A very adult expression came over his face for a moment. “Naw, it’s not that really. The real work is going to start soon. It’s going to get hard, and exhausting, and we’re not always going to be sure of the right thing to do. But in this moment, there’s nothing like that. So, for as long as I can, I want to pretend we’re just on some grand adventure, where nothing can really go wrong.”
In that moment she felt her lack of experience keenly. Of the three of them, she was the one that was the most sheltered, at least when it came to actually using her magic in the real world. Strange, considering that Nolan was a crown prince, but nevertheless true. At five, these two had used their magic to alter the course of Hain itself by fixing it so that Queen Chaelane could get pregnant. At seven, they had gone into Mellor and helped stop an ancient plowing system from destroying a whole city. They hadn’t even been fully trained.
Because of how potentially destructive weather magic was, no one had let her do anything until she had very precise control; it had been two years of studying and very small projects before Becca had really unleashed her full magical potential. And even then, they had kept her either in Strae or in the safer parts of Chahir most of her life because of who she was. Because there weren’t any other like her. She was the last of her line, and if she died without having children, there wouldn’t be another Weather Mage ever again.
It was a heavy responsibility and while she understood the reason for being so fiercely safeguarded, it still grated, not being able to go out as the boys had done. That was why, in part, she had snuck out here on her own.
Besides, it couldn’t possibly be as dangerous as the adults feared. They were three fully trained mages. A small army wouldn’t stand much of a chance against them. How bad could this possibly be?
Day five they finally hit the Great Northern Highway. It shot all the way from the very tip of Khobunter through to Hain, and reaching it meant that they were assured better traveling conditions from here on out. For one, it would mean the ability to stop for food, inns with comfy beds to stay in, and possibly being able to get some information if they played their cards right.
Becca squinted, peering ahead as she walked. The air shimmered, almost a wave, as the suns beat down on the hard-packed earth. The soil here was more crags and rocks than anything, and the air so hot it was a little difficult to breathe. It was impossible to look straight ahead, any higher than the ground as well, because the suns were blindingly bright. “Trev. Is that a town up ahead?”
“Should be Rurick,” he agreed, rubbing at his throat. “Which is good. We’re out of water and we’re going to need a lot if we keep going like this. Maybe we should buy horses?”
Becca thought they should. Or dragoos. Dragoos would probably fare better in this arid heat. “If that’s Rurick, then it means we’re properly in Khobunter now, right?”
“Right.” It took a second for him to catch onto her meaning. “Ah, want me to look at the soil now?”
“Please.”
Trev eased his pack to the ground and squatted on his haunches. To the outsider, it looked like he was idly poking at the ground with a finger, but she could see the magic swirling around him and the intense concentration on his face. When he sat back, he peered up at the two of them.
“Part of it at least is the soil’s condition. There’s absolutely no soil moisture in here.”
Despite growing up with these two, there were times they said something that went completely over her head. Like now. “How is that important?”
“Um. Hm. How to explain…” he trailed off, staring blankly at the ground. “Healthy soil, what we call rich ground, isn’t just minerals. It’s a mix of things, water and earth and compost all mixed in. So if there’s nothing but minerals in the ground and loose particles of sand, then it hardens like cement.”
“So even if Becca called down rain right here and now,” Nolan ventured, “then it wouldn’t be able to penetrate the ground? It would just stand there?”
“You got it. It’s like this whole place is a giant fountain. The ground is that tough and impenetrable to water.”
Becca turned in a slow circle, staring hard at her surroundings. The area was relatively flat, no standings of sand or much in the way of hills, and there was sparse vegetation indeed. “I could flood this place if I bring in too much water at once.”
“Easily,” Trev’nor confirmed. “I’d have to change the composition of the soil first, and I’d need water to do that with. We’d have to work together to pull it off. If you really want to change this desert, Bec, it’s not going to be an easy stop and go project. You’re talking months, here. Maybe a full year in one place.”
A year. In each part of this country? She could only manage about twenty square miles at a time. It would take a lifetime to do all of Khobunter. And what about Libendorf? It was just as bad. Possibly worse, judging from Krys’s descriptions of it.
“You might be jumping to things too quickly,” Nolan advised. “For one, you don’t even have permission from any of the warlords here to tamper with their territory.”
Becca felt like slapping herself. Yes, of course, what was she thinking? This place wasn’t her responsibility. Why she had thought for even a moment that it was baffled her. Actually, why had she felt that way?
Trev’nor gave a loud groan. “Oh man, I’m glad it’s not our job. Can you imagine? Having to go to every warlord and getting permission to work in his territory? There’s what, eight of them?”
“Five,” Nolan corrected. “Five that govern specific sections. There’s no unifying government or leader, though, like there is in Empire of Sol. It’s just those five contending with each other.”
“Five is not much better. Just getting permission from one person is usually a fight as they have this garbled understanding of what magic can do. And for some reason they always have this idea in mind of what you need to do.” Standing, he put his pack back on, adjusting the straps. “Never mind how feasible that is. Sorry, Bec, but this class project I’ll pass on.”
She snorted. “Don’t blame you. Well, we didn’t really come up here to fix the desert anyway. We came to find who’s been tampering with my weather patterns.”
