Storm Glass g-1

by Maria V. Snyder

  A stall filled with decorative pieces drew my attention. I stopped to appreciate the craftsmanship of a delicate vase. The clear glass had a swirl of green bubbles spiraling around the tall flute. Sometimes bubbles or seeds meant a mistake, but the effect was stunning. The vase didn’t sing, but faint pops throbbed in my fingertips.

  “Ten silvers for the vase,” the stand owner said. She was an older woman with gray strands streaking her faded black hair. Her lined face looked as if she had weathered one too many storms.

  “Did you make this?” I asked.

  “No. Imported from Ixia.”

  “Ixia?” The few pieces I’ve seen from Ixia had all been thick and practical. No popping. She wanted to inflate the price.

  “Nine silvers, but not a copper less.” She waggled a slender finger.

  “Do you know who made the vase?”

  “I’m not telling you! You’ll go right to the glassmaker, undercut my business. Eight and a half silvers. Final offer.”

  “Six,” I countered.

  “Seven.”

  “Deal.”

  The woman muttered under her breath as she wrapped the vase and snatched my money. I hoped to find the artist and the best way would be to show the vase around to see if anyone knew who made it.

  The woman handed me the package. I could no longer feel the pops through the thick wrapping. Even so, I felt certain the glassmaker was in the market. I hurried toward the east side positive I would find him.

  A column of gray smoke rising in the distance must be from a kiln, I decided. The hot smell of molten glass drew me on until I passed through the market and followed a narrow cobblestone street. Convinced I would find the artist working in one of these abandoned warehouses, I peered through all the windows.

  One of the buildings had collapsed and covered the road, creating a dead end. When I reached the rubble, all signs of a kiln disappeared. And my conviction fled. The air smelled of excrement and garbage.

  I turned to go back.

  A man blocked my way.

  He held a sword.

  Blue Eyes.

  8

  BLUE EYES. But he should be incarcerated in the Thunder Valley jail with the other ambushers.

  Yet there he stood. His blade poised for trouble.

  I labored to keep my breathing steady. The collapsed building behind me prevented any chance to run away. In fact, the whole alley was quite deserted. A place I would normally avoid. I must have been tricked by magic. His sword was not his only weapon.

  Setting my package out of the way, I pulled my sais from their sheaths, and slid my legs into a defensive position, turning my hips and feet to the right side so I made a thinner target.

  I rested the sais’ weight in the crook of each hand. My forefinger lay on the hilt, pointing toward the weighted knob at the top. The rest of my fingers curled around the U-shaped guard. The metal shaft of my weapons felt icy against my hot forearms.

  He advanced. My heart slammed in my chest as fear shot through my body. Sais were not cutting weapons. They blocked swords and bow staffs and could—in the hands of an expert—trap and yank those weapons from an opponent’s hands, but with a quick change in grip I could strike, knocking an attacker unconscious.

  Five feet away from me he stopped. “Put your sais down,” he said. “And I will not hurt you.”

  “No. Last time you wanted to finish the job, which included killing me and my companion.”

  “Your companion.” His mouth twisted into a tight smile, but the humor failed to reach his cold eyes. “A Master Magician. A surprise that should not have been.” He stepped another foot closer. “I do not want to kill you.”

  “Good to know.” I glanced at his blade. Sharpness gleamed from the edges. His actions didn’t match his words.

  “Your life is precious to me now that I know who you are.”

  “You knew I was a glassmaker before.”

  “Yes, but not The Glass Magician.”

  “What?”

  “You will come with me.”

  The desire to agree pressed on my shoulders and climbed up my throat. I bit my lip to keep the words trapped in my mouth. My muscles tensed with the need to obey, yet I resisted, knowing he used magic. He had caught me unaware before to trap me here, but now I was braced for his magical suggestions.

  “No,” I said, hoping his powers were weak. Controlling the mind and/or body was an advanced skill, requiring strong magic.

  His brow furrowed and the compulsion to join him flared inside me with a painful intensity. An annoyed breath huffed from his lips. “Submit or I will hurt you.” He snarled, showing his teeth.

