Tempests and Slaughter

by Tamora Pierce

  “ ‘Only,’ he says,” one soldier growled.

  —

  On Saturday Arram went downstairs for a trip to the city’s biggest market. He and Preet joined Varice at the foot of the stairs. “He’s been shouting,” the young woman whispered behind her hand. Together they walked down to their friend’s new home. There eight guardsmen and a furious Ozorne waited in the hall.

  “Ozorne?” Varice asked, smiling at the guards. “What’s going on?”

  “According to our new ruler, Sergeant Okot”—Ozorne waved a hand at the sergeant, whose face was diplomatically blank—“according to him, this is how I am to go to the city, or I am not to go at all. Never mind that we’ve been perfectly safe without so much as a pocket picked for years!”

  “Your Highness, you were not Prince Mikrom’s heir in that time, and your protection was not my responsibility,” the sergeant said. He spoke with the kind of patience that indicated this was not the first time he had made these arguments.

  “My friends are as good as an army!” Ozorne snapped.

  “If we aren’t visiting the book stalls or the spicers.” Varice tucked Ozorne’s arm in one of hers. “Really, shall we spend the day here while you scream like a gull? This poor man is only following orders from your mother and your imperial uncle. Or do you want to see if we can match those jade beads you like so much?”

  Ozorne looked down at her. “How did you know I liked them?”

  “Because you bought all the gem seller had in June, silly. He told you he’d have more in September. If he hasn’t been holding them for you all month, I am a bonobo.” Varice smiled at the sergeant. “He’s ready to go now.”

  Okot ushered them outside to a waiting carriage, while Arram murmured to Varice, “Thank you.”

  “I heard that,” Ozorne snapped. “You two don’t have to live with an extra clutch of people making your life their business.”

  As Okot pointed Arram to the spot on Ozorne’s free side, Varice said pleasantly, “I know you’ll feel differently the first time someone tries to kill you, Ozorne. Sergeant, do you have a mage to check—” She raised a glittering hand and smiled. “Oh, you’re the one trained in the detection of poisons and poisoning spells.”

  Arram could tell the sergeant was a mage, but he hadn’t tried to discover the man’s specialty, if he had one. Ozorne saved Arram’s pride by asking for himself: “How did you know he’s expert in poisons?”

  Varice turned up her nose, looking very pleased with herself. “How do you lads think a kitchen witch would know?” she teased.

  More calmly Ozorne asked, “Where did you study, Okot?”

  The sergeant looked at Varice with respect. Bowing to Ozorne, he said, “I began at the City of the Gods on Tortall’s northern border. When they understood my Gift was best employed to protect and investigate, I was sent to Jindazhen and the countries of the West to learn what I could, and then to…other masters, closer to home. When I was judged fit to serve in a noble or royal house, I made my bow to the emperor.”

  Varice sighed, the picture of a girl in love. “I don’t suppose— No, you must be far too busy.”

  Okot raised his brows a touch. “Once the lads and I are settled in here, and with His Highness’s permission—”

  Ozorne gave a bark of a laugh. “Far be it from me to stop Varice from adding another string to her bow, particularly when I hope to benefit!”

  “He’s so good to me,” Varice told Okot.

  “When I know my off-duty hours, I will let you know, mistress,” Okot said. “In the meantime, if you have not read it already, you may wish to look at Strange Things in My Stew by Farmer Cooper of Tortall. It was written three hundred years ago and is out of fashion, but there are things in it you will not find in the modern texts.”

  “Wonderful!” Varice said. “Thank you so much, Sergeant!”

  She is marvelous, Arram thought. This could have been a miserable outing, or no outing at all. Yet with a little flirtation, teasing, and honest curiosity, she made everyone feel better, even Ozorne. Even Okot.

  Two men rode inside with them, the sergeant and another guard rode on top, and the other four rode around the carriage. It made for a quick ride down the broad city ways. City people, one of Arram’s patients had told him, learned to spot house insignia on horse gear and carriage doors, and to get out of the way.

