The Cadet of Tildor

by Alex Lidell

  “Eh!” a voice bellowed below. “Loose pup! Loose pup!”

  More voices joined the shouting, but Savoy continued swinging his legs from side to side to gain momentum. The door beckoned. Three. On the upswing, Savoy flung himself over the top.

  His legs cleared. His torso didn’t. Barbed wire and the bars’ sharp tops cut into his abdomen. He twisted and the metal dug farther into flesh, biting and ripping. On the ground below, cursing guards gathered on both sides of the bars. Savoy ignored them. Once he was over, he could fight his way to the door.

  Setting his jaw, Savoy let his stomach endure the abuse, while he worked to reclaim handholds on the blood-slicked bars. He was halfway over. Just a little more and he could slide down. Hells, he could jump down and sort out the broken bones later. He tensed and passed an arm over the top, getting a shallow cut as reward. Then the other arm. When he breathed out again, it was done. He was dangling safely on the spectator side.

  He surveyed the ground before descending. The Vipers gathered there had stopped shouting and now stood calmly on the sand below. One of them, a tall, icy blonde he had never met, bounced an amulet in her hand. A sudden cold seized him as he glanced down at his waistband.

  His amulet had fallen. It was all for naught.

  “All right, Cat,” the woman called. “Even if you sprint for the exit, you can’t unlock the door. Take a breath and slide down now.”

  On the ground, he awaited his captors. They arrived at his side within moments and clutched his arms. A weedy mage energized Savoy’s binds, which obediently pulled together. He clipped a leash to the restraints and patted Savoy’s shoulder. “Easy, boy.” He yelled for a towel and another lead rope.

  The blonde with the amulet stood rod-straight, puffing a thin roll of tobacco into the crowd encircling her. She watched the white, perfect rings of smoke as if they carried infinitely more importance than the people whose gazes beheld her. Beside her, a mousy man with paper and pen hung on her words. “. . . not a day without disaster,” the woman said, her white teeth vivid in the lantern light. “Let us see what he has to say for himself.”

  Savoy drew himself to attention and stepped toward the woman.

  The mage holding the leash pulled gently. “Shhhh, easy now,” he repeated over and over until Savoy realized that it wasn’t him being hauled front and center.

  It was Jasper.

  “What, might I ask, is the meaning of this?” the woman demanded, glaring at the pale-faced boy. His disheveled hair and clothes suggested he’d been roused from sleep. A trickle of sweat slithered down his temple. The woman inhaled her tobacco stick and continued. “Are you incapable of keeping a rein on a handful of collared pups?”

  “H-h-he found an amulet,” Jasper stammered. His hands gripped his pants, and his eyes sought refuge in the ground. Savoy had dressed down enough recruits to know the look.

  “He is a pup!” The edge in the woman’s voice could cut steel. “It’s your job to make sure he doesn’t find an amulet, or break his neck, or choke on mashed turnips. Look at this bloody mess.” She jerked her head toward Savoy, who continued bleeding despite the weedy man’s attentions with towel and bandages.

  “I’ll clean him up.” Jasper’s voice trembled.

  “You bet your useless pig brain you’ll clean him up. And that’s the last new pup you’ll see either, since you can’t be bothered to care for them.” The woman shook her head and turned her disgusted look on Savoy.

  He stared back, shoulders square.

  “You wish to reassign the pup, ma’am?” asked the small man with the notebook. “Blue team, perhaps? A seasoned keeper there.”

  “No, no.” She sighed, then continued with quiet resignation, “Once they get this far, there’s no taming them. Escape attempt, with an amulet no less? Imagine the liability! No, I’m afraid my son ruined this one beyond repair.” She took the stick from her mouth and pressed the lit end under Jasper’s chin. He yelped, jerking his head up. “Didn’t you?” she asked.

  He whimpered. “Yes, Mother.”

  The woman puffed a ring of smoke into his face, then addressed her secretary. “Mark the pup as fodder for that huge imbecile, whatever his name is.”

  “Boulder, ma’am.”

  “Yes, that’s the one. He can rip him apart next match. And make sure someone keeps this one alive till then.”

