The Sleeping Life

Chapter Twenty-Four

Being under a sleep spell might mean Fallon was getting plenty of rest, but missing breakfast and then lunch was a big problem. As the day wore on and he remained awkward baggage, a dim ache of hunger began to tug at him. But, despite needing to conserve his energy as much as possible, Fallon couldn’t help but be relieved when Auri drew him into the Dream for a second time since he’d been knocked out.

"Does it hurt, being carried like that? Does all the blood rush to your head?"

"Not much," he said, considering his body slung over Darian Faille’s shoulder. "I can feel how much I need to eat, and I need to go to the bathroom, but I just sort of feel uncomfortable otherwise. If my head hurts, I think it’s because Dezart Samarin hit me." And saved his life.

"I wonder if healer-mages have spells to use for when sick people need to pee?" Auri hopped along a ridge of rock, grinning. "Or if they just won’t think about it until you go all over this lady’s shoulder."

"Auri."

"She’d probably drop you. I would. How many days do you think they’ll keep walking vaguely in this direction before giving up?"

"I don’t know." Fallon glanced nervously at Lord Surclere, whose expression was much the same as it ever was, yet somehow gave the impression of a strung wire being wound tighter with every step. "I think most likely some would continue looking, and the rest would try to get out of the forest. Depending on exactly where we are in Semarrak, continuing north might be the shortest route out, anyway, though then there’d be mountains to get through."

And then what? Permanent unconsciousness? Years as a sleeping magical puzzle for student mages to try their hand at? No, this pit in his stomach would swallow him up long before then. This was absolutely the worst time for the revelation he’d been hoping and fearing for so long. Duchess Surclere absolutely had to take priority, but there would be a point where the energy cost of maintaining the Dream would eat away at him so severely that nothing could pull him out of the downward spiral.

Auri poked him in the shoulder. "Stop fretting yourself into the ground, worry-wort. You should be celebrating! They know! They knew you were enchanted and they were trying to figure it out, even. Your Duchess turned out not to be useless after all. Let’s hope she’s not dead."

"Don’t be so callous, Auri."

"Blah." Before Fallon say anything more, Auri pointed: "That’s why I pulled you in. What do you think that is?"

Something was glowing, far off among the trees. At first Fallon thought it might be one of Semarrak’s legendary inhabitants, those that supposedly dwelt at its heart and had descended from powerful, humanoid Eferum-Get. But when he followed Auri to the limits of her range and peered through the widely-spaced tree-trunks, he could make out a squat stone obelisk, about half the height of a man.

"Looks like a road marker. They enchant them to glow along the Imperial Ways."

"But it’s not really glowing, or someone else would be pointing at it."

"It’s obviously old. Perhaps we’re just seeing the dying dregs of the enchantment. I didn’t know there were once Imperial roads through Semarrak, but I guess the Empire does claim the forest as part of its territory."

"Roads go places," Auri pointed out, but there was nothing Fallon could do with the information, and the stone was slowly lost to sight as the group moved on.

For eight people thrust into the depths of a dangerous forest without any preparation, and with only one weapon, they were doing remarkably well. Anything actively stalking them was noticed by the Kellian long before it reached them, and Captain Faille or his mother would leave the group to take care of it. Only twice had anything dangerous even come close enough for Fallon to see.

Some of these hunters had been edible, and Tesin had supplemented the meat with mushrooms and nuts that she seemed able to spot with the merest glance. She’d even located gourds that could be hollowed out to carry only slightly odd-flavoured water. And everyone except Fallon was dressed well enough for a fine day in autumn, though the wind had picked up after midday.

In fact, Fallon thought the biggest problem most of Duchess Surclere’s rescuers had was—ironically—a lack of sleep, since dawn had arrived only a couple of hours after they’d emerged from the transportation casting. Kendall was the worst, struggling with the cost of whatever she’d done to hold open the travel casting. Had that really been a recreation of Nameen’s Walk, just as Lieutenant Meniar guessed? Elder Mage magic! Which was not a good sign at all, since there was only one person around other than Rennyn likely to know how to manage such an amazing work.

