War of Magic (Dual Magics Book 4)

by Meredith Mansfield

  Kaldan, one of his old friends from his first year at the Academy was the first to arrive. Theklan hadn’t seen much of him since returning, because they were in different classes, now. Maybe this would give them a chance to renew their friendship. The Spirit of the Eagle knew he could use another friend besides Sharila. Not that she wasn’t helping him to learn to fly, but there were just some things she didn’t understand. Some things he couldn’t talk to her about.

  “What are the sticks for?” Kaldan asked.

  “They’re not sticks. They’re staves,” Theklan explained. “It’s the first weapon Orleus—he’s the Captain of the Tysoean Guard—taught me.”

  “Where’s Tysoe?” Another boy—Theklan couldn’t remember his name—asked.

  “On the other side of the Great Forest, and about five days . . .” Theklan paused, remembering that none of the others would ever have ridden a horse. He did a quick mental calculation. “About seven or eight days travel beyond that, there’s a huge lake, maybe four times the size of that one.” He pointed off in the direction of the Lake, which didn’t need another name because it was the only one the Valson knew. “Tysoe is on that lake.”

  Kaldan crossed his arms over his chest. “What do we need a weapon for? I thought this was a new kind of exercise.”

  “In case, someday, you need one. You’ll know how to use it.” At the puzzled look on his friend’s face, Theklan added. “I never thought I’d need a weapon, either. But I found out I was wrong. And then I was glad I knew how to use one of these.” He tipped one of the staves up with his toe, caught it, and spun it expertly, then brought it and himself into the neutral position—prepared for either defense or offense. “I’ll show you how. And it really is good exercise, too.”

  Kaldan tried to imitate him and ended up hitting himself in the chest with the other end of the staff. He shot Theklan a suspicious glare.

  Theklan suppressed a smile. “It does take a little practice.”

  Three others wandered up. No one he knew well. Maybe that was all he was going to get, this first time. Maybe it was all right to start small. Others might get interested later. Theklan handed a staff to each of them and then put the rest out of the way. They all stood together, bunched up like a frightened herd.

  He shook his head. “You’re going to have to spread out or you’ll hit each other with those staves.”

  “I thought that was the point,” one of the older boys said.

  “Eventually, you’ll learn to spar with each other—both to hit and to block hits. But first you have to learn to control your staff. And to do that, you have to go through the forms. Like this.” Theklan took his staff in both hands and started the most advanced form Orleus had taught him, flowing through it with speed and precision. He knew it looked impressive because he remembered how awestruck he’d been watching Orleus do it, before he’d learned himself. Anyway, he needed something to keep the attention of these few students if he was going to have a chance of attracting more. And he’d made sure to run through the form several times by himself the last few days to make sure he could do it without any obvious mistakes. Not that his audience would be able to detect them, but he’d know. He could use all the confidence he could get right now.

  He finished the form and turned to face his class. They all looked suitably impressed—and just a little doubtful. “You’ll start with something a little simpler and slower, of course. Now spread out far enough that you won’t be hitting each other—or tangling your staves.

  Theklan waited until he thought they were far enough apart. “All right. I’m going to go through the simplest form slowly. Just . . . try to do what I do.”

  He ended the class at the end of half an hour. He didn’t know how much more his students could take, but he wasn’t sure he could handle any more. This was going to take longer than he’d thought. Funny, he didn’t remember having this much trouble with Orleus’s lessons. Then again, Orleus had a lot more practice at teaching these skills than Theklan did. Probably hadn’t hurt that Theklan had been a lot more motivated to learn how to defend himself, either.

  “We’ll do this again next seventh day,” he said. He just hoped they came back.

  Now, he just had to find something else to do with himself until this evening, when he could hope to get news about how things were going in Caere. Maybe Sharila would be available to help him practice flying again.

  Chapter 17: The Plan Succeeds

  Savara looked up at Vatar in the dim, pre-dawn light as she helped him to feed the assorted animals crowded into Uncle Lanark’s courtyard. “When can we go home, Papa?”

