If he was still shivering, he was better off than I’d feared. Once a man stops shivering, death isn’t far away. I snatched up a blanket from my pack.
“Kiran! Hey, listen to me! You gotta get out of those wet clothes, if you want to get warm.” He didn’t respond. His eyes were squeezed shut and his skin waxy-pale.
I hastily stripped off my own snow-crusted outer layers and started working on Kiran. I had enough trouble peeling off his overjacket with him shaking like a palsied drunk, but when I started on his woolen undershirt, he jerked away and batted at my hands.
“Hold still!” I reached for the shirt again.
He shook his head, saying something I couldn’t understand through his chattering teeth, and rolled away.
“Hold
still
, damn your eyes,” I growled, and dragged him back. I’d seen this before. Men caught out too long in the cold got irrational or even delusional, and attempts to reason with them only wasted time and breath.
He tried to fight me, but I was stronger and far more coordinated. In no time I had him pinned flat on his back, his wrists trapped in one of my hands. I yanked his shirt over his head, got it free of his wrists, and reached for the blanket.
I froze mid-reach, my eyes fixed on his bare chest. Not on the amulet, dangling on its chain, but on the mark etched into the skin over his heart—
The red and black sigil of a blood mage.
I sprang backward. “
You’re a fucking blood mage?”
The force of my shout tore my throat raw. All the terrible stories crowded my head, full of sadistic, gruesome torture and death. Cold horror rimed my spine.
Kiran was still shivering too hard to move easily, but he tugged the blanket around himself with trembling hands, covering the sigil. He bowed his head, wet black strands of hair falling forward to hide his face. Too late; I’d already seen the stark, despairing guilt printed there, good as any confession.
My chest felt like a boulder was crushing it, my lungs unable to draw air. When Pello had searched Kiran, the sigil must’ve been what he found. Sign of the most deadly and powerful mages in Ninavel...this, not the amulet, had sent Pello running for the border like a man chased by demons.
You don’t even know what board you’re playing on,
he’d said. Shaikar curse him, he’d been right.
Yet my horrible certainty faltered, as other memories rushed in: Kiran’s wide-eyed wonder at the sight of the stream, his bright, eager smile when I’d called his carcabon idea a smart one, his painfully earnest expression when he’d offered to write Cara a letter. I couldn’t wrap my mind around the two concepts: Kiran as I’d seen him on this trip, and the blood mages of legend. Was he that good of an actor? I found myself bending over him and asking, “The stories people tell...are they true? Blood mages torture and kill to fuel spells?”
He winced, and huddled deeper into the blanket. “Yes.” His voice shook as badly as his hands. “But I don’t—I’ve never—”
“Never killed anyone for a spell?” I welcomed the sullen fire of anger growing within, burning away the frozen weight in my chest. “Remember Harken? Pollis? Jacol?”
He flinched with each name I shouted at him. It only fed the flames of my anger. He’d made their deaths sound accidental, a byproduct of his haste in casting; and the stories of blood mages talked of slow and lingering death, the kind to give a man screaming nightmares, not the instant collapse of those killed at the convoy. But did he think I was such a fool I couldn’t make the connection, with that sigil staring me in the face?
“Oh, you murdering bastard—I should have known that crap about ‘the forces of the earth’ was a lie! I should’ve seen you for what you are the moment you killed Harken!”
Kiran’s head shot up, his eyes wide. “It wasn’t a lie! The
akheli
—blood mages, you call them—in Ninavel, they
do
use forces within the earth to fuel spells...but the forces are too dangerous and wild, they can’t be channeled by a mage’s own energies alone, you need another source of power to harness them—”
“So you kill people. Steal their lives to use for your
harness
.” Disgust and contempt near choked me. “And what, the torture part’s just for fun?”
“No.” His voice was low, and hoarse. “Death gives power, but...violent death gives more. But I didn’t lie to you—I’m not like Ruslan, I only meant to save lives, not—”
“Ruslan! He’s a blood mage too, isn’t he? Fuck!” Cara and the others at the convoy, in the hands of a mage who carved people into bloody shreds for his spells—and he’d cast one already. Oh, gods! “How many did he kill to make this storm?”
Kiran put his hands over his face. “I don’t know,” he said, haltingly. “I hope...not more than one. He wouldn’t choose anyone—anyone possibly useful to him, like Cara or Jerik.”
