by R. K. Thorne
He glanced at Mara, hoping to the gods that she was awake. She was already on her feet, blade in hand.
This could not be good.
“Unchain me,” he demanded. She ignored him.
Instead, Mara launched herself at the door just as the drunk flung the bat against the wall, where it fell lifelessly to the ground. She’d probably aimed to just push him out of the room, but instead, she smashed him between the door and its frame. He screamed, clawing at her with one hand.
Aven yanked the chain; it held hard to the bed. But the frame was wood. He was probably strong enough to break it. He heaved harder, holding his hands closer first and then lunging to build momentum.
The intruder got her by the hair and swung her around, freeing himself and throwing her to the ground. She was on her feet quickly.
“Get out,” she said. “The Balance will come upon you if you hurt us.” The traditional phrase, a measure of warning and a measure of curse rolled into one.
He slammed the door shut with one hand and scoffed at her. “The Balance! Religious horse shit.” His words were slurred, but not much. “The Balance will come upon you for harboring a mage! Or has he already turned you into his puppet?” He pointed at Aven.
Try as he could, the bedpost held strong as an oak. Maybe she’d fortified it, too, or something. Maybe he could kick it apart?
“He’s not a mage; you’re just intoxicated,” she insisted. She was not a good liar, but either way he doubted the drunk would’ve bought it.
“Shut up,” the drunk said, slurring again. “What’s he doin’—stuck to the bed over there? Don’t ya wanna help your woman?”
“Don’t make me kill you,” Mara said, voice suddenly sharp.
The bastard chuckled and lunged at her. She struck him with the blunt of the dagger and grappled, but she clearly did not want to stab him. She landed a good kick to his groin, which stunned him for a moment but only made him more determined.
Aven heaved again against the bedpost, but it was no use. His wrist was going to break first.
A lucky blow knocked the blade from her hand, and Aven gasped as the drunk slammed her against the wall. Her head hit the plaster with a cracking sound, and her eyes were unfocused, wide, glassy. The drunk made the best of it and groped around her hips, and now Aven could see his intentions were not just to kill them.
And what could Aven do? Sit there like a damn fool. He felt a lump of fury mixed with panic rising in his throat. What he would give for just the tiniest bit of magic he could control! He gave another kick to the bedpost, but without boots, he was just about breaking his foot. By the gods, what kind of wood was this! Damn whatever tree this bed was made from!
The trees… Suddenly, he thought of the leaves that morning and the gust of wind flinging them into the air.
Could he do that to the drunk?
Mara had regained her wits and was doing her best to fight him off. They were locked in a wrestling match at this point, and considering her smaller size, she was doing surprisingly well. But blood ran down the wall behind her head, and she did not equal the drunk in strength, even if she surpassed him in fighting skill. Aven wasn’t sure how much longer she would last.
To his surprise, he realized her face and body had started to change. Her canine teeth lengthened into fangs, and her nails grew longer until they were talons suddenly digging into the flesh of his shoulder. The drunk screamed, then heaved her out from the wall and slammed her back against it. She barely grunted, digging the talons deeper into his shoulder.
He closed his eyes, trying to block out their sights and sounds. He focused on the air, felt it immediately start to move, swirling, whipping erratically this way and that. Not randomly, he commanded. The man, hit the damn man! But still it whipped and twisted. He couldn’t focus as he heard the drunk grunt and Mara hiss. No, block it out, focus, he commanded himself, clutching his hands around his skull, over his ears. Block them out.
And for one brief second, he found the picture in his mind of the brilliant gust, saw leaves flying through powerful particles rushing from his left to his right, from one side of the room to the other.
Behind him, there was a heavy thud. He turned, hoping he wouldn’t see her on the ground and bleeding.
