Traitor Savant (Second Seal of the Duelists)

by Giacomo, Jasmine

  Bayan knew this man. Against all odds, and his own memory, he had met Treinfhir before. He had never thought to meet him again. “I thought you were dead.”

  “Eh?” The man speared another slice of yam.

  “At the Kheerzaal. I thought my Earth avatar crushed you.”

  Treinfhir’s fork paused. A long silence stretched between the two former combatants. “Thought you looked familiar.”

  Heart racing, Bayan tried to think what he should do. He sat across from the anima caster who had tried to assassinate the emperor last spring. Though all of Treinfhir’s Aklaa conspirators had been executed, somehow the Tuathi magic user had not only survived, but somehow escaped the capital.

  The man sat in a cold house, so he shouldn’t be able to cast any magic, but then he shouldn’t have been able to throw spells within the Kheerzaal either. Or anywhere within the empire’s borders. Despite his shock and revulsion, Bayan heard the ring of truth in Treinfhir’s stories: his family held hostage against Treinfhir’s cooperation with the Aklaa rebels.

  Treinfhir waited. Bayan finally asked one of the dozen questions that swarmed his mind. “How did you get here, then?”

  “I canna say. I was hurt, near dead, after that battle. The imperial duelists whisked me into a dungeon. Someone in a white robe healed me, and guards asked me questions in loud voices. I stayed quiet, for me family’s sake. The longer I held out, I told meself, the better me family’s chances of survival. But that verra night, some men disguised as palace guards came and stole me away. They left another body in my cell, hanging from the ceiling beam. Days later, I first clapped eyes on the maze of stone. I dinna see anything else until you found me.”

  “Not even those who took you?”

  “No faces. My new captor was verra careful.”

  Bayan furrowed his brow in thought. It didn’t make any sense to capture an imprisoned man, only to imprison him again. The Aklaa rebels had all been killed—only their “neutral” Karkhedonian ally, Lord Isos, had evaded capture, and he had vanished from the empire’s eyes and ears. Yet Treinfhir’s captor had clearly been working against the emperor. Who had taken him? And what did they have to do with the Duelist Academy?

  “You’ve trusted me with a little of your story, even if you didn’t mean to. I respect that. I’d like to learn more, if I could. Anything you tell me might help me figure out why the person who captured you took Kiwani, too.”

  Treinfhir shook his head. “I doona think it’s for the same reasons, lad. All he ever asked me were questions about my magic. How it worked. Why it worked at the Kheerzaal. Your Kiwani wouldn’t know the answers tae any of that.”

  Who would want to learn the gory details of anima magic? The thought was curious and distasteful at the same time. With a start, Bayan realized that he’d adopted the Waarden attitude toward anima magic. Back home in Balanganam, anima and elemental magic were both used by the Skycallers on their mountain peaks, and no stigma existed against one or the other.

  “She wouldn’t, you’re right,” Bayan said. “I can’t think of anyone else who would, either. Looks like you’re the only expert in the whole empire.”

  Bayan made his way back down to campus. His mind churned over Treinfhir’s words, then every little detail that had passed between them since the rescue. Afraid, angry, worried for Kiwani and everyone on campus, Bayan knew he couldn’t keep Treinfhir’s true identity to himself—too much could be at stake—and dangers might exist that he hadn’t even conceived of yet. There were only a few people he knew he could trust.

  As the hex gathered in the sharp-sided valley for another Savantism forcing session, Bayan waved his hexmates into a close huddle. He met each pair of eyes with a sober look. “Before we begin tonight, there’s something I need to tell you. The day we rescued Kiwani was not the first day we met Treinfhir.”

  A Chanter’s Curse

  Tala crunched along behind Doc Theo on the mountain path that wound up the slope to the east of the Temple. As they walked, she sang a simple warming song. It melted the snow ahead of him, so that the only thing crunching underfoot was the trail’s gravel. She couldn’t believe how easy it was to sing in Doc Theo’s presence. After only a few tutoring sessions, she felt more at ease around him than she did around Alton Bessia. His easy manner and encouragement helped her relax, and he never demanded performance before she felt ready.