“Yes, we did,” Nolan agreed, relieved. “So? You detect anything yet?”
“He or she is quiet at the moment. I don’t have anything to go off of specifically. But I think they’re further north than here.” Past experiences said so, at least. “For now, let’s walk.”
“Just curious,” Nolan had a funny expression on as he asked, as if he were ready to start laughing, “but so far you haven’t mentioned a thing about Tail. I mean, we left our meurittas behind on purpose because we didn’t know how they’d fare on this trip. But what about Tail?”
The question was perfectly reasonable as her Jaunten cat/familiar was intelligent enough to get out of the way when he needed to. He was as smart as any person, in some ways smarter. “He’s at an age where it takes constant pain reducing potions to keep him moving,” Becca responded, all logic. “And he gets tired quickly.”
“Uh-huh.” Trev’nor didn’t buy this. “You know that he would have argued with you about coming, don’t you.”
Becca grimaced. “You two are so lucky with your familiars, you have no idea. A Jaunten familiar knows when you’re doing things without permission. They’re the worst tattle-tales on the planet.”
Trev’nor laughed. “I bet. So do you have a plan on how to soothe his ruffled fur when we get back home?”
“No, I do not,” Becca retorted primly. “But I’m open to suggestions.”
They walked. And walked. Distance was very hard to judge in the desert. Things that looked close were actually quite far. The only person not fooled by this optical illusion was Trev’nor, of course, who could feel quite well the distance in the ground.
Rurick was not quite what Trev’nor expected. No one really chose to travel into Khobunter by choice, as it was well known to be chaotic even in the
best of times, so he had never heard a first person description of the place. They just had maps and rumors to go off of. Still, for a militaristic country he would have expected stouter walls, more fortifications, something more fort-like. The walls were stout enough, but not very high, and there was a light guard on the main gate they walked through. It was also very strange being here as they were obviously the only foreigners passing through. Most of the people here were dark skinned, black hair, black eyes. The three teens stood out like sore thumbs.
Trev’nor looked at the other two and asked, “Divide and conquer? Someone go after dragoos, someone go after food, someone else get water?”
Nolan was tilting his head this way and that, almost as if he were slowly shaking it. “Something’s very wrong in this place. The vibe I feel is not a good one.”
When a Life Mage said something like that, a wise person paid attention. Trev’nor looked around, paying better attention to the people, and he had to admit that he didn’t like the attention they were getting. He saw quite a few passerby stop and stare suspiciously before continuing on. These people were not used to travelers, which was strange, as they were very near the border. Still, they were fully trained mages, what could possibly pose a danger to them here?
Becca rubbed her arms in an uneasy motion, her eyes darting around. “I don’t like this place. Something stinks, I just can’t put my finger on what.”
“In that case, let’s really divide and conquer,” Trev’nor suggested. “Let’s get what we need and move on quickly.”
Nolan was slow to approve this plan. “Keep your weapons in hand and stay alert. I’ll get the dragoos. Becca, water. Trev, food. But nothing like cheese, it’ll spoil fast here.”
“Right.” Trev’nor used his nose to figure out where the local market street was and went that direction. He kept the hat on his head held low, trying to disguise his hair a little, and put his braid down the back of his shirt, but it didn’t help that much. He was more tanned than the other two, spending more of his time out of doors, but he still wasn’t anywhere near the skin tone of the Khobuntian people.
Roughly two blocks down, he found the heart of the market. He started with the first stall, taking a look at what they offered. Most of it was fresh, which didn’t do him much good, as he needed travel food. Shaking his head, he went to the next stall, then the next. He tried to keep an eye around him at all times, but it was hard to do with this many people in such a narrow space. Eventually he gave up on that idea and just kept a close eye on his purse and made sure his pack was in front of him all of the time. A pickpocket wouldn’t find him an easy mark.
Hmm. This stall sold dried fruit of different sorts. Now, that would make a good traveling food and it would give them a welcome break from jerky and bread.
He paused long enough to dig his purse out of his pack. When he couldn’t immediately lay hands on it, he became worried and twisted it about to get a hand more firmly inside. Nope, still no purse. Frowning, he quirked a mental finger at the ground and created a mini-pedestal to set the bag on so he could search it easier. It took some rummaging, but he found it at the bottom of the bag and hauled it out with a victorious “Ha!” With money in hand (hopefully they accepted foreign currency), he turned back to the stall, letting the dirt settle back down into the road as he moved. Most Khobuntians spoke Solian—it was an almost universal trade language north of Hain—so he cleared his throat and tried that. “What types of fruits are these? How much for a bag of each?”
He never got an answer. In the next second someone grabbed him roughly by the shoulder and spun him around. Trev’nor didn’t fight it, instead flowing with it, and hit the person grabbing him with as much force as he possibly could. His attacker folded over the fist in his gut and went down. But it wasn’t just one man attacking—it was about six and they were all strong fighters. Trev’nor dropped his pack, freeing up his arms, and lashed out in every direction, trying to find himself some breathing room. He couldn’t put up a wall in this location, too many people crowded around him, he’d hurt someone by accident if he tried. He twisted about, trying to get a visual so he could sink his attackers into the stone under their feet.
