Only now, here was Mr. Rafferdy walking alongside her, helping Mr. Bennick carry the very thing her father had said was needed—the Eye of Ran-Yahgren. And there was Heathcrest Hall before them, just a short ways distant. As difficult as it was to comprehend, for they were but a few people to stand against such a ravenous horde, still logic dictated that it must indeed be possible—that they had among them all that was necessary to thwart the intentions of the Ashen.
There was only one thing Ivy did not understand. It seemed that all of the pieces of the keystone would be necessary to do what her father had suggested, yet they lacked half of them, and Mr. Bennick had said nothing about this. But perhaps in her haste to read the entry in the journal, she had misunderstood some aspect of the design.
Well, she would ask Mr. Bennick for more explanation, for he had read the entry as well. As they made their way up the steps before Heathcrest, the purple twilight thickened. And the sun, though it remained overhead, continued to fade as one by one the planets obscured it. All the same, a forceful elation rose up within Ivy. For ten thousand years, the whole of the world had dwelled unknowingly in the long shadow of the Ashen. Only now, in but a little while, that awful threat would be forever removed.
At least, so she believed for a wondrous moment. Then, as Ivy led the way into the front hall of the manor house, the flame of hope was snuffed out, and her heart shrank into a dark cinder. For all her thoughts and musings, there was one last thing she had failed to consider.
“Good day, Lady Quent,” said the man who stood before the fireplace, which had been stirred up so it was blazing. The gray at his temples lent him a distinguished look, and the deep violet hue of his elegant coat complemented the large amethyst ring that adorned his right hand.
That ring flared as he made a small flick with a finger. Across the long room, near the door of the little parlor, Lady Shayde gave a jerk, like a puppet whose strings had been plucked, then stood motionless once more, her mouth open, her black eyes wide and staring.
Mr. Rafferdy and Mr. Bennick hastily set down the chest. Mr. Rafferdy started to make a move, but Mr. Bennick gripped his arm, stopping him. Then the former magician took a step forward.
“There you are, Gambrel,” he said placidly. “You are a bit late, don’t you think? The Grand Conjunction is already under way. Do you not need to go to your masters and grovel before them?”
“On the contrary, I’ve arrived exactly when I intended,
Bennick
.” This last word was spoken with poisonous inflection.
Mr. Bennick nodded. “Perhaps you have. Though I imagine you have not found everything here to be exactly as you expected.” He nodded toward Lady Shayde.
“It matters not.” Gambrel gave a shrug, as though what he was doing required no great effort. Yet by the sheen of moisture upon his brow, and the tightness of his jaw, that was not the case. “As you can see, I have taken the sting out of the White Thorn.”
“Yes, but it requires all of your will and effort to do so. You know her strength and speed as well as I do. If you turn your magick toward thwarting us, even for an instant, she will be released and will be upon you.”
Given the hatred in Gambrel’s eyes, these words could only be truth.
“It is but a minor inconvenience to me,” Gambrel said. “Yet I wonder, had Lady Shayde not presented herself, what did you think you were going to do against me? Is this really the best you could manage after all these years, Bennick? All I see is a witch with no Wyrdwood, a magician of scant ability, and that bag of festering meat the Elder One likes to shamble about in now and then.”
“Be careful,” Mr. Bennick replied. “For you greatly underestimate Lord Rafferdy. The power of his House runs with great vitality
in his blood, as it does in few men. He has already defeated you once—it was he who destroyed the gate in the Evengrove and trapped you for a while on Tyberion. I brought him here because I knew that, should you dare to contest him in a duel of magick, he would certainly best you again.”
Gambrel did not answer immediately, and it seemed there was now a light in his eyes other than hatred. It was a glint of fear. Only then he bared his white teeth in a smile.
“Perhaps you are right, Bennick,” he said. “I have been accustomed to being the finest magician in all of the arcane orders I’ve belonged to, but that’s not to say there is none better than me. Yet while I do not have power enough to bind your White Thorn and at the same time indulge Lord Rafferdy in a duel of magick, someone has kindly left an alternative for me.”
And even as the ring upon his right hand flared with purple light, he lifted his left hand and pointed the pistol at Ivy.
“The White Thorn is swift,” Gambrel said, “but so is a bullet.”