“As if that makes it all right! You sick son of a bitch, don’t try to pretend you care. I’ve seen the look in your eyes when you talk about magic. I know how bad you want it—you can’t wait to murder someone again, can you?”
“You don’t know anything!” He dropped his hands, his eyes wild beneath the tangles of his dark hair. “I never wanted it, not this way!” The last part came out in a strangled shout.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“I told you, I’d rather deny my magic forever than use it as Ruslan does!”
“That’s right, your little sob story about you and Ruslan—what vital facts did you leave out of that? Let me guess, you were happy to kill people so long as you were in control, but then he showed up and demanded you play his game instead, and that stuck in your throat—”
“No!” His voice cracked on the word. “Ruslan is...was...my master from the start. But I didn’t understand what blood magic was like, not until it was too late! After that I tried to renounce it, but Ruslan thinks he owns me, he’ll never let me go—”
“Oh, come on! You trained for how long to work blood magic, yet you claim you didn’t know?” What kind of a gullible mark did he take me for?
“I never—!” Kiran checked his shout. He dragged shaking hands through his hair, and drew in a slow, uneven breath. “Ruslan raised us, and he kept us isolated from most other people. He blocked our magic, except under carefully controlled conditions—he said unfettered spellcasting was too dangerous until we came of age. We only learned theory, and did exercises. There’s a ritual he performs, when we reach adulthood...” He faltered, and shut his eyes. His face turned the color of curdled milk. “The
akhelashva
ritual...takes a lot of power. It was the first time I saw true blood magic being worked.”
I frowned. He made Ruslan sound like a glorified version of a Taint thief handler. Gods knew Red Dal leashed his Tainters tight, and kept them ignorant until the end. Not to mention all this “us” and “we” business...“How many kids does Ruslan keep?”
Kiran opened his eyes, looking surprised. “None, now. Mikail and I were his only apprentices. None of the
akheli
ever take more than two,” he said, as if it were self-evident.
“Why not?” I’d have thought a blood mage would want plenty of lackeys to lord it over.
“Complex spells require two mages working as one, and the skills aren’t simple to master. Easier for two apprentices to learn and practice together, as Mikail and I did. But the talent is rare, and a master
akheli
like Ruslan does not share power lightly.” Bitterness filled his voice.
I leaned against the cave wall. Ruslan did sound like Red Dal, who also thought of his kids as being his property. But if a Taint thief died on a job or ran away, Red Dal could always buy or steal another Tainted kid to replace them. Every kid born in Ninavel’s got some trace of the Taint, though for most it’s hardly noticeable—maybe one in a hundred is Tainted enough to be useful. But a mage-born kid with enough talent to attract the interest of a blood mage must be a hell of a lot harder to find. Plus, a month or two of training was all a Tainter needed, while it sounded like Ruslan had spent years training Kiran. Made sense he’d be both furious and determined to find his wayward apprentice. I could even—grudgingly—get why Kiran was so desperate to escape.
Assuming Kiran wasn’t lying through his teeth. Again. He knew I’d been Tainted. The leap to my childhood profession wasn’t a long one. Maybe he’d come up with this little tale hoping to gain my sympathy. Even if his story was true, it didn’t excuse the deaths he’d caused, or the way he’d left those at the convoy to face a furious blood mage without so much as a warning. I eyed him, coldly.
“You wanted to run, fine—you should’ve had the guts to do it solo. A score of men are dead, thanks to you. How many more will Ruslan kill?”
“I didn’t know what else to do!” Kiran gave me a desperate, pleading look. “The
akhelashva
ritual bound me to Ruslan, in a way I cannot break. He can control my magic as his own, rip down my defenses with a single thought, find me no matter how far I run...the amulet blocks the bond, but it won’t stop him for long. The Alathian wards are my only hope of real protection, but I didn’t know how to cross the border undetected, let alone the mountains! I needed a guide. You.”
Me, the Khalmet-touched fool now stuck in this cave while his friends faced a mage who specialized in agonizing death. A spike of renewed fury pierced me. “You should’ve told me the truth,” I snapped. “I’d never have taken you with the convoy if I’d known—!”
“You wouldn’t have helped me at all,” Kiran said, with bleak certainty.
