Darkborn Part 21

Sonn showed her the bed, with a still form laid thereon, chairs, a discarded pistol, and two figures wrestling on the floor beyond it. One reared up and lashed talon-tipped fingers across the face of the other, who screamed in Balthasar's voice. Telmaine seized the spent pistol and hurled it with all her strength at Lysander and, with a nauseating effort, hurled her magic after. Lysander snarled and twisted toward her, his face and form rippling as though his skin were dissolving. She still sensed no sonn, but the magic rent her, no sense of avuncular mockery remaining, no words between them, only a b.e.s.t.i.a.l savagery. She felt her own magic beginning to shred beneath the a.s.sault, and realized with horror that her magic was rooted down at the base of her being, and there was no way of escaping it before she and it died together.

Overhead, a heavy revolver boomed, two shots close together, two blows felt deep in chest and belly. She screamed with Lysander Hearne, tasting his blood in her throat, curling up with his agony, writhing on the floor as he writhed. The hem of a cloak brushed her face, and her wild sonn imaged an immense, striding figure stepping over her. Then, with an immense concussion, pain, cold, consciousness all ended at once.

Except for the one frail, tattered, whimpering part of it that was still Telmaine. She became aware that she was lying on the floor, contorted with recent agony. Her mind felt lacerated, her magic shriveled.

"Telmaine!" Ishmael's voice said urgently. "Telmaine, I need some help here."

She pushed herself up on her arms and cast a wavering sonn in the direction of that impossible voice. A broad, cloak-and-scarf-draped figure crouched beside Bal; beneath the wide-brimmed hat, Ishmael's familiar face turned toward her.

"Ishmael," she whispered.

"I'll explain shortly, but your husband's bleeding badly, and I've nothing t'give."

Beyond them, she sonned the booted legs of another figure. The feet were splayed, quite still. She struggled again to hands and knees and dragged herself across to their side. Ishmael was pressing his folded scarf against Balthasar's right cheek and jaw as an improvised compress. She could smell the raw, metallic odor of fresh blood.

"You needn't do anything," Ish said, his voice hoa.r.s.e. "Just help me get the bleeding stopped."

She recognized what he was trying to do and spared him the effort. "Bal knows; I told him."

She laid her fingers on Balthasar's throat, feeling tacky wetness and a strong, very fast pulse. Ishmael laid his hand over hers, and she caught her breath at the feel of him, like the crumbling ash left by fire. "It'll come back," he said-as though she could not know the depth of his fear that it would not. With an effort, he visualized nerves and arteries and veins of the face for her, and she roused the dregs of her own magic for the weaving together of tissues. It was slower work than she thought; throughout, Balthasar lay quite still, shivering, suspended between terror and triumph at his own survival. Presently, Ishmael peeled away the soaked scarf, revealing the three long, closed slashes from Balthasar's ear to his jaw. "A few inches lower, Hearne, and you'd have been dead."

"If he'd wanted to kill me outright," Balthasar said huskily, trying not to move his jaw, "he'd have taken those few inches." Very carefully, he sat up. "I'd rather not speculate as to what he might have spared me for. Let's . . ." He turned his head and cast an unsteady sonn over the corpse that lay beside him. "Ah," he said. Shaky or not, it was the sound of intellectual satisfaction.

" 'Ah,' indeed," said Ishmael.

He eased back so that Telmaine could direct her own sonn over the corpse, a manly courtesy she little appreciated, as she realized Ishmael's killing shot had shattered its skull and spilled its brains in a soft scrambled pudding. She apprehended few details beyond that before she reared back, retching. "Get it away," she sobbed, doubled over. "Get it away away."

Sonn blazed over them with stripping force. There was the click of a drawn-back hammer. Vladimer Plantageter's voice said, "Do not move, any of you, or I will shoot. And I will shoot to kill."

Telmaine started to lift her head. Ish's broad hand landed hard behind her neck, pinning her down. There was a crack of a revolver, and a bullet struck the floor near enough for her to smell singed carpet and burning wood.

"Ishmael di Studier," Vladimer said. "Explain."

"I am delighted," Ishmael said, "t'be in a position to. But first might I let Lady Telmaine sit up?"

"Telmaine?" Vladimer said. "My cousin Telmaine . . ." For the first time he sounded less than authoritative and certain. "There was a woman. . . ." His voice shook. The warning pressure of Ishmael's hand on the back of her head did not ease. "Yes," Vladimer said at last. "Let her up."

