by Beth Alvarez
“And that they resent their king for deciding no one is indispensable, I’m sure.” The statement wasn’t fair to Vicamros or the personal turmoil Rune was sure the king had struggled with, but he had difficulty caring after all he’d been through for the sake of preserving an alliance. After all he’d done to encourage it, it hadn’t been a surprise that he’d be sacrificed to keep the accordance intact, but that didn’t stop the situation from being unpleasant. Which was, perhaps, too nice a word. Ironic that he tried to smooth over his struggles in his own mind.
Garam nodded. “Which is why we’re going to the academy. This isn’t the first issue they’ve had.”
Which did nothing to make Rune eager to carry out his orders. He restrained a sigh as they emerged into the palace courtyard. Beside the gates, a carriage waited. “Are we riding? I would have thought a walk would be more effective, given the whole point of this outing is for me to be seen.”
“You’re welcome to walk. I am close to seventy and I’m tired.” Garam slid his cane into the floor of the carriage and then climbed inside.
Though he would have preferred to walk, Rune followed.
The city outside the carriage windows looked no different to him as they rolled down the wide streets. He was content to watch in silence, and Garam offered no further information. Outside, the market was still thriving, people clustered together to gossip like they always did. None of the faces that caught his eye looked more glum than usual. To think he’d impacted everyday life in a city as big as the Triad’s capital would have been arrogant. Rune would not profess humility, but his vanity was not that great.
“There,” Garam said.
Rune turned his head to look out the narrow glass window on the other side of the carriage. He got little more than a glimpse of the crowd before the carriage turned and halted.
A moment later, the driver appeared at the door and the sound of people flooded the air. “That’s as close as I can get with the horses. Not safe to take them much closer.”
Garam clambered out of the carriage and took his cane from the floor. “Thank you. That’s close enough.”
With considerably more grace, Rune slipped out behind him and turned toward the roar.
Just in front of the academy, a teeming mass of people churned in the street. Angry voices echoed off tall buildings and cries of pain rang in his ears.
“Should have just planned an arena fight for you,” Garam said.
“I think I’d prefer that. I could go for beating some pompous noble into the dirt.” Rune rested a hand on the hilt of his sword and strode forward. His other hand went to his throat and he winced. He still didn’t have his access stone. Magic would have made clearing the streets easier by miles.
Garam did not hurry to follow as he made for the crowd.
There were few combatants; people stood around the brawlers in loose rings, shouting and jeering or cheering them on. All of them blocked the academy’s stairs. Guards shouted from the edges of the cluster, trying in vain to disperse the crowd. Above, a handful of scholars hovered near the academy’s doors, their faces pinched with distress.
Rune shoved his way into the throng. People pushed back. He pushed harder and spilled into one of the empty circles where a pair of combatants threw fists. Someone spun as if to strike him, then froze, mouth agape.
“Clear out,” Rune snarled. His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword.
The other fighter stopped and stared.
One of the scholars at the top of the stairs stood on tip-toe and pointed, his words lost in the noise, but the excitement on his face unmistakable.
“He said, clear out!” Garam roared from somewhere on the other side of the wall of people. The crowd parted like a curtain drawn back as the old man and a handful of guards pressed forward. Even aged and unarmed, Garam bore a commanding air, and Rune fell back to join him at the front of the new triangular formation.
“Hand off your weapon,” Garam said, voice low. “I know you want to pummel someone, but now is not the time.”
Rune’s jaw tightened. He made himself release the hilt of his sword, then squared his shoulders and progressed toward the white stone stairway.
The crowd parted readily now. Rune raised his chin as he climbed the steps.
“So,” one of the scholars exclaimed the moment he was within earshot, a wide grin on her face. “The Arena Champion lives!”
“For the moment. Whether that’s fortunate or problematic will strongly depend on how well these people listen.” Rune shot a glare over his shoulder at the people below.
Garam issued orders to the guards that surrounded him. Most split off, though a pair remained close at his heels as he trailed up the stairs. “What’s the meaning of all this?” he demanded.
