“Aye,” Dormael said. “Maybe not to fight, exactly, but to defend herself.”
Lilliane snorted, and turned a strange look on the sleeping girl. She shared a concerned glance with Lacelle, which made Dormael’s hackles rise. Had that been fear in their eyes? Trepidation?
“I’ll be honest,” Lilliane said. “The thought of that girl learning to kill with magic scares the hair right off my fucking head.”
“Why?” Dormael asked. Something in her tone hit a strange chord with him, and he felt defensive. Why would Bethany be frightening? “Is it just because she has so much power? Is that it?”
Lilliane made to speak, but Lacelle silenced her with a light touch on the hand. Lilliane shut her mouth, but gave Lacelle a meaningful look before relaxing. Lacelle looked at him, and made a conciliatory gesture.
“That’s part of it,” Lacelle said. “Using magic is not easy. She is young, and has trouble controlling her power. The thought of her learning to spew fire, for instance, or call a storm…well, you understand. That much power in the hands of a troubled young girl is concerning. It is only rational, Warlock Harlun.”
“Troubled?” Dormael said. “What do you mean troubled?”
“Every young girl is troubled,” Lacelle said. “I meant nothing by it.” Her eyes, though, wouldn’t meet his gaze.
“I can see the logic in both points of view,” D’Jenn said, his voice little more than a whisper. “It is true that she cannot yet control herself. Regardless, trouble will find her.”
“I’m already teaching the little one to fight, after a fashion,” Allen said. “Teaching her to use her feet, how to wrestle, how to use her knife.” Shawna nodded in approval, and Allen answered with a shrug.
“I don’t think Bethany is aware of her own strength. She’s yet to explore it,” Lacelle said. “She is aware of the differences between my magic and her own, but I don’t think she grasps the depth of how powerful she will become. If she wished, she might have the power to rip the ground asunder.”
“She’s a long way from that,” Dormael said. “I’m not saying I should teach her to kill, or open the ground at our feet.”
“The girl is quick,” D’Jenn said. “She will pick things up no matter what we do. Best to direct that energy into something useful.”
“Something defensive, something she can grasp,” Dormael said.
“Splintering?” Lilliane offered. “It’s the one thing she can learn that might neutralize an enemy. Every wizard is vulnerable to a well-placed Splinter.”
“It’s not an advanced technique,” Lacelle said, nodding. “I am not opposed to the idea.”
Dormael felt irritated at her assumption that the decision was anyone’s but his. Bethany was his daughter, even if she wasn’t the daughter of his blood. It was up to him to see her prepared for the world, and Bethany’s world was full of danger. If she fell victim to it, the guilt would crush him.
Dormael almost said as much, but decided to keep it to himself.
“I think Splintering is a good place to start,” Dormael said. “But I’m going to begin teaching her other things.”
“Other things?” Lilliane asked. “That sounds ominous, Warlock Harlun.”
“Don’t get twisted up about it,” Dormael said. “I mean things like how to shield from arrows, or disarm someone.”
“I could teach her some things as well,” D’Jenn said. Then, in the Hunter’s Tongue, If you don’t mind, that is.
Shawna peered at D’Jenn’s hands as he spoke, and nodded with understanding. Her skill in the Hunter’s Tongue had grown over the past couple of seasons, and she was able to puzzle out even complicated messages. Dormael felt an odd sense of pride in her accomplishment, since he had been her primary teacher.
“I could help train the girl to fight, as well,” Shawna said. “Those nimble feet of hers would lend themselves well to learning the ways of the blade.”
She is good at sneaking about, D’Jenn said. Honing that talent might be a good idea, too.
“All the myriad skills of the killer,” Lilliane said, a mocking smile on her face. “And who’s going to teach the youngling when she should use these skills? Who is going to speak to her of philosophy? The natural sciences? History? She cannot learn these things on the road.”
I do read, you know, D’Jenn signed in the Hunter’s Tongue.
