by Kel Kade
After a prolonged silence, Malcius exclaimed, “If that is all true, then why would you continue to uphold an oath to a madman?”
“It is a mage oath,” said Wesson.
“Indeed,” said Connovan with a tilt of his head. “I knew Caydean was mad, but he had not yet done anything to warrant his execution—at least, nothing I could prove.”
Malcius was undeterred. “But, if Rezkin was meant to kill you, and you and Bordran both knew this, why would he send you to watch Rezkin when he was young?”
With a frown, Connovan said, “I was the Rez. It was my duty to serve Bordran, as it was my duty to battle the new Rez when he came for me. It is all in the Rules.” He lifted a hand toward Rezkin and said, “This Rez, however, far surpasses any Rez that has come before him. He has managed to master all the Skills and then some.”
“You did not?” said Rezkin.
Connovan laughed. “In all my years, I have barely mastered a quarter of them.” At Rezkin’s dubious look, he said, “You do not believe me? I suppose you should not. I am the Rez, after all. Perhaps you will believe them,” he said with a nod toward Rezkin’s friends on the sofa—and Tieran who had not regained the courage to come out from behind it. “You have not figured it out because you had no one to whom you could compare yourself. The masters and strikers were to act as though your ability to absorb knowledge was normal, unexceptional. Perhaps Journeyman Mage Wesson would do us the honor of selecting a book from the shelf?”
Wesson glanced at Rezkin for approval and then said, “Which book?”
“Any will do,” said Connovan.
Behind Rezkin’s desk were a few shelves containing whatever books had made it to the island.
Wesson chose one at random and then looked to the former Rez. “How about The Design of Character: The Disposition of Jerean Architecture?”
“Are the pages numbered?” said Connovan.
“Yes.”
“Turn to page … hmm … forty-seven. King Rezkin, would you tell us the third word in the second paragraph?”
“Utility,” Rezkin said immediately.
“That is correct,” said Wesson.
Connovan said, “Please begin recitation of the first line in the third paragraph on page seventeen.”
Wesson flipped through the pages, and Rezkin began. “The dynamics between service and the formalized cultural traditions and practices of the era are unique to the provinces …”
“Thank you, I think that is enough of that book,” Connovan said.
Wesson glanced up. “He is correct. Every word.”
Malcius said, “For the Maker’s sake, Rezkin, how many times have you read that book? I could not force myself past the first two pages.”
“Why would I need to read it more than once?” said Rezkin. “It is not enchanted. The words do not change with each reading.”
Wesson blurted, “You are a scrivener!”
Rezkin looked at him with confusion. “I am capable of writing, but I did not write that book.”
“No, not a mundane scrivener,” said Wesson. “A scrivener is a very special type of mage.”
Farson suddenly broke his silence. “That information was kept from him. We were very careful to make sure he never knew of scriveners. Actually, we kept much about mages from him. It seemed odd since we were assured he was not a mage; but, we had orders, and we followed them.”
“What is a scrivener?” said Malcius.
Wesson frowned at the striker and then turned to Malcius. “Scriveners have perfect memory and recall. They can memorize anything they hear or see the first time; and, more importantly, they can recall it flawlessly. It explains so much. That is how you were able to master so many skills in such a short time.”
Farson said, “It does not explain his physical prowess.”
“No, but I am sure it helps,” Wesson said then turned to back the others. “Imagine that you can learn any knowledge by listening to someone or by reading a book one time and never forget anything. No studying required.”
Tieran said, “If knowledge is power, then it is a very powerful talent. It is also exceedingly rare, more so than readers and illusionists. In fact, I know of only one.” He turned toward the woman in black and said, “Queen Lecillia.”
The woman dabbed at her eyes with a kerchief beneath her veil and then lifted the black lace over her head. She looked up at Rezkin and said, “It is true. I am Lecillia, and you are my son.”
“How can this be?” Tieran said. “We determined that we were related, but we thought he was Bordran or Deysius’s bastard.”
Lecillia’s expression became furious. “You, Tieran Nirius, will not call my son a bastard! He is a true and legitimate prince of Ashai.”
“Prince?” Frisha said and quickly covered her mouth as her face grew pale.
Tieran held up his hands. “My apologies, Aunt Lecillia. I meant no disrespect. I already recognize Rezkin as my king, so you will get no argument from me.”
Lecillia was somewhat appeased, and she turned back to Rezkin. “I am so sorry. I was told you were stillborn. I never knew. I cannot believe Bordran did this to me. I did not believe Connovan when he told me. I had to see you for myself. I almost died when you stepped off that ship. Part of me wished you had been a bastard. It would have been easier to accept that Bordran had strayed than that he stole my baby boy straight from my womb and told me he was dead!” She looked back at Rezkin and said, “No, I am sorry, my love. I did not mean it. I am glad that you are alive and that I will have the chance to know you, even if I missed your childhood.”
Rezkin did not reply but instead looked back to Connovan. “You said Bordran refused to send his son to be trained as the Rez.”
