The Icefire Trilogy

by Patty Jansen

  “But . . . but . . . that was what the old king did, and he became so powerful that he no longer needed his people, and he started turning them into mindless machines, the servitors.”

  Rider Cornatan chuckled. “Yes, that is the version commonly told at dinner tables, and it is also the very thing that has been holding us back. It’s the belief that everything the king did was bad, the belief that we couldn’t possibly use icefire differently and better. The power of icefire is ours. We have been blessed with it, and we should use it if we want to get ahead.”

  Carro realised why the sudden emphasis on confiscating illegal material: the Knights didn’t want to burn it; they wanted to use it. That brought a whole new perspective to his own situation. He’d read about the old days—and the Knights considered that a good thing.

  “Now of course re-starting fifty-year-old plans is not easy, but we’ve made some breakthroughs, one of which I’m about to show you. But I’m wondering, since you are doing so well, could you tell me what is the great weakness in our plan?”

  All eyes were on Carro, as if this was some sort of test.

  “Uhm . . .” He wanted to say I don’t know but that would never do. “I . . . don’t know much about icefire. I can’t see it.”

  “Exactly!” Rider Cornatan smiled. “Most of us are unable to see or work with icefire. But there are those who can.”

  “Does that . . .” Carro swallowed. His gaze flicked to the merchant, who was sweating more than ever. “Does that mean you want the Thilleians back?”

  “No. Their powers can be turned to true evil. Once infected with the sense of power, they tend to become corrupted. But we can learn from them.”

  “But the powerful ones were all killed.” And at the same time, his mind squealed Isandor.

  “Exactly. And that is where this man comes in. Go ahead.” He motioned to the suited man, who pulled some metal frame from the table. It went over the chair to cover the merchant’s head in a lock, with plates fitted to both sides of his head so he couldn’t move it. The pale green light showed the man’s face sheened in sweat. Another suited man had come into the room while Rider Cornatan was speaking. He stuck a very thin needle into the skin of the man’s forearm. It had a soft balloon of fluid attached, which he hung on a stand.

  The merchant struggled at first, but quickly gave up, and a stupid look came over his face, his tongue lolling out. A dribble of spit tracked down his chin. Carro’s stomach lurched.

  The suited man then dragged the table with the strange machines so that it stood in front of the chair. With click of a handle, he brought a light to life. There were two beams, which he adjusted so each shone into the merchant’s eyes. His eyes had gone wide, the pupils wide open.

  He started speaking.

  At first, his voice was a barely audible mumble, made harder to follow by drool dripping from his flaccid bottom lip, but gradually words formed.

  “. . . no money . . . no money. Have to pay the landlord . . . Sorry, dear, but the Knights came and took all my stock. Now I can’t sell it to the collectors. I have no more money, dear. Yes, I remember that man. He came to me before. He bought some books . . .”

  Carro clamped his hands behind his back. The merchant was going to mention him as purchaser for illegal items, and that was why he was here.

  “I have . . . no more books, but the stranger has lots of money. I tell him . . . I will tell him about the boy, the one who’s Imperfect. He wants them, the Imperfects, you know. He pays lots. I can pay the landlord, dear. I’m sorry . . .”

  The man blinked and then his eyes fell closed. The beams of light tracked over his cheeks, no longer focused on his eyes.

  Carro’s heart thudded against his ribcage. He was going to be punished for not letting the Knights know about Isandor, who had to be “the boy” the merchant referred to.

  The suited man turned off the light and released the plates that pressed against the merchant’s head. The merchant collapsed forward into the chair, gasping. He made a kind of huuh-huuuh sound while holding out a trembling hand as if trying to grab something he couldn’t reach. The green-suited men were busy with their machine, and the Senior Knights spoke softly to each other, as if no one else was in the room.

  But the man was still going huuuh-huuuh-huuuh and Carro wanted to do something about this whole awful business, but he didn’t know what, and meanwhile the gasping and the huuuh-huuuh intensified, and the trembling hand looked like some sort of insect clawing at the chair’s arm rest.

