by Amy Keeley
“Ah, she would want to rationalize that, now wouldn’t she?”
But it had made sense to him when she spoke of it. And there was regret. He could feel it. Anger, too. And why shouldn’t she feel angry? Her husband had broken his promise to be faithful to her. It was all understandable, and he hoped Lord Teranasin wasn’t going to try to besmirch her decision to leave. Perhaps she should have tried to win him back, but he’d left first, in a way. At least, that was how Hyaji saw it. And then he realized Lord Teranasin was looking at him with an attention that made him uncomfortable.
“So,” the noble said, picking up a dagger that had been laying on a bookshelf. Intricate Ornic characters wrapped around the handle and spilled over the golden hilt. “She trusted you, but not entirely. I suppose that makes you nervous, doesn’t it?”
“I’m sorry?”
“People come to you with their troubles. They tell you the deepest, and darkest, thoughts of their hearts, expecting you to give them advice from your years of study and self-discipline on how to overcome their weakness. It’s a shame she didn’t feel she could trust you with that.”
“Yes.” Put that way, it was a shame.
“Have you ever seen one of these?” Lord Teranasin held the dagger out for Hyaji’s inspection.
“No.”
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I’ve heard the Disciples eschew beauty because so many of the Ornic relics are beautiful.”
“I was never given a reason, Lord Teranasin.”
“Vyomsi. Please. As a favor to me.”
Hyaji nodded, feeling uncomfortable with this familiarity. “Vyomsi.”
“Thank you.” Hyaji got the strange feeling that Lord Teranasin felt he had won some sort of victory. “This dagger once belonged to the King. The Dogs tell me the Ornic, Zhiv Mikailsin, kept it in his home, along with other items which they can no longer find. If you touch it, you can—” and he moved the dagger close enough Hyaji could feel the spells wrapped up inside the handle.
He quickly moved away. “I’m sorry, Lord—Vyomsi. I apologize. I am not allowed to touch magic.”
“Oh, you aren’t? But don’t your brothers put together the King’s Lights? I was told it was because they were the only ones certain to never use the spells that pass by.”
I could never have that much self-control, Hyaji thought. “I work in the library. I was given the clock tower to watch over when I was caught once too often reading.”
Lord Teranasin chuckled. “You’re a better scholar than I. At your age, all I could think of was my ascent into nobility.”
Hyaji blinked. “Your parents—”
“My mother had no knowledge of noble ways. She was a tailor’s daughter in a village that I would rather not remember. My father tried to forget I existed. It was only through a chance encounter that I was brought to the attention of the King, who, in his mercy, convinced my father of his sins and allowed me access to what should have been mine from birth.” Lord Teranasin examined the dagger himself, his eyes wistful. “I still struggle with the magic sometimes. But I know enough to recognize spells and who casts them. The Ornic, Zhiv, did indeed have his hands all over this dagger. But that’s not the most interesting part of this instrument. All Ornic daggers, from what I can tell based on what I’ve read, have a special purpose. Some protect. Some cause pain beyond what their blade can inflict. And some, give direction. You can set them on a flat surface, and they’ll point you in whichever way you need to go.” Lord Teranasin set the dagger on the bookshelf and it turned slowly, finally settling in one direction, one that pointed beyond the stone wall. “It’s an old spell. I’m not sure, given my abilities, if I could alter it. And there’s another spell in here, and another user. If I could read Ornic, I might be able to decipher that other purpose, but only the King could read it, and then only in patches. And all the other Ornic are dead.”
“Except Zhiv Mikailsin.”
“Yes.” Lord Teranasin watched the still dagger, turned it slightly, and watched it return to its place. “Does Krysilla Gillasin trust you?”
“No.”
Lord Teranasin nodded, still looking at the dagger. “Hon Hyaji, very soon the nobles will be fighting for the chance to rule this kingdom. There is no named heir left alive, and more than one is in line for the throne. I intend to lead this investigation until a decent ruler has been found who can continue in my place. It’s the least I could do for the kindness the King has shown me.”
