Prodigal Steelwielder (Seals of the Duelists Book 3)

by Jasmine Giacomo

  Bayan sat and crossed his legs, pressing his hands against the cool grass in an effort to feel more connected to the ground. “But what does that have to do with me?”

  From the golden pond sprang a dozen dwarf horses that pranced and leapt around Bayan, their high voices whinnying. One of them stopped, laid a tiny hoof atop one of Bayan’s hands, and spoke. “I was once what you now call Balanganese.”

  “And I’m to become like you?”

  “If you wish it. More is possible than you think. I dare not tell you all, as your first footfall has not yet landed in your journey of a thousand leagues. But understand this, little brother. You will have this journey. The footprints of those who have gone before you are lost, and you will have to find your own path. But the path will appear, and you will take it. That is your destiny.”

  Part of Bayan bristled at the thought of a fixed future. “Why?”

  “Your babies call you master.”

  “I don’t have any babies. Are you telling me I’m going to have lots of children?”

  The miniature horse shook its sparkling mane. “You are everyone’s master. To know it is to claim it.”

  “Is this to do with the coming war?”

  “If you want it to, then yes.”

  Bayan shook his head. “That’s not actually as helpful as you may think it is. If my journey is an inevitable one, why did you bother to bring me here?”

  The ponies crumbled into fragments that became flower petals, coating the small hill in the sky with pink, yellow, and blue glory. The petals moved in chorus, and a thousand voices spoke in nodding unison. “Nostalgia. The first Balang to show the promise of understanding is worthy of noting.”

  Bayan squeezed the grass in his fists. What did I do recently? Why is he talking to me now and not yesterday? “Doc Theo.”

  “You crafted a singer.”

  “But that’s just hexmagic. The empire has had plenty of hexmages before now.”

  The flowers rustled. “But none of them were Balanganese. You see? You mean much, but you mean even more to me. The circle closes.”

  Bayan still wasn’t sure what exactly was going on, but if some strange, eternal being from ancient Balanganam thought he was worthy of something, he wouldn’t admit he wasn’t. “In that case, do you have any advice for me for the future?”

  The flower petals swirled upward and reformed the golden being. Golden irises flared as it bent close. “Embrace that big picture you are always chasing, Bayan Lualhati. My reality and your reality are one, but to me, your eyes are nearly closed. Be aware that the consequences of your actions will bring you a new and ancient enemy. And far more than merely your Waarden Empire will be at stake.”

  “And if I don’t act at all?”

  “Perhaps that would be a blessing. Not one which I would bestow, but one you may later wish you had instead.” The being gazed across the dreamlike landscape. The small grass hill wafted in one direction, while tall, distant gray mountains capped with snow drifted the other way. Except for the snow, they looked suspiciously like Sannat and Senwat in northern Balanganam. The being pointed to them. “Sometimes, even I get homesick. Go with Bhattara, young master.”

  Bayan felt his new body melt, and the grass softened beneath his feet. His new body peeled away from his consciousness, and he slithered out the bottom. He fell and fell and fell, and all around him, the dark sky was bright with unfading firedust flowers and swirls of smoke in gloriously colored layers. His surroundings abruptly became quiet, misty. He watched the black-bright paradise receding above him. He fell, and the wind whipped at his hair and his clothing, which felt thankfully familiar.

  Surely, he should have landed on something by now.

  His back slammed onto something hard and warm that knocked the breath from him. Miraculously, he wasn’t hurt. He had his body back, too. He raised his hands and stared at them. They looked the same as they had yesterday. Even his clothing, dirty and smudged with Kheerzaal smoke, was familiar. What was new was the smell in the air: tropical forests, dead leaves, runrock, and the sweet aroma of seerwine pitcher nectar. He heard the rising murmur of a small crowd somewhere below him. Bayan finally turned his head. The crowns of several trees rose above him, obscuring much of the bright blue sky. The edge of a runrock cliff fell away just past his elbow. With a start, he knew exactly where he was. He wasn’t sure, though, why he had an audience.

