Not once, in all the years he’d been at the Red Tower, had Choss had a personal conversation with Garvey. Sometimes they would speak about the students, or the stables or another aspect of keeping the school running. Beyond his name, Choss knew nothing about the other man. Whoever he had been before coming here, and whatever he’d done, Garvey didn’t want anyone to know about it. Balfruss and Eloise were aware, as they had vouched for him and asked for his help in running the school, but they weren’t talking either.
Choss knew there was a deep well of anger in him because it was all too familiar. Perhaps that was why they’d never got along. Choss had overcome his demons and learned to control the anger that had haunted him throughout his life, whereas Garvey seemed to feed on his rage. Whatever the horrors or tragedies in his past, they still fuelled him to this day.
“Speak to her if you want. I will not change my mind,” said Garvey, as he walked away from Balfruss. “It must be done. These days, difficult choices are all that’s left to us.”
Choss and Balfruss watched the other Sorcerer cross the courtyard and disappear through the main gates. A few students had noticed the exchange as well but Choss quickly turned them back to their practice. He walked up and down the line, correcting postures, straightening backs and raising elbows. Some didn’t see the point of learning how to fight with steel and their bare hands. They thought that their magic made them untouchable, but he knew otherwise.
Every couple of years a demonstration was needed where Choss would flatten a student using only his fists against their magic. Now when he said it, most of them listened and stopped complaining.
A mage could die just as quickly as someone else with a foot of steel in their belly. Everyone knew that one of the Battlemages had died with a knife in his back during the war. Only a few people knew the Battlemage in the stories, Darius, had been Eloise’s late husband and a close friend of Balfruss. The Warlock had walked up behind Darius when no one was looking and stabbed him to death. Magic required an enormous amount of willpower and concentration, which wasn’t always easy to summon at a moment’s notice. Sometimes a sword or a fist would do the job just as well.
“Swing with your whole body,” said Choss, touching Tianne on her shoulder. “Use your hips to throw the punch. You’ll get more power behind it.” The girl tried again and this time got it right. Her partner, the new short girl from Drassia, only had to be shown how to do something once. After that all of her movements were precise and exact, time after time.
“How are they getting on?” asked Balfruss, coming to stand beside him.
The Sorcerer’s presence unsettled the students and a few fell out of sync with their sparring partners. “Eyes on your partners!” said Choss, and the pupils twitched as if they’d been slapped.
They moved a short distance away so they could talk privately while Choss could still keep an eye on them.
“I didn’t mean to disturb your lesson.”
Choss waved it away. “They’re easily distracted. They still have a lot to learn.”
“How is Samara?”
“In good spirits. She doesn’t seem to be in much pain.”
“She’s stubborn. I can see where her daughter gets it from,” said Balfruss. He could only agree, not that he’d ever say that to his wife or out loud to his mother-in-law. “Tell her to visit Eloise before the pain gets unbearable.”
“I will suggest it but . . .” Choss trailed off and shrugged his shoulders. They both knew neither Samara nor her daughter could be made to do anything they hadn’t already decided for themselves. “Have you heard from Munroe?”
“Not yet. I will let her know you were asking after her.”
“Thank you.”
Balfruss clapped him on the shoulder and went inside the tower itself. The building still made Choss feel uncomfortable. Even though he knew it didn’t move, it always seemed to be lurking at the corner of his eye. He’d never been inside and didn’t want to either. Some of the pupils thought it mysterious and wonderful. Others were unnerved by it. Like most things that were dangerous, Choss had a healthy regard for it and that meant keeping his distance.
Putting the Red Tower from his mind he turned his attention back to the students and noticed several were sneaking worried glances at the new girl, Wren. It seemed that not all of their discomfort had been because of Balfruss.
