Prodigal Steelwielder (Seals of the Duelists Book 3)

by Jasmine Giacomo

  The muscles around Cavan’s eyes tightened a fraction. Before he could reply, however, a bright white ring of light expanded into existence just outside the loose ring of watching duelists.

  Eward whipped his head around in shock, and a spike of fear stabbed his chest as he recognized Ingerika stepping through a portal onto the warm arena sand. What is she doing here now? This isn’t our regularly scheduled meeting place or time. She’s endangering our entire operation by letting herself be seen!

  The willowy young trio singer tucked her twin crystals and their brass holders in a deep pocket on the front of her white tabard and passed between two of the duelists, wearing a serene look on her pretty oval face. She gave Cavan a respectful nod, then turned to Eward.

  He begged her with his eyes not to ruin everything. But her expression gave nothing away. “Avatar Duelist Eward Raalgat, you are summoned by the Minister of Information for an immediate mission of diplomacy. From this moment on, you are in the direct employ of the Ministry of Information and will report only to Minister Philo. Do you understand?”

  Eward swallowed and took a calming breath. “I understand, Singer. What is my assignment?”

  Ingerika held out a folded and sealed paper. “All your instructions are contained within. Please meet your contact without delay and secure her services. The deadline is not a suggestion. Sints guard you.” She gave Eward a nod of farewell, bestowed one upon Cavan as well, then exited the watching circle of duelists and sang open a portal that swallowed her and winked out.

  In the silence that followed her departure, Eward cracked the wax seal on his message and unfolded the creamy paper to read Philo’s flowing hand. His eyebrows rose, and he folded the paper shut again. He looked around the circle of his colleagues, seeing their curiosity, confusion, and envy. How would my friends handle this situation? He envisioned Tarin’s flip remark as she strode out of the arena tunnel without looking back, or Taban’s snide commentary on their inability to survive without him. Calder would promise to return only if he got a better room in the duel den. Kiwani, in her current state, would probably already have left by now. And Aleida, well, Aleida probably would never have gotten herself into this situation.

  Cavan still stared at him, apparently having evolved past the biological necessity to blink. Eward swallowed, held up his orders, and said, “Well.” He nodded once, summoned his wind disc without bothering with the motions and let it carry him into the arena tunnel. Let them wonder.

  In his room deep within the arena walls, Eward changed into more formal attire. He used a bit of Wind and Flame to remove the wrinkles from the heavy silk sleeves of his pale blue duelist tunic and matching trousers. Needing some time to think things through, he hailed a carriage out on the street and let his thoughts wander as the mundane transport carried him south through the crowded streets. Renallen was an ancient and fortified city, and every section within it was guarded by its own high, mazelike walls, which hampered transportation within the city rather more than anyone liked.

  As his carriage passed beneath yet another arched gate between city sections, following closely behind half a dozen other carriages, and trailed just as closely past half a dozen more, Eward let his mind play over the information Philo had included in his letter. He knew that Emperor Jaap had been in closely guarded negotiations with representatives from the Corona for some time. The sudden arrival of another diplomat, and one who was to be whisked to the Kheerzaal as quickly and as decorously as possible, unwound a worm of worry in his belly. Kiwani would probably know exactly what this means. She’d be a better escort than I would. Well, if she didn’t sulk the whole time.

  His carriage eventually turned onto Ambraith, one of Renallen’s broadest boulevards. It ran through the city’s historical heart, not far from the docks. The warm, briny scent of the Teresseren Sea reached his nose, and the foul concoction of odors from the docks themselves was pleasantly masked by hundreds of enormous, street-side barrels blossoming with waskukone’yen. Still, the smell flooded his mind with unpleasant memories, and he had to take a moment to shove them back into the recesses of his mind. He fingered a pale bead on his necklace. I’ve conquered you. You can’t hurt me anymore.

  His inquiry at his contact’s spacious caravan security office presented him with another dilemma, however. The lady was out. Specifically, out on the private promenade beach on the other side of Vantage Spire, upwind from the docks. “What’s she doing down there?” Eward asked, barely concealing his exasperation.