  He rolled to his hands and knees and peeked over the edge of Gamay’s rock. Below, to his surprise, he saw his little brother, Mindo, wearing a flat-topped white hat and holding his arms out as if to protect a dozen people or so from Bayan’s sudden appearance.

  “Bayan?” Mindo cried.

  A red glow filled Bayan’s vision. For a second, he feared he was seriously injured and had only now realized it. The light moved, and a chill danced up his spine. There’s a sint living in Gamay’s rock? When did that happen? Ay, Bhattara. He jabbed his fingers straight into the light in an accusatory manner. “You just back off, glow bug. I don’t have time for your territorial games. You know where I’ve just been? Now, put me down with my brother.”

  The red glow hesitated for a long moment as if deciding whether to comply with the demands of a mere mortal. Then Bayan felt himself lifted by sheer nothingness and deposited next to Mindo. The watching crowd, apparently petitioners, clapped in appreciation. Bayan focused on his brother’s face. “Greetings, Mindo. I guess I’m back. Is Father home?”

  Mindo lifted his chin a fraction. “I believe so, Duelist Bayan. Has the sint brought you back home for a reason?”

  For a moment, Bayan was confused by Mindo’s question, but once he figured out that Mindo meant the red sint above, he suddenly wondered if the Balanganese being he had just been with wasn’t some form of sint as well. If he and I are on the same journey, then I really am back at step number one. “I’m not sure yet. But I need to get back to the Academy. Are there any singers here?”

  Mindo shook his head. “There is a swift caravan service and an express coach now. But it’s going to take you a long time to get to your Academy from here either way. You could ask my sint to send you.”

  Mindo’s words carried a tone of importance, and that funny hat seemed to indicate he was speaker for the sint or possibly for those who came to beg its favors. “I’m not asking your employer for anything just now. I’m going to see Father.”

  Mindo crossed his thin arms. “As you want it. I won’t be able to join you until I have spoken to Sint Aalthas for today’s petitioners. And I’m afraid that, if you change your mind and do wish to ask the sint for help, it will cost you five days of farm labor the same as everyone else.”

  Bayan managed to avoid laughing aloud, but just barely. He tipped his head at his little brother. “It looks like you’re following much more closely in father’s footsteps than I ever did. I wish you Bhattara’s favor with the sint.”

  Mindo’s eyes widened, and he straightened his back. “Sint Aalthas doesn’t like us to mention Bhattara here. I ask that you respect that.”

  Bayan snorted. “I will not. Maybe you should look to your sint’s jealousy problem. I’ll be up at the house.”

  Bayan stalked up a broad stone walkway that had been embedded in the jungle floor since his departure three years back. He glanced back more than once on his way up the gentle slope, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that a sint had moved into Balanganam. Not only that, but it had claimed his brother as a mouthpiece. Bayan wasn’t sure which he found more offensive.

  Finally, he sighed and shook his mind free of the strange situation. I’ll deal with my brother and the sint later. Right now, I need to get back to the Academy. If it’s not under attack yet, it will be soon, and I need to be there. Not for the emperor, not for the students, not for the teachers, not for anyone in this empire. I need to stand on that soil again and defend it against my enemies, and I need to do it for me. One more battle to avenge myself. That’s all I ask.

  Advanced Potioneer
ing

  Eward stepped through Tala’s portal onto the Academy campus. He hoped no other strange magical effects would make off with his hexmates this time. Tala, Calder, Aleida, Sivutma, and Bas had returned to campus with him, and he didn’t want to be without the skills and knowledge of any one of them. Leaving Sivutma to a combination of fawning over Aleida’s newfound power and making sure she hadn’t gone completely insane, Eward dragged Odjin into Doc’s office in the Chantery. He pulled the hard little flask from his pocket and held it out. “This might help us against the Corona casters if you can figure out how it works.”

  Odjin took the small vial with care. “This had some kind of magic liquid inside?”

  Eward shook his head. “Honestly, I have no idea. It could be sint blood for all I know. But you are the resident potion expert, and you’re also a hexmage. What d’you think of it?”

