Mage's Blood

36

Shapeshifter

Theurgy Magic

It is the shadowy world of the Theurgist which concerns me. If a man can enslave another mind through Mesmerism, where does that power end? What boundaries are there upon a Spiritualist who can leave his own body to quest through the world? How do we regulate one who can beguile the senses with Illusion? What limits can be placed upon the Mystic when his mind can link with others to impart knowledge and leech power? How can we legislate the Theurgist?

SENATOR FINNIUS LA PIELLE, PALLAS 643

Brochena, Javon, on the continent of Antiopia

Junesse 928

1 month until the Moontide

<Meiros is DEAD?> Elena almost lost contact with the mind of the mage she was linked to. Faid was a half-blood Hebb, an Ordo Costruo mage stationed at Krak di Condotiori.

<Yes, Mistress Anborn.> Faid’s mental voice was shaky, as though he could scarce believe the news he imparted. <Murdered in his house, with his wife. Their bodies were taken out into the market place and dismembered. The city has gone insane.>

Elena blinked, her mind working furiously. Antonin Meiros dead? It was inconceivable; the man was an Ascendant, one of the original Blessed, the last one still breathing. He’d been with Corineus at the very beginning, six hundred years ago. He was as much part of the landscape as Mount Tigrat.

<Faid, who has taken his place?> she asked, struggling to believe his news.

<No one, Mistress. The Ordo Costruo is holding together under the joint leadership of Magister Cardien and Rashid Mubarak. They have issued a statement saying they will continue Meiros’ work. My colleagues and I must return to Hebusalim to attend a special council next week.>

Elena bit her lip. When Faid left Krak, she would be cut off from all news – and it would leave the Krak without the magi who were the main reason it was considered impregnable. The Ordo Costruo contracts to guard the mountain fortress had been in place for sixty years; they were a cornerstone of Javon’s security.

<Faid, Cera has sent Lorenzo di Kestria to the Krak. She wants Solinde returned to her.>

She sensed Faid’s curiosity. <When will Seir Lorenzo arrive?>

<In days. How does Solinde fare?>

<Withdrawn and silent. She is a mystery to us. At times she babbles in Rondian.>

<In Rondian?> Elena bit her lip. <But she knows no Rondian.>

She sensed Faid considering. <As I said, Mistress Anborn: she is a mystery.>

<Please await Lorenzo before leaving, Faid. Then secure yourself. These are the worst of times.>

She broke the contact and sat staring at the bowl of water, wondering what to make of it all.

‘It’s hard to believe,’ Cera whispered. ‘Meiros is really dead?’

Elena had finally managed to speak to Cera again, though it was an enforced meeting, for they were in the blood-tower together. With the day’s papers signed, they had been relaxing with a goblet of red wine each, a rich scarlo from Riban. Cera had been distant, but this news had shaken her.

‘Everyone dies eventually,’ Elena said at last. ‘It is a miracle that a man so hated lived as long as he did, Ascendant Mage or not. You must not lose heart, Cera.’

Cera looked at her frostily. ‘I have not lost heart.’

‘Nor lost your heart,’ Elena murmured. ‘Cera, why did you accept that offer to marry Salim? Why didn’t you confer with your council?’

‘Because to delay would have been to insult them and threaten everything we’ve worked for.’ Cera bit her lip. The ambassadors had departed, leaving a parting gift: a silver collar, the traditional Amteh adornment for a betrothed noblewoman. It sat about Cera’s throat now, chafing her skin. It would be exchanged for one of gold on the wedding day.

‘But—’

Cera cut her off with a gesture. ‘I must ensure the Nesti survive, that before anything else. Do you understand? That is my only imperative.’ Cera hugged herself morosely. ‘We are foxes in a trap, but this marriage gives us the chance to free ourselves.’

Elena nodded sadly. But I hoped for more for you. I have heard of the ways of sultans’ harems: they are like vipers-nests, full of intrigue and gossip, and you will be the ferang there, the outsider.

Cera looked sideways at her, her face sly. ‘Perhaps after the Crusade Salim will be dead and I can renege on my promise.’