Lilliane answered with a challenging glare. “The girl belongs at the Conclave. I understand that she could be used as leverage against you, but her presence here is a gods-damned travesty. She’s too strong to be traipsing about the countryside, free to burn down every town she passes through. She’s dangerous.”
“She is not dangerous,” Dormael said. “You don’t know her.”
“And you do?” Lilliane shot back. “I’m only speaking the bloody truth, here. She’s what—nine, ten, eleven springs old? Already she’s half again as strong as you are, and you’re one of the strongest Conclave wizards I’ve seen. As the years pass, she will grow in strength—you know this. What will you make of her before the day she realizes the depths of her power? Who will she be when she figures out that she can kill with a fucking thought?”
“So I should send her back to the Conclave?” Dormael scoffed. “Might as well hand her to Victus on a platter, feed her to him myself.”
“He wouldn’t harm the girl,” Lacelle said, but her conviction sounded weak. She had loved Victus once. His time with the Warlocks changed him, though, and their split was a thing of legends amongst the initiates in the Conclave.
“I didn’t think he would kill so many Warlocks,” D’Jenn said, heat coloring his whispered words. “Those were like sons and daughters to him, and he slaughtered them in the name of his greater good. Victus has become a fanatic, putting the end before the means. He would kill her in an instant if he thought it necessary.”
Lacelle, after a moment, nodded her assent.
“I’m not suggesting you should send her to the Conclave, just that her place is there,” Lilliane said. “She needs to be somewhere safe, like the Mage Tower, perhaps.”
“Another move that would expose her to Victus,” Dormael said. “Do you think the man doesn’t have agents amongst the wizards of Lesmira? I know some of them.”
“You could send her with us,” Lacelle offered. “When Lilliane and I leave for Ferolan, we can take her with us. Between the two of us, we could provide the majority of the girl’s education.”
Dormael made to protest, but stopped himself. The comments dug deep into his guilt over Bethany. Her very proximity to him meant that she would face challenges most other children could barely comprehend. The prospect of sending her to a safe place was tempting, even if he was loathe to part with her. A moment’s thought, however, dispelled the notion.
“Her safety is my responsibility,” Dormael said. “Until these threats are behind us, I’ll not send her away. I would feel much better to be nearby should someone try and take her.”
“Do you think we are unable to protect the girl?” Lacelle asked.
“No, but I’m better equipped to fight another Warlock than either of you,” Dormael said. “She stays with me.”
“Very well,” Lacelle said. “It’s your decision, after all.” There was look in the woman’s eyes that bothered Dormael, though he wasn’t sure what it meant. She was holding something back, but Dormael was just about through with the argument.
“Tomorrow morning, I’ll teach her to Splinter,” Dormael said. “Just to be clear—I still wish her to continue her lessons with you, Lacelle, if you’ll continue to instruct her.”
“Of course,” Lacelle said.
“It’s decided, then,” Dormael said. “I’m going to get some sleep.”
Lilliane watched him go with a skeptical eye, and Dormael again wondered what moved behind her expression. Why had the two Philosophers shown such opposition to the idea of teaching Bethany to defend herself? Was it an ideological stance against using magic for violence, a casual
disregard for the Warlocks, or something about Bethany herself? The questions echoed through his mind as he found his blankets, and only got louder when he closed his eyes.
It took a long time for Dormael to fall asleep.
***
“Anytime someone is using magic, they are vulnerable to attack,” Dormael said. “You can open your Kai and listen to your senses with no worries, but as soon as you start channeling magic, you expose those energies to your enemy.”
“What do you mean?” Bethany asked, squinting into the morning sun.
“Take D’Jenn, for instance,” Dormael said, indicating his cousin. D’Jenn stood a small distance from them, holding a large rock in the grip of his magic. “While he’s using his magic to hold the rock, he’s vulnerable. You can hear his power at work, sense its purpose and direction. Now—that doesn’t mean you can predict what he will do, just sense the energies underlying his spell. Do you understand?”
