Taming Fire

by Aaron Pogue

  "That," he said darkly, "was the most pathetic thing I've ever witnessed. You actually showed no power at all! I've never even heard of that happening! The door didn't budge until I opened it on my own!"

  Shame and rage met in a great clashing front that hurled me to my feet. Before I even knew I was on my feet I flew over the long table and landed directly in front of him, grabbing the front of his shirt in my fists. "You arrogant bastard!"

  He didn't twitch, but snapped a word of command, and a wall of air threw me back to crash against the wooden table I'd just hurdled. He took a moment to arrange his shirt again, brushed at his sleeve, and then stepped up to loom over me. Half of his mouth curled up in a sneer.

  "You should watch your mouth, little Daven. Students are not permitted such harsh language around their masters."

  I tried to stand, to lunge at him, but found myself still bound by his magic. I recognized bands of air, like those Claighan had used to trap me at the lakeshore, snaking over my chest and shoulders, my waist and knees. I stopped struggling and instead spat at his face, which took him by surprise. "Let me go, coward! Face me like a man, with sword in hand."

  "Oh, Daven." He shook his head slowly. "You should know threatening your master is considered poor form, too! And, as I said, I am responsible for setting your punishments. However I see fit." His eyes danced. "But I'll forgive both your offenses this time. After all, you're just a shepherd, and it will take time to tame you." He turned his back on me and started up the stairs toward the door. He made it halfway, strolling with an easy arrogance, then turned back to me as though in afterthought. "But...perhaps I would do well to continue your education by other means. Meet me in the Arena at even bell, with your sword, and we shall settle this."

  With that he left. I struggled to stand, but his bonds were still in place. I screamed after him, crying curses, but his footsteps trailed off down the hall and I heard no other reply. It was a long time before his magic faded and I could push myself up off the floor to make my way wearily to my room.

  * * *

  I had missed lunch with Themmichus and wasted much of the afternoon pinned on my back on that floor. I didn't know where I was supposed to find dinner, or when, but as I stepped out into the courtyard between the Halls of Learning and the dormitory, I saw evening fast approaching. Bloody sunset bathed the corridor in red shadows. I set my jaw. I'd missed dinner, too, then.

  I whipped the door to the dormitory open with more force than I needed. The halls beyond were empty and my footsteps echoed, high and thin, as I stomped my way back to my room. I saw no one. As I went, my shoulders twitched. I licked my lips and fought to suppress a snarl. My hands balled in fists, and I made a conscious effort to relax them, but moments later they were clenched again. I began walking faster and then finally broke into a run for my room just as the great bells of the tower began tolling the evening hour. Archus would be waiting. Hate and fear clawed at my heart, crushed on my lungs, but neither overwhelmed my desire for vengeance. He would pay.

  When I came to my room the door was standing open. I exploded through it and saw my travel pack still fallen where Themmichus had dropped it. I spared it less than a thought, stepped over it, and drew the Green Eagle's sword with one furious motion, then turned on my heel and darted from the room. I sprinted down the hall, feet pounding against the stone in time with the thunderous beat of my heart, and burst through the little wooden door that opened onto the Arena.

  And I stopped. The courtyard was packed with students, and every one of them faced toward a little clearing at its heart with a palpable expectation. I understood in a flash. I understood why Archus had left me trapped in the room, and why the halls had all been empty. He had gathered them here for this, to witness my humiliation.

  Of course. He was the first heir of some southern nobleman. Of course he would have some facility with a sword. I had watched noblemen duel, though. A dark grin twisted at my lips, and I began shouldering my way forward. He couldn't know how hard I had studied. He couldn't know how viciously I would fight. He had bought his own suffering with that one act of cruel arrogance. I finally broke through the crowd and into a ring of richly dressed young men. Archus stood opposite me in an open area almost exactly the same size as the one I'd fought Cooper in years ago.

  No, days. I shook my head, and my grin faded. Days ago, I'd been just a shepherd. But I had killed since then. My path had changed. I set my jaw, raised my sword, and met Archus's eye.

