Memory of Fire Read online

  The men made him nervous. Any number of times Seolar had thought that he could order them killed when the moment came; that traitors who would betray their own people and their own world deserved nothing better. But what little honor he could still lay claim to would not permit such facile excuses; he had given his word, and he would keep it—even with men whose own oaths clearly meant nothing.

  He would, however, make sure that he kept his back covered at all times.

  If the traitors objected to the overwhelming presence of the guards, they gave no sign. They merely marched with Seolar, following him to the suite that Molly had once occupied.

  In it, unconscious men and women lay on the floor. All clearly breathed, none bore any signs of hurt.

  "How have they come to be in this state?" he asked.

  "We gave them a…medicine," the oldest man said. "They will recover from it in several hours. They may be a bit sick at first—sometimes people vomit or complain of confusion or dizziness, but that passes quickly enough."

  "Very good," Seolar said. "When they are all awake and demonstrably in good health, I will give you the deeds to your land, and the servants who will accompany you to your new domain. In the meantime, you'll receive accommodations in a fine suite, and we will see to your every comfort."

  The third man, who had said nothing until this point, said, "I thought we were going to be on our way as soon as we gave you the people."

  Seolar said, "Our agreement was that I would receive them in good health. They may or may not be in good health—I cannot verify this while they lie like the dead in my chambers."

  "We tell you they're healthy."

  "You also told them you served the same cause. I must know that they will wake and live and be able to do what I want them to do. Some of them may have reactions to the medicine they were given that would require your intervention or at least your assistance. Until I can be sure that all of my…property…is in our agreed-upon condition, I would prefer for you to be my guests."

  "We don't want to be your guests. And I would remind you that we will be your neighbors—our goodwill in the future will matter greatly to you."

  Seolar considered that for a moment. "Indeed," he said, "the goodwill of my neighbors has always mattered greatly to me." He studied the three traitors, bowed slightly—so slightly that any veyâr would have been mortally offended—and said, "Let us gather your servants. Your word will, after all, suffice."

  He turned to the captain of the guards and said, "Please take them to the Great Hall, and introduce them to Tonnil. Tonnil is head of the servants who will accompany you to your new domain," he added, glancing at the oldest traitor. He told the captain of the guards, "Meanwhile, I will gather the deeds and seals of the land. I will join you in the Great Hall with the rest of the servants, and formally invest them with their new domain."

  The captain said, "This way, please," and he and the rest of the guards reformed their column around the traitors. The three humans moved down the corridor.

  Seolar did not for a moment believe that they would honor any promise of goodwill. They had no honor—they were wild dogs, and he would have to watch them the way a man watched such creatures.

  But he had his own secrets in his dealings with them. Their domain lay just on the near side of the most recent influx of rrôn. Once the traitors took up permanent residence in their new abode and started stirring things up, they would discover that they had bigger problems than any dislike they might have acquired for him. He thought they would serve as a good buffer for him—three oath-breaking Old Gods and the larger part of the prisoners from Seolar's dungeon standing between his good land and his worst problem.

  Birra, who had the duty of watching the Sentinels until they regained their health, joined him as he headed for the library. Birra waited until humans and guards were out of earshot, then said, "You're sending Tonnil with them?"

  "They're taking Blackleg House, right at the edge of the new troubles. They've named it Cold Starhold. I should have sent you into that place?"

  "Gods forfend! But…Tonnil?"

  "He will keep track of the rest of the prisoners. Each prisoner who accompanies those traitors volunteered for the position in order to win a reprieve from execution. If they do us other services, they may win full pardons."

  Birra smiled faintly. "And do our three future Imallins know they'll be served by the basest and most evil of criminals?"

  "No. But the criminals know they'll be serving traitorous wizards, and that they'll be serving them in Blackleg House. They know that any misbehavior on their part is likely to see them turned into little smoking spots on the floor, and that at all times they will be in the power of the basest and most dishonorable of Old Gods. And that, should they consider fleeing, they will flee into the hunting grounds of the rrôn. I informed each man and woman who requested this opportunity of the inherent dangers. Quite a few were willing to take a chance on the rrôn and…well, worse…and on the whims of treacherous wizards, in spite of the circumstances. Better a dubious fate with traitors than a certain one with the executioner, they seem to think."

  * * *

  June Bug Tate woke first, and badly. She dreamed that she swam desperately to escape the maw of some enormous, toothy sea monster, and that no matter how hard she swam she couldn't reach the surface and air and safety. She couldn't breathe, and couldn't breathe, and couldn't breathe…and then suddenly she could, and the sharp pain of air in her lungs and the agonizing jolt into blinding light and unbearable heat proved more than her stomach could take. She leaned over, retching and heaving, aware that the awful sounds she heard came from her, washed by terrible stenches and the feeling of embarrassment that always came from losing control of her body's functions.

