Prodigal Steelwielder (Seals of the Duelists Book 3)

by Jasmine Giacomo

  A cloud of wariness scudded across Ignaas’s eyes. Kiwani and Eward parted, letting him pass between them on his way to the door of his old office. He opened it, stepped onto the lip of stone that bordered Eward’s crevasse, and paused. He spoke without looking back. “Thank you.” Then he was gone, borne into the sky by his Wind avatar.

  Eward’s brows were loaded with mistrust. “Do you even know what he’s going to do?”

  Kiwani still stared at the empty doorway. “Don’t you remember the prophecy he claimed was given him by a sint? That someday he would shine like the sun? I just gave him a chance at that shining moment. One way or another, Ignaas witten Oost is headed for the history books. He knows this campus better than anyone alive, even us. He’s spent decades perfecting tricks and sneak attacks. And no one can—”

  A harsh light flooded the ruined landscape and rapidly intensified. Kiwani glanced up and cast her magics skyward, knowing Eward did the same. Truth blossomed with sudden, terrible clarity.

  “That overly literal bastard,” Kiwani whispered.

  No time. Exactly no time at all. Her world was ending. Sound ended; all was light.

  She knew she was screaming, but she couldn’t hear herself. Lifeseeker dotted the white canvas of her existence with endless thousands of pulsing lives, and she gathered the scattered defenders from the myriad invaders. They spiraled downward after her, slipping amongst the limestone, always a heartbeat ahead of the burning nothingness that devoured her reality.

  ***

  Bayan staggered back in utter shock at the eyelid-ignoring blast that consumed the mountain. In that moment, the master spirits slipped free from Bayan’s mind and faded into peace. He grasped Calder's arm before his friend could fish out that accursed walnut. “No, wait.”

  Calder goggled at him. “Aye, sure, the green spirits were your doing, and well done you, but the mountain’s exploding, you great stupid idiot. I need to throw my sint at it.”

  “Quit panicking, and use Lifeseeker like a sensible hexmage.”

  Calder stared toward the mountain, and his shoulders slumped in relief. He’d seen what Bayan had already discovered: the number of glows deep within the roots of the mountain had nearly doubled, though more than half of its height had gone incandescent.

  Alarm painted his face a moment later, and he hurled a shield between the light and him and Bayan. “Need to make this stretch around. Since you won’t let me play with my new toy, I’ll need you to lend me your twinkly bits.”

  Bayan obligingly bonded with him. He felt Calder wrap a hexling shield of Wind and Shock around the entirety of the blazing mountain. “What did you sense?”

  Calder looked at him as if he’d grown a second head, then his expression cleared. “I forget you don’t have the sensitivity of a Flame Savant when it comes to explosions. There’s something poisonous about that inferno up there. Look, even those hazy clouds are running away from it. Canna let such poison spread through the air or get into the soil.” He gave Bayan a speculative look. “Did you feel the, ah…”

  Bayan nodded.

  Calder frowned. He squinted up at the inferno. “You think it was, you know…”

  Bayan nodded again.

  Calder twitched his head to the side. “Good riddance to the bastard then, says I.”

  Bayan shook his head and grinned. “Just don’t let him have more pages in the history books than you do.”

  Calder looked affronted. “It’s as if you don’t know me at all, Bayan Lualhati.”

  The warmth of friendship flooded their magic bond, but a voice interrupted. “You’re more resourceful than I give you credit for, Bayan. But I can do this longer than you can.”

  An unfamiliar woman, middle aged and wiry, with a winemark on her left cheek and gnarled knuckles, stood a short distance away next to a listing, ancient wall.

  “And who are you when you’re at home and all?” Calder asked.

  The woman smiled, showing even teeth around a gap where one had gone missing. “One guess.”

  Wariness flickered across Bayan’s bond with Calder, who offered Bayan control. He used it to poke everything he had at her, but she seemed to possess nothing but humanity. She shifted to her other foot and tipped her chin down. Bayan’s eyes widened as he recognized the raised eyebrow and open invitation in the woman’s faded blue eyes. “Sabella.”