  I had done the willing victim routine before. Last time the order had been the go-with-Alea-or-my-sister-would-be-killed threat. My sister died anyway. Lesson learned. “No.”

  He moved. Jabbing his sword toward my arms, he lunged.

  I yelped and blocked the blade, swinging my right sais down. With a flick of his wrist he looped his weapon out of reach. The tip snaked past my upper left arm, leaving behind a burning slash. Blood brimmed and spilled, soaking the sleeve of my tunic.

  I was out of my league.

  “Do you submit?”

  “No.”

  He shrugged. In a blink, his sword thrust toward my neck. I flipped the sais into an X and deflected the blade up. The force of his blow throbbed through my wrists. The clang of metal echoed in the alley.

  Blue Eyes pulled his sword back and tried another lunge. I pushed the weapon toward the ground, but again he flicked his wrist. A line of fire blazed on my right arm. Wonderful. Matching cuts.

  He paused with his sword held in midair. My blood stained the tip.

  I glanced past him. Didn’t anyone hear the fight? Should I scream?

  “Submit? You will have so many cuts on your arms and legs, you will faint from lack of blood.”

  “No.”

  “Suit yourself.” He launched another flurry of attacks.

  My breath puffed from the effort of defending myself. When he halted, blood soaked my upper thighs. The ground wobbled.

  “You cannot beat me,” Blue Eyes said. “And there is no one here to help you.”

  Not yet. I aimed my left sais at his temple. He blocked with ease and countered. This time he nicked both my shoulders.

  A buzzing sounded in my ears as dizziness danced behind my eyes. “Okay.” I gasped. “I can’t…beat…you.” I drew in two deep breaths, trying to steady myself. “But I can…delay…you.” I sucked in a large gulp of air and yelled, “Master Cowan, over here.”

  Blue Eyes spun. I rushed him, knocked him over and sprinted past.

  In my mind, it was a great plan. If he hadn’t recovered so quickly, I would have made it out of the alley. Instead, he tripped me. I fell and rolled over in time to see Blue Eyes level his sword at my throat. I’d been here before.

  “Submit.”

  No other alternative at this point. He wasn’t going to kill me, but the overwhelming dread at being helpless and at his mercy made me wish he would. “All right.”

  Pleased, Blue Eyes stepped back and offered a hand. “Stand,” he ordered as if commanding a pet. His sword remained pointed at the ground.

  I ignored his help and summoned the energy to move. A high-pitched whistle sounded behind me before a wall of air slammed into us.

  The force rolled me along the ground. Blue Eyes flew back and landed in the building’s rubble. I rubbed the grit from my eyes in time to see Kade running toward me.

  He yanked me to my feet. “Let’s go,” he said.

  “My vase.” I gestured to the package. It had been blown against the rubble pile. Probably broken, but I wanted it.

  Kade huffed in annoyance. He sprinted over and grabbed it. Blue Eyes stirred. Kade hurried back and hustled me from the alley, only stopping when we reached the market.

  I sank to the ground to catch my breath.

  Kade knelt next to me. “Are you all right?”

  “Diz
zy.”

  “You’re covered in blood.” He pulled at my clothing, searching for injuries.

  I slapped his hand away. “Arms. Legs. No others.”

  “Let’s get you to a healer. Come on, before your attacker finds us.”

  “Why the hurry? Couldn’t you just—” I waved my hand “—blow him over again?”

  He gave me a dry smile. “The air is calm today. Happy. It required a lot of effort to convince it to blow. I doubt I can do it again.”

  Kade practically dragged me to the healer’s house. We met Zitora on the way and she supported his decision to take me there, claiming her healing powers could only do so much.

  The tall healer led us to a room which contained the equipment needed to tend to the sick—a bed and a table loaded with supplies. After I lay on the bed, Zitora peppered me with questions, which distracted me from the healer’s ministrations. I had thought it hurt before he cleaned the cuts, but the wounds screamed with a new level of pain as the sharp sting of alcohol inflamed them.

  I answered Zitora as best I could. I faded in and out of consciousness as the healer and Zitora worked on my injuries.

