Lord Gramsteed collapsed at the edge of the pool. Not dead, but beaten—his magic discarded like the rind of an orange. Hildigrim stood over him, his face indistinct, his body fading to shadow. He had been beaten, too, though held onto the flickering shards of awareness to savor his victory. He tumbled into the pool, trudging his way to the portal which reflected his shattered visage.
“They’re gone…I can no longer feel them,” he said, pawing the surface. “Turold, what did you do?”
“I…nothing. She rejected me.”
“She came…and didn’t take you?”
He nodded, clutching Astrid against him.
“Then it was all for nothing. So many plans, so many deaths. Hildigrim made me promise to see it through.”
“It’s larger than him, or any of us,” Turold said. “My Master would understand.”
“Then why can’t I understand it?” Hildigrim said, angrily. “He gave me everything—all his power, his understanding. I saw this come to pass. And now I stare at my own reflection, in a portal that should have opened to embrace the abyss. And I see nothing.”
As he touched it, the mirror cracked. The portal was useless now, like the others. The god would never emerge.
“Don’t think ill of your Master…or me, if you can,” he said, his body becoming indistinct. “He wanted you to be part of this. To share in his triumph.”
“I know, I saw him; for a moment, he was here. I would have given everything to bring him back. Or to join him…wherever he is.”
“One day he’ll return—you’ll meet again,” Hildigrim said, little more than a flickering silhouette. “But where will you go? You’ve seen too much…they’ll never accept you. Lord Gramsteed will hunt you as he once hunted me.”
“At least we have a head start,” he said, glancing at the fallen body.
“You’re still Astrologer Royal. That counts for something. It still opens doors.”
“I fear my title will soon be revoked,” he said, with a dry laugh. “I wish I could ask you…there’s so much I don’t understand.”
“Then use the Codex. It’s not too late…and you know where to find it.”
Hildigrim vanished. Turold waited for a moment, half expecting him to return, or for someone else to emerge from the mirror. But its surface, like that of the water, was blank and still.
“Turold?” Astrid said, blinking into awareness.
“Careful, don’t move too quickly,” he said, easing her to the side of the pool. “Don’t worry, we’re safe.”
She looked around, her eyes straining, trying to pick up the table scraps of recent events. Once she saw Lord Gramsteed she started up and scrambled out of the pool.
“Great gods…have we killed him?” she asked, nudging him with a foot.
“Not me—Hildigrim,” he said, climbing out. “And no, he’s not dead. Is he?”
She knelt down to his inspect his pulse.
“No, he lives. But he seems quite weak…something really trounced him.”
“Then the tables are turned,” he muttered. “He left me for dead once and didn’t look back.”
“All the same, we have to help him. Yes, even him.”
Turold groaned, but knew she was right. Imagine saving the man who would clap you in chains and sign your death warrant! Together they cast a rejuvenation spell and healed his wounds, repaired his shattered bones. Then they each took up one of his arms and dragged him to the door.
“I remember being in the pool…and seeing a face. But nothing after,” she said.
“There wasn’t much else. I saw a face, too…then the portal cracked.”
“So they didn’t open? The god…didn’t return?” she asked, cautiously surveying the room.
“Not this time. But don’t ask me how or why,” he said, deflated. “Though we should probably come up with a story, something plausible. Our interrogation could last for days if we tell them this.”
Lord Gramsteed coughed, his arms flailing out, smacking Turold in the throat. They gently restrained him, fearing he would harm himself as much as Turold (ugh–right in his uvula!). Gradually, he opened his eyes and squinted at the pair of them, at first with surprise, then with bated relief.
“Lord Gramsteed?” Turold said, hovering over him.
“Turold? Is the portal—”
“Closed. You stopped him.”
“I did? Strange…I have no memory at all,” he said, weakly. “And you—you’re not hurt? You’re well?”
“Nothing to complain of this time,” he said, smirking. “Easier to survive a bath than a fire.”
“Ah, still sore about that?” he said, with a chuckle. “What did you expect? I thought you were him…your Familiar. I had just left you in the palace, knew you couldn’t be in two places at once. Such spells are illegal, Turold.”
