by Damien Lake
He averted his gaze so Dietrik’s irritation would not provoke that laugh from him. On the field’s far side, Kineta made a fool out of a large First Unit man. Why were they still trying to prove their superiority? She had beaten every one of them into the ground, most several times. The way she moved with her scimitar recalled festival dancers; fast, fluid, graceful.
“Damn it to the hells!”
Dietrik glared at the dummy as though it had insulted him. Marik held his tongue while his friend flung the mangled wreck into the pile with the others.
He dropped to a seat on the ground beside Marik. “Is your face still hurting?”
“Why?”
“You’ve been playing with those wraps every time you slow down.”
Consciously placing his hands in his lap, Marik said, “I don’t like the way they feel. But Delmer says two days minimum, and he’ll be checking up on me.”
That made Dietrik chuckle. “He seems to have become somewhat more authoritative since he became fully qualified.”
“He’s earned it, at least from me.”
“You need to watch yourself. At this rate, he’ll end up as your personal chirurgeon!”
Marik kept silent. The instant his thoughts wandered, his fingers drifted to his face again. Dietrik read the concern behind his friend’s impassive mask.
“So what really happened, mate?”
“I don’t know.” Marik sounded distant, talking while he thought. “Tollaf doesn’t believe me. He’s positive I’m either lying to save my butt or I did something strange to the working.”
“Did you?”
“No. I’m sure I performed it correctly. I bumbled a little bit at first, but that’s normal the first time you do anything new.”
“And you truly saw your father?”
“That was him. There’s no doubt about that! But he didn’t look good. In fact, he looked sick.”
This time Dietrik remained silent. He was unsure what he should say.
“He’s alive!” Marik declared vehemently. “As soon as Tollaf gets a new mirror I can find out where he is!”
“If he lets you, you mean. It’s public knowledge how angry he is with you over that mirror. A piece of work like that does not come cheap.”
Marik set his jaw. “I don’t care what he says! I didn’t get any clues about where father is. The mirror exploded before I could.”
“What makes you think that won’t happen next time?”
“It was that other man, I’m sure of it. There was something…” Marik shook his head after reexamining the brief memory. “There was something about him. As if he were looking right at me.” Like the clerks, when they were talking through the mirror last spring. But he couldn’t have seen me! He had no matching mirror!
“Then perhaps you shouldn’t try it. Tollaf might rip the town apart if you break another one. None of us wish to share the town with an angry master mage.”
“That red-eyed man can’t spend all his time with father! It was probably only a fluke, anyway.”
“You might not have time in any event. There’s only two eightdays left before the first marching day. Can your able master replace such a splendid mirror in so short a time?”
“Probably not, but we won’t be marching out until late spring.” At Dietrik’s curious expression, Marik expanded. “I thought you knew that. The tournament opens on Summerdawn. We’ll pick up our charge in Spirratta and escort him to Thoenar so we arrive close to the first day of summer.”
“So we don’t need to leave home until roughly a month prior,” Dietrik concluded. “Unless we have to walk.”
Marik shook his head. “Bodyguards for important nobles can’t keep up with their exalted lord’s thoroughbred mount on foot, can they? We’ll be drawing horses from the corral. Torrance said he’s already left orders for the showiest ones to be held in reserve for all bodyguards.”
“We’d better start taking care.”
Marik raised an eyebrow. “Sorry?”
“We haven’t actually marched an entire contract since our first one. We’ll go soft at this rate.”
The first evening bell rang, making the two aware of the time. “We’d better get a move on,” Marik decided. “Chatham will go nonstop all night if we’re late.”
“Maybe Harlan will glare him into the floor for us.”
“That hasn’t worked so far. Let’s go. The dining room will be filling up. We won’t get a good table.”
Being late, they carried their gear to the tavern instead of stopping by the barracks first. Dietrik asked, “So if Merry Tollaf can’t get a new mirror soon, what will you do next in the course of your hunt?”
“I don’t know. This was supposed to be the best method for finding father, the one guaranteed to get results.”
“And so it did. You know Rail is alive somewhere.”
“It’s the where part that bothers me. Where is somewhere? The second half of the working was supposed to determine the location of whatever you scryed, but obviously it didn’t last long enough! Three seconds! At best!”
“So you will try again?”
“What else can I do? But Tollaf will have to swallow his ego and admit he’s a fool. He was supposed to help me with the second part. It’s too hard for me to do.”
“Perhaps you could practice while you wait for the new mirror.”
“Tollaf and Natalie’s book say it’s hard because it’s delicate. I’d smash the working apart if I tried it. I don’t have the skill.”
“Well, you’ll never develop the skill if you never work at it.”
Marik gave Dietrik a withering sidelong look. “You’re starting to sound like Tollaf.”
“With age comes wisdom, son.” Dietrik patted his shoulder while Marik pondered which remark would best capture his attitude. Before he could reply, Dietrik pointed ahead. “Look there. Seems we’ve been keeping them waiting.”