Hyaji nodded, though the words seemed to have another meaning. He means to take over the kingdom. The young Disciple tried to crush that cynical thought the moment it appeared. “I understand. How may I assist you?”
He hoped Lord Teranasin would send him out after the Ornic, though there was no reason for this hope. A Disciple, standing against one who used the ancient spells of beings who could destroy the world with a single word? A foolish dream of youth. The Disciples never could stand against the Ornic. Lord Teranasin picked up the dagger and walked back toward Hyaji. “You are not allowed to use magic, but you are allowed to carry it?” It wasn’t a question. He held out the dagger once more.
Hyaji began to sweat. “I’m afraid—”
“You can carry it. You must if you are to help me. This dagger is tied to Zhiv. It’s the nature of all daggers to want to be near whoever has used them. And he’s used this one. I can feel it. If you like, I can send someone with you who can place the dagger on a surface every day.”
Hyaji thought of his books. Not only could he find the Ornic, he could find a place to hide the books he’d gotten, a place where no Dog or zealous Disciple could burn them. The hypocrisy of the situation hadn’t escaped his notice. Feeling as if he were about to do something terrible, he said, “No. As long as I do not cast a spell—”
“The only one who cast it is Zhiv. You would not be using this dagger as one who wields magic.”
But he would feel it. Every day. “Very well.” He held out his hand, sweat forming under the cold metal as soon as Lord Teranasin placed it in his hand.
Lord Teranasin turned away, walking once more to the bookcase. “When you find them, you will send me word. You don’t need to worry about an exact location. Just give me the general area and the Dogs will be able to track them down wherever they might go.”
Hyaji remembered what had been said about the Ornic’s escape. “What if he does that again? Escaping through a portal spell?”
“He won’t. Portals are difficult to make and it takes an enormous amount of energy to create one large enough to transport the number of people he’s gathered to him. One or two, perhaps three can escape using the method he created. Not five. That reminds me,” Lord Teranasin stopped and leaned against the wall, staring at the clutter of toys in front of him, frowning deeply. “He has taken two people very dear to me. A woman and a child. He’s done this through his accomplice, Hon Daegan Jixsin.”
Hyaji started.
“You know the name?” Lord Teranasin asked, and Hyaji couldn’t tell if he was surprised or not.
“Yes. He designed the door that led to the tower.”
“An odd thing for a locksmith.”
“It held no magic, and he said he was bored.” The import of those words made Hyaji wonder who else he’d known had dark intentions.
“Well, now he’s joined the Ornic, and has likely started to learn their ways himself. If you meet with him, please remind the woman he has taken that she has the dagger, or should, that I gave her for such an emergency. She’ll know what to do from there.”
Again, Hyaji felt there was more in his words than there seemed to be. Hating the thoughts that crowded his head, the list of evil possibilities that didn’t seem to stop, he breathed in deep, trying to meditate them away. Ignoring the odd look he knew he was getting from Lord Teranasin, he silently counted, letting each thought drift back into the nothingness from which it sprang.
Lord Teranasin was a noble, and nobles took care of their subjects.
No
t all, was the final thought that dared to question this.
When he finally opened his eyes, Lord Teranasin smiled, amused. “Better?”
“Yes. Sorry. The thought of the Ornic taking a woman and her child...it’s a terrible thing he’s done.”
“He’s done worse than that. He’s killed a woman and her children. For that, he deserves to stand in the square so all can watch him burn.” And his smile twisted in his anger.
Hyaji nodded, and slipped the dagger under the thin, brown sash that held his robes close to his waist. “And all I must do is find them?”
“Yes. Take no action, and do not let them discover I’ve sent you. Most of all, do not let them see the dagger you hold. Zhiv had that property for many months at the least. Who knows what he’s done with it, or what he’s learned? It could end up being the very instrument used to destroy you.”
Hyaji didn’t appreciate the tone, as if he were a child who must be reminded not to stray from the path. “And how will you capture him?”
“Leave that to me. Don’t worry, Hyaji. I won’t leave you to face a mad Ornic alone.”
With a nod, Hyaji took his leave, mentally sorting his books that he had decided must be hidden.