Elena felt a chill at this display of callousness. It reminds me too much of Gurvon – or how I used to be myself. She consciously swallowed her doubts and changed the subject. ‘I have scryed Lorenzo. He will be back soon with Solinde.’

Cera nodded shortly, not meeting her eyes.

Does she know about my affair with him – is she jealous? Rukka mio, I can’t deal with that … ‘There have been no more murders in the slums,’ she reported, changing the subject. ‘Our patrols may have made Gurvon pull back.’

‘But you haven’t found him,’ Cera replied, sounding distracted.

‘No, I’m sorry. There was never much chance of finding him so easily.’ She tried to inject enthusiasm into her voice. ‘There are still clues to follow, and a breakthrough we must discuss.’

Cera looked up warily, curious. ‘Yes?’

‘It’s about the murder of Fernando Tolidi. There is a study of gnosis called Necromancy, which concerns speaking with the dead.’

Cera blinked, making the holy sign of Sol, the protection from evil. ‘What of it?’

‘Would it shock you to hear that I have dug up Tolidi’s body and performed a necromantic working, to try and determine who killed him? Spirits often bear psychic traces of the moment of death. I needed to find out if Tolidi did, to lead us to his killer.’

Cera looked troubled. ‘You never told me. The priests would condemn this.’ She sucked on her upper lip, then leaned forward and whispered, ‘Did you learn anything?’

‘Not much – a dead soul’s recollection of their own demise is usually confusing; it can jump from remembrance into fantasy. I saw a blurred vision of a thin male of pale complexion with red hair. But I also saw Fernando with Solinde, and both this young male and Solinde wore the same nightdress. The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced the strange male and Solinde were one and the same.’

‘What?’ Cera sat up. ‘What do you mean?’

Elena rubbed her chin. ‘This is what I think, Cera: remember the divinations we did a few weeks ago in the blood-rooms? Remember the lizard and the coin?’

‘You told me that a lizard means a shapeshifter and a coin means corruption.’

‘Exactly – but there is another interpretation. There is a notorious shapeshifter who has appeared in the past decade, known simply as “Coin”.’

Cera sucked in her breath. ‘A shapeshifter? Are you saying—?’

‘That the Solinde we sent to the Krak may not really be Solinde? That it might be Coin? Yes, that’s what I’m saying.’

Cera’s hands went to her mouth. ‘Sol et Lune, the things you people do – digging up the dead, shapeshifting …’ Her voice trailed off, and then, in a deathly whisper, she said, ‘Where is the real Solinde?’

Elena hung her head. ‘I don’t know. Shapeshifters don’t like to leave the real person they are mimicking alive.’ As Cera glowered at her, her eyes wet, she added, ‘I’m so sorry, Cera. It is true, we magi can do dreadful things, I admit that. But everything I do is for you: I swear it.’

Cera looked about to retort with some bitter comment, but then thought better of it. ‘When would it have happened?’ she asked, brushing at her eyes.

‘Probably the day after your father was killed. Remember we were told her behaviour changed that day? We put it down to shock, or perhaps Gurvon’s gnosis, but it may be that it was Coin all along.’

‘But you tested Solinde before we sent her to the Krak—’

‘I did, but if Coin is powerful, I would not have detected his presence – and Coin is reputedly the most able shifter ever known. Morphic-gnosis is very difficult: most cannot change gender, or remain shifted for very long. Coin apparently can do both: he – or she, no one knows – is responsible for the murder of the former Duke of Argundy, which allowed the current Duke to gain the Argundy throne. Coin is a legend among the magi.’

Cera scowled, thinking furiously. ‘And Fernando’s last vision was of a man in Solinde’s nightdress? Did he discover her in another form – is that why Fernando was killed?’

‘It fits what we know. It’s hard to maintain a shape-change when experiencing heightened pain or pleasure, so maybe Coin inadvertently betrayed themselves to Fernando, and then panicked and killed him to cover their tracks. We know that Gurvon protected Solinde after Fernando’s death. Perhaps that was because it was really Coin?’