She was still up, leaning against the wall, panting, staring at Aven. Only, her face was part human, part something else—cat-like, mouth extended and full of fang-like teeth, eyes large and almost black. The hand without talons had been completely replaced by a large, heavy paw like a panther’s. Fiery red hair had sprung up as fur on her arms, shoulders, face, neck covering much of the skin he could see. Disconcerting as the combination was, it didn’t scare him. It was fitting and oddly beautiful. Beneath all the disguises and secrets, there was some unavoidable truth in what he saw now—her true self when death was on the line.
The warrior in her. And she was a fine warrior, there was no doubting it. Perhaps that was why he liked her so much.
Well, well. Her fighting skills were not exactly what he’d estimated. He doubted he would have ever attacked her, but if he had… a creature like this, he had not been prepared for. And now he saw she could partially transform into many different animals. Could his mother do this as well? And he could barely manage a single gust of wind.
And yet, it had done the trick. The man lay unconscious on the floor.
Glancing back at her, her face had become her own again and the talons had receded, but the fur and paw remained. She was staring at him, panting, seemingly shocked. Her eyes held much emotion that he couldn’t quite decode.
“Did I… ?” he asked her, hope hanging on what she said next in spite of himself.
She nodded, seemingly speechless. The fur was half gone now.
“I wasn’t lying to you today, I swear,” he said, realizing she might think his earlier claims were a lie. “That’s only the second time I’ve done that in my life. I swear to you!” He probably shouldn’t admit his weakness to her; she could just exploit it. But wasn’t he thoroughly under her control already? What difference did it make? It was freeing to be able to admit his lack and even talk about magic openly in the first place. “I just couldn’t bear it, since it was my fault he showed up here in the first place—”
“You saved me,” she said, a little incredulous.
“Yes.” Of course he had saved her. How could he not?
“You didn’t have to,” she said.
“Yes, I did,” he replied flatly. “The Code, remember?” But it was obvious that was not the reason. Clearly, he needed to work on his skill at deception.
She came around to his front and sank down on one knee, placing her hand over his. All animal traces had faded now.
“Thank you, Aven,” she said. “I believe you.” Then she rose and strode to the opposite wall, kneeling down where the bat had fallen.
Aven found he was breathing strangely hard, and his hand felt cold where her fingers had left his. As far as he could remember, it was the first time she’d ever said his name. His mind seized on it, savored the sound of her voice, tucked it away for later.
Oh, damn, he was a fool. Of all the stupid, moronic things he could do. His heart was pounding, blood racing as an idea both horrible and wonderful slowly dawned on him. He glanced over his shoulder and felt the thrill in his veins at the sight of her.
Oh, no. Oh, by the gods. What an idiot he was.
Of all the women he could fall for, he had picked the one that was probably going to kill him.
A high-pitched squeak broke through his thoughts—and he ducked instinctively as the bat lurched into the air and out of the slightly open window. Mara rose and stepped back to the drunk.
“The bat—did you bring it back to life?”
“I only healed him. He was unconscious, not dead. He did us a great service.”
Aven nodded as she bound and gagged the drunk. Then she took the heavy blanket from her bed and threw it over the shallowly breathing body.
She
stood, put her hands on her hips, and regarded her efforts. “Think that’ll hold him?” she asked, looking at Aven over her shoulder.
He grinned in reply, beaming like a stupid schoolboy.
She strode to the window and looked out. “That’ll muffle him for a time when he wakes up, but I think you knocked him out pretty good. It’s still dark. Hopefully, with the alcohol, he’ll be out for a while. Let’s try to get a bit more rest, but we gotta get out of here first thing in the morning. Might as well get our money’s worth.”
They both lay back down, but neither fell asleep. Images kept flashing through his mind—of the drunk attacking her, of her strange animal form, of her hand over his.
“Oh, also—are you still awake?” she said suddenly.
“Yes,” he said, opening his eyes. He turned his face toward her. They were side by side, face to face, almost as if lying together.
But she was all business. “In the morning, I’ll teach you,” she said. “At least a little. We can’t have that happening again.”