  “Don’t you like it here?”

  Savara’s face scrunched up. “Auntie Castalia is very nice. But the horses and goats don’t really like it here. And I want to go home, too.”

  Vatar sighed. So do I. “Well, I hope we can go back very soon now.” It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate Uncle Lanark’s hospitality. Or even that he wasn’t used to having his whole family in one room. That, after all, was how they lived on the plains. But living out of his former apprentice quarters—the very room he once shared with Avaza, and where the twins were conceived—was . . . awkward.

  They’d gone back in and sat down at the table for one of Aunt Castalia’s excellent breakfasts when Vatar felt the tingle of Far Speech. He accepted the contact at the same time opening his bond with Thekila, so she could join in the conversation. “What is it, Father?”

  “You were right. Our chosen prisoners escaped as planned. The Kausalyan fleet upped anchor and sailed away sometime during the night.”

  There was something more. Vatar could sense it through the contact. “Do we know if they put anyone ashore first?” If the Kausalyan sailors had simply dumped them ashore, the Exiles and the Themyri could still be a threat, at least to the farms outside the city walls. Even if they bypassed the city, they’d be that much closer to the Dardani—and in a position to make it difficult for anyone else to get out there to warn the Dardani.

  Father sighed. “Not yet. The few watchers who were in place weren’t able to tell in the dark.”

  “Maybe we should try to find out,” Thekila joined the conversation through their bond. “If we fly over the fleet, we should be able to tell at least whether the Themyri and the Exiles are still aboard.”

  “We wouldn’t be able to tell if they were all there,” Vatar said.

  “No. But I doubt that Nertan and Wartan would want to split their forces,” Thekila said.

  “True,” Father said. “We don’t know how far down the coast the fleet has gotten, though.”

  “Only one way to find out,” Thekila said. And then we could go home, she added to Vatar privately.

  Vatar nodded to her. “We’ll see what we can do, Father. Something else is bothering you. What is it?”

  “The Kausalyans we chose weren’t the only ones to escape last night.”

  Vatar’s brows creased. “Who else? Some of the Exiles?”

  “Selene. The guards discovered her absence this morning,” Father answered.

  Vatar sat back in his chair. That was a complication he hadn’t expected. “Into the palace? Or the Temple grounds?” No question it would be easier to hide in the maze of the Temple complex.

  “We’re not sure yet. But . . . unquestionably her goal would be to go south. To her mother.”

  “You think she made her way to one of the Kausalyan ships?” Vatar asked.

  “I’m certain she would have tried.”

  Vatar drummed his fingers on the table while he thought. Not just about the implications of this. But also what to say. He knew how much Selene’s betrayal had hurt his father. “Maybe it’s better if she did reach one of the Kausalyan ships. I don’t like the idea of her loose somewhere in Caere where she can report on our plans. I don’t think there’s much more she can do from Kausalya than Gerusa has already tried. And I never much liked the idea of keeping her prisoner, either.”

  “Neither did I,” Fath
er said as he released the connection.

  ~

  After a hurried breakfast, Vatar saddled the horses again. They’d agreed it would be better not to excite the already tense Caereans by flying from the roof of Uncle Lanark’s house. Instead they rode out to the same promontory from which they’d helped direct the catapults in the defense of the harbor. The catapult crew had already seen Vatar Transform from his eagle form once and, though understandably surprised, hadn’t seemed to panic over it.

  They left their horses at the usual place—a small corral that had been built for this purpose far enough away from the catapults not to spook the horses. In truth, the horses would probably be happier here, with grass underfoot, than in Uncle Lanark’s paved courtyard. Savara was right about that.

  Vatar and Thekila walked to the end of the headland, this time to the south-facing side rather than the one that looked over the mouth of the bay. No sign of the Kausalyan fleet was visible from here. Thekila flowed into her avatar first—a normal-sized, snowy white eagle. It took Vatar a moment longer since this wasn’t his avatar and he only had borrowed help from the Spirit of the Eagle. After a final push, he stood beside her, also has a white eagle, but almost three times her size. This form was still vastly smaller than it would have been without some help from the Spirit of the Eagle, Thekila’s totem.

