Arcanum Part 11

"Yes," whispered Gerhard.

"I was ordered we were all ordered to ignore it, and all other commands from the castle. Of course, you weren't to know of this, at all. Ever."

The prince's breathing was ragged, laboured, shallow.

"But you can, for now..."

"I was forbidden to leave the adepts' house by the master, but I calculated that if my masters couldn't answer your call themselves, they were incapable of stopping me. I remain, Prince Gerhard of Carinthia, your loyal servant."

"Your loyalty is commendable," he said automatically. Then he blinked at her, at the world behind her, as if it was new and terrifying. "Is this some sort of joke?"

She thought about it for quite a while before replying.

"If it is a joke, my lord, it's a joke on all of us."

13.

Nikoleta was given her own tent, and she a.s.sumed that was because she was a magician and not because she was a woman. She'd been around long enough to know that German women didn't go to war, although they'd used to when the Romans looked down from the Alps and saw nothing but vast, rich, untamed forests. German women had been wild and proud, and, if the stories were to be believed, free.

A thousand years of civilisation later, and they gave her her own tent.

It was different in Byzantium, of course. Alaric had sacked only Rome, not her home city. She'd run away from there, eventually.

They'd given her a bed, too, a low wooden trestle with st.i.tched mattress and thick blankets, and a brazier, filled with glowing charcoal. Used to the privations of the novices' house and the only marginally less austere adepts' house, she found the confines of the fabric walls too hot and airless.

They'd fed her. A board of bread, meat and cheese, and Frankish wine in a bottle.

The one thing they wouldn't do was talk to her. The mundanes were all scared of her of course they were. Even though she'd got rid of her pointed hood at the beginning of the journey, her white robes were the only clothes she possessed. She was their hexmaster, so terrifyingly powerful she could defeat the Teutons single-handed.

She looked at those hands in the ruddy light, and lit a blue-white flame in her right palm. Could she do it? She thought she knew enough battle-magic, sufficient at least to scare a collection of barbarian marsh-dwellers into turning tail and running.

Then again, she'd seen their master of horse. He hadn't frightened easily, despite being alone in the midst of his enemies. His men would fight.

She didn't know what she was expected to face, or expected to do. She could guess, or she could go and ask someone. And there was only one man she could ask.

Picking up a blanket, she threw it over her shoulders and ducked through the unlaced part of the tent door. It was dark in the valley, and the soldiers the prince had brought with him were almost all crowded around the two large fires they'd made, their black shapes solid against the flickering flames and the ascending column of sparks.

Almost all, because there were guards set outside both her and his tents, and the boy's tent too. Presumably around the perimeter of the camp as well: it's what she would have done had she not been able to sense the beat of a heart at a hundred paces, along with the spirit that animated it.

"My lady?"

"Take me to the prince. We have things to discuss," she said, knowing that it didn't matter if the prince was alone, with others, asleep or simply didn't want to be disturbed. She wanted it, and she'd get it.

As the guard led her to another tent, its leopard pennant flapping in the breeze, she wondered at the truth: if she was right about the hexmasters' sudden impotence, she was the most powerful person in the whole of Carinthia.

Her guard spoke to Gerhard's, and though permission to enter was granted quickly enough, she knew he wouldn't be pleased to see her.

He wasn't alone, either. He had a boy with him, the child Felix she'd seen him before and knew who he was and another man, who she couldn't place. He dressed differently to the rest of the Carinthian court, and when he stood to greet her, his body betrayed a lean and natural grace.

"My lord prince," she said. She didn't have to bow, and if it had been just the two of them, she probably would have forgone the formality. As it was, she dipped her head for a moment.

The tall man with the strange floppy hat remained standing. He was staring at her, weighing her up and deciding whether she was a threat. No, not quite. He was trying to work out her weaknesses.

Adepts had very few of those: the gross ones had been beaten out of them, the subtle ones already exploited by their peers.