She wasn’t a particularly good liar, either, it seemed. That was obviously not her real reason. Did that mean this was the first time he’d heard her lie? She was trying to pass it off as a practicality, but her tone revealed it was also a reward—for saving her, for even trying to save her. Or at least, he thought he could hear that in her voice.
He rolled away from her, smiling, and closed his eyes.
Chapter 6
The Pursuit of Magic
Of course, Miara didn’t sleep any more after all that. But she needed the time to just breathe, meditate, recover from the chaos. She needed to recharge her powers to face the day. She listened to the fire crackle, Aven’s breathing. The drunk in the corner didn’t make a sound, and she refused to worry over him. He shouldn’t have mocked the Balance. That was the Way; it was fitting that he should end up tied up on the floor. Where were the Devoteds and priests now to convince her that it was right for this man to attack them? If one believed that magic was inherently against the Way, then yes, perhaps it followed that any act to control or end magic would not unbalance the world.
But how could Miara—or anyone—believe that? As if killing could sometimes be right. As if the end justified the means. Magic was more like the wind, the ocean, the seasons, her breath—it was just a part of the world. Her brand burned lightly at the idea. But no one ever declared that the wind or the sun or the mountains were evil. And since the king had enslaved the mages and handed them over to the Masters, had the world gotten any better? No. If anything, it had gotten worse. She shook her head, thinking of Brother Sefim again. He was the only priest who spoke any sense. What she wouldn’t give to talk with him again right now. Sefim had always been the one to reassure her, to insist that she wouldn’t be forever in debt to the Balance for these wrongs on behalf of the Masters. She wasn’t entirely convinced, but she would have welcomed the sound of his voice now. He was the only priest she could respect, though, as the rest were nothing but fountains of hatred and self-loathing.
Finally the brand burned a little too much, and she let the thoughts slip away. She glanced at the window. The light of dawn was turning the sky to a deep indigo. They might as well get started; she was rested enough.
She rose and got some food for them from her pack. Aven, of course, was also awake. She ate briefly, washed her face and neck in the washbasin, and began packing her things. She gave him a few moments with the basin and fire as well, finally unchaining him from the bed. He stretched—as well as he could with the shackles—and then, fairly quickly, they were on their way. Well, her way. But she felt quite sure he didn’t want to stay in that inn any longer than she did. They left the drunk behind on the floor, untied, unconscious, but breathing.
They took to the road as the sky was brightening to an overcast white. They saw no one. Few townspeople seemed to have stirred; it’d be a while before anyone found the drunken lout in their room.
“It just occurred to me,” he said in the quiet morning air, “that there must have been others in the inn. The innkeeper, other guests. They must have heard him, right?” He stopped, letting the silence speak for him.
She nodded. “Yes. They let him come.”
“The question is, do they suspect he succeeded or failed?”
She shrugged. “Maybe they’re not sure. Maybe they don’t care. Maybe they think he succeeded. Best to get out of here, whichever way, and be more careful next time.”
He nodded.
As they rounded a bend and were out of sight of the town, a question finally struck her that she wasn’t afraid to ask him. They’d skirted the subject, but they might as well face it head-on.
“Why weren’t you trained?”
He said nothing for a moment.
“If I’m to teach you anything, I must know at least that.”
He shrugged awkwardly, looking nervous now. Self-conscious or secretive? “Like I said, I’m to be king. Kings need to know battle, economics, military history, diplomacy. Not magic.”
“So, just out of neglect? No one ever bothered? Or were you just too busy to get around to it?”
He glared at her. “No. People don’t know. I certainly wouldn’t have told you about it, but turns out you already knew. No one knows there’s anything to neglect.”
She frowned. “Mages would know. You said your mother was a mage. Surely she knew.”
He nodded, saying nothing.
“And still you learned nothing?”