She dared cast sonn as she sat up, catching Vladimer in the act of sliding his long, thin legs off the bed and pushing himself to his feet. One leg was noticeably atrophied, the ankle twisted and scarred. Even so, barefoot and in a long nightshirt, Vladimer commanded the room. "Who," he said, tilting his head toward the corpse, "is that that?"

"Likely one of th'breed of Shadowborn you spoke of when we last met." A slight, deliberate pause. "Four nights ago."

"Four nights? But-" He checked himself, and firmed the gun on the three of them. "What happened to my attendants and my household?"

His attendants, Telmaine realized, were the physician and nurse sprawled in ungainly unconsciousness on the far side of the bed, beside a spilled tray of bottles and instruments. And Vladimer would surely have expected his household to respond to the sound of that shot; perhaps, besides intimidation, that was his intent.

Ishmael said steadily, "You fell into a coma four nights ago, with rumors of sorcery. We came down here t'undo that if we could, found your staff unconscious to a man, and this one waiting. It tried t'kill Hearne, and Lady Telmaine, but I got a fair shot at it. Now you're awake, that means it was th'one that ensorcelled you. And whatever form it came t'you in was likely not its true form. Until it died, it held the shape of one Lysander Hearne, who'd a close likeness to his brother here. Then it changed to what y'sonn now."

Vladimer shuddered perceptibly. He cast sonn across the corpse, his expression deeply disturbed. "So you say. Can you prove it? Can you prove you you are who you claim to be?" are who you claim to be?"

Ishmael hesitated, as well he might, given such a conundrum. Vladimer had no magic, so he could not detect the absence of that monstrous aura. "At worst, you could shoot one of us-best that be myself "-Telmaine could not stifle an involuntary sound of protest-"and learn if that one changes shape."

Sudden movement from where the nurse and physician had lain made them all tense, though Vladimer and Ishmael least of all. "Lord Vladimer!" gasped the nurse.

"Sweet Imogene, what has happened here?" said the physician, his sonn washing over the corpse.

Vladimer smiled thinly. "That is what I am presently trying to establish. Kindly satisfy my curiosity, Doctor. Have I indeed been unconscious for four days?"

The doctor-one of the imperious pair who had attended Balthasar-was clearly more accustomed to having patients satisfy his curiosity than the other way around. Waking up on the floor in his n.o.ble patient's bedroom, entangled in his nurse, seemed to have subdued his imperiousness, for the moment. He said, "That was what I was told, when I was called to attend you."

"And you could find no reason for the unconsciousness?"

"No, my lord," the physician said grudgingly.

"And what is the last thing you yourself recollect. Specifically, what time time do you yourself last recollect?" do you yourself last recollect?"

"My lord-" protested the physician.

"I remember hearing the sunrise bell," supplied the nurse.

Vladimer walked slowly forward, limping on his lamed leg, but the disability made him appear more sinister and threatening, not less. He leveled his revolver at Ishmael's head, choosing his line so as not to uncover either Balthasar or Telmaine. "Shoot you, you said? That seems drastic."

"You'll not think it drastic, my lord, when you hear what we have to report. So if that is what you need for proof, shoot me."

"My lord," began the physician, authoritatively.

"Doctor, if you feel yourself recovered, I would like you and your nurse to check the other members of the household, as I have reason to suspect them of having been similarly afflicted."

"But-"

"I feel quite well, Doctor, and I am increasingly coming to think that the cause of the immediate trouble is dead. You may tell the household staff that-"

"My lord," the physician broke in, "that man there cannot be Ishmael di Studier. Di Studier is dead."

The revolver came up, Vladimer's expression settling into a mask of suspicion; only then did Telmaine realize how much he had softened. "No!" she cried out. "Vladimer, hear us out, please!" She realized, with dismay, that her intervention had, if anything, worsened their predicament. Vladimer held the revolver steady on Ishmael's head. Her and Balthasar's overlapping sonn caught the tightening of his finger on the trigger. Ish did not sonn; he knelt very still, hands upturned on his thighs.

Vladimer abruptly released the trigger and stepped back, a decision made by whatever obscure calculus he had applied. "If you'd been in a position to defend yourself, you'd have done so. So, yes, I'll hear you out."

"Thank you, m'lord," Ishmael said, the huskiness of his voice finally betraying strain.

From outside came the sound of confused voices, footsteps, and bodies b.u.mbling against one another. Everyone tensed again. The main bedroom door opened, and half a dozen men in house-guard uniforms forced in a seventh-the narrow-faced young man from the train station.

"This," Vladimer muttered, "is starting to resemble a bedroom farce."

