Outcast, p.10
Outcast, page 10
part #1 of The Grey Gates Series
And being in the hands of someone cutting into his flesh with a knife was most likely more stress than the man had ever had in his life.
“Has he been identified?” Max asked.
“Not yet. The detective is taking his photograph to the Sorcerer’s Mistress tonight,” Audhilde said, her nose wrinkling. “Such a ridiculous name for a tavern. She has taken a photograph of the other man, too. We will have answers by tomorrow.”
Audhilde sounded quite confident of that. Max had only been into the bar once, which had been more than enough, and couldn’t imagine any of the patrons willingly talking to a detective. Or, at least, not most detectives.
“Which detective?” Max asked.
“Didn’t I say? Ruutti Passila. If there are any answers to be had, she will get them.”
“She will,” Max agreed. If Ruutti asked, then almost all the wannabe magicians in the bar would confess their entire life history to her. And probably ply the woman with over-priced drinks at the same time, too. “So, no name yet. Is there anything else of note about this man?”
“He was a magic user,” Audhilde said, her nose wrinkling slightly. “Very low-level, even for patrons of the Sorcerer’s Mistress.”
“Oh? How can you tell?” Max asked, curious.
“There’s a certain quality to a magician’s blood. This one had the faintest trace of it. The other one had more,” Audhilde said. Max tried not to think about how a vampire would know about the quality of a magician’s blood, but her mind supplied the details anyway. It was difficult to imagine the warm, professional woman in front of her drinking blood, but she must do in order to survive. “There’s nothing else of interest to this man,” Audhilde said, pulling the sheet back over the body and moving to the next table. “This one has a little more to tell us.”
Audhilde peeled the sheet back from the second body and Max recognised the victim she had seen earlier in the day. Like the first, he had been cleaned, the wounds now sterile, gaping holes in his flesh. There was a clearer pattern to the cuts. Max moved around the table to get a better look at them. It looked like a very primitive form of spellwork, and one she was not familiar with.
“His heart kept beating until it ran out of blood,” Audhilde said. “So technically, his cause of death is similar to the first, which is heart failure.”
“But it’s not the same at all in practice, is it?” Max said softly, measuring the extent of the wounds. The man had cuts along the inside of his arms as well. Every one of them would have hurt. And he had lived through them all.
“No, it’s not,” the medical examiner agreed. “The killer was more confident with this one. He had sharpened his blade, too. The cuts are narrower, and shallower. Just enough to break the skin and draw the blood the killer needed,” Audhilde said. There might be a faint trace of admiration in her words. Max chose to ignore that, focusing on what she was saying.
“But there’s not a huge difference between the first and second,” Max said. “Does that suggest that the killer had been practising beforehand?”
“I would say yes. But not on humans. We have not seen any other bodies with these sorts of markings. I have asked my colleagues,” Audhilde said.
Max nodded, absorbing that information. “You said this one was also a magic user?”
“Yes. There was a stronger trace in his blood. Still quite mild,” Audhilde said, sounding disappointed. “Not enough on its own to cause the damage to the road surface.”
Max stayed where she was, eyes on the body, considering the information. “So, the killer was making specific cuts on this victim, then using his blood to paint the rest of the ritual on the road surface,” she said slowly, piecing it together. “And the combination of the victim’s blood and the ritual were enough to shatter the road?”
“That is what it looks like,” Audhilde agreed. She was standing on the other side of the body, unusually serious. “And I would also guess that the ritual was not complete. Or defective somehow. I don’t know of any rituals where the objective is to damage the ground.”
Max shivered, the cold of the room seeping through her clothes. A ritual that had not been completed but had still been powerful enough to break the layers of hardened road surface. She thought about the possibilities that Lord Kolbyr had mentioned, none of them good. To get through the layers of the daylight world and into the world below would require a significant amount of power. Max set her jaw. The dark lord was not due to make another attempt at breaking free from the underworld for nearly another hundred years. And she had hoped to be far, far away when the Portents appeared again to herald the next attempt by Arkus to open the Gates and gain his entrance to the daylight world.
Chapter ten
A voice murmured in the darkness, meant for her ears only, telling stories of pain and fire. Miscellandreax lay awake, huddled under the thin sheet and ancient wool blanket, pressing her fist into her mouth to hold in her whimper. The voice liked it when she cried, or whimpered. But if she made any sound, she might wake the others around her. The other inhabitants of the dormitory. No one else could hear the voice. She’d asked them, more than once. And no one believed her that someone could get into the room after dark and speak to her, keeping her awake for hours at a time.
She was heavy-eyed and thick-headed when she was summoned from the classroom later that day. Trying not to listen to the night-time voice, she had forgotten what day it was. Her birthday, or so she had been told. And that meant a visit from him. A man dressed in black, who would ask boring questions about her lessons, how her schooling was progressing, and what she had learned since he had last visited. She didn’t want to go and see him, but the teachers told her she should be grateful that someone was taking an interest in her welfare. They clearly had hopes that the man might offer her employment when she was old enough, so that she didn’t need to be a burden on the orphanage any longer.
