by Thomas Locke
He confessed, “I like it here.”
Meda humphed her disagreement. “My first commanding officer said to treat this city like a viper, the only snake that kills for pleasure and always without warning.”
Hyam nodded, for he sensed the latent threat from all sides. “Even so.”
“You like the mystery,” Joelle offered. “The chance of new beginnings.”
“There are more endings here than fresh starts,” Meda said. “More menace than mystery.”
They stood in silence until the sun crested the horizon. Gradually the city revealed its true form, the callous edges and harsh sounds. Surrounded by razor cliffs and yellow wasteland. Hyam drank it all in.
A gong sounded from somewhere below them, Hyam assumed calling them to breakfast. He had turned away when Joelle cried, “Look there!”
A great desert eagle landed on the juncture where the citadel’s stones met the flat roof. The tower’s ruins were as tall as the level where they stood, such that the bird looked directly at them. The eagle was a soft russet, more brown than red, with streaks of gold upon its head and down the tips of both wings. Hyam thought the bird was beautiful as the dawn.
“A desert hunter,” Meda said. “Though I’ve never heard of one so large.”
The bird chattered softly. It was the sound a parent might make to a nesting chick, an almost melodious rattle.
It caused the breath to catch in Hyam’s throat.
Meda stepped over beside him. “My first liege captured such birds from their nests and trained them to hunt—”
“Quiet,” Hyam murmured.
The eagle ruffled its feathers. And then made the sound again.
The drumming was far swifter than when uttered by the beast in Hyam’s dreams. But he was fairly certain the sound represented the same speech.
The eagle repeated the sounds a third time. Precisely.
In dragon speech, the bird said, Come. Dusk. Alone.
Hyam had yet to try the noises. But he did his best, forming a mild cough deep in his throat. His efforts were slow and halting. To be certain, he repeated the one word.
Understood.
The eagle extended its wings, growing mightier still. From tip to tip the span was broader than Hyam was tall. The sun rimmed the bird’s wings with fire as it rose into the air.
13
Shona rose well before dawn. Though she was bone-weary from the trek, the hours of lost sleep would not be missed. Not after what had woken her.
She dressed and left her sleeping chamber. Like all the citadel’s rooms, hers was a vast stone cube. She had not once felt lonely on the journey until the previous evening.
As Shona walked the long corridor, gradually the slap of her sandals became overlaid by a faint din. She halted by the dining room’s entryway and listened to the happy chatter. She stayed there, her hand resting upon the aged wood, and thought of her father. She recalled other students taught by a teacher they both loved and wanted desperately to please. She pushed open the door, wondering how it was possible to be both delighted with the journey and aching with remorse for having ever left her home.
She was eighteen years old that day.
Connell’s chair scraped overloud in the sudden silence as he pushed from the table and rose to his feet. “Miss Shona, did we wake you?”
“No, I . . .” Shona had no idea what to say. The entire group was watching her. She could feel the gazes, especially those of the older boys and the male wizards. She had been followed by men’s eyes for years now. Why it should bother her so this pre-dawn, she had no idea.
Connell rounded on his students and roared, “You lot could wake the dead! The ghoulish army would find you a nuisance! Eat up! Class in ten minutes!”
They laughed at his pretended ire and resumed their breakfast. Which was clearly what Connell had intended. He stepped in close enough to be heard over the noise and asked, “Are you hungry?”
“No, well . . . Can I speak with you in private?”
For one brief instant Shona glimpsed the man behind the mocking jollity. Connell’s gaze became sparked by a deep and compassionate wisdom. He asked, “Bad night?”
“Not bad. But the dawn was . . .”
“Unsettling.”
“Very.”
“No amount of cleansing spells can erase all the shadows this palace has known,” he replied. “We can speak in my chambers if you like, but I do not meet privately with anyone. You understand?”
She took a moment to study Connell. He wore the traditional robe, tailored to suit his broad shoulders and narrow waist, yet otherwise unadorned. The severity suited him. Shona said, “I have misjudged you. For years.”
The impish gleam flashed in his eyes once more. “Nice to know I have the capacity to surprise.”
She tried for a smile of her own. “Astonish, more like.”
“Come. Why don’t we sit here.” He led her across the hall to an empty table. “Their noise will create walls. Would you like breakfast?”
“Perhaps a tea.”
“Tea it is.” He turned, and instantly a young man rose from his place and hurried over. “Bring our guest a mug of tea, will you, Fareed?”
When they were alone once more, Shona told him, “I was woken by a dream. I stood before a tall candle. I reached out, and I picked up the flame with my bare fingers. Not the candle. Just the fire. And it didn’t burn me.”
Connell was so intent he did not notice the student’s return. “Did the dream end then?”
“No. I held the flame for a time, then I set it down. Not on the first candle. On another. I watched the flame burn on this second candle, and I felt . . .”
Fareed watched her with the same intensity as Connell. The mug smoked unnoticed in his hands.
Connell said, “Tell me.”