Damn right I wouldn’t have. If I’d known even half of this back in Ninavel, I’d have thrown Bren’s offer in his face. Triple pay plus charm-grade gems, my ass. What fucking good was money to a dead man? Even if I survived Ruslan, that still left the Alathians. They didn’t fuck around when it came to blood magic. If they caught me helping a blood mage, they’d burn me alive on the spot.
Watching me, Kiran paled further. “Dev, don’t—don’t do anything rash. Everything I told you at the convoy was true, I swear it on my blood and
ikilhia
.” His fingers clenched on the blanket. “If you abandon me, Ruslan will find you, and you’ll die at his hands. Even if you give me up to him, he won’t spare you. Not after you helped me run from the convoy. You don’t know his skill at flaying flesh and soul, prolonging torment beyond all bearing—” He choked, and pressed his hands to his eyes. His chest heaved in a juddering gasp.
Fuck. I recognized the sight of someone fighting off a dreadful memory. Kiran might be lying about his own motives, but I doubted he was lying about Ruslan being a vindictive, sadistic bastard who’d slaughter by inches anyone dumb enough to cross him. That part matched right up with every tale of blood mages I’d ever heard.
I whirled and paced the length of the cave, struggling to shove anger aside and think. I couldn’t cut and run with Ruslan on the prowl, no matter how badly I wanted to. Not yet, anyway. But if we reached the border...easy enough for me to ditch Kiran and cross alone to safety. Forget the money, forget this entire godsforsaken mess...
Forget Melly, who’d pay a terrible price for my cowardice. Fail Sethan, who’d saved not only my life, but my very soul, and never once counted the cost.
Kiran had recovered himself enough to square his shoulders and meet my eyes, though his breath still rasped in his throat. “If you need more coin, or anything else...once we’re safe in Kost, I’ll get it for you.”
I snorted, still pacing. “Yeah, right. How, without your magic? You think I don’t know you’d say anything to get yourself across that border?” Didn’t keep him from being right about my lack of options, damn him. If Sethan was watching from Suliyya’s gardens like the southerners claimed, I sure hoped he appreciated the shit I was crawling through for Melly’s sake.
“I’d find a way.” The dark determination on his face checked me mid-stride. He’d played it so mild in the face of my accusations, I kept forgetting how dangerous he truly was. His fear of Ruslan might keep him from using the full strength of his magic, but he’d proved with Cara that he was far from helpless, even so. What might he do, if he believed I meant to abandon him?
Gods all damn it, I’d cast myself straight into a viper-infested cesspit this time. If only I hadn’t needed Bren’s money so badly—
Bren. I rounded on Kiran, as a nagging tendril of a thought burst into full bloom. “When you bought passage from Bren, did he know you were a blood mage?” Khalmet’s bloodsoaked hand, I’d rip out Bren’s sly, oil-soaked tongue if he had.
Kiran shook his head, with a wary frown. “I told him I was a mage, but not what type. Why?”
“Good to know which of you was the worse viper,” I muttered. Kiran might believe Bren ignorant, but I had my doubts. I’d thought Bren’s instructions meant he and Gerran had made a side deal with Kiran’s enemy, but after hearing the whole story on Ruslan, that no longer fit so well. I thought it far more likely they intended to sell Kiran out to the Alathians through a safely anonymous intermediary. Handing a blood mage over to the Council would earn them a nice bonus, and also ensure their own safety, in case Kiran later decided to cover his tracks. If they gave Kiran up to Alathian justice...well. Maybe that’d be Shaikar’s judgment on him, for what he’d done to Harken and the others.
I blew out a long breath, and straightened.
“You’ve made a decision,” Kiran said quietly, eyes still locked on my face. The cramped curl of his body near hummed with tension. “What do you intend?”
“Let’s get something straight.” I crouched in front of him, just beyond his reach. “If I didn’t need Bren’s Shaikar-cursed money, I’d leave you to rot, and cheer when Ruslan showed up to kick your lying ass.”
Kiran’s eyes narrowed. One hand twitched, his fingers flexing. I mastered the urge to scramble backward. Showing fear would only invite a more direct threat.
He said, “But...?”
I scowled at him. “I do need that money. So. I’ll still guide you to the border, and gods willing, get you through. But the instant we cross, we’re done, hear me? You’re on your own.” No matter what unpleasant surprise Gerran had in store.
Pure relief washed over his face. He slumped against the cave wall. “I never expected anything different.”