With no classes to teach that afternoon, Choss took a horse from the stables and rode east at a gentle walk. After an hour the ground began to dip and he followed a well-worn trail down to the river. In truth it was only a small branch of the mighty Suzoa, a vast, churning river that was so wide and powerful it could only be crossed in a few locations with enormous stone bridges. It ran north to south all the way from the mountains down to the coast. It was so deep in places it was a challenge even for a Vorga to reach the bottom. Or so he’d been told by Gorraxi over the years.
Choss tethered his horse to the post he’d set up beside the small cabin and went inside. The floor was dry and nothing seemed to have been moved since his last visit. The main room wasn’t large and it held little in the way of furniture, just a table, a few chairs, cupboards for storage and a small wood stove which was mostly for his comfort in winter.
They’d built it together, not as somewhere for either of them to live, merely a place to meet. His home was at the school with his family while she mostly lived in the river and the ocean. But sometimes she spent a few days on land and they would meet. Other times when he visited the cabin she was away, so he would fish and enjoy the quiet and solitude, a stark contrast to the constant bustle at home.
There was no bedroom but a wide set of steps in the middle of the room descended into a large stone cellar beneath the house. It was split into two rooms and was large enough for him to stand upright, making the ceiling nearly seven feet high.
Some of the cheese he’d left in the cold larder was gone and he presumed it had been eaten by Gorraxi. In its place sat a stack of salted snapper fish which were his favourite. He emptied his bag, leaving a few items in the larder before taking some fish in their place.
Just as he was coming out of the front door he heard the creaking of the wooden pier and the thump of heavy footsteps. In response his horse whinnied and tried to pull free from where he’d tied it up. No matter how many times he came here, or even which horse he chose, they never got used to being close to Gorraxi.
“I was just about to leave,” he said to the Vorga as she walked up the pier towards him. “You nearly missed me.”
Gorraxi was dripping wet and seemed to be shining with an inner light. Being in seawater revitalised her people in a way that he still didn’t understand, but he knew it could heal her wounds. Most people would be intimidated by seeing a hulking green Vorga walking towards them, showing its teeth and armed with a net and spear. Choss just smiled back and embraced his friend, being careful not to jab himself on one of the bony ridges around her jaw.
Vorga were not human and as such most people didn’t understand their behaviour or their culture. Their customs were alien, they prayed to Nethun, god of the sea and storms, and their warring nature appeared abrupt and unfriendly to outsiders. There were a few Vorga merchants who visited human cities across the west, but no human ever went into their homeland.
“I’m glad to see you,” said Gorraxi, offering him another toothy smile. “Can you stay a while?”
“Of course,” said Choss, noting that the net was full of spiky lion fish. They were poisonous to humans and vicious looking creatures, but to Gorraxi they were a delicacy. She went inside to dump her belongings and came out nibbling on a wedge of the goat’s cheese he’d left behind. After a few years he was finally starting to get the knack of making it. Not that she’d complained when his first attempt had been tart and all but inedible. He also noticed she was dressed in a kilt and vest, a tradition she’d adopted when on land, even around him. There was no need for clothes in the ocean and they would be a hindrance, but on
dry land she’d realised it made humans feel more comfortable in her presence. Gorraxi had been around humans for many years now and was starting to pick up a few habits without realising.
“You are tense,” said Gorraxi, reading his body language. She’d always been able to do that with ease. There were no secrets between them and she spoke freely about what she observed. Over the years he’d realised she was a lot more astute than he appreciated. Gorraxi sat down on the bench beside him and he smelled the ocean on her skin.
“I’m worried about Munroe. She’s been gone for a couple of weeks now.”
“But you were expecting this.”
“I know, but I still worry,” admitted Choss.
“Your wife is small, but mighty,” said Gorraxi, popping the last bit of cheese into her mouth. “Her magic is powerful.”
“It is.”
“So is her mouth,” said Gorraxi and Choss laughed. “It is good that you worry. It tells me that your love for her is still true. The bond is still strong here,” she said, tapping herself on the chest. “Is there something else that worries you?”