  Odjin crafted a small light in midair and held the bottle up against it. “It’s not translucent. An opaque bottle usually means sunlight could affect the contents, just like our potions.” He closed his eyes and wafted the small vial beneath his nostrils. “Seems to be steel with some kind of cork stopper. It smells a little spicier than our cork, but it’s definitely bark from a similar tree.”

  Eward tensed as Odjin lifted the stopper from the bottle. He had shaken it when he first found it on one of the casters’ corpses, and it had sounded empty. But since he didn’t know what he was up against, the act of unstoppering an enemy weapon made his heart pound.

  Odjin sniffed the open bottle, this time with his eyes closed. “Interesting. Very interesting.”

  “What do you smell?”

  “One of the first things they teach us in potioneering is how to tell if our ratios are off. With time, we learn to manage that test by smell alone instead of using the laborious paper-testing process. We’re not allowed to taste the product, after all. What I smell here is familiar. Cloves, cinnamon, citrus, cumin, Akrestan kelp. I think there could even be some seawater in here.”

  Eward felt frustration heating the back of his eyeballs. “But what does that mean? What does that tell you about their magic?”

  Odjin tipped his head to the side, unwilling to commit to a firm answer. “I’ll tell you my first impression if that helps.”

  “It absolutely does.”

  “It tells me I’ve been misunderstanding that ancient book on duelism for the past two years.”

  Eward blinked. “What?”

  Odjin tapped the empty bottle against his open palm. “There’s a line in the text, toward the back of the book, regarding the origin of potioneer recipes. It says that the earliest concoctions predate even duelism. They were taught to the first potioneers by a wanderer who showed up one day with ‘a visage bathed in sunset.’ I always thought that meant he was Shawnash. But now I think I’m supposed to take that literally. He arrived at sunset. It was shining on his face because he had walked from the east. Do you see what this means? Potioneering is a Corona invention. They taught us how to do it millennia ago, and that’s why they’re still better at it than we are.” He waggled the bottle. “Their potions are so advanced, they can use them to do elemental spells and bypass duelism entirely.”

  Eward goggled. “Are you saying that absolutely anyone can learn to do magic in the Corona?”

  Odjin shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible. From what Sabella said, I suppose duelists are considered a rare species in the Corona, simply outnumbered by those who use potions to cast spells. That’s why their emperor controls an army that spits magic and why Bayan was relegated to the circus.”

  Eward went cold. The Corona could artificially create an entire army of casters who had no inherent talent whatsoever. And that was on top of their steelwielders. “How are we supposed to defend against steel and potions?”

  Odjin laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Calm down, Eward. You came to me for advice, and I’ll give it to you.” His other hand raised the steel vial. “Who better than a hexmagic potioneer to work backward to the recipe and then test it? I’m guessing, by its contents, that it is closely related to several of our Water spells. Once I determine the correct proportions, the spell should work.”

  Eward clapped Odjin’s shoulder in return. “Are you telling me that you can create spit-potions for us to use against the Corona casters?”

  Again, Odjin bobbled his head to the side. “In theory, yes. In quantity, probably not. Even if I borrowed all the singers from the temple, I don’t think that the Potioneers Savant could make enough for all of the duelists to have even one vial apiece. And that’s not counting all the other potions the Corona casters carried. I’m afraid this experiment of mine is not much more than a theoretical exercise. That said, if you can bring me some more vials, even broken ones, I should be able to tease out the ingredients between my nose and a bit of clever Wood magic. I might need a hex of potioneers, but I believe I can unpack as many recipes as you can bring me.”

  Hope flared along Eward’s skin, bright and hard. “Odjin, it’s like you never left.” Odjin grinned, a rare true smile that erased the hard lines from around his eyes. “I suddenly feel like I might survive the day, and that is a very good feeling, indeed.”

  Steel and Madness

  “If you would please come with me, duelists.” The scruffy Elemental Duelist, no more than five years older than they, barely met Taban’s eye and avoided looking at Tarin altogether. Instead, he seemed to address his request to the floor at their feet. “The emperor has need of your skills.”

