A Poison Dark and Drowning (Kingdom on Fire #2)(29)
Already, Whitechurch was shaking his head. “This is how it begins,” he warned. Her Majesty remained silent. “This is how magicians gain a foothold in our society.”
Was that so terribly wrong? I had to bite my tongue.
“Sir, we’ve battled these creatures for over a decade,” Blackwood continued. “What if these weapons do contain the key to R’hlem’s destruction?”
Whitechurch frowned deeper than ever. Here it was, our potential salvation, and he didn’t want it because magicians could not be trusted? I had to stifle the urge to start shouting.
“Howel,” the queen said, her voice soft. “Do you know how to use these?”
“Not yet, Majesty,” I replied. Please, let her see how important this was. Let her agree. “Your Majesty said that I was a sorcerer.” I decided to blunder ahead; it was time to be bold. “I am. But I used sorcerer and magician magic the night we defeated Korozoth, and Your Majesty said that I must control both sides of my power.”
“I believe I said control, not use.” The queen wasn’t smiling.
“This could be our best chance,” I said. Standing before the queen, I recalled once more the servant dead at the foot of her bed. His blood had been used as a message to me; I had to answer it. I had to strike at R’hlem, chosen one or not.
Whitechurch’s power stirred. I could feel it on my skin, and it made me light-headed. “This is not our way,” he thundered.
“But it might be the best way,” the queen said. That stopped the Imperator. “This is dangerous, Howel.” For one moment, I held my breath. Finally, she sighed. “Who would assist you in this?”
Oh, thank God and Strangewayes and even bloody Mickelmas.
“I would, Your Majesty,” Magnus said. “Captain Ambrose doesn’t want me back on board until my arm is fully recovered. Allow me to be of service.”
“And I, Majesty,” Blackwood said, though he sounded far more reluctant.
“There might be others who would agree,” I said. I’d write to the boys, Dee and Wolff and Lambe. There was a small, selfish part of me that wanted us all together again.
“Very well,” the queen said. Whitechurch kept silent, though I could read his disapproving thoughts. “But these weapons must work. If they don’t, you will put them aside.” She closed the book’s cover. “Or you will face dire consequences.”
“Yes, Majesty,” I breathed.
Once again, I was playing with fire.
The next day, Blackwood and I arrived at the Camden Town barracks with the weaponry and the few scratchings of a plan. The barracks themselves were two stables remodeled into sleeping quarters, with a wide, oval-shaped training yard for practice. Apart from a select few—Blackwood and myself included, since I couldn’t well sleep in bunks with men all about—this was where the younger, unmarried sorcerers lived, trained, and waited to be called for battle.
Men ran drills as we entered, lunging forward seven, eight, ten times on command. Squadron leaders blew whistles, sending their men into different formations: the diamond patterns best suited for weaving nets of flame, the circles that anchored sorcerers as they made the earth tremble and shake. I blushed watching; it was a humid day at the end of summer, and some of them had their coats off. Even after all the weeks of living in Agrippa’s house, I’d not got used to men without proper dress. If Agrippa were here, he’d say…
He wasn’t, though.
Agrippa betrayed you. Those were the words I repeated to myself whenever the pain of missing him grew too great. I had tried to hate him, but his betrayal had been partly my own fault: I had not trusted him, and that had made him not trust me.
And now I was stuck with an annoyed-looking Valens coming over to meet us.
“There you are.” His mouth tightened at the sight of the magician weapons. “The others are already arrived.” He led us around the buildings to a smaller, more secluded area. This yard was walled, the cobblestones small and unevenly laid.
I held a packet of papers in my hand, instruction sheets I’d spent the night working up. Reading through Strangewayes’s book had proven slow going; the ink had become blurred in many places, and the language and spelling were antiquated. Still, I’d done my best. Strangewayes’s “introduction” had been particularly interesting:
In approaching these beasts, one must remember: they are not cattle, nor deer, nor anything that can be cudgeled or cajoled into obedience. They are monsters from the depths of nightmares. No mercy must be shown them, no compassion, and no hesitation if death is the only option. Whip the creatures until the blood flows, beacon them into a stupor, pipe until they are at the brink of despairing madness, but do not stop. Do not yield. One cannot look into the Devil’s eyes and expect to glimpse his soul.
Not the cheeriest language. The very back of the book wasn’t uplifting either, for Strangewayes had written in it when he’d gone well past the brink of despairing madness himself. A thick black circle had been drawn over and over again, with such strength that the pen had broken through the paper in some places. The stars are black, he’d written above it, along with mentions of that Kindly Emperor, the maker and unmaker of worlds.
WITNESS HIS SMILE was scrawled over three pages. I’d decided to leave these sections out of our training.