  The part of his mind where Calder existed filled with alarm, incredulity, and wariness.

  “Did you miss me?” she purred, posing to exaggerate her plump hips and sagging bosom.

  Calder's revulsion rapidly dwarfed his other emotions.

  Bayan forced the heat from his beads. “And here I thought you were nothing more then a skilled anima caster hiding your talents so that you could alter my memories for your own benefit. How little credit I gave you.”

  “Oh, I certainly benefited, indeed. You have quite the knack for the intimate application of magic, cazan. But I acted for my empire’s benefit, in the main. As you see.” She waved a hand toward the glowing mountaintop. “And I shall continue to will hundreds of thousands of steelwielders into existence every time you manage to kill them off.”

  Calder barked a relieved laugh. “I knew you couldna have that many soldiers in the Corona. I knew it!”

  The middle-aged farm wife smiled. “You don’t have that many traitor singers either. I simply copied the one we captured and left one of her corpses behind to fool your singers.”

  Calder shot an agonized glance toward the campus, and Bayan had to mentally repress his friend’s sudden nausea. Fury radiated along the bond as Calder said, “You allowed dozens of Sanaalas to be tortured and mistreated into subservience? Even Ignaas only buried one Aleida, and she was asleep the whole time!”

  Sabella’s new face exhibited only indifference for Calder's rage. “Soon, I must away to my precious Balti. I promised him the gift of an empire, after all. And after centuries of fidelity to the Corona’s rulers, I shall not disappoint mine now.”

  Despite Sabella’s hateful actions, Bayan felt a desperate surge of curiosity. “Why did you leave the Waarden Empire? Why switch your allegiance?”

  “Form dictates function. I’m surprised you haven’t figured that out yet, between your precious Sint Kah and that madman in Calder's pocket.”

  “But you chose humanity. Like Calder's madman, your form was your weakness. That’s why your eyes were damaged when Ordomiro portaled us.”

  Sabella’s shrug was dismissive. “I caught the end of his spell. My eyes were the price of keeping watch on you. And you took such good care of weak little me. You know nothing. You’re not even children yet. You are ants.” Calder huffed contemptuously. “Ants follow the path. Traitors turn their back on it.”

  “You managed to step off the path long enough to save yourself from the rising tide.”

  Calder's scar twitched. “How did you—Were you—”

  Sabella made a low, amused hum. “Some of us still like to talk. The Godsmaw was more than happy to oblige me.”

  “He drowned thousands of people! You bloody—”

  “Hate me all you like, Calder Micarron, in what little time you have left.” Sabella’s gaze flicked past Bayan and Calder. Lifeseeker told Bayan that a vast number of lives had appeared a few hundred strides up the valley. A moment later, they spotted him, and the air rippled with battle cries. A few of the orange glows in his mind were airborne, too. Sabella can create cetechupes. Marvelous.

  We’re about to die—and ignobly—at the hands of your anima-sint not-really-lover. Calder's thought was crystalline in Bayan’s mind.

  “No.” Bayan focused every last measure of his hexmagic on Sabella’s physical form, but it wasn’t enough. Hesitantly, his mind brushed the surface of the steel ball inside the nutshell in Calder's pocket. Rage-filled power thrummed: an endlessly deep ocean of skill and knowledge that made Bayan tremble at the thought of daring to master it. But he only needed one skill at the moment, and the perverse sint stabbed the know
ledge into his mind with the hollow echo of mad laughter.

  He heard Sabella’s querulous squeal, and the back of his mind filled with Calder's astonishment, as he peeled her wrinkled body from her soul. The flesh of the poor woman Sabella had murdered and donned fell as dust, leaving a bright golden glow hovering in its place.

  “Bloody hell, Bayan! That move took Tala and me hours, and you just steal my sint and flick out his magic like a bogey from your left nostril? You can brag to me at my fishing hut on the shores of the Teresseren, because I bloody quit.”

  Despite the Godsmaw’s shared knowledge, Bayan’s body vibrated from the strain of holding the sint in place. “Get the sint a new body, Calder. She’s tearing me apart.”