  She still hiccupped in class, to the frustration of her quarton partners, but she could feel her panic slipping away, replaced by one beautiful, gleaming brick of confidence at a time. Doc Theo’s belief in her was a song the wind sang. It lay in the murmuring of plates and silverware at dinner, in the voices of students as they monotoned in the hallways between classes. Her secret kept her smiling despite the mockery and teasing of her peers, despite the pitying looks the altons gave her, as if she’d contracted a fatal disease and didn’t know it. The ignorance was theirs, for she had found the one thing she had lacked at the Temple: a true friend.

  Tala and Doc Theo reached a sheltered overlook and paused at its lip, gazing down on the snowless Temple grounds where the solo students had practiced their heat songs just as Tala did. Doc Theo didn’t seem comfortable inside the Temple’s bowl, preferring the open spaces on the trails around it. Some of the students said hurtful things about him in her hearing: he was going crazy, he killed a duelist student, he attacked the Academy’s headmaster. She hadn’t asked if any of the rumors were true. Though she trusted and admired him for his gentle manner, a part of her was afraid to learn the truth. He had been exiled to the Temple, after all.

  There was one question she thought he might answer. “Doc Theo, why are you only a chanter? You don’t have hiccups when you sing, do you?”

  He turned and grinned down at her, a puff of white breath bursting from his lips into the chill wind. “No hiccups, Tala. I just cain’t carry a tune in a wagon train, is all.”

  “You’re tone deaf?”

  “Completely and incurably.”

  “Can I… Would you try a song for me?”

  His eyebrows rose. “I hain’t tried to sing for years, Tala. Not sure I even know any magic songs anymore.”

  “I can teach you those.” She felt excited to have something to give back.

  He grinned and looked down at the dark gray pebbles beneath his heavy winter boots. “That’s a kindness. But I wouldn’t be able to do any of them justice.”

  “It might make you feel more at home down there. You never seem to want to stay. I thought, if you knew what the singers were singing around you, you might not feel so… lost.”

  Doc Theo’s gaze rested on the Temple grounds below for so long that Tala began to fear she’d offended him. But when he spoke, there was a huskiness to his tone that hinted at a deep longing. “I’d like that, Tala. Very much. I’ve been a wanderer most of my life, but I’ve never felt as lost as I do right now.”

  She rested her mittened hand on his arm. “Try this one, then.” She sang a simple tune in the Akrestan major scale, and the air around them became warm and salty, swirling gently with the flavor of a tropical sea. Doc Theo breathed deeply of the saline breeze and smiled. She let the last note fade, and the warm air with it, then nodded in encouragement.

  Doc Theo opened his mouth and apparently tried to copy the notes she had sung, but in hearing them, she would never have guessed he attempted to sing the same tune. The first three notes were half-steps apart instead of thirds, and when he tried for the high note at the end, he shot right past it and nearly went falsetto. Thankfully, his notes weren’t representative of any other song spell, and nothing happened.

  Seeing her wince, Doc Theo apologized. “Think it’s better if I keep to my neutral pitch?”

  She had to nod in agreement. “But I still think you should learn the songs, even if you can only hear them properly in your own head.”

  “I’ll do that much, then,” he promised. “Better for everyone if the notes stay inside my skull.”

  Fair Pl
ay

  “He’s being a selfish horsekiller.” Bayan stalked away from the dining hall after breakfast.

  “Can you blame him?” Tarin tried to keep up.

  “Yes, I can, and I am! He needs to grow up!”

  “Grow up? Rebels destroyed his first avatar in the battle at the Kheerzaal, and now one of them shows up right here in the midst of our campus. You try being magnanimous in a situation like that.”

  Bayan shot her a frustrated glance. “It’s not like he wasn’t able to manifest a Flame avatar ever again. He even recreated the very same one. He just hates Treinfhir because he’s Tuathi.”

  “That’s not true!”

