“Well, I think you might have to wait a bit longer before you get that name back,” I said, putting a hand to my hilt. “So, how do we start this thing anyway? I don’t know the way they do it here.”
Yvrandar put his hand to his hilt and shrugged.
“I suppose we just begin?”
“Sounds good to me. To submission, or first blood?” I asked.
Yvrandar seemed to contemplate my question a while.
“First blood. To submission would give me an unfair advantage.”
My blood warmed. Why were Vindayans so maddeningly superior? Oh well. He would regret taking up such a stupid cause soon enough.
I looked around the hall. No one sat; everyone stood. Lords and ladies-merchant, magnates, ministers; all were raptly attentive. My friends and Perethon stood to the side, faces grim.
I dropped my cloak from my shoulder and returned my attention to the opposing elf.
“Alright then. Let’s start,” I said, squaring up to him.
Yvrandar lunged at me before his blade even cleared the scabbard.
He slashed out in a broad arc, missing me by a hair as I ducked out of the way. I drew my sword as I did and backed off a few steps.
I couldn’t help but smile at him as we stood apart from each other; his sudden strike had caught me off-guard. His long, thin sword hardly wavered as he held it out before him, pointed at my chest.
I always wanted to defeat an Errant Nameless, to humble a proud son of Vindaya.
I took up a more combative pose, blade held eye-level and tip pointed toward my opponent, knees bent. He kept his sword straight out towards me and his body sideways. We circled one step to the left; I watched his weight shift forward, signalling a lunge, but did not move to defend it; I wanted him to think I was unaware.
He lunged. Expecting it, I parried from up high and immediately took advantage of the resultant opening – but he was quick. With a snap he deflected my incoming blow.
He barely took any time to recover. He struck again, and again – just quick slashes that required little more than easy parries. Then he lunged, driving deeper than before; I knocked his blade aside with less grace than I had hoped.
I backed away, taking up a defensive position. I was already sweating, just a little, and regretting having drunk so much. I had to piss.
Already Yvrandar began another assault.
This time the blows were faster, stronger; he was done feeling out my defenses. His strikes were unrelenting and our blades clashed time and time again. One slash came dangerously close to my wrist, striking the cross-guard instead.
His assault ended as suddenly as it began. He withdrew to a defensive pose, blade pointed at my feet. His chest was heaving, his hair in disarray, but to his credit his face never changed from that damnable self-assured look the Nameless always seemed to wear.
I was breathing hard too. But I smiled. It was hard not to; I was sucking in air like a bellows and hoping no one would notice. It had been a while since I had practiced. Almost six months… how embarrassing.
At least now I was getting practice. Great practice.
Yvrandar came at me once again.
It was more of the same; high slashes broken up with the occasional lunge. And every other lunge was followed by a slash for my wrist. It was formulaic but effective; I was always caught simply reacting, always on the defensive.
He made one more slash for my wrist followed by a lunge to keep me away before backing into his defensive. But this time, instead of keeping his blade up, he lowered it until the tip touched the ground. He opened his arms wide to mock me and I heard scattered laughter from the crowd. He wanted me to strike; he knew my defense was too thorough. He needed me to come to him, to make a mistake.
I was going to make him regret it.
I lunged for him, purposefully reckless. He immediately reacted to my overextension by moving to the side, bringing his blade up to strike -
but my blade was already there. I struck his cross-guard hard enough to knock his sword aside. I twisted my wrist and slashed upward, narrowly missing his arm. He leapt back and took up a proper defensive.
And this time I let my sword down, opening my arms wide just as he had done to me. The crowd laughed louder. Yvrandar grimaced.
We circled one another for a few steps. Then he struck again.
I parried the first slash, the second lash, the lunge, just as before; but I did not parry the last slash. Instead I lunged forward, aiming for his shoulder. And just as the tip of my sabre found flesh, the lower blade of his sword bit into my wrist.