The scholar who had spoken rubbed her hands together and retreated a step. “We don’t know. There are always people out here, these days. As far as I know, someone only asked them to leave.”
“They’re leaving now.” Rune lifted his voice and let his eyes wander across the crowd. “Is Redoram here?”
“We both know that if Councilor Parthanus were present, he would have been out here betting on fights,” another scholar sneered.
“Councilor Parthanus has never made a bet in his life,” Garam said. “The man’s so moral, he makes me look shady. Get inside. All of you. More guards will be on the way to clean this up and it’s going to be uglier before it gets better.”
The scholars didn’t take much convincing. They scuttled inside and let Garam’s pair of guards replace them at the door. Once the group had entered, one of the less bookish-looking scholars hefted a wooden beam into brackets on the door to bar entry.
Rune spared the beam a glance. “Still have that, do we?”
A dark-haired woman emerged from a row of bookshelves nearby. “The Children have never been popular in the Royal City. It’s half of why we try to stay focused in Roberian. Room for development aside.” A twinkle lit her eyes. “It’s good to see you, Lord Kaim-Ennen. It seems the city’s nobility have been premature in celebrating your demise.”
Garam snorted and pointed over his shoulder. For all that he’d been stoic and commanding outside, he now leaned heavily on his cane. “Was that a celebration?”
“That wasn’t all that unusual,” the woman replied with a grin. “The Royal City has always found us to be an unpleasant addition to the Triad’s educational opportunities. I don’t believe I’ve had an opportunity to speak with you before, Lord Kaith. My name is Wilaena.”
“A senior representative of the Iron Children,” Rune added as she motioned for them to follow. The academy had little space to spare, crammed top to bottom with books, scrolls, and worktables surrounded by shelves and crates of strange parts. He ran one scaly hand over an unfamiliar metal oddity as he walked.
Wilaena stopped beside a wide table and drew out a chair. She gestured for Garam to sit. “Scuffles like those were common, shortly after the academy’s founding, but days where Lord Kaim-Ennen is present always seem to be a little more peaceful.”
“Not in my experience,” Garam grumbled as he sank into the offered chair.
Rune chose not to respond. Instead, he leaned against the table and scanned the drawings spread out on its surface. “Is this another new iron horse?”
“Yes,” Wilaena sighed. “Sooner or later, we’ll come up with one that doesn’t explode.”
“You do realize statements like that are exactly why people have issues with your organization,” Garam said.
She nodded. “We are aware. Not everyone can understand that even mechanical failures are a form of success. But I am sure designs are not what have brought the two of you here today.”
“No,” Rune agreed. He traced the outline of the smokestack with a claw. “We’re here to be seen.”
Wilaena tilted her head. “Seen, my lord?”
“King’s orders. He wants people to know I’m not dead.”
“Yet,” Garam ad
ded.
Rune shot him a dark look, then reached for a stick of graphite. “When I go, I’m taking someone with me.” He drew a blank paper from somewhere on the table and began a new drawing. “I want to revisit the bathhouse idea for the Royal City. I think having a public installation that’s less prone to explosion would help our reputation.”
“A bathhouse? Now?” Wilaena rounded the table to watch as the diagram took shape. “If we start now, construction wouldn’t finish until midwinter. No one wants to roam the city in freezing temperatures while wet.”
“No, but we’re more likely to get financing now. Vicamros didn’t give me an assignment, so I’ll make my own. If we have a rough idea of how big it needs to be, I can visit a few potential locations around the city and be seen making notes before I report to the mages this afternoon.” Line by line, the idea took form. Halfway through, Rune paused. His memory of the baths in Core had grown hazy, he realized.
Garam leaned forward to watch, too. “Seeing you involved in another project would also probably aid the public’s view of the Children.”
“Especially one that would benefit the public in general,” Wilaena said. “Very well. Let’s try it.”