  “Ah. Oh. Right.” Calder stared at the ground beneath the golden light, and a small red ant appeared. Together, they dragged the sint’s consciousness into its tiny, nonsentient new form.

  “And now for the army.”

  “You don’t want to step on her first? Maybe pull her legs off?” Calder asked.

  “No. She’ll head east. If nothing eats her, she might make it home in a season or so. Plenty of time.”

  The intensity of defeating Sabella had temporarily blocked the war cries of the approaching steelwielders from Bayan’s mind. Now, they were all he could hear. Calder held his hand out to Bayan, walnut resting in his palm. Bayan clasped his hand, and they turned to face the onrushing tide of Sabella’s endless army. With dual battle cries, Bayan and Calder crushed the walnut between their hands and pitched Sint Godsmaw before them.

  A vision of arcing water flickered through Bayan’s mind, a wave curling impossibly far yet never crashing. The impression vanished, replaced by a cacophony of screeches and slapping wings. Uncounted scores of frenzied heartbeats passed as the hexmates bent the world around them, wrangling the harnessed power of a sint. The air grew close and hot, and the blinding glow from the burning mountain faded from view.

  Eventually, a breeze began to swirl around them, borne on the wings of a thousand thousand hexbirds, fresh from the bodies of Sabella’s steelwielders. The deep shadow cast by their hushed, serene vortex was lit by a dozen different hues.

  Calder let go of Bayan’s hand and their magical bond, then dusted fragments of nutshell from his palm. “Those lights, they’re sints too, aye? We dinna make them, did we?”

  Bayan grinned. “Maybe you did, but I only made hexbirds.”

  Calder stared at his hands as if contemplating an amazing new talent. Bayan punched his shoulder. The unmoving sint-lights unnerved him; he sensed their unmatched focus. Deep down, he knew why they studied him so, but the moment for contemplating the complexity of his future had not yet arrived.

  “Well, that’s one sint and her endlessly pesky army down. We’re tackling the Corona next, aye?”

  Bayan stared at the wall of swirling birds, spiraling around in perfect symmetry, paying homage to his potential. “Not yet. I need to have words with Jaap first.”

  A dark smile spread across Calder's face and pulled at his scar. The hexbirds parted, letting in early-morning sunlight, as well as Eward on a wind disc. As he descended to meet them, he made a fist of triumph and offered something resting on his open hand to Calder. “The survivors are making their way through new tunnels into the valley. Kiwani saved everyone she could when Ignaas went molten. Calder, Tala’s fine, but she’s exhausted. I knew you’d be alive in here the moment Sint Kah dropped this from his beak.” The object in his palm was a bright steel ball. Sint Godsmaw was still home7.

  Prodigal Steelwielder

  Bayan willed a wind disc into place on the other side of the portal and stepped through onto it, letting the inky ring vanish behind him. Emperor Jaap had moved swiftly on the Kheerzaal reconstruction. Rubble had been removed and the ground smoothed for thousands of strides in all directions, laying the groundwork for a new Kheerzaal campus. Trade duelists from all over the empire—fewer than a score in total—were creating foundations on several centrally located buildings, including what looked like a replacement palace, if the blinding golden spires piercing the sky were any indication. Yet the chalked-out planning lines foretold a campus otherwise identical to the destroyed one.

  I’d have upgraded. My campus is doing so. But I see the world differently than the emperor of the Waarden. Which is why I’m here.

  Bayan drifted across the sky toward the beginnings of the emperor’s new home. He levitated roof tiles and bent wooden beams enough for him to descend unimpeded into the foyer to the emperor’s reception chamber. Once his silk-shod feet touched the cool floor tiles inside, he reset the ceiling and gave his smooth blue tunic a tug.

  He’d landed in the middle of the room, and by the time the roof was restored, five imperial duelists blocked his way. Their alert faces bore concern, and their uniforms were a dark red shot through with silver threads instead of the traditional light blue. He did not know any of them.

  The moment stretched, and Bayan looked from one to the other until he had met all their eyes. Poor duelists, he thought. So close to glory. “Do you want to be free?”

  Brief, confused glances flickered amongst them.

  “No hurry. I’ll ask again later. In the meantime, where’s the emperor?”