Cera hugged herself, her face troubled. ‘And then you “rescued” Solinde …’

‘Exactly. We found someone we thought was Solinde the night we raided Brochena. The body was unconscious – but a skilled shifter can maintain a form while asleep. I was amazed she’d survived the tower falling, but a well-shielded and lucky mage could do that. From then on Coin is in our hands and in danger of being unmasked, so she acted antagonistically to get sent away. I used a Chain-rune, which locked Coin into Solinde’s form, and suddenly she is helpless in the Krak di Condotiori, a place not even Gurvon could break them out of—’

‘And now we’re bringing Coin back here.’

‘If it is Coin, yes. This is only supposition, Cera, but if it is Coin, Gurvon will almost certainly try and free her.’ Elena frowned, thinking hard. ‘Perhaps we can use this to our advantage.’

‘How?’

‘We could use Coin as bait, to lure Gurvon out. If Solinde is truly Coin, I know ways of detection that no shapeshifter can stand up to. I will unmask her.’

‘What about Gyle and his agents?’

‘Gurvon will learn Solinde is here: count on it. For now I hope he remains ignorant, or else Lorenzo is in great danger.’ She chewed his lip anxiously. ‘Once she’s here, we’ll have maybe half a day before Gurvon finds out. If Solinde really is Coin, he will be forced to act.’

Cera looked increasingly sick, but she lifted her head. ‘Then what must we do – surround Solinde with an army?’

‘No – they’d just get in my way. A trained group of magi can kill by the hundreds. They’d all die, or be turned against us. I’d be more secure alone: in gnosis, a well-prepared defence can often overmatch the attack. If I can break Coin, then hold out against Gurvon until there is opportunity to display the shapeshifter at court, we can bring the whole nation in behind the shihad, and at that point, Gurvon may as well go home. We will have won.’

Cera looked at her, measuring. ‘You can do this?’

Elena smiled grimly. ‘I’ll have to leave the blood-rooms and prepare for her arrival. I’ll seal off the Jade Tower from the rest of the keep and prepare wards for holding Coin. My practise-room is ideal – the only entrance is from below, and I can ward the door to the lower room. If you and Timi stay there and the doors are warded, then no one can enter without your permission or mine.’

‘You, Solinde, Timi and me, alone,’ Cera repeated dully, her eyes unfocused.

‘Exactly! I can’t afford to leave you alone away from me while I’m doing the questioning in case Gurvon tries to seize you as leverage.’ Elena tried to sound reassuring. ‘I’ll station Lorenzo with you if you like.’

‘You and Lorenzo.’ Cera smiled wanly. ‘My protectors.’

*

The inner gates thudded open and four huge carthorses towed a prison-wagon into the courtyard. It was Sabbadai, 6 Junesse, and Solinde was back. If it really is Solinde.

‘Donna Elena!’ Lorenzo trotted his horse into the courtyard and her heart leapt, but his smile in return seemed forced. He looked tense and ill-at-ease as he swung down from the saddle. She longed to go to him, but this was too public; the members of the Regency Council were all here, perched about the square, watching with rapt eyes.

Lorenzo bowed formally. ‘What are the arrangements?’ he asked, his voice clipped with tension.

‘Bring her to Jade Tower,” Elena told him. She had been preparing it for holding Solinde – or a potent shapeshifter – all week. ‘Take her to the threshold only – I have set wards on the door.’

Lorenzo bowed again in acknowledgment and turned as the prisoner’s wagon rumbled up to the steps. Elena studied the waiting councillors, wondering if any of them owed secret allegiance to Gurvon. Pita Rosco was joking with Cera. Comte Inveglio stood with Godspeaker Acmed – that was an odd pairing. Don Francesco Perdonello was present, though she couldn’t remember inviting him. There was curiosity and hostility directed at the wagon: Solinde had betrayed them all.

The wagon stopped and guards unlocked the doors and pulled out a thin girl in a plain white shift. Her long golden hair was flat and greasy. Solinde’s manacles glimmered with power in Elena’s gnosis-sight, as did the Chain-rune coiled about her, the one she’d placed upon the princessa herself. Elena stepped forward and the girl’s eyes fell on her. They were bruised, as if she had been weeping constantly, and her glare was sullen.

