by Dawn Cook
“Will he never get here?” he said as he willed his anger away. He wished he could send a sharp thought to hurry the irritating man along, but he hadn’t taught him wordless speech and wouldn’t bother. The Hold’s ward of silence prevented Keepers from communicating this way unless one or both were beyond the fortress’s environs, a good morning’s walk in any direction. The ward had been a blessing when the Hold was full, helping to keep the subliminal background murmur of everyone’s thoughts to a minimum. Now the ward was a nuisance. It had never stopped the Masters from talking silently amongst themselves, though.
A Master couldn’t speak silently to a Keeper at all, and Bailic thanked the Navigator and all his Wolves for that. Just imagining the voiceless threats and nightmares Talo-Toecan would inflict on him made him uneasy.
The thought of Talo-Toecan pulled Bailic’s gaze to the windows, and he wondered if he ought to carry the book with him instead of leaving it hidden in his room. He knew the wily raku wouldn’t break his word, but making a tight deal with him was difficult. That Bailic was still alive proved he had been successful. There was no loophole in this bargain. Bailic had made sure of it.
Talo-Toecan wouldn’t attack Bailic as long as he remained in the Hold. This was a small concession on Bailic’s part, seeing as it was winter and only an insane man would go out for anything other than wood. Bailic had also forced the raku to agree to not steal the book back, as well as contact or otherwise interfere with his tutoring the piper to open the book. The promise had been pulled from the angry Master under the threat that Bailic would burn the book and the girl holding it at the time, to ash. Talo-Toecan had bent to his every demand, not willing to call Bailic’s bluff. It had been a satisfying encounter with the usually domineering Master.
In return, all Bailic had to do was keep from wringing the piper’s neck while he struggled to stuff enough wisdom through his thick skull so that the man could open the book. It was clear the plainsman knew he was relatively safe, as he had begun to find small ways to irritate Bailic. The piper’s companion survived under the same protection. But once the book was open, the agreement would be ended, and he could do what he wanted with them. In turn, Talo-Toecan could do what he might to Bailic. The prospect didn’t worry him. He would be privy to the Masters’ greatest lore. The student would become the master, as it had been since time immemorial.
And so he spent his mornings with the piper. Eventually the man would open the cursed book, and Bailic’s plan could move forward another slow step, but move forward it would. He had first emptied the Hold of its interfering Keepers, as messy and time consuming as that had been. Then he had persuaded almost the entire clan of Masters to their deaths in a search of a lost colony, a feat he once would have claimed was impossible. Most recently he acquired the book, only to find he couldn’t open it.
Bailic rose to his feet as the sun’s first rays spilled into the room. Frustration washed into him as if driven by the beams of light, and he strode to the door. “Piper-r-r-r-r!” he bellowed into the hall. “Where, by the Hounds, are you?” He lightly divided his thoughts to send his awareness to search the Hold. Bailic felt his lips curl as he sensed the plainsman’s presence on the stairs, slowly making his way to the practice room. Ceasing his motion, Bailic took a pose with his back to the sun and his hands on his hips, knowing he made a formidable shadow.
There was a small scuff, and the fuzzy image of the plainsman hesitated at the doorway. He heard a heavy sigh as the man entered and set the breakfast tray on the table. “You’re late, Piper,” Bailic said, not bothering to hide his contempt. It disgusted him that such a man as this was both the access and the obstacle to his desires.
“Yes, I know.” Strell collapsed in his chair and slumped, clearly not caring.
“It’s the third time in as many days,” Bailic continued.
“My apologies.” It was just shy of belligerent, and Bailic seethed. The piper stretched to reach the tray with the tea, and using a single digit, Bailic slowly pulled it out of his reach. His eyebrows rose mockingly as the piper stiffened.
Bailic poured himself a lukewarm cup of tea, briefly entertaining the idea of warming it back to a drinkable temperature. Reluctantly, he didn’t. The piper might be quick enough to see the resonance of the ward’s creation on his own tracings, deep within his unconscious. In effect, he would have inadvertently taught the man the easy ward. And Bailic would just as soon keep this ward to himself for a time, if only to deny the piper one of the pleasures of being a Keeper.