“I felt so excited.” She knew her face burned with embarrassment. The whole thing seemed ridiculous now. “Like I had finally discovered something I had been searching for my entire life, and didn’t even know it until that very moment.”
Connell fished in his pocket and came up with a ring of keys. He handed them to the student and said, “You know where to find them?”
“In the corner of your study, Master Connell. Where they always are.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Yes, Master Mage.” Fareed shared a conspiratorial grin with Shona as he handed her the tea. Then he hurried away.
Connell asked, “You are seventeen, are you not?”
“Eighteen today. Please don’t tell the others.”
“Why ever not?”
She could not bring herself to say more than, “I don’t want any fuss.”
He started to protest, then shrugged. “Eighteen is very late for such an event. But it does happen. Occasionally.”
“What do you mean by event?”
“For your abilities to wake up.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Twelve is the most common age. I’ve one student, the girl you see over there with the white hair, she became aware at nine. Three of my charges started at fourteen.”
“You mean, I have . . . I might be . . .”
“We’ll soon see.” Once again he showed her the somber intensity. “You need to eat something.”
“I’m not the least bit hungry.”
“That doesn’t matter.” He rose, walked to the central refectory table, and filled a plate with bread and fruit and cheese. He returned and set it down before her. “It’s important that you eat all you possibly can.”
She selected a grape and almost gagged when she swallowed. “I can’t.”
“You must. Here. Take some of this cheese.”
She broke off a sliver and took it like medicine. “It tastes vile.”
“You only think it does. Now some bread.” He pared an apple and held out a slice. “Eat it, Shona. It will ground you in the material realm.”
She forced herself to do as he ordered. “What is happening?”
“The o
lder the individual upon awakening, the more intense the transition. There is every risk of someone your age losing touch with the substance of this earth.”
She swallowed another morsel and felt the meal settle in her stomach like a brick. “What happens if I lose touch?”
“We’ll discuss that later. Right now . . .” He glanced over as his student entered the dining hall. “Here we are.”
The candles were thick as her wrist and were planted in iron stands almost as tall as Fareed. At their appearance, the din cut off for the second time that morning. Connell did not seem to notice. “Set them down there by the far wall. Come with me, Shona.”
Gone was the mocking tone, the boyish flirtation, any hint of the wealthy, insolent young man who had once teased her constantly. Connell was gentle and severe at the same time. “Shona, this is Fareed. Trace actually bought him from a desert merchant, but that is a story for another time. He serves as the class monitor when he is not causing me endless grief. It is customary for another student to join in this process. Fareed?”
The young man was a year or so younger than Shona and delighted at taking part. “Think back to your dream. Before you touched the flame, how did you protect your fingers from the fire?”
Shona asked, “The dream is common?”
“All your questions must wait,” Connell replied. “Answer Fareed.”
Shona did her best to ignore all the mages and acolytes who watched them. She recalled, “I concentrated on my hand. It tingled.”
Fareed cast a look at his teacher. Shona saw their shared excitement and felt a tremor course through her. As though she was entering into a secret shared by only a select few. The wizards of this realm.
“Do you feel the energy now?” Fareed asked.
“I . . . yes.” Her hand felt on fire, and yet it was a pleasant sensation. As though her limb vibrated to the excitement shared by everyone in the hall.
“Draw it around your entire body. From your head all the way to your feet. Feel it encircle you with an aura of protection. Tell me when you are fully shielded.”
By the time he finished speaking, it was already done. The energy flowed up and around and around, until it rang in her voice. “I feel it!”
“This is your safeguard. Each time you draw upon it, you also strengthen it. You must practice this daily. Do you understand?”
Her heart was racing now. She wanted to sing, to shout, to fly away and never return. She understood. Not just the shield, but the need for the food she had eaten. It anchored her. “Yes!”
Connell turned and called to the acolytes and mages who watched from the far table, “Shield yourselves and this room!”
One of his fellow teachers called back, “It is done!”
Connell said to his student, “Light the first candle and step back.”
Fareed grinned at Shona, his eyes dancing with whatever was about to come. He touched the candlewick with his finger. A flame ignited.
Connell said, “When you are ready, lift the fire and claim it as your own.”
With those words, Shona’s entire world was rearranged. She still felt the energy course through her, deeper even than her bones. A sense of knowing filled her. The fire was an opportunity. She could both focus on it and draw upon it. In an instant of otherworldly awareness, she had realized that the fire was not something outside her. She did not merely hold the flame. She joined with it.
With the realization had come a new ability. One to draw upon the same force she now used to shield her fingers from being burned. It coursed through her like a surging torrent, demanding release. Which she did, by doing as the master mage of Emporis instructed.
Lifting the flame from the candle was the most exciting event of her entire life.
“Stretch out your arm,” Connell said. “Extend the flame beyond its normal boundaries.”
Shona did not ask what Connell meant because she did not need to. She took a deep breath and extended her force, bonding and releasing at the same time.
The fire exploded outward, blinding her momentarily as it surged through the dining hall. Shona was horrified by what she had unleashed and fearful she harmed the others. She retreated by taking an indrawn breath, and she sensed that Connell assisted her in damping down the force.
