“Whatever you’re looking into, Philo darling,” she hissed, splashing water about, “you’d best be very, very careful. That… thing… eats souls, and getting caught with it will get you killed, no matter your station.”
Philo nodded soberly.
“The sints haven’t struck you dead yet, I see, Philo,” came a sharp voice. “I shall have to bring better gifts.”
Philo’s head whipped around and his gaze lit on his former chef, who had entered the room bearing a large wooden bowl of freshly kneaded dough.
“Lotte, you have your old position back!” he said. “I didn’t think the Head Chef of the Kheerzaal was that masochistic.”
Lotte shot him a broad smile. “I’ve missed you too, Philo. But not as much as the Head Chef has missed me. Now that I’ve seven years’ experience with fine Balanganese cuisine, I’m more in demand than ever. Lady Iyanu has added twice as many banquets to the season just to keep up with demand.”
“I’m sure the Balangs appreciate your business.”
“As well they should. I declare, there must be a caravan a week trundling directly from their markets to our kitchens.” Lotte picked up two folded towels and handed one to Eirene to dry her hands. The other she spread across the top of her dough bowl. “Speaking of business, I’m sure I don’t want to know what yours is. I know you’re not here to eat. You always had more fashion sense than common sense, Philo. Just take care not to kill yourself through sheer stupidity.”
“Yes, Mother.” Philo held the tasseled edge of his tunic out to his sides and gave Lotte a curtsey. She gave him a final glare, then left the room. Philo turned back to Eirene. “I must see the emperor. He needs to know of this threat.”
Eirene’s hands stilled around the towel she held. “Yes. Yes, you’re right. I’ll arrange it for you, through my office. Best that any nosy clerks merely suspect another forgery cell. But you leave me alone from now on, Philo Sallas. Lotte is right; you’re far too curious for your own good, and I’ll have no more of your crazy plans invading my life.”
“A thousand thanks for all your assistance, my lady.” Philo gave her a nod and saw himself out. Despite her anger at him, she was giving him exactly what he needed: the chance to gain enough clout to see the investigation through, no matter who tried to stand in his way. Determining the source of the steel ring was the only way he could protect the empire, and all its culinary delights, from danger.
Water and Flame
“Whether you are ready or not, class, it is time to do some magic.” Instructor Staasen stood in the center of the Water Arena and faced the six hexes of students. They wore new workout uniforms, clean and unscathed, and best of all, no one wore iron bracelets. Bayan’s arms felt as light as air. The surface of the arena beneath his feet was smooth gravel. It reminded Bayan of the creek beds in the forest back home. His stomach gurgled warily at the imminent prospect of performing magic, and he was glad for his bladder’s sake that he’d taken a quick trip to the necessary before class.
“We’ll begin with the Water Invocation, which is the motion you perform when you want your next spell, or spells, to release their Water effect on your tegen.” He put his hands palm down at waist height in front of him, and performed a small up-and-down wave motion that rolled from his wrists to his fingertips. His hands ended exactly where they’d begun.
Bayan and the others mimicked his motion, and Staasen walked around, adjusting wrists and hand positions until everyone could perform the motion properly.
“Good. Now, pick a partner and square off. Take turns with these spells. You all need equal practice, no matter how well you did in form class. We’ll begin with Stormwave. Don’t forget to begin with the Elemental Invocation you practiced all last semester.”
Bayan and Calder faced each other, while Kiwani paired with Eward. Odjin happily faced Tarin.
Bayan performed the familiar Elemental Invocation, then he began the Water Invocation. He started the wave motion perfectly, but by the time he was finished, his hands shook and his stomach had twisted into a knot. He tried to regain control with one of the Void meditations he’d half-listened to last semester, but his blackness spread down his arms, an invisible army of tiny black bubbles.
He felt panic rise, clogging his throat. He was capable of magic now, but using it felt dangerous.
“Bayan, you want me to go first?” Calder asked, looking concerned.
“No. No, I have it.” I’d better have it. Or else it’ll have me, and probably Calder too.