  He smiled. He laughed and raised his voice. "So you've come after all. Let's dance."

  I dropped the sword to my side and sneered at him. "I hate to dance. Let's fight." He scowled as a chuckle went up from some of the closest students. He came a step closer and answered me.

  "You would brawl like a dirty beggar." He shook his head in disappointment. "You're a disgrace, Daven, and you don't belong here. You bring shame on the school, and today you have dared to challenge your master." He dropped his voice, dropped his eyes to lock on mine. "Prepare for your second lesson."

  He reached up to unclasp his cloak, and it fell in a soft rustle to pile on the dusty ground. One of the nearest spectators darted forward to take it up. Beneath the cloak he wore new clothes, all of black silk and resting lightly on his pale skin. He pulled a long, light rapier from a sheath on his belt and settled into a northern stance, left hand held arcing up to head height behind him. He hopped from one foot to the other like an excited race horse. "Come fight me, then."

  I looked around for a sympathetic face in the crowd, but the closest all seemed to be Archus's friends. They wore the same elegant finery on their soft frames, the same arrogant sneer on their hateful faces. I had no cloak to drop and my clothes were simple cotton, but they were much like what I'd always worn, and I was comfortable in them. I rolled my shoulders once, then raised my sword in a simple capitol stance, and settled to wait for him.

  But when his eyes finally fell on the blade, his mouth dropped open. "Where did you get a sword like that, shepherd?"

  I kept my voice low for him. "From a duel, lordling. I took it from a Green Eagle."

  He snorted, but when my face didn't change his expression did. "Impressive. I'll examine it more closely once I've won it from you." As the words left his mouth he moved. With a smile like a striking hawk's, he came gliding forward.

  He used the rapid, careful steps of a trained swordsman. Within three paces I had a measure on how he moved, and I rushed to meet him.

  We crossed swords once, almost formally. But instead of falling into a flurry of flashing blades I disengaged and then lunged, forward and to the side. I struck out once, more against his blade than at him. It threw his weapon wide even as he turned to follow my motion. I quickly reversed my lunge and closed with him, face-to-face from less than four feet away.

  I slashed my sword up to cut his cheek, to score a point off my clever motion, but he moved with astonishing speed. He managed to bring his blade back around and deftly parried my attack. His riposte came just as swiftly, and I was lucky to send it wide of my right shoulder.

  At that distance our fight was a desperate, dizzying whirlwind. His sword and mine danced around each other, seeking frantically for some purchase. A deep, cold silence filled the courtyard around us. The boys closest must have been straining to see what was going on, and those farther back straining to hear some indication from them. But for a long moment, we merely tested each other in speed.

  The observers couldn't have followed us. I couldn't even keep up consciously with the motion of our swords. Instead I fought to maintain my relaxation, to know our positions, and allowed my muscles to respond more on instinct than thought. Training turned my wrist, jabbed my arm forward or pulled it back, rolled the hilt of my sword lightly over my fingertips. I moved the blade on nothing more than a sense of the pressure and angle of his weapon against mine, but it was enough to keep me safe.

  He was terribly skilled, and faster than I, but everything he did was with textbook pr
ecision. For two passes I allowed my guard to lapse on the terce, and on the third pass his perfect strike came in terce, straight out of the book. But I was not there to receive the blow. As his lunge carried him forward I dove free of him, coming up behind and to the right.

  He caught himself short of falling and whirled to face me. Surprise and irritation flashed across his face, beneath a light sheen of sweat. I grinned as I moved to meet him, but I hung just an inch outside of the appropriate range. For two or three passes we fought like that, and I could tell that the distance was irritating him. So I pressed an attack and took a long step forward, bringing us face to face. I thought to lock swords with him and then just shove him over—I was clearly stronger than he—but as I slid in close to him I saw his mouth move.

  At the same time his left hand suddenly swung out, as if he were throwing a haymaker at me from three paces away, and a great gust of wind reached across the distance to deliver the blow for him. Pain flared across my ribs and I had to take three quick stumbling steps just to keep my feet. Before I could set myself, before I could turn to face him again, he attacked me from behind.