  “Certainly, ma’am.” The man made a mark in his notes and looked patiently at his mistress, who blew smoke into Savoy’s face and turned toward the door.

  “See to him in the south kennel, Jasper,” she called over her shoulder to her son. “You’ve fouled up enough for one night.”

  Once everyone left, Jasper pulled Savoy into a room the size of a large closet and tied the leash to the wall. The door slammed shut. The only light came from a lantern, which the boy set on the floor.

  “Best hurry, Jasper, before Mother catches you out of bed,” Savoy said.

  “Brainless pig ass!” Jasper’s arm swung out, backhanding Savoy’s face.

  Nothing more stimulating to courage than Mother’s absence, Savoy thought.

  Jasper sneered. “You’re nothing but fodder now. No one needs you in fighting shape anymore.”

  The image of the sickly, malnourished fighter who last faced Boulder materialized in Savoy’s memory.

  “That’s right,” Jasper said, as if reading his thoughts. “We only need you alive for the next fight, so that imbecile can tear your limbs off.” His glowing hand reached for Savoy’s shoulder.

  Before agony overtook him, Savoy saw tears streaming down the boy’s cheeks.

  CHAPTER 37

  In the morning, Renee had to leave Atham. She gripped the doorframe of Sasha’s room, holding her travel pack in one hand while her friend tried to hold back tears.

  “Don’t leave,” Sasha whispered.

  But Renee had to leave. Another sword in Atham would make little difference. In Catar, Renee was Savoy’s lifeline and Diam’s guardian. She had to leave. Sasha knew why, understood, agreed. But she had still asked, and Renee, stepping forward to hug her friend, careful of the girl’s bruises and broken hand, had to say no.

  Another notch in unfairness’s measure. Renee bit the inside of her cheek.

  Two days of sleet and mud brought Renee, shivering and heartsick, back to Catar, where she rode at once to Zev’s to check on Diam. Khavi nuzzled her hand in greeting, his energy subdued to match the boy’s, who napped with his head pillowed on an old book. Alec was out. A glance over Diam’s shoulder revealed a drawing of a woman and eagle. She traced it with her finger. “I didn’t believe bonding existed. No one does.”

  Zev shrugged. “People don’t believe what they don’t see. Even I’ve heard of no other living bonded pairs until now.”

  Renee looked up, surprised. Somehow she’d thought Zev as familiar with bonding as Savoy with battle tactics. “Do you know why the rarity?”

  The old man chuckled. “Most of the truly powerful mages died during the rebellion, taking their bloodlines with them. The Control strength of most who register today rates a three grade. The five-grade mages number a handful in a generation.” He nodded to the book. “Our best guess is that Keraldi and her eagle rated a seven each.”

  Renee stroked the wolf’s fur, absorbing the significance of his partnership with Diam. “Bonding is a matter of power, then?”

  “That, and trust. They chose to share life energy.” Zev lumbered to his feet and fed a log into the hearth. “Could you do that, Lady Renee? Allow another into your mind and body forever? Share your lifetimes?” He looked into the flame. “Do not speak of the boy’s bond to others, my lady. It may bring attention the child does not wish.”

  Renee nodded; the thought had occurred to her as well. “And if a Healer touches him?”

  Zev shook his head. “I expect it would be as with any other mage—usual healing reveals nothing of the patient’s Control rating, not unless the patient wishes it so.”

  She drew a breath
. Usual healing, Zev had said. Was there another kind? “Diam will have questions.”

  “I will research the texts,” Zev promised. “What little is known, I will find for him.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and begged him to keep the boy a few hours longer. Finding Jasper and, thus, Savoy could not wait till morning; she needed the code word to call in the Seventh. Renee paused in the doorway. “Do you think there are others like them somewhere?”

  “If there are, they are smart enough to never let the secret out,” said Zev, and busied himself in making tea.

  After her trip to Atham, the mass of green filling Catar’s streets irritated Renee all the more. Unlike people in the capital, who hurried along with a purpose, here groups simply loitered. Renee quickened her step and kept a hand on her purse.