  The market was crowded by the time they reached it, though their guards created an uncomfortably large space around them. The young people poked through carts and shops unhampered, but the vendors did not have their usual cheerful smiles for Ozorne and his friends. Other customers made themselves scarce at the sight of soldiers clearly on watch, which meant the stall owners were losing money. Ozorne was steaming and about to explode. Arram suspected he had wanted to sneak off to see a tavern girl he had been visiting when away from the music student he courted at the university. Arram thought the soldiers might understand, but judging by the look on Ozorne’s face, the prince was in no mood to hear such advice.

  They were crossing one of the broad fountain squares when Arram saw a ragged peddler burdened with a heavy load of wood. A wealthy-looking merchant turned abruptly, banging into the peddler. Furious, the man lashed the peddler’s arm with his walking stick. The poor man stumbled forward, through Sergeant Okot’s ring of guards.

  The guard beside Arram drew his sword and used the hilt to shove the unfortunate man away. His voice friendly, he said, “Here, you, be about your—”

  Off balance, the man fell into Ozorne.

  The honey pastry Ozorne had been trying to eat went onto his silk shirt. He shoved the peddler just as the nearest guard seized the bundle of wood and yanked it off. Wailing, the peddler fell. He raised his feet to hold off any attackers, only to plant his muddy sandals on Ozorne’s new linen breeches.

  Ozorne began kicking the peddler. He screamed insults that started with “Sirajit” until Arram threw a shield of his Gift between the prince and the man on the ground. The guard who had grabbed the bundle of wood dropped it and dragged the peddler away from Ozorne. Another of the guards helped Varice to her feet—someone had knocked her down. Okot shouted orders: instantly the remaining soldiers encircled Ozorne, facing outward. Okot bellowed for the gawking crowd to go about their business.

  Ozorne rounded on Arram. His face, so often dreamy-eyed or amused, was red with fury. He clenched his hands into fists. “You dare!” he shouted at Arram. “You dare to use magic to thwart me!”

  Arram let his shield vanish, though he feared Ozorne might strike him. “I was the only one who would,” he said mildly, his tone belying his shock at his friend’s behavior. “Okot told us he knows poisons best, and I don’t think Varice can manage that kind of shield spell.”

  “Not that I can call up in a moment’s thought,” Varice said tartly, brushing her skirts with both hands. They came away streaked in mud. “Ozorne, what were you thinking? Now everything is ruined.”

  Okot planted himself in front of their friend. His face was stone. “In truth, Your Highness, this proves what I tried to tell you. We cannot guard you properly in the market. It is too crowded. That could as easily have been an assassin. While we rid ourselves of him, watched your friends, and held off bystanders, a confederate could have killed you.” The man paused, then bowed and said, “With all respect due to you.”

  Ozorne ground his teeth. Finally he said, “I can protect myself, you know.”

  “Obviously,” the sergeant replied. His tone was very dry.

  “I am a mage,” the prince insisted.

  Okot bowed.

  At last Ozorne said, “Well, I must return and change. Arram, Varice, there’s no reason to ruin your day.”

  “I have to change, too,” Varice said tartly. “There’s no point in coming back by the time that’s done. Arram, if you’ll buy some things for me, I’ll cook us supper in Ozorne’s new hearth.”

  Ozorne’s face brightened. He contributed money as Varice told Arram what she
needed. Off they went, enclosed in a tight square of guards. Arram looked around and spotted the peddler. The man had only gone as far as the nearest water fountain, where he sat on the rim and wept. He’d lost most of his wood, and the urchins who awaited opportunity in the square had stolen it.

  Arram crouched beside the peddler. “I’m sorry.” The man stared at him, frightened. His face was marred with bruises, his clothes ripped. “He’s not usually like that,” Arram told him. “But his cousin is dead, and the emperor has made him take guards wherever he goes. He’s not used to the change.” The peddler leaned away, obviously afraid Arram brought more bad news. “Here,” Arram said, offering a handful of his own silver coins. Nervously, the peddler held out his palm. Arram gave him the money. “That should cover the wood, and a healer, and a few days to rest. We’re really sorry.” The peddler said nothing, only stared at the coins in his hand. “Well, gods go with you.” Arram stood, dusting his hands off on his tunic. Seeing the peddler’s eyes widen in fear, he walked back so the man wouldn’t feel so intimidated by his height before he turned and headed off to do his errands.

