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Chapter Nineteen

The squall line of rattling gravel roared through the iron framework of the spire. The guard pulled his collar up to the crown of his steel tri-corn helm, and clutched the front of the coat over his face like a mask. Rae had no such protection. His clothes, worn thin by weeks in the chaos-washed wastelands between steadings, offered little protection. Even his coat was no good. With his hands chained together, Rae wasn’t able to hold the coat closed, and seconds after the storm hit, the buttons along the front popped, turning the garment into a flag. Rae gripped the railing with all his strength. The guard pulled him forward, but Rae was scared to let go, to even take a step. But they couldn’t stay there. The sharp hail would shred their skin and turn their lungs into sandbags if they didn’t find shelter, and fast.

Sand and gravel tore at his face and hands, scoring them with dozens of shallow cuts, abrading his cheeks and turning his tears into mud. Rae squeezed his lips shut, but it wasn’t long before he could taste the grit on his tongue. It got hard to breathe. Lightning flashed overhead, and he felt the static charge go through the spire. Down and down they ran, stumbling over steps, blinded by the storm, getting dizzy as they tried to keep their backs to the worst of the winds even as they followed the spiraling stairs.

They finally reached the bottom. Rae went to one knee, expecting another step and finding only ground. The guard rushed past him. For a brief second, Rae thought he was being abandoned. Should he run? Try to escape? But La was somewhere in front of him, still held, still in danger. The question proved irrelevant. The guard jerked his chain, reminding Rae that he was still on a leash. He dragged himself to his feet and stumbled forward.

Lights loomed out of the gray-brown gloom of the howling storm. They made a beeline for the closest shelter. The guard kicked open the door and threw Rae inside. Wherever they were, there was a lot of yelling. Feet rushed past him as guards helped close the door. Suddenly the storm’s howl died down, and the assault of stone and grit on his face ended. Rae lay there on his knees, spitting mud and gasping for breath. His eyes were crusted shut.

“No. No way. We already have too many prisoners in here. Take him to the guard house,” someone said.

“Fall apart,” Rae’s puckered escort snapped. “I’m not going out there again.”

“You can’t bring every scrapping prisoner in here just because we’re closest to the spire.” The first voice was nervous, young. “We don’t have cells. They could—”

“Relax.” That was Estev’s voice. Heavy feet walked over to Rae and hauled him to his feet by the collar. Rae blinked through the grime caked onto his face. A hand wiped it away, smearing blood from the dozens of cuts on his cheeks and brow. Estev smiled at him. “This one’s no danger to you. And, as we have already established, neither am I.”

“They have binding shackles on!” The first speaker was next to the door. He was really young, younger than Rae thought a soldier could be. “These are mages, Clev!”

“And they have binding shackles on, Temet,” Rae’s escort, apparently Clev, answered. “So unless you think an old man and a scrub wearing more mud than clothing can overcome the lot of us, you need to calm down.”

“I keep telling you, I have no interest in overpowering anyone,” Estev said reassuringly. He peered into Rae’s eyes, as though trying to force a thought into his head. “And neither does my apprentice. We are merely waiting for our paperwork to be settled. Isn’t that right, friend?”

Rae nodded numbly. Estev clapped him on the shoulder, sending a wave of pain from previously unknown wounds through Rae’s arm.

“Can we get some water?” Estev asked. “The boy is more mud than flesh right now.”

“He can wait until the angel gets back,” Temet said. He had golden rings sewn into the high collar of his coat. This child is the one in charge? Rae wondered. Temet checked the latch, then pointed to a door in the back of the room. “Put them in back. This is on you if they get away, Clev.”

“Aye, lordling,” Clev said. He pushed Rae forward. “Both of you, in the back.”

Rae didn’t mind being as far away from the door and the storm as possible, though Estev’s face fell for the briefest moment. They were in some kind of supply shed. Barrels of food and water lined the walls, and coils of rope and other supplies lined orderly shelves. Other than Clev and Temet, there were maybe half a dozen soldiers sheltering here, in various states of dress. Clearly the storm had caught the garrison by surprise. Clev escorted them to the back of the room, opened the door, then shoved them through.

“Stay quiet. Once the storm blows over, we’ll transfer you to the main guard station,” Clev said, pointing angrily at Estev. “And I don’t want to hear any more complaining from you. Got it?”

“Of course, of course. Quiet as burrowbugs, won’t we?” Estev smiled stiffly at the guard until he went away. Clev snorted, then slammed the door, leaving them in near darkness. There was no latch on the door, but it closed tight enough to cut off the light from the main room. The only illumination was a barred window high in the opposite wall. The storm growled against the glass, rattling the panes in their frame.

“Hardly the sort of accommodations to which I am accustomed,” Estev said. Rae could just make out the man’s face in the dim light. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m . . . I’ll be fine,” Rae said. “Just scraped up a bit.”

“Well, let’s see if we can get you cleaned up a little. I saw some cloths over . . . here we go.” Estev handed him a wad of sailcloth. “It’s hardly civilized to be that dirty.”

“Feels like I’ve got more important things to be worried about,” Rae said.

“Nonsense. You may be manor born, but you hardly have the manners to matter. You see what I did?” Estev barked a single laugh, but when Rae didn’t respond, he shook his head and sighed. “Children these days. I swear. You said your name was Rae, yes?”

“Rae Kelthannis,” Rae answered.

“And Rae was short for something, if I remember correctly. Raeven, Raemond, Raeffel . . .”

“Raelle,” he answered.

“Ah, yes, Raelle. It is so interesting, the way we still name our children after the fae. Two centuries since they abandoned us, and still we grasp at their heritage. Almost sad.”

“I was named after my grandfather,” Rae said. “And his grandfather before him.”