  I woke. Lanterns blazed in the room and shadows waltzed along the stone walls. Worried I had wasted time, I sat up too fast and had to wait until the dizziness passed. Once the room stopped spinning, I found a clean set of my own clothes folded at the foot of the bed.

  The cuts on my arms and legs throbbed. The injuries looked about two days old with ugly scabs forming, but they remained tender to the touch.

  My abused muscles protested each movement as I dressed. I considered the discarded pile of bloodstained and tattered clothing. They were too ruined for even the Keep’s talented seamstress, so I left them there. I would have to order more of the long-sleeved tunics and linen pants that I preferred to wear. Good thing I had left my cloak with the horses.

  Zitora and Kade waited in the front room of the house. Both had dark smudges under their eyes.

  Exhaustion lined Zitora’s face. “Feeling better?”

  “Thanks to you…and Kade. How did you find me?” I asked the Stormdancer.

  “I heard you yell for Master Cowan.”

  “We were supposed to meet at the horses. Why were you there?” I asked.

  He exchanged a glance with Zitora. She nodded. “We were searching for you.”

  I waited.

  Zitora sighed. “We met with the Stormdance officials. They arrested the group of ambushers we paralyzed, and despite keeping the magicians unconscious, they escaped the first chance they got. Since we knew the ambushers were free, we wanted to warn you. When we couldn’t find you in the market, we broadened our search.”

  “How did they escape?” I asked.

  “There was another magician. Since he didn’t use his magic during the attack, I didn’t pick up on it.”

  “Blue Eyes is a magician.” I explained about being lured away from the market.

  “He could be a one-trick. Makes sense since he couldn’t force you to go with him when you knew about his magic.” Zitora rubbed her eyes.

  “Do the guards know who the members of the group are?” I asked.

  “Not really,” Zitora said. “After tending your wounds, I returned to talk to the administrator. Seems they are from the Krystal Clan. But we don’t know whether they’re sanctioned by the main government or a separate group. I’ve contacted Irys and she will detour to the Krystal Clan’s capital to investigate.”

  “Irys?” Kade asked.

  “Master Jewelrose. What about the other magicians?” I asked Zitora. “The woman and man. Are they Keep trained?”

  “No. I’ve never seen them before.”

  Apprehension coiled in my stomach. “Warpers?”

  Zitora shook her head. “No. There are no more Warpers. After General Cahil captured them all, they were executed.”

  I relaxed.

  “I feel like I’ve come late to the party. What are Warpers?” Kade asked.

  I almost groaned out loud. An explanation could take days to tell. “Have you heard of the Daviians?”

  “The group of rogue Sandseed Clan members who formed their own clan on the Daviian Plateau?”

  “Right. The Daviian magicians, who used to be Sandseed Story Weavers, were the Warpers. They used blood magic to enhance their powers and tried to take control of the Sitian Council.”

  “And control the Master Magicians,” Zitora added with a bitter tone. “They almost succeeded, too, because of Roze.”

  “Roze Featherstone,” I added for Kade’s benefit. “She was First Magician and the leader of the Daviian Clan.”

  “Yes, but Yelena Zaltana stopped them—that part I know. Could this be another group of rogue magicians?” Kade looked at Zitora.

  “I don’t know if they’re organized as a group or are just a couple of dissatisfied magicians. Not all magicians in Sitia have to be Keep trained. You’ve learned how to control your power from other Stormdancers. Same with the Sandseed Story Weavers. The Masters can detect uncontrolled power and we find the person before they can flame out, which will kill the person and damage the power source. Once a magician has control of their power, the danger of a flameout is little to none.”

  Zitora stood and smoothed the wrinkles from her pants. “I wish I could stay and investigate more, but we need to go. And—” she smiled “—it seems I can’t leave Opal alone without her getting into trouble.”

  Her words reminded me. “Did the city guards find Blue Eyes in the alley?”

  Zitora sobered. “When we returned, he was gone. And they haven’t found any trace of him.”