  Carro couldn’t stand it any longer. “Can you help him, please?” His voice sounded high and young.

  “Take him away,” one of the suited men said, muffled inside the suit.

  Carro wasn’t sure if he was the “him” referred to, or the merchant. The other suited man went to the chair and tried to untie the merchant’s wrist straps, but he was leaning too hard into them, so he pushed the merchant back. As he did so, the man arched his back and with an explosive huuuuh projectile-vomited. It went all over the suited man’s helmet and face mask. The suited man swore, and dragged the merchant out of the chair, out of the room, leaving a foul-smelling trail on the floor.

  Carro felt sick.

  “Come.” Rider Cornatan’s voice sounded far off. “We’ll leave the staff to clean this up.”

  He sounded so matter-of-fact, as if seeing people in this sort of distress was normal to him. He led Carro out of the room, gingerly stepping over the vomit trail, while Carro still heard the huuuh-huuuuh in his mind. He was used to brawls, and fights, and fellow Apprentices drinking themselves stupid until they spent all night puking their guts out in the bathroom. He had never heard anything so desperate as this man.

  It was all his fault.

  Meanwhile, Rider Cornatan kept speaking.

  “As you are probably aware, since you helped inspect this man’s wares, we had this merchant watched. He wears the black of the Brotherhood of the Light, but no longer lives in the compound. It seems he has taken a wife, and he is desperate to get someone to pay for the privilege of using his son. The child was born Imperfect, and his wife rejected it. The boy has lived with the Brotherhood ever since. The merchant passed the knowledge of this boy to another man, a visitor to the Outer City. He paid two gold eagles for the information, and vanished. At the moment, the boy is still in the Brotherhood compound. We are going to get him first. And that is where you come in.”

  Carro stiffened, alert now.

  “You are familiar with the Outer City. No one will find it odd to see you wandering around the streets.”

  “So . . .” Carro swallowed. “You want me to go to get this boy, while some sort of stranger is also after him?”

  Rider Cornatan chuckled. “Of course I’m not going to let you go out without help. Let me show you something else.” He walked to the table with the weapons in the other room.

  Carro followed him, his head reeling.

  * * *

  It’s cold in the lawkeeper’s office. The room is bare with just a bench along the wall. There is a tiny window that lets in a meagre beam of bluish light.

  Carro sinks down on the bench. Cold and shame bites through his trousers. This is where criminals sit.

  Carro’s tears run across his cheeks like icicles.

  Isandor says, Don’t worry.

  It’s easy for him to say. Isandor’s mother comes to pick up her son. There is an officer with her.

  The merchant has put in a complaint, he says. He wants compensation for goods broken.

  Oh, why did they have to play with boomerangs so close to the market? Why did the boomerang have to hit the merchant’s sled full of glasswork?

  Isandor’s mother puts an arm around her son’s shoulder. Isandor looks up at her w
ith his big blue eyes. I’m sorry.

  She says, Don’t worry. I know things sometimes break when you play. Her voice is warm. She smiles at the officer and the man smiles back. She radiant, glowing and pregnant, one of the city’s best breeders. I’m sure we can come to an arrangement with the merchant.

  They leave the room, their backs disappearing into the corridor.

  Carro’s parents won’t be so kind.

  No dinner, no oil for his lamp, and his books taken away from him, and that is if he escapes the whip.

  He waits. It’s cold in the room. The feeling inside him is even colder. No one is ever going to come for him. His parents are going to leave him here.

  * * *

  Rider Cornatan had turned around, giving Carro a concerned look. “Are you feeling ill?”

  Carro’s heart jumped a beat. “No, no, I’m fine.” He tried to push away lingering nausea from the smell of vomit and the hazy remains of the memory, and the realisation: the recurring memories were getting worse.

  How long before he had an accident while his mind was off somewhere else? How long before someone discovered and declared him unsuitable for service? Declared him insane?