  I felt the tip of his sword cut into my left shoulder, sharp and hot. Blood washed down my back and anger flooded me. I threw myself into a tight turn and dove toward him. I swung my sword in a high arc to draw his attention up, and while his blade was still rising to block it I leaped forward and crushed his forward foot beneath my heel.

  He cried out in surprise and pain and then lashed out again with another gust of wind that pushed me away and beat me down to the ground. I tried to fight it, tried to attack him through the spell, but he moved forward with the gusts of air and attacked as he did it, the tip of his blade darting past mine to cut me along the arm and shoulder. I fell into desperate defense, but beneath the torrent of air I couldn't even maintain enough control for that.

  Finally I gave up, crawling miserably in the dirt, trying to escape his attack, but a too-familiar force wrapped me in tight bonds and lifted me into the air. I was helpless against his magic, and he put me on display. He lifted me up high enough for everyone to see, and then with another gust of wind set me slowly spinning. Humiliation burned hotter than the searing wounds he had inflicted. Then Archus stepped forward, sneering up into my eyes. "You are pathetic, Daven. Go away."

  I could not answer, whether from the spell or my own shame I do not know, but after a moment more my spinning broke our eye contact. For a moment I could breathe again. For a moment, I hoped it was over. I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed for an end.

  It didn't come. Instead, I suddenly felt the cold tip of his blade cut into my right shoulder. He did it with that same textbook precision, pressing just deep enough to tear the flesh. He allowed my motion to do most of the work for him, slicing my skin open in a long, shallow gash as I kept turning. He waved the blade up and down as I turned, giving shape to the scar, sinewy like a serpent's tail. I felt blood wash down my back, felt sweat burn in the long wound, felt the presence of Archus like a cancer behind me. I heard sounds from the assembled students—some cries of outrage, maybe, but mostly catcalls and jeers and laughter at my humiliation. Archus was laughing, too, and the ring of boys closest to me roared.

  A flood of emotion came—rage and fear and terrible shame—but behind it came a great thudding wave of pain and exhaustion that blended with the darkness of coming night and washed me into unconsciousness. I dread to think what indignities they might have done while I hung unconscious in their midst, but when I woke the ordeal was over.

  When I awoke, I was in my room. I was in my bed, propped up against the wall, with my legs stretched out before me. It was dark, deep in the night, and there were no candles burning. There was enough light through the cracked door that I could vaguely see the figure leaning against my writing desk. Tall and thin, and idly toying with the sword I had taken from Othin. Its naked blade glittered in the thin light.

  For a moment I thought it was Archus, and my heart quailed. I must have made a sound, because he looked up. I saw dark eyes narrow, and then he pressed himself up and stepped over to face me, the sword resting almost forgotten in his hands.

  Seriphenes. He looked down at me for a long moment then nodded toward my shoulders. "Are you feeling much pain?"

  I glared up at him. It dawned on me, though, that I didn't feel the agony Archus's torture should have caused. I felt a flush of relief, even gratitude, as I recalled the Kind Father's healing magic. I shook my head in a little no, rolled my shoulders to confirm it—

  And cried out at a flash of searing cold fire across my back. I could feel the sinuous trail of Archus's cut. It didn't bleed, but it burned with a vicious chill. Seriphenes grimaced.

  "I'm afraid our magic lacks the...finesse of the Kind Father's treatments," he said. "But you will live."

  I ground my teeth against the pain. He smirked.

  "It will scar. I thought perhaps...that would be for the best." His eyes glittered whenever he paused, and his nostrils flared. I took short, sharp breaths and regained my composure. As long as I stayed still, the pain gradually faded.

  He watched me for some time and then nodded. "You know why I am here?" I shook my head. His eyes widened in surprise. "Truly? You have no idea?"

  I took a slow breath, and then met his eyes. "Because your apprentice tried to maim me?"

