Prodigal Steelwielder (Seals of the Duelists Book 3)

by Jasmine Giacomo

  On the Dueling Sand

  A knock on Calder’s door interrupted his sleepy struggle to remember his appointments for the day. “Enter.”

  The door swung open to reveal Hanna, his Head Duelist. “A word, Calder.” It wasn’t a question. She shut the door then leaned against it, eyeing him with a cool gaze. She had braided her dark, curly hair, and the curled-out tips of her braids didn’t quite reach her shoulders. Calder appreciated the girlish style, though the woman was as old as his mum. “No visitors last night, I see.”

  “I had an early night.” Calder held up one hand and counted off fingers with his other. “I had a duel against Faraaqa in the morning for Lady Wynesho. In the late afternoon, I won another duel between a pair of servants in Lord Aalfons’s household. In between, Ernst the Chowder traded me a future favor if I would come down to his fish market around lunchtime and look intimidating to the hungry, light-fingered journeymen from the dyeworks next door. I was my charming self, I do assure you. In the evening, the Minister of Information sent me on a bumknuckle’s hunt east of town.” Yanked through a portal, ordered about by an overworked eunuch traumatized from battle, and sent into the gathering dusk to find an invisible village, more like. Which I dinna. “Around all that, Teos and I are refining a few pretty visual effects in our magic whenever we can find a few moments to ourselves. It is a terrible pity, but I simply had no time to gallivant with my woman after all that.”

  Hanna stepped to the foot of his narrow bed. “I know. That’s why I’m here. About Teos, that is.”

  One of Calder’s beads warmed against his skin, the one for I think something’s about to go pear shaped, but I don’t know how. “Oh, aye? Why is that?”

  Hanna’s lips stretched in a brief half smile. “I often feel the urge to slap you off your pins, Calder Micarron.” She grinned as Calder unsuccessfully hid a flinch. “But today isn’t one of those days. Can you guess why?”

  “Because I’m your best duelist? Because you’re Head Duelist, and that would just be an abuse of power? Because I’m irresistibly handsome? I could go on.”

  Hanna raised her eyebrows meaningfully. “No. That’ll do. I’ve decided not to turn you in to the Duelism Office for your continued savantism proselytizing, Calder, for one and only one reason.”

  A second bead went hot: fear.

  Hanna gripped the footboard of his bed and leaned forward. Her eyes locked on his. She whispered, “How dare you, Calder? How dare you bring such a slanted advantage into my duel den, and not offer it to me first? I thought you were a canny fellow. What sort of Dunfarroghan is blind to the obvious benefits of trading with the most powerful person in the den, the one with direct authority over him, before any others? I swear, boy. I’m starting to wonder if you shouldn’t get your blood status rechecked.”

  I… I don’t think I’m in trouble… yet. Calder tried a brilliant smile. “I had to test the waters first. You understand. It would never do for me to share the secrets of power with the Head Duelist and then have the rest of the den turn us both in, now would it?”

  The hard edges of Hanna’s face softened. She planted a half-affectionate, half-chastising smack upside Calder’s scarred cheek. “I can see why she likes you. Now, come with me to the arena, and tell me how this is going to work.”

  Calder could only stare in surprise.

  Hanna cocked her arm back again. “Do I need to repeat myself? Out on the sand!”

  Calder stumbled down the arena tunnel and out into the weak spring sunlight, still tying his dueling belt around his heavy tunic. Teos, no doubt having enjoyed a good night’s sleep and a full breakfast, waited for him on the damp morning sand, but he went stiff with alarm at the sight of Hanna’s thunderhead brow.

  Calder fended off his terrible attempt at lying—the man couldn’t fool a toddler with that face. “No, no. It’s all right. Aye, she knows, but she wants in. She wants to be like you. Like us. Didn’t I tell you this would work?”

  He stopped a few strides from Teos, and Hanna joined them in a moment. Her heavy look shifted between the two of them. “This explains why Teos beat me two holidays back in that duel for the white kalabao calf. He’s been training with you for a while now.”

  Calder nodded. “The concept of savantism is simple. It’s not quick to put into use, but it’s not hard either. Well, it can be later, but at first it’s almost as easy as breathing. You’ll see.”