Standing together as they always did, Chatham and Harlan were in discussion. Maddock stood nearby, listening while remaining apart. It still lifted Marik’s heart to see the trio of men with whom he had escaped the prison of his hometown, Tattersfield. When they drew nearer, Chatham threw his arms wide in dramatic exuberance, declaring lifelong loyalty to stalwart companions as long as they paid the ale tab. Marik smiled, though avoided the jester’s embrace, and led the way inside to see what might be on the dinner menu tonight.
* * * * *
Soft morning light scorched Marik’s red eyes. Whoever shook his shoulder so insistently had better throw it over as a bad job before he punched them in the jaw. Aches had worked their way through every muscle, declaring dominion over his body as the direct result from having drunk too much last night. He knew how foolish getting into a drinking contest with Chatham had been without the stabbing throb behind his temples driving the point home.
And whoever bothered him would not go away! One gummy eye cracked open, risking exposure to the torturous light. Colbey’s bleary form loomed over him. The scout looked twice as irritable as normal. Already fully dressed in his normal garb, the only difference today was that he carried a loaded pack.
Colbey barked, “Get up. I need to test you.” When no movement disturbed the blanket, he yanked it away and exposed Marik to the cold.
“What the hells are you doing in here?” Marik meant to demand, but his grumbling speech could have been mistaken for cows lowing. Colbey never respected the unwritten rule of only entering another barracks when invited. Still, why was he intruding so early today?
“Get dressed. If you’re not outside in five minutes, I won’t go easy on you.”
Marik blinked, and the scout vanished. Grumbling the foulest oaths he could recall helped him force his body from his cot, then lean against his closet. Colbey had picked a fine time for a workout session! Still, though angry enough to spit nails, he pulled on his clothing, knowing the scout would be as good as his word. He never pulled his blows when he was fighting seriously.
The raw s
unlight outside struck his face with physical force. Wincing through the pain revealed Colbey already moving away. He sympathized not in the least for Marik’s condition.
In the elite First Training Area’s miniature forest, Colbey drew his sword without preamble, saying only, “Show me.”
The familiar command instructed Marik to attack without holding back. Unfortunately, this morning he could summon nothing by way of coordination. Unsure he would be able to until he actually did, he cleared his blade from its sheath and made a sloppy cut at his opponent.
Colbey scorned to take advantage of his poor form through a counterattack, instead merely stepping aside. He stood motionless in anticipation of the next attack.
Marik closed his eyes to collect his wits. He commanded his body to ignore the aftereffects of last night. He pulled the sword closer and forced a precise slash through his protesting muscles.
This time the scout met the attack. He turned it away but still returned no strikes. Marik continued delivering blows, slowly working through his hangover. On the twelfth attack, just when he began to feel better, Colbey laid him low.
A sweeping kick struck his ankles after Colbey deflected the sword. Marik hit the dirt. Months of practice kept him from falling on his blade as instinct took over during the plummet. He lay on the ground in a daze. Overhead, Colbey muttered, “Outlanders.”
Marik had noticed that disparaging comment often. He was in the dark about exactly what his instructor meant by it, other than an obvious scorning of anyone foreign to his homeland. Exactly where that might be in Colbey’s case he still guessed at.
He’s up to something. That much is obvious. Concentrate! You’ve learned so much. Use it against him. Now!
Marik pushed through the lingering aches to open his senses fully, absorbing as much information as he could. Every sound around him registered, every leaf fluttering on each tree caught his eye. The aches were still present, yet distant and forgettable.
Keenly aware of his surroundings, he struck with renewed determination. Colbey deflected the blow but Marik already swung into a follow up. This too met Colbey’s sword. Marik jumped back when the scout struck at his waist.
He blocked the scout’s next strike, sending it downward, then thrust for the scout’s head. Colbey stepped aside while the sword passed and raised his own from below to strike at Marik’s wrists.
There was no time to pull back. Instead, he released his left hand from the hilt while jerking the sword away to the right. Colbey advanced immediately when his strike missed. He slashed at waist-level. Marik made no move to block the blow this time, knowing he should never react the same way twice against a single foe. Predictability would get him killed.
This time he let the blow pass before him with the intention of stepping forward the moment the blade cleared his gut. Except Colbey knew better. Somehow, when the blade arced away, he reversed direction in an instant.
Marik leapt into a space he expected to be clear. Instead he stepped into the blow from his left. It crashed into his mail and knocked the wind from his lungs.
The blow dropped him to one knee where he gasped for breath. Colbey tapped his sword against the top of his head to signal a kill. It was unnecessary but the scout always obeyed the formalities he had insisted they train by.
Despite his hangover, Marik smiled. This was the first time he had ever launched three consecutive attacks against Colbey. In the beginning he had always been knocked down after the first.
A skyward glance preceded Colbey’s announcement of, “I suppose you’ve learned enough to survive this next summer.”
Colbey usually insulted him without meaning to. Marik, accustomed to it, refrained from comment. He had already survived two summers without the scout’s assistance, after all.
Still… “There’s two eightdays until the fighting season, Colbey. I still have that long to train with you before you march out.”
