by Hylton, PT
Abbey nudged Nori with her foot, and he groaned and rolled onto his back. His eyes were dazed as he stared up into the sky.
“Nah, he’s down. No need to kill him. We’re guests in this weird town. Let’s not kill the villagers unless we have to.”
Clemens stepped up beside them. “I kinda side with Olaf on this one, boss. If we don’t kill this guy, he might run to the king when he recovers. Why risk it?”
Abbey rolled her eyes. “Enough with the boss stuff, and no, we’re not killing him. Lack of courtesy aside, the village would pay a hefty price if the king found out his snitch was murdered. Now help me carry him back. I’m sure there’s somewhere we can dump him.”
She grabbed his legs and Olaf, after letting out a sigh that made it clear he still didn’t agree with this approach, took his shoulders.
As they carried Nori back into town, Abbey noticed Rafn watching. The big man waved Fannar over.
A few of the women showed Abbey and Olaf to Nori’s home, where they took him inside and dropped him on his bed.
Olaf wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “I know your way is logical and all, Abbey, but it sure would have been easier to kill him.”
When they exited the house, they found Fannar waiting for them, a wide smile on his face.
“What are you so happy about?” Abbey asked.
“They loved what you did,” Fannar told her. “That you stopped him from running to the king but didn’t kill him.”
“Wait, does ‘they’ mean the villagers? They were watching?”
Fannar chuckled. “Every one of them with a view of the action, yeah. And you better believe the whole town will know in an hour. It’s not official until everyone agrees, but Rafn says you’re in.”
It took Abbey a minute; then she got it. “They’re going to let us see the secret thing?”
Fannar nodded. “Not a thing, though. A who.”
Chapter Twelve
Syd realized she was being followed halfway between the city council building and The Foggy Day.
She’d spent the day in the least interesting way possible: negotiating logistics. Algon was going to dispatch five hundred able-bodied sailors to the Holdgate fleet, provided Benjamin agreed to teach at their new magic Academy. Holdgate had to actually get the sailors to the ships; it wasn’t like they could just pile all those people onto The Foggy Day and haul them up north. Likewise, they couldn’t send a half-dozen empty ships to Algon, since the ships would need a crew to pilot them south.
Besides the logistics of getting the sailors to the ships, there was also the matter of recruitment. Algon didn’t have five hundred men and women just standing around waiting for work. It would take time to find and hire enough people.
After nearly a day of conversation, they’d worked out the broad strokes. Algon would have one year to fulfill their end of the agreement, and they’d be required to provide at least one-hundred-twenty-five sailors per season. Holdgate would send four ships with skeleton crews each season to pick up the recruits.
Now that the negotiations were over and Syd was back in the sunlight, she silently cursed Captain Roy for nominating her to lead a ship. She could run a crew, strategize a battle plan, or pilot a ship into a raging storm. All that stuff was second nature. But meetings? She’d rather fight the battle of Holdgate again.
She sighed. Six hours of meetings just to come up with a plan she could have written up in fifteen minutes by herself. She was convinced some people just liked to listen to themselves talk.
Jarvi, on the other hand, seemed positively chipper. He’d led the negotiations from the Holdgate side, and even Syd had to admit he’d done a great job. He seemed to know when to push, and when not to. He had a way of holding his ground on the points that really mattered, while making himself look generous when he agreed to the most minor requests from the other side.
“I’m almost sorry we were so efficient,” Jarvi said. “If we would have been a little stingier in meeting some of their demands, I bet we could have gotten fifty additional sailors out of them.”
Syd shook her head in disbelief. He actually wanted to hold more negotiations?
That was when she saw the man watching them. It took her another ten minutes and few unnecessary turns to confirm he was following them. Jarvi was oblivious to the whole situation. He happily walked beside her, recounting the events of the day’s meeting as if it had been a thrilling battle.