Ahead and to the right, Fallon spotted the glow of what must be another of the road markers—even further away this time. Since there was still nothing he could do about it, he followed Auri who, with an instinct for drama, had strayed over to where Sukata trailed the group with Kendall.

"It would be very easy for me to carry you," Sukata was saying. "It will not tire me."

"Yes, it would. Don’t be silly. And I don’t need carrying."

Kendall made a far from convincing attempt to walk normally, picking her feet up instead of shuffling through the leaves, and promptly staggered, snagged by some hidden obstacle. Sukata caught her, hesitated, and formally offered her arm, which Kendall pretended not to see for another few steps, then took with her usual lack of grace.

"The headache is the problem," Kendall mumbled. "The pain muffling wore off too quick."

"They are designed to have a short duration. The pain is your body’s warning that you pushed your limits, to keep you from casting again."

"Last thing I want to do is play pick up right now," Kendall muttered. "Just rest. Guess we’re going to have to stop soon anyway."

"Another hour at least until sunset," Auri put in helpfully, but Kendall and Sukata just looked grimly at the sky, and then in unison at Lord Surclere. They walked together in silence, clearly thinking about where Duchess Surclere might be at that moment, and what could be happening to her.

"I am glad you called for me, Kendall," Sukata said carefully.

The shorter girl made a face. "Why in the Hells wouldn’t I? We’re all supposed to be looking after Herself. I should have stayed in the damn room." Then she hunched her shoulders, adding: "I’m glad you heard me. Can you imagine me and the Lieutenant trying to cart the Pest about while that Imperial pain-in-the-neck played at being in charge?"

Sukata looked at her feet, and Fallon could tell that she was pleased. But then she said very softly: "He is a pain-in-the-neck with very good hearing."

Fallon, Auri and Kendall all stared forward to where Dezart Samarin was keeping pace with Lord Surclere at the front of the group. Well out of normal earshot.

"Good as yours?" Kendall muttered.

"Possibly. He hides it well, but he reacts to noises as you do not."

"Have you seen him casting?" Kendall glowered at the Kolan man’s back. "Or could it be something that’s been cast on him?"

"I have never seen him cast. But his mask is layered with enchantment, and he never strays any distance from it. It may lend him more than authority."

"Or he’s a sneaky lying mage. Not that anyone here was planning on trusting him any further than we could throw him."

Sukata’s attention had strayed to something to their left, and then her hand flickered in one of the signals that the Kellian used to talk to each other. Fallon turned to see both Darian Faille and Lord Surclere heading west. Something must be stalking them, and whatever it was required a more than usual response.

With the two older Kellian gone, Sukata hustled Kendall up to join the rest of the group, where Fallon himself had been propped neatly against a rock, and Lieutenant Meniar was using the pause to check him over.

"His colour’s not good," the Lieutenant said. "I don’t think this is sustainable."

"Borrow your slate?" Dezart Samarin asked.

Lieutenant Meniar raised his eyebrows, then wordlessly handed over his slate book, along with a stick of chalk. He’d already removed one of its pages and given it to Sukata, ready for emergencies, and three sides of the remaining two were written up with Sigillics. Dezart Samarin began writing rapidly on the remaining blank.

"Still going to say you’re not a mage?" Kendall asked acidly, while Fallon tried to peer at what the man was writing.

"Still entirely without the strength to cast usefully," Dezart Samarin replied, and handed the slate back to Lieutenant Meniar.

"A muting spell?" Lieutenant Meniar looked from the slate to Fallon’s body. "This won’t necessarily stop whatever chokes him from activating."

"In which case you can knock him out again," Dezart Samarin said. "But if that casting interacts with his awareness of not being permitted to speak on certain matters, preventing speech—and keeping him away from slates and the like—may be enough to prevent the choke from triggering."

"This one’s clever," Auri commented. "Think it will work?"

Fallon didn’t reply, watching tensely as Lieutenant Meniar decided to go ahead with the experiment, and cast the mute before lifting the sleep spell that had sat on Fallon’s head the entire day.

"Bet I miss all the interesting stuff again," Auri grumbled, as Fallon settled cautiously down where his body sat, and he lifted his head to respond, but was out of the Dream, sitting surrounded by people.