Ivy held her breath, staring at the barrel of the pistol.
“Lord Rafferdy,” Mr. Bennick said in a low voice. “Speak a rune of binding upon him. Do it now.”
“Heed that advice only if you believe you can speak more swiftly than I can pull a trigger,” Gambrel said and pulled back the hammer of the pistol with his left thumb.
Mr. Rafferdy opened his mouth, but he said nothing.
“You are wiser than I gave you credit for, Lord Rafferdy,” Gambrel said in a pleased tone. “Now, Bennick, be so good as to give me the fragments of the keystone. I have three, and I am sure you have the others.”
“But what will you do with them?” Ivy asked. Perhaps it was absurd to voice the question. Why should he tell them anything? Yet he must have been too pleased with his plans to keep them to himself, for after a moment he did answer her.
“I will bind the keystone and use it to open the arcane gate that lies hidden beneath this manor,” Gambrel said. “The gate was forged by the first magicians long ago, along with the keystone that enabled them to open and close it as they wished. Though
they were far fewer in number, the magick of the first magicians was more powerful than that of the Ashen. So it is that, even now with Cerephus not yet at its closest, this gate can be opened and passed through.
“The gate leads to Cerephus itself, to an ancient city upon that world. Once I reach Cerephus, I will present myself to the Ashen, and I will introduce myself as the architect of their triumph. You see, upon my advice, Lord Valhaine has used his army to lure all of Morden’s forces to various locations about Altania. It so happens that, in these same places, are other magickal gates. But unlike the gate beneath this house, these gates were not created by the first magicians. Rather, they were constructed by the Ashen during the time of the first war, and such is the design of their magick that they will awaken when Cerephus finally draws close enough—a thing it will do when the Grand Conjunction is complete.
“When this occurs, these gates will open of their own accord, bridging the void between Altania and Cerephus. A horde of Ashen-slaves will pour through, and they will devour Morden’s army. Valhaine’s command over Altania will be complete—as is my command over him. At my bidding, he will rule Altania in the name of the Ashen. And since there is no nation other than Altania that has ever harbored both witches and magicians in its history, it means that no other nation can possibly stand against the Ashen. Their mastery of the world will be irrevocable.”
Ivy wished she had not asked the question, or that he had not answered it. She was frozen in horror. That a single man could betray all of mankind to its doom was almost impossible to comprehend.
Mr. Bennick shook his head. “And you truly believe, for this, you will be rewarded?”
“I know I will be,” Gambrel said. “You see, in my studies, I have discovered secrets of their world. There are magicks there which even the Ashen themselves have forgotten, and which I can turn against them. They will have no choice but to give me what I ask for—one of the Principalities to rule as my own.”
“Just a single city-state to be prince of?” Mr. Bennick said, raising an eyebrow. “What a modest request.”
“You would mock me, but it is indeed modest in the scheme of all things. Yet the value of it will be incalculable. The rest of the world will be plunged into shadow—there is no way this can be avoided. But I will make my own city a haven of light: a place where art and music and science flourish. Not all of human knowledge and accomplishment need perish when the Ashen come. I can preserve it, as if in the most marvelous museum, to endure throughout time. Don’t you see? Without my actions, there would be no hope of saving anything at all. But because of me, our race and our civilization will endure.”
“I understand,” Mr. Bennick said, his dark eyes hard. “You would willingly destroy nearly the whole of the world to save a tiny sliver of it for yourself. You are a savior indeed, of the most singular kind! But where are the other members of your arcane order? Are they not to share in your victory? Surely it is their triumph as well.”
Gambrel’s disgust was evident in the curl of his lip. “On the contrary, they are weaklings and imbeciles who had to be whipped like cringing dogs and dragged upon their leashes to do what simple tasks they were given. I have come here alone because there is no other who deserves to share in this victory with me. Now, bring me the fragments of keystone.”
“But you won’t be able to bind them together,” Mr. Bennick said. “Not without knowing the precise spell Lockwell used to sunder the keystone.”
Gambrel laughed. “A spell which he set down in a book—being always the practical fellow—and which someone else kindly copied down for me.” He made a flick with the pistol. “Now put the pieces of the keystone on that table there. Do it, and I will ask the Ashen to show mercy, and slay you swiftly rather than force you to toil as their slaves.”