“I must say, I was impressed with Otto’s attempt to have us pay an extra tax on the ships picking up the sailors.” Jarvi chuckled. “It was a bold move. I’m not sure I would have had the stones to suggest that.”
Syd put a hand on Jarvi’s back. “Don’t turn around, but we’re being followed.”
“Ah.” To Jarvi’s credit, he seemed completely unsurprised by the news. “Do they know you’ve noticed?”
“I don’t think so, but they’re about to find out.” Syd took a sharp right, and stopped, waiting just around the corner.
When their stalker rounded the turn, Syd grabbed him and slammed him up against a wall. “Who are you? Why are you following us?”
The man’s piercing blue eyes were wide with surprise and terror. “My name’s Max. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
It was clear from the man’s accent that he was Arcadian. Syd put a hand on the hilt of one of her swords. “Trust me, we’re not the ones who should be afraid in this situation.”
Max’s eyes flickered to the twin swords on her back. “Of course. What I meant to say was, I’m sorry I was following you. I should have approached you straight away. I saw you leaving the city council building and I wondered where you were going. I need to have a conversation with you. It involves your blacksmith friend.”
Ten minutes later they were aboard The Foggy Day, gathered in the captain’s quarters. Benjamin and Syd sat at the small table, and Jarvi hovered behind them. Max stood across from them.
“First,” Max stated, “I need to apologize for the men who attacked you the other night.”
Benjamin raised an eyebrow. “You sent those assassins after me?”
Max held up a hand. “No. I was against that move, but some in my organization hired the assassins, yes.”
“And what organization is that?” Syd asked.
Max thought a moment before answering. “We don’t have a name. We’re Arcadian nobles looking to help other Arcadian nobles. Life isn’t easy for those who’ve managed to make it here.”
Syd frowned. “I thought Algon had a giant wet crush on all things Arcadian.”
The Arcadian man chuckled. “Our culture. Our style of dress. But not our people. To hear them tell it, they believe our time has passed. That it’s time for Algon to take over as the epicenter of riches and magic. Like that’ll ever happen! They had plenty of questions for us when we first arrived, but now that we’ve answered them and also refused to teach them magic, they’d rather see us gone.”
Benjamin scowled at the man. “That doesn’t explain why you attacked us.”
“Again, my apologies about that. Allow me to explain,” Max said. “In order to get from Arcadia to Algon, one must cross the Frozen North, as we call it, then sail the Cresting Sea.”
“We’re aware of the geography,” Syd snapped. “Tell us why you tried to kill my friend.”
If Max was perturbed by her tone, it didn’t show. “Algon has gone to great lengths to keep Arcadian nobles from making that journey safely. They’ve even hired Storm Callers to cause storms to sink our ships. We knew that Benjamin was an Arcadian, and we assumed you’d come to help them attack us, but then you saved the ship carrying the most recent group of Arcadians and we changed our minds.”
Syd and Benjamin exchanged a worried glance.
The Storm Captain turned back to Max. “I’m sorry, you’ve got that wrong. They can’t have hired Storm Callers. Storm Callers work on the stormships from Holdgate, and they’re not bounty hunters.”
“You misu
nderstand,” Max corrected. “These Storm Callers aren’t from Holdgate. These are the other ones.”
“What other ones?” Benjamin growled.
Max cocked his head, surprised at their ignorance. “The ones trained at the stormcalling school in Barskall.”
* * *
Rafn led Abbey, Dustin, and Fannar to a small hut near the edge of the village. Abbey had ordered Olaf and Clemens to stay behind, figuring they were the most likely to say something dumb that would offend the person Rafn was taking them to meet. To Abbey’s surprise, they hadn’t objected.
When they reached the door of the hut, Rafn stopped and turned to Abbey and Dustin. “I need you to understand that we’re taking a great risk by introducing you to him. Only a few dozen of the most trusted people in the village have spoken with him. Some, like Nori, don’t even know he’s here.”