  My skin crawled with the feeling of being watched by Blue Eyes. I crossed my arms and rubbed my hands along my upper arms. The pain reminded me of how close I had come to being captured and of my inexperience with fighting. “All the more reason to practice with my sais.”

  “And more reason for me to ask around. See if I can discover any helpful information,” Kade said. “I’m sure Varun will be fine for another day.”

  “Be careful,” Zitora said. “He’s armed.”

  “I’m a Stormdancer! Mere metal is nothing compared with the power of a storm.” Kade made his voice boom and spread his arms wide. His eyes sparked with humor. “I. Am. Invincible.”

  “Until a happy wind blows,” I said.

  “Curse those sunny days.”

  “The bane of your existence.”

  “The scourge of society.”

  “The downfall of decency.”

  “And boring, too. Nothing like a good gale to put a spring in your step.” Kade grinned.

  It was the first real smile I’d seen from him. His stern demeanor disappeared; replaced by a carefree mischievousness. There was an inner fire in his soul. Muted by grief and loss, but there all the same.

  “All right, that’s enough,” Zitora said. “Kade, send us a message if you learn anything.”

  “Yes, sir,” he snapped and probably would have saluted if Zitora hadn’t pushed him out the door.

  Zitora and I raced to Booruby. She was determined to get there as quickly as possible without exhausting the horses. At different times during the five-day journey, I wished I were a horse, wished I was back at the Keep and even wished for a day of rain to slow our brutal pace. The Barbasco yams only helped with aches and pains, not bone-deep fatigue.

  On the afternoon of the fifth day, I caught sight of the brick smokestack from my family’s glass factory. I cried out and urged Quartz faster through the busy streets of Booruby. Located on the far east side of the city, our buildings were the last ones before the Avibian Plains. Funny how I never considered the flat grasslands of the Plains to be so welcoming before.

  The commotion from our arrival was loud enough to draw Ahir from the factory. I never thought I would be so happy to see my brother. I slid off Quartz in time to be knocked over by Ahir.

  “Ugh…you’re heavy. Do you have sand in your pockets?” I asked.

  �
�You wish, big sister.” Ahir helped me to my feet.

  The top of my head reached his nose. He had grown at least six inches since I had visited during the hot season, towering over my own five-foot seven-inch height.

  “Now you can’t call me your little brother anymore.” He smirked.

  “Sure I can, Ahir. No matter how big and fat you get, you’ll always have a little brain.”

  “You wish, snake spit,” he countered.

  “I know, fly breath.”

  “Opal, that’s enough. We’re on a time schedule,” Zitora said in exasperation. “Ahir, where is your father?”

  His eyes lit up. “Is Opal in trouble?”

  Ahir ignored her annoyed frown, relishing the possibility that I might be in trouble.

  “Ahir, you don’t want to keep Master Cowan waiting,” I said.

  “Oh boy! You must be in big trouble.” He rubbed his hands together. “He’s in the factory, working with Mara.”

  Ahir trailed behind us like a dog hoping for treats. Zitora hesitated on the threshold of the building. The heat and roar from the eight kilns presented a physical force, but she pushed through. To me, the thick air and pulsing growl wrapped around me like a favorite blanket. Home.

  My father worked at a gaffer’s bench with my sister assisting him. His wide, adept hands pulled and plucked at the molten glass with ease. Hunching over his work, he didn’t notice us. The familiar sight of his broad shoulders and strong back tugged at my bruised body. I wanted to hop into his embrace so he could make everything all right again.

  Instead, I signaled to Mara. She paused in her duties and sent me a welcoming smile. Her perfectly shaped features and wide tawny-colored eyes attracted men to her like snakes to the heat. She had gotten Tula’s and my share of beauty. With her long golden curls and curvy figure, she had the complete opposite of my, with my straight hair and athletic build. While all of us had brown eyes, hers were light and interesting; Tula’s and mine were dark brown and ordinary. Ahir’s were almost black, which matched the color of his short moppy hair.

  I let Mara know we would wait for Father outside. Ahir tried to come with us, but Mara snapped her fingers at him and pointed to another kiln. He hung his head and slouched back to work.