  Rider Cornatan’s expression wasn’t convincing. “You looked out of sorts for a bit. Not an advocate of medical procedures?” He glanced back at the room with the chair, where the wall panel was just sliding shut again, and two Junior Knights were mopping the floor.

  “No, no. I’m fine.” A drop of sweat trickled down Carro’s back.

  “Good, then have a look at this.” Rider Cornatan gestured at the strange contraptions on the table.

  They were definitely weapons of some description. Eagle Knights used crossbows and poisoned arrows, or in close combat, swords or daggers. Carro reached out for the staff with the shining stone, but withdrew his hand, casting a glance at Rider Cornatan. Touching it wouldn’t be very humble. Stupid that he had even thought he could touch these weapons.

  Rider Cornatan laughed, his eyes gleaming with pleasure. “You like that, boy?”

  “Yes.” Carro hated how his voice sounded too innocent. His father always said boy and never used his name.

  “Take it.”

  Carro picked up the staff. The metal felt warm, almost alive, in his hands.

  “Try some blows.”

  Try blows? Where? Rider Cornatan didn’t expect to be sparring with him? He was an old man.

  “Stand over there.”

  Apprehensively, Carro went to stand where Rider Cornatan indicated, in the middle of the room. To his dismay, the Supreme Rider threw off his cloak and grabbed another staff off the table. While he strode across the room, the eerie light made his white hair almost green. He took up position opposite Carro, his legs apart, as if he was about to start a sword fight.

  Rider Cornatan ran his hand over the metal rod of the staff. There was a noise like lightning.

  Icefire! Rider Cornatan did know he couldn’t see it.

  “Yes, boy. That surprises you, doesn’t it? Thought we had forgotten that the curse that taints our land can be used in more ways than one?”

  He thrust out with the staff. A line of dust lifted from the floor.

  Carro cried out, turned and tried to run. What sort of defence did he have against icefire?

  “Use the staff!” Rider Cornatan’s voice grated like stone on stone.

  Carro grabbed the staff in both hands, but had no idea what to do with it. Dust now crackled all around him, making his nose itch. He swung the staff into thin air, like a blind man swordfighting.

  “That’s right. A good, honest Knight doesn’t run like a coward. A good Knight stands his ground and fights with whatever weapon he has.”

  “But it’s not fair . . .” Carro panted.

  “Warfare is rarely fair, boy. Yes, the enemy will use icefire. Then now, so do we. Come on, show me what you’ve learned.” He swung the staff.

  Sweat pouring down his stomach, Carro gripped the staff in both hands. He adopted a fighting stance, legs apart, swaying from side to side.

  Rider Cornatan circled him. Slowly, watching with eagle-eyes. The heels of his boots clacked on the stone floor. Carro’s skin pricked. He turned on the spot, as he’d been taught in sword fighting, always watching.

  Rider Cornatan chuckled.

  “I see you’ve been taught well.”

  And then he thrust up. Lightning crackled around Carro.

  Carro swung his staff. Too late. He didn’t know what he was doing. However was he supposed to fight icefire he couldn’t see with nothing more than a stick? Rider Cornatan thrust again. The air was thick with the scent of singed clothing.

  “Fight, fight,” Rider Cornatan urged and punctuated each word with a thrust of the staff. He could still laugh. Or maybe he thought it was funny. Maybe this was Carro’s punishment.

  He thrust faster and faster. Dust swirled in the room. Carro whirled, swung his staff whichever way seemed right, but Rider Cornatan always went faster.

  Eventually, Carro could no longer keep it up. “This is ridiculous. I can’t see what I’m fighting!” He stopped, panting, embarrassed about his outburst. “I’m sorry. You win.”

  He hung his shoulders. Humility. Lost to an old man.

  Rider Cornatan laughed. “No. You win. Give me this.” He took the staff from Carro’s sweat-slicked hand. “Notice how the metal is cold?”

  It was. Ice-cold in fact.

