As she had expected, once dawn broke she and Merrick were summoned by Captain Garret. He was seething with rage.
‘Well?’ he said. ‘Where were you? It was supposed to be you two on duty.’
Merrick glanced towards her. She knew she should have confessed, but somehow she still felt loyal to him.
‘It was my fault,’ Kaira began. ‘I should-’
‘No,’ said Merrick. ‘It was my fault. I left the barracks and Kaira came to find me. I was getting-’
‘Enough!’ Garret interrupted. ‘I don’t want to hear it. It doesn’t matter anyway. If I weren’t so short of men I’d have you both flogged and thrown on the streets. And you.’ Garret was standing in front of Merrick now, their noses almost touching. ‘I’ve been far too lenient with you. I let you treat this like a fucking country jaunt and you’ve taken the piss once too often. You need to think, lad. Think whether you want to stay or not, and if you don’t you can be on your merry way.’
‘I do want to stay,’ Merrick replied without hesitation. ‘I know that now. I have a duty to perform. Now more than ever.’
This seemed to calm Garret somewhat. ‘Very well. But that’s your last chance.’ He waved his hand. ‘You’re both dismissed.’
‘Waldin and Statton?’ Kaira asked, before they left. ‘How are they?’
Garret looked grave. ‘Waldin hasn’t regained consciousness.’ Then he paused, as if unable to say more.
‘And Statton?’
Garret merely shook his head.
Kaira clenched her fists as she turned to leave. They walked back across the courtyard and Merrick began to speak.
‘Look, I’m sorry-’
‘Save it,’ she snapped. ‘I’m not interested.’
‘But-’
She rounded on him, her fists balled, ready to fight him again, despite the aches and pains that wracked her body.
‘We are finished, Ryder. Garret is giving us a last chance to redeem our honour. Together we will carry out our duties to protect the queen. Other than that, you do not exist to me. Is that understood?’
She left him standing in the courtyard without waiting for a reply.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Magistra Gelredida hadn’t seemed at all perturbed by Waylian’s setbacks on the streets of Northgate. It was almost as though she’d expected it. But instead of scolding him for his incompetence, she merely gave him another task to do.
He’d told her about the orphanage and the children forced into labour by Fletcher. She’d seemed unconcerned by their plight and more interested in Milius the apothecary. Waylian had been dreading telling her what happened; that he’d fled into the night rather than be murdered by some bastard poisoner, but it was as though she knew what would happen.
‘Never mind,’ she’d said. ‘These things are to be expected.’
These things are to be expected?
A few short weeks ago, had Waylian told the Red Witch he had failed in one of her assigned errands, he would have been on privy duty for a month. He was beginning to wonder who this woman was he’d found on his return from the Kriega Mountains. She showed tolerance, understanding, and was even measured in her assessment of him.
But then, Waylian had changed as well. He was stronger, more determined … brave even? With the coming of war everyone had to change. Perhaps Gelredida had changed most of all.
This was a perilous time and if she did not find some way of persuading the Archmasters to join in the fight then the city might well be lost. How Waylian was helping with any of this was a mystery, but who was he to argue with the Magistra?
He sat at his desk. It was an all too brief respite before he was to be sent out on his next task, and Waylian coveted every moment to himself. On the desk was a book and a piece of parchment. He fingered the small square of paper, looking at the addresses written there. Gelredida had told him this was his next task — travel to the Trades Quarter, find Josiah Klumm and take him to the safe house written on the reverse of the note.
What could be simpler?
Waylian had a feeling anything could be bloody simpler. The tasks given by his mistress were never as straightforward as they first seemed and often put him in grave peril. If he admitted it to himself though, Waylian was starting to quite enjoy the danger.
Yes, he’d whined and moaned when he thought he was going to be eaten alive by some mountain beast, but who wouldn’t? Looking back on it, he had felt no small thrill in those mountains. A thrill at least the equal of that day in the Chapel of Ghouls.
Waylian was important now. He mattered and he was doing something good, something valuable. Even if he didn’t exactly know how or why.
He looked back at his desk and the thick tome that lay open on it. The script written on the pages in thick black ink was neat, some of its syntax archaic, but Waylian found himself understanding the gist more readily than any other book he’d had to read. Authority of the Voice it was called. No esoteric title, not even the name of its writer emblazoned on the front in silver leaf.
It contained entire chapters on how to break the Veil and tap into the magick that could unleash vast cosmic power with a word. Waylian was only too interested in what it could teach him. By unveiling the secrets of this tome he could turn men’s minds. Shatter their sanity. Bend their will to his every whim. With a word he would be able to wither plants, change the weather or send messages with the birds.
The thought excited him more than he could express, but Waylian didn’t think for a moment that he was close to being able to bring down the heavens with a whisper. For now he would have to satisfy himself with something easy.
In front of him on his desk was a little mirror. Waylian had never been a huge fan of his reflection, though in recent days he wasn’t quite as dissatisfied as he used to be. Nevertheless, it didn’t stop him trying to shatter it with a word.
Since the Chapel of Ghouls, since the day he had defeated Rembram Thule, he had wanted to recapture the power he’d felt. A single word, a word he couldn’t remember, had saved his life that day.
Gelredida had suggested he read up on the talent, rather than practise it, but Waylian knew that soon he might need the powers of magick once more. His life might depend upon it. He couldn’t very well face the Khurtas with nothing more than a frown and garlic-flavoured breath.
After much study, Waylian had found the word he wanted in the book. Avaggdu was the destroying word. It was used to trick the Veil into transforming inanimate objects. Into smashing them or twisting them or turning them into something else. Considering the potential dangers, Waylian thought it best to start with something small.
He said the word, while staring into the mirror.
‘Avaggdu!’
All the mirror did was stare back.
Well, what were you expecting on the first go?
‘Avaggdu,’ he said again. This time more forcefully. This time with a different inflection.
Still nothing.
The instructions within the book had said it was nothing to do with emotion or need, but proficiency with the Channeller’s Art, whatever that bloody meant. Clearly he needed more practice, but then how had he managed to manifest the ability when he’d been about to die? It couldn’t have just been coincidence, could it? Surely there must have been some emotional connection, something to do with his fear?
He stared at his reflection again. ‘Avaggdu,’ he repeated, this time trying to do it without thought or feeling.
Still nothing, but this time on saying the word there was a strange feeling of nausea in his stomach. Rather than fight it, Waylian let it grow in his belly. It was uncomfortable for sure, yet not wholly unpleasant.