  Another look flashed amongst the imperial duelists, then they silently escorted him across the foyer and opened the sturdy cedar double doors to the reception chamber. He knew as surely they did who would have the upper hand if they actually came to magical blows.

  Bayan paused beneath a high ceiling, its carven, gilt-edged marble held aloft by twisting silver columns. Tapestries lined the walls, bearing images of victories the emperor had never participated in. The tile floor continued from the foyer across the receiving chamber, embracing a new, elaborate throne formed of gold and silver, atop which the emperor rested an elbow on his knee and wore a brooding expression.

  Emperor Jaap looked up as Bayan and his escort entered, and his brows gathered. “Bayan Lualhati. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “I come with a request, which I hope Your Imperial Majesty will consider granting in light of the duelists’ recent success in defending the Waarden Empire from the Corona’s advances.”

  Emperor Jaap stood, waved away his looming duelists, and stumped his way down the silver-chased golden steps until he towered over Bayan, eyes hard as sapphires. “And what is this boon you would ask of me, Duelist Bayan? Surely, you and yours have my full gratitude. You saved my life, if not that of my empress. You saved my borders, if not the Academy training grounds. You saved my empire, if not its capital. What, then, may I offer you? Ask it”—the emperor’s hard gaze made it seem a dare—“and it is yours, even unto half my provinces.”

  Bayan smiled. “I would never ask for so much, Sire. I have merely come to ask for what you have always granted to the Temple of Ten Thousand Harmonies: internal freedom and autonomy within the borders of your empire, without citizenship requirement.”

  Jaap’s eyes widened, but he remained silent for a long moment. Finally, he spoke. “I’m sorry, but granting such a request is impossible. The duelists serve at the pleasure of the emperor. It has always been so for the stability of our peoples in times of peace and of war. You know this, Bayan. Or is it possible instructor de Rood simply let you pass your history classes without testing you?”

  “If Your Majesty would care to remember, you and I tried to have this conversation earlier. It seems we continue to disagree. History should never be the blueprint for the future, Your Majesty. We need to listen to our ancestors, understand their choices. Only when we move forward with wisdom will we make wise choices.”

  Jaap affected a deep pout, propped his chin against one finger, and studied the tops of his silver pillars as if they were fascinating. “Do you think, Bayan, that I do not understand your point? I hear you. It is simply a matter of perspective. You look around you, and you choose to see what relates to you and your fellow duelists. I must ensure that what I see relates to the entir
e empire and its continued stability. Many people believe I’m not being loyal to my father’s memory, that I am ruining our golden age, that I invite dissension with my permissiveness. When the leader of an empire falters in the eyes of his subjects, stability is lost. You have no idea the lengths to which I must strain to regain it. Losing the means by which to ensure that stability could bring civil war. Untold thousands could perish. Even the Balanganese would suffer. Is that really what you want?”

  Bayan’s eyes slid from the emperor to a space at the back of the room, behind Jaap’s back. He drilled an inky tunnel from that spot to a dark, distant location. Then he turned his attention back to the emperor. “I’m not unsympathetic, Sire. You wish to remain in control of an empire, to maintain your status quo. In that, we are exactly alike.”

  The emperor drew himself up, nostrils flaring. “You would dare? You would carve out an empire from within my territory, that which I have cared for and husbanded all my life? You really are a traitor.”

  Bayan shook his head with a smile. “I do not wish that sort of empire, Sire. I don’t want citizens and laws and trade and taxes. I just want freedom for me and mine. The freedom to come and go as we please, to work where we choose. I’m sure many of the older duelists will be more than happy to continue working out their score of years in their duel dens—I notice your new imperial duelists have been gathered exclusively from the pool of duelists who did not fight the steelwielders at the Academy. But the students may wish to choose differently. They deserve that, especially after what they’ve just been through. If you don’t want them, give them to me.”

  “I will do no such thing. Duelists belong to the emperor. They live in his service.”

  Bayan sighed. “Then I suppose there’s little point in asking for the potioneers as well. Would you consider a less drastic option? Eunuchs, perhaps?”