‘Welcome back to Brochena, Princessa,’ Elena said levelly.

Solinde said nothing, wouldn’t meet her eyes.

Cera joined them, looking at her sister distantly. ‘Welcome back, sister,’ she said quietly. She waited. ‘Will you not answer me?’

Solinde stared at her feet, offering no contact or reply.

Cera sighed and turned to Elena. ‘You may take her.’

Elena stepped before Solinde and put a hand under her chin and raised it to her eyes. She stared through those eyes, letting the gnosis quest into the princessa’s mind. Fear … humiliation … anguish … sorrow … That was as far as she could go, here. Such surface thoughts might be genuine, or just a mask woven by a trained mind. She would have to break through to establish who or what she faced.

Cera turned and faced the gathering of counsellors. ‘Gentlemen, Elena will be dealing with this matter in Jade Tower. No one will be permitted to visit until I have her assurances.’ She held up her hand to forestall questions. ‘Elena says there is danger. This is her field of expertise. We defer to her.’

Elena grasped Solinde’s shoulder. As she started to march her towards the tower she heard footsteps clatter towards her and she looked over her shoulder. ‘No, Lorenzo. I must see to this.’

‘What is happening?’ He glanced up at the darkened tower. ‘Why your tower?’ His voice sounded unused, as if he’d been silent all the way from the Krak. He moved stiffly, without his normal grace. It must have been a long, hard ride back. ‘Will I see you tonight?’

Elena shook her head regretfully. ‘Sorry, Lorenzo. Tomorrow,’ and she strode on, pulling Solinde along in her wake. She turned to look at him before she shut the door, but she couldn’t read his expression. Inside the tower, she locked the door and then activated her wards. Solinde watched, her eyes narrowed. As the web of light faded from normal vision, she turned back to the girl and asked calmly, ‘So, Princessa, do I have to carry you up the stairs?’

‘Why are you doing this to me?’ Solinde demanded.

The voice is right, but the words are wrong. Solinde never spoke like that. ‘Upstairs, Solinde. Come!’

On the first-floor landing Elena glanced into the small ante-room. The door to the royal chambers was bolted and already warded, and Cera held the only key, which Elena had attuned to the wardings. Cera and Timi would spend the night in this room, safely within Elena’s control.

The top room had been cleaned and Bastido had been pushed next to the wall, where it sat brooding sullenly like a rejected pet. In the middle of the room was a smoking brazier. A couple of pokers had been left jammed into the coals and the tips were glowing red. There was a pallet bed, but Elena ignored it and led Solinde to the wall. She left the girl’s manacles on – they had Faid’s bindings on them – and attached them to a chain. Her own Chain-rune still confined her too.

‘What are you doing?’ the girl asked, her voice quavering as she tugged at her manacles. She began to cry.

‘This tower room has been sound-dampened so no one outside can hear you,’ Elena said in a deliberately bored voice.

Solinde stopped sobbing as quickly as she had begun.

Elena met her eyes. ‘If you are truly Solinde, then I am sorry for putting you through this, but I cannot take any chances with Cera and Timori’s lives.’ She sighed, this time genuinely weary. ‘I have questioned prisoners before. I don’t enjoy inflicting pain, but I’ll do it if I must.’

‘I am Solinde!’ The girl looked genuinely frightened, but that proved nothing.

‘Perhaps. I will soon find out.’ She got out a coin from a pocket and flipped it in front of the girl’s face and watched as Solinde’s eyes narrowed. Elena smiled mildly, pocketed the coin again and then reached out to touch the girl’s forehead. She sent gnosis-energy pulsing through her fingertips and slowly removed her Chain-rune. She watched the girl’s reactions carefully, noting the faint relaxing of posture, the tentative flexing of hands, the inwards gaze of the eyes.

Ah – surely I am right?

‘So, Princessa.’ She half-turned and gestured towards the brazier and flames leapt in response. Elena planted her hands against the wall, either side of Solinde’s head, and stared into the girl’s eyes. ‘This is what I’m going to do. I’m going to take one of those hot pokers you can see there and I’m going to press it to your belly. Your flesh will sear and cook, causing you agony unlike anything you have ever felt. I will use the gnosis to prevent your passing out, so that you feel everything. The pain will trigger responses you cannot control: you will void your bowels and bladder. You will scream like a host of demons. You will lose yourself entirely, and at that moment, I will know if you are truly who you appear to be.’