“His own oaths would have forced him to uphold the charter; but, in the end, it was Caydean that decided it for him.” He squeezed Lecillia’s shoulders again and said, “Caydean was merely seven when you were born, but his cruelty was evident even then. He had already killed three puppies, beaten one of the servant’s children nearly to death, and tried to kill his own brother twice. He claimed they were all accidents, but Bordran knew. He hoped he and others could teach Caydean—that, somehow, he would grow out of it. After Caydean nearly drowned Thresson without remorse, Bordran knew he had to prepare for the worst.
“Bordran later told me that the night you were born was the worst of his life, as were all the days after. I was ordered to kill the healer who had helped birth you, and the queen was told that you were dead. Bordran spent a few hours with you, and then you disappeared. I think he did not trust me with the babe. Of course, I knew where you had been taken, but I was ordered to stay away unless he requested an update.”
Rezkin looked to Wesson. “Perform the test.”
Lecillia’s face fell.
Frisha said, “Rezkin, can’t you see she’s hurting. Don’t be so cold. She is your mother.”
“So he says.”
Tieran said, “Rezkin, this is Aunt Lecillia. I have known her my entire life.”
“But you do not know that she is my mother. She does not know. She knows only what he has told her.”
“Why would the queen lie about your legitimacy? Why would he?” said Tieran.
Rezkin looked to Wesson. “The test.”
Chapter 6
Wesson hurried to collect a vessel for the blood and then paused upon approaching the queen mother. Lecillia gave hers willingly, with tears in her eyes. Then, he took a sample from Rezkin. Although Rezkin always seemed alert, he appeared particularly aware at that moment, as though he were surrounded by drauglics ready to rip him to shreds. The spell finished with a resonant pop, and Wesson announced that Lecillia was definitely Rezkin’s mother.
Rezkin turned to Connovan. “Very well, I accept that Queen Lecillia is my mother, but there are several holes in your story. For one, you claim that I am a scrivener, and even though I am a direct descendant of the royal line, I am not a mage.”
Rezkin felt the tingle of
mage energy emanate from Connovan and prepared for an attack. The man smiled and said, “You will have to try much harder to influence me, although I believe Striker Farson is now convinced.”
“What are you talking about?” said Rezkin.
“I am a reflector. It is a power that has served me well in my duties. I am able to reflect spells cast at me and direct them onto others of my choosing.” He looked up thoughtfully. “I suppose refractor might be more accurate, but that does not have the same ring. Your spell just struck Striker Farson.”
Rezkin shook his head. “It is not my spell.”
Wesson said, “I could never sense the talent in him, so I decided a spell must have been cast onto him that allows him to influence others.”
Rezkin said, “I do not realize I am using it most of the time.”
“I also have never sensed the talent in you,” replied Connovan. “The truth is, I do not know what you are. Your masters seemed to have an idea, but they would not share their knowledge with me. What I do know is that, aside from healing, we have never been able to make any spell stick to you. Any power that comes from you is your own.”
Rezkin pondered the Rez’s words. He did not know how much of the information he could trust, but so long as the man was being candid, he would collect as much information as he could. “And the masters? Who were they?”
“That, I also do not know, not specifically anyway. I think you know what they were, though.”
“Goka?” suggested Rezkin.
Connovan tilted his head. “More importantly, they were SenGoka.”
“Why does that sound familiar?” said Tieran.
Malcius’s eyes widened. “Necromancers,” he shouted. He looked to Rezkin. “You told us of them—the necromancers of the Jahartan Empire. You were trained by necromancers?”
Connovan said, “Elite warrior necromancers, to be precise. It was a good thing, too. No one could live through his training.” He perused their horrified faces. “What? You did not think you actually survived all of that.”
Rezkin turned his accusatory gaze on Farson. “You killed me?”
Farson would not meet his glower at first but finally acquiesced. “I did not know. There were times when we were certain you were dead. Peider was known to be a healer, though—and Jaiardun, to some extent. They assured us every time that you were alive and could be saved. We strikers argued often over it. We thought they must have been the most magnificent healers that ever lived.” With a glare toward Connovan, he said, “Sen did not cross our minds. I did not believe they existed.” He looked back to Rezkin. “A person simply cannot engage in battle for two days straight without a break, without sustenance. I do not know how you managed to last that long, but when you finally fell, you were surely dead.”
Rezkin glanced between the two of them. “How many times have I died?”
Both men shrugged.
“I have no reason to believe either of you,” he said.
Connovan shook his head. “The proof is in your skin.”
Rezkin glanced at his hand and then frowned at the man. “What are you saying?”
“You know about the Sen?” said Connovan. “You know they make marks on the skin, tattoos—a record of how each death occurs, the length of time spent in death, and the identity of the Sen who retrieves your soul. You have such marks.”
“Uh, no, he doesn’t,” said Frisha. “He doesn’t have a mark on him.” Everyone turned to her, and she froze as her cheeks turned pink. She buried her gaze in the far wall as Malcius glared at her and then Rezkin.