The scout shook his head. “I’m going out today.”
“Today?” As irritating as Colbey could be, Marik appreciated the valuable lessons from a superior swordsman. Suddenly losing two eightdays worth of advanced training felt like having a bulging purse stolen. “Why?”
“I’m going to Tullainia.”
Marik waited. No additional information followed. “Second Squad’s been hired by a Tullainian again?” he guessed.
“No. I am going alone.”
“What? You’re leaving the band?”
“Not yet. I wanted to test you before I leave. And to remind you of your promise to me.”
“I remember. You’re not calling it in, are you? I’m not going to quit the band for you.”
“No. I simply wanted to keep it fresh in your mind. And I want you to keep training while I’m gone. If you cannot perform better than that when I return, I’ll discontinue all further lessons.”
No bluff tinged the scout’s voice; he meant every word. Doubt for Colbey’s safety tugged at Marik. “If you return. Tullainia’s a hotbed of rumors. The refugees are still streaming across the border. I know how good you are, but Tullainia could be a hundred times worse than the Green Reaches.”
Colbey’s expression darkened subtly. “I will return. I want you at your best when I do.”
He sheathed his blade and turned to leave.
“Hey! Why are you going to Tullainia alone?”
The scout continued without pause, ghosting into the trees, never once looking back.
In the Ninth Squad’s barracks, Marik joined with Dietrik for breakfast and discussed what had happened.
“That’s a bit off the normal route, I’d say, mate.”
“I’d say is a lot off the normal route. What’s he up to?”
Dietrik shrugged. “Who can fathom the workings of his mind? But look at the facts at hand.”
“Which ones?”
“Take what you know and see where that leads you. For one, he said he is not leaving the band. Torrance would surely expel him if he struck out on his own for any reason, so whatever he’s doing, the good commander knows about it.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“For two, he’s going to Tullainia. That kingdom has been turning inside and out ever since last summer. No one knows what’s truly going on over there. For three, Colbey is going alone, without the rest of his squad, and four, he is a scout by profession.”
Marik nodded. “I see how that adds up. Torrance is sending a lone man into a trouble spot. A lone scout at that.”
“Indeed,” Dietrik agreed. “I’m sure Colbey is going ‘behind the lines’, as it were. He’ll be finding out everything he can so Torrance will have a whole picture of the situation instead of scattered pieces.”
“Except…that’s not all.”
Dietrik’s eyes widened in silent question.
“I don’t know what, though. I’m sure you’re right on all counts, but I think we’re missing a piece.”
“What might that be?”
Marik picked at his hash for several moments. “Do you remember how Colbey kept acting after we left Rawlings?”
“After we heard the first rumors out of Tullainia, yes.”
“And then he vanished for a few eightdays before winter. I’m sure there’s something else going on.”
They tossed it back and forth for the rest of breakfast but failed to uncover any secrets. While they cleaned off their dishes Marik decided on the day’s itinerary.
“I don’t feel like normal training today, and going to the Tower is out of the question, so let’s work on your visualizations.”
Dietrik’s enthusiasm for that equated with Marik’s enthusiasm to work with Tollaf. “I’m about ready to call it quits on that score. I don’t think I’ll ever manage it.”
“Sure you will. You only need to keep practicing it. I’ll practice my strength working while you concentrate on that.”
He swept Dietrik along in his wake, returning to their closets to prepare for the day.
* * * * *
The center figure in the shadows had watched the pair for over a mark, studying them with avid concentration. Beside him, the other two fidgeted, either bored or nervous. Beld hardly cared, as long as they kept from alerting the others to their presence.
At last, Albin asked, “So we gonna attack ‘em today or what, Beld? We gonna teach ‘em a lesson or not?”
Beld offered no answer. From his other side, Veji voiced his concern. “You sure ‘bout this? The one’s a magiker.”
“So what?” Albin replied. “Conk him on the noggin right quick and he can’t talk none of them funny words.”
“But—”
“Shut it,” Beld commanded, and they fell quiet instantly. “No, we ain’t gonna mess them up today. I still need to think about how to handle them. I don’t want that one up to any of his cheap-boy tricks, like last time we had at them.”
“Just keep his mouth shut so as he can’t talk none.”
“How you plan on doing that, Albin? I saw him up on that wall. He was using his tricks to screw up Dellen during the trials, like he done on us. No, we need a plan for that one.”
“You been saying that all winter.”
Beld punched Albin’s ear. “You rush things, you end up dead. Don’t be dumber than you already are. We’re going. I’ve seen enough for today.”
Veji needed no encouragement to leave, though Albin’s grumbling persisted. Beld looked one last time across the way at the pair before abandoning the training area.
* * * * *
With each day warmer than the previous, new growth graced the bare tree branches around town. Kingshome’s silence struck Marik as eerie. The only time he could recall it being so quiet previously was during his first summer when the Ninth had been between contracts. Even most of the tavern masters and shop keepers on the Row had chained their doors shut and left for other towns to visit their families during this, their off-season.