‘You’re insane – Cera will have you beheaded!’

Elena gestured, and one of the pokers flew to her hand. Great Kore, let me be right …

She showed the girl the glowing tip—

—in an instant the princessa’s face changed. She issued a throaty snarl as she lunged and snapped with pointed, glistening teeth suddenly inches long. Breakthrough! Elena had been half-expecting something of the sort and darted to one side even as a barbed tongue erupted from the girl’s mouth and shot at her. It hit her shields and retracted.

The snapping face hissed and snarled impotently, the tongue flailing, as arms and legs suddenly corded with muscle strained against the manacles. The manacles sparked as binding runes prevented the shapeshifter from getting free, although Elena saw her trying desperately, her limbs becoming fluid, though never quite enough for her to pull herself free. The shifter spat in frustrated fury.

Elena spun the poker in her hand. ‘Coin, I believe?’ She spoke a spell of Negation to disrupt the prisoner’s morphic-gnosis, and reinforced the magical bindings. The shapeshifter’s attempts to escape became weaker. Her shift was torn and bloodied by the gore discharged as she tried to alter herself – but she could not get free.

The prisoner subsided into sullen defeat and the muscles of a few seconds before wasted away, revealing a new body: thin, pinched and strangely genderless. Lank red hair was plastered to a bony skull and pallid eyes glittered under delicate brows. Elena swiftly cast a renewed Chain-rune, locking the new form in place: this was the prisoner’s real shape, and the last face Fernando Tolidi had seen.

‘You are in so much trouble, bitch,’ the prisoner whined.

‘Not as much as you are.’ She held the red-hot poker tip to her prisoner’s eyes, close enough for the heat to make her cringe. ‘What can I call you?’

‘I am Coin,’ the shapeshifter conceded, looking away.

Coin, the legendary shapeshifter: male or female, ageless: a perfect affinity with one of the most demanding and exacting of all gnosis studies – the sort of perfect affinity you had to be slightly insane to even possess. Reputedly too expensive to hire, and connected all the way to the top. The very top.

‘What are you doing here, Coin? How could Gurvon afford you?’

The – girl? boy? woman? man? – scowled contemptuously. ‘My patron wished Gyle’s mission to succeed. I was a gift to Gyle for the duration of the mission.’

An imperial connection, then. Elena dampened the fear that thought brought and concentrated on her prisoner. Coin might be a master shapeshifter, but appeared emotionally brittle and completely terrified of physical harm, of pain. Elena sighed in relief; she’d been dreading having to torture the truth out of some close-mouthed fanatic. Coin looked willing to speak with little more coercion.

‘I need to know everything about you, Coin: who are you, your name, your gender. How old are you, who were your parents – what can you do and not do? And where is the real Solinde?’

‘You touch me with that and my patron will carve your soul for all eternity,’ Coin hissed, eyeing the glowing poker with terrified bravado.

‘That won’t help you much, though, will it?’ Elena raised the poker and pushed it to within an inch of Coin’s belly. ‘Knowing it’s just you and not Solinde has removed any remorse I might feel – so speak—’

Coin eyed the poker, sweating profusely, trembling in the manacles. Her voice shook. ‘My mother will kill you!’

Your mother?

Coin tried to clam up, facing Elena defiantly, but was unable to look away from the glowing metal.

Elena was still loathe to actually harm Coin, but she thought a little humiliation might be all it would take …

She reached out and wrenched at the torn shift, which ripped away easily, revealing an emaciated body and unmistakable, if tiny, breasts. Elena blinked, her eyes drawn downwards to a shrunken penis with no scrotum, and the pubic mound beneath it instead strangely slitted.

Great Kore …

The shifter was neither male nor female; Coin was both.