“She feared for me more, and for the kingdom. She gave up most of the practice of magic when she married my father. It was a hard decision for her, but they were—and still are—very much in love. She has tried to sneak me a few tidbits from time to time, in secret, when we were alone.” He paused, measuring his next words carefully. “I… I’ve heard it is a very bad thing to have magic in Kavanar, though never in much detail. That’s the way Kavanar prefers it, I’m sure. So I don’t know what it’s been like for you, but it’s not popular to have magic in Akaria. It is mostly kept secret. There are no open teachers of magic.”
She paused, frowning. “I would think a king or queen could do whatever they wished.”
“Perhaps we could. We didn’t try to find out. We’re caretakers, not plowmen or slave drivers. Our service is not about me or my needs, but about what the people need. If it had seemed like they needed my magic, well, perhaps we would have tried. That has not seemed to be the case.”
He puffed up his chest a little with pride. He deserved to be proud of such a stance. To have power but know its purpose… that was a rare thing. But there was even more to what he said that she couldn’t quite articulate. Her life was dominated by plowmen, and she was cattle, as her brand attested. He was more different than she could have ever guessed.
“To tell you the truth, they hoped my magic would not emerge or that it would fade away,” he said into her long silence. “But it did not cooperate.”
She could not help but scowl at that. “Fade away? You are an air mage—have you been told at least that much?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Do you know what an air mage can do?”
He sighed, then fidgeted. Of course, he was thinking through his answer. Admitting any lack here was weakness that she as his captor could exploit. But how could he not admit it if he wanted teaching from her? And she could see he wanted it very much. Who wouldn’t? This was working out quite well for her, really. She could find out quite a bit of useful information. But in return, she would make him not quite as weak as before. And while that might be a bad idea from some angles, she did not care.
“No,” he said. “Not really. Definitely blowing drunk men into walls. Swishing at leaves and candle flames seem to be my specialty. That’s about the end of my knowledge.”
She nodded, thinking. Now came the part where he was the one that benefited. Should she tell him what they could do? She doubted he could attempt most spells without training; air magic was notoriously hard
to learn because magic required seeing things so clearly in your head, and things like light and air were themselves invisible. How does one picture something that’s invisible? But he had developed some magic on his own in spite of this. If any mage could learn these spells on their own, chances were in his favor.
“I won’t tell you everything, at first,” she said, deciding as she spoke. “The first spells are the best place to start. You already know about calling the wind. Air mages are also prized for their ability to ignite fire. Calling fog can be a useful tool for hiding, which may come in handy for us.”
He looked deep in thought. “Oh! Oh. That was the bit about the fire, then. I… see. You knew even then.”
She nodded. “I knew the first moment I saw you.”
He cursed under his breath. “How many others…” he whispered, perhaps to himself.
They rode in silence for a while.
“So what causes this vigilante magic of yours?” she asked sometime later. “If you’re not causing it to happen, is it random, or is there some logic to it?”
“It seems related to intense emotion of any kind—joy, anger, irritation, fear—but once in a while, it seems unrelated to anything.”
Of course! He was like a child. Magic running wild like wolves in the hills. How could she have not seen that sooner? There were few children at Mage Hall, and nearly all of them arrived after their magic had surfaced on its own. She’d seen a woman pregnant three times in all her years there. Children were not something most mages wanted, her father being one notable exception. Why bring another into the service of the Masters? Why create another mage just to do their will? The greatest act of rebellion would be to let themselves die out—then who would the Masters have to order around and exploit? She sighed. So much darkness in her heart that even a child was just a symbol of suffering or rebellion.
When the occasional child was enslaved beyond the age of seven or eight, their unchecked powers could wreak havoc until they learned to control them. The havoc was likely what had brought them to Mage Hall in the first place. Luha had not been like that. She’d always had a masterful command of her powers but had simply gotten caught using them. Miara wondered suddenly how Luha was doing in her absence. How were her horses? Her father? Sefim? Depressing as Mage Hall was, she missed their faces.