Something heavy dropped around his neck, and before he could figure out what, something else hit him hard in the back of the head. A sharp, lancing pain went through the back of his skull.
The world went black.
He woke up slowly, head throbbing, a terrible stench in his nose. Groaning, he put a hand to his head. “What hit me?”
“A slaver, likely,” Becca responded quietly. “How are you feeling, Trev?”
“Like a hammer was taken to my skull. Nol, could you—” he broke off as he finally got his eyes open and the first sight of where he was penetrated. All around him was grey. Or maybe it just looked like that in the dim torchlight. He was in a cave-looking place of some sort, iron cages lined up in tidy rows, with a good hundred people all crammed into them. Alarm shot up his spine as he realized he was one of the people in those cages. “Becca. Where are we?” the question came out more than a little panicked.
It was Nolan that answered. “In the slave pens of Rurick.”
Trev’nor had to turn his head slowly to keep it from screaming at him, but he still shifted so that he was no longer leaning against Becca’s lap and could face both of them. “We’re where?!” his voice rose uncontrollably.
Someone else in the pen prodded him in the side with a foot and hissed something in a language he couldn’t understand. Tone was enough for Trev’nor to understand that it was a command to keep it down before he called the attention of the guards.
Trev’nor studied the man with hysteria climbing in his throat. He looked old, but that could have been because of the grime clinging to his skin, deepening the wrinkles in his face and hands. His hair was kept back in a messy knot at the back of his head, clothes obviously the wrong size and not laundered anywhere in the past year. He was quite obviously a slave, and a poorly kept one, at that.
Nolan reached out, gripping him by the arm, and grounded Trev’nor a little. “Trev. Breathe.”
“I’m breathing. I’m just also hoping I’m dreaming.”
“Me too,” Becca sighed. “Really, how did this happen? We knew the place had a bad vibe to it, but we were all on the lookout for trouble, and they still got the drop on us.”
Nolan shook his head. “These men were professionals. And they wouldn’t take chances with three mages. We’re too powerful for them to face. They had to ambush us or risk losing us entirely.”
Tre’vnor started paying better attention and really looked at the man. “He’s a wizard.”
The man had a bitter look to his face as he looked away, not interested in their conversation.
“Untrained,” Nolan added on quietly. “I can see the raw power in him, but at a guess I’d say he’d never had any sort of training. I wonder if he speaks proper Khobuntish?”
“Do you?” Becca asked.
“Some. Let me try.” Nolan cleared his throat and carefully spoke a question. The language had a certain rise and fall cadence to it that was very alien to Trev’nor’s ear.
The man didn’t respond.
Nolan shrugged. “Either he didn’t understand me or he doesn’t want to talk.”
Becca put on her most charming smile and scooted over closer, ducking her head to catch the man’s eyes and drawing him back up again. In Solish she said, “Sir? My name is Riicbeccaan. What’s yours?”
He eyed her dourly but finally pried open his mouth and spoke in halting Solish, “Riicbeccaan. I thought you were Chahiran.” He cleared his throat, a wet, hacking sound that spoke of an infection in his lungs. “I’m Orba. I’d give up hope of getting free of this place, young Mages. I’ve been here since birth. There won’t be a rescue.”
Trev’nor highly doubted that. It might take a few weeks for people to figure out where they were, but there certainly would be a rescue, and it might level the city. His family and
mentors were not known for their tolerance about this sort of thing.
Nolan gave him a smile as well. “Call me Nolan. This is Trev’nor.”
Orba looked confused for a split second. “You’re not Chahiran?”
“We are,” Trev’nor clarified. “I was just found by the Tonkowacon as a baby and raised by them. So I carry their name. If you want my Chahiran name, it’s Rhebentrev’noren.”
For a split second, Orba almost smiled. “Mouthful, that one.”
“You think that’s bad? You should try my cousin’s wife’s name. She’s Hainish so when she got married to Garth, her name became Rhebenl-chattamoinitaan.”
Orba did smile at that one, although it was faint. “Sounds like a disease.”
“Doesn’t it?” Trev’nor agreed. Wait, how had they ended up talking about this, anyway? That wasn’t even what he needed to know. Granted, it had seemed to draw the man briefly out of his shell. “Orba, what do you mean by you’ve been here your entire life? And why were we taken?”
“Khobunter doesn’t recognize anyone with magic as citizens. We’re slaves. Property. We fight for them, build for them, create for them. The older slaves teach you a skill, whatever it is your magic is suited for, and that’s what you do for the rest of your lives.”
Trev’nor darted a look at Nolan but the crown prince of Chahir looked just as surprised by this as he was. So, this wasn’t an official policy that Khobunter discussed with the other countries. It was a dirty little secret that no one outside of the country knew. Well, actually, that made sense. The Trasdee Evondit Orra would never have tolerated having magicians kept as slaves. If they’d known about it, they would have marched on Khobunter in force and taken the place by storm.
“But even travelers?” Nolan objected. “I can see why they think they can get by with it if a person is born in Khobunter, but travelers too?”
Warlords Rising Page 2