Tribute by Ellen Renner Page A

remains.’
    Twiss hugs herself, her face crumpling over and over while she struggles not to cry. ‘I don’t believe you! I’d know if he was dead. I’d feel it  …  I’d  … ’
    I look away. I can’t bear the naked agony on the girl’s face.
    â€˜What did they do to him?’ The thief’s voice is thick and slow with shock.
    â€˜I can’t tell you that.’ I swallow, shudder. ‘He’s dead. He’s not suffering now. You’ve done all you can for your friend. Now guide me to sanctuary.’
    â€˜No!’ Twiss collapses onto her knees. She begins to sob uncontrollably, rocking back and forth. Her pain fills the air, sharp and fierce.
    I lean forward and put my hand on her shoulder.
    Twiss jerks away. She lurches to her feet and stands glowering at me, hiccuping with fury between sobs. ‘You’re a mage, like the rest of them. You deserve to die! I ain’t taking you anywhere.’
    There’s so little time. I have to escape and for that I need Twiss. But I won’t use mind-control. I’d rather die. I have to convince her.
    â€˜You want revenge. So do I. Yes, I’m a mage. That makes me the most powerful weapon you have. Can you afford to throw me away? What would your friend Bruin do?’
    We stare at each other. My shivering eases, but as shock recedes a cold, deep fear seeps into my bones. I need to be out of here. Now.
    Twiss sniffs, swipes at her nose. She frowns mutinously, then shrugs. ‘Come on, then. But hurry!’
    I jump out of bed and begin to rifle through my wardrobe, pulling out last year’s robes, ones no one is likely to remember when they search my clothes. I dress myself quickly, my mind on the escape plan I worked out months ago. Last of all, I take the wallet holding Swift’s letter from under my pillow, slip the leather necklet over my head.
    â€˜Quickly!’ urges Twiss. ‘Come now.’
    â€˜No.’ I shake my head. ‘I have to do a little magic.’ I watch the girl’s eyes widen in disbelief. ‘It’s necessary. The Archmage won’t stop looking for me, so we must convince him that I’m dead. I’ve made preparations. A few minutes, only.’
    The thief’s hiss of anxiety loud in my ears, I set about what I have long practised. I lay my nightclothes upon my mattress and, reaching up, pluck a slender, very sharp knife from the air. I hid it in a fold in the air months before, but I don’t have time to explain to Twiss and she allows a cry of amazement past her lips.
    Of course she’s shocked: it’s unheard of for a mage to possess a knife. Why would we need one, when we could do the work of a knife with our minds?
    â€˜This is why.’ I answer Twiss’s unspoken question as I saw off a small hunk of my hair and place it on my pillow. It’s joined by a fingernail paring. And then  …  I take a deep breath, hold it, and press the point of the knife into the skin of my forearm. It hurts, and I’m surprised how difficult it is to force myself to keep pushing until bright red blood wells up and splashes onto the white sheet. When there’s enough, I pull the knife out and keep it clenched in my fist as I quickly knit my flesh and skin back together. A trail of blood would give away my trick. I could have extracted the blood painlessly with magic, but I need bloodstains on the knife. And the pain is a promise.
    I kneel and hold out the knife towards the hidden shrine where a small pendulum clock ticks. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Twiss shrink away, making the sign of warding.
    Lord Time, accept my blood as a willing sacrifice, and grant me success. Confound my enemies.
I concentrate on the ticking of the invisible clock, visualising the swing of the tiny pendulum. Steadied by its rhythm, I stand and begin. I’ve never attempted anything so complicated. This is adept’s magic. I