Traitor Savant (Second Seal of the Duelists)

by Giacomo, Jasmine

  Mindo turned to Dakila. “She was real. You owe me a ducat.”

  Dakila looked down at him thoughtfully. “Bayan was one of my best students and my closest friend. I owe you a lot more than that.”

  ~~~

  Tala turned away from the moist heat of the jungle on the other side of her portal and held up the jacket-wrapped tome. “This is the book of secrets. It tells a duelist how to do many things that the Academy has forgotten. Someone who can do these things will seem more powerful than they really are. With the knowledge in this book, someone could pretend to be a Master Duelist.”

  “How did you retrieve that book?” the First Singer demanded. She strode around the desk and reached for it. “Give it to me! I was at the Duelist Academy for Ignaas’ Master Duelist test. I saw with my own eyes what he did. You cannot lie to me about what happened that day.”

  “I won’t have to,” Tala shot back, but she knew she was the worst person to try to convince anyone of anything involving lost duelism secrets. She held the wrapped book away from the First Singer, shielding it with her body.

  Doc Theo stepped forward. “Now,” he said, “we cain’t have you destroying such an ancient text. It’s a right treasure, and I’m sure none of these fine Singers would be happy with its destruction, whether it helped Master witten Oost lie to you or not.”

  Tala unwrapped the book. She turned its delicate pages with care, trying to remember which diagrams had arrested Bayan’s attention the most. While Doc Theo and the First Singer squared off in a shouting match, Tala dragged her finger across columns and sketches in faded ink.

  Finally, she recognized something. She let out a soft cry of relief and began to read. “‘Of the various schools that instruct in duelism movements, there be six. The first, which belongeth to the Waarden of Akkeraad, be that which involveth all limbs, yea, unto the entire body itself. The second, a construct of the Laarwyck clans, be that which limiteth performance to either the left or right side of the body. More recent invention doth bestow upon us the dextrous single-arm tactic brought forth by the great Duelist Varadios, who hath learned the barbarian ways of the Aakrest to the north. Also the most subtle movements of the Dancing Duelist, Gaarana, which task only the lower limbs, and were used in her most worthy escape from Tuathi lands whilst her arms were chained one to the other and she was made to walk—’”

  “Enough!” The First Singer’s face stretched with what looked like pain but sounded like anger. “You may speak all you want, but I will not hear your lies. Let the book speak for itself!”

  The First Singer trilled out a complex tune that began chaotically and ended with a single repetitive note. Tala felt her mouth snap shut. Inhaling in a panic, she found she could still breathe through her nose. She heard her own voice rising from the book itself. It repeated everything she’d just read, then continued reading down the page while Tala stood frozen, cradling the open book in her arms.

  Tala found she could still blink and move her eyes. She locked her gaze on her only ally. He shot an angry glance at the First Singer, who glared around at the air as if it were still deceiving her. He leaned in toward Tala and murmured, “This might be best. She cain’t deny the book’s own words. And you got a nice reading voice.”

  Tala shot him a mutinous look. Her voice continued to read from the next page, and the next, but Tala wasn’t sure that the First Singer was even listening anymore. Her eyes had glazed over, and a horrified frown arched across her brow. The Octet sat in rapt silence, wearing various expressions of shock or suspicion.

  When her voice completed the section on steel, Cedric stood and sang at the book in Tala’s hands. Her voice stopped speaking, and her mouth opened again. Tala shuddered and clasped the book to her chest in relief.

  “That’s enough,” Cedric said. “Is it true, then, First Singer, that this witten Oost, whom you let into our most protected book repository, used the secrets he found there to lie to the empire about his prowess—this same man is the one who is dragging us along on the conquest of said empire? Are we following a liar, then?”

  “No, no! His plan is solid. We will hold the power we deserve—”

  “We already hold the power we deserve.” Margaretha stood and crossed her arms. “Coveting more goes against every tenet of the Temple, as I have always said.”

  The First Singer pressed angry lips together. “You and all those ancient rules live in the past. I only want to carry the Singers into the Golden Age that the rest of the empire is enjoying! Can’t you see that we are limiting ourselves by hiding up here, away from the world?”

  “She’s right, in a way,” Doc Theo said. “You are limiting yourselves, but any plan that Ignaas has for you is for his benefit, and his alone. He’ll tell you it’s good for you too, but trust me, it ain’t gonna stay that way forever. Next thing you know, another of his close, personal friends is sticking you in a tiny little cell underground, and she ain’t even stopping to ask why it’s so important that she does what Ignaas says. He sent me here, not to let me recuperate, not even to get me out of his way so I wouldn’t impede his progress, but so you, Liselot, could punish me, lock me away, and keep me from talking to anyone at all. He made you my jailer, and you accepted his word that I was guilty, perhaps of no more than offending him. You and your coterie were turned against me before I even arrived, ain’t that true?” Doc Theo looked to Harmaas, who had admitted him to the Temple of Ten Thousand Harmonies on his first day, who had made him wait like a humble petitioner at the entrance.