  “You noticed how none of the rays hit you?”

  Carro blinked. He couldn’t see the rays, but hadn’t felt anything either, so he supposed it was true. The floor certainly bore plenty of marks.

  “That is because when you hold this weapon, it acts as a sink for icefire. When you’re holding this staff, instead of hitting the intended target, icefire is all absorbed in this staff.”

  Carro’s spirits deflated. “So . . . Nothing would have happened to me even if I had not defended myself.”

  “Precisely.” A smile curled the old lips. “You are special, because of what you are. Pure Pirosians are rare. Cherish it, keep it a secret and use it well.”

  Carro tried hard to feel misused or suspicious, but he only succeeded partially. He was special He was more than Carro, useless boy from the Outer City, who was only here because the Knights wanted to spy on the Outer City residents.

  “Apprentice Carro, we have a dire need of your talent. How would you like to be promoted?”

  “Promoted?” Carro swallowed. This was getting more and more strange.

  “The first Apprentice ever to skip straight to Learner? Your father would like that, wouldn’t he?”

  Carro flinched. What did Rider Cornatan know of his father? What did he know of what his father thought about him? Did his father have a hand in this? Was that the catch?

  * * *

  The carpet is dark red and has a pattern of squares within squares that Carro knows all too well. He stands just inside the door, his hands behind his back, his gaze on the ground.

  His father gets up from the desk and walks across the office. Carro follows his father’s movement from the corner of his eye. Don’t go to the cupboard please, not the cupboard. He doesn’t think he can stand any more work in the warehouse on the accounting books, but he will not cry, or the boys will tease him. All the boys who were already teasing him in the streets. It will just get worse.

  His father opens the cupboard door. Takes a long time to select a big book. The stocktake records.

  Carro closes his eyes and tries not to show his despair. He shivers with the intense cold in the warehouse.

  He can feel the chill breeze as his father crosses to the rough table where he is sitting. The book
lands on the table with a thud.

  I want this done by tomorrow morning.

  Carro just nods, his mind numb. He fights back tears of despair.

  His fingers will be blue and sore by the time the night is over. Then his reading tutor will hit him for not paying attention. Then his father will order the stove to be tempered, because the luxurious warmth is obviously putting his errant son to sleep.

  And then . . .

  * * *

  Carro wobbled. Oh, by the skylights, why was he seeing these things?

  Fortunately, Rider Cornatan hadn’t noticed the spell. He was putting the staff back on the table. When Carro moved to do the same, his hands trembling, Rider Cornatan put his hand on the metal. “Keep it. I’m allocating you two elite soldiers. Get the boy and come back here. The soldiers are waiting for you.”

  “What—now?”

  “Yes. Everyone is asleep or too drunk to notice. You should be able to take the boy on your bird. He’s only a child. Bring him back here as soon as you can. Report to me directly. Don’t tell anyone else.”

  Rider Cornatan turned to Carro and lifted up his chin with a single finger.

  “Go on, make your family proud.”

  “My family hates me, especially my father.”

  Rider Cornatan’s eyes met his, blue, intense. “I don’t know about the rest of your family, but I can assure you, Carro, your father loves you very much.”

  Chapter 14

  * * *

  THERE WERE MANY QUESTIONS Carro should have asked, but his brain was so numb that he was out the door before he remembered any of them. It felt like it had all been a dream, except he had the staff in his hands and his Learner’s badge on his collar, and a fuzzy feeling in his head that told him that, yes, this was real, and if he wanted to come out of this alive, he had better obey orders. Someone was testing him, or teasing him, or using him as expendable bait, and all he could do was run along and hope he wasn’t going to get caught in something sticky.

  The two elite Knights waited at the end of the corridor that led to Rider Cornatan’s quarters, both sharp-faced, silent men at least ten years older than Carro. He had never seen them before. Their eyes were hard, their gazes neither approving nor disapproving, but Carro was all-too-aware of their muscled arms and lean physiques. Body-guards or child-minders?