A hermaphrodite – no wonder he or she is capable of both genders … Sol et Lune! And then, almost unbidden, she found herself feeling a great wash of sympathy: What must it do to you, a deformed thing with pure-blooded gnosis—

Elena turned away, shaken. There were freak-shows in Rondelmar where people with birth defects were paraded for entertainment, but this sort of defect on a mage – the implications were horrible.

‘Got an eyeful?’ Coin sneered defensively. ‘Excited, bitch?’

Elena turned back. ‘I don’t know what to say,’ she said honestly.

Coin’s face twisted with scorn. ‘Oh, really – how rukking humane of you.’

Elena wiped her brow, wondering, What must it be like, to be such a one? But there is too much at stake to feel pity, damn it. ‘Where is Gurvon Gyle?’ she asked calmly.

Coin spat at her and Elena hefted the poker, readying herself to use it, when she heard a voice call from outside the door, ‘Ella?’

‘Wait!’ she called, but Cera appeared at the door, holding her key. She froze when she saw the skinny naked body chained to the wall and realised that it wasn’t Solinde. Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Sol et Lune!’

‘This is the shapeshifter we hypothesised,’ Elena said quietly. ‘This is Coin.’

‘Then where is Solinde?’ Cera asked, as her eyes took in the strange being in the manacles. She shook her head disbelievingly.

‘I don’t know yet,’ Elena said, then added firmly, ‘Cera, I really don’t think you should watch this.’

Cera looked at her and then at the poker in her hand and backed away. Then she swallowed and folded her arms across her chest. ‘I should.’

Elena shook her head. ‘No – wait downstairs, please. If we can parade a shifter in front of the Dome-al’Ahm tomorrow, the whole of Javon will rise to shihad and Gurvon’s mission to keep Javon out of the war will fail irrevocably – not to mention the secrets this creature must know. It is too late tonight, but tomorrow you can show Coin to the people and they will be yours to command.’

Cera stared at her, clenching and unclenching her fists, her face white. ‘Will Gyle try to stop us?’

‘If he knows she’s here, almost certainly. If he doesn’t, all the better!’ She felt a bubble of triumph, but suppressed it. There was still the night to survive. ‘Are the men-at-arms in position?’

Cera nodded. ‘The courtyard is full of Nesti fighting men; all the entrances are sealed.’ She dangled the key. ‘Only I can admit anyone now.’

Elena nodded. ‘And Lorenzo?’

‘He’s downstairs.’ Cera’s eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Elena, are you and he more than friends?’

Elena glanced at her, unsure why this question had come up. It had the feeling of a test … ‘This isn’t the time or the place, Cera. We are colleagues, working to protect you and Timi.’

‘Really?’ Cera asked, her voice hinting at doubt.

Elena closed her eyes. I have no time for this. She opened them again and looked at Cera. I’ll tell her the full truth later. ‘Please Cera, I must question this creature now.’

Cera looked at Coin. ‘It would have been better had Corineus never lived,’ she said bleakly.

Elena bowed her head. ‘Sometimes I agree,’ she admitted.

Cera backed away with a distraught look and was gone.

Elena watched her leave, troubled by the exchange. I’ve put so much on her – too much. She is only eighteen, for Kore’s sake. But this will be over tomorrow. Once Javon is irrevocably tied to the shihad, the game is over, and nothing Gurvon can do will make any difference. He will be forced to concede and leave – and then I will leave too, so that any revenge is directed solely at me.

She turned back to the hermaphrodite, fighting her sympathy for this strange creature. ‘All right, Coin, it’s time to talk.’

The shifter eyed the poker fearfully, tears in its eyes, and whispered, ‘If you don’t hurt me, I will secure your safety. My patron can protect you.’

‘Really?’ Elena replaced the poker in the brazier and put her hands on hips. ‘All right then, I will allow you the chance to be honest with me. Tell me: who is this patron?’

‘Mater-Imperia Lucia,’ Coin said. ‘She’s my mother.’

Elena sat on the floor, her back against the wall, staring at the dying brazier. Coin, chained to the wall opposite, slumbered uncomfortably. She had draped blankets over the hermaphrodite against the cold, and to give her back a shred of dignity.

