2 Mercy #5
“It’s real?”
“Rare and dangerous for obvious reasons. There have been campaigns in Ilohe to eradicate all those with the magic. No one wants to be sapped of free will.”
“Still, to kill them for existing?”
“That’s life.” He didn’t sound too upset.
“The Elsar are fair. Almost every magic has an equal and opposite in some land. Ice in Usten, and then, fire in Oriti, for example. A Coercer might be your opposite. Both magics have the same root—sound. Only difference is that you read people through their words, and a Coercer controls them through words. Could turn you into a puppet in a heartbeat.”
“Wisdom’s breath, don’t speak one into existence. The land is in enough trouble.”
“You’ll have to deal with all sorts, barmaid.
” Telmar’s tone had the taste of sympathy.
“Magi who warp ice, shadow, and even themselves. Many lands use True Illusionists of Urd and Errigalese parentage. They can alter their faces in a heartbeat and mimic everything down to the placement of your scars. Your Magus Supreme was careful for a reason. Now, he could die at the hand of someone with your face.” He took in her stricken look, and another sliver of compassion chipped at his customary indifference. “This is your life now.”
“I know.” The void in her yawned wider. She tracked the sun’s slow progression outside the office’s narrow window. In a few hours, the graduation would begin.
Telmar cleared his throat. “But rest assured, I’d be quite concerned about anyone who could take you on, Summoner of Death.”
The words prompted a startling heave of her stomach, fear snaking around her limbs until she went stock-still. Another voice reached through the past to whisper in her ear.
I’ll see you soon, Death-Summoner.
Winded, she rubbed her breastbone. Who said that? And why had it terrified her so much?
Bidding farewell to Telmar, she left his office in Safsher Hall and took the closest path to Aoran Tower. Snow crunched between her boots and cobblestone. Most southerners found the Month of Frost unbearably cold, but winter was an old friend to her after years in Arsamea.
She yawned, massaging her temples when spikes of pain cut into them. Wisdom and Ruin, not this again. Never mind the Order—at this rate, a constant lack of sleep would do her in first. She rested her throbbing head against a passing ice sculpture for relief. I should’ve asked Telmar about this.
It had begun with an odd gap around her visit to the Stones Guild some months ago. A moment she’d forgotten but whose absence she could sense. One that remained oddly painful to recall. There had been a few more gaps since, during her walks home.
Sweet Lady Wisdom, don’t tell me I’m going mad. She scrunched her eyes shut, trying to reach for the memory. A shaft of pain speared her, snatches of sound and sunlight blurring behind her eyes. Albanus offering a bribe. A window looking out into the Stones Guild’s inner courtyard. And—
A third arrow of pain lanced so deep behind her eyes that she gasped. Wrath’s teeth! She abandoned the pursuit. A warm bath should fix everything. The memories couldn’t be anything important; she’d lost no more than a few minutes. Perhaps she’d dozed off while walking.
Close to Aoran Tower, she felt for the key around her neck that would take her through Kadra’s wards when a warning prickle raised the hair on the back of her neck. A second and she felt it again, a quiet exhale where there should have been none.
Shit. She spun, readying to attack, and stilled at the man in gray-green robes behind her.
“How,” he said ruefully, “can you always tell?”
“Who the hells are—” She froze at the sudden, horrified realization that she knew. “You.”
“Good evening, Death-Summoner. I must say, I didn’t expect you to handle the Hearing so well, but I respect it enormously.” He grinned. “Even if it has delayed my plans.”
Find Kadra. Fear was a vise around her head, squeezing tight as the missing pieces of her memory reoriented into an uglier whole.
“I won’t do it,” she whispered when he issued the same command he must have uttered last time and the time before.
Stars burned behind her eyelids when he spoke louder, frustration edging into his voice. She didn’t move.
A muscle twitched below his eye. “Your will won’t hold forever. I want to have mercy on you, Death-Summoner. Help me do that.”
She had no chance at hurting him. She had to get out of reach before he—just move, godsdammit! She whirled around, muscles coiled to run, when he spoke again.
Then, the thought slipped away.
Sarai stared at the deserted path leading from Aoran Tower and wondered why she’d turned around.
Her heart thudded like she’d run a marathon, sweat trickling from her hairline.
She touched it with mild confusion. Gods, the things stress does.
She parted the gate and quickly locked it behind her, only staring briefly at the odd shadow on the other side.
It almost looked like a person.
Shaking her head, she readied for the convivium.