Choss knew he could trust her but he still hesitated because it was just a feeling in his gut. “Yes, but I don’t know what it is. But I feel it,” he said, touching his heart and then his head. “There is tension in the air at the Red Tower. It’s probably nothing.”
“I will be nearby for a while, if you want to talk,” said Gorraxi. “And if you need me for anything, call, and I will be there.”
“Thank you,” said Choss with a smile. They were so different and yet she was probably his closest friend.
“I am going to roast the lion fish,” she said, gesturing at the fire pit. “Do you want to stay and try some?”
“I should be getting back. Samara is watching over my son, but she tires easily.”
Gorraxi nodded and busied herself clearing the ashes. “Can I ask a small favour?” she said, her eyes on the task at hand. One of her sail-like ears flipped away from the side of her head and back. He knew it meant she was nervous.
“Of course.”
“Would you bring your son to visit me again? It was good to meet him.”
Their first meeting had not gone well as Sam had cried and run screaming the moment he saw Gorraxi. Subsequent visits had been a little better, but sometimes he still had nightmares about green monsters from the sea coming to get him. Choss knew that Munroe blamed the Vorga but she’d not forbidden further visits. Gorraxi was an outcast from her own people and had no family of her own. Choss and his family were the closest thing she had. Perhaps it would be better to bring Sam for another visit soon, before Munroe returned.
“I will bring him soon for a visit. I promise.”
“Thank you,” said Gorraxi with a shy smile.
Choss embraced his friend and then untied his horse. She stayed back, seeing how nervous the animal was, but remained outside to wave him off.
The peace of his visit was slightly spoiled on the ride back as the growing sense of foreboding returned. When the Red Tower came into view above the trees Choss felt himself reaching for a weapon, but he’d not worn one in years. Perhaps now would be a good time to start again.
CHAPTER 11
This time when Tammy entered the Khevassar’s outer office his assistant, the new Rummpoe, didn’t hesitate to tell the Old Man immediately of her arrival. She sensed a lingering tension in the air but Rummpoe seemed a lot more contrite than on her previous visit.
As ever the Old Man sat amid a mountain of paper scattered across his desk. “Report,” he said, gesturing at the chair opposite. She’d come straight from the stables and was stiff and saddle-sore. Tammy gratefully sat down and stretched out her long legs, massaging her calves while the Khevassar sipped at his tea.
“The situation in Morheaton isn’t good. It’s the worst news in some ways.” She went to tell him about Burelle, the murder of the Seeker and the town’s attitude towards magic.
“I’ve been hearing some interesting rumours from some of Queen Morganse’s agents in the north,” he said, tapping a stack of papers. Like most of her counterparts in the west the Queen of Yerskania had a vast network of spies. “One girl in Zecorria killed herself, rather than be taken to the Red Tower. After that, the town banned Seekers from ever visiting them again. So far it’s fairly peaceful towards them, but other towns in Zecorria are starting to adopt the ban. I expect it soon will happen elsewhere.”
“This isn’t a coincidence.”
“Any theories?” asked the Old Man.
“I listened to conversations around Morheaton, and someone had been there a few weeks before, stirring up the locals. People have been afraid of magic for a long time and the war only made it worse. Someone is building on that fear and blaming the Seekers, even though their job is to help the children.”
“Did you know that the Warlock studied at the Red Tower?” he asked.
“No, but it makes sense. He was once a student.”
“That story is also popular in taverns at the moment. It’s souring people on the Red Tower.”
Tammy could see where this was going. “So whenever someone sees a gold mask they inevitably think of the Warlock.”
The Khevassar nodded sagely. “Anyone could be under that mask. Any child taken away could become the next Warlock.”
“This is being carefully orchestrated.”
“My reports from the north say much the same thing,” mused the Old Man. “My fear is the murder of the Seeker in Morheaton is only the beginning.”
“I agree.”
“So, what would you suggest we do?” he asked.