  One of them did not involve supper. He searched through the market until he found the grand main shop of Inlands Trading House. The guard outside moved to stop him, but Arram took a tip from Varice’s book. He knew he looked somewhat bedraggled, but the idea, she had once told him, was to act as if he were royalty, even in rags. He drew himself up, fingered the black opal necklace around his neck, and let his right sleeve slide back. At the beginning of the autumn term, Cosmas had presented him with a thin bracelet made of gold, threaded with sapphire, jet, and jade stones, just as Sebo had given him a bracelet of copper linking moonstone, celestite, and azurite. These were twined with the bracelet Arram had made with Yadeen and the Hag’s die, and supported magic of all kinds. Between the black opal necklace and the twined bracelet, the guard would recognize a mage of talent and let him pass—as this one did. “Never judge a mage by his clothes,” Hulak had told him once.

  Arram looked around the shop until he saw a counter girl who reminded him of Faziy in her friendly, cheerful air. They talked a little over a shelf of opals before he asked her if she knew his friend and former teacher.

  “I do, or I did,” the girl said, her eyes going dark with sadness. “We started at the training class on the same day—learning where all the company’s buildings are, and the docks, and who’s in charge. We even rented rooms together.” She sniffed. Arram provided her with a handkerchief and walked her to a display of jeweled figurines so the senior staff would stop looking at them.

  “I was seeing a servant from one of the big houses over in the Moon District,” she whispered. “He bought us three nights in a nice inn, just the two of us. It was wonderful! I did tell her what we were going to do, just not where….” She sniffed again and wiped her nose. “When I got home, our rooms were all torn up, and she was gone. She hasn’t been back! I went to as many infirmaries as I could, and to the Imperial Guard….” She hung her head. “And then they told me that if I lost any more time from my work, they would have to find someone else.” Tears ran freely down her cheeks. “They said it must be robbers, or maybe they took her to sell her, and she’ll never be found.”

  Arram bought a trinket—he forgot what it was—and told his new friend how to find him if she ever got word of Faziy. He was halfway back to the university before he remembered why his friends believed he had remained behind. He was only just able to race back and buy what they wanted before the markets closed.

  That night he went to bed early, but not before he wrote up what the shopgirl had told him. He gave the paper to Cosmas and stood cold-faced as the master spoke impatiently about involving himself in something he was supposed to avoid. Finally Cosmas gave up and ordered Arram to leave early for the infirmary.

  After talking the brawl over with Varice on Monday afternoon, Arram visited Sergeant Okot. The university had moved a batch of students to give Ozorne’s guards a headquarters across the hall from their charge. The area smelled of oil and leather. The common room was equipped with cushions, a few shelves of books, stands of sharpstones, leather, jars of oil, wooden practice swords, a slate with the guards’ schedules, and the sergeant’s desk and chair.

  Arram tried not to be intimidated by the military atmosphere. Fidgeting, running his fingers through Preet’s feathers, he explained to Okot why it was wise to keep Ozorne away from those who looked even a little Sirajit.

  The man looked up from papers he was reviewing. “Young sir, you think because you attend this overthought sprawl that you know more than a leatherfoot like me?” he asked, setting aside his feather pen. “You believe I don’t understand my work?”

  Arram’s voice squeaked when he first tried it. Preet scolded the sergeant for frightening her friend.

  “They told us no pets,” the sergeant said, holding up a finger. Preet fluttered over to it and continued to scold.

  Arram tried to speak again and coughed.

  “Oh, Hag’s droppings, drink this.” The man poured a cup full of water from his pitcher. “Stop carrying on. I don’t even have the right to flog you. And His Highness would have my sword if I laid a hand on you or the young lady.” He stroked Preet’s chest feathers with a thick finger. “Wouldn’t he, birdie? Yes, he would!”