I grunted and he gasped. We parted, weapons held low. I looked at him; a dark circle grew beneath his collarbone, elongating bright and crimson down his chest, down his arm.
Then I stole a glance at my wrist. Blood was pouring down my hand, dripping down my sabre’s hilt, splattering to the smooth marble floor below.
I cursed aloud. It wasn’t much of a wound; far less than what he had received. I was just disappointed that I hadn’t beat him as cleanly as I wanted.
But oh well. I was still drunk. And I still had to piss.
The hall came alive with hushed excitement. They knew it was over; they knew I had won. The wound I dealt him was grievous; the one he dealt me was minor.
I sheathed my sabre.
“It looks like we have a draw,” I said loudly.
Yvrandor looked at me, confused. Blood dripped from his left arm as it hung limply at his side.
“We agreed to fight to first blood. We’re both bleeding. It’s a draw,” I restated.
The hushed excitement of the onlookers was slowly growing into hearty applause. They cautiously approached us, seeing now that the duel was over.
Yvrandar sheathed his sword and bowed his head. Then he gripped his shoulder to staunch the blood. I hoped they had healers on hand – for the both of us.
The crowds rushed forward. Maeral, Lyrandor, Tibaron and Ortham were quickly behind me. One of them tossed my coat over my shoulder.
I caught sight of Tavinia Tratha among the crowd, looking stately in her burgundy dress. I nodded to her. She nodded back. Honour was restored – perhaps not in the way she had envisioned, but in the way it should have been.
We wrapped up my wrist and Maeral went looking for a healer. I was exhausted but tried not to show it. It had been close; my opponent was formidable. In the end I had come out victorious, even while drunk – but still, I resolved to train every morning. I never wanted to be so unsure again.
That evening a healer came by my room and closed up the wound. The magick was slow and painful, but it helped the skin grow. An ugly bruise and an ache was all that was left once she was done.
Then I took another drink of Safonian honeyed wine and went to sleep.
30
Dawn
“Are you ready?” Majira asked, sitting across from me.
Her room was dark; the curtains were still closed. She had put away her scrying map and now it was just the two of us sitting on the floor. We were preparing to dream delve.
“I’m ready,” I replied with a solemn nod.
“This time you will go in by yourself; I will not lead you. When you wake up in the emptiness of the immaterial, think of me – and our willing souls will come together,” she said, eyes half-closed, head tilted upward.
I breathed out and closed my eyes. I was nervous; I remembered the anxiety of travelling through insubstantial space, of re-emerging on the edge of the Nothing. But I had to try anyway.
Using the techniques Majira showed me I pushed my soul, my mind, out of my physical body. But I did not push it out into the physical world – that would have killed me. Instead I forced it into the space between things, between things like light and weight and time -
And all went black.
It was utter blackness; not a thing but an absence of things. This time I did not panic; I did not lash out. I floated without a body in a
place that was not present, and instead of fighting against it, I accepted it.
Then I took a breath – and I was reformed.
I opened my eyes and looked around. There was nothing. It was like I was trapped inside an eggshell, a black eggshell through which no light could shine. And I could not touch the sides. I looked down at my hooves; they touched nothing, yet I stood upright in a place with no up, no down, no direction at all.
I was proud of not panicking – prouder still for arriving here all by myself.
“Majira?” I said, trying to think of her, to bring her close.
My voice made no sound – only in my own ears could I hear it, as if my head were wrapped in wool.
Out from the dark a figure appeared; Majira stepped out of a pillar of mist that slipped away, tumbling down like a waterfall. She smiled at me, evidently as pleased as I was.
“Congratulations, Dawn. Was that hard?”
“No, actually. Not at all,” I replied.
“Good. You can thank your impressive reservoir for that – and thank your royal lineage for providing that reservoir. Luckily for you, you can simply pour as much magick as you need to perform most spells instead of relying on flawless technique – the trick will be learning how to do so efficiently, working on refilling your reservoir faster, and doing so without undue strain on your soul. For remember, the soul is the pathway through which all energy must pass, and you only have one,” she said. “Now, shall we begin our journey together?”
