Prodigal Steelwielder (Seals of the Duelists Book 3)

by Jasmine Giacomo

Baring his teeth, Calder yanked his seawater hexling into a vast lake that distorted the sunlight. He wrested it into position above the sloping hillside above the enemy’s advancing force. Then he dropped it. Letting go of his control, Calder veered aside as the deluge rained down. It landed with such force that large swaths of the hillside were completely stripped of trees, men, and even soil. Bare bedrock lay exposed in ragged strips. The first water to fall scoured its way across the valley floor and flew into midair over the top of the hills that separated the enemy camp from the neighboring village, hurling screaming men into the forested hillside. And still the water fell.

  A few frantic spells shot upward, redirecting or evaporating some of the incoming flood, but none of them found Calder. Oh, they have casters with them, aye? Even better. Best not let them have a second round of spells.

  Calder grasped his hexling seawater with his mind, identifying it, understanding it as an entity of Water. Then he shifted it to Flame. Everything touched by water crisped in an instant, coruscating with living fire that consumed everything it touched. No pretty orange campfires for these steelwielders, no. Calder brought searing blue flame—his personal nemesis—to life. The azure death turned the valley to glass and ash in mere heartbeats. Voices screamed in unison, thousands of throats burned out at once. Then, they went silent.

  Calder circled the edges of the army and mercilessly smacked escaping soldiers back into the fire with viny Wood whips. Lifeseeker helped him hunt down and kill a good dozen frantic escapees, but once they were consumed—too quick a death by half—only the flames remained. Even the casters had succumbed to his infernal blue items. Calder rose above the smoking valley and nodded. No one beats a Flame Savant at Flamecasting.

  He extinguished his Water-to-Flame hexling, but he let the smoke rise into the sky as a warning. The blue fire had spilled over the crown of the hills and burned some of the trees on the slope leading down to the village, but no one had been harmed, and their wood supply was in no way endangered.

  Aye, well, you’re welcome, I suppose. He gave them a full-arm wave of assurance before veering westward.

  With Tala and his hexmates occupied, there was nothing for Calder to do but fly his way toward the heart of the empire. For all he knew, he would arrive too late to help defend the Kheerzaal. I shouldna have to save absolutely everyone’s arses in one day. My hexmates would never live down the shame. Although, like Tala said, I could do with my own holiday. It would be nice to have one day off.

  Stolen Revenge

  Emperor Baltanarmo stood with the muted crash of the sea at his back and looked down as the horizontal steel panels, already beginning to rust from salt exposure, were winched open. He’d had the heavy plates installed in the seaside prison house to test their durability, but it was not unpleasant to see them used on the father of their creation. Sarantis cowered at the bright sunlight and backed toward the far wall of his rough-hewn cell, where the incoming tide was shallower.

  Baltanarmo grinned at the courtiers standing in a row along one edge of the hole, not wanting to risk falling in but avoiding the grimy wall for the sake of their silks. The emperor adopted a hearty tone that echoed in the small upper chamber. “You still live. Good! And how are you enjoying your prolonged stay in the Corona? Your guards inform me that you find our seafood most palatable. Are you partial to our rock-dwelling eels, or do you prefer the feistiness of our spiny crustaceans?”

  Sarantis’s voice was raspy from salt and disuse. “Go take a goat horn up your arse.”

  “Apparently, a little privation strips the thin veneer of class from even the most dedicated Karkhedonian merchant.” Baltanarmo tipped his head and studied his prisoner, now reduced to filthy, salt-stiff rags, wild hair, and nails ragged from catching his own meals as they wandered into the cell. He fingered his golden silk cape before continuing. “My campaign proceeds apace. It is not without setbacks, for, as you said, the Waarden duelists wield great power. But success will soon be mine.”

  Sarantis’s eyes burned in the dimness. “I pray your bitch is amongst the dead.”

  Baltanarmo forced a laugh. Zahira hadn’t died in any fighting, but Ly Ronardo and his entire force had been reduced to ash before they could strike their target. Baltanarmo mourned the loss of his friend deeply but privately. His court didn’t deserve to see his grief, and so much less did his prisoner.