Great Kore, this is Mater-Imperia’s child, she thought again, still struggling to take everything in. Coin – initially named Yvette, despite the non-gender – was a secret child, known to only a discreet few. Most likely she was a deformed freak because she’d been conceived of incest: her father was Lucia’s now-dead brother Henri Fasterius; this family shame had been hidden deep. But Coin was a mage of huge but very specialised power, too valuable to simply dispose of.

Elena had been right: Coin had supplanted Solinde, but lost control during sex with Fernando Tolidi, and killed him to preserve her secret. Coin claimed to have no idea whether the real Solinde was alive or dead, nor what Gurvon’s plans were. No wonder, having been effectively removed from the game. But now … what a bargaining chip! In the right hands in Pallas, this piece of information could bring down the Fasterius-Sacrecour dynasty.

Elena’s mind reeled as she explored the possibilities. The night crawled past. She had bricked up the windows of the tower to prevent any Air-magi entering, and had warded the entire stonework, to prevent someone simply bombarding it. The doorways were protected with wards and bindings and gnostic traps, so right now, Jade Tower was the most impregnable place in Brochena. But who knew what resources Gurvon had?

Hours passed. She sensed the descent of the moon and the distant throb of power that was the approaching sunrise; dawn was coming, and still the enemy had made no move. Perhaps Gurvon doesn’t know Coin is here after all? Perhaps I really am a step ahead this time …

Footsteps climbed the stairs outside and turned the door handle and Elena stood and strode to the door. ‘Cera?’

The door opened. It wasn’t Cera. A robed figure faced her, bearing the iron cross-staff of an Inquisition Grandmaster. The bland-faced man was expressionless as he took stock of the room, not moving his head or his eyes, which he kept focused on her.

A Grandmaster, and therefore an Ascendant – but I’d have felt it if he broke my wards … so someone let him in …

Always have a plan – but how could I plan for this?

The Grandmaster gestured with a finger and a wave of force threw her against the walls of the cell. She twisted in midair and struck feet-first. Beside her, Coin too was slammed against the brickwork, screaming soundlessly, helpless within the Chain-rune.

Elena kicked off the walls and somersaulted to the centre of the room, then, leaving an image of herself there, she blurred left and fired off an energy-bolt whilst triggering the six crossbows she had hung from wires attached to the ceiling. Each crossbow turned and tracked the Inquisitor as he lifted his staff, ignoring her illusion and shielding her gnostic-bolt effortlessly.

He slammed another pulse of force at her, hammering her against the wall again and she hit hard, her lungs emptying in a bellow of pain. Something cracked in her ribcage. Then a wave of fire washed towards her as she struggled back to her feet and she flew sideways. The blast of heat ripped past her shoulder and charred bricks in one of the blocked windows.

The six crossbows discharged at once, hammering impotently into his shields, but before she could trigger them to reload he blasted them with flames, snapping bowstrings and setting fire to the wooden stocks. Elena flowed on, circling faster, her blade in hand. More fire washed through another illusion she spun, roasting empty air. She cloaked her form in darkness and went at him.

Let’s see if you know how to fight—

But she never got close; he turned straight towards her, piercing her cloaking spell so effortlessly she realised that he’d been tracking her all along. He raised an open-palmed hand and clenched it shut and the air about her congealed, gripping her as if in a giant fist, then it snatched her up and hammered her head-first into the ceiling.

Plaster and wood splintered about her shields, and she flailed about desperately, but she couldn’t gain purchase – then she was mashed feet-first into the stone floor before she could realign her shields. Her right ankle shattered in a burst of white-hot agony that jolted through her. The sword flew from her hand as she splattered against the floor like a squashed bug.

She fought for air through a mist of pain as the Ascendant, his face now showing utter contempt, moved his right hand again, this time picking her up and flinging her at the far wall. Her left shoulder-blade cracked as she battered into the stone. Her head struck hard and the room dissolved in stars for a few seconds as she flopped helplessly, still trying to breathe. Above her, Coin watched with a gloating smile as the Inquisitor walked towards her leisurely, as if she were no more threat than a dormouse, and never had been.