Rune set his jaw and stared at the paper, though his eyes grew unfocused. Try as he might, he couldn’t summon the layout of the water races in the boiler room to mind, and the harder he tried, the more he found himself distracted by a new, subtle understanding.
Somewhere along the line, Elenhiise had ceased to be his home.
10
Guardian’s Duty
Alira clicked her tongue and plucked another leaf from her hair. “I suppose that’s what I get for letting you choose the location, isn’t it?”
Abashed, Rhyllyn ducked his head. “Well I got us here, at least.”
Never mind that it had taken hours. Between his inexperience and his nerves, he’d thought the Gate a lost cause. He appreciated Alira’s patience through the ordeal, but they were both tired and cross now. Emerging in a leafy hollow on the back side of a bush hadn’t helped her mood.
“Yes, at least we’re here.” She huffed and brushed dirt off her white robes. “How in the world would you know to put us behind a bush, anyway?”
Rhyllyn stifled a nervous laugh. “We used to sit there for privacy. To talk about things, before Vicamros took the crown.” It had also been a preferred hiding place whenever he’d stolen treats from the palace kitchens during visits, but he wasn’t going to admit to that.
Alira swept into the Spiral Palace and raised a hand to stop him before he stepped inside. “Brush yourself off. I won’t have you appearing before the king covered in leaves and dust.”
He doubted Vicamros would care, but he obliged her nonetheless.
They made the long trek up the tower in silence.
Rhyllyn was not a stranger to the palace. He’d seen most of it, in fact, but he’d never been to the council chamber while council was in session. Given the stories he’d heard, he imagined it as boring or frustrating. He’d been present when Vicamros held court before and that was dull enough. But he’d never been involved then. He’d only been a spectator.
“Here we are,” Alira sighed. The sound of a heated argument filled the hallway even with the door closed. Ignoring the noise and the guards outside, she walked straight to the door and rapped firmly.
If anyone heard, they gave no indication. The voices carried on, as angry as ever. Alira let herself in anyway.
Politicians and members of the court crowded around the round table, every chair filled. For each person who sat, at least two more stood behind them. Among the angry voices and wild gesticulating, Vicamros sat with his elbows on the table and his fingers laced, listening to the fighting with mild interest.
When the king saw them at the door, his eyes brightened. “Ah. The guest of honor.” He pushed himself up and the angry voices around him dwindled to silence. “Please, sit. I am sure someone would be happy to offer their seat.”
Alira nudged Rhyllyn forward and his eyes widened when he met the king’s gaze. For some reason, he’d assumed Vicamros was speaking to Alira.
“No, thank you,” Rhyllyn managed, “I’d prefer to stand. If I may. Majesty.” He winced inwardly as he tacked the title onto the end. No matter how friendly things were between them, Vicamros was king. In front of so many courtiers, it wouldn’t do to forget that.
“Of course. If you change your mind, however...” The king’s gaze slid to a nearby politician, who grew deathly still in his chair.
Rhyllyn forced a smile.
“This shan’t take long,” Vicamros promised. “I fear we don’t have time to dally even if I wanted to. Rhyllyn Kaim-Ennen, I’ve summoned you to beg your assistance.”
All of a sudden, a chair sounded like a good idea. “Me?” Rhyllyn pointed at himself with one claw and struggled not to gape.
Heads swiveled to face him. Dozens of courtiers studied him in silence.
“Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t consider involving you. But these are hardly normal circumstances.” Vicamros sank back into his throne. “You have unique skills, and I have need of them. The barrier surrounding the Royal City that renders magic unreachable must be expanded. As the Aldaanan mages created it, my first choice to oversee expansion is one of them. However, as I’m sure you’re aware, the Aldaanan are in short supply.”
Rhyllyn paled. Prior to lunchtime, he couldn’t open a Gate by himself. Now, an hour before supper, he was expected to manage the Royal City’s mage-barrier? “I don’t mean to question, my liege, but surely there are better choices for someone to oversee this. No matter my strength, Alira is a far more competent mage.”