  Harmaas looked down at his shoes, shaking his head in disbelief. “We believed you,” he said to Liselot.

  “And you still should,” she shrilled. “This man is delusional. I saw him myself at the Duelist Academy. He was raving and mumbling! Ignaas is no liar!”

  Doc Theo’s expression turned pitying. “You were there at my worst, and you made me walk all the way here on my own? Where is your compassion for the lost, First Singer?”

  “You’re not lost! You turned away from us!”

  Tala did not miss a peculiar look that passed among the Octet without the First Singer’s notice. Afraid to draw attention to herself in the emotion-charged atmosphere, she dared not alert Doc Theo, but stood paralyzed, unable to tell what it signified. Would they all attack? Would she and Doc Theo be hurled through a portal to land back in Doc Theo’s oubliette? Or worse, off a cliff?

  Cedric spoke. “Much more is at stake than merely who is telling the truth. The future of the Singers, and of the empire itself, is at stake. Let us clear our minds.”

  “What? No!” the First Singer protested. “I know the truth, and you must listen to me.”

  Cigwe lifted her chin. “If the spell reveals such, then we will.”

  The Octet surrounded the First Singer. As one, they sang a haunting tune in the Akrestan minor scale. Tala’s breath caught as she absorbed its beauty. The spell washed over her, scrubbing her mind. Her belief that Doc Theo had been purposely manipulating her evaporated from her consciousness. She looked at him in epiphany, only to see him wearing a shocked expression.

  The singers’ revelations were distressing rather than relieving. Several of them struggled to maintain their song, clutching at their heads or bending in what looked like physical pain. The First Singer seemed suffer the worst of it by far. She clutched at her head and crashed to her knees, panting through her gritted teeth in what sounded like pure agony.

  Finally, the spell drew to a close, leaving everyone in various poses of pain or exhaustion. Choralist Kleon had vomited. “What just happened?” Tala whispered to Doc Theo.

  “Well, considering what-all I just forgot, I’d say the song erases everything that’s not true. But it’s made me remember some things hidden beneath lies, too.”

  Tala felt around in the back of her mind, wondering what other details had faded as well. “Like what?”

  “Well, Kiwani ain’t gonna be pleased with me, that’s for sure.”

  “No!” the First Singer scre
amed. She curled into a fetal position on the floor. Her whole body shook, and her fists pulled wild clumps of curls loose from her double-looped hairstyle.

  “Liselot.” Cigwe knelt by the First Singer’s side and rested a hand on her shaking shoulder. “We’re so sorry—”

  The First Singer scrambled to her feet unaided and glared at everyone, chest heaving as if she’d just run a league. “Cedric, assemble the Full Choir. You will all sing with me.”

  Chill tingles ran down Tala’s back. The Full Choir was only gathered during devastating emergencies and desperate battles. Its concentrated song magic was nearly immeasurable. She shared a worried glance with Doc Theo.

  Cedric offered a deferential nod. “What song shall I prepare?”

  “I will lead the choir myself,” the First Singer hissed. Her dislodged curls slopped against the side of her face, giving the rage in her eyes a mad sheen. “Today, we will sing the destruction of Ignaas witten Oost.”

  The Heart of the Web

  Bayan heard Eward ask the same question for the third time. “You’re taking us in a circle, right, Bayan? Because I swear that seam of reddish rock looks familiar.”

  “Not a circle. A spiral.” Bayan kept a part of his mind focused on holding his underground air bubble in existence as he and his hexmates rode within Timbool's back. The rest of his concentration lay in reading the patterns in the earth and searching for tunnel openings.

  Eward harrumphed, and his light spell wavered momentarily. “Well, please don’t spiral us out through the cliff face. This shirt is new.”

  Kiwani, who had been sending rippling Earth spells through the rock, nudged Bayan’s shoulder and nodded to their right. “There.”

  Bayan slowed Timbool, then slid him sideways through the surrounding stone. A tunnel appeared, its mouth yawning out into nowhere.

  “Is this the one where we found Kiwani and Treinfhir?” Eward asked. “That looks like one of the marks we left behind as we searched.” He pointed to a scorch mark.

  Bayan recalled that they’d searched down quite a few so-called dead ends before discovering their hexmate. “Let’s search it anyway. For all we know, he’s moved things around.”

  The three entered the tunnel system, and Bayan let Timbool fade. The tunnels seemed exactly as they had been before. Even Kiwani’s stone coffin and the surrounding floor remained torn open by Bayan’s Earth magic.

  “It’s as if he never came back after we rescued you.” Bayan stared down at the coffin with Kiwani.

  She wore a faint frown. “It must have been horrible, but I think it’s worse that I can’t remember it at all. It feels like there’s a bear living in one of the rooms in my house, except I’ve forgotten he’s there. I should be frightened, but I’m not. At any moment, I could open the wrong door, and the bear would get me.”

  Bayan tried to turn her away from the peeled-open floor, but she resisted. With a rough tug, he spun her into his arms and held her tightly. “Stop it. Just stop. Don’t live your life around those lost memories. You’re here with us now. We need you to be in this moment with us. Be right here. Be with me right now, Kiwani.”