"My lord," said the chief guard in delighted surprise, and then took in the tableau: Vladimer with revolver in hand; Ishmael, Telmaine, and Balthasar in various positions on the floor; the sprawled corpse; the doctor and nurse. He cleared his throat and reported, "We found this man outside, my lord."

"He's with me," Ishmael said evenly.

Four pistols were immediately leveled at him. One side of Vladimer's mouth quirked. "Your vigilance is appreciated; however, I am increasingly convinced that these three pose no immediate threat. About the fourth, I do not yet know. Bring him 'round, and do not let anyone else into this room."

"Lord Vladimer, Baron Strumh.e.l.ler was charged with sorcery-against yourself-and murder. He was reported to have died in prison."

"Doubtless the broadsheets got their facts wrong again, a saving grace on which I often rely. Bring the prisoner 'round."

The narrow-faced young man was marched to face Vladimer, who considered him. "Your name."

"Kip. Nothing else. M'mother didn't know which son of a b.i.t.c.h to blame."

"Rivermarch," Vladimer noted. "Not a physician, I suspect, for all your fine clothes."

"Prison apothecary, sir-my lord. Ex, now, no doubt, since I can't tell a live 'un from a dead 'un. I'll be in need of work."

"Will you now?" Vladimer said, his quick wit readily connecting the foregoing. "I'm not sure whether it's work in my service or a cell that awaits you, but it'll be one of the two, surely. Trevannen"-this to the commander of the guards-"lock this one up until I decide what to do about him. I want the household checked; ensure everyone recovers well. Take the doctor and nurse with you. Rea.s.sure the staff that I am awake, but do not not tell them who is here, and do not allow anyone else in here. Be a.s.sured that if any whisper of these events that I have not authorized reaches me, the person responsible will be dismissed without references at the tell them who is here, and do not allow anyone else in here. Be a.s.sured that if any whisper of these events that I have not authorized reaches me, the person responsible will be dismissed without references at the very very least, and quite possibly charged with treason. Am I fully understood?" least, and quite possibly charged with treason. Am I fully understood?"

A chorus of yes, my lord yes, my lords answered him.

"Good. Then I will need chairs for all my visitors." A slight, malevolent smile. "Low, comfortable comfortable chairs, such as will discourage any sudden moves. And a blanket, to cover chairs, such as will discourage any sudden moves. And a blanket, to cover that that."

"My lord," Ishmael rumbled, "we're so cursed spent, we'll fall asleep on you."

"I'm sure I can keep you stimulated," Vladimer said. "You can get up." He held the revolver pointed loosely at them as they helped one another to their feet. Telmaine leaned against Balthasar, smelling sweat and blood from the closed lacerations of his face.

"Lord Vladimer," she said, "please, might someone dress my husband's wounds?"

Vladimer considered, his face guarded, and then allowed, "When my brother's physician returns, he can do that. In the meantime, I have not eaten for four days, and before I find myself set on a diet of nourishing broth and clear tea, I am going to find out what the kitchen can muster."

Balthasar

The kitchen delivered its first installment of cold meats, cheeses, and a.s.sorted biscuits, with joyful promises of more, much more. Balthasar watched with some apprehension as Vladimer bolted smoked meat and cheese, since he could antic.i.p.ate the house guards' and staff 's response to a digestive upset in their newly recovered lord. Ishmael purposefully chewed a slice, eating with mechanical efficiency and scant appet.i.te.

Bal eased sideways in the deep and capacious chair to let Telmaine slide down beside him. She lay against him, the crown of her head against his cheek, suffering him to feed her small slices of meat, and sips of broth and sweetened tea. She was too tired to insist he eat in turn, which was as well; he did not want to find out, just at the moment, what chewing would do to his aching face. He settled for tea and broth.

With an abrupt expression of inner unease, Vladimer set aside a half-eaten slice of pungent cheese and took a stomach-quelling sip of tea. "Now," he said.

"Hearne," Ishmael said. "I know it's an imposition, with your face and all, but I think you'd tell it best of th'three of us. I'm too spent for wordcraft."

By Telmaine's stiffening, Bal realized that she also had caught Ishmael's intent: to have Balthasar tell it, and give into Balthasar's hands the decision of how much to tell of Telmaine's involvement, and the opportunity, if he could, to veil it.