Bayan focused with every ounce of energy he had, recalling the duck-and-whirl motion of the Stormwave spell. He lunged forward, his back knee nearly brushing the ground, and hurled his arms forward, then back overhead. Around him, the rushing sound of gathering magic filled his ears.
The spell snapped free, launching at Calder in a blurry blue haze. Calder braced for the wave of water that was supposed to wash him off his feet. Instead, a tiny spritz of water formed in the air in front of him and got the front of his tunic a bit damp.
“Oh good, your Water magic’s off squint,” Calder teased. “You had a great thundering load-up. I was worried for a moment. But now, it’s my turn.”
Bayan had felt the pulsing, pounding rush of magic. So why hadn’t it released properly? Where had it gone?
Beside him, Odjin got washed away by a knee-high wave. Tarin, looking surprised and embarrassed, asked him if he was all right. Odjin stood and brushed off the tiny pebbles that clung to his pant legs, saying he was fine.
Just as Bayan realized the practicality of pebbles rather than sand in a Water arena, Calder’s wave struck him full in the chest. He fell to the ground, breathing warm seawater, clawing through the pebbles, coughing. Abruptly, the water vanished, leaving him only faintly damp.
Calder jumped into the air and grinned widely. “Did you see that? That was amazing!”
Bayan had to admit that it was indeed amazing. He congratulated Calder, hoping that future spells his friend tried during the session wouldn’t be too painful. He noticed Doc Theo sitting in the first row of benches and sighed; the way his magic was shaping up, Bayan was more likely to need of Doc’s ministrations than whoever was tegen for him.
~~~
The next day, the hex jogged to the Flame Arena on the far side of campus, through four tunnels, three miniature valleys of various breadth, and what could only be described as the perfect gorge for being ambushed. Instead of having raised seating around the edges, as the Water Arena did, the Flame Arena had concentric, ground-level ovals of benches. The arena floor was made of a lightweight red rock reminiscent of the pitcher plant Gamay’s stone wall back home in Pangusay.
Calder, beside Bayan, was in a nervous sweat. As Instructor Takozen began class, Bayan whispered, “You should have told him earlier.”
“Nae. I need to face my fear. Maybe performing Flame for real will shake me out of it.”
Bayan was doubtful. Calder hadn’t so much as held a candle in his hand since arriving on campus last winter.
Class began. The tall Shawnash instructor—dressed to deal with fire, his long black hair in a tight braid and his uniform form-fitting—had the students review the Flame Invocation motion, a simple upward-pointing wedge formed with forearms and fingers. Compared to Kiwani’s Shawnash complexion, Takozen’s skin looked darkened by heat. Bayan wondered if his own skin would darken if he used too much Flame.
Takozen lined students up in a single row, all facing the same direction, toward the empty, opposite side of the arena. “Flame magic is nothing to toss at each other on the first day of class. We will begin with Stormwave. You all practiced its Watercast yesterday in the Water Arena. Today, we will perform the spell using the Flame Invocation, and you will see another facet of the same spell: the Flamecast of Stormwave. Most spells contain more than one sacred motion, and it is through our choice of Invocations that we select the effect we desire. Let us begin.”
Bayan wondered whether the Flamecast of Stormwave would mim
ic yesterday’s Watercast in style, or in his case, do nothing at all.
Calder, on his left, trembled visibly. As soon as Takozen gave the command, the Dunfarroghan performed both the Elemental and Flame Invocations, then leapt forward, zooming through the spell actions with what looked like terrorized speed. Bayan paused and moved away in case a fireball appeared from Calder’s panicked intensity.
But no magic whatsoever happened. Calder, dripping with sweat, dropped to his knees among the red pebbles.
Bayan let out his breath and tried to focus on his own spell. As he invoked, the blackness raged up inside him, twisting his gut again. Trying to power through his discomfort, Bayan performed the lunge and arm circle, releasing the fire spell.
He got a few sparks.
“Oi, Bayan, you making firedust over there?” came Tarin’s lilting voice.
Bayan glanced over in irritation in time to see her release her own Stormwave, which whirled across the ground in tiny flameclouds that spawned their own miniature tornadoes. While he stared in amazement, she merely dusted off her hands and nodded.