  The burly Balang behind the desk crossed his tree-trunk arms. He looked more suited to hand-to-hand combat than desk work. “Walking. She bought her privilege time, like all the other rich folk.”

  Eward waved his cream-colored letter of instruction as though it were his duelist flag. “I am on official business for the Minister of Information. Tell me how to reach the beach.”

  The Balang complied, and Eward paid the driver and dismissed his carriage before heading on foot through the few city blocks between him and the coastline. His formal duelist attire drew plenty of attention, as did the tattoos on the backs of his hands. To his surprise, he enjoyed walking amongst the people he served. I really do need to get out more, as long as I’m not accused of rape afterward.

  The sun was nearing its zenith as Eward reached the guarded entrance to the promenade beach. On the far side of the wrought iron fence, a white expanse of sand lay perfectly combed and gleaming in the sunlight. Artfully planted clusters of palms and trumpet flowers sprouted at occasional intervals, and brightly feathered songbirds, their wings clipped to prevent them from escaping, chirped and sang from the shrubbery. Eward only needed to hold up his letter and mention Philo’s name before being ushered onto the exclusive beach. Sand climbed into his sandals’ open sides and clustered under his toes. He flicked the grains away with a puff of Earth magic, then summoned his wind disc again.

  Eward eased forward above the sand, studying the few people in sight. An elderly couple sat in the shade of a small gazebo to his left. On the right, two young girls in the shell headdresses and nearly see-through garments of the careless nobility giggled and waved at him from their chaises beneath a palm tree. Eward gave them as serious a nod as he could manage, then floated closer to the edge of the sea in search of Imee Magittang.

  The endless blue stretch of the sea all the way to the horizon dragged his childhood fears back to the front of his mind. Frustrated, he shoved them back again. We are not doing this now. Stop it. Then he spotted a lone female figure, young and curvy, wading through the foam of the fresh waves. “Of course she’s walking in the ocean. Why wouldn’t she be?”

  He briefly considered talking to her via a Wind tunnel from his current position, but that would probably be seen as rude and bizarre or possibly showing off. He didn’t want any of that associated with him by the girl who had once been promised to marry Bayan. After all, she had slapped his friend pretty hard once.

  He took a deep breath and floated closer to her. She paused and watched his approach with interest. He drew close enough to see her dark eyes flicker down toward his feet and react to his apparent levitation. Her lush lips spread in a satisfied smile. “And to what do I owe this very special pleasure, Duelist?”

  His hand began to lift Philo’s letter, but he thought better of it. Clasping his hands and the letter behind his back, he said, “Merchant Magittang, I need your help.”

  She turned to face him more fully, placing her hands on her ample hips and favoring him with a broader smile. “Well, there’s something you don’t hear every day. How can a humble merchant like myself lend aid to duelism this day?”

  “It’s not duelism you’ll be aiding. The emperor himself has need of your services, and he has sent me to secure them. Time is of the essence. How many of your caravan guards can you have gathered and ready to travel by sundown?”

  Imee’s glance sharpened, and Eward imagined calculating variables flitting behind her eyes. “All of them. It so happens that tw
o of my crews returned to the city yesterday, and no one has been assigned outward bound yet. Knowing the minister’s reputation as I do, perhaps that isn’t coincidence. Where are we traveling?”

  Sints help me, I like her. “First, to the docks, as an honor guard and greeting cohort for a Corona diplomat. We’ll be on the road to the Kheerzaal at dawn. We have a tight schedule and an unbreakable deadline. Can you handle that?”

  Imee swayed back and regarded Eward frankly. “Absolutely. But I insist that you travel with us.”

  Eward blinked. “Me? I’m not on the agenda.”