“Now would be a good time to speak that rune, Lord Rafferdy,” Mr. Bennick advised. “I am certain that you can stop him before he fires.”
Mr. Rafferdy drew a breath, only when he did speak, it was not words of magick. “No, it’s no use,” he said grimly. “He has us. We have to do as he says and give him the pieces of the keystone.”
Both Ivy and Mr. Bennick stared at him.
“Give him the two pieces that you have, Mr. Bennick,” Mr. Rafferdy continued. “And I will give him the piece which I removed from Mr. Lockwell.”
Ivy could not breathe. What was Mr. Rafferdy thinking? After all, he did not have her father’s fragment; Mr. Bennick did.
“Go on, Mr. Bennick. Do as I say. Give Mr. Gambrel two pieces of the keystone.”
All at once Mr. Bennick nodded. “Of course,” he said, letting out a breath. “You are right, Mr. Rafferdy. Even you could not bind him so quickly as that.” The former magician reached into his pocket and drew out two fragments of stone. But just two. Slowly, he walked forward and set them down on an end table, then retreated.
“Now the last piece, Lord Rafferdy,” Gambrel said. Sweat was pouring down his brow. His right hand had begun to shake as his ring threw off wild sparks. “Be swift about it. My finger grows weary on the trigger.”
Slowly, Rafferdy drew something from his pocket. It was not a piece of rock, but rather a small cube hewn of glossy black stone and adorned with runes. He moved to put it on the table next to the two pieces of the keystone. It was, Ivy realized, a small box.
“I put it in here, for safekeeping,” Mr. Rafferdy said, then retreated.
“Get back now,” Gambrel said. “All of you. Farther. I want you safely out of reach of magick.”
They retreated to the far end of the hall even as Gambrel approached the table. His right hand still strained toward Lady Shayde, who remained as still as a statue. With his left hand, he set down the pistol next to the onyx box. He touched the lid, then looked up.
“If you think to trick me,” he said, “and if Lockwell’s fragment
is not inside, I will have plenty of time to take up the pistol and shoot Lady Quent before you can come close enough to work a binding on me.”
“I assure you, it is no trick,” Mr. Rafferdy said.
“We shall see,” Gambrel said.
And he opened the lid of the box.
It was difficult to see clearly from across the long room, but it seemed to Ivy that a puff of black smoke issued from the box, curling upward. Gambrel frowned—
—then his eyes went wide. He lurched back from the box, flinging his arms out beside him. His head tilted back, so that the cords of his neck all stood out in sharp relief, and his jaw gaped open in a silent shriek. His face went gray, and his cheeks sank inward. Dark lines snaked across his skin, like cracks upon the surface of a porcelain vase as it shattered. In mere moments he became a ghastly sight—a thing not unlike the Murghese mummies Ivy had once glimpsed behind glass in the Royal Altanian Museum.
By then, Lady Shayde was already upon him, released from the spell of binding. Only there was nothing for her to do by then. Gambrel took one more staggering step, and one dusty exhalation escaped him with a sound almost like
No
.
His purple ring flared once and went dim.
Then his shriveled form toppled over, crumbling apart as it struck the floor into a heap of sticks and sand.
I
T WAS A MINUTE or more before any of them spoke. Nor did any of them move, except for Lady Shayde, who walked in a slow circle around the powdery remains of Gambrel, and then—apparently satisfied with what she saw—retreated to the edges of the room.
At last Mr. Bennick cleared his throat. “I was counting on your ability to best Gambrel, Lord Rafferdy. It was, I am aware, the most uncertain part of my plan. The better magician does not always win the duel, but I could think of no other way. And indeed, you
have succeeded.” He raised an eyebrow. “Though I did not know you would do it in quite this manner.”
Slowly, Ivy approached the heap of dust and gray velvet that had, moments ago, been Gambrel. “But what happened to him when he opened the box?”
“The full brunt of the curse of Am-Anaru came upon him,” Mr. Rafferdy said behind her.
She turned to regard him. “You mean the curse that befell the three Lords of Am-Anaru?”
“The very same.”
“But how?”
“I had taken the curse from Lord Baydon and placed it in the box.”