  He felt her arms tighten around him as she leaned her cheek on his shoulder. “I’m here with you,” she said into his ear.

  “Tarin rub off on you, Kiwani?” Eward’s teasing tone seemed magnified by the echoing hallways.

  She pulled away from Bayan and cleared her throat. “Certainly not. I mean, I’m not— Oh, let’s just go.”

  The tunnel cluster offered no new revelations, so they returned to their point of entry. Bayan summoned Timbool again, and they glided slowly into the surrounding rock. Pushing further beneath the mountain with curving search paths, they soon found another cluster of dead-end tunnels and rooms. It revealed no further clues about Master witten Oost. Nor did the next one.

  “We’ve been down here for hours, Bayan,” Kiwani said as they climbed back into Timbool once more. “How certain are you that we’ll actually find something that points to Master witten Oost?”

  “Very certain. I just hope we recognize it when we see it.”

  Near the far edge of a search arc, Kiwani’s spells alerted them to another tunnel entrance. As they explored its labyrinth, Bayan noticed that they were descending, in contrast to the level tunnels they’d explored in the other clusters. His heart beat faster.

  The tunnel turned a corner and opened into an immense room that arched up into the dimness. Bayan’s jaw dropped at the sheer size of the room. Eward’s small light couldn’t begin to illuminate its entirety.

  Kiwani summoned Candlewick and Idled the long, slender burning string into the center of the massive room. His bright light revealed that they stood in a perfectly formed dome with smooth polished sides. The avatar’s glow revealed glittering seams and bright layers in the surrounding rock.

  Eward followed Candlewick and craned his neck. “It’s beautiful. Look at this.” He pointed to the floor. Bayan and Kiwani joined him. They found a small hollow with a spiraling ramp leading down to a large stone chair—nearly a throne—which had been formed from the earth below it.

  “What is it for?” Kiwani asked.

  Bayan hopped over the edge of the ramp, squared his shoulders, and sat in the chair. To his chagrin, his feet didn’t touch the ground, and his thighs were too short to let his back touch the chair’s.

  “Master witten Oost is a fair bit taller than you,” Eward commented judiciously.

  Bayan squirmed back into the chair, crossed his legs in the seat, and studied the room from his new perspective. Large black speckles on the light stone ceiling drew his attention. “Are those stones up there?”

  Kiwani flew Candlewick closer to the ceiling. In his light, the black speckles turned into holes.

  “Why ruin a perfectly good dome with holes?” Bayan mused. A perfect dome. Why is it so perfect? His eyes scanned the ceiling again. He remembered. “Tala! The Temple of Ten Thousand Harmonies! She told me they had perfect acoustics so their songs could reflect and be more powerful.”

  “This is a Singer dome?” Eward looked around as if expecting a white-robed singer to stride in.

  “Not necessarily,” Kiwani said. “But it could have been made by a singer. And if it was… ” she gazed upward, “… then this room has been formed for sound.”

  “Eward. We need Snort.”

  Eward looked from Bayan to the distant ceiling and nodded. He pulled Snort into existence in a rush of pale blue fog and sent the long, slender swirl of wind spiraling upward. Bayan watched as the entire avatar vanished into one of the holes overhead.

  “The passage isn’t straight.” Eward’s eyes closed as he concentrated. “It jinks around. There’s a small cluster of rocks that’s nearly blocking the way… he’s past it. It’s not getting any wider… he’s at the surface now. He’s… on campus.”

  “On campus? Where?” Kiwani asked.

  “Can’t tell. It smells like wood, but it’s pitch black. Wait! I hear voices!”

  Bayan looked at Kiwani, baffled, but she wore an expression of growing understanding.

  “It sounds like Instructor Aalthoven. He’s telling one of the newnik classes how to do the Wood arc with their arms. Snort must be underneath the foundation of one of the form training classrooms.”

  “He sits here and listens.” Kiwani’s voice was hard.

  Bayan looked from her angry expression back to the ceiling, peppered with holes. He felt his jaw go slack for the second time. So many holes. He can hear everything.

  “I’m going to try another one.” Eward let the Wind circle he’d made with his arms fade, then regenerated Snort in the air above him.

  “There must be one near the meditation garden by the road,” Kiwani said in an oddly toneless voice. “See if you can find that one.”

  “You think you found out about the sound holes?”

  “It’s the only explanation I can think of.”

  While Eward sent Snort snaking up hole after hole, Bayan
paced around the too-large chair. “We’re still missing something. We know he’s lying about his status as Master Duelist. We know he’s gotten a Singer to help him make this listening room. But why? What is he trying to do? It can’t be all about Treinfhir. Master witten Oost’s Master Duelist test happened before the battle at the Kheerzaal. Unless he was somehow involved with the Aklaa rebellion, he wouldn’t even have known Treinfhir existed back then.”

  “I found it,” Eward said. “The hole that leads to the meditation garden. It’s real.”

  “What did I hear?” Kiwani wondered. “Why would he take me right off the road like that? What sort of person just steals people?”

  Bayan nodded. What sort of person, indeed?

