Heroes' Reward

by Moira J. Moore

  Chapter Nine

  That night, I read the book Murdoch had recommended. It had more to do with how to teach than how to cast. Some of the plans were great, and some looked spectacularly stupid. I wondered if the students would lose any respect for me they might have had when they realised I was using the same lesson plans Murdoch had used.

  The next morning I commenced as Murdoch had suggested. Steina Desoto, the woman who’d question the replacement of Murdoch as instructor, said, “Murdoch already taught us that. Ages ago.”

  Being challenged once in a while was good. It kept one from getting complacement, expecting people to just flow with one’s wishes. And really, why should they all just accept me without seeking some confirmation that I was competent to perform the task I’d been given?

  It was uncomfortable, though.

  “Shield Murdoch did tell me something of your progress,” I told her. “I would like to see a bit for myself, though, before moving forward.” Taking a page from Taro’s book.

  The response was silence. Even Murdoch appeared to have nothing to say. The air didn’t feel hostile: I just got the impression that no one was prepared to help me out.

  There was no reason why they should. The logical side of me knew this. That didn’t prevent me from feeling intimidated, though.

  So I had to prove myself. I had to demonstrate the reason I’d been chosen to teach them. How could I do that right then and there?

  By performing a cast they didn’t know.

  How could I know which casts they hadn’t learned?

  Ah. I could be confident that they wouldn’t know anything about the sort of casts Browne had created.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” I said. “I need to go back to my quarters to get some more supplies.” Without waiting for a response, I jogged away from them and went to my room.

  I’d never thought the spell I had in mind would have any real or honourable use. I never was very good at predicting the future. Still, at least I had everything I needed.

  “Guard me from light.”

  The ebony dust.

  “Let the light flow.”

  The glass.

  “Let their gaze slide.”

  The butterfly powder.

  “Let them not know.”

  When I returned to the others, most of them had taken to practising casts, and yes, they were all more advanced than the lesson I had planned. Still, I did need to confirm Murdoch’s estimates of their skill, and it wouldn’t be useful to just pick a place in the book at random. It made more sense to start at the beginning and go forward. The lessons they already knew would proceed quickly enough, I imagined.

  I walked up to Desoto, waited until she finished her cast, and tapped her on the shoulder. “Ho, there.”

  She jerked slightly. She looked in my direction and frowned when she didn’t see anything. She rubbed her shoulder.

  I stepped over to Murdoch and rose to my toes to speak directly into his ear. “What do you think of this?”

  He was startled and recoiled a little to one side, but he quickly regained his composure. “Everyone, here please.”

  They all pulled out of their casts and trotted over.

  “It appears Shield Mallorough is among us,” Murdoch announced.

  People frowned, but no one asked any stupid questions.

  I rubbed off the butterfly powder, eliciting more gasps from the others as I reappeared.

  “How the hell did you learn to do that?” Desoto demanded.

  “I’ve never heard of anything like it,” Murdoch added.

  “Someone taught it to me,” I answered. “But don’t ask me who, because I’m not telling you.”

  “But you will teach it to us?” Murdoch queried.

  “Not yet. There are certain casts I believe you need to know before you can use this one. That was how I was taught, and I believe that is a sound process.” I looked to Desoto, raising my eyebrows in a silent invitation for further opposition.

  Instead, she nodded.

  I decided this little episode had been beneficial. I’d been challenged and I’d demonstrated my worth. That was better than having them blindly follow me only because someone else told them they must.

  “Let’s start over, shall we?”

  The rest of the lesson went much more smoothly, and the others performed the tasks I set for them without further reluctance. As I’d predicted, they flew through the early ones. They didn’t seem to feel they had wasted their time when I dismissed them.

  I went to the mid-day meal, where Taro and I were subjected to more descriptions of the sexual exploits of strangers.

  Almost no one was speaking of why we were there. I found this odd and disturbing.

  And then, it was back to the fields to work with the Pairs.

  Taro had with him one of his travel bags, and he wouldn’t tell me what it was for. He wanted me to wheedle, and I refused to, because that was how we did things.

  As he had the day before, Taro separated the group between those who could create events and those who couldn’t, choosing to work with those who couldn’t. “We’re going to try something a little different today,” he announced. “Source Santham, if you would.”

  Santham stepped forward.

  Taro reached into his bag and took from it a sheathed Ottawa knife. “If you would examine this as thoroughly as you can.”

  Without question, Santham looked the knife over.

  After a few moments, Taro took the knife back and put it in his bag. “How long is the knife?”

  Santham frowned in thought. “About the length of my forearm.”

  “How long is the handle?”

  “About the length of my palm.”

  “What colour is the sheath?”

  “Black.”

  “What colour is the stitching?”

  “Black.”

  “What was the texture of the leather?”

  Santham hesitated a moment before saying, “I don’t understand.”

  “Smooth? Rough? Sticky? Soft?”

  “Smooth?”

  He was guessing. His examination of the knife had consisted entirely of looking at it from different angles. He hadn’t paid any attention to the feel of the leather.