  Her gaze was direct, though a smile played along her lips. “You are now. If the emperor wants this precious diplomat to arrive on time and in one piece, my men will do their best to make sure that happens. But just in case, I want emergency support personnel. I have a chanter who travels on dangerous missions with my men, but for a task of this magnitude and importance, I want you too. I see those tattoos on the backs of your hands. Should the sudden need arise, I want someone who can take that diplomat all the way to the Kheerzaal without needing to worry about vagaries or road delays or the bother of too much decorum. Can you handle that?”

  The letter began to dampen from the sweat on Eward’s palm. Had it really been so long since he had battled for his life that he had forgotten what it felt like to fight, to be uncertain, to think on his feet? Was he really so tame? “You want to know if I will fly the diplomat to the Kheerzaal on my Wind avatar if we come under attack? Yes. I serve at the pleasure of the Emperor of the Waarden Empire.”

  Imee’s tanned face creased in a brilliant smile. “Excellent. Now, you may escort me back to the gate.”

  Eward offered her his hand and helped her step onto his barely visible wind disc. She pressed herself against his side, and he wrapped an arm around her slender waist to make sure she didn’t fall. His disc bore them across the sand, first in a straight line, slow and sedate, and then he sped up and began weaving around the landscaping. Imee squealed in delight and clung harder to him, clearly enraptured by the process. Their progress drew the eye of every other patron on the beach.

  At the gate, which the guards duly opened for them, Imee stepped down with reluctance and gave Eward a grateful smile. “Thank you, Duelist. I’ll ready my men at once. We’ll array ourselves at the docks with the tide to meet this Corona diplomat, and we’ll see to his lodgings for the night. I’ll discuss travel arrangements with him and prepare our own supplies. Will you need a wagon for your sundries?”

  Eward shook his head. “I won’t be bringing much with me. I’m sure we can find a place to tuck it in.”

  Imee nodded. “Then be at my office before dawn tomorrow morning. We’ll go over final preparations before I walk you to the caravanserai.” She headed down the street with a lightness to her step.

  Eward smiled. No wonder Philo chose her.

  The tide rose just before sunset, bringing in a flood of ships to Renallen’s vast dock system. Eward spotted Imee’s guard cohort by their vast number, uniformly black hair, and bulging muscles. As his feet trod the broad wooden boardwalk, he tallied eighty-eight men in Imee’s employ. They stood in even ranks, leather breastplates proudly oiled and gleaming with the dyed symbol of Imee’s business, a swirl of red and blue.

  He reached Imee’s cohort and nodded in greeting, then studied the approaching cadre of ships and picked out the Corona vessel. Its design was outlandish, exotic, and brightly colored like the birds he’d seen on the promenade beach. Twin lateen sails, red as blood, winged up and out from the ship’s deck, and a small blue spinnaker marked with a golden crown pulled the ship toward the docks.

  “Have you ever seen a Corona ship before?” Imee asked.

  Eward shook his head. “My father probably did. He was a sailor. I used to live on the eastern shore of Byanneken.”

  The stately vessel eased its way into port, and the sailors tossed mooring lines down to the waiting deckhands, who secured the boat against the dock with a minimum of fuss. An elaborate gangplank, complete with velvet rails and individual stair steps, swung out over the ship’s rail and touched down on the dock. As passengers and supplies began to disembark, sailors used pulleys to swing the bright red sails in a broad half circle until they paralleled the deck at the other end of the ship. Only then did the men begin to take them down and fold them away into their casings.

  Eward caught sight of a skinny man in overly formal garb descending the gangplank. “I think that’s our man.” As he crossed the dock, it became apparent that, though the Corona diplomat wore a tall, pillar-shaped hat, he was shorter than Eward. The man bore a thin, short, blond beard, and his upper lip was bare. Poor fellow. As old as Cavan, but his facial hair never got out of puberty. “A thousand fair greetings, good sir. Welcome to the Waarden Empire. I’m Avatar Duelist Eward Raalgat, sent to greet you by the His Imperial Majesty himself. Was your journey satisfactory?”

