Blood and Shadow (The Mage's Gift Book 1)

by Robin Lythgoe

  “He did. Haven’t you heard?”

  Sherakai’s eyes shot open. The news made him practically giddy. He swallowed to keep his heart where it belonged in his chest. “No.”

  “Everyone was telling the tale. He rode right up to the gates with all of his men. He requested Bairith hand you and your sister over. Bairith declined on account of some sort of previous agreement. There was a fight. Tanoshi lost.”

  “Was he hurt?” he whispered. When had this happened?

  Deishi gave a reluctant nod. “I don’t know how badly. Not enough to keep him from coming back with support from Marata and a mercenary company fifty strong.”

  That must have cost a small fortune, and support from Elinasha’s new relatives was unexpected. “No one else?” He could only think of the huge number of soldiers that had marched out Chiro’s gate. Twice. And who knew how many more while he’d been in the dungeon or held unconscious by magic?

  “Not that I’m aware. I’m sorry, everything I know is from rumor.”

  “Did rumor tell what happened to the second effort?”

  “Bairith’s troops met them just inside Chiro’s borders and repulsed them. Bairith lodged a complaint with Ilaroya. Your father lodged one right back—one of many, I hear. His lawyers don’t appear to be helping any. You know, I wondered whether or not there was any truth to Tanoshi's claim, and would I see his son when I arrived? And here you are, and it seems your father was in the right after all if what you say is so.”

  The insinuation that he lied didn’t even register in the light of more coin going toward Sherakai’s rescue. It made him ill to think that he could very well bankrupt Tanoshi. All the more reason to get away as soon as possible. “Who is Ilaroya?”

  Deishi crooked his brows. “The new king. The King of Knives, they’re calling him, on account of the number of assassinations it took to put him on the throne.”

  Sherakai’s mouth pursed as he thought. As much as the new king’s story sounded like a thrilling tale, he had his own adventure to deal with. He knew where to get supplies and horses. The nameless woman would, he hoped, lead him to Mimeru. He could put Fesh and Teth out of action, but as soon as they were loosed they’d be after him. He worried that even on horseback they wouldn’t be able to outpace the beasts. And being burdened with a roommate further complicated things, unless—

  He eyed Deishi from beneath his bandage.

  “What is that look for?”

  “My head hurts.” Not a lie, though it had nothing to do with another detail falling into place.

  “I’m sorry, the news must have come as a shock. I have some willow bark. Would you like it?”

  “No, but thank you.” If he never saw another tonic or elixir again, he’d dance for joy. “I think I’d just like to sleep for a while.”

  “Of course. I’ll wake you when it’s time to go down to lessons.”

  Sherakai murmured his thanks and closed his eyes. The solution for the final stumbling block eluded him. What could he use to block the magic and prevent Bairith from locating him? If Tylond could be believed, not even cutting off his hand—and half his arm into the bargain—would rid him of the magical bindings.

  The memory of the awful bridle Iniki had crammed into his mouth brought his eyes wide open. His heart raced. It was exactly what he needed! Now he just had to find the gecking thing…

  Chapter 76

  Guilt made a terrible companion. The only way Sherakai could bring himself to practice magic on Deishi was to convince himself that, in the long run, Deishi would suffer no lasting effects.

  Bairith reserved the time after shared lessons to tutor Sherakai in the use of his Gift. A demanding taskmaster, he pressed and tested as ruthlessly as Iniki did on the sands. Every day he learned some new nuance, and every night Deishi paid for it. It frustrated him that he could not master everything Bairith told him. Knowing that he had little time, he chose to perfect those skills he controlled best. He could read emotion as easily as breathing. Casting what he felt on others was more difficult. Producing something from thin air and foisting it on someone required patience, determination, and imagination. It didn’t feel honorable, so he struggled with the moral implications.

  “Morality is created by fear,” Bairith said. “You cripple yourself when you should be trusting yourself.”

  Calm self-assurance oozed through the link and Sherakai closed his eyes. He had no idea how to fight it, or if he should. Keep hold of your heart and your soul, Mimeru had told him, but she hadn’t said how. He conjured a mental picture of his father’s face. To that image he anchored all the things his father taught him about honesty, integrity, responsibility, and respect.

  “What are you doing?”

  He opened his eyes. The mage wore a neutral expression, and the aura surrounding him stayed still and quiet. Even so, Sherakai had the impression that Bairith had not seen what Sherakai imagined, nor felt the way he’d centered and protected himself. Quashing a burst of exultation, he looked at his hands. “I felt what you… gave me. I am trying to use it.”

  Bairith did not answer right away, but stood and walked to the window. He stood there for a time, then waved his hand for Sherakai to join him. “The more you rely on me and on what I can give you through our link, the faster you will learn.” He put a hand on Sherakai’s shoulder. “You are learning more quickly than I expected. I think you are ready for the next step.”

  The touch made him want to pull away. Fast on the heels of that came the surprise of his progress. He bit the inside of his cheek just enough to keep steady. If he withdrew physically or emotionally, Bairith would be upset and the remainder of today’s lesson would not go gently. “Sir?”

  “I have trained mages Gifted with the spirit, but none so bright as you.” He squeezed Sherakai’s shoulder. Affection flowed through the link, warm and encouraging. “Tasan had a good understanding of the aro, and I could have