  He must have paused too long before replying, because Sarantis continued. “She has manipulated you. Perhaps you don’t know. Perhaps you don’t care. Either way, this empire isn’t yours. It’s hers. And you, your court, and all your people are hers to play with. This war you’re attempting to wage is hers. She stole it from me! Your bitch is a common little thief. Treacherous man though you are, I warn you to watch your back and your crown. She’ll stab the first and steal the second. I’m only here because she convinced you to hate me and get me out of her way. She has stolen my revenge! Mine!”

  Baltanarmo felt his cheeks stiffen. His courtiers hushed. His heart thrummed with a chant of Kill him, kill him. Reluctantly, he refused the Karkhedonian’s bait. “My good Sarantis. Isos, if I may style you so intimately. I hear your pleas for the mercy of a quick death, but alas, I cannot comply. I know what you did, you see. I have always known. And this has always been your fate.”

  Sarantis lost control, tugging at his frizzy gray locks and kicking madly as the next incoming wave washed around his shins. “Fool! You blind, bumbling moron! She came to me! She insisted I lie with her, said it was the only way to know if she could trust me and the advice I offered you. I swear it on my life! I thought it was just one more of your insane customs!” Abruptly, he stopped shouting and crouched in the water. He covered his face with his hands and rocked back and forth.

  “The poor old man is going lunatic,” a courtier murmured.

  Baltanarmo tsked. Madness was half an escape but still better than a swift death. He gathered the delicate folds of his cape in one hand. “I believe I am done being insulted for today, Sarantis. I shall not visit again.” He twitched the fingers on his free hand, and a pair of guards began winching the steel plates together. As the metal rumbled and occasionally squealed in protest, Sarantis’s screams echoed hauntingly before cutting off.

  Turning to Magic

  It was one thing to take down rogue foreign casters, Bayan thought, but another entirely to face, after two years, the man who had once been his friend before exiling him for saving his life. Several beads on Bayan’s necklace warmed as he approached Emperor Jaap. The slender, curly-haired ruler of the Waarden stood across the forum, surrounded by more than a score of duelists and a handful of singers who had fetched them from nearby duel dens.

  Bayan stopped before the emperor, flanked by his former hexmates. Another sort of battle entirely.

  If the emperor noticed that Bayan failed to bow, he did not show it. Someone had brought Jaap new attire, of course, so he appeared fresh and relatively clean compared to Doc Theo and the other nearby survivors. “I understand that I have you to thank for my survival. Again.” His last word forced its way through stiff lips.

  Bayan merely waited, focusing on his necklace, weaving emotions into a rope of strength so they didn’t strangle him. Or the emperor.

  Jaap shifted his weight and blinked. “I am also told that you collectively and individually used exceptional magics not commonly associated with avatar duelists. Though your approach in hiding the true extent of your skills is unorthodox, I applaud your restraint, for it has benefited the empire. Now, we may acknowledge your proper ranking, after having you tested, of course, as Hexmagic Duelists.” His eyes roamed over everyone except Bayan.

  Tarin stepped past Bayan’s shoulder. Tendrils of steam rose from her hair, shifted quickly to thick smoke, then full, glorious flame. Bayan’s eyebrows raised, and he took a step back from the radiant heat engulfing her head. The emperor took a step back as well, while his duelists took a unified step forward.

  With her head wreathed in living f
lames, Tarin spoke. “Coward. You look at Bayan when you speak to us. He is one of us, and he always will be. You owe him more lives than you possess, yet still you hide behind your office, behind your laws! Your father would be ashamed of you.”

  Emperor Jaap’s eyes widened with indignation. Bayan put a hand on Tarin’s shoulder, mindful of her flaming tresses. “It’s all right,” he told her. “When I was a citizen of this empire, I chose to follow the emperor’s rules. I’m not a citizen anymore, so I’m not bound by his laws any longer.” He let his eyes drift to the emperor.

  Emperor Jaap grasped Bayan’s meaning. “Avatar Duelist Tarin is correct. I owe you my life more times than you have broken the rules of the empire. I don’t believe it would be fair to continue to punish you for a past offense when you have so gallantly come to the defense of me and mine, unbound as you are by any Waarden laws or traditions. Such actions show me your will and your heart.” In a louder voice, he continued. “Henceforth, let it be known across the length and breadth of all lands under my care that Bayan Lualhati is officially and for all time restored to the Waarden Empire as a full citizen, with all the benefits and accolades befitting his rank of Avatar Duelist. He shall receive his second tattoo, and if he so wishes, he may test for the rank of Hexmagic Duelist along with his former hexmates. And I shall see to it that each of you receive yet another battle pennant for your efforts here.”