  “How sharp is the blade? Would it easily cut your finger?”

  His shoulders slumped. He had removed the sheath, but he hadn’t touched the edge of the blade. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

  “Has the blade been recently polished?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Think a moment. You would have been able to smell it.”

  He paused, but I thought it was because Taro had told him to, not because he thought he would remember. “I don’t know.”

  Taro reached into his bag again and pulled out a small vase. He handed it to Santham.

  This time Santham was more thorough. When Taro took the vase from him, Santham was able to say, in addition to the general size, that there was a maker’s mark on the bottom, that the sides of the vase were rough on the upper half but smooth on the lower, and that the colour faded from navy to sky blue. He was not, however, able to remember the colour of the interior of the vase or what it smelled like, or the thickness of the clay.

  “The point of all this,” said Taro, “is that creating events requires a better grasp of fine details than channelling them. What does a cyclone look like in your imagination? Do the forces press harder against your mind or your chest? Do you hear anything? When you watch me create a cyclone, soak in as much information as you can, and it will help you create events of your own.”

  Taro hadn’t always been able to perceive such nuances in forces. This was something he had developed over time, enabling him to create both more powerful and more precise events.

  “For now, I’m going to focus on one Source at a time.” Taro clapped Santham on the shoulder. “And today, you’re the lucky one.”

  “Great,” Santham responded in a dry tone.

  Ta
ro took a small statuette from his bag.

  And on it went. Santham improved. Not consistently, but after an hour, his ability to recall details was much greater.

  “So,” said Taro. “Ready to give the real thing a try?”

  Santham looked weary, but he nodded.

  “Lee?”

  “Ready when you are.”

  Taro swiftly created a small cyclone a short distance from the group. He let it swirl for a while, and then he let it fade.

  Santham took a deep breath and looked to his Shield, who responded with a nod. Santham stared at the location in which Taro had placed his cyclone.

  It took several long moments, but I was able to feel it. It wasn’t really a cyclone, more a faint breeze, but everyone knew what that breeze meant.

  The others relaxed. A few grinned. One applauded. And a level of tension I hadn’t quite perceived faded away.

  Taro gave Santham a bright grin. “Excellent,” he said. “You can stop.”

  The wind disappeared.

  “Very, very good,” Taro added.

  This was the first time I’d seen Santham smile.

  “All right, I have to make an admission,” Taro said. “I didn’t expect this to go so quickly, and I didn’t bring enough props,” he raised his bag, “to do any more tests, so we’re going to stop now.” There were a few sighs of relief. “Don’t get used to it, though. We’ll be back to proper hours tomorrow.” Taro dismissed both groups.

  “I think I can do this,” he whispered to me.

  “Of course you can. I never doubted it.”

  This time at dinner, everyone at Risa’s table was chattering with a level of excitement I hadn’t witnessed in them before. “What’s going on?” Taro asked.

  “We’ve finally got someone who knows what he’s doing!” Risa announced gleefully. “Captain Abejide from the Runners’ Headquarters in Li Dec. They’ve put him in charge and they’ve pulled out an old rank for him. We’re supposed to call him the Commissioner.”

  “They’re putting him in charge of everything?” That was a lot of faith to put in one person.

  “Right now, just training the soldiers. But if there is some sort of battle, he’ll be organizing everyone. Your lot and ours.”

  “What does he know of managing casters and Pairs?”

  “As much as anyone, I imagine. He was the Captain of Headquarters. He knows all about arranging different groups of people and dealing with unexpected violence.”

  It made sense, I supposed, but I really didn’t like the idea of someone who, I assumed, knew nothing about Pairs and casters being in charge of us.

  And then, all out of nowhere, Aryne showed up at our table.

  Risa’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t remember seeing you here before,” she said. “And I wouldn’t have missed someone like you.”

  Aryne scowled. “What that supposed to mean, someone like me?”

  Her accent was pure Flatwell. It surprised the audience.

  “Gorgeous,” one of the women told her.

  Aryne snorted.

  “You seem a bit young to have been released from the Academy,” Risa continued.

  “Older than I look,” Aryne lied. She tugged on my shoulder. “Are you going to talk to us or what?”

  In my shock at seeing Aryne, I had failed to notice the young woman standing slightly behind her. She had very dark red hair, warm brown eyes, and a lot of curves.

  Aryne chose not to introduce us. “Come on.”

  “Have you had supper?” Taro asked.

  “Kai. Let’s go.”

  We took them to our room. We passed people on the way, and many of them looked at Aryne with curiosity, but no one spoke to us. Maybe they had gotten used to seeing new people about.

  As soon as the door was closed I demanded, “How the hell did you get in here?”

  “Jacked the lock,” the redhead answered with resignation.

  “And no one said anything to you while you were walking about the grounds?” Taro was having as much difficulty believing it as I.

  “Not a word,” said Aryne. “We’re here, so we must belong here, kai?”

  And I had no doubt Aryne could pretend to belong somewhere with an ease I lacked.

  “This is Source Shintaro Karish and Shield Dunleavy Mallorough,” Aryne said to her companion. “This is Druce Steeler. My Source.”