“I think so,” she replied, scrunching her face while she listened to D’Jenn’s song.
“Remember what we told you about the nature of magic, and how it exists in everything around us?”
“Yes.”
“Well, when you use magic, you’re gathering those energies to yourself. That process is what creates your song, and allows other wizards to listen in.”
“Alright.”
“Now—the important thing to remember is that there are two stages to any magical working. The gathering of energy, and the use of the same. Sometimes these two steps happen so fast they’re difficult to sense, but they always happen.”
“But I don’t do two things when I’m holding rocks in the air,” she said. “I just pick them up and hold them.”
“But you do, dear,” Dormael said. “You’re just doing both things so quickly that it becomes instinct. When you stoop to pick up a rock from the ground with your hands, it all happens in one smooth motion. The truth, though, is that there are several things going into that single act—your mind deciding to pick up the rock, your body staying balanced enough to do so, your arm deciding how much muscle power to use…you get the picture.”
“Alright,” she said, a pensive look on her face.
“Magic works the same way,” Dormael said. “When you do certain things—like holding rocks with your Kai and answering questions—it trains your mind to perform those tasks again, quicker each time.”
Bethany regarded him with a look of realization, then narrowed her eyes in thought.
“So that’s why Lacelle asks me so many weird questions,” she said.
“Exactly,” Dormael smiled. “It’s not just about the answers. It’s about training your mind to do many things at once.”
“How long do I have to stand here holding this stone?” D’Jenn grated.
“Right,” Dormael said, shooting a dismissive gesture at his cousin. “Every casting has those two elements at work—the gathered energy, and the wizard’s use of it.”
“Got it,” Bethany said.
“Now,” Dormael said, “pay attention, little one, because the next bit is dangerous.” Bethany nodded, her expression taking on a serious tone. “When you gather your magic, you’re channeling an energy that can do, or become, almost anything. Your will is what gives that energy shape, informs it of its purpose. Anytime you use magic, your will is holding that energy together the way a bottle holds water. Your will is the glass, the water your magic. Are you following me?”
“I think so,” Bethany said.
“Good,” Dormael smiled. “Just as you can shatter a glass bottle and spill the water inside, you can shatter a wizard’s spell and scatter the magic. The technique is called Splintering.”
Bethany smiled. “Finally, something good.”
Dormael ignored her.
“It’s not an easy thing to do, but it isn’t the most difficult, either. Attend.”
Dormael turned, and stabbed his magic into D’Jenn’s power, Splintering him. D’Jenn muttered something nasty and stumbled away, shaking his hands as if they’d gone numb. The rock dropped to the grass, suddenly free of D’Jenn’s Kai. As it landed, a random series of lights began to flash in the air where the stone had been hovering.
“See the lights?” Dormael asked. Bethany nodded. “When you Splinter a wizard’s power, the energy he gathered has to go somewhere. It has to do something, because it has already been given direction, and purpose. Once it is channeled from the ether, it cannot be unmade without running its course. This can result in strange things happening—such as these lights. The larger, more powerful the spell, the more random and dangerous the side-effects of Splintering become.”
“So what happens if you Splinter a big spell, then?” she asked.
“It could be anything,” Dormael said. “There’s always that risk. Splinter a wizard in a fight, and maybe flames blossom from the air. Maybe the shadows twist, or dance, or disappear. Maybe nothing happens at all.”
“Maybe the floor turns to sand under your feet,” D’Jenn added, a bitter tone to his voice.
“Whenever you Splinter another wizard, always be prepared for the side-effects,” Dormael said. “You can’t predict them, but you must always be ready.”
“Alright,” she said.
“Good,” Dormael smiled. “Now, use your Kai and pick up the stone.”
Bethany gave him a wary glance, but he heard her song issue out into the world as she grasped the rock, and pulled it from the ground. She brought it back to where D’Jenn had been holding it, and looked back to him. Dormael winked at her.