  The thin man sucked air through his over-large nostrils and favored Eward with a critical look. “The journey was acceptable. You have prepared accommodation? This wretch of a captain does not know the meaning of the term ‘food.’”

  Eward didn’t answer, being too distracted by the diplomat’s high, artistic voice and affected half-lisp.

  Imee pressed Eward aside and took the diplomat’s hand in both of hers. “I’ll escort you directly. I’m Merchant Imee Magittang, and I will be directly responsible for your care and security as we travel north to the Kheerzaal. If you have any requests, any at all, you may bring them directly to me. How are you styled?”

  The little man seemed both startled and pleased by Imee’s forwardness. “I am Erinando dyly Gonsala. I am the Conecho Uniqo dyl Reyo Ochidala. You, pretty flower, may style me Erinando.”

  Imee glued herself to the diplomat’s side as she escorted him down the dock. “My men will see to your belongings and their security overnight, and they will maintain constant shifts to ensure your privacy and security at all times. I am also in possession of a healer, should you need refreshing after your journey. How many men would you like me to assign to escort you this evening?”

  Erinando mumbled something about whatever Imee thought was best. Eward crossed his arms as she motioned half a dozen men to surround them as a miniature honor guard. She didn’t look back at him even once as she escorted the diplomat away.

  “She does that, you know. Fair warning.”

  Eward turned to see the burly Balang who had been behind Imee’s front desk. “And you are?”

  The man offered a strong hand. “Dakila. Formerly of Pangusay. I hear you’re traveling with us.” He glanced up at a netted cluster of crates being lowered to the dock, then turned Eward’s hand so that his avatar tattoo faced upward. “You could get a head start by helping us with the unloading.”

  Is this how trade duelists feel after a score of years in the emperor’s service? Peppered with mundane requests that don’t live up to the glory of their magic? Or are Cavan and his vaunted arrogance actually rubbing off on me? Eward sighed. “Where should I set them down?”

  A Generation of Hexmages

  Tala hunched against the cold, dry air that had settled in the bottom of the Temple bowl as she made her way across the decorated stone floor. Isn’t there a solo class somewhere that needs to practice their air-warming tunes?

  “Hail, Tala!” Tala hunched further at the sound of Graela’s voice. “Aren’t you tired yet of being the only student in the entire Temple who still has to be monitored at every class? And taking up the First Singer’s time like that, too! Too bad we can’t sing the stain of your existence out of the Temple. You’re a walking disaster.” Graela continued on with a small cluster of giggling friends toward their Trio class.

  I really should be in that Trio class with them. I’m better than all of them put together. Tala indulged her bitterness for a long moment. But what I’m really doing with the First Singer is much more important than fitting in with the popular singers.

  She ente
red the lower door in the tower where the First Singer had her office. Eschewing the curling staircase, Tala stepped into the high, smooth shaft and sang a burst of air beneath her feet, raising her to the top of the tower. Before the wind blast could fade, she hopped out onto a warm brown floor embedded with seashells.

  “See,” she said, smoothing back her hair, “I told you it would work. You really should try it sometime.”

  Liselot de Vosen, First Singer of the Temple of Ten Thousand Harmonies, looked up from her desk and arched a doubtful eyebrow. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to sing yourself a wind burst to save you from splattering at the bottom of that shaft while you’re falling?”

  “No, it’s never happened. Do you?”

  The First Singer raised her chin. “I have absolutely no intention of finding out. If you keep floating yourself everywhere, your muscles will lose their proper trim, and you won’t be able to sing properly. I want you to use the stairs.”

  Tala crossed her arms in defiance and met the First Singer’s stare.

  After a long moment, Liselot’s mouth softened. She let out a conciliatory breath, then gestured for Tala to sit. Tala slid into one of the sung wood chairs but kept her arms crossed. The First Singer leaned forward onto her elbows. “Tala. Don’t do this to yourself. It wasn’t your fault.”

  Tala’s lower lip trembled, and she tightened her jaw. “It was my fault. I picked Sanaala. I thought she was ready, but I was wrong.”