by Beth Alvarez
Ran waved a hand and scoffed. “Cut it out, there’s time for that later. Firal, this is Kifel. And if you’ll excuse me, I believe I’d like a rematch.”
“Oh, come now, he obviously has far more experience with a blade than you do.” Firal gave Ran a disdainful look as he jerked his sword from the cobblestones. “Have you even picked up one of those before now?”
“He has a few times, but he doesn’t spar often enough. In fact, I’m fairly certain anyone could best him.” Kifel turned and offered the hilt of his sword to Firal. She blinked in confusion.
“She’ll just hurt herself,” Ran muttered.
“Or perhaps she’ll hurt you. Besides, I think it best if you have a match with someone who shares the amount of battle experience you have.” Kifel smirked as he pressed the sword into Firal’s hands and closed her fingers around it. The black hilt looked and felt like twisted glass. Red gems set in the pommel and cross guard gave it a ceremonial look.
“This is a fine weapon, I really shouldn’t...” she trailed off, wincing at the weight of the blade in her hands. She could barely hold it up.
“Same experience? Hardly.” Ran shifted his sword in hand. “Sparring or not, I practice daily.”
“But you’ve never fought against an opponent that actually meant to kill you.” Kifel stepped behind Firal, placing his arms beneath her arms and hands atop her hands. “Here. Like this. Set your feet apart, otherwise one swing of this weapon will throw you off balance. You don’t want to fall on your own sword.” He nudged her bare heels with the toe of his boot to settle her into a ready stance.
“I can hardly lift it, how am I supposed to swing it?” Firal’s grip on the hilt tightened until her knuckles grew white. Only Kifel’s hands over hers kept the sword from quivering with the tremble in her arms.
He drew the sword back and guided her through the first swing. “You let the blade move itself, you just guide it. Once you set it in motion, the weight of the blade will finish the swing.”
Ran met her weapon and deflected it effortlessly. Feigning disinterest, he retreated a step.
“Good start,” Kifel said. “You seem to have more strength in your right arm, so put your left to the front. You want the power of your dominant arm behind a thrust, or it won’t pierce armor. Use the strength of your shoulder and your upper body, not your arm.” He released her hands and drew back her shoulder before allowing her to make the jab. The sword sagged at the end of her arm’s reach.
“Perhaps you’d be better off teaching her to lift a sword before trying to teach her to use it,” Ran teased as he nudged the tip of her blade away with the flat of his sword.
Firal’s nose crinkled and she jerked the sword sideways in a clumsy sweep.
“Hah!” Kifel gestured to the thin slice through Ran’s robes, not far below his waist. “Better mind your tongue. If she’d been any closer, that might have changed your lifestyle permanently.”
Firal flushed, but couldn’t help laughing at the horror and disgust that flitted across Ran’s face. Kifel only grinned as he took back his sword and sheathed it at his side. The gems glittered with the movement and Firal followed it with her eyes.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “You’re a good teacher.”
Kifel made a small sound, more acknowledgement than agreement.
Ran rolled his eyes and dragged the tip of his sword against the ground. The metal squawked as if to protest the treatment. “What about my rematch?”
“As much as I’ve enjoyed our playtime, I’m afraid our rematch will have to come another day. I have important business to see to while I’m here and I’ve spent enough time dallying.” Kifel gave him an apologetic look. The glance he spared for Firal seemed weighted with something else. She shifted and turned away. He bowed his head in farewell before turning on his heel and disappearing around the corner of the Archmage’s tower without waiting for a response.
Unsettled, Firal worried her hands. “What was that all about?”
“Don’t know.” Ran shrugged and rubbed the broad side of his sword against his boot to remove more dirt from its tip. “This is his sword, though, so I suppose he’ll be back.” He fingered the hilt of the blade thoughtfully and turned it over several times before he hefted it up to rest it flat against his shoulder. “You stayed awfully composed through all that. I’m impressed.”