With the murmurs of the night voice in her ears, she had gone into the school office to find him there, as remote as ever. He never seemed pleased to be there, or to see her, so she had never been able to understand why he bothered to visit. One of the other orphans had speculated that he might be a relative. Perhaps even her father. She had asked him outright, once, if he was related to her. He had denied it, with a curl of his lip that suggested he was horrified at the thought. She had understood that expression well, even then.
This morning, as he turned to her, she saw something shift under his skin. Another face peered out and the night voice whispered to her. Better run, little girl. I will enjoy chasing you.
Max woke with a gasp, coated in sweat, heavy weights on either side of her. Cas and Pol. They had her pinned under the blankets, keeping her still. The nightmare faded. It hadn’t been the worst she’d had. Very little of it was an imaginary product of her sleeping mind. Most of it - up until the very last part - had been memories stitched together. She drew a breath in, her heart slowing down and reminded herself that the memories couldn’t hurt her.
The dogs eased back, letting her sit up. She scrubbed her hands across her face, trying to erase the memory of that quiet voice and the disdain on her visitors’ face. After that one time, when she had asked Kitris if he was a relative and seen the depth of his disgust at the idea, she had never asked him again why he took such a close interest in her. Why the head of the Order had taken such a close interest in a girl in an orphanage with no particular skill in magic. She had not been sure she wanted the answer. Not then, and not now. When he had informed her that it was her duty to join the Order and then to oppose Arkus, she had believed him. Had trusted him.
It took a long, hot shower to shake off the nightmare and memories. By the time she was dressed, she was back in the here and now, memories pushed to the back of her mind where they lurked, ready to leap out again in any moment of weakness. But she had plenty of other things to distract her.
There had been no word from Ruutti overnight, or in the early morning. Which probably meant that she had decided she could solve the murders on her own without Max’s help, Max thought sourly. The detective loved being the centre of attention.
It was frustrating, but if it was one human killing another then it was outside the Marshals’ jurisdiction. And she had plenty of other work to be getting on with. Reports to write, for one thing. She would almost rather be back at the mortuary among the dead, but Cas and Pol would be happy to visit with Leonda while Max wrote up her reports. And focusing on something like that would keep her mind away from her past. She hoped.
She was most of the way to the Marshals’ offices when the phone rang. It was Therese.
“You’ve been assigned to work on the wards today,” the woman said, with no preamble.
“What?” Max asked, taking her foot off the accelerator, sure she had misheard.
“The Wild barrier where the breach happened,” Therese said, speaking very slowly, as if Max was a small child. “You know where that is?”
Max drew a breath. Every Marshal knew where the breach had happened. It still didn’t explain her assignment. “Yes, but-”
“They are expecting you now,” Therese said, and hung up.
Leaving Max staring at the blank phone screen, wondering if she had imagined the whole thing. Working on the wards was part of a Marshal’s duty, as the wards kept the worst of the Wild out of the city and stopped curious fools from the city from wandering into the Wild without permission. There was normally a strict rotation of Marshals, and Max wasn’t due to take her shift until the following month. With a breach of the barrier, it made sense for Marshals to be pulled off their regular duties more often to work on the repairs. But she was not the best choice for it. She dialled the office.
“What part didn’t you understand?” Therese asked.
“Why am I being assigned to this now?” Max asked, not bothering to hide her impatience. The woman was impossible to deal with.
“You’re the only available Marshal and it needs done.”
“I don’t believe that,” Max said, the words out before she could check them.
“What part?” Therese asked. The woman was unbelievably rude, but didn’t bat an eyelid when people were rude back to her.
“That I am the only available Marshal,” Max bit out.
“Oh. Well.” For the first time that Max could remember, Therese sounded uncertain. “That’s what I’ve been told.”
Max narrowed her eyes at the phone, even though the dispatcher could not see her expression. “Did Faddei give the order?” she asked. As the head of the Marshals’ service, Faddei was the only person who could give Max, or indeed any Marshal, a direct order and expect it to be obeyed.
“Yes,” Therese said, with no hesitation.
Max leant back against the headrest and blew out a breath. She did not like Therese, and was sure the feeling was mutual, but the woman had never lied. Max could argue. She could contest it. She had argued about her orders before. More than once. But she had also learned when to pick her battles. And this one was not worth fighting. Even if it was going to leave her with another magic hangover.
Faddei knew his people well, and knew that she was one of the least powerful Marshals at his disposal. If he needed her to take an extra shift helping to work on the wards, then that meant he considered it necessary.
“Alright. I’ll make my way there. But I don’t expect to be called back to it until my assigned slot next month.”
“Understood,” Therese said, and hung up again.
Leaving Max to turn the pick-up around and head out of the city, trying to soothe her temper with the knowledge that Cas and Pol would love running around outside the Wild almost as much as they would have liked spending time with Leonda.
The city’s road just ended abruptly, disappearing into the barest suggestion of a rough road that led out through tangled shrubs and small, stunted trees towards the looming mass of primordial forest that formed this part of the Wild.