  The emperor nodded and turned away. A paltry circle of scribes and courtiers guided Jaap across the ruined forum.

  “Are you going to let him do that to you?” Tarin asked.

  Kiwani shot her a dark look. “You mean, is he going to forget old troubles and not order us to kill Bayan on the spot? Yes, a terrible decision.”

  Taban snorted a laugh. “Oi. Pennants. Remember?”

  “I’m going to make mine turn pink.” Aleida grinned.

  Eward held up his hands for peace. “Wait a moment. We don’t know what Bayan’s been through. It’s his decision whether to accept the emperor’s offer or not, no matter how much Jaap thinks it’s already happened. Bayan?”

  Bayan looked, really looked, at his old friends. Alive and well, and powerful. His heart ached to see Calder. Soon. “I do appreciate his generous decision not to force me to fight you all at once, no matter why he made it. Considering what we did to the Kheerzaal when we were all on the same side, I’d hate to see what we’d do to the countryside of Helderaard Province fighting against each other.”

  “You always were too bloody practical for your own good, Bayan.” Tarin gave him a brusque kiss on the cheek, then pushed his head away. Kiwani glared at her. She wrinkled her nose at Kiwani.

  A nervous scribe even shorter than Bayan tapped him on the elbow. “The emperor would like a short word, if it please you, Duelist.”

  Kiwani leaned in close and whispered, “Be nice, Bayan.”

  Bayan stifled his first response—Why should I?—and followed the scribe toward the nearest intact building.

  The squat, white marble building had survived the battle with only minor damage to its columns and open portico. Within, it seemed to be an artifact storeroom, with narrow doors and strides of shelving. Several duelists still surrounded the emperor, but Jaap paid them no mind, busy dictating to several scribes simultaneously. Jaap waved Bayan forward with an imperious twitch of his fingers, and Bayan felt his ire rise. Now that I’m welcomed back, I’m simply another dog to command. Maybe I was better off being in exile after all.

  The emperor seemed to lose his high-mindedness. His dark eyes scanned the floor for an answer, and Bayan dared not guess at the question. “I’ve just been informed that my sons have survived the attack, but Empress Femke has not.”

  Bayan blinked, then uttered the standard imperial condolence. “My sympathies on your loss.”

  Jaap shifted in his makeshift throne and rested an elbow on its arm. He let out a measured breath. “According to a scribe who witnessed the event, the enemy casters’ blasts struck with little warning. My wife ordered the two women assisting in her escape to protect the boys. Then she let the flames take her.”

  Bayan frowned and waited for the rest.

  Jaap sighed again. “She was my political link to the Hexmate supporters. Through her, I could keep rebellion from being a viable option. The problem, you see, is that she actually took their side against me.”

  Bayan gently delved the emperor’s mind. “You believe she died to spite you.”

  The emperor’s dark eyes flashed. “Of course she did! She saved my sons in hopes that I had died, and they would replace me. The irony that two subjects loyal to me died to further her cause is salt in my wound, Bayan. A caravan security owner and a chanter in her employ. I believe you were acquainted with them both: Imee Magittang and Azhni Bikonya.”

  Several of Bayan’s beads flared. “Imee? Imee is dead?”

  “Even in death, Femke hopes to unbalance my power. But she will fail because I have you.” Jaap’s smile was cold. Bayan clenched his teeth. Not wanting to be the only negotiator suffering a weakness, the emperor had made sure Bayan knew he had also lost someone in the battle. Jaap continued in a brisker tone as if nothing had happened. “Tell me, Bayan, of the Corona. From your viewpoint, what are its politics? Do you know its emperor’s mind?”

  Impervious to the hard stares of the other duelists, Bayan leaned against a nearby door frame and promised his anger its moment. “I honestly have no idea. I lived at a circus, not the imperial court. I spent my days with freaks and oddities, mutated magic users and contortionists. The closest brush I had with politics was when Yl Senyecho burned down one of his own smelteries and planted a fake duelist’s body on the scene to implicate you. Unless you ordered that display yourself, against Philo’s advice?”