He tried to speak, lifting a hand cautiously to his throat, and waiting tensely for that familiar tightening. Nothing happened. He let out his breath in relief, reassured that he couldn’t possibly explain a problem as complex as Auri without words.

"Looking good," Lieutenant Meniar said, pleased. "I expect you’ll be wanting something to eat."

Fallon did. He also wanted to do something about his bladder, but fortunately Lieutenant Meniar seemed to understand that without Fallon needing to attempt any embarrassing pantomime. By the time the two Failles returned, Fallon was feeling almost cheerful, munching on nuts while Lieutenant Meniar wrote out a Sigillic that would make his heavy bed socks think they were waterproof.

"Not exactly what this waterproofing casting was intended for," the Lieutenant said, after explaining the two Sigillics to the Failles. "But it should serve in the short term. Sukata, will you cast it?"

As Sukata obeyed, Darian Faille took off her jacket and, ignoring Fallon’s silent protest, dropped it around his shoulders.

"Do you believe this proof against further attacks?" she asked. "Or should we avoid addressing any kind of question or speculation to him?"

"Hard to say whether yes/no questions would trigger it, but it’s better not to take the risk. In the short term, I don’t think he knows much more about the Duchess' disappearance than he’s already told us." When Fallon tried to shrug in a way that expressed agreement, the Lieutenant patted his head, then turned to Lord Surclere. "Next water source we get near, we’d better think about camp."

Lord Surclere nodded, then paused when Fallon—remembering those two glowing road markers—straightened and peered off to the east, trying to spot the second one. All the Kellian immediately shifted into alert defensive postures.

"Not a threat," Lord Surclere murmured, after a moment. "Something you saw in your dreams?"

Fallon nodded and, finding that his throat gave no sign of tightening, jumped to his feet and took a few steps in what he hoped was the right direction, beckoning.

"Wait here," Lord Surclere told Lieutenant Meniar, "but mark our current heading." Then he followed Fallon until they had, with only a little difficulty, located a stone almost as tall as Fallon, worn and unreadable, but definitely not a natural rock. There was a road, too, or the remains of one, almost entirely buried. It stretched off to the north, then hooked to the right.

Fallon thought at first that Lord Surclere simply couldn’t decide what to do. He stared down the curve of the road for an uncomfortably long time, not moving at all, while Fallon gazed up into a face that had always looked grim to him, but now seemed chipped from ice, locked into harsh, unyielding lines. But then Lord Surclere turned, and gestured for the others to come join them.

"A structure ahead," he said, when they arrived. "We will scout."

He and Darian Faille took Sukata with them, which surprised Fallon until he realised that they would be thinking of wards and magical defences: all the things they could not detect. But it was not long at all before Sukata came trotting back.

"Old, ruined and empty," she said. "But there is water, so we will camp either here or just outside it."

The road had been a false trail, then. Fallon tried not to sag as they continued forward and it became clear that this was no likely lair for whoever had stolen Duchess Surclere. Remnants of buildings, few with any intact walls, let alone roofs or an appearance of being habitable. They were dotted among the trees at the edge of a lake, and on a number of small, flat islands joined by bridges. A row of impressively large statues were evenly spaced along the lake’s edge, all of women facing out over the lake. Twenty-one statues, several of them broken and tumbled, and the rest so worn that Fallon couldn’t guess if they were meant to be the same person.

"Deserted, perhaps, but no less confusing," Dezart Samarin murmured. "I am learning a great deal about Semarrak this week."

"Nothing in the secret Imperial records?" Lieutenant Meniar asked lightly.

"Not that I’ve encountered." The Kolan man circled the square base of the nearest statue: a massive block of stone supporting a statue nearly thirty feet in height. "No markings, or distinctive style. Palace or temple complex would be my guess. I think, in other circumstances, I would like to follow that road back, to see what it connects to."

"Somewhere less windy, it’s to be hoped," Lieutenant Meniar said, turning as the two Failles joined him. "I can’t sense anything obvious, but the place feels odd. I’d like to go over the complex just briefly, before the sun sets. Do you have a preference for where we camp?"

"Better away from the water’s edge," Darian Faille said

Lord Surclere surveyed the high banks of the western reach of the lake—back toward where their path would have taken them without Fallon’s detour—then said: "In the lea of that rise."