  The mage tavern Alec had introduced her to buzzed with conversation. Renee nodded a greeting to several patrons. The irony of Cadet de Winter’s slide from upholding the Crown’s laws to frequenting a felons’ gathering spot was not lost on her. In one corner, two boys extended glowing hands toward identical water pails, the crowd cheering the competition. Alec was absent but her true target, Jasper, sat alone at a small table. Renee slid into a chair.

  Jasper’s head hid behind hunched shoulders. He ignored her.

  “What are they on about?” Renee pointed toward the now chanting clump of boys.

  He shrugged and kept his face down. “Boiling water or similar nonsense.”

  “What’s with you?” Renee asked.

  Jasper lifted his head to reveal a fading five-fingered bruise on one cheek and a small round burn healing on the tender underside of his chin. “Forgive me.” He brushed his palm over it as if trying to erase the mark. “One of my pups found some trouble this week. Mother blamed me for it.”

  “Who?” The question was out before she could stop herself.

  “Cat.” He stared at the tabletop. “It wasn’t my fault, Den’s the one who lost his amulet. In gods’ names, I was sleeping when it all happened!” Jasper shook his head. “I’ve Healed Cat many times, you know. His hand was burned when I got him and then Den’s methods . . . But the pup never so much as gave me a glance of thanks. And it’s somehow all my fault anyway.” Jasper scrubbed his hand over his eyes and looked away.

  Renee’s heart pounded. “What’s your fault, Jasper? What happened?”

  “Cat tried to run.” He hung his head, speaking to the table top. “Mother is putting him down at the next fight.”

  She stared at him, unable to find words. Not only was she without men, she was without time. “When is that?” Her voice shook despite her grip.

  “A week or so.” Jasper frowned at the opening door and sank deeper into his chair. “Wonderful.”

  At the tavern’s entrance, a boy of about twelve was looking around like a ferret on duty. His gaze came to rest on Jasper and the boy trotted forward. His dark eyes weighed Renee, as if deciding how her presence affected his mission. Shrugging, he turned to Jasper. “Madam says you are to attend to the weeds.” An unpleasant smile curved his lips. “Immediately.”

  Jasper’s nostrils flared.

  The messenger took a step back, although his smirk stayed in place. Clearly, he considered himself employed by a higher authority and thus immune to any insult he offered. “If you refuse, I’m to advise her at once.”

  Jasper’s jaw tensed, the only defense to dignity he seemed able to conjure.

  The boy snorted and rubbed invisible dirt from his cheek.

  “Your message is understood,” Renee said, pushing herself away from the table.

  The lad stopped smiling and raised his nose into the air. “Madam said—”

  “You may go.” She lifted her brow. “If you have no other duties to attend to, I am certain some can be found.”

  The boy swallowed, mulled over the threat for a moment, and scurried away.

  Jasper shook his head. “That is twice you’ve stood up for me, blinder.”

  She blushed. It was Jasper’s connections, not genuine friendship, that brought her to sit at his table. She searched for words that were both true and appropriate. “You healed my nose.”

  He said nothing, but a spark of pleasure lit his face. It seemed no one said thank you to the boy very often.

  And now she had to turn his goodwill against him. Renee swallowed her rising bile. “Could you get me in to see Cat tonight? I’d like to see him again before, you know . . . ”

  To her relief, Jasper nodded at once.

  The Madam was not one to be kept waiting and the weeds had to be seen to first. Renee agreed to come along with Jasper for the company. She had followed him for several blocks before she realized they were heading toward the arena entrance. Sure enough, the boy took her inside the same door Den once had. Apparently, the Viper weed variety flourished beneath the ground.

  They entered the main corridor and Renee took her bearings. Savoy and the Predators lived toward the left, west of her position. Diam’s old cell lay toward the right—east. Her jaw tightened as they passed the entrance to a narrow tunnel that she knew led to Duke Leon’s grounds. Savoy had been captured there.