“Indeed they are, somewhat akin to sending a horde of ants and locusts across town to assassinate the Astrologer Royal.”
“It seems we’ve both abused our power,” he said, shakily sitting up. “But I underestimated you. I knew you could lead me to the Codex, maybe even to Hildigrim himself; but I never expected you to be the last one standing. You’ve made a formidable Astrologer Royal.”
“Too bad he can’t keep it,” Astrid said, assisting him. “I’m sure you already have someone else in mind.”
“It’s not a question of what I want, but after Sonya Vasilyevna’s disgrace, and all this business with the portals…he’s been implicated, you both have,” he said, shaking his head. “You’ll be asked to step down, stand trial. If things go sour…well, I can still pull a few strings. I’m sure we can avoid a lengthy prison sentence.”
“Lengthy?” she said, with a cough.
“You’ll do a few years, quietly, in an out-of-the-way establishment. Perhaps in Tormentil? It would satisfy some of the more conservative magicians, who’ll be out for blood.”
“You’re sending us to prison?” Turold said, in disbelief. “After all you’ve done? After we saved your life?”
“And what about you? You kept secrets! You worked with my rivals! You stole the Codex!” he shouted, leaping up.
But he immediately got light-headed, and almost lost his footing; Astrid and Turold each took an arm and eased him down. He thanked them, and more tepidly resumed his rant.
“Turold, your crimes alone warrant execution, assuming even the half of them came to light. And you, girl: all your Mistress’ acolytes implicated you, and they signed detailed confessions. Ten years, being lenient; twenty if they don’t find you attractive.”
“Attractive? What does that have to do with my innocence?”
“Everything—we’re talking about the Council. They don’t even allow women to join their ranks. They do enjoy mistresses, however, so…”
“Disgusting,” she said.
“We live in the real world, and there are consequences for getting your hands dirty,” he shrugged. “But I’m not made of stone. I’m willing to help you out. The prison’s in a private estate, well-cared for, and you’ll have all the books and materials you need, within reason.”
“In other words, you don’t want us to talk,” Turold hinted.
“Exactly, I want you far away from the Council and anyone else who asks. I have ways of cleaning this up, but I can’t have any loose ends. In a few years, perhaps, you can sneak back, provided people have forgotten about Sir Otrygg and the Codex.”
“We can do our time…together?” Astrid asked, taking Turold’s hand.
“Naturally…unless you would prefer separate arrangements?” he said, with a grin.
“I guess I’m free for the next few years, if you are,” she said, coyly. “I’ve always wanted to learn from an apprentice of Hildigrim Blackbeard.”
“And you—a protégé of Sonya Vasileyevna! That’s nothing to sneeze at. Besides, I hear Tormentil is beautiful this time of year.”
“Delightful; not a tree in sight,” she agreed.
“Then we won’t notice the droughts. I hear they’re vicious and prolonged.”
“And they speak a dialect not even barbarians can understand,” she said, laughing. “We’ll have no one to talk to.”
“And the food—if you can call it such. I hear you lose ten pounds the first month. Incessant diarrhea.”
“How charming!”
“Come now, it’s not all that bad—your stomach gets used to it,” Lord Gramsteed interrupted. “Now then, what do you say? Can I count on your discretion?”
With a wink and a nod, they agreed. Lord Gramsteed breathed a sigh of relief. If put to a vote in the Council chambers, they wouldn’t walk away with their lives. And for all his misgivings with Hildigrim and Sonya Vasileyevna, that might keep him awake at night.
“But first…can I see her? Pay my respects?” Astrid asked.
“Ah yes, of course…I have her sequestered in a private room. We’ll go there at once.”
They helped him up again and hobbled slowly to the door.
“So do we just…walk out?” Turold asked. “I thought it was death for men to enter? Or for women to leave?”
“Oh, I bribed the guards—ten fobs each,” he said, with a careless wave. “Though I should have considered dressing up as you did. It suits you.”