“Unfortunately, competence is not the only issue in this matter.” Vicamros spread his hands placatingly. “I’m afraid whoever manages this task needs to be able to withstand movement of a great deal of energy. A free mage is our only choice.”
“My brother, then,” Rhyllyn said. “If he only has to move it, he shouldn’t have any difficulty. He’s considerably stronger than I am, in addition to being more skilled.”
“Yes, he was my first thought.” The king rubbed his eyes in weariness, then rubbed his beard in thought. “But he was unable to assist. The seal on his power caused conflict with the barrier. I asked Alira to retrieve your brother’s access stone while she fetched you. If the barrier still reacts to the seal on Rune’s Gift with the stone in his possession, I fear you may be our only remaining choice. And expanding the barrier is of utmost importance in keeping the Triad safe, as I’m sure you understand.”
Rhyllyn shifted uneasily. His gaze drifted across the judgmental faces of the silent courtiers.
“Please, Rhyllyn.” The steel in Vicamros’s eyes softened. “I will not order you to do this if you think it a danger to your well-being. But I ask you, as a friend, to try.”
Suppressing the urge to groan, Rhyllyn forced himself to look away. Had it been an order, he would have felt better. He could claim he had no way to object, giving his fears no way to take root. Instead Vicamros used their camaraderie to prod him to act and pretend to be happy about it, all while knowing refusal was no real possibility.
If this was the Triad’s council, he prayed he never saw it gather again.
“As a man of my country, I could not possibly refuse it service,” Rhyllyn said, doing his best to sound diplomatic.
His words appeared to please the nobles. Quiet murmurs of approval and appreciation rose from several places around the table. It seemed odd until Rhyllyn recalled his brother’s disposition. No doubt when Rune was presented with the same request, his sharp tongue and self-importance would have caused a stir. Most knew him by his assumed surname; Kaim-Ennen. Dream-Hunter. But the council had another name they used for Rune: Ryol’orann. It was Old Aldaanan, scathing words Alira had been reluctant to teach him. Snake-heart.
“Your efforts will be compensated,” Vicamros said. “I realize what I ask will be difficult, but you will hav
e every mage possible to offer you support. Councilor Parthanus has already gone to Lore to begin collecting what mages can escape the Grand College.”
“It may take weeks,” Alira warned.
The king shook his head. “And we unfortunately cannot wait that long. Rhyllyn’s work will begin immediately. My court mages will assist him in beginning.”
“I need to speak to my brother before I can begin.” Rhyllyn clutched the access stone through his pocket. He wasn’t certain how he was supposed to work with magic without a stone of his own, but there was still a slim chance he wouldn’t have to. If the access stone let Rune manage the barrier on his own, Rhyllyn would have nothing to worry about. If it didn’t, they’d still need to discuss what he’d tried and what had failed.
“He is with the mages. It would be best if you join him there. Once you’ve had a chance to speak, you are both welcome to join us in the formal dining hall. Alira may escort you, if you wish.” Vicamros inclined his head, granting permission for them to go.
Though Vicamros said welcome, Rhyllyn knew it was not an invitation.
Rhyllyn bowed at the waist. “Thank you, Majesty. I shall see you at the evening meal.”
Alira laid a hand on his shoulder and Rhyllyn followed her out.
As the door closed behind him, the voices resumed, but this time softer and more amiable.
Rhyllyn bowed his head.
“They put a great deal of confidence in your abilities,” Alira noted softly.
And she hadn’t tried to curb the enthusiasm. That stung more than the king’s needling plea. She’d been so eager to discourage his involvement when he’d wanted to help. Now that he’d rather hide, she pushed him harder than ever before.
The sensation of Alira manipulating energy flows beside him startled him out of sulking. A ward enveloped them, tied to Alira’s power so it drifted along with them as they walked.
“I shall tell you what I can.” She stared straight ahead, her face solemn. “I am not happy you’ve been pulled into this, but I also understand we have reached desperate times. The Triad is now at war.”