  Something cool and damp materialized on the back of her neck, and a soothing voice said, "You were given some medicine that made you quite sick. But you'll be feeling better soon. We'll take care of you."

  "Thanks," she gasped in between heaves.

  She tried to remember medicine. She couldn't remember much of anything. She knew who she was, and what her place in the world was supposed to be. But how she had come to take medicine that made her sick, when she took no medicine of any sort—ever—left her baffled.

  Her vision cleared and her stomach emptied, though, and she found herself awake among sleeping Sentinels, in a beautiful if overdone room, with one of the natives of Oria hovering over her, looking overdressed and fussy and entirely too tall and blue. Something about that stirred her drugged memory, and she recalled the desperate summons for all of the Sentinels.

  "Oh, shit on a shingle," she muttered. "We were had."

  The Orian, obsequious and prompt, had already cleaned up her mess. Now he turned to her, and said, "Had? What do you mean?"

  "The bastards set us up. There wasn't any gate rip. There wasn't any influx from sideways. We got out there, they gave us all coffee while that son of a bitch Willie pretended to tinker with a gate to take us to the crossrip, and as soon as we swallowed the coffee, we fell off the face of the goddamned Earth."

  "You were most certainly betrayed," the Orian agreed. "But here you are our guests, and I know the Imallin has already made provisions to return you to your own world and your own places."

  Her head throbbed. "Good. Now would be a good time for your Imallin to do that. We have big problems back home, and if we don't get back there fast, we may not have a home to go back to at all."

  "I'll send for the Imallin," the Orian said politely. "He is in a meeting now, but as soon as he is finished, he can explain our situation to you."

  Our situation, he said. Not your situation. Which meant, June Bug thought, that no one was going to be sending anyone home promptly. Our situation meant these Orians had some need, that they'd found a way to bribe a couple of Sentinels in order to have their needs met, and that she and her people were supposed to be the next Great Hope to these lost and downtrodden aliens. She and her people had been kidn
apped, and they would most certainly have to deal with ransom demands of some sort.

  Well, the hell with that.

  She focused her intent on locating the nearest Earth-linked gate, and centered her thoughts on immediate success. She intoned a single spell-word—"Seek"—visualizing a map that would appear in the air before her which she could use to lead everyone to whichever gate her spell located.

  Nothing happened.

  "Seek," she commanded again, making sure that she had concentrated on each key point in the spell.

  Again, nothing happened.

  Behind her, the Orian cleared his throat. "What would you have me seek?"

  "A goddamned explanation," June Bug snarled. "There's no reason why that spell shouldn't have worked."

  "Well…actually," the Orian said. He cleared his throat deferentially and waved an arm at the room around her.

  Then and only then did she realize how deep in trouble she and the rest of the Sentinels were. She'd noticed that the place was pretty, but she wasn't impressed by pretty, especially not when she was sick. Frills didn't take her fancy, and this place had looked to be all frills to her. She supposed she could blame the medicine, or her own old age, or sickness, but the fact was, she'd been sloppy. She was a warrior first and foremost, and her place as a warrior demanded that she be alert to her situation. The fact that she sat in the center of a solid copper room—where no magic she would ever try could hope to succeed—should have been the first thing she noticed upon waking.

  "Maybe I'm too old to be doing this," she muttered. "Time to train my successor and get the hell out while the getting is good. Move to South Florida, get a condo, learn to play shuffleboard. They haven't been able to keep a gate open in South Florida for more that half a second in the last twenty years." She glared at the copper walls, the decorative copper grillwork on the windows, the copper ceilings, the copper floors, the massive, vaultlike copper door, and she swore vigorously and with fine control. She stood, glared at the Orian, and snapped, "But I'd hate shuffleboard, and I'd hate polite little blue-haired old ladies, and I'd hate whiling away the rest of my life being useless."

  The Orian backed up a step, wary in the face of her vehemence. "Yes, Narra."

  "My name isn't Narra. It's June Bug."

  "I request your pardon. Narra is a term of respect—it is reserved for the living gods."

  "Right. I'm not a god, I'm a Sentinel. We aren't allowed to become gods—it's written into the bylaws."

  He looked at her with an expression that suggested he was struggling over his response—laugh politely at a joke he didn't get, or agree politely to a reference he didn't understand. She sighed.

  To spare him the struggle, she asked, "Any idea when the rest of them will be awake?"

  "No. Your kidnappers suggested that we might have to wait several hours, and noted that you were all likely to be rather sick upon awakening."

  "Bastards."

  "Yes, Narra."

  "June Bug, goddammit. I've never liked those damnfool titles."

  "I…understand." He clearly didn't understand. He seemed to June Bug to own stock in polite. He said, "Is there anything I can bring you, or do for you, or offer you?"

  "I'm assuming that doesn't include opening the door and letting me walk out of here."