“If you’re ready?” Bailic asked dryly as he set his cup on the small, round table next to his chair. It would keep until after the lesson.
“Uh-h-h . . .” Strell grunted, pouring out his own drink and swallowing half its contents.
“By now you should be able to find the network of tracings spread in your thoughts—with your eyes open,” he added.
“Yes.” Yawning, the annoying man stretched his legs under the table.
“Perhaps we may begin to make some progress. I had expected that in four weeks you would be further along.” Bailic placed his palms on the table and looked down at Strell, anger trickling through him. “Talo-Toecan is laughing at me. You will do better.”
The piper sat up with a dramatic sigh.
From the pocket his deep sleeve made, Bailic took a small, unadorned wooden box and placed it on the table. The piper picked it up and thumbed the latch. “Don’t open it!” Bailic shouted. “Or I’ll have to air out the room for a week!”
Clearly unnerved, Strell set the box down and hid his hands below the table. “What is it?”
“It’s the smallest dusting of source.” Squinting, Bailic turned to the windows, forcing his breath to come slow in the effort to keep his want from showing. It was hard to let even this small bit slip through his fingers without claiming it for himself and adding to his strength. “It’s not enough to do much with,” Bailic continued. “It was all I was able to find. Besides,” he said mockingly as he turned back, “I won’t give you anything to increase your strength. It’s enough to practice with. If a Master were your instructor, you’d have none until your schooling was all but complete, so consider yourself fortunate. It’s yours until I take it away.” Bailic smiled in anticipation. “And I will take it away.”
The man looked at the box with a wary curiosity. “What do I do with it?” he asked.
“Pick it up,” Bailic instructed, shaking his head as the piper cradled the box as if it were a grasshopper that might bite him. “Now unfocus your attention—shut your eyes if it helps. You should be able to see the source with your mind’s eye beside your tracings. Try looking sideways for it, as if it is around the corner. It will look as if it’s—”
“A sphere of nothing, given shape by a glowing lacework?” the man interrupted, his voice that of wonder. “Wolves take me. It’s beautiful. . . .”
“You found it already!” Bailic exclaimed, shocked.
The piper jumped as if startled. “It’s gone,” he said, staring up at Bailic in dismay.
Bailic adjusted his Master’s vest to cover his surprise. Perhaps the piper had an ounce of talent after all. It had taken him several hours to find his source the first time. “It’s still there,” he said. “As long as you’re anywhere near that box. Find it again.”
Strell sat straighter, the box gripped tightly with an almost white-knuckled force. His eyes went vacant; his face went slack. “Ah . . .” he breathed, his eyes distant and unseeing.
Not entirely trusting this, Bailic eased forward. His sash hissed against the floor as he circled to stand behind him. “What does it look like?” he asked, making his voice pleasant to lull Strell into being cooperative. “What’s beyond the mat of threads that encase your source?”
“Nothing,” the man said. “I can’t see past them. My focus seems to slide away. I don’t think there’s anything really there.” His eyes cleared, and he looked at Bailic. All trace of sullen student was gone, his usual animosity p
robably lost in the near shock of finding a piece of glory in his thoughts. “But there is. What is it?”
Encouraged that his student finally seemed to be making progress, Bailic’s frustration eased. He gathered himself to explain, then seeing his fingers steepled like his old instructor’s, put his hands behind his back. “Force,” he said. “Energy. That’s why you can’t see it. No one can be sure where the threads binding your source into that sphere shape come from. Someone once told me they were made of will, your will, in an attempt to separate your mind from the damaging reality of infinity.”
A genuine wonder filled the piper’s eyes. “Infinity?” he whispered. “I didn’t know that.”
Bailic’s eyes narrowed. “Of course you didn’t. Find it again.”
The piper went still, his eyes closing and an odd stillness coming over him as he focused entirely on his inner sight. Bailic remembered how easy it was for a new Keeper to get lost in his own strength until he took it for granted. He almost envied the piper for his naïveté. “Tell me,” Bailic said from over Strell’s shoulder, “what did you have for breakfast?”