  Bayan stopped and spun to face Tarin. “Isn’t that why you don’t like him either? Because of some centuries-old cultural bitterness mixed with the arrogance of the Waarden Empire?”

  Tarin jerked to a stop to avoid running into him. Face taut, she gave him an angry stare. “Nae. He lied to us. We don’t really know why he’s here. What if he’s lying? Here as a spy?”

  “A spy who allowed himself to be tortured for two seasons before we just happened to rescue him? Yes, why didn’t I see that obvious answer?”

  Tarin’s chin rose. “We only have his word on how long he was in there.”

  Bayan threw his arms in the air and stalked off. If either she or Calder had spent any amount of time talking to Treinfhir, they’d know he was telling the truth. But they didn’t even want to go near him. The prejudice they didn’t know they had infuriated Bayan.

  Bayan reached Master witten Oost’s classroom ahead of all of his hexmates and sulked in his padded silk chair. Stupid hexmates, where’s all that teamwork now? So much for sticking together. He’d regretted telling them the truth about Treinfhir for days, but he couldn’t undo it, not without a potion that would block memories. And the campus supplier for potions had already been booted, so he was fresh out of luck on that count.

  Kiwani slid in next to him with a letter in her hand. “Calder still giving you a hard time?”

  “Tarin, now, too. Stubborn Dunfarroghans. Where he comes from is not as important as why he’s here. Why can’t they see that?”

  “Because, Bayan, they’re not you.” Her gentle tone emphasized his outlander birth.

  He paused his rant and met her gaze. “Even as close as we are in this hex, we’re still very different people, aren’t we?”

  “Don’t worry. He’s your best friend. I know you two will work things out.”

  “We’d better, or I’ll have to start greasing his sheets. Who’s your letter from?”

  Kiwani gave him a sweet smile. “Odjin.”

  Bayan leaned forward. “He finally wrote to us?”

  “He’s been writing all along. But his minders can’t catch a hexbird. Go ahead and read it. He’s an angry person, but I hope talking to us will help. Mind the poo stain on the envelope.” She handed the letter over just as the other students entered the opulent classroom and settled down. Bayan tucked the letter, and his excitement, away.

  Master witten Oost entered from the back and began the day’s lesson. “When you first join a new duel den, the head duelist only makes record of your rank. He or she does not specify which elements you are proficient in or which avatars you can produce. Now, most duelists fresh from the Academy are eager to demonstrate their skills for the audience, in order to let potential clients observe their particular skill set. However, for today’s discussion, I want you to consider this alternative: keeping in reserve one or even two avatars through your first few duels, until you are engaged in a conflict that you consider far more worthy than the others. Please take a moment to recall what I have said in the past regarding doing your own research on your opponent’s clients. Now, with that in mind, does anyone see merit in such a withholding move? Does it strike you as fair play? Discuss.”

  “Oh aye, I’d do it in a heartbeat,” Calder said. “Every advantage I can give to my side, I’ll do it. ‘All’s fair on the dueling sand,’ after all. Why do you think that saying even exists?” He grinned, and several other students chuckled.

  “But if you withhold an avatar for several fights,” Kiwani countered, “you’re going to appear deceptive, maybe untrustworthy, to future clients. They may actually avoid hiring you if they don’t like your tactics.”

  Calder lifted a lazy eyebrow. “Clients are free to choose whomever they want from the den. I’d cater to those who expected me to have a bag of tricks to use on their behalf. I am Dunfarroghan, after all.”

  Other students chimed in on one side of the debate or the other, but Kiwani didn’t add anything further. After a few minutes of following the discussion, Bayan noticed her silence and nudged her with an elbow.

  “Calder’s reply bothering you?”

  “No, that’s typical Calder. But Master witten Oost seems to be encouraging this scheming in every class we attend. In my opinion, it’s all just smoke and scarves for what he’s really doing.”

  Kiwani’s frustrated, serious tone drew all of Bayan’s attention. “Which is what?”