  Hanna folded her arms and gave him an even look. “Tell me what to do first. And make it quick: the two of you have a duel at the next shadow mark.”

  Calder brightened. Teos had practiced enough that he could help by demonstrating a few things, which Calder had had to demonstrate himself when teaching Teos. Having an eager minion made teaching savantism much easier. “The first step of savantism is to understand that we don’t need the void to cast our spells. We never have. You’ve heard how natural savants can cast crazy, wild spells that can injure or kill themselves or others. That’s because emotion makes the magic stronger. Savantism is the binding of emotion to magic, controlling one by controlling the other.”

  Hanna hadn’t run off screaming yet. She only watched him with a faint frown of concentration between her brows. Best not to jump ahead and mention the fact that duelists used to drink potions made by potioneers, who weren’t anywhere close to the social pariahs they are now.

  Calder continued, “So what I need you to do first is to think about what emotion comes most naturally to you. That will be your first emotion to bond your spells with. For me, it was fear.” He touched the scar on his cheek. “That came easy to me, considering how afraid I was of fire. I couldn’t cast a Flame spell to save my life because I was so terrified, but I learned to master my fear of fire and then my fear in general.”

  “Is that why you keep fiddling with that necklace?” Hanna pointed. Calder noticed he had unconsciously begun to stroke the central bead on his necklace. “You’ve added several beads to it since you joined us. Are those all the emotions you’ve bonded to your magic?” Her voice sounded as if she couldn’t decide between awe and disgust.

  “Aye. Once you learn the general technique, it’s just a matter of repetition and focus. It’s incredible to me how much more stable I feel now than I did when I just had the one emotion mastered. Things can still take me off guard, of course. I’m still only human. But with this around my neck, reminding me of my endless practice and my mastery of so many emotions, I feel more centered than I ever did when I was trying to master the void. Nothing shakes me for long.”

  Teos looked at Hanna. “You know that’s true. Remember when a few of Lady Iga’s favorites were invited to her annual summer ball on the beach, and after too many goblets of seerwine, the old dowager insisted on diving into the Godsmaw without her dress on? Calder had to go rescue her because the rest of us were so busy laughing or being embarrassed that we couldn’t summon our magic.”

  A smile lifted the corners of Hanna’s mouth. “I do remember. That was a memorable party. And considering we live in the nobility’s playground year round, that’s saying something.” She looked at Calder again. “I’m not sure how obvious it is to you two, but I’m pretty sure that the easiest emotion for me to embrace is frustration.”

  Calder felt his lopsided grin pull at his scar. “I can work with that.”

  Hanna relaxed her pose, uncrossing her arms. “I bet you can, Dunfarroghan. So, tell me how—”

  The earth trembled, and the damp sand underfoot clumped and shifted of its own accord. Calder exchanged worried glances with his two denmates, but he was the only one with the skill to cast such a large spell sans gestures. The tremor swiftly grew more intense until the earth was noticeably shaking in an ever more violent manner.

  This is no spell.

  Calder shot Marblenose, his lumpy white Earth avatar, deep below the sand to try to pinpoint the source of the quake, but he couldn’t locate one. Or rather, the quake’s source was the entire shore of the Godsmaw. He let the avatar disint
egrate. Beside him, Hanna was still going through the motions of summoning her Earth avatar. I never thought I’d see the Elemental and Earth Invocations as antiquated and time-consuming. “Don’t bother. It’s not a true quake. It’s the water. Stay here.”

  As Calder rose into the air on his wind disc, a chorus of screams flooded the air from the streets that ran between the arena and the beach. Then they silenced abruptly.

  A split second later, Calder’s head cleared the rim a dozen strides above the dueling sand, and he saw the end of the world rushing at him. A turquoise wave of sea, undulating through the streets, swarming its way across row after row of mansions and shops, was invading Muggenhem almost faster than Calder could comprehend.

  He swiveled his head down toward Hanna and Teos. “Fly! Fly now! The Godsmaw is rising!” Terror flooded him as they began their cumbersome summoning motions. He twisted in midair to retrieve his denmates, but icy water plastered him from behind, enveloping him, destroying his wind disc, spinning him out of control. His world went blue.

  Tala...