“Hm-m-m?” Strell looked up, his concentration clearly broken. “Burnt toast.”
“No!” Bailic shouted, punctuating his word with a hard blow to the table. “Don’t drop your inner sight while answering! How many times do I have to explain it?” Wolves, he thought. Just when it seemed the piper was starting to understand. “Try again,” he said.
A silly, distracted grin spread across his student’s face.
“Yes, it’s very pretty, I’m sure,” Bailic said caustically. “Now, without losing it, tell me what the girl is wearing today.”
The grin vanished, and the man met his eyes. “Why do you want to know?”
Bailic’s breath escaped in a long hiss. “You lost it again, didn’t you?”
“Well, stop asking me questions!”
Leaning close, Bailic whispered with an exaggerated slowness, “That’s the whole point!”
Strell’s eyes narrowed.
“Once more,” Bailic said. “Find your source, and if you lose it again, I will make it seem as if you have hot coals at your feet every time you sit down.”
The man’s glance shifted from Bailic to the snowfield four stories below them. “And that is something I want to avoid, yes?”
Bailic took a steadying breath, willing his fingers back to stillness, reminding himself he had promised to not kill him, though the idea was becoming more attractive. But kill the piper, and he would kill his chances at opening the book. “Find it,” he said tightly, turning to pace along the windows, using the motion to collect the scattered motes of his patience. For an instant, there had been respect.
He listened as the piper took three slow breaths as he had taught him. Judging enough time had passed, Bailic halted beside the piper, squinting to see the idiotic, half-focused look Keepers were afflicted with while learning how to successfully divide their attention between reality and their thoughts. “What is for dinner?” Bailic asked. “That girl must have something special planned if she sends you up with toast.” Bailic shifted the stiff bread with a finger, flicking it off the plate and onto the tray in an effort to distract the piper. He was marginally pleased to see the man’s attention hold.
“Candied apples,” his student said distantly, his words slightly slurred.
“What’s that?” Bailic said loudly, putting his mouth uncomfortably near the piper’s ear to try to startle him from his concentration. “You sound like a beggar with no teeth.”
“Candied apples,” the man repeated, his speech clearer this time.
Bailic drew away, confident the piper had gained a measure of control. “Candied apples,” he mused aloud. “Her mother must have been full plains for her to know how to make those. The woman ought to be whipped for teaching it to her half-breed daughter. Still, I haven’t had a candied apple in years.”
“Then perhaps you ought not to have killed everyone in the Hold,” the piper said.
Bailic’s breath caught in outrage. Anger gripped him, tensing his muscles and setting his thoughts to form a savage ward to silence the piper. But the sight of his student with his jaw clenched and an unrepentant defiance dissolved Bailic’s first flash of anger into guile.
A slow, patronizing smile slid over him, becoming deeper and more satisfying at the piper’s obvious surprise at his lack of reaction. Bailic hadn’t murdered an entire fortress of Keepers by magic alone. There were other ways to bring a wealthy upstart of a plainsman to heel, and he thought he knew how.
The girl’s scandalous mix of plains and hills was obvious, but it seemed the piper had forgotten his standing and taken a fancy to her. Bailic could use this unsavory attachment. He wouldn’t risk teaching his student a powerful ward over a lack of respect. He didn’t want the piper’s respect, anyway. He just wanted him to hold his tongue.
Bailic stepped close. “I could burn you to ash where you sit,” he said lightly.
“Then why don’t you?” the piper said, clearly knowing he wouldn’t.
Bailic nodded slowly, as if admitting the piper had a valid point. There was really nothing Bailic had to say. The answer was sitting up in his chambers, hidden among the scores of other books he had gathered over the years. “You’re right, I won’t,” he said. “You’re worth something to me. But there are things you might miss.”
The plainsman looked at him from under lowered brows. “There’s not much left to me, Bailic,” he said, a hatred glimmering behind his eyes. “I’ve nothing left. My name is worthless. Everything that went along with it is gone.”