Gerhard sat in his travelling seat and growled. "You know my son. This long streak of p.i.s.s is his tutor, Signore Allegretti."

She gave barely perceptible bows to both, noting that Allegretti carried two swords in the Italian fashion and that he could probably use both equally well. "My lord, we need to ..." and she shrugged "talk."

Gerhard bared his teeth for a moment, then pulled back from whatever feral curse he was going to make. "The boy should sleep. We'll break camp at dawn and see what welcome brother Bavaria has to offer."

Allegretti's face was unreadable, but he turned to Felix. "Come, little man. A tired swordsman is one stroke closer to disaster than a well-rested one."

The boy was clearly revelling in his father's company, and the separation came as a grave disappointment. But he was obedient. He slid from his seat and hugged the suddenly surprised prince. "Goodnight, Father."

Gerhard's hands waved ineffectually in the air for a moment before coming to rest on the boy's back. "Goodnight, Felix."

Then it was just prince and adept. She didn't wait to be asked to sit; she just sat, taking Allegretti's seat and leaving Felix's empty between them.

"Do you have a name?" asked Gerhard.

"Yes," she said, "though revealing your true name when it can be used against you isn't wise. Or particularly survivable."

"And am I ever going to be in a position to exploit that?"

She lowered her head so that her hair covered her face. "Nikoleta Agana."

"Your German's good, but you weren't born here, were you? Byzantium, you said?"

"Yes," she answered. Her head came up. "I am loyal to you, my lord. More loyal than you could possibly imagine."

"Given that the rest of those snakes-in-white have chosen to abandon me in my hour of need, that's not saying much." Gerhard wiped his face with his hand. "One hundred and fifty years since we last asked you to turn out in force."

"Two, three months ago, your call would have been answered. The masters would have been elbowing each other out of the way to show what they could do." Nikoleta looked at her hands again, feeling the spark just under her skin. "I don't have an explanation for you."

"Are you sure?"

"No. All the signs are there, though. The novicemaster can't enchant the simplest tattoo on the most willing arm. That sort of thing should be child's play for him, at least, as he's the one who inked me ten years ago."

She pulled up her sleeve and bared her forearm where, in among the black shapes and arcanum, was a simple circle centred on her wrist. Her pulse flexed the circ.u.mference that was, in fact, the point. The needle had hurt like a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, but she hadn't cried once. When it was over, yes, but more out of relief that the tattooing had taken than from any physical release.

"It still works," she said, "for me, at least."

"What does it do?" Gerhard leant forward to inspect it.

"It allows me to see magic. Mundanes..."

"Mundanes? Is that how you think of us, of me?"

She let her sleeve fall. "Yes. I'm sorry if that offends you."

"Offends me?" Gerhard's voice rose for a moment, before he remembered that he was separated from his men by a single layer of cloth rather than a privacy-enforcing thickness of stone. "Carinthia gave you everything you wanted. Including money. Lots of money. And you dare to look down your nose at my royal person?"

"My lord, I'm trying to explain, and badly. You're the first mundane" she screwed her face up as she said the word "I've talked to for the best part of a decade. Within the Order, we're very direct. We don't talk around the subject, any subject, because that's just a waste of time. We all hate each other anyway, so why bother being polite?"

"You need to remember who it is you're talking to. I'm not one of your Order." He got up out of his chair and started pacing. The tent wasn't very big, so he spent most of his time turning. "Before my father died, he told me how to deal with you. He said, 'Don't bother them, Gerhard. Anything you can handle yourself, do so. But there'll be times when a little more is required. Then ask them for help. Nicely. When you see what they can do, you'll be glad you hadn't bothered them before.' So, Mistress Agana, what can you do?"

"That depends," she said, "on what you want me to do."

"I want you to kill every last murdering Teuton pig-f.u.c.ker we find, then, on the way home, burn Simbach to the ground." Gerhard stopped his pacing and clasped his hands behind his back. "Can you do that?"