I took her extended hand.
“So you know where Magus Bram is, right? You’ll guide us there?” I asked.
“Indeed, I believe I do know where he is. It narrows down the search significantly. We’ll be drawing on your reserve, however; so be aware. You must let me know when you feel drained.”
“Alright… but what does it feel like to be drained? It’s never happened. I never use magick.”
“You’ll know. It would be difficult to ignore,” she said. “Are you ready?”
I nodded. She took a step forward – and I followed.
As I lifted my hoof the void beneath me suddenly flashed bright with colour; I gasped. My chest tightened.
The whole face of the land was below me; I was like a bird soaring above all, above everything. Clouds drifted atop mountain peaks; the sea sparkled. I grabbed onto Majira’s arm. I had to look up from the world below – the incredible height was making me ill.
“I can’t believe it,” she said, as surprised as I was. “Dawn, this is wondrous!”
The dizziness subsided and I was able to look back down. The land was so small, so far away; the trees were just like blades of grass, the mountains merely stones. It seemed to stretch on forever.
Majira let go of my hand and the world dissolved. She was breathing heavily, bent over, leaning her hands against her thighs.
She looked up to me. A lock of curly red hair fell over her face.
“You have far more magick at your disposal than I was prepared for,” she said, eyes sparkling. “And your soul – it is far more capable than I imagined! The sheer volume of energy that came pouring out… I’ll have to be more careful.”
“I’m sorry, I think? Or is that a good thing?”
Majira took my hand in hers once more.
“A very good thing. It’s simply a shame you weren’t trained earlier… what a different life you could have lived…” she said, voice trailing off. “But no matter. We must continue. Unlike you, I don’t have the capability to remain in the dreamscape for as long as I please.”
We stepped forward once more. This time, however, there was only a narrow pathway before us; it did not spread to the black horizon. With each step the narrow strip of earth below rushed by as a blur; we seemed to be leaping, flying far faster than I could comprehend. Majira kept her eyes down, watching.
We walked just a short ways before stopping. I looked down to a blue coastline with many broken islands. Above the coastline was a vast expanse of yellow and brown; and within, a bright stain of orange.
“This is the spot. We’re about to descend; be ready for your perception to change. You may feel dizzy,” Majira said.
It was way too late for that warning. I had been dizzy since we started; I didn’t know how she could stand it.
Soundlessly, motionlessly, we plunged down to the ground. My head spun and I had to close my eyes.
When I opened them again we were in a vast, endless desert. The sand was orange; clumps of columned rock jutted out from the dunes. The sky, however, was still black; there was no sun, no stars. The landscapes of this un-reality always had something wrong with them – something impossible, something inaccurate. Like someone was trying to recall a distant, hazy memory.
Even as I looked around me, the ridges and dunes seemed to shift in the corner of my eyes. Whenever I looked directly at a spot, all was solid; but on the periphery, at the edges of my vision, everything blurred, mixed, came apart like fog.
“So this is where Magus Bram is?” I asked. “There really isn’t much here…”
“This is where I believe he is. I’m surprised the image has not disintegrated yet – when I was here last, it was all but falling apart – I believe this place has magickal interference. It was lucky I could sense his soul wandering. It was bleeding heavily, badly damaged…” Majira said, scanning the horizon.
We wandered in the desert, every step taken in leaps and bounds. It took a lot of getting used to – moving so fast, so effortlessly, was very disorienting. Majira was looking for the stains of his damaged soul. I didn’t like the sounds of that – I didn’t like knowing that my future mentor was so sickly.
“Why is his soul so hurt?” I asked as we scoured the sands.