***
Vyomsi watched the Disciple leave with a wary eye. He’d worked this out so carefully. The Disciple would follow the dagger, leaving no trail for a Disciple used no magic. Vyomsi’s favorite Dog would follow him with others nearby to lend support.
And yet he wasn’t sure Zhiv wouldn’t be able to decipher his plan and blow the whole stratagem to bits before Vyomsi could make his final move. Wild and wily, the King had described him. He does as he likes, goes where he likes, much like the palace cat. The way you win him is through allowing him his freedom to explore but never too much.
And what if he turns on you? Vyomsi had asked.
The King hadn’t answered that directly. Instead, he told him of his plan to open the rift and, through controlling that, make it clear there was no need for the power the nobles held. Vyomsi, he’d said, could have place beside him as his right hand, directing all those who had sneered at his presence. None would be able to refuse him.
He only had to swear that, as long as he lived, he would do all in his power to make sure Zhiv Mikailsin died. Vyomsi hadn’t known anything about the man up to that point, except that he was the one who spoke with the King each evening, and sang him the songs written before the Honorable Toth had shown them a higher way. A contemptible man who had risen quickly in the esteem of those with the most power, and thus, worthy of his full derision.
At least, he didn’t think he’d known anything about Zhiv. All this time, he thought, I’d been playing cards with him, the lowly fiddler who was so much more. More motivation to obey the binding in his hand.
If he closed his eyes, he could feel the spell wrapped along his fingers, like strands of thread running across the back and into his wrist. It’s for the sake of the kingdom, the King had said when he’d placed the binding, not long before his official acceptance as a noble. All the Ornic, King Jivon had said, and those with Ornic tendencies in their thoughts, must die. Including King Jivon.
You must do what I cannot, he’d said. Destroy my line, destroy Zhiv, destroy everything that speaks of that time.
And Vyomsi, seeing more than the mad King, gladly agreed.
As expected, Zhiv had tried to stop him. As expected, the medallion the King had given Vyomsi as a “just in case” plan had begun to work the moment the King had passed him before ascending to the bell tower, healing his awful wounds. As the King and Zhiv had spoken in the bell tower, Vyomsi had quietly left, wearing the boots the King had given him with an engraving on the sole that, if he clicked them just so, let no noise reveal his approach, or retreat.
And, as expected, the King’s madness overcame him. His age had combined with his downfall to kill him, leaving an opening for the throne, and a Queen ill-equipped to handle it.
The only things Vyomsi hadn’t expected were, first, that Zhiv knew so much more of magic than either he or the King had suspected that he could manage to take a noble off guard. Twice. The humiliation burned him just thinking about it.
And the second? That King Jivon, by asking Vyomsi to assist him in the bell tower, had put him in a position where “just in case” became inevitable. Perhaps even planned?
No matter. Learn from it, and move on. All that remained was for him to get rid of this cursed promise that tied itself to his bones and refused to let him dream of anything but the feel of blood running down his hand. Too many more of those dreams, and he would become as mad as King Jivon. And where would his grand reign be then? Lost in a sea of blood.
Kill Zhiv and all would be well.
He stared at the toys scattered on the floor. Briefly, he imagined what it would have been like to have been raised as a noble, instead of entering his father’s house as a young man. Useless thoughts. He’d do better to focus on giving his heir more than the upbringing he hadn’t.
He moved from the wall and was about to cross the room when Ishia, his faithful Dog, returned. He tried not to be obvious in his appreciation of her form as she walked toward him, her red vest cut in a way that enhanced, rather than distracted from, her curved figure. His beautiful Ishia, as stunning as any Blessed One, had made it very clear by her every motion that she would tolerate nothing but business. Unlike other women who would gladly spend the night in his bed, Ishia had never given him hope that he could even make the offer. And yet, he couldn’t get her beauty out of his mind. Her golden hair, with sun-bleached white strips that looked like ribbons when she braided it, her light green eyes, with a dusting of freckles underneath, again, from her time in the sun, and her lithe, strong body, perfect for the demands he knew he would make on it, all combined with the challenge of her unspoken refusal to make what he considered a woman beyond compare.