  Thekila led, spreading her wings and leaping into the air. Vatar spread his much wider wings and dropped off the edge of the cliff, letting the warm-air updraft help to push him aloft. He would never be as agile in the air as Thekila.

  They flew south along the coast against a stiff cross wind blowing off the ocean.

  The wind could be more help. Vatar complained as he corrected his course to keep from being blown inland.

  If it was behind us, it would also be pushing the Kausalyan fleet away from us even faster, wouldn’t it? Thekila answered through their bond.

  I . . . guess. Vatar didn’t really understand that much about boats and ships. Didn’t want to. But that made sense.

  His wings were beginning to tire—this was by far the longest flight he’d ever made—when his eagle’s sharp eyes picked out sails ahead.

  Let me go ahead and see what there is to see, Thekila said.

  No! It was too dangerous. Some of the Exiles were likely to recognize Thekila’s avatar—she was well-known in the Valley for being one of the first two to be able to fly in avatar form. Her friend Quetza was the other.

  I don’t think they’ll recognize me, Thekila said as if she’d read his mind. Actually, she might have gotten some of that through their bond. My avatar used to be larger than your eagle form is now. There’s no way they can know that my avatar is so much smaller, now, with the help of the Spirit of the Eagle. They can’t know anything about the Spirit magic. And I’ll stay high enough to be out of arrow range. If I stay high enough, they may not even realize I’m not just another sea gull.

  I still don’t like it. We go together.

  You’re tiring already. Don’t try to tell me you aren’t. I can fly faster than you. It’ll only take a moment.

  Before he could reply, Thekila drove forward faster than he could keep up. Vatar huffed in irritation and veered closer to the bluffs. He used the warm-air updraft to spiral higher—never taking his eyes from the bright white spot that was Thekila. From a great enough altitude, he could dive fast enough to reach her if anything did happen.

  Vatar almost held his breath as he watched, but there was no sign of an arrow or any other projectile aimed at Thekila. Soon that bright white spot started to grow larger again. She was coming back. He let out a long, relieved breath.

  The decks are full of people. I don’t think they’ve put anyone ashore. But it looks like the Exiles and probably the Fasallon are keeping themselves surrounded by a wall of Themyri.

  Possibly the ships’ crews didn’t take well to finding out they’d been deceived into undertaking this attack, Vatar said.

  That would be my guess.

  Vatar swung around on the air current. Well, let’s head on home, then. Really home.

  Yes. It’s almost time to feed Taleara again. She’ll be fussy by the time we get there. She doesn’t like goat’s milk, which is all Elaria and Castalia will have to offer her. And then we can tell Theklan the good news.

  ~

  The next morning, Vatar walked back to the Temple and the room that was now permanently dedicated to the meetings of the Full Council. The feel of the city was entirely different now, like a weight had been removed from the entire community. There was a feeling almost like the one that used to surround the Festival as people went about getting the town back to normal. Vatar desperately wanted to be doing the same thing—taking his family back out to their farm and out of this fetid, overcrowded place. But he still had a duty to the Full Council to discharge. Tomorrow, he promised himself. Not a day longer.

  For a little while, at least. The Exiles and their Themyri subordinates were still out there. And according to Zoria, the Exiles’ plan was to return to the Valley. Even if they abandoned their plan to get revenge on Vatar personally, the Dardani were still between the Exiles and their goal. The Dardani had to be warned and Vatar—or Arcas—were the only ones who could do that. They’d need to start their annual trading trip out to Zeda as early as practical. Maybe even before the clans would have started to gather there.

  But first, the Full Council.

  The last members to arrive—Father and Montibeus—had barely had time to take their seats before the Fishermen’s Guild Master spoke up. “Has the Kausalyan fleet really withdrawn?”