“I hope I never have to duel you, Tarin,” he said. “At least, not with fire.”
“Aye well, plenty of time for you to beat me with any of the other five elements—where’s Calder going?”
Bayan spun and saw Calder stumbling toward the first row of arena seats which he didn’t quite reach before he fell to his knees and threw up. Bayan started to go help him, but Takozen waved him back to practice.
“Doc Theo will have a look at him, Bayan. That is what he is here for. Please, continue.”
But between his initial failure and Calder’s terror meltdown, Bayan couldn’t concentrate. The dark thing that lived within him seemed frantic to get out, yet neither Bayan nor the inner blackness seemed to know how to release its power. And power it had; Bayan could feel it shaking his bones.
But if he couldn’t find a way to set it free, he knew he wasn’t destined for anything greater than a potioneer, an eternal prisoner of the empire.
~~~
In the evening after his third Flame class—another spectacular failure, though without any vomiting—Calder slumped in his hex house chair, as miserable as he’d ever been in his life. His hexmates sat around discussing options—as much as they’d speak to each other, anyway—but he knew he was part of the hex’s problem. He couldn’t even look at the cozy fire Tarin had coaxed into existence in the hearth circle with an accurate Briarflame spell. At least Kiwani’s quiet companion had taken to waiting outside the hex house during hex meetings; Calder didn’t need her silent judgment.
That Bayan had yet to make any magic with more than just a sputter to it or that Odjin’s magic was wild and uncontrolled half the time did not ease Calder’s mind. Those problems just contributed to the hex’s tension.
That, and Kiwani’s arrogant bragging about how perfect she is, just like she told us she would be. Why does the most irritating person in our hex get the best magic skills?
“Well.” Eward cleared his throat and rested his elbows on his knees. “Well. We’ve got our issues to confront. But I know we can handle it. We can face this as a team, and it’ll make us stronger.”
Bayan leaned back in his chair. “Any idea on exactly how we’re going to face this as a team, Eward?”
“Well. Well, we need to focus on our strengths—”
“That’s not going to help fix our weaknesses.” Kiwani’s voice was cold and irritated. “We need to find out what’s wrong with those of us who can’t grasp even the most basic castings.”
Defensive, Odjin thrust out his jaw. “What if there’s nothing wrong with us? What if it’s just the best we can do, and we’re not meant for being duelists after all?”
“I can’t accept that,” Kiwani said, with a delicate shake of her long hair. “The hexes are formed on the premise that their members are well-matched in strength and ability. Half of us are doing fine, which means that the other half needs to work harder.”
“You mean you’re doing fine, and you can’t accept that you might not get anywhere close to Hexmagic Duelist,” Bayan retorted.
“You’re right. I can’t accept that, because I’m not the only one who’s doing well in class!” Kiwani replied. “Tarin is doing just as well as I am. Even better than me in Flame. Eward isn’t having any troubles—”
“Except for trying to motivate us with empty words,” Odjin grumbled.
“Excuse me for trying to keep our spirits up,” Eward said. “I just don’t want us to lose our hunger for being duelists, for helping each other get there.”
Calder had to admit that Eward’s heart was in the right place, but he didn’t seem to know how to handle actual problems. Not that anyone else seemed to, either. At least Eward was trying.
The flames of the fire pit were suddenly too much to bear; their heat seemed to sear the scar on his cheek, making his mind burn and writhe with searing memories. Standing abruptly, Calder headed for the doorway. “You let me know if you all manage to solve my problems for me. I need some space that doesna have you in it.”
He made it three paces into the brisk evening air before a hand on his arm made him stop. He looked down into Azhni’s troubled face.
“Scars change us,” she rasped. Her free hand patted her throat.
“Aye.” He looked over the balcony, across the night-swept plaza.
“Don’t be like me.”
Calder met her eyes with a questioning look.
“Afraid. I don’t speak. I sound strange.”
“I don’t think so. You’re just you. Nice, too, to hear you talk for once.”
Azhni smiled. “You’re sweet. Don’t stay afraid.”