“If you’re the wizard being Splintered, things are different. The effects can be more or less intense, but they’re predictable. First, you will lose your grip on your magic, and it will be a bit before you can grasp it again.”
“A bit?” she asked.
“It depends on different things,” Dormael said. “How much power you’ve drawn, how experienced you are, or how powerful in the first place.”
“Also your level of mental discipline,” D’Jenn added.
“That, too,” Dormael nodded. “Second, it will daze you, and have irritating effects on your body. I had my hands and feet go numb once when I was Splintered, and the feeling didn’t return for hours, even after I was able to open my Kai again.”
“Well, how do you keep from being Splintered?” Bethany asked.
“You can’t,” D’Jenn said.
“The only way to avoid being Splintered is to anticipate the attack, and let go of your magic when it comes. If there are no energies to Splinter, then nothing happens,” Dormael said. “That’s another reason why it’s important to be quick about opening and closing your Kai.”
“Well, you can Splinter the Splinterer,” D’Jenn said, a smirk on his face. “But he might Splinter your Splinter, and then where would you be?”
Dormael rolled his eyes. Bethany just gave D’Jenn a confused look.
“Don’t worry about that, love,” Dormael said. “Now—are you ready to see what it feels like?”
“What it feels like?” she repeated.
“Being Splintered,” Dormael said. “You don’t want it to happen for the first time out there, when it matters. Best to get used to it now, so you know what you’re dealing with.”
“I don’t know,” Bethany said. “I don’t think I want to—”
Before she could finish, Dormael felt D’Jenn’s magic crack like a striking whip. Bethany squealed in surprise, and fell on her rump in the grass. The rock spun in the air like a top before falling to the ground, but no other side-effects presented themselves. Bethany gave them both an indignant look, which only made them laugh.
“That wasn’t fair!”
“It’s part of the training, dear,” Dormael said. “Everyone gets Splintered.”
“And it’s funny,” D’Jenn snickered.
“And it’s funny,” Dormael agreed.
“It is not,” Bethany muttered. She brushed the dirt from her riding clothes, and got back to
her feet. The Splintering had left her dizzy, and she stumbled to the side as she rose. The girl was resilient, though, and within a minute or two, she was ready to open her Kai once again. “Alright. Show me how to do it.”
“You have to shape your own magic into something needle-sharp,” Dormael said. “Imagine it like popping a large soap bubble. You take the needle, slam it into the magic of whomever you’re facing, and there you have it. If you’ve done it right, you’ll succeed. Like we said—every wizard is vulnerable to a Splinter.”
The next hour passed with fevered instruction. On her first four tries, Bethany was unable to Splinter Dormael’s magic. Twice, her spell was not as keen as it needed to be, and twice, she didn’t slam it home with enough force. By midmorning, though, she had Splintered both Dormael and D’Jenn multiple times.
On the walk back toward the campsite, Bethany stepped in front of Dormael and stopped him in his tracks. D’Jenn continued walking, leaving them behind. Dormael was surprised, but figured that Bethany wished to ask him something in private, so he waited until D’Jenn had put some distance between them before speaking.
“What is it, dear?”
“Uncle Allen wanted me to show you something,” she said.
Then, with a wicked smile on her face, she balled up her little fist and punched him square in the jewels.
Dormael fell to his knees in the grass, a sickening pain issuing from his stones. He made a grab for the girl, but Bethany was nimble, and she danced back out of his reach. She had hit in exactly the right spot to bring him down, and the pain reached all the way from his knees to his ribs.
Gods, that bloody hurts!
“What…why?” he croaked.
“Uncle Allen told me to do it!” she laughed. “He said it would work, too! And it did!”
“What did uncle Allen say?” he groaned. He tried taking deep breaths, but it didn’t help.
“He said that every boy has one big weak spot!” she laughed.
“And he told you…to test it on me?”
She nodded, biting her lip to hold back her laughter.
“Bethany,” he said, “never show that to anyone unless…unless you need to. Understand?”
The Seven Signs: Three Book Collection Page 100