fire went out, and still Galen snarled the words remorselessly, his finger pointed, sparks leaping about it.

“May your possessions be dust to you. May your body tremble and rot. May your hair turn white and fall . . .”

“No.” Alberic stepped back, holding up his hands. “No! Wait!”

“. . . May all your friends betray you. May water, fire, earth, and air become your foes. May the horrors of Kest worm into you.”

“Galen!” The dwarf seemed to crumple abruptly, his hands trembling. “Stop it! Not that I believe . . . You can’t do this . . .”

Light crackled from the keeper’s hand. It roared into the spaces of the cave; blue stinging snaps of light around the tiny man, crawling over his limbs, around his neck, so that he yelled and squirmed and beat them off.

“From this instant you will begin to sicken. Pain will fill you. Your food will choke you. Six weeks of suffering I lay on you, and when you die your soul will scream for eternity in the Pit.”

“Enough!” It was a shriek; it broke from Alberic’s twisted mouth like a pain, and he held his hands over his head as if the malice of the words battered him. “Enough. No more!”

There was silence.

The cave was black and smoky, as if something smoldered.

Galen waited. Slowly he lowered his hand.

Trembling, Alberic clawed his way back to the stool and leaned on it in utter silence, everyone’s eyes on him. He tried to drink a sip of wine, but the cup shook too violently in his hand.

When he looked up, his face glistened with sweat.

“I don’t believe,” he breathed, “that even you would wish that on me, keeper.”

Galen didn’t answer.

“But . . . having considered your story . . .” He swallowed painfully. “Having thought about it . . .”

“Will you attack?” Galen asked, grim.

Alberic looked at him, furious, white-faced, his hands still shaking.

“Yes,” he spat.

21

In the unlikely event that all training fails, the agent must use whatever strategies are left.

Rule of the Watch

INSTANTLY A BELL BEGAN TO CLANG, hard and insistent, appallingly loud. Doors banged open; someone shouted.

Carys cursed bitterly; she grabbed the little girl’s arm and twisted it up behind her back with a savage jerk. “One more sound and I’ll break it!” she hissed.

White-faced, the girl stared up at her, pain forcing tears into her eyes. Raffi looked around in terror. “Come on!” he said.

They ran down the corridor, through the lamp-shadows. Turning the corner, they saw two men; Carys pushed the girl aside, raised her bow, and fired. One man collapsed, clutching his arm; the other fired back, the bolt embedding in the lintel over Raffi’s head. Rolling, Raffi gathered up all his energy and flung it in a flaring explosion down the corridor. There was a bang, and a crackle of light. When the smoke cleared he saw both men were down.

“Brilliant!” Carys hauled the child up and jammed a new bolt in the bow. Raffi ran down to the men and knelt by them anxiously.

“Are they dead?” she asked.

He looked up sharply. “Of course not!”

“Then come on!” As she tugged her away, the little girl stared back. “What did he do? What was that?”

“That was the Order at work.” Carys laughed sourly. “You’d better forget all that stuff they taught you about illusions. These people know a few tricks.”

They ran up the stairs, around a corner, then crouched, breathing hard. Far off the Watchhouse was astir—voices were yelling orders.

“How long?” Raffi said.

“They’ll check the dormitories. They probably already know she’s missing.” Wrathfully Carys glared down. “Why couldn’t you have kept quiet! And why didn’t you tell me about this dream, Raffi?”

He frowned. “I didn’t realize she would . . . It was more like a vision. Anyway, it means she really is the Interrex.”

“The what?” the girl asked.

“Nothing.”

Silent, the child surveyed them, especially Raffi. “In my dream,” she said, remembering, “you were in the classroom.”

He crouched beside her. “That’s twice you’ve gotten me into trouble.”

Her quick face grinned. “Yes. I’m good at that.”

“I’ll bet you are,” Carys said.

“They’ll never let you out.” Calmly the girl pulled the night-cub out and smoothed its head. “You’ll be killed. I won’t care.”

Chilled, Raffi reached out and held her thin wrist. “What’s your name?” he asked.

She looked surprised. “Felnia. What’s yours?”

“Raffi.” He turned the insignia on her neck. The number was 914.

They were silent a moment. Impatient, Carys shuffled down to peer around the stairs. “It’s late. I knew that fuse was—” Before she’d finished, a vast explosion deafened them, shaking the walls; then another, far off in the depths. “Now!” Carys breathed. Slipping out, she raced ahead, checking every corner, Raffi pulling the little girl hurriedly after. Halfway around the next bend a small, cold hand slipped into his. He held it tight.

But there were too many patrols, too many people. Twice they were nearly caught; at last they stumbled into an empty classroom as a group of tall women stalked by, banging open every door and looking in.

Crouched under a desk, Raffi waited for the footsteps to fade. “What now?” he whispered.

Carys pushed back her hair. “The front gate is impossible. We won’t even get near it.” She scowled. “Mind you, I never thought we would.”

“Is there any other way out?”

“Not from here.”

“So what do we do?”

“Withdraw. Somewhere we can defend ourselves.” She turned to Felnia. “The north tower. What do they use that for?”

The girl stuck her tongue out. Carys shrugged. “We’ll try it. It’s usually staff quarters—they may not think we’ll go there.”

They moved quickly, putting out every lamp they passed. Then Carys stopped, so abruptly that Raffi ran into her. “Listen.”

“What?” But as he said it his sense-lines swirled; he felt it intensely in a shiver of sweat, a black, swollen thing, some grotesque six-footed beast slavering down the corridors.

“The bloodhound.” Carys sounded furious. “We’ve no chance.” She rammed the bolt home and turned to face the dark.

“Not here!” He grabbed her. “Up in this tower. We can wedge the doors. Don’t give up, Carys!”

She looked at him strangely; he pulled her away. Around the next bend was a door they tugged open, but inside there was no way to lock it, so they raced and gasped breathlessly up the wooden stairs, pushing the girl in front of them. Up a high flight was a kitchen, full of barrels and stores. Carys flung down the bow and grabbed the nearest cask. “Push them down!”

They toppled the cask and rolled it to the stairtop and over; it crashed down, splintering with an enormous thud against the door below.

“All of them!”

Barrel after barrel they rolled, Felnia pushing with them, all suddenly helpless with giggles, laughing stupidly, as if it was a game, till the stairwell was jammed with splintered wood and sour wine, the reek of cheeses and dried salted fish.

Below, the door jerked, rammed hard, but the barrels clogged it, kept it closed. Someone yelled furious orders.

Carys stopped laughing, clutching her side. “They’ll get an ax. Come on.”

They burst into the top room. Two beds, the blankets sprawled, a chest, a small table. Nothing else. Raffi ran to the window, tugging it open. Then he stood still. Directly below was the ditch, yawning, rammed with sharp, upright spikes.