"My part of it begins," he said, speaking cautiously for his closed wounds, "four days ago, just before sunrise. A woman came to my door, seeking shelter. . . ." Indigestion or no, Vladimer followed with a keen wit, probing for further details with pointed questions. Bal explained his own survival after the beating as he had first had it explained to him, as Ish's own doing, aided by Floria's spicule; that pa.s.sed. Ishmael then took up the thread of his own investigations, from his and Telmaine's visit to Tercelle Amberley, through the burning of the Rivermarch-Vladimer called in his staff with an urgent request for confirmation-to his arrest. Vladimer's fingers tapped lightly on the edge of his chair, his only betrayal of temper. Casamir Blondell was due an uneasy interview with his master, Bal thought. Bal took up the story after Ishmael's arrest, his legal defense strategy greeted by Vladimer's dry approval and Ishmael's discomfiture. He described Lysander's reappearance, or seeming reappearance, and blackmail. Ishmael then told him about the two attempts on his life, drawing a stifled gasp from Telmaine, and the encounter with Kip, with the plan for escape that spun from it.

"Chancy," Vladimer critiqued.

"Aye, but it worked," said Ishmael matter-of-factly.

"What was the third attempt on your life?" Vladimer said. "Since it was your intent to escape then."

Ishmael hesitated, and Vladimer perceptibly stiffened. Propped against Bal, Telmaine stirred and spoke for the first time. "Lord Vladimer-cousin-do you believe what you have heard so far?"

His face guarded, Vladimer said, "I expect to hear the sum of it before making up my mind."

She eased herself more upright. "We are coming to a part of the story that concerns something that no one but these two men know about me. It's not . . . not a state secret-it's personal, but the kind of thing that . . . makes for juicy gossip and social ruin. I'd like everyone else to leave." She swallowed audibly. "Balthasar and Ishmael would try not to tell you, for my sake, but I don't think there's any way to explain without this-and we'd wind up with you holding a revolver on Ishmael again."

Ishmael had drawn a breath; he let it out slowly. "I fear she's right."

Vladimer sonned them again, that disconcertingly focused cast. "My staff does not gossip."

Telmaine said wearily, "I grew up in a ducal household; things get known, nonetheless."

There was a silence; then Vladimer waved a hand. "Leave us, please. Ensure we are not disturbed."

With a brief remonstrance, the remaining guard left. Vladimer toyed pointedly with his revolver. "Continue."

"My husband did not tell me about Lysander Hearne's threat-I presume we will continue to call him that-but I knew nonetheless." Her throat tightened. "I knew as soon as I touched Balthasar."

She hardly dared sonn the expression on Vladimer's face, but she forced herself to. It was deeply a.n.a.lytical, and disturbed. "Explain."

"Since the age of five, I have had the . . . gift . . . curse . . . whatever you would choose to call it, of magic. It was something I never wanted and tried not to use. The gloves, the phobia about infection, those were a means of putting a barrier between me and others."

There was a silence. "You married."

"Yes, cousin. With a confidence in my husband's goodness not given many women."

"That would be an advantage in a courtship, true. But you did not tell your husband, did you?"

"To tell him might have been to lose him," Telmaine said staunchly. "I was wrong about that. Even though I knew my beloved intimately I . . . still underestimated him."

His heart stirred by the gift, Balthasar stroked her cheek, so that she could know his grat.i.tude and his appreciation of her courage at this moment. Vladimer's sonn washed over them. "You learned this when?" he said to Balthasar.

"Yesterday evening, shortly before my wife and I decided to come down here and try to undo the sorcery affecting you."

"Decided," said Vladimer with precision. "Your wife a.s.sures us that she never wished to be a mage."

"Hear the rest of our story," Bal said. "Then you may judge."

Telmaine said, "Since there was no one else able, I took my own steps to find my daughter." In a flat, steady voice, she detailed events from the moment she climbed into Sylvide's carriage to the moment she laid Florilinde down on Balthasar's bed. Vladimer simply listened intently, asking no questions. At the end he said, "Strumh.e.l.ler?"

Ishmael seemed to rouse himself from trance or half doze, his expression somber. "I went down harder than I'd ever gone," he said. "Kip can tell you his part in it, but in short he realized that though I wasn't quite dead I'd not be long so-no wrist pulse and barely a throat pulse. He declared me dead and got me out of the prison and into the hands of my own people. Lorcas sent an urgent summons to Magistras Olivede Hearne and Phoebe Broome, who managed to get me more or less back on my feet in time for th'day train. Wasn't enough time for anything fancy in th'way of disguise, so I swaddled myself up and declared myself an invalid, traveling with my doctor. I figured n.o.body'd connect Kip with me, whereas they would have connected my menservants, and most people would stay clear of a man with a lung complaint."

"Why didn't you tell us at the station?" Telmaine said, a half whisper.

"When you didn't sense me, I'd the thought th'Shadowborn mightn't, either. I'd have been little use t'you as a mage, better as a stalking gun. You held it; I got a bullet into it."