  Tarin and Taban exchanged a wry glance. “I suppose we are the closest hexmages, aye?” Taban murmured. It was the only reason the emperor would seek them out after what had happened to Bayan.

  Might as well see what the curly-haired man wants.

  When the duelist led him and Tarin deep underground into the wine cellar where the emperor had set up temporary command, it took Taban a moment to make sense of the loud chaos around him. Literally hundreds of wine bottles lay shattered on the floor, their wine draining into improvised open holes shot straight through the floor by impatient Earth magic. Empty racks lay as discarded wreckage in the corners of the room, and new Earthcasting had created alcoves that were crammed with scribes and occasionally illuminated by the white rings of singers’ portals. Since he could see over the top of her head, Taban let Tarin go first as they followed behind the duelist. He led them down the broad wooden stairs, between two separate groups of arguing nobility—some of whom still bore wounds or bloody clothing from the battle—and into the center of the room, where the emperor sat on a makeshift throne formed from extruded granite flagstones.

  Emperor Jaap paused in his furious contemplation, complete with a white-knuckled grip on the arms of his chair, and stood, wearing his bland, official expression. “I have a special task for you. We have every reason to believe that the Duelist Academy will be the Corona’s next target, if it isn’t already. I’m putting Singer Tala Salunga at your disposal. She will portal you to retrieve something for me, then transport it to the Academy to aid in its defense. I suggest you gather whomever you need to guard it, and do so quickly. We have less than no time to lose, and the empire’s entire defensive force is at stake.”

  Tarin tipped her head in what Taban recognized as her Irrationally Curious Expression. “And what is it you want us to be retrieving, then?”

  The emperor stepped down from the small dais surrounding his chair and leaned close. “Not what. Who. The one man who loved the empire so much that he wanted to make it better by taking my place. Misguided, perhaps insane, but no less loyal for all that.”

  Taban’s heart paused for a moment of sheer terror then thumped heavily to catch up. “Sire, you canna be serious. You want us to let him out, de-potioneer him, and hope he attacks the Corona casters instead of us? You are aware, Sire, that I was one of the duelists who battled him in that underground dome. I canna say he’ll be anywhere near pleased to see me again.”

  The emp
eror’s dark eyes snapped to Taban’s, and for a moment, despite all the magic at his disposal, Taban was mesmerized by the vast power those eyes commanded. “I have no one else to send. It must be you.” He gave an imperious flick of his fingers, and Tala trotted over from a nearby alcove. “Take these duelists to Ignaas witten Oost. Follow their instructions. When you have delivered them to the Duelist Academy, return to the Temple of Ten Thousand Harmonies and bring to campus as many singers as you can. We’ll make our stand at the Academy, because if we lose our duelists, we lose our empire. And I will not let that happen.” His iron gaze shifted back to Taban. “I will use everything at my disposal—everything, mind you—to protect this empire from foreign onslaught. Now go. The latest reports haven’t yet spotted any invaders, but they could arrive at any moment. It seems they have portal magic and can attack from anywhere.”

  “Aye, Sire.”

  The emperor turned away to address waiting nobles’ concerns, and Taban found Tala looking at him expectantly. “Are you ready?” she asked.

  “Nae, but let’s go anyway.”

  Tala began to sing right there next to the emperor’s makeshift throne. Her portal snapped open, and on the far side waited a dismal gray stone corridor. Taban looked at Tarin, who shrugged and popped a small flame into place near the ceiling.

  Tarin stepped through first. Tala gestured for Taban to pass ahead of her, then she followed. She closed the portal with a clasp of her crystals, leaving them in a chilly, uncomfortable location. Taban wasn’t sure how far underground he was, but it was definitely too far. He fought the urge to drill a few air holes upward with his Earth and Wind hexlings, just to be on the safe side.

  Tarin started down the corridor, and her light went with her, so Taban quick-stepped to catch up. “I don’t see any doors. Where is he?” she asked.