  "No, Nar—no, June Bug. But anything I can bring that will make your stay more pleasant…"

  She nodded. "A cigar. Some toothpaste and a toothbrush. A good hot cup of coffee, extrastrong, straight black, and with the caffeine still in it." She looked thoughtfully at the ceiling for a moment, then added, "And a shot of whiskey to add to the coffee would be nice, considering this damned situation. After that…we'll see."

  He nodded, walked to the door, opened a little panel in it, and whispered through to whoever stood outside. When he returned a moment later, he told her, "It will take a few minutes. But we will have what you requested as quickly as it can be brought to us."

  "Thank you. Meantime, I'm going to see if I can wake everyone else up."

  She tried shaking her fellow Sentinels, and when that didn't work, tried pinching them and shouting in their ears. Eventually, Mayhem woke up and promptly threw up all over everything—June Bug, with reflexes that surprised her, got out of the way and missed even being spattered.

  Nancine Tubbs was next—she complained of a headache, but didn't throw up on anyone. After her, most of the rest of the Sentinels started to stir. Ernest Tubbs and George Mercer woke up more or less together, and though both were disoriented, neither was particularly sick from the experience. The same couldn't be said for June Bug's sister Louisa, who vomited until she had the dry heaves, or for Jimmy Norris, whose amazing noises when he threw up were so awful that he started a chain reaction among the rest of the Sentinels.

  But June Bug's other sister, Bethellen, didn't wake up at all. Her breathing got deeper and deeper and slower and slower, until finally June Bug realized that if the Sentinels couldn't get her to a place where one of them could work magic on her, they would lose her.

  June Bug grabbed the Orian. "You have to let us get her away from the copper now. We're going to have to do magic on her or she'll die."

  "A moment," he said. "The Imallin is on his way to us, and I believe the Vodi comes with him…"

  The massive double doors opened, and a contingent of well-armed Orian guards filled the doorway. They made way for an Orian man in an incredible getup, and a woman that June Bug thought was also Orian…until she got a better look at her face. Then she realized that she was looking at either the missing Molly McColl, or her kissing cousin—but this girl had been changed by her time in Oria.

  "Son of a bitch. Molly?" June Bug asked.

  The young woman turned to her and nodded. "I…know you. From…from the library."

  "June Bug Tate. I'm glad to see you aren't dead. But what the hell are you doing here?"

  "I…" Molly shrugged. "It's a long story, and I heard that one of your, um, Sentinels is in trouble."

  "We need to get her out of here," June Bug said. "Tell them—"

  "I'll heal her," Molly said softly. "It will only take a moment."

  Some of the guards had marched into the room and lifted the dying Bethellen, cot and all, and were marching her toward the door.

  "She needs someone who knows how to do this," June Bug said. "Not someone who will practice on her and screw things up."

  But Molly simply nodded and said, "That's why I'll do it." And then she stepped out of the room with the phalanx of guards, and the door closed, leaving the larger batch of guards and the elaborately dressed Orian man behind.

  "I am Seolar, Great High Imallin of Copper House and the Sheren River Domain. The Vodi, whom you know as Molly McColl, will heal your associate, and they will rejoin us as soon as they can. In the meantime, please let me explain both our situation and yours to you."

  He took a slow, steadying breath and looked from one Sentinel to the next. "I paid a high price to bring you here. I apologize for the necessity, but I simply had no choice. Had I tried to pay you to teach our Vodi what she needs to know, you would have refused. Had I threatened, you would have laughed at me. Had I appealed to your compassion, you would have expressed your sorrow and turned away. I know these things because for years, I and my predecessors have tried all these methods to enlist the assistance of the Sentinels, and we have received only those responses."

  "So you paid our own people to turn traitor on us, and had us drugged and dragged here against our will."

  "I will apologize again—I would not have chosen such methods, and certainly I would have done nothing to endanger any of your lives. The men who brought you to me chose their own methods, and I am displeased with the lack of respect that they showed for you and your care, and unhappy with your condition upon arrival. They will find their own justice in the fullness of time, I suspect. Such people usually do. I cannot apologize for bringing you here, though. My people are dying out, and we have at last regaine
d the person who was born to save us, and she must learn what only you can teach her in order to do that. When she knows what you know…then you will be free to go. The faster and more efficiently you teach her everything you can about how you create magic in this world, and what she must do to control it and use it safely, the more quickly you will be back in your own world, doing whatever it is you need to be doing. I have been told by the traitors that there is, in fact, a matter of some urgency that you will wish to attend to. I suggest that you keep that in mind when dealing with our Vodi."

  "So to kidnapping you add blackmail."

  "Not at all. I merely add a voice of reason to our discussion; you wish to be somewhere else, I tell you what you must do in order to get there."

  "The soul of reason," June Bug muttered. "And we're to teach…Molly?"

  "Yes."

  "What happened to her? Why does she look the way she does?"