“I’m not afraid of wielding a sword,” she said, a stubborn set to her jaw.
“I didn’t think you were,” he laughed. “I just don’t think I’d have kept my composure so well, getting my first lesson in swordplay from the King of Elenhiise, himself.” He patted her shoulder and brushed past as the words sank in.
All the color drained from her face.
4
Borders
The top floors of the Archmage’s tower were brighter and airier than any other buildings in the temple. Kifel couldn’t say he cared for it. The lack of glass in the tall windows made him nervous. He’d never realized the difference it made to be walled in, to have even a transparent barrier to keep one from falling. Of course, he’d also never realized he was afraid of heights. He tore his eyes away from the windows lining the far wall as he reached the Archmage’s office. Her door was always open. She never seemed to fear interruption.
“There’s some story floating about the temple that one of your magelings escaped. That she went through the ruins and a stranger brought her back.” He tried to sound nonchalant as he leaned against the doorway with his arms folded over his chest. She had known for a full day that he was coming, but she didn’t even look up from her desk when he spoke.
“The mage-barrier surrounding the temple is meant to keep people out,” she said, her response crisp and cold. “Not keep them in. It’s the duty of the Masters to keep their pupils in line. What a mageling does in their free time is no concern of mine.”
He found it amusing how her appearance matched her chilly words. Envesi, Archmage of Kirban Temple, had once been a handsome woman; he’d been there to see it. Her face and body remained youthful, but time wielding great power had given her an air that made her seem ancient. Her long hair cascaded in white waves, her skin pale as ivory and her eyes frosty blue. Mages didn’t age the way other Eldani did. No one seemed to have a clear understanding of it, not even the mages themselves. Wrinkles were common enough, but more than anything, he thought they grew paler. As for how old she truly was, Kifel could only wager a guess. Older than he, in any case. The skill she commanded would have taken centuries to learn.
“A poor way to look at it, if you ask me.” Kifel raised a brow when she gave him a dark look. Anyone else would have been groveling in his presence. He knew better than to expect it from Envesi—in private, at least. In public, she knew her place. Still, her lack of respect incensed him.
Envesi dropped her quill into the inkwell close at hand and dusted sand over the wet writing on the pages spread before her. “Have you only come to criticize, or is there a more important reason for your visit today?”
“I wanted to discuss my plans the upcoming solstice festivities, but there seem to be more pressing issues at hand.” He clasped his hands behind his back and strode forward at a leisurely pace. “It’s come to my attention there have been a number of raids on small border villages between the ruins and Ilmenhith, particularly those too small for a guard station. Men from the east appear to be crossing into our territory to help themselves to supplies and livestock. Surely you haven’t forgotten your part of this arrangement? I finance your temple and you keep an eye on the border?”
“Is there no better way to keep an eye on it than to have mages stationed along its edge?” Envesi gave him a grim smile. “Of course, I don’t have enough Master mages on hand to accomplish such a thing. Aside from teachers, all the temple’s Masters have been sent to the chapter houses in the cities, and even then the chapter houses are barely staffed. If we were allowed the resources to train more magelings, perhaps things would be different, but we c
an only support so many with how the weather has affected the harvests. Shipping food from the mainland is expensive.” Her eyes narrowed. “Besides, you oughtn’t speak as if I do nothing for you. There is plenty else we’ve arranged that I’ve upheld quite well.”
Kifel’s jaw tightened. “Is lack of resources the reason you struggle to supervise your own temple grounds? How am I to trust you to watch the border if your students are running off? I spoke with Lomithrandel. He was the one who mentioned the rumor.”
The Archmage paused. “It will be dealt with, my liege.”
“You may wish to see that your Masters mind what they’re telling magelings, as well. One of the stories is that the girl was brought back by an Underling.”
“The fancies of magelings are hardly the fault of my faculty. You know how children are,” Envesi sighed with a wave of her hand. “They’d do well to keep their heads out of the clouds. No sense wasting time on folktales.”