To anyone with no magic sensitivity, it just looked like a stretch of untamed land full of vibrant plant life. It was tangled and disorganised and beautiful. Among the endless shades of green and different shaped leaves from the slender stalks of grasses to the wide, fat tree leaves swaying in the breeze, there were vivid red stalks and great, frothy white blooms bigger than Max’s head that added a sweet scent to the air for anyone lucky enough to get close. It was a far cry from the more muted colours and sharp angles of the city, with its pavements and roadways and buildings. There were green spaces in the city, but they were carefully tended and nothing approached the untamed tangle of the Wild.
Even with magic sensitivity, Max could appreciate the beauty. The Wild was certainly far more pleasant to look at than the square concrete boxes that passed for houses in the poorer parts of the city. Or even the Marshals’ own headquarters.
There was a buzz against her skin out here, away from the city’s own protections. Magic slid along her fingers and arms, lifted her hair, tugging her forward. There was power in the air. So much power. Just at the end of her fingers.
She gripped the steering wheel with far more force than was needed, resisting the temptation. It got easier with practice. And she had seen what happened to people who gave themselves over to the lure of the Wild. Almost unimaginable amounts of power, yes, but also insanity. And while she might be frustrated with her own limitations in magic, she wasn’t ready to exchange that for losing her mind.
There was what might be described as a clearing not that far ahead of her, filled with vehicles. Another battered-looking truck a bit like her own, and a pair of sleek vehicles that she did not recognise, but which hummed against her heightened senses with defensive warding.
She turned her pick-up to face back to the city and parked, letting Cas and Pol out. The dogs ran into the undergrowth with happy, huge bounds.
Leaving Max to make her way to the group of people on the other side of the vehicles. Another Marshal, Zoya Lipka, dressed in a similar fashion to Max with a leather jacket and dark, close-fitting trousers. Zoya raised a hand in greeting. There were two youngsters next to her that looked to be in their late teens, wearing plain long-sleeved tops and loose-fitting dark trousers, the dark colours highlighting their pale faces. They looked like they were going to be sick. A few paces away was a quartet of armed people with body armour over their casual clothing. Max checked in her stride as she realised that one of the armed people was Bryce.
Three times in a week. That was some awful bad luck, Max thought, almost turning tail and heading back to the city. But she had been assigned here, and keeping the wards active and intact was an important job, even if she didn’t like it.
“There you are,” one of the youngsters said, lifting his chin. “You are late. Another Marshal, I presume?”
“Marshal Ortis, yes,” Max answered, brows lifting. “And you are?”
“Not important,” the youngster said, turning away from her. “Come on. We haven’t got all day.”
“A moment,” Max said, not moving from her spot. Even when she had been part of the Order, she had never taken her instructions from youngsters like this.
Zoya had folded her arms across her middle, not moving, either. The other Marshal was a muscular, compact woman with warm-toned brown skin and waist-length hair that went through remarkable transformations from time to time. Her hair was currently dyed a colour somewhere between blonde and strawberry, complementing her skin tone, and had been woven into long, narrow braids, held back from her face by a simple leather tie.
The youngster turned towards Max, power sliding under his skin. He was almost the same height as her, but hadn’t filled out to his frame yet. He had the sort of pale skin that would never tan, and black hair swept back from an unremarkable face.
“You are here to assist us,” the youngster said.
Max put her hands in her pockets, standing with her feet braced slightly apart. “I am a Marshal of the city. The maintenance of the wards is part of the Marshal’s job. I don’t answer to you. I am certainly not here to assist you. Whoever you are.”
“I am Alexey T’Or Radrean,” the youngster said, staring back at her with open hatred. “And you will obey me.”
An apprentice. The Lady help them and save them from over-confident youngsters, Max thought. Apart from her own experience, she had yet to meet an apprentice who didn’t think they were more capable than they actually were.
Then the name caught up with her. Radrean. She remembered him. All too well. The always-popular boy who had thought it would be funny to pick on the awkward orphan girl. First, he had made her his friend, had made her believe he had cared. And then he had taken it all away. The humiliation he had orchestrated for her still stung all these years later. And now apparently he was teaching his own apprentices. It was as chilling a thought as facing a full-grown Harridan.
“And where is your apprentice master?” she asked, hoping it sounded like a reasonable, casual question and didn’t betray her real concern, that she might have to face her former tormentor. Or, rather, one of her former bullies.
“Not your concern,” Alexey said, still glaring at her. He glanced across at the armed men. “Are you going to let her treat me like this?” he asked.
“We’re here to keep you safe,” Bryce answered, in clipped tones that suggested he had had a little too much of Alexey already. And the day was still young. “The Marshal hasn’t threatened you or your sister in any way.”
Max tried to keep her expression neutral as Alexey’s face turned into a scowl. Clearly he had believed that he and his sister were in charge, not the warriors. If they had been full-fledged Guardians, he would have been right, as warriors took their orders from Guardians. But warriors did not take their orders from apprentices. The warriors would keep the apprentices safe while they carried out their assignment, but weren’t required to obey them. It seemed that Alexey had not worked out that distinction. Then again, he had Radrean for an apprentice master, so it was no wonder he was arrogant.