  “It certainly looks that way,” Vatar said. “And so far as we can tell, none of the army that was aboard those ships was put ashore.”

  “It’s over then,” the Smiths’ Guild Master said.

  Vatar drew in a breath and shook his head. “For us . . . maybe. At least for now. But I wouldn’t count the Exiles—or, for that matter, Gerusa—out yet. If the Exiles succeed in returning to the Valley as conquerors, they might well turn back to attack Caere again. Or they might attack some of the less well-defended cities and outposts on which we depend.”

  “Do we know what they’re likely to do?” Amalthea asked.

  “According to those who know them best, they’re most likely to press on to the Valley—which is virtually without defenses. If they’re able to . . . subvert the beliefs of the Valson, they could return with ten times the number of Talented magic users against us—at least.”

  “How do we prevent that?” the Merchants’ Guild Master asked.

  Vatar sighed. “I’m not sure yet. The first thing I’m bound to do is to go out on the plains to warn the Dardani and the Modgud. They’re the best line of defense, but I’m afraid they won’t be able to fight the Exiles’ magic. The Dardani can be fierce warriors at need, but they have a superstitious terror of most kinds of magic.” He looked toward Montibeus. “I’ll be going on from there to the Valley—to warn them again and to bring my wife’s brother back. If I can get the Dardani shaman to accept him back, he’d be able to relay information to us, even after I come back here.”

  “Why wouldn’t they take him back?” Montibeus asked.

  Vatar shrugged. “The shaman saw him use his magic in a fit of temper. Unless I can get the shaman’s acceptance of his return, it won’t be safe for Theklan to go back to the Dardani.”

  Amalthea drummed her fingers on the table. “We may need to give some thought to choosing an emissary to send back to the Valley with you. Someone who, among other things, can warn us if the Exiles do succeed, as you fear.”

  “But the fighting is over here—at least for now, right?” the Fishermen’s Guild Master asked again.

  “For this year, at least. Maybe longer,” Vatar agreed. “Why?”

  The Fishermen’s Guild Master cast a look across the table at the Fasallon. “Some of my members have been asking whether there would be a Festival this year. They feel there ought to be some kind of celebration
.”

  Montibeus leaned forward. “We’d need some time to organize—”

  Vatar interrupted, shaking his head. “We can’t go back to the way things were before. There’s no way now but forward.” He chewed on his lower lip. “Have the Festival, without the procession. The games and the other parts of the Festival would be a good outlet for people who’ve been cooped up inside the walls.”

  “If there’s no procession, how—?”

  Vatar interrupted Montibeus again. “I don’t think you’ll get the guilds to pay you tribute in the old way again.”

  There were murmurs of assent from the guild masters.

  Vatar turned toward them. “But perhaps it is time to start talking about the services you—we all—still want the Fasallon to provide. And a fair way to pay for them.”

  “Cestus was talking of starting a Teaching Guild,” the Smiths’ Guild Master said.

  Vatar nodded. “And that might work for him. Although, I think you and he still need to discuss how those services will be paid for. Individually? That will exclude some students who might benefit—and be of value to Caere—by having that training. By the guilds? Or in some other way altogether. But the teachers will have to be paid somehow. So will the Healers. And the Temple Guard. The guilds have no trained force to keep the peace.” He paused. “Though we may want to rename them the City Guard, instead. What about message senders?”

  Father tapped on the table and glanced briefly at Montibeus. “There are many bureaucrats in the Temple who keep various aspects of this city running smoothly, too. I don’t know that the guilds are prepared to take over all those tasks.”

  The Merchants’ Guild Master grimaced. “We may not end up paying much less than we were paying as tribute.”

  Vatar smiled wryly. “Perhaps not, but at least you’ll know exactly what you’re getting.”

  “We have a lot to talk about now that the crisis is over,” the Smiths’ Guild Master said.

  ~

  Vatar started to stand up as the meeting finally broke up, but Father didn’t rise, so Vatar sat back down. “What is it?”