Tempests and Slaughter

by Tamora Pierce

  “I wasn’t sure you meant it,” Arram explained.

  “Anyone Varice likes is fine with me,” Ozorne said. “And you still didn’t tell me how you flooded your class, the Gift of it. We’ve both done that stupid spell, but we didn’t get those results!”

  When she saw Arram had a tendency to lag behind, Varice tucked her arm in his and forced him to keep up. To his delight, Arram discovered that the students who cared for the menagerie animals were well acquainted with his companions. Ozorne in particular was a favorite in the areas set aside for the birds. Once he had vouched for Arram—which Arram thought was taking a great deal on trust—the three young people were admitted to the big enclosure that housed the birds who could get along. When the students handed each of the young people a cloth bag, birds flew down from their perches to land on their arms, shoulders, and heads, just as the pigeons did in the city squares.

  The bags contained the food specially made up for the birds: small bits of vegetables, fruit, and fat, as well as seeds of all kinds. Arram ended up scattering his to the birds that swarmed around his feet while he watched Ozorne and Varice. They knew the animals so well that they could get them to do tricks for a bite of something.

  One large golden peacock strutted over to Arram. To the boy’s surprise, the other birds backed away from him. A student attendant who had been keeping an eye on them all hurried over. She passed Arram another bag of feed. “This is his,” she said, nodding to the bird. “His lordship doesn’t like to share with the others.”

  Arram poured the bag’s contents into his hand to find it was mostly brightly colored food: melon, squash, orange, and bits of small golden fish. “He’s very particular, isn’t he?” he asked.

  Ozorne wandered over. “One day I’ll have a menagerie of my own, and I’ll have all of them,” he announced. “They’re called goldwings. They come from all the way across the Emerald Ocean.”

  “I only see this one,” Arram said, looking around.

  “We have two here, and the emperor has the other four. Now, come, have you seen ordinary peacocks before? I’m sorry, your lordship,” added the prince, bowing to the goldwing, “but you have to admit they’re pretty, too. Or at least the males are.” Ozorne hooked Arram’s arm and dragged him off to view birds with more colors in them than he’d ever seen in his life.

  They barely made it to supper on time. Varice had refused to go until she’d changed her gown. Boys might be happy enough simply to dust themselves after birds had shed all over them, she informed her two friends, but she was not. They made it to the dining hall just before the monitors closed the doors.

  “Close one,” a monitor chided as they skidded into the huge, noisy room.

  Ozorne grinned at the older boy. “Close still counts!”

  Arram had thought they might have trouble finding a table, particularly with him in tow, but it seemed that Varice was as confident in the dining hall as Ozorne was in the menagerie. She swept through the lines of serving plates and dishes, not only making sure of her own choices, but seeing to it that the boys took proper foods as well. Then she led the way to a small, shockingly empty table near one of the doors that led to the outdoor tables and a garden. The door was open, but no one took advantage of the tables outside: the air was cooling off. Instead Varice and Ozorne sat at that empty little table and pointed Arram’s new seat out to him. Only when everyone had eaten at least half of their dinners did Varice allow Ozorne to open the subject of water magic.

  It was the best evening Arram had enjoyed at the university. Ozorne had some clever ideas on how to harness the power that had gone wrong that morning. Varice gave Arram some spells and charms for the manipulation of water she had learned from cooks and cook mages. If he worked hard he’d have them memorized by the end of the week. The water spells wouldn’t get away from him anymore!

  They chattered outside one of the school’s many libraries until the end-of-study bells told them it was time to get back to their rooms. The boys escorted Varice to her building, where she was housed with older girls, then ran for their dormitory. Ozorne showed Arram a shortcut by way of the gardens behind the buildings. They were approaching their own place when Ozorne held out his arm to stop Arram. They halted in a grove of lemon trees planted in the edges of the garden. Two figures in the brown shirts and breeches of the university stable and field staff were standing at Ozorne’s window. The shutters were open; Ozorne had told Arram he always left them that way.

  “I’ll get the guards,” Arram whispered.