Rezkin looked back to Connovan. “I do not have any marks.”
Farson said, “I have never seen any marks either.”
Connovan tilted his head. “I believe the masters taught you to hide them. When you were too young to receive intense combat training, they started with your mind. Much time was spent on making others see what you want them to see. You had less control when you were young, and I was occasionally able to reflect your influence to see the marks.”
Yserria said, “Wait, you are saying he died as a child?”
Connovan ignored the interruption. “For you, the habit is dictated by the Rules. Rule 3—reveal nothing, Rule 10—do not leave evidence, and Rule 237—bear no identifying marks.” He glanced at Kai and Shezar. “The strikers break that one with their tattoos. They must have them removed before going on assignment. You learned to hide yours. I do not know how, but I believe it has become so engrained in your mental process that you no longer think of it.”
Rezkin knew instinctively that what Connovan said was true. The longer he thought of it, the more he could feel the marks, as if they were crawling under his skin, marks he had not recognized were there. Then, he wondered if they were truly there at all. Perhaps Connovan was an illusionist or had another talent that made Rezkin question himself. He chose to change the subject.
“Peider and Jaiardun were not old enough to have trained you.”
“No,” said Connovan, “I was trained by strikers.”
“How did a couple of SenGoka become my masters?”
“Jaiardun, I believe, was from Jaharta. Peider was from Galathia. There was a third named Berringish, also from Jaharta. They arrived before the queen even knew she was pregnant. They said they had been sent by a Knight of Mikayal to train you.”
“Me, specifically, or the next Rez?”
“It had to be you,” said Connovan. He glanced at Tieran and grimaced. “There was a time when Bordran considered sending that one. He would have broken before touching a weapon.”
“Hey, now!” said Tieran. “I am not weak just because I am not a heartless killer.” He glanced at Rezkin. “Ah, neither are you, of course.”
Rezkin considered correcting him, but Tieran seemed happy in his belief. He turned to Connovan. “Why were they sent to train me?”
“I do not know. I am not sure they knew. They would have traveled for months to reach Ashai. The fact that the Sen knew of your existence before you were conceived was proof enough for Bordran. You know that the Goka are renowned warriors, nearly the equals of the Soka. He was not about to turn them away. Their assertion about the knight gave Bordran hope that Mikayal favored you. Who wouldn’t want a god on his side?
“Still, Bordran was not yet willing to give up on Caydean. He insisted that if they were to train you, at least one would stay behind to teach Caydean and Thresson. They did not care for the bargain; but, ultimately, they left Berringish to the task. He was furious all the years that I watched him. Eventually, he disappeared. I questioned Peider and Jaiardun, but they insisted he had only joined them after they had received the message from the knight, and they did not know what had happened to him. They were not the easiest men to question, though. They wielded great power, and men who do not fear death tend to fear little.”
Rezkin stared at the king’s assassin of legend. He said, “You still have not said why you came here.”
Connovan sighed. “Caydean sent me away several months ago. It was a pointless mission. I knew even then that he was getting me out of the way for something. I did not know he intended to move against you, though. He must have given the order before you completed your training. He had known about you for maybe a month before the attack. Technically, I was supposed to inform him of your existence upon Bordran’s death, but he never asked about the next Rez in training, so I neglected to mention it. When I was forced to tell, I may have informed him of your planned completion date and omitted the fact that you were years ahead of schedule and far beyond my own training. He sent me away shortly after learning of your existence.
Malcius said, “I still do not understand why you did nothing about Caydean. You said killing the mad king was your job.”
Connovan glanced at Lecillia. He said, “I could not move against Caydean for two reasons. One, I was not his Rez. In order for me to act, he would have to do something blatant, requiring immediate removal from the throne. It is the nature of my oath. Two,
he had not done anything overtly damaging to the kingdom. While there were plenty of rumors that he had killed Bordran and is responsible for Thresson’s disappearance, I was not present for those events and have not found evidence to prove it.” He paused and looked at Rezkin. “I may have taken longer to return from my last mission than was strictly necessary. I believe he did kill Bordran, and I did not wish to serve him. By the time I returned, you had completed your training, and Caydean had already tried to have you killed. It was he, I am sure of it; but, again, I have no proof.”
“So he planned to kill me before starting his war, but he only sent you away. How did he intend to prevent you from dethroning him?”
“He found a loophole. You were supposed to be his Rez. By mage oath, he would not be able to kill you—except that you were not fully trained yet, so his oath recognized me as the Rez. That left him free to order your death. If you were dead, I would continue to be the Rez, and I would be oathbound to return to him once I completed my mission. He would be prepared for my arrival. Because of the kingdom’s code of honor, if I decide to dethrone Caydean, he has the right to defend himself. We are no longer protected from each other. I believe he thought he could defeat me. His plan was spoiled, though, when you finished your training early. As soon as you passed the final test, I was released from my oath until you sought me out. I did not return to Caydean, and he failed to kill you. I do not believe he knows that he failed.”