  "He did maim you," Seriphenes said coolly. "That I undid it does not detract from the effectiveness of his actions. Credit where it is due, yes?" I glared at him, but I did not speak. He nodded.

  "I am here to speak with you about your role in the Academy."

  "You and everyone else," I growled. "I'm not leaving."

  He considered me for a moment. Then he nodded, one curt jerk of his chin. "So I have heard," he said. "And so you have shown. And as I'm sure you have been told, we cannot tolerate your causing trouble at our school."

  "I am not the one maiming students," I said coldly.

  He smiled, his lips tight. "Just so," he said. "And that is why Archus is currently on...suspension. And that is why he was not allowed to keep the weapon he clearly won." He looked down at the Green Eagle's sword, and his lip curled in distaste. He turned and placed it on the writing desk then wiped his hands clean and turned back to me. "And by the Chancellor's order, it is not even to be taken from you."

  "I appreciate the Masters' generosity," I said. "Why are you here?"

  "I am here," Seriphenes said, his words a little clipped, "because someone must tell you how a student behaves at the Academy of Wizardry, and Archus's little stunt has caused that burden to fall on me."

  I met his eyes for a moment and shrugged. I had to fight down another yelp of pain at the motion, but I kept it hidden. "How about you let me get some sleep, and I'll ask Themmichus for some pointers tomorrow morning?"

  His lips curled in a smile that never reached his eyes. He held my gaze for a long moment, and then began as though I hadn't spoken. "You are expected to comport yourself with civility, nobility, and dignity. You are to speak to the Masters, and to any teacher, with nothing but respect. You are to refrain from inciting fights or otherwise causing disturbances with your fellow students, and you are—in every possible way—to keep from drawing my attention."

  Those last words fell from his tongue like shards of ice, and I nearly flinched away from them. I made myself hold his gaze, though, and after a moment he nodded.

  "Of every ten days, you will set aside six for training with your personal tutor, two for lectures with the other first-year students, and one for personal training and evaluation by the Academy masters. Your remaining day will be left to your leisure, although I suspect you will need it for studying. Your first day off will be tomorrow, and you can spend it healing."

  He half-turned toward the door as he rattled on. "Meals can be had at the kitchens north end of the Halls of Learning, and new clothes from the commissary," he nodded pointedly to my shoulders again, and I realized the fine shirt I'd worn from the king's pa
lace was now in tatters. "If you have more expensive tastes you can also place orders there for goods from Gath, although...."

  He didn't bother finishing the sentence, and I couldn't muster the outrage to glare at him. I only stared back at him. I did my best to look bored, while I groaned inwardly at the thought of six days a week trapped in a room with the horrible Archus.

  He nodded and headed for the door, but when he reached it he stopped and turned back to me. He hesitated for a moment, weighing his words. "I regret Archus's actions," he said. "But you should know he was on direction from me to convince you to leave. I have spread the word to everyone who will listen. You should not be here. I don't care about your pride or about Claighan's grand ideas. I want you gone, boy, and in time you will go. Until that happens...keep out of my way. Keep out of my way, and you may leave here alive."

  With that he left my room. It was a long, long time before I fell asleep.

  8. An Education

  I spent the whole of the following day alone in my room, healing and sulking. Around lunchtime Themmichus came to knock on my door and even called my name before he gave up, but I did not invite him in. Eventually he went away.

  The next morning marked the beginning of my first regular week of study at the Academy. I woke with the morning bell, washed myself at my basin, and shrugged into one of the worn shirts I'd brought from my days as a shepherd. The smell of sheep's wool and honest sweat had become part of the fabric. It should have been a touchstone, real and familiar, but it felt sharply out of place in this house of nobles' sons. I grimaced, but there was no time to replace it now. After my morning's lecture I could visit the commissary.

  Lecture. I set my jaw. I sucked an angry breath in through my nose, and pushed it out again. Archus. I closed my eyes. There were soldiers looking for me outside these walls. I knew that much. The king wanted me in chains or worse. This place was my only refuge, but it was a kind of prison anyway, wasn't it?