But all this, he kept hidden. Or at least tried. “He left?”
“He’s gone back to the library.”
“I assume to say good-bye to whatever friends he has, and gather whatever he needs.” Vyomsi shoved his hands into his vest pockets, hidden inside the side seams. “What do you think of him?”
The slow lowering of her lids was her equivalent of a shrug. “He’s hiding something. Probably something innocuous, but he has the marks of a previous cunning. And I’ve heard from the Disciple who accepted him into the brotherhood that he cast in his village before he took the oath.”
“Did he?” Vyomsi believed it. He could see it in the boy’s hungry eyes. That dagger called to him, and he was powerless to resist. “But will he switch sides on us?”
“I’ve never believed it’s possible to predict loyalty.”
“I imagine not.” He let his amusement show. She really was adorable when she acted cold. His smile faded. “And all of you are sure there is no trail?”
“None. Hon Mikailsin was very thorough. There are no magical fields in surrounding areas, no records of a retreat he might have kept where he would practice—”
“And he would need to practice,” Vyomsi muttered, nudging a porcelain doll with his foot.
“—and no trail that would show he practiced escape routes. He kept the cloth sack he used to build the portal in a small storage closet with other magical items, Ornic ones that the King felt might turn out useful. We can’t tell when he placed it there—”
“Obviously.”
“—but it’s clear he did it in a way that kept us from realizing what he had done.”
“Yes, why did Jivon—”
“King Jivon.”
Surprised at the interruption, Vyomsi stared at Ishia for a long moment. “King Jivon,” he finally said, “allow that?”
Ishia slowly lowered her lids, then raised them.
“It was almost as if he were begging the fool to turn Ornic.” Vyomsi kicked the doll a little harder this time, watching its head loll. “It wouldn’t have been a test, because...” he sighed. “T
he king was mad. Why search for reasons beyond that?” But it bothered him that Zhiv had been given access to all sorts of Ornic treasures the King had kept for no other reason than because he wanted them. Zhiv, a common minstrel, had been given the King’s full attention every evening. Those few Dogs who checked on them said all they did was talk. About everything. It was, as one of them put it, like hearing a conversation between a father and a well-loved, mischievous son.
Vyomsi kicked the doll across the room, then ground the face of another into the floor. Taking a deep breath, he hated himself for losing that much self-control in front of Ishia. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice soft.
“It’s been difficult these past few days. I’m surprised you haven’t lost yourself entirely.”
He gave her a rare smile of gratitude. “Well, there are things that help.” He thought of Nitty and his time with her, and hoped she hadn’t truly left him, as he felt she had. It didn’t worry him. The message he’d given Hyaji would correct any misconceptions she had about her freedom. His little cat. He didn’t know how Zhiv had managed to break the spell that held her in the room, and would have held her sister, Krysilla, along with Zhiv, who, Vyomsi was certain, cared more for the goodwife than he was willing to admit. But the dagger had other uses besides paralysis of whatever it cut. It seemed to have the ability to set boundaries, and cause pain as well. Nitty was already tied to it, as was Vyomsi. Zhiv as well, though he wasn’t sure how that had been managed since it had taken Vyomsi a day of studying the magic inside before he could bend the spell properly.
Nitty would be reminded by Hyaji’s message that she couldn’t run, that Vyomsi would find her. She would find a way to cut him, keeping him immobile until Vyomsi could see him humiliated and burned. The chances of anyone in Zhiv’s group knowing how to get rid of the paralysis, or of Zhiv staying coherent long enough to explain it, were low. He’d send Ishia after the Disciple to watch him, but not too close, not like when she’d tried to follow him in the forest yesterday. Zhiv seemed to have a knack for sensing Dogs (another talent Vyomsi couldn’t fathom). If Nitty didn’t freeze Zhiv and possibly the others with the dagger, Ishia would give her another reminder, one far more memorable than his own placed in her flesh. The Dogs would find and bring Zhiv back and there would be a glorious trial and a spectacular execution for the Ornic, as the people would call him. And he’d watch his future Ornic tribe executed one by one until he was the only one left. The last of the Ornics.