  Kiwani lowered her voice and leaned close. “The noble girls in my barracks gush about him when we get together for teas and painting sessions—the ones in his classes, anyway. They embrace his philosophy wholeheartedly. They’re influencing the ones who aren’t in his classes, who haven’t studied enough to decide for themselves. It must be happening among the commoner girls and in your own barracks, too.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  She exhaled in frustration. “Don’t you see, Bayan? He’s separating the best and brightest duelism students from the rest and trying to indoctrinate them with his own opportunistic point of view.”

  “And that’s bad because…?”

  “Because most of them seem to believe it. They head out across the empire, taking his concepts with them. He affects the whole system with these classes of his.”

  “Isn’t that the idea? He’s training us to think for ourselves.”

  Kiwani’s nostrils flared. “No, he isn’t. That’s exactly the problem. He’s training us to think like him. A thousand witten Oosts, cheating and tricking their way to success.”

  Bayan blinked and raised his eyebrows.

  She continued. “These tactics are nothing more than political maneuverings. I’ve seen them all my life. They’re what the nobles do for entertainment. They’re not the sort of thing a duelist should embrace. Our job is to uphold the law, not take it into our own hands.”

  “Is that what you believe, Kiwani?” came Master witten Oost’s calm voice. The other students quieted their discussion and looked around in confusion. “That a duelist must be a mindless fighter, doing only the will of others?”

  Bayan’s eyes flicked between the master and Kiwani. He expected her to demur, but instead she lowered her chin and met the master’s eyes with a look he’d only seen her give opponents in the arena.

  “Master witten Oost, I merely wonder when you’ll get around to teaching me something I don’t already know.”

  All the heads in the room whipped toward Master witten Oost, whose eyebrows raised. “I’m certain that I have much to teach you, on a variety of subjects, if you will, but be patient. Advanced students of Waarden society such as yourself may initially suffer some lack of interest as I cover the basic materials for beginners. In time, you will come to see that there is much in the world that you do not yet grasp, Kiwani.”

  The students’ heads turned back to Kiwani. “I’m sure you’re right, Master.” She stood and gathered her things. “But given the results of my investigation into your past behavior, I have little faith that the things you have to teach me will be things I’ll consider worth learning. Good day.”

  Kiwani glided from the classroom. The blast of cold air that entered while the door was open flowed over Bayan, entering his mouth as it hung open. He shivered, snapping it shut, and looked to his hexmates in the row in front of him.

  “Did you know she was going to do that?” Ewar
d said over the buzz of voices in the room. Bayan shook his head.

  “Master,” Taban called, “is there a penalty for dropping out of your class like that?” To Bayan’s irritation, he sounded more curious than concerned.

  “Of course not, Taban,” the master replied. “Every student is free to choose their own path. I’m merely trying to make the path I offer you as broad and smooth as possible. Just as no one is required to complete their duelism training at the Academy, no one is required to walk my path.”

  Class continued, but Bayan wasn’t listening to the discussion. When the campus bells rang and everyone rose to go, he stepped outside and waited for his hexmates, but kept an eye out for Kiwani. She was nowhere to be seen. Tarin stepped out after Eward, joining Bayan, but Calder didn’t exit.

  “He got asked to stay after,” Tarin said. “Some special project.”

  Bayan sighed and nodded. It figured. Just when the hex was pulling together to work on their Savantism, they started to split up everywhere else. He wondered if the golden days right after they all passed their elemental duelism tests were going to be his best hex memories.

  Hairy Feet and Cinnamon Flowers

  “I have a gift for you.” Doc Theo sat on the fallen log and held his hands behind his back in dramatic fashion as he and Tala took a break from their hike down past the timberline of the valley. “But you should probably keep it a secret.”

  Tala’s eyes lit up, and she leaned forward on the sun-warmed granite rock. “What is it?”

  “You have to guess which hand it’s in. And no cheatin’ with magic.”

  Tala made a face. She’d been about to sing a quick mirroring song, but as usual, Doc Theo knew what she was thinking. “I pick your right hand.”

  Doc Theo’s mitten came into view, revealing a long, slender crystal, black as night.