Wulf’s assistants were on the ground floor. She stopped, to tell them where she had left the unmagic she collected. Even, in the dim lamplight on that floor Sandry could see that Ulrina's eyes were red and swollen from weeping. Captain Behazin's voice was hoarse. At Sandry's request they agreed to hold on to the stores of recovered unmagic that Wulfric had kept, as well as what they had gathered that day, until they heard from her.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered to them. "I wasn't quick enough—we had no idea they were here—," She squeezed her hands so tightly that her nails bit into her palms.
Both the captain and the lieutenant shook their heads. "It's this curst magic they've got," Behazin told her roughly. "We've no way to register it like we have other magics. He said he thought if anyone could think of a way to handle the unmagic, it would be you."
That was too much for Sandry. She bolted for the door, not even thanking Kwaben as he held it open. A Provost's Guard was holding their horses; when Sandry mounted Russet, the Guard gently patted her hand. She managed a smile for the woman, then turned her horse east.
"Shouldn't we go to Duke's Citadel?" demanded Oama, trotting her mount to catch up. "His grace will be fit to be tied if he hears of this—“
"I know, and I can't help that," replied Sandry, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. "I need to talk to the mage council at Winding Circle." She glanced over at Kwaben.
"You must see a healer about that cut," she said flatly. "Why don't you take word back to the Citadel that I'm all right?"
He shook his head. “There are healers at Winding Circle, aren't there?" he asked. "We can send a messenger bird to his grace."
"You have to keep us with you, Lady Sandry," Oama said. "Otherwise we could end up hanging over the inner gate by our ankles for letting you walk into a trap."
"I didn't—," protested Sandry. "You couldn't have—oh, never mind." She kicked Russet into a trot. The sooner she got to Winding Circle, the sooner she would know if they'd found a way to handle a mage who dealt in unmagic, or if she would have to try something of her own.
Please, gods, she thought fiercely, let them have a way to settle this. Please don't make me do it.
There was no way Sandry could break the news gently to Duke Vedris. "I'm going to lay a trap for the Dihanurs. The mages at Winding Circle think I have a chance."
For a moment there was only silence as the duke's eyes met hers. Then he said, "No. We have provosts mages, even battle-mages, with more experience in the taking of killers than you."
"This is different, Uncle."
“I forbid you to put yourself in such danger," the duke said tightly.
Sandry gulped and stood her ground. "I don't like it either, but I don't see another way. They must be stopped.
The duke turned his gaze to Lark, who stood just behind Sandry. "How can this be? Of all the mages at Winding Circle, how is my great-niece the only one who can handle this monster?"
"Not just me, Uncle," Sandry told him. "Pasco's going to help." The moment she spoke the words, she wished she could unsay them—or at least unsay her student's name.
The duke rested his shaved head on his hands. "That feckless, rattle-pated… Well. Knowing that he will assist you makes all the difference. Now, instead of wishing to throw Winding Circle's mage council into the harbor, I will do so. Immediately."
"Your grace, you know we can't allow that," Lark said gravely.
He looked up, and raised a finger. "Ah. You are powerful enough to stop me from tossing your council bodily into my harbor, but you tell me you cannot stop the Dihanur assassins and their mage. Can you see that I might feel somewhat—confused?"
Lark settled herself in a chair in front of Duke Vedris's desk. "You may as well get comfortable, dear," she advised Sandry. "He's going to be difficult." Sandry obeyed, taking the seat beside hers. To the duke Lark said, "We will do all we can—prepare the materials she needs, guard her and Pasco when the time comes, and dispose of what remains of the enemy's work. We won't send a fourteen-year-old girl and a twelve-year-old boy naked to do battle with a blighted mage."
"Strange," remarked Erdogun. He sat just behind the duke's chair. "That's what it sounds like to me."
Lark folded her hands. "You know I am classed as a great mage." The duke nodded. "I work spells by passing them through my thread. I must bind my power to real thread and whatever I use to handle it, or none of my spells work. That's true of every weaver-mage I know—except Sandry. She handles magic itself like I work thread. She can spin magic. She can weave it. She can embroider, or knot, or even tie a fringe with it, if she wants to—,"
"Lark," Sandry protested.
"No, my dear, it's important that people know how unique your gift is. In this case it's vital—I'd hate to have to fight the Dihanur mage and his grace."
The duke smiled, but his eyes were grim. "I'm honored that you would think the task difficult."
"But why?" Erdogun demanded. "You're a great mage—your fellows on the council are great mages, legendary for power and craft. You have an arsenal of capture-magics and spells to drain the power of other mages. Do you really expect us to believe you people can't take this—fellow—and turn him into a tea cozy, if that's your fancy? However powerful this madman may be, I do not believe that he can stand against all of you."
"But he can," Lark insisted. "The nature of his magic is the absence of ours, don't you see? We could grip him with all we have, and he would not only walk away, but his magic would consume ours. Sandry got a taste of that when the Dihanurs escaped. His unmagic almost pulled her into the door he'd opened."
"Then how will anything that my lady does trap him?" demanded Erdogun.
Sandry told the baron, "I'm going to spin his unmagic into a rope and knot it into a net. Then Pasco will dance the spell to bring the mage and the two killers to us. They won't be able to fight it, any of them, because they're all so tainted with the nothingness that it's like their own lifeblood. The unmagic net will pull them in."
"Once we have them, we can cleanse them," said Lark. "You'll have the killers for trial, and we'll keep the mage in custody. And it must be soon, before they can work their way through the layers of spells on the inner keep."
"What?" cried Erdogun, offended. "The inner keep is impregnable once the protective spells are activated!"
"It isn't impregnable to this mage, haven't you been listening?" Lark demanded. "Thank your lucky stars that he doesn't know the rooms where the families are kept, or he would simply walk through from where he's hiding now into those rooms. Once he tires of trying that, he'll just bring the Dihanurs here and send them through the spells. It may take them time to go through each and every layer—think of acid eating its way through a bolt of cloth—but eventually they'll get through."
"Are there are no spells against nothingness in the layers?" asked the duke quietly.
Lark shook her head. "To spell against it, you would have to use it—and then it would spread and eat all of the other spells." To Erdogun she said, "Must they break into this castle before you’re convinced?"
"They can’t," Erdogun said flatly. "You Winding Circle people are alarmists."