Calder smiled back, feeling the scar tissue on his cheek pull at his skin. “I’ll try not to.”
On tiptoe, she gave him a peck on his scarred cheek. He put a hand to it, feeling its rippled surface with his fingertips.
That night, Calder dreamed of fire.
A Dunfarroghan Point of Pride
“Is your tea hot enough?” asked His Imperial Majesty Jaap voorde Helderaard. “I can have one of my duelists reheat it if you like.” He gestured toward the pair of bodyguards who stood at the entrance to the latticed tea gazebo.
Philo blanched beneath his dark ringlets, imagining a fireball erupting around the teapot and setting his fine woolen tunic afire. “No, no, the tea is perfect, Your Majesty. Thank you.”
Emperor Jaap took a sip from his own delicate teacup, a fine example of Aeolian craftsmanship. Philo had a similar set at home. “I understand Lady Eirene’s office arranged this private meeting. Of great import, I’m told. Can I expect a new wave of forged ducats filling my markets’ tills?”
Philo took a deep breath. “I’m afraid it’s worse than that, Your Majesty. Rather far worse.”
“Please, explain.”
Philo’s eyes shot to the Duelists. “Er, perhaps we could discuss this matter in private?”
Emperor Jaap lifted one corner of his mouth. “Philo, we are as alone as we’re going to get. And may I suggest that trying to get my bodyguards to leave will only make them nervous.”
“Not as nervous as they’ll feel after seeing what’s in my pocket, Your Majesty. I only hoped to spare them the discomfort of what I’m about to tell you.”
The emperor leaned forward. “If it will disturb the best soldiers in the empire, then for the sake of that empire, they should be disturbed. Tell me why you have come.”
Philo eased a small wooden box from his pocket and placed it in the center of the table. “What is inside this box was collected by my men after a failed vagary raid in Marghebellen. It was subsequently stolen, but I managed to retrieve it without alerting the thief. Its like has not existed within the empire in a century. Not since… the War of Steel.”
He opened the lid, revealing the golden ring. Its scuffed patch gleamed with the bright gray of forbidden metal.
The two duelists came fully alert, shared a single
glance, and warily exited the gazebo, turning their backs to it at the bottom of the steps.
Emperor Jaap fixed his eyes on the damaged ring. He did not speak for some time. “Well,” he said at last, “it seems you got your request for privacy after all. Steel within my borders. I had hoped to avoid this particular demon during my reign. Tell me what you require, Surveyor, and it is yours.”
~~~
Bayan woke to the sound of dull thumps. A moment later, Kah squawked sleepily on his platform and ruffled his feathers in annoyance. Bayan sat up on his bed and looked around, noticing the season’s first frost patterning the corners of the window. But the thumping came from the hallway. He padded to the door and peeked out. Across the hall and over one room, Cormaac held the door wide while Taban and Braam dragged out a large trunk.
Calder poked his head out around Bayan’s shoulder. “Middle of the night, aye? What are you about, banging things at this hour?”
Eward and Odjin jammed themselves into the doorway as well, looking out in sleepy confusion.
Taban glanced over as he hauled the trunk by a thick leather handle past Bayan and his hexmates. “You little elemental students are so cute when you wake up from your naps. It’s barely dark out, in case you haven’t noticed. And Braam, Cormaac, and I are moving upstairs. We want to spend our first night as proper Elemental Duelists on the right floor, not down here with you clumsyfoots. Tomorrow, it’s on to Avatar Tactics and Etiquette classes.”
“Your hex took its final exams?” Eward asked. “Did you all pass?”
“Of course we did,” Braam replied with a rude look.
“It’s tattoos all around, tomorrow,” Taban said, waggling his left hand.
“We all passed because we don’t have any mudsuckers in our hex.” Cormaac smirked.
Bayan shot him a cold glance and opened his mouth to reply, but it was Taban who spoke first.
“Oh, shut it, Corm. You’re the great stupid idiot with the double-jointed elbows. At least all of Bayan’s joints move properly.”
Rebel Elements (Seals of the Duelists) Page 16