  Ozorne put a hand on his arm. To Arram’s shock, the older boy was chuckling softly. “Just wait,” he murmured.

  One of the would-be thieves boosted himself up and over the ledge. The second followed. There was a yelp.

  “Come on!” Ozorne said. He raced for the door to the building; Arram followed, wondering if he knew any battle spells. He’d learned Ozorne had fighting lessons after university classes four days a week, but he’d had nothing of the kind.

  When they entered their room, Ozorne produced a ball of light, one of the few magics they were allowed to do outside class. Arram gasped. Two ragged men lay on the floor. They looked as if they’d fallen into bronze spiderwebs and been rolled up in them.

  Curious, Arram went over and poked at the substance. The man inside it spat at him. The webbing itself was far thicker than spiderweb and not sticky, but these men would not be going anywhere until they were freed by a mage. He looked at his new friend.

  “I thought we weren’t allowed to cast anything but tiny spells in our rooms, and only with permission,” he said, curious and awed.

  Ozorne chuckled. “Silly lad, I know that. But the university understands I might be a particular temptation to those who don’t value their positions here.” He walked over to the other bundled thief. “Master Chioké cast this trapping spell for me. Would you let the housekeeper know we’ve caught fish in our net?” he asked Arram. He nudged the man with a toe.

  Arram was at the door when he heard his new friend ask softly, “Are you Sirajit? I’ll know if you lie.”

  That’s right, Arram thought as he knocked on the housekeeper’s door. Ozorne’s father was killed fighting Sirajit rebels. Arram had only been in Carthak for a year, but he remembered the student in black, and the memorial celebrations for the hero father. Even though Siraj had been part of the empire for years, its mountain people still resisted imperial rule and frequently tried to fight it off.

  When he returned with watchmen, Arram found Ozorne still questioning his captives. As far as Arram could tell, the men were unharmed.

  Feeling himself to be in the way, he retreated to his own part of the room as the guards chained the would-be robbers and took them out. Ozorne followed them to the door and slipped a few coins into one guard’s hand. “For your trouble,” he told the man.

  After closing the door, Ozorne flung himself into Arram’s chair. “Gods save us, why are you reading that dusty old thing?” the prince demanded, looking at a book on Arram’s desk. “You don’t even have any class studies—you could read whatever you want. You could read something fun!”

  Arram grinned at his new friend. “But this is my idea of fun. Is trapping robbers yours?”

  “I don’t like strangers handling my things,” Ozorne said with a shrug. “And now you needn’t worry about more thieves. Once word gets around that our place is trapped, they’ll think the better of it.”

  “Were they actually servants here?” Arram asked, concerned. “I wouldn’t have thought it.”

  “More like family of servants, or acquaintances who overheard who the servants wait on. Word will get around. And I can tell Master Chioké the traps didn’t even leave a mark.” Ozorne grinned. “You now live in the safest room in the dormitories!”

  —

  The next morning was their day of worship, for those who chose to do so, and a day of rest for those who chose to relax. Arram heard Ozorne rise early and dress, but he went back to sleep. He had given up
religious services not long after his arrival at the university, preferring to take one morning to loll in bed.

  It wasn’t long before someone tapped on the door. Ozorne, who had returned, opened it and spoke softly to his guest: Arram recognized Varice’s reply. She asked him something, and Arram heard Ozorne walk closer. He turned over toward the wall and made a grumbling sound, as if he were still asleep. If they were going somewhere, he didn’t want them to feel obligated to ask him along simply because he was Ozorne’s roommate.

  Ozorne hesitated, then left, closing the door quietly behind him.

  Arram flipped on his back and sighed. He would have liked to go somewhere with them, but his pride got in his way. Pride was a horrible thing, and he wished he didn’t have any, but it was his family’s pride, so he was stuck with it. He didn’t even want to sleep anymore.

  He had just gotten dressed when the door swung open.

  “Oh, good,” Ozorne said. “I’m on a mission. I’m not allowed to return to the Northern Gate without you. Varice says you no doubt pretended to be asleep because you thought we were going to invite you because we felt sorry for you, and you are supposed to stop being silly and come along.”