They started along the bank, but Fallon noticed Tesin Asaka lagging behind, peering at the leaf-littered ground. She started walking in the opposite direction, and Fallon naturally followed her, wondering what she was looking at. Then he saw it: a red-brown crescent curving across two leaves.

"Blood," Fallon said, or tried to, but his throat made no noise and so he just hurried to catch Tesin, spotting another crescent and another as he did so.

Fallon had no sooner guessed that they were following the outline of a heel when he saw a patchy mosaic of splotches that made a whole footprint: a string of them, left and right foot both, curving around the base of one of the less intact statues. Faintly, a trickle of power, of intent, touched his senses, and he started running as Tesin circled the rubble around the statue.

Too slow. Fallon hurled himself frantically forward, and if she had not been a Kellian he would have knocked the slender girl into the lake. As it was, she dodged backward, and then caught his arm to arrest his headlong dive.

"What is it?" she asked, setting him aside.

"A ward! A ward!" Fallon tried to shout, and when her puzzlement did not keep her from taking another step, he snatched up a handful of leaves and tossed them over the ring of bloody footprints, even as he got his first good look at the neat hollow that had been scooped out of the statue’s base, leaving a domelike rock sitting on the ground, partially hiding a neat little person-sized space. Occupied.

The leaves flared to flame and ash, which promptly blew back into their faces, accompanied by the most transitory surge of power from the woman curled into a tight ball beneath the statue. Duchess Surclere. Against all odds, they had found her.

"Ward?" Lieutenant Meniar asked, hurrying up, and then stopping and letting out all his breath, though whether in relief or dismay Fallon couldn’t guess. With only the curve of her back and her draggling braid presented toward them, it was impossible to fully assess her condition, but the bloody handprint on the leg of her pants could hardly be a good sign, and the skin visible between waistband and shirt was blotched red and purple.

"Definitely a ward, though I’ve never encountered its like," Lieutenant Meniar went on, voice rapid and a little high. "A Symbolic casting, perhaps designed to minimise the energy cost of its maintenance, barely drawing on her unless something crosses the circle. I can’t gauge the details of the exclusion, but it would have been simplest for her to set a blanket ban."

The Lieutenant was talking to Lord Surclere, who was somehow behind Fallon. Kellian speed. Fallon didn’t even need to turn to see that he was there, could feel the tangible thunderstorm presence. How would Lord Surclere feel, to have come so far, to have the Duchess right before them, so plainly injured and exhausted—and locked behind a barrier whose energy cost might even kill her if they tried to cross it.

Lord Surclere walked into the circle. He didn’t even test the ward with a hand first, just stepped forward, leaned down, and picked up the Duchess. No doubt, no hesitation. Or perhaps he would rather burn than—but, no, Fallon thought it was simply utter certainty that the Duchess would not make a barrier that would keep him out.

The ward dissipated when Lord Surclere stepped back out of the ring of footprints, so they at least would not have to worry about the impact of its maintenance. He stopped as soon as he was outside, and just stood there, looking down at Duchess Surclere as if he could not believe that they had really found her. And everyone else stood in a circle before him, staring just as fixedly at the woman whose health had been the central concern of their journey. A single day alone.

"Throat," Kendall said, in a strangled whisper. She tugged at the blood-stained collar of the Duchess' shirt, then let out her breath on discovering not a fresh bite, but a sharp slash, dried to tacky stickiness.

This in turn broke Lieutenant Meniar out of his frozen dismay and he became all business, moving Kendall aside so he could check the Duchess over.

"Only the feet are bad," he murmured. "And I don’t like this rash. But her heartbeat’s strong." He picked what might be some rope fibres out of the red blotches that spread up her ankles, puzzled.

"Should have known she’d rescue herself." Kendall was frowning blackly. "She got out, escaped. But where from? There’s nothing here."

"Obviously more than we can see," Lieutenant Meniar said, crisply. "For now, we need to get her out of this wind, and work on cleaning up these cuts."

After which, Fallon privately hoped, they would return to Aurai’s Rest. But somehow he doubted it would be that simple.