But when the fire was diminished and her vision was restored, she could see the entire company of mages and acolytes were grinning. At her.
Connell then said, “Fareed?”
“There is a formal closure to this event,” the young man told her. “You must show that you have the ability to reduce your power to safe levels. Being a wizard is not only about releasing the mage-force. Even more important is controlling the power. You must now take the flame and light the other candle.”
The act was both simple and telling, for the temptation to release the force a second time was very strong. The power still surged and roiled, beckoning her to create more havoc. Resisting the temptation caused her fingers to tremble as Shona transferred the flame from one candle to the other.
Fareed nodded. “Whenever you are tempted to act without full control of your abilities, do you give your word that you will always remember this act and what it represents?”
She breathed, “I will.”
He beamed. “Then I welcome you to the company of acolytes.”
14
Hyam, Joelle, and Meda were walking down the citadel’s main corridor when a light shone around the door frame leading to the dining hall, brilliant enough to stop them in their tracks. It faded swiftly, and a cheer erupted. Hyam could hear Connell say something but could not make out the words. There was a second cheer, this one punctuated by laughter. Then the doors opened and the acolytes came tumbling out, a delighted, chattering mob. And Shona was at their center. She halted in front of Hyam and smiled shyly. Proud and embarrassed at the same time.
Connell came up alongside her and announced, “This one came close to burning us out of house and home.”
“You told me to claim the fire,” Shona replied.
“And so you did!” Connell beamed like a proud parent. “With a whirlwind’s force!”
Joelle asked, “You have magical abilities?”
“Since two hours ago! She has the makings of a master mage, this one.” Connell went on to Shona, “Mind, you need to practice that shielding every day.”
“I will,” Shona said. “Every hour.”
Joelle said, “I want to hear everything. But first we have news of our own.”
“All that must wait,” Connell replied. “The banker and our desert trader should be outside. That Ashanta representative is never late.”
But neither banker nor merchant awaited them. Instead, a man Connell identified as Lord Suthon’s clerk paced nervously beyond the citadel gates. The clerk was middle-aged and balding and carried all his excess weight about his middle. Even before Connell completed his introductions, the clerk was already urging them westward along the city’s main avenue.
“Lord Suthon was in a rare state, I tell you. Rare indeed. Sent me off to fetch you with a shout, wouldn’t even let me finish my morning coffee.” The clerk’s ink-stained robe bore dark patches of nervous sweat. “That’s unlike Suthon, I tell you. He’s a man who insists on order and decorum.”
As Joelle moved to his side, Hyam sensed a new presence among them. She murmured, “Bryna is here. She says something terrible has occurred. What exactly, they are not sure.”
Hyam had no chance to ask anything further, because on his other side Connell was asking the clerk, “What did Suthon say was the matter?”
“Don’t have the slightest idea. When I asked what I should tell you, he shouted at me a second time. Make haste, was all he said. Which is precisely what I did.”
Hyam asked, “Why doesn’t Suthon live in the palace?”
“He wanted to,” the clerk replied. When Connell snorted softly, the clerk insisted, “It’s true, I tell you. His lordship had every intention of moving in. But a be
vy of Emporis merchants met him on the road and begged him to reconsider. None of them would set foot in the palace, nor enter the main keep, nor cross before the palace gates on a moonless night.”
“All that’s true enough,” Connell said.
“The merchants urged Lord Suthon to lay claim to a manor vacated by an ally to the crimson mage,” the clerk went on. “It stands two doors down from the Ashanta banker.”
“The absent merchant supplied victuals to both the palace and the mage’s army,” Connell explained. “The day of your victory, a group of rather irate citizens went looking for him. But he’d vanished, him and all his clan. Bayard has offered a sizeable reward. He hasn’t been seen since.”
Three hundred paces from the palace, they left the markets behind. The avenue broadened and became partially shaded by trees planted in raised stone tubs. A great crowd of people moved with them, though they were careful to keep a distance from Hyam’s group. The homes grew larger the closer they came to the city’s western wall. Finally the avenue ended at a stone plaza fronting grand residences. Here the crowd was at its thickest. The murmuring wash of voices stilled at their approach.
“Make way!” the clerk cried, but it was hardly necessary, for already the throng pressed back, forming a path through which they passed.
Their destination was a manor on the plaza’s opposite side. Two guard towers rose from the wall’s corners. The Ashanta symbol for treaty was stamped into the filigreed metal archway above the main gate. Or rather, what was left of the gate, for it had been mostly destroyed. As had the right-hand guard tower. And the manor’s front door.
Connell indicated the foppish gentleman rushing down the front walk. “Suthon, the earl’s representative.”
Suthon greeted them nervously, “Thank heavens you’ve come.”
A voice called from among the mob rimming the plaza, “Has the fiend returned?”
Suthon jerked as though the citizen had read his own thoughts. Connell, however, was made of sterner stuff. He turned and addressed the crowd. “The crimson mage was destroyed. His power has been vanquished. Many of you were witnesses to the battle and the triumph.”