“Indeed,” he murmured, his eyes drifting toward the tall windows. A thin shadow of gray hung far to the east, though the sky overhead was still relatively clear. The suggestion he did not provide her with enough resources was spurious, but Envesi was right about one thing. It was hard to predict what the weather would do anymore. It made things difficult for more than just the farmers. “Tell me, how is the training of your weather mages coming along?”
“Training goes as well as can be expected. I have several Masters pursuing such studies.” She shuffled her papers into order and piled them neatly at the side of her desk. “Of course, we would do well with more mages in Master white. Masters can either pursue such fields, or they can train new mages. They cannot do both.”
He watched as she tucked papers into labeled volumes. What the Archmage studied in her own time was of little interest to him, but he had sent several requests for things he wished to have mages investigate. All of those subjects were peculiarly absent from the books on her desk. The absence of weather studies bothered him most, considering Envesi had mentioned the lack of food herself. If the unusual weather continued to cause crops to fail, the trouble of feeding the temple would pale in comparison to feeding the kingdom. “Perhaps you ought to consider holding skill evaluations early so you can raise more magelings to Master, then. I’ve seen several students wearing the blue.”
“Including that boy you’re so fond of.” Envesi glanced up. Her blue eyes chilled him to the bone.
“I don’t know any mages well enough to be so bold as to suggest one.” He made a point of changing the subject; he wouldn’t let her needling jabs pry anything out of him. “Will you be able to spare your Masters for the solstice? I assume you have read the correspondence I sent you.”
The Archmage brushed wrinkles out of her stark white robes as she stepped away from her desk and moved to one of the glassless windows. “You will have the whole of the temple at your disposal. But I suggest you not become used to such a luxury. We have work to do. We cannot cater to such trivialities on a regular basis.”
Kifel fought a rising prickle of irritation. A king’s orders were hardly trivial, but he’d long since learned that rank held little sway over the opinions of mages. She was unwise to insult him, but only a fool would do anything to draw a Master mage’s ire. “I’ll trust you can assign Masters to oversee the matter, then. I’ll leave that in your hands.” He started to leave, then paused inside the doorway. “Do remember to take care of that little problem with the ruins. I can’t abide having that get out of hand. The border is to be closed both ways, after all.”
“It will be done, my king,” Envesi replied impatiently.
He turned away, but not before he caught an irritating look of satisfaction at his retreat wreathing itself upon her face.
Firal grumbled in frustration, pulling at her wild curls as she pressed her back to the wall. She’d walked the dinner hall three times over, surveying the crowd gathered for the noontime meal. “Hasn’t anyone seen Ran? It would be a lot easier to avoid him if I knew where he was.”
“If word got around that you were trying to hide, he’d probably show up.” Kytenia finished her pastry and licked her fingers clean. She had taken to following Firal some time ago, though she wasn’t helping the search. “What are you hiding for, anyway? Or do I dare ask? It sounds more like you want to give him a piece of your mind.”
Firal sighed and gave her hair one last tug. “He just let me embarrass myself this afternoon, that’s all. Ran could have at least told me who we were talking to before letting him teach me to use a sword, blight him.”
“Language,” Kytenia chided.
Firal huffed. “Sorry. But you know he gets under my skin like no one else.”
Kytenia arched a fine brow. “Care to elaborate on what happened?”
“Not in front of everyone in the dining hall, no.” A flush rose into Firal’s cheeks and she rubbed at her face with the sleeve of her robes.
“All right, then. Later. Can we sit down and get a real meal now? If Ran were still here, you would have found him. We can go to our rooms for you to fill me in after we’re done. Besides, that will give us time to talk about the solstice.” Kytenia gestured to a table nearby as the seats around it emptied. The two of them barely settled before a woman came along to clean the table and serve them.
“What about the solstice? Is something going on?” Firal poked at the vegetables on her plate with a fork.