One last try …

She triggered the release of the Chain-rune on Coin—

—and leapt—

—not with her body, so badly broken, but with her soul—

Abruptly her perspective changed: she was hanging from the wall on gnosis-bound manacles, naked, in a strange body, and staring down at the blanket on the floor, which had been blasted away by the Inquisitor’s Air-gnosis. The blanket was lying beside a motionless body: Elena’s own. She felt Coin’s panic at her intrusion, trying to resist, but she was overmatched by Elena’s desperation and experience.

The Inquisitor – Coin knew him as Fraxis Targon – turned towards Coin as he saw Elena Anborn’s body go limp. He lifted his hand and the bindings on her wrists fell away. His eyes finally showed an emotion: concern, for the child of Mater-Imperia Lucia. ‘Yvette,’ he said, bending to pick up the fallen blanket to cover the prisoner.

Got you.

Elena stole control of Coin’s body from its owner just long enough to turn Coin’s right hand into a multi-taloned claw that she drove into the Inquisitor’s chest. He stared, goggle-eyed, into her face as the claw burst through skin and sinew between his ribs to grasp the pumping muscle beneath.

She wrenched.

The still-beating heart came out in the gore-soaked talon as the Inquisitor crumpled, disbelief and horror etched into his face as his fingers clawed for life, his eyes turning molten as he tried to seize his own heart from Coin’s hands. Coin roared inside her own head, fighting for control with renewed intensity.

This time Elena didn’t resist …

She let go and in an eye-blink was back in her own pain-racked body, staring up from the floor as Fraxis Targon blasted lightning from one flailing hand into the unshielded face of Mater-Imperia’s freakish child. The hermaphrodite’s scream vanished beneath an explosive crack of blinding light.

The Grandmaster sought his squirming heart, but missed as the gore-soaked organ slid from Coin’s hands and flopped wetly to the floor. Targon struck the ground beside it, both hands going to the hole in his chest, and Coin fell beside him, spasming and jerking, writhing like a worm in water before falling still.

The Inquisitor’s face rolled sideways, the eyes staring glassily at Elena. She smiled grimly back. A mage could survive much, but not the loss of heart or head.

Got. You. Bastard …

Then the awareness of her own battered body kicked in, the pain a wave of fiery darkness that rolled over her and pulled her down into oblivion.

Footsteps. She lifted her head, dimly aware. Lorenzo … Thank God!

He hurried to her side, bending over her, and she reached out with her gnosis to caress his familiar mind.

And encountered someone else.

No!

‘By the Kore, you live!’ the mage in Lorenzo’s body said in Rondian, looking at the ruined bodies of Fraxis Targon and Coin. He exhaled in wonder. ‘Unbelievable!’

No – not after all I’ve endured!

‘Lorenzo’ drew his dagger. It flashed silver as he stroked it, right to left, cutting her throat. She flailed weakly, staring at the gushing blood that was spraying over his chest and face as he held her down. Her hands flew to her neck as her legs spasmed, her hips jerking uncontrollably, her mind screaming <Cera – Cera!>

‘Elena Anborn,’ laughed ‘Lorenzo’ cruelly, ‘you were so close and yet so wrong.’ He caressed her cheek. ‘We were waiting for your lover as he rode back from the Krak, Gurvon and I. Can you guess who I am?’ He laughed and opened his mouth, and the head of a necromantic scarab bulged from his mouth and vanished inside again. ‘Yes, it is I: Rutt Sordell.’

She threw all that remained to her into trying to stem the flow of blood from her open throat, to sucking air through the severed windpipe, but Sordell laughed and jerked her hands away from the wound, spraying fresh blood as she wheezed and bubbled her last breath away. ‘No, no healing allowed. It’s time to die, Ella. I’m sick of playing second fiddle to you. Gurvon made you his number two by dint of your whoring, but I was always the better mage.’

<Gurvon!>

‘No you don’t!’ Sordell scowled, his presence lending a hideous malice to Lorenzo’s face. ‘You’re not going to get the chance to beg his mercy. He’s going to find you dead, with no regrets.’

He wiped his blade on her thigh, stood up and stomped his foot down into her belly, and her healing-gnosis fell apart in another burst of pain.

‘Farewell, Elena. You can die now.’