  Aryne wore a triumphant little smile. That was a relief. It seemed her relationship with Steeler was a positive one.

  Druce’s smile was warm as she shook Taro’s hand and then mine. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

  Taro winced. “I’m sorry about that.”

  She laughed. “It’s nice to have an opportunity to get some of the real information behind all of the rumours.”

  Taro sighed. “I can’t believe there are still rumours about me in the Academy. It’s been years.”

  “Good stories never die,” Druce said impishly.

  Unfortunately.

  “And what have you been doing between Matches?” Taro asked her, as a Source her age was unlikely to be attending classes.

  “Teaching the new subjects. Law and politics. I find it interesting, but alarming. I’d rather not understand how badly the Emperor is violating the law as well as I do.”

  “You know about all that?” I asked. “We never heard what was going on when I was in the Academy. Not about the behaviour of the monarch.” There had been rumours, and we’d learned about the powers of the monarch and the people she worked with, but none of the professors actually taught us about the day to day activities of the Empress.

  “They didn’t teach us much about it, either, until just after this one came in.” She nodded at Aryne. “Then that was pretty much all anyone learned that didn’t directly involve channelling.”

  How did all of the changes fit together? Was Aryne’s arrival some sort of catalyst for the Triple S council? Or just a step in a plan that had been initiated long before then?

  “We hear you’re teaching people how to cast,” Druce said to me. “Do you think you could teach us? Aryne and me?”

  Hm. An interesting idea. “I can try, but you know not everyone can cast, right?”

  “But Shields are more likely to be able to cast, I’ve heard,” said Druce.

  “Well, a lot of casters seem to be Shields. I don’t know if that means the same thing, and most of those Shields aren’t Bonded.” I plucked a blade of grass from the sole of my boot and gave it to Druce. “All you have to do is focus, as you would when channelling, and think of a colour other than green, or, uh, brown, and say,

  “Calling on east,

  Calling on west,

  Change the hue of this blade,

  At my behest.”

  Druce stared at the blade and spoke the words, repeating the cast again and again. Nothing happened. I didn’t feel the little buzz I always experienced at the casting of a spell. Druce shrugged and gave the blade to Aryne.

  Aryne tried far longer than Druce, with increasing impatience as she continued to fail. Finally, with an oath, she shoved the blade back into my hand.

  “Not many people can do it, Aryne,” Druce said soothingly.

  “It’d be nice to be good at something,” Aryne muttered.

  “You’re incredibly smart.”

  “So? What good is it to be incredibly smart if I can’t do anything practical with it?”

  “You just haven’t found your talent yet,” said Taro. “Everyone is good at something.”

  I didn’t agree with that, as a general rule, but I did believe it of Aryne. She was strong and intelligent and versatile and could read people beautifully. There were uses for that, including the position she was being groomed for.

  Aryne clearly wasn’t convinced.

  “Teach me how to work the locks,” Taro ordered her.

  “Why?”

  “Why not? Seems a handy skill to have.”

  And it would be good for Aryne’s mood to teach someone else how t
o do something.

  “And Druce,” I said. “You can give us all of the gossip.”

  Aryne raised an eyebrow. “Since when are you interested in gossip?”

  “When I was in the Academy, it was the primary source of entertainment.”

  Druce dove into the challenge, and with a flair for storytelling she wove tales of who was cheating on tests, who’d been caught drunk in class, who was fighting with who, and who was sleeping with who. Different names but the same old stories.

  It was a relief to know that there were some things that weren’t changing.

  Chapter Ten

  I watched the log shatter into splinters, the black sphere with its jagged jolts of light immediately fading away thereafter. A nasty spell adequately performed. Well done.

  I blew on my hands and rubbed them. It was the middle of winter and everyone was finding it cold, even me. My students resented my insistence on lessons continuing to be held outside, but I thought flying shards of wood might be a bad idea indoors. And if anyone didn’t like it, they could just not attend. No one took advantage of that option. Which was a good thing, because I wasn’t sure I had the authority to give it.

  “Excellent work, Tob.” He’d been having difficulty with that one.

  It was a cast I’d hated having to teach them. My first exposure to it had been witnessing it murder people. A sphere of black air and lightning surrounded a person and slowly killed them, leaving them writhing and screaming in pain. It was a horrible, disgusting thing to do. Kent’s casters had devised the spell, and if they had been able to create such a spell, it would be stupid to hope no one else had, or would.

  So Browne had created a cast that could bring the same results – I have no idea if it was the same as the cast Kent’s people had created – and had taught everyone in the casting Circle how to perform it. Every single one of us had disliked learning it. I felt filthy using it.

  But I’d taught it to the Triple S casters, using inanimate objects as targets. And inanimate objects were all anyone would be using in my lessons. There had been many suggestions to use animals, but I couldn’t. I knew I could be hampering – maybe even endangering – the other casters by refusing. And maybe I was being hypocritical. I ate meat, I knew animals died for that, so shouldn’t I be able to kill them, too?