  Arram gulped the water and cleared his throat. “She isn’t a pet,” he explained, feeling calmer. “It’s like the dogs upstairs; they’re animals that were trusted to Lindhall for care, or animals he’s studying. That’s Preet. I report on her behavior for Lindhall.”

  “Talkative little thing,” the sergeant said.

  Reassured by the man’s gentleness with Preet, Arram explained, “I’m not telling you about your work, sir. Varice felt, after the market, that you should know Ozorne’s not normally that way. But if you could watch for anyone who looks to be…to save unpleasantness, just in case…”

  The sergeant smiled up at him. “That pretty little girl makes all you fellows dance, doesn’t she? Don’t worry, lad. My men are used to palace details. But the market isn’t safe. You saw that. I made arrangements to get his favorite vendors to come here. All the royals do it.”

  Arram stared at the man, shocked. “But they’ll have to haul their goods from the city in the weather, and lose business in the market!”

  The sergeant shook his head. “You don’t know much about merchants, do you? They’re glad to do it. Put the little plaque that says ‘Favored by Prince Ozorne’ over their doors? Get the chance to let drop to their friends at the temples—just casual, mind!—how they can’t linger because they’re taking a batch of books up for the prince to look at? Be able to say, ‘You know, His Highness may want just that sort of thing. I’ll mention you to him’? They’re happy to sell goods later than usual in the city if they can brag of His Highness’s custom.”

  Arram blinked. “Oh. Human nature.”

  The sergeant nodded. “Human nature, lad. It’s a wonderful thing.” Handing Preet back to Arram, he added, “So’s the anger of a boy for the people that killed his father, particularly when he sees he might get to strike back at them.”

  “But the ones who killed his father are dead,” Arram protested weakly.

  “Not all,” the soldier replied. “Not their sons, or their nephews. My kin wiped out the last nest, and the emperor made peace. He knew they were ready to make peace. But that doesn’t mean we got them all, and it did naught for the men who came home missing a limb or loose in their wits. There’s plenty left if a prince wants his revenge.”

  “Please don’t tell him that,” Arram said. “Those people have endured enough.”

  “Not your worry, youngster. Leave it to the folk that sit on thrones and the ones that do their fighting for them.” Okot made a shooing motion with his hand. Arram was dismissed.

  —

  A month later Cosmas halted the fire magic class early and invited Arram and Varice to take a seat. He assumed his own desk chair and waited for
Preet to settle herself in his lap. “How is Ozorne managing with his guard detail? Not too intrusive, I hope?”

  Arram and Varice traded looks. Arram shrugged.

  “It’s funny how such conspicuous men disappear in plain sight, Master,” Varice said for both of them. “Pranksters try to distract them and get them to talk, but most leave them be.” She dimpled. “Some of my friends were talking girl business before they realized Sergeant Okot was standing right behind them.”

  Cosmas chuckled. “We did ask that Ozorne’s guards be discreet.”

  “Have there been imperial heirs at the university before?” Arram inquired.

  “Oh, yes, many times. Not recently, but Mesaraz was a student in the School of Law when his father was the heir. Sadly, Mesaraz was called to rule before he obtained his certificate, but his education is evident in the laws he has made, and the old ones he has rendered void. We are proud of him.” Cosmas looked into the distance, then shook off his thoughtful mood. “Now, you are invited to supper with Her Highness and Prince Ozorne. It takes place at the palace Water Pavilion on Saturday evening. Yadeen understands that you will not be in class on Sunday morning, Arram, just as I am excusing you both from mine.” He tapped a pair of parchments on his desk. Each was ornately addressed in gold ink, one to Arram and one to Varice. “I regret to say that Preet is not invited.”

  The bird made a sound very much like a whine.

  “Forgive me, lovely,” Cosmas told her, “but the princess was firm on the subject about ‘pets at a royal occasion.’ You may take dinner with some of my fellow masters and me. If you are very good, we will allow you to have some of the mead you like.”

  “Mead!” Arram cried, shocked. “You’ve been giving her mead?!”

  “It does her no harm,” Cosmas replied with dignity. “Lindhall approved, and it stops her from crying for you when you work at night in the infirmary. None of us would do anything to harm our Preet, would we, my dear?”