Tammy tried to ease the tension in her shoulders as she thought it through. “We need to find the other Seekers and warn them they may be targets. Perhaps get them into hiding for now. If we can get ahead of any assaults or another murder, we might be able to find out who is pulling the strings.”
“The golden masks make it difficult to identify Seekers,” said the Khevassar. “Keeping them anonymous was a good idea at the time, but how do we find them?”
“My guess is Balfruss will have the same idea as us. He’ll want to protect his people. Munroe can help us find Seekers here in Yerskania.”
“What about other countries?” he asked.
Tammy ticked them off on her fingers. “There are no Morrin or Vorga mages, so we don’t have to worry about them. We’ll leave Shael to the Red Tower, since it’s on their doorstep. Mages have no place in Drassian society and they’ve always sent children to the Red Tower. Besides, all foreigners stick out like a sore thumb.”
They weren’t xenophobic, but visiting Drassia always involved an awkward dance of being overly polite, so as not to cause offence. A simple break in protocol was enough to do that. Tammy couldn’t see an outsider being allowed to remain in the country long enough to stir up trouble. They simply wouldn’t tolerate it and the offender would be firmly, but politely, escorted to the border.
“And the rest?” asked the Old Man.
“Zecorria will not allow us to send Guardians into their country uninvited, but we still need up-to-date information about what’s happening there.”
The Khevassar scribbled down a note. “I’ll speak to Queen Morganse. See if some of her agents in the north can be persuaded to help. I’d like to send in a few Guardians, too, undercover of course.”
“I can suggest half a dozen names,” offered Tammy.
“Good, leave them with Rummpoe.”
“So that leaves Seveldrom.”
Despite Seveldrom and the west being on opposite sides during the war, Queen Talandra had become a good friend of their Queen, Morganse. The two of them were determined to ensure that nothing divided their two nations in the future.
The Old Man grunted. “I’m sure Queen Talandra will have something to say about people trying to commit murder in her country. Especially as she was an early advocate of bringing Seekers back. I know Queen Morganse has recently been in touch with her, but I’ll
make sure Talandra’s network gets everything we have. Her people will have to do their best to protect Seekers in Seveldrom. So that just leaves Yerskania in our hands.”
“It all sounds so easy when you say it like that,” said Tammy with a wry smile. “Because everything always goes according to plan.”
The Khevassar smiled briefly. “It’s going to get bloody,” he warned her. “There will be some tough choices ahead.”
“What are you saying?”
Some of the steel crept back into his rheumy eyes. “You had a taste of it in Morheaton, letting them get away with murder—”
“For now. Justice will be served,” she reminded him.
His grin was wolfish. “Yes, it will, but not just yet. However, soon you’ll be faced with a situation where there are only difficult and unpleasant options. I hope you can live with those decisions on your conscience.”
“That sounds ominous.” She also didn’t think it sounded like the Khevassar she knew.
“I’m just trying to prepare you,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Get some rest and keep me updated on your progress with the Seekers and Munroe.”
“Yes, Sir,” she said, moving to the door. Pausing on her way out Tammy looked back over her shoulder and wished she hadn’t. The Khevassar looked so old and frail, all alone in his office. She felt a stab of pity for him and hurried out, wiping at her eyes.
CHAPTER 12
Taking another deep breath, Munroe tried to calm her frantic mind. Worries about her mother and family were flying around, preventing her from finding any kind of inner peace. Meditating with her eyes closed wasn’t working, so instead she lit the huge candle she’d brought with her. It was almost as fat as her forearm and would burn for several days if left unattended. Hopefully she wouldn’t need it for long tonight.
The flame danced and flickered until she closed the window. It felt peculiar to be back in Perizzi and it was not at all like coming home. It had taken years but eventually she’d escaped the city. To come back voluntarily felt like a betrayal and a step backwards. But the job wasn’t done and there were other Seekers that needed protecting.
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