“Yes, yes, and they were named after the fae, back before they vacated the world-trees and returned to Elysium, to leave humanity to scrabble forward in the darkness. So that’s enough of that. Can we please sit down? I am not accustomed to running.” Estev eased himself down on a chair opposite. Rae’s eyes were adjusting to the gloom, and he gave Estev a more thorough look, now that they weren’t confined to narrow cells. Estev’s clothes looked much the worse for wear, leading Rae to wonder how much of the storm he had actually avoided. And if he had started down before Lalette, that meant she would also have gotten caught in the storm. She could still be out there! He stood up and went to the wall opposite the door, feeling around for a window, or any flaw in the clapboard planks.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Estev asked.

“Looking for a way out. My sister headed down after you. She might be caught in the storm.”

“Your sister and her brutish friend are fine. That maniac Caeris went after them, which is why I am stuck in this despicable hovel, dropped like so much cold soup.” He rubbed his hands together, grimacing. “I think she’ll be back in short order, unless the storm is really quite bad. And, by the looks of you, it is quite bad indeed.”

“We get them like this in Hammerwall sometimes, but usually there’s warning. Except . . .” His voice trailed off. Except there was no more Hammerwall, and no more warning. He felt his heart shift a little. How many dead? How many still trying to escape, now caught in this storm, just as they reached Anvilheim? It was unthinkable.

“So, let us ask the question that we have been avoiding, yes?” Estev said quietly. “How did you come by that spiritblade?”

Rae sat up, suddenly attentive. Estev seemed casual enough, but Rae could feel a tension in him, a readiness to action that seemed out of place on the pudgy mage.

“What spiritblade? What are you talking about?”

“The one our mutual captor stowed in the bayward chest. I saw you watch her every move,” Estev said. “That is not your spiritblade. Or, perhaps you own it, but it is not bound to your soul.”

Back to the old lie, and pray it doesn’t come out. “It was my father’s,” Rae said. “He was training me. I used it to bind my first mote.”

“Your father’s spiritblade,” Estev said. “Very interesting. And why was your father seared?”

“He wasn’t . . . I mean . . .” Rae stumbled through an explanation in his mind, but Estev’s sharp eye didn’t waver. One lie was more than enough. “He was a simple stormbinder. Nothing more.”

“Well, you’ll get the sword back, at least. The first two men off the ’ship brought whatever possessions they confiscated from us, in that damned chest.” Estev sat back, trying to lace his hands behind his head before realizing his manacles prevented it. He grimaced at the chains. “At least they damned well better have. I’ve some valuable things in there. You’ll get your father’s sword back when they release you. This is all just precautionary.”

“What makes you think they’re going to release us?”

“Because you are simply a feral spiritbinder, and I am an innocent man.” Estev smirked. “Young Caeris talked a good game, but it’s just noise. Unless they search your possessions and find something incriminating, they’re simply going to reprimand you and send you on your way. Maybe even enroll you in an academy, to sharpen whatever talent your father planted in you. Under the watchful eye of the Iron College, of course. So you have nothing to worry about.”

Rae’s heart sank. He slumped into his chair. Estev chuckled.

“Oh, my son, you are going to be a difficult friend, aren’t you?” Estev looked to the door, listening for a second to the muffled conversation of their guards. The storm seemed to be letting up. “I could tell the moment we met.” Rae nodded. “There is something about that sword you’re not telling me. That’s alright. We can discuss it later, after we’re out of this mess. My business in the north is . . .” Estev’s voice trailed off, and that tension returned to his frame. Rae arched an eyebrow at him when he didn’t continue.

“Since you feel free to ask awkward questions of me, why were you in the wastelands? Not fleeing from Hammerwall, that much is clear. Why is an innocent mage outside the orderwall? Hm?”

“Looking for something. A fragment of the world we lost when the orderwalls went up,” Estev answered. “And that’s all I’ll say about it, at least as long as we’re in the present company.” He nodded toward the door, and the guards beyond. “We can trade secrets later. Though unless that sword is a great deal more than it appears, it won’t be an even exchange.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Rae said, thinking of the demon, the high mage, the murders. “I might surprise you.”

“Ha. Yes, a difficult friend, indeed,” Estev said with a broad smile. “Very good.”

Outside, the last gusts of the storm passed them by. It was as if a song had been cut off midnote. A few stones clattered against the wall, a rumble of thunder growled through the sky, and then there was silence. Estev looked up at the ceiling.

“Well. I guess we’ll find out what became of your sister, and my trunk, and whatever else awaits us outside.” He stood up and stretched. “I am more than ready for a decent meal, and a bath, and an end to these cursed chains.”

They were waiting for the guards to come get them when they heard the front door open. Rae expected to hear the perky voice of their captor, Justicar Caeris, she of the singing angel. Instead, he heard a dozen boots snap to attention, and just as many chairs clatter back, as the guards stood up suddenly. Estev’s face creased with concern.

“High mage!” Temet said suddenly. “We weren’t expecting . . . that is to say . . . we thought Justicar Caeris was the ranking officer in this outpost. Sir!”

“Never mind that,” the new arrival said. “I was told you had a prisoner in here?”

Rae’s heart froze in place. Estev, noticing the color drain from Rae’s face, crept to the door and cracked it open. A look of concern washed over him.

“I take it you know this man?” Estev whispered. He opened the door a little wider.

Rae snuck a look around Estev’s shoulder. There, in the middle of the outer room, surrounded by a dozen guards and looking like he had just stepped out of the tailor’s parlor, was the high mage. The high mage. His isolation suit shone in the cramped space of the supply shed, casting off its own effervescent light.

They locked eyes. Even through the mask, Rae could feel the man smile.


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Framed