Something about this whole situation felt off to Abbey. “So Fannar, traitor to the royal army, can walk around the village openly and no one but Nori bats an eye, but this guy in the hut is too big a secret for people to know about?”
Fannar looked her dead in the eye. “If the king found out I was here, he’d send some of his best men and they’d string me up. Might even string up a few others in town as a warning to other villages about harboring deserters. But this man in the hut? This is something different.”
Rafn nodded his agreement. “If the king knew about this, he’d burn the village to the ground and salt the earth. Anyone who’d even heard of this guy would be dead.”
“Boy, you really know how to raise a girl’s expectations,” Abbey declared with a smirk. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with us. Can we go in now?”
“Good enough for me,” Rafn confirmed, and he gave Abbey a wink that made her momentarily forget they were about to learn the King of Barskall’s secret.
Fannar rolled his eyes and knocked on the door.
For a moment, there was no response, but just as Fannar was about to knock again, a low, rumbly voice from inside the house called, “Who’s there?”
“It’s Fannar. And some friends.”
Another long pause. “Come in, then.”
Fannar pushed open the door and stepped inside.
“Geez,” Dustin whispered to Abbey. “You’re telling me the king’s big secret doesn’t bolt his door?”
Abbey elbowed him. “Shut up.”
They followed Fannar into the musty hut. The windows were covered with animal skin, admitting only a few slivers of sunlight around the edges. A single candle provided the only real light. An overweight, balding man sat hunched in a chair next to the table.
“Petur, I’d like you to meet some friends of mine,” Fannar said. “These two are Abbey and Dustin. They’re from Holdgate.”
The big man let out a thoughtful, “Hrmmm.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Petur.” Abbey gave the man a little bow, then immediately felt stupid.
“Dustin is a Storm Caller,” Rafn offered.
Petur sat up a bit straighter, and his chair groaned. “Is that so? Where’s your staff?”
“I left it back at Fannar’s house,” Dustin replied. “Didn’t think I’d need to call any storms while I was visiting you. Plus, I didn’t expect you’d have a lot of seawater in your house.”
“That’s a shame.” Petur spoke in a slow, careful way, as if he didn’t do it often and it took a great effort to get the words out. “I’ve always wanted to see how you folks do it.”
You folks? Abbey wondered what the hell that meant.
“Dustin and Abbey want to take down the king and that witch he’s got helping him,” Fannar said. “It would help if you told them your story.”
“Would it really? Somehow I doubt it.” Petur chuckled. “Very well. Here’s the short version. The king turned me into a weapon, and I managed to slip out of his hands before he could use me to kill anyone important.”
There was a long silence, then Abbey asked, “Maybe you could give us the longer version?”
Petur let out a loud laugh, which quickly devolved into a coughing fit. When he recovered, he agreed, “All right. What’s the harm in telling it?” He paused, taking a sip from the wooden cup on the table.
“I joined the king’s army voluntarily. This was ten years ago, and things were different. There was a lot of iron to be made if you didn’t mind getting your hands bloody. And I didn’t. I went on a few raids in Kaldfell, and I was well on my way to being a wealthy man. Not only that, but I loved raiding those damn villages. No offense.”
“None taken,” Abbey said. She forced herself to keep the disgust out of her voice.
“Then a few years into my stint, they started testing all of us. They’d take one guy each day, and have him wade into the sea up to his ankles. Then they’d have him think as hard as he could about the darkest cloud he’d ever seen. Nothing ever happened—not until the day they tested me. That day a few wisps of clouds appeared. It wasn’t much, but apparently it was enough. They pulled me out of my unit and sent me to king’s castle.”
“Holy shit,” Dustin said. “Are you saying—”
Abbey grabbed his wrist hard, and he stopped talking. The time for questions would come later.
“There were only a few of us at the castle,” Petur continued. “They introduced us to a man named Viktor. He was a Master Storm Caller.”
“Impossible,” Dustin muttered.