  “But…,” Arram said, knowing he ought to protest.

  “Come on,” Ozorne insisted. “We’re going to lunch in town—my treat—and then there’s a play in the Imperial Theater. My treat also. She’s right—you are being silly. We wouldn’t invite you if we didn’t like you. I’m much too selfish to do otherwise. You’ll need better shoes than those sandals if you have them.”

  Dazed by this whirlwind of information, Arram donned his holiday shoes.

  Varice shook a finger at Arram when they joined her. “Wicked boy!” she cried. “Never do that again! You’re always invited, until you’re not! That’s our rule! Now, let’s go have fun.”

  Arram did, more than he ever had with his father and grandfather. He made the three-lined Sign against evil when he thought it, and left a copper in a corner shrine to Lady Wavewalker, goddess of the sea and those who sailed on it, but it was still true. It was one thing to walk along the stalls with someone who took interest only in cloth and clothing, being told no every time he asked for something unusual (though they were kind—to a limit—about books and maps). It was another to go with people who looked at the same things he looked at and discussed them; stopped to watch jugglers, fire eaters, acrobats, people who walked rings and balls along their arms and backs, and musicians; pondered over the second- and third-hand volumes at the booksellers; and looked at the animals for sale—only to be forced to leave when Ozorne began to shout at a seller who didn’t clean the dung from the animals’ cages.

  “If I had the power, there would be a law that they would have to keep the animals clean and properly fed,” Ozorne said, fuming, as Varice and Arram dragged their friend away from the seller. The man shouted obscenities and threats as their party mocked him.

  “Maybe when your cousin is emperor you could ask him for the law,” Varice suggested.

  “Ha! If he even remembers my name,” Ozorne retorted. Varice’s face turned sad, and he quickly put a hand on her shoulder. “Oh, don’t. I’ll ask, when the day comes. I will.”

  They moved on to the theater and enjoyed themselves thoroughly. That night, when Arram flung himself onto his bed, he was too happy to sleep. They had eaten their supper from the market vendors’ carts, sampling one another’s dishes. He now had a list of new favorites to try in the dining hall. They had watched a puppet show that made them laugh themselves silly, just as they had at the short comedy before the play. The play itself was a heroic one, full of winged horses, a dragon, and a valiant hero. It was thoroughly satisfying, even from the high, cheap seats. Arram was surprised at how carefully his new friend paid out his coin, until Ozorne explained his mother said he must learn to manage his purse.

  Arram thought of all of this as he lay in bed and grinned. What a fine day! He had friends!

  —

  At breakfast the next morning Varice looked at their bleary eyes and pale faces and smirked.

  “Did you get any sleep?” she asked as they entered the dining hall.

  “A little,” Ozorne mumbled. “Then he woke me up by scribbling and muttering about immortals. I asked what fascinated him so, and the next we knew it was daybreak.”

  “It was wonderful,” Arram said. “Usually I talk to people about things and they just say ‘Huh?’ or ‘Don’t ask stupid questions.’ ”

  “But you’re at the university now,” Varice protested.

  “We were talking about the banishment of the immortals,” Ozorne explained.

  Varice’s face lit. “I don’t suppose you know if they used kitchen witches or hedgewitches, people like that to help, do you?” she asked Arram. “I don’t see how they could have kept the little creatures from escaping without mages to work the smaller magics.”

  “I told you she ought to have been there,” Ozorne said as he disentangled himself to gather a tray, bowl, and spoon.

  Arram did the same, frowning in preoccupation. “I think I saw a book somewhere on how regular mages worked against the magics of the small immortals. It was very old but interesting, and it’s written in Common.” He looked at Varice, who was putting melon and a roll on her tray. Embarrassed, he said, “I’m sorry—you’ve probably read it.”

  “No, I haven’t!” she cried. “And I’ll die without it! Would you find it for me?”

  Arram grinned at her. He really had found two actual friends, who talked about book things, watched exciting theater shows, and enjoyed their food!