“Oh. I see. Yes.” Bailic gathered his robelike vest to half sit on the table. He shifted his gaze, tilting his head slowly in a confident pose, sending his eyes to the girl’s chair.
The piper’s face went white. “You touch her, and I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” Bailic taunted, leaning close. “She is a bred-in-shame half-breed. Your father would throw you into the street; your schism would stone you. Tell me you aren’t compromising your high, plainsman values but simply using her.”
The piper gritted his teeth, his neck turning red. Bailic leaned closer yet, daring him to say anything. He held the man’s gaze for six heartbeats, proving his dominance. “Go on,” he said, straightening to his full height and gesturing to the door. “I’m through with you today. Go find your slattern. Practice holding a conversation and your inner sight simultaneously. If you show no improvement tomorrow, I’ll repeat the exercise with you myself.”
Strell’s chair grated harshly on the floor as he got to his feet. A look of controlled hatred suffused him, and Bailic smiled in satisfaction. If he couldn’t have respect, he would have hate. After hate came fear.
“Take the tray with you,” Bailic said, nudging it. “I’m not a chicken. I don’t eat bread crumbs. I’ll be down momentarily to supervise her until she gets my breakfast right.”
The piper said nothing, his stiff expression giving clear indication he knew this unusual attention to the girl was to punish his behavior. Bailic watched the plainsman take the tray and leave. He was pleased to see the box of source gripped tightly in the piper’s hand. It, too, could be used to manipulate the man, for a Keeper would rather die than give up a source once seen glittering in his thoughts.
It was going to be a good morning, after all.
3
A slippered foot nudged her ankle, and she jumped awake, struggling not to grunt.
“You’re not falling asleep, are you, Alissa?” Strell said.
She shifted in her fireside chair to give him an annoyed look. “Course not. He could be here any moment.”
“I’d wager you miss him because you fall asleep.”
“Strell, there is no way I’m going to fall asleep.” She pointed to the half-emptied pot of tea on the hearth. “If you want to go on to bed, go. I’ll be all right.” She leaned to swat his foot as he threatened to push her again.
“No. I p
romised I’d keep you awake, and I will.”
Alissa gave him a smile as she tugged her blanket back up to her chin. The fire made an arc of light just large enough to hold their chairs, leaving the rest of her small room in shadow. It was in the Keepers’ hall on the eighth floor—her papa’s old room, actually. The Keepers’ hall was one of the few places Bailic hadn’t stripped of belongings in his decade-long search for the First Truth. He had been rightfully concerned about running into a lethal ward left by someone he had murdered. The room offered Alissa a measure of protection, as Bailic wouldn’t cross the doorframe. Strell had the room next door, but his chair sat before her hearth as it had ever since their first night in the Hold. Apart from this fall when with weighted ropes Bailic covertly moved it back to Strell’s room to cause a rift between them, his chair had remained there, instilling Alissa with a heavy feeling of stability.
Talon wheezed in her sleep from her nearby perch. The bird had returned from chasing Useless with half her tail feathers gone. Most of her day had been spent in an exhausted sleep, waking only to hiss thinly at Bailic. He had found fault with Alissa’s toast and invaded her kitchen. It wasn’t until noon that he finally left with a bowl of porridge in his pale hand: just enough honey, just enough milk, made with tea instead of water the way he insisted plainsmen took it. It sounded awful, but she tucked the knowledge away to surprise Strell with some morning.
Bailic had left her a wreck of shattered nerves and quick temper. It took Strell all afternoon to bring her back to her usual self, a task he took seriously, actually blaming himself for Bailic’s unusual attention. He eased her raw emotions away by playing her favorite songs on his pipe. The sun had set with her feeling very content, but she couldn’t sleep now. Useless was coming.
Strell leaned to stir the fire. He stood up, considering the flames for a long, silent moment. “Here,” he said suddenly, slipping a hand into a pocket to bring out a fold of yellow cloth. “I’ve been meaning to give this to you. It was supposed to be for the solstice, but I forgot. Then it didn’t seem right . . .” His voice trailed to nothing. He had nearly died while freeing Useless from the prison deep under the Hold that day. “You should have it,” he added.