I squinted against the sun glare. Indeed, the man at the top was not shy of risk. He spent his days fighting other people’s battles. Placidio.
My partner’s broad, powerful shoulders twisted with strength and fury as he dug, tossing great shovel loads to the side. Those below him waited until the rocks and heavy debris had settled, then raked the dirt aside and hauled it out of the way.
No one else had dared climb so high, which told me Neri wasn’t here. He’d never let his swordmaster leave him behind. Spirits, where was he?
Not for the first time, I wished I shared Teo’s ability to speak in the mind. I needed to warn Placidio that il Padroné was here. Sandro had seen the swordmaster’s face on one of our ventures, and glimpsed him masked in the other. He must never learn the identities of my Chimera partners. Il Padroné’s other self—the Shadow Lord—might someday realize his sorcerer agents posed too great a risk to Cantagna’s future.
Climbing up to Placidio could draw the very attention I wished to avoid. I took a moment to tie my woven belt around my forehead, which left my tunic a shapeless bag and me less recognizable, I hoped. When I lifted my end of the litter, Benedetto looked at me curiously.
“Is that who I think it is?” I said, nodding at il Padroné.
“No doubt,” he said.
“Saw him in a processional once. Who’d imagine he’d be down here digging?”
Benedetto blotted his brow with a dirty rag. “This is his coliseum.”
That was true. Il Padroné had given the land to the city and persuaded the Sestorale to build the coliseum, thereby attracting builders and artists from all over the Costa Drago and creating respectable work for thousands of Cantagnans. He believed it would become a wonder of the world, benefiting the city for generations. Yet the project was not without its dark side, even before this day. To make way for it, an entire district had to be razed. Three of my brothers had died in riots that had raged for a month. Sandro had shown me the model of the coliseum and told me of his vision, but he’d never mentioned the riots.
Benedetto and I hurried back to the area where the dead awaited tending. There were more dead than wounded so far.
Cheers broke out when two men were dragged from a section of rubble, bleeding and broken, but alive. The grim, grunting silence of effort quickly recaptured the crowd as, one after another, eight more were found crushed by one of the fallen piers. Identifying them would be difficult.
After this flurry of hope and despair, I glanced up at Placidio. No one had joined him, but a stocky, balding man was climbing the mound with a bundle of rope in his arms and a large pack strapped to his back. Our partner Dumond, the metalsmith. Surely …
My gaze scoured the crowd. Standing in the mill of tired, dirty people, not fifteen paces from me, was Neri.
Relief flooded my tired limbs. My hand flew to my mouth to prevent the release of fear in a torrent of weeping.
A twitch of his head in the direction of the remaining piers, a widening of his eyes to make sure I understood, and he turned away, striding purposefully toward the end of the arena.
He wanted to talk to me in private. Before following him, I looked around for my nosy companion. The old man knelt beside our next charge—a terribly mangled young man. Benedetto’s fists lay on his knees and his shoulders shook.
“You should rest a moment,” I said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll fetch you a cup.”
“How can I?” he said, his voice quavering. “Got to keep at it. Laid pipe with this fellow.”
I understood. Though the brutal sun had slid from its zenith, there was no relief from the sultry stillness or the rising miasma of death. “Come. He’ll be all right to wait a little longer.”
With my hand under his elbow, Benedetto rose to shaky legs. He didn’t protest as I guided him to a man who’d set up an ale cask and was sharing it out to all comers. Blessing the generous taverner, I accepted one of his cups, took one swallow for myself, and then shoved it into Benedetto’s hands. “Sit here and rest, my friend. I’ll be back.”
Neri waited behind one of the great stone piers that was yet standing. A coil of rope hung from his shoulder. I did my best not to bowl him over with my embrace. “By the Night Eternal, I was so worried, but I couldn’t—”
“You all right, sister witch?” He glanced at my trembling hands.
I tightened my fists to still them. “Bruised a bit. You were gone to fetch Dumond.”
“Aye. He brought the painted trapdoor we’ve been using to test his magic. Placidio heard there’s a shed buried right below where he’s working, and he figures Dumond might be able to open a way to it before the shed collapses. Dumond says that with the three of us joining our magic, maybe he could open a way deep enough, even though it’s solid earth. Four will be better.”
Certain it was worth a try. But magic … here amidst all these people, including the Shadow Lord? The quake had already inflamed the terrors of Dragonis and his sorcerer descendants, so magic sniffers would be everywhere through the city.
“We’ll have to be fast,” I said. “In and out before anyone climbs up to question what we’re doing.”
Neri flashed his ever-ready grin. “One of us might have to do some distracting. No question you’re the best at that.”
I couldn’t imagine what I might do.
“Go around behind that next pillar,” said Neri, pointing through the dusty sunlight. “It’s a steeper path, but most of the way is out of sight.”
The first time Placidio had chased me up the steeps of the Boar’s Teeth with his sword, yelling at me to “get that blade up” and “block” and “defend” and “don’t think I won’t draw blood” to teach me that combat was ugly and scary and had nothing in common with tidy dance steps, had been terrifying. Climbing that giant debris pile was worse. The dirt was not half so solid as it looked. My every step caused the surface to shift. Holes yawned beside rocks and timbers, ready to trap a foot or collapse and start the whole mess sliding again, rolling you down the hill to bury you.
I wiped sweat from my brow and pressed between my eyes where my skull still throbbed. A follow-on earthquake, even a mild one, did not bear thinking about.
But my partners and I had learned that rather than just wielding our individual talents with the power pooled inside ourselves, we could open those reservoirs and share our magic with each other. Doing so enabled the one working the magic to stretch far beyond his or her usual limits. We had supported Dumond’s portal magic in a few trials, but in no such test as this before us—shifting earth, so very deep, and carefully, so as not to crush any who might be cowering below.
Magical practice sessions were necessarily limited. Magic sniffers could detect the presence of active or residual magic and even follow the tracks of one who’d worked it. But today … if we could find someone alive, certain, the risk was worthwhile.
Placidio gave me his enveloping hand as I crawled over the steepest part of the slide and onto a flatter area. “’Tis gladsome to see you arrive here unbroken, lady scribe,” he said. “Neri and I were in the open when Dragonis flapped his tail.”
Dirt caked his face and beard, masking the cheekbone-to-chin dueling scar and the sun creases around his eyes. His good-humored grin that could buoy the spirits of the dead, rare in the best of times, was nowhere in evidence today.