“I wish I knew,” she sighed. “He was always pushing the bounds of his ability – but this seems worse than ever before…”
At last Majira found the trail. She helped me see it too; silvery splotches, like drops of mercury, beading on the sand. We followed this trail for a long time, the drops of mercury becoming smaller, less frequent. Finally it led into a column of rocks – and stopped.
We carefully approached the tall rocks; they loomed overhead like branchless trees.
Beneath a stone archway a figure lay. It was an elf; he was in rough garb, looking more a traveller than a magus, with a head of unruly brown hair. His eyes were listless and dull as he stared up to the stone archway. He looked half asleep.
“Oh, Bram…” Majira whispered, covering her mouth with her hand.
She looked aggrieved, but it did not last long. She soon regathered her composure.
“It’s time to reach out, Dawn. You have enough energy to call him into the dreamscape from the material world. But hurry – I’m running out,” she said.
I called to Magus Bram. He didn’t move, didn’t seem to hear. I called again.
“I don’t think it’s working…” I said.
“Majira?” came a voice from behind me.
We spun around. There, standing in the sand but a few strides away, was Bram Tan Heth the Mad.
I glanced back to where his body was; it was still there, eyes now shut.
“What is this… an apparition on strange soil, a ghost from the past? Whispers in the wind, a messenger unbidden…” he said, then turned to address me. “And you are…?”
Majira gave him a strange look, and backed away slightly.
“Bram… are you alright? Are you ill?”
“Perhaps yes, perhaps no,” he said, laughing.
It was not a nice laugh. There was no humour in it; it was a wet, bubbling laugh like hot tar, thick and unsettling. Bram Tan Heth grinned widely – a grin I had seen once before. A grin I had seen on Hebbet Mor.
The grin twitched, melting into a frown before solidifying once again. He coughed, choking on his laughter, doubled over and wheezed.
He really was mad.
Bram Tan Heth straightened up suddenly and
grabbed Majira by the arms; she recoiled, but didn’t wrestle out of his grip. He looked up at her with tearful eyes.
“Majira, they killed Avaxenon… Avaxenon is dead, I buried him in the sand, I tried to save him, save us both, but I was too slow - but I did it, I did it Majira, I transported the both of us through the very stuff of creation, but it was too much, too much…”
His torrent of desperate words ended abruptly. He let go of Majira and looked away.
“I don’t have much time…” he mumbled in a low voice. “They’re coming… they’re almost here… who did you bring along? Who’s this, my fiery dove? Who is this faun-girl?”
Bram Tan Heth looked to me. His voice and mannerisms lapsed from lucid to crazed, and he seemed to giggle in between every other sentence.
“I’m Dawn. Princess Dawn,” I said. “Majira said you could help me hide from anyone. She said you would be my mentor.”
“Ohhh, really? Well, I’ve not had a pupil in… ever. And who might you be hiding from? The beings who are approaching as we speak?” he asked.
“They’re coming? Where?” I asked, my heart beginning to pound.
I looked all around, scanning the sandy ridges in every direction. I didn’t want a repetition of the trauma I had received last time I dream delved.
“Bram, did you say Avaxenon is dead?” Majira asked, sadness radiating from her every feature. “How? How did he die?”
Bram Tan Heth burst into tears, laughing as he cried. He sat down in the sand and wept bitterly. Then, just as soon as he had started, he leapt to his feet.
“No time for that,” he said. “They’re coming, they’re coming. And I’m running out of fuel…”
He walked back to the archway and crawled into its shadow, leaving us out in the open sand.
“Will you teach me? Tell me where you are. We’ll come find you,” I said, leaning over into the archway.
Bram Tan Heth lay back down next to his own body. It looked very unusual, these two identical forms side by side.
“Mm, it’s better if you come back after I’ve chewed a Kov leaf or ten. Then I might think straight…” he giggled, waving me away with a hand. “But yes, I’ll help you. Perhaps we can meet somewhere? I promise to show up this time. I don’t plan on dying in this sun-blasted desert…”
Day of the Hunt (The Faun Quartet Book 2) Page 27