  ~~~

  “Master Ignaas! Master Ignaas!” Tammo panted down the hallway and skidded to a stop in consternation at the sight of the office door’s powdery remains. “Master Ignaas?” he called again, but hesitantly.

  “Hmm? Who’s that? Come in.”

  Tammo stepped over the pale wood fragments and into the headmaster’s office. Master witten Oost stood, hands behind his back, and stared down at a worn and broken area of his floorboards. “It’s me, sir, Tammo. What happened to your door, sir?”

  “I’ll have it taken care of. Nothing to concern yourself with, lad.”

  Tammo bristled inside. He’d been reporting to Master witten Oost for an entire season. He made it his business to see what happened on this campus and to inform the headmaster of anything unusual—including the critical fact that the so-called best hex on campus had been meeting after curfew and had gotten the instructors to collude in the deception. Such spying was easy—no one ever noticed the fat boy loitering in the background—and seemed the fastest way into the master’s good graces. Tammo had noted that the students who were in his private classes were more respected than those who weren’t. It was painfully obvious to him that the campus was divided into those who claimed allegiance to Master witten Oost and those who hadn’t yet realized the benefits of doing so. Tammo was no fool—back home, his mother and her sisters had always told him how bright he was—so he knew he would find an efficient way to earn respect at the Duelist Academy. He had done so. His fellow newniks respected and admired him—at least, the smart ones did. Those who didn’t, well, Tammo knew they wouldn’t go far. Not nearly as far as he would, magic or no.