“Oh, Shymin told me all about it.” Kytenia grinned. As empty as the dormitories were, Shymin and Kytenia had made the decision to be roommates on their own. One glance made it obvious the two were related, though no one had ever seen reason to inquire as to how. Most of the temple’s magelings didn’t speak of family or home, as those phases of one’s life were meant to be left behind. Clinging to the old was seen as a sign of weakness, so perhaps it was out of respect that no one asked.
“And?” Firal eyed her expectantly. “What did she say?”
“Patience, patience! Let me chew, at least,” Kytenia managed around a mouthful of food. She held up a hand and swallowed with a grimace. “The Masters haven’t issued a formal statement on it yet, but everybody expects one before nightfall. Rumor has it, the king visited to invite the whole temple to the masquerade they hold in the palace every year.”
Firal stared. The summer and winter solstices meant little in the tropics, but they were the only events celebrated in both the Giftless and Eldani kingdoms. They were a big to-do among commoners and nobles both, but from the stories she’d heard from the Masters, nothing compared to the grandeur of celebrations in the capital. Firal had long dreamed of visiting Ilmenhith for her own reasons. She’d spent her life studying in hopes of being assigned to the capital’s chapter house, or perhaps even the king’s personal cabinet of mages. If her mother really had been a court mage, a chance to speak to the mages in the palace presented an opportunity unlike any other.
But she was a mageling, and magelings were not invited to the palace.
“There’s no reason for the temple to be invited,” Firal said. “I don’t see why the king would visit just for that, besides. He could have sent a carrier pigeon. It seems like a waste of time. Ilmenhith is what, three days from here on a fast horse?”
Kytenia shrugged. “I wouldn’t know, I’ve never been there. I doubt he rides, though. Court mages are the most powerful there are, and the king has an entire council of them. I’m sure he just has them open a Gate. There’s no sense in walking if his mages can send him directly.”
Firal’s shoulders slumped. “Maybe Ran has someone Gating him around too, considering how fast he disappears when he’s in trouble.”
“You know,” Kytenia said, pointing skyward with her fork as she finished chewing, “Marreli mentioned she thought he was sneaking out of the temple grounds to get around some of the rules.”
“Really?” Firal rolled her eyes. “I can’t imagine why anyone would think such a thing.”
“You just be glad they don’t say the sam
e thing about you.” Kytenia lowered her voice as a serving woman paused to deposit mugs of cider on the table. “I’m surprised there aren’t already rumors flying about you and Ran.”
Firal’s jaw dropped. “I can’t believe you just said that!”
“He is a very attractive young man, you know.” A sparkle lit Kytenia’s eyes. “I wouldn’t mind sneaking out with him, myself. Men like that don’t end up at the temple very often.”
Shuddering, Firal reached for her mug. “I’m certain there are better looking and kinder men about. And a lot more accessible than Ran will ever be.”
“Well, that’s fine by me. If you’re not interested, it just means I’ll have less competition after we become Masters and have time for such things.” Kytenia smirked and tucked her fork into her mouth.
“Not everyone becomes a Master, Kyt.” It wasn’t something Firal liked to consider, but she wouldn’t deny the possibility. Though the strength and ability of mages varied widely, the temple sorted them into six ranks. Each rank was identified by color, each mageling issued a colored training robe for their level of command over magic. Gray mages were the lowest in rank; the rest wore lavender, yellow, green, blue, and white. White was reserved exclusively for Masters, who had reached the pinnacle of their ability and were able to perform certain tasks without assistance. Being a green-rank mage, Firal didn’t know what those tasks were, but apparently they demanded enough respect that even non-mages didn’t dare clothe themselves in white.
Firal drained the last of her cider and put her mug aside as she stood. After a pause, she snatched a roll from her plate and tucked it into the hidden pockets of her robes. “Besides, graduating a rank is several years off for either one of us. I do not now, nor will I ever, believe a man is worth waiting years for.”