  Jasper turned right into an unfamiliar corridor. In addition to lanterns, specs of blue shimmered in the occasional crevice near the ceiling, such that the space would not surrender to total darkness even if all lanterns failed at once. A professional setup to rival the palace in function if not decor. The tunnel system of Catar’s bowels was proving even more extensive than Renee imagined. It was a wonder that the topside structures had not caved in to join their darker cousins.

  They took another east-bound turn and the musky scent of stone and earth gave way to stink. Renee’s groan drew a nod of agreement from Jasper.

  “That’s the weeds.” He shook his head and returned to discussing the fighters. “Keeping pups is like tuning an instrument. Heal an injury too soon and its lesson is lost. Too late, and you lose training time. Diet is important. Even mood. Den understands nothing of it. Once, he strained Cat’s hurt shoulder for pure enjoyment.” Jasper frowned at an askew lantern but did not fix it. “Weeding, that’s the opposite. No skill. No finesse. Repetitive drudgery any half-trained mage could manage.”

  The reek increased.

  Renee coughed, interrupting him. “Why the stink?”

  He shrugged. “That’s just the way weeds are.” He took a third turn toward the odor. Twenty paces more brought them to a cell similar to the one Diam had occupied. The next step took Renee’s breath.

  The filth-covered forms swarming within were children.

  “Where are they from?” she asked. There had to be thirty of them, all under ten, in a space not four spans square. The slop bucket lay overturned in the corner and one little boy relieved himself where he stood, having no care for whom the excrement landed on.

  “This batch came from Atham, I believe.” Jasper scratched the back of his head. “The harvesters are lazy there, taking whatever the locals bring instead of doing their job. Likely as not, most of this batch will wither before anything useful can be made of them. The pleasure houses pay coppers unless the product is trained.” He sighed. “There’s always tunnel work to do, I suppose. ”

  “They are but children.”

  He shook his head. “They are hungry street urchins who would have frozen to death in the winter if not for us. The ribs show on half the stock and the other half is too dumb to find the slops. Not even a blind noble would buy these.”

  She turned away before the horror on her face revealed itself. Noble estates, including her father’s, often bought children who worked in exchange for clothing and a roof, but those youngsters were orphaned, not kidnapped. So this was the fate of the people disappearing from the capital’s streets. “What are you to do with them, Jasper?”

  “Heal the worms and whatever other corruption they brought with them. The washers will launder the ones worth keeping.” He sighed, letting blue fire spread over his fingers. “Pray we catch
none of their pestilence.”

  Renee forced herself to approach the bars and memorize the young faces behind them. A dark-eyed boy with a scar over his brow holding a smaller boy’s hand. A toddler girl whimpering for her mother. A five-year-old with a distended belly lying listless on the stone floor.

  Getting Savoy out alive was only the beginning of her problems.

  CHAPTER 38

  The door of Savoy’s cell screeched behind Renee and shut with dull finality. She shook her head, pushing the children’s faces to the back of her mind. She had little time. Jasper was in the hallway, keeping watch for stray guards while she visited his pup, Cat, slated for destruction in perhaps a week’s time.

  Unlike the guest room where she saw Savoy last, this chamber was dark; a stale, tiny tomb in which the eyes could never adjust. She uncovered the lantern and was relieved at its warm pool of light.

  Savoy sat on the floor, his bare back pressed against the stone. His forearms rose to shield his eyes, exposing shivering muscles. Several marks, small webs of black silk, marred his skin.

  She crouched beside him. “You’re cold.”

  “The least of my worries.” He risked lowering his arm and blinked. “It is too much to hope you stopped toying with fire?”

  “Leading by example?”

  He chuckled once, then quieted and focused on cracking his knuckles. “You promised to go to Atham.”

  “I never promised to stay there.” She sat on the floor. “Atham has its own problems. The kidnappings and assaults hold everyone in fear. Sentries stand outside the Academy’s barracks. Sasha Jurran . . . ” Renee lowered her head. “She’s the second of the Crown’s family to pay the price of relation. Lysian’s youngest cousin is the other. The Crown plans to arrive in Catar in a week, but we cannot expect assistance from that front.”

  Savoy snorted. “You asked Verin for the Seventh and he said no.”