  Curse Me All the More

  “I’m not asking you to make all the nausea go away, just enough so that I can do my job in the arena.”

  Iulan balked at Aleida’s demand as she stood before him, hands on hips. His own wife had made the exact same request, but looking back on his quick acquiescence, he found his younger self’s actions to be both impulsive and shortsighted. What if his banishment of his wife’s nausea had injured their unborn son? He’d felt guilty enough that he refused to assist with the issue during any of her other pregnancies. And how much more guilty would he feel if his actions resulted in the loss of his grandchild, the bairn that Aleida correctly insisted was a girl? He would never forgive himself. He raised his arms, palms out, ready to defend against her inevitable rush of hormonal irritation. “I canna say that I recommend it, Aleida girl. ’Tis a dangerous thing to muck aboot with the innards of a woman carrying a bairn, especially one so precious to the both of us.”

  Aleida gritted her teeth, and a wild look entered her eyes. “I’m not talking about the baby. I’m talking about me! You have far more experience with anima magic than anyone else in the empire. Do you really want to force me to hike across the border to find the nearest Tuathi clan and beg for help? What will they think of you then?”

  Iulan barked a sudden laugh and rocked his wicker chair on its uneven feet. “Och, aye, go right ahead, then. They’ll tell ye nothing more than what I’ve just said. We doona force the paths of the unborn, unless we be truly foolish.” As I once was, curse me all the more.

  Aleida turned to her husband, Murchadh. Iulan’s lanky, dark-haired son stood out of the way, wisely not taking sides between his pregnant wife and his father. Iulan had to give his son a bit of credit for that. “Are you going to take this from your father?” Aleida demanded. “You’re the one who told me he did this for your mother.”

  Murchadh cleared his throat nervously. “Aleida, love, you’re hexing.” He tipped his head toward her legs, and she and Iulan both looked down. Soft pink swirls of airborne rain misted out of nowhere and wound around Aleida’s legs like fog from the nearby swamps.

  Aleida waved her foot through the fog, shooing it away. “I wouldn’t be hexing if I didn’t feel so distressed, and I wouldn’t feel so distressed if I didn’t feel so nauseated! Is no one going to listen to me around here?”

  Before Iulan had the courage to answer Aleida, a ring of light slammed into existence beside him, and a young girl with a look of the Balangs about her leaned forward, clutching a pair of large crystals balanced on metal sticks. The Waarden palace lay behind her; the mere sight of the place set Iulan’s heart racing with fear.

  “Aleida! The Kheerzaal is under attack! I’m fetching all the Hexmates. Can you come?”

  Aleida’s glance flickered between Murchadh and Iulan, and the pink mist that had delicately swirled around her ankles slammed into a full aura around her. Her irritation blossomed into a terrible face of beauty and rage, and she stalked through the portal, not even bothering to say goodbye.

  Murchadh stumbled after her, pausing at the lip of the portal, and called, “Be careful, love!” The portal nearly snapped his nose off.

  Iulan clapped a reassuring hand on his son’s shoulder. “Doona worry, lad. That lass of yours has more strength in the twinkle of her eye than most duel dens across the empire. They called her because they need the best. If they had needed more, they would’ve emptied the duel den we’re standing in.” He drew Murchadh closer and gave him a squeeze around the shoulders as he guided him down the hallway toward the arena’s common room. “We’d best tell her Head Duelist that Aleida is going to miss that upcoming duel, then, aye?”

  Murchadh nodded. Iulan informed Head Duelist Voraan of about Aleida’s sudden departure, and it caused exactly the worry he expected. Iulan left the Head Duelist to his work, setting all his duelists on alert in case they were called to battle, and headed down the exit tunnel with his son by his side. As they stepped into the hazy sunlight, Griogair fluttered down from the top of the arena rim and landed on his shoulder—his usual perch—and squawked softly into Iulan’s ear.

  “At least Griogair doesna seem concerned,” Murchadh commented as they crossed the broad avenue and left the arena behind.

  Iulan was just about to say that communicating with Griogair was never as simple as it seemed when the creature shrieked right in his ear and took wing, wheeling in a panic around his head. The images Iulan received as he reached into the bird’s mind were chaotic, impossible.