"I can't do the greater battle-magics. I can't do a moving pillar of fire, or summon lava, or curse them all dead." She saw that Gerhard was about to interrupt, and she held up her finger. "There is plenty I can do, though. If you use me right, we can still win."

The prince frowned as he digested the news. Then his jaw dropped. "G.o.ds, woman, you expect us to have to fight!"

"Well, yes."

"The only fighting those men out there have ever done is to see who's first to the bar."

"Then you'd better hope they're well trained. Or you could always turn back." She looked up at Gerhard. "You're the prince. You decide."

He sat down next to her. "What can you do? Exactly?"

"All kinds of fire-magic. Elemental manipulations: if there's a fire, I can make it use all its fuel at once. Depending on the source, it can be quite a big explosion. Minor summonings which, if done properly, aren't really that minor at all. If they try to charge us I can guarantee I can drop the first couple of ranks."

"Before they reach us, you mean."

"Yes. I can throw a shield out over some, though not all of us that's impervious to all moving objects. Arrows, people, beasts. Centred around me. Some of the spells are quite close-quarters. There'll probably be casualties among your men, and I'm not a healer. Not even basic wounds."

Gerhard rested his elbows on his knees and his chin on his entwined hands. "I don't know. We're going to lose men just protecting you."

"Yes. How many Teutons are there?"

"Three hundred hors.e.m.e.n, excepting the ones killed in the fight over the barge. They're good with a bow, as well as a sword. They've got their women in a horse-drawn wagon train. Children too, for all I know. Against our hundred infantry and twenty horse. And you."

"If my lord wishes, I'll return to the adepts' house in the morning." She was certain he wouldn't accept.

He didn't. Instead he asked: "Why now?"

"I still have no explanation to give you," she repeated.

"What about the other sorcerers? The Teutons have one of their shamans with them."

"You didn't mention that before."

"I just have. What about them? What if only the Order are affected?"

"The barge. How many of your men were there?"

"Two. Hunters. No magic."

"And they rescued the bargees?"

"Yes."

"Then there's your answer. A half-competent shaman would have been able to rip their souls out and leave them shambling ruins, even over moving water. That they got away with it tells me that their shaman is either dead already or has run away."

Gerhard blew out his cheeks. "And what of enchantments? The barges, the lights, the millstones, the bridges. Our wagons. My armour. My sword. They're all working."

"For now," she said. "I can't guarantee they will in the future."

"You think everything will fail?" he said, then realised what that all meant. "Everything?"

His sword was around his waist, even though he'd taken the armour off for the night. He drew it and held it in front of his face, trying to detect if there was any change to the dark halo surrounding the blade.

"I don't know," said Nikoleta. "I'm just an adept. I've been able to enchant common items for a while, but I haven't tried recently. I've been busy doing other things."

"Busy? You've been busy? Well, that's all right then." He looked at her, and she noticed how his fingers tightened around the sword grip.

"Yes. Busy. You have to understand: what you do, what your people do, is of supreme indifference to a sorcerer. Your interests are not ours. Your father was right: don't bother us unless it's important."

"As long as the money keeps on coming in."

"Yes. We're expensive. Whether we're as expensive as having to recruit, feed, house and train a large standing army, I don't know. I've never paid attention to the cost of things."

"Carinthia is ..." started Gerhard, but he stopped. His teeth ground together. "No. Not defenceless."

"My lord, the men out there, the ones drinking and eating and singing by the fire; are they all that you have?" They were singing, too: the "Climbers' Song".

"A single Carinthian is worth ten other men. We have an army of a thousand outside."

She chewed at her lips. "My lord, you don't have a single hexmaster with you. I'll do what I can, but whatever stories you've been told about how to fight a battle, even one as small as this, just don't apply any more. We cannot march up to the Teutons and simply kill them all before they even get into bow-shot."

"That's how it always used to happen," he said.

"You need more men."

"I need the hexmasters I have paid for."

"They're not coming, my lord. Perhaps they never will again."