  He took a chance with a personal question. “You remember we told you about the robbers, don’t you?”

  She halted and cast a look at Ozorne. While they chose their meals, he was settling in at an empty table, out of hearing. “Of course I do. It’s just like Ozorne to have a trap laid.”

  “Well, he asked one of the thieves if he was from Siraj. Why would he do that? Because of his father?”

  Varice nodded. “He took his father’s passing very hard. So did his mother. His sisters are a little better….I suppose it’s different when you’re a boy. You get ideas, like you should have been there, and you could have saved him. Don’t ask him about it, though.”

  “I won’t—it’s why I came to you,” Arram assured her.

  She handed him an orange, then said quietly, “Sometimes he…gets angry if he tangles with someone he believes is from Siraj. His friends—his real friends—do their best to keep him out of that kind of trouble.”

  “Of course,” Arram said, looking at Ozorne. Their day at the market had been tremendously fun, due to him and to Varice. He’d do anything for them. “You can count on me,” he told her.

  THE IMPERIAL UNIVERSITY OF CARTHAK

  The School for Mages

  The Lower Academy for Youthful Mages

  SCHEDULE OF STUDY, AUTUMN TERM, SECOND HALF, 435 H.E.–SPRING TERM, 436 H.E.

  Student: Arram Draper

  Learning Level: Semi-Independent

  Breakfast—Third Morning Bell

  Morning Classes

  History of the Carthaki Empire

  Birds and Lizards: Anatomy

  Language: Old Thak

  Lunch—Noon Bell

  Afternoon Classes

  Mathematics

  Recognition of Sigils—Second Half Autumn Term

  Fish and Shellfish: Anatomy—Spring Term

  Analysis of the Written Word: The Technique of Common Writing—Second Half Autumn Term

  Analysis of the Written Word: The Technique of Writing: Sigils—Spring Term

  Meditation

  Supper—Seventh Afternoon Bell

  Extra Study at Need

  They were finishing their supper when Ozorne nudged Varice. “I think someone is hunting us.” Both Varice and Arram looked where Ozorne did: a proctor was pointing to their table.

  An older student trotted over to them, waving a length of parchme
nt. “Arram Draper?” he asked when he was close enough to be heard. Ozorne and Varice pointed to Arram. “With Headmaster Cosmas’s regards,” the messenger said, handing his parchment to Arram. “You poor young cluck.”

  “If you peeked at that you’d know he’s no cluck!” Varice shouted after him as the messenger hurried off. She took the parchment from Arram, who did not protest. He would never snatch anything away from her. Only when she and Ozorne had gotten a thorough look at it did they hand it to Arram: it was his new schedule for the remainder of the term.

  He winced. The masters had not been jesting when they had said they were going to make him work. Looking at his afternoon’s studies, he squeaked, “I’ll be bored to death!”

  “Not unless the masters say you can die,” Ozorne replied with a chuckle. “Cheer up, my lad. Varice and I have this class with you, and this one. I have this one, and I took these two last term, so you can use my notes.”

  “You can use my notes for this one,” Varice added, pointing. “And I have these two with you. It’ll be all right. You’ll see.”

  “And we can study together,” Ozorne said cheerfully.

  Ozorne also introduced him to the back halls and hidden shortcuts that got them places faster. He showed Arram the university’s many hidden shrines to varied gods, where the friends left small gifts in thanks to the Great Mother; to Mithros, the god of men, boys, and scholars; and to the Black God, who oversaw not only death but also the arts of the mage. In his previous three years Arram had not learned as much about the university as he did with Ozorne and Varice.

  —

  One early November night he flung himself onto his bed and went to sleep, leaving the shutters wide open for any bit of cool air that might happen by. As a result, he was roused from his dreams when something dropped onto his face.

  His teachers in animal studies all said that animals acted in two ways: fight or flight. Most of the boys boldly proclaimed they were fighters, while they sat at their desks on a bright day. Arram discovered that night that he did neither. Instead he froze as the small creature slapped him repeatedly with a leathery wing.