  Behind them, the arena rumbled, sending vibrations through the earth. Iulan whirled in alarm and tried to take a breath to warn his son to run, but his lungs couldn’t find any air to inhale. Griogair hopped frantically for the distant buildings across the avenue, and Iulan grabbed his son’s sleeve in a hard fist and dragged him after the beast.

  The tremors escalated into what felt like explosions, and Iulan dared not look back, as his lungs began to ache. His anima magic had no defense against an elemental spell that stole the air. It was a lethal attack on any anima caster, but surely the den duelists behind him would be able to—

  Heat radiated against his heavy fleece overcoat, and he stumbled, skinning his palms on the macadam of the avenue. Murchadh lurched to a halt, returned, and helped Iulan to his feet. His son’s big hands pushed him on ahead.

  And still, they had not found the edge of the spell. Iulan’s chest heaved in panicked desperation for air. His eyes clung to Griogair, hoping the bird would signal him when it reached the border of the spell. Yet the hexbird seemed so far ahead: a dozen steps, an eternity.

  Iulan stumbled, his eyesight darkening around the edges. He simply did not possess enough strength left in his body to reach Griogair, and the only living being from which he could draw energy to reach it was his own son, younger, stronger, and expecting his first child. Iulan closed his eyes.

  A massive shove from behind launched him past Griogair, and he tumbled and rolled on the dusty street. Fresh air poured into his starving lungs, and he wheezed and gasped in grateful ecstasy.

  Adrenaline shot him back to his feet. His son had given him enough momentum to escape, then collapsed within the borders of the spell, unconscious from lack of air. Iulan took a deep breath and bolted back through the invisible barrier, determined to drag his savior to safety despite Griogair’s panicked squawks.

  Two steps into the spell border, and still half a dozen from Murchadh, Iulan could practically feel the weight of his son in his arms, could envision reaching safety with him, making everything all right. Then the arena across the broad avenue vanished in a cataclysm of white-hot flame.

  An invisible wave of force hurled Iulan back down the street, and he thudded painfully on his shoulder before rolling into a sprawled and gasping position more than a city block away. Again, he blessed his wife for selecting his heavy padded coat. The heat blasted down the broad street between the flat facades of the brick b
uildings.

  Feeling his hair begin to smoke, Iulan scrambled on hands and knees into a small side alley where he found half a dozen people cowering in terror.

  “What’s going on? Who’s attacking us? Did you see anything?” The others’ questions came fast and desperate, and Iulan had no answers for them. He could only feel a growing sense of chill dread, knowing that his son had been directly in the path of that blast and might not have made it to safety. Yet he dared not look around the corner of the building. Small, flaming bits of debris occasionally blasted past. Something had destroyed the arena wholly, and his anima magic was no defense against such wanton destruction. He suddenly wondered if the attackers had been waiting for Aleida to leave.

  A delicate weight settled on Iulan’s shoulder as he stared out the alley mouth at the burning street. Awnings, outdoor tables, all had been blown away like autumn leaves and now lay tangled and afire. He looked at Griogair, who appeared to have barely survived the attack, so disheveled and broken were his feathers. One leg dangled awkwardly, broken.

  Iulan felt a small burst of relief for the hexbird’s survival. Gently, he cupped the bird in his hands and worked a bit of healing, restoring his leg and repairing his burns and scrapes. Then he lifted him to eye level and fixed him with a desperate stare. “Griogair. We’re under attack. Ye need to fetch help. I canna battle this much elemental magic. Aleida’s gone to fight at the Kheerzaal. Is there anyone, anyone else ye can bring? I doona know what these enemies want, but we’ll all die unless ye save us. Please.”

  Griogair tilted his head to the side, fixed Iulan with a beady gaze, then gave a quiet croak. He took wing and flashed away down the alley, staying out of the blasting heat. The muscles in Iulan’s hands clenched as the bird winged away. Whether the bird could bring any help or not, his only concern was his son. It was never right for a parent to lose a child, and all he could think of was how he wished he had simply taken over his son’s body, anathema as such an act would be, and marched him straight out of the air-stealing spell to safety. Then he might still live, and Iulan would not have to suffer the crushing guilt and uncertainty that consumed him.