Petur didn’t seem to notice. “According to what they told us, Viktor taught himself storm magic after seeing a Storm Caller in action a handful of times. Because he taught himself, his magic was different than what they teach you in Holdgate. He didn’t know a staff was supposed to be required; he just waded into the water. He didn’t know you could only cast within your range of vision, so he cast much further. He trained us his way, and I was his star pupil.”
He took another sip from the cup.
“Eventually he and I became close. He told me he didn’t want to teach magic, and that he knew the king was using his powers for evil purposes. He was a man of peace. There was a woman, he told me, a Storm Caller from Holdgate who had the king’s ear, and her plans were beyond evil. But he also knew it was too late for him; his destiny was set. So he helped me escape, but rather than go home where they’d be sure to capture me, I came here to a village I’d passed through once as a boy. The people took me in and hid me.” He looked at Abbey. “And that, my dear, is the longer version.”
The room was quiet for a moment. Finally, Dustin said, “Flaming seas! You’re saying the king of Barskall has his own Storm Callers? He’s training them in his castle?”
Petur laughed. “No, they’ve moved on from that. It’s a full-blown school now, though Viktor still does all the teaching himself. He can take someone with even the smallest bit of talent and turn them into a force of nature.”
Abbey glared at the man through the dim light. “Then our course is clear. Viktor wants to be free, so we’ll break into this school and free him. Then he can help us go after Dahlia.”
Petur shook his head. “You don’t understand. That school? There’s no way you can break in there.”
Dustin sighed. “Thanks a lot, man. Telling Abbey she can’t do something pretty much guarantees she’s going to try it.”
Abbey smiled. “He’s not wrong. Now, tell me everything you know about that school.”
Chapter Thirteen
Dahlia made her way up the stone steps that snaked along the nearly sheer cliffside. Normally the lengthy climb was a challenge that left her winded, but today she was so angry she didn’t even notice the exertion.
The building at the top of the cliff didn’t have a name. It didn’t need one. The people who lived in the building never left it, so they had no need to refer to it as anything but “home.” The guards and soldiers who worked there were forbidden to speak of the place. When King Elias talked about it to his most trusted aides, he simply called it “the school.”
In Dahlia’s mind,
it was “that damned annoyance.”
She reached the top and stormed toward the massive building. She didn’t have to speak a word to the guards; they knew her and opened the gate as she approached.
After a bit of searching, she found Viktor in the classroom. It was a large space dominated by a massive pool of seawater, which had to be replenished weekly by servants who painstakingly hauled buckets up the traitorous cliffside staircase.
Viktor stood in the ankle-deep pool, his empty hand held outward, palm-up. His twelve students were lined up in the pool in front of him.
Dahlia stopped in the doorway and waited in the shadows, her anger momentarily forgotten. It was always fascinating to listen to Viktor talk about his bizarre theories of magic.
“The sea flows with the tide.” Viktor spoke softly in an almost offhanded way, as if he were thinking aloud. He might have been talking about his methods to himself, and the others just happened to be there to hear it. “Its power ebbs and flows. Let it wash into you and then rush out again. Don’t fight it. The more easily the power flows in and out of you, the more of it you’ll be able to channel in your casting.”
Dahlia bit her lip in annoyance. Viktor’s way of explaining magic was so different from what she’d learned and how she’d taught the few apprentices she’d had over the years. She’d been told by her mentor that you coaxed power from the sea and then once you had a grip on it, you wrestled that power away. Viktor’s approach was to siphon power in a gentler fashion, building up a little more power with each breath. It seemed insane to Dahlia.
And yet it worked. She was certain she could take Viktor in a one-on-one duel if it ever came to that, but he could also do things she couldn’t. He could create a storm miles away simply by thinking about the place. He could combine his magic with that of his pupils to create more powerful storms at even farther distances. Granted, they were not nearly as strong as the tempests Dahlia or even relatively new Storm Callers trained in the Holdgate method were able to conjure. The Barskall way was something different—less powerful, but more flexible.