  Jaap twitched his head toward one of the scribes, who bent over his portable slate and scribbled furiously. “Yl Senyecho faked a duelism attack? You were there?”

  “I was. One of the Corona’s valios is forbidden to use magic for any task, and it’s the only valio that’s allowed to craft steel. The citizens there are supposed to be grateful that they’re allowed to serve by performing such a vaunted task, but they see it as a punishment. They’ve begun rebelling. A war would give his empire unity and make steel a glorious commodity, so he faked the Waarden attack. The Coronàles are coming. And I don’t know how to stop them.”

  Jaap’s brown brows lowered. “I need more than that if I am to defend my borders, Bayan. It is your duty to serve me by protecting my people.”

  Bayan offered the emperor’s chilly smile back to him. “Yes, because you can’t defend yourself. And you can’t let a duelist decide when and where to use his magic. You need me to understand my place. I see your rules, Jaap. That doesn’t mean I have to like them. You didn’t used to be this draconian toward your people.”

  Emperor Jaap flicked his fingers toward the door. Everyone, including the imperial duelists, filed out silently, leaving Bayan alone with the emperor. “It was a mistake to exile you so swiftly. Things became difficult after you left, and I took a stronger grip on the reins of the empire in order to maintain control. I told you a few years ago that I was still learning how to be an emperor. Well, my lessons are now complete. The empire comes first, and those who serve it come second. We are nothing if we are not united and strong, and I will do whatever it takes to ensure that we remain so.”

  Bayan wasn’t sure how much Philo had told Jaap about the ancient learnings from the lost book of duelism, but he was pretty certain that the emperor had heard some of it and decided to ignore it entirely. “You’re anchoring the empire to its own present moment. Your duelists could be so much more, but you aren’t letting that knowledge out. Is that the real reason you exiled me? Because I discovered lost secrets, and you knew I wouldn’t ever be content again under your thumb? Well, it’s true. I’m not. You are keeping your strongest allies, your most important citizens, those who defend everyone else, in the dark. You are hampering their ability to defen
d you by keeping secrets from them.”

  Jaap stepped forward until he loomed over Bayan. “Don’t you dare speak to me about who deserves what. If I let the duelists run amok with their magic, it will cause chaos. Separatist groups will feel free to join with the duelists and hold cities, even provinces, with their own self-demanded rights because they have magic. I believe you encountered someone like that—what was his name—Ignaas witten Oost.” He offered Bayan a tight smile that held no warmth. “No. I need to keep the duelists exactly where they are. The system serves everyone well.”

  Several beads heated. “No, it does not. It’s a complete disservice to our history. They at least deserve to know what they used to be. They should be free to study if they want to, or to remain within your system if they like. You choosing for them is unfair.”

  The emperor’s cold eyes glittered in the half-light. “Bayan, you aren’t listening. I’m telling you the way it’s going to be. I believe you still have family in Pangusay. I’d hate for their lives to become more difficult because you won’t cooperate with the rules.”

  Without thinking, without even bothering to use his magic, Bayan shoved the emperor back with his fingertips.

  The emperor skittered back a couple of steps, then stopped and glared indignantly at Bayan.

  “That’s right, I touched you. Don’t you dare threaten my family. Not after everything you’ve done to everyone I love.”

  The emperor barked a command to the duelists waiting outside. The late-afternoon sunlight from the doorway stretched across the floor, but Bayan felt a sudden coldness within his soul. The world went thin, then dark, and he felt himself sliding out of his arms and legs like shedding a skin. A burst of panic reeled through him. The cetechupes are killing me! But he was already helpless.

  ***

  Kiwani dashed forward at the sound of the emperor’s sudden cry. She blew imperial duelists out of her way and entered the room with her hexmates on her heels. Half expecting Bayan to be pinning the emperor against the wall with Tegen’s Grave, she was baffled to see that Bayan was the incapacitated one. He lay sprawled on the floor, his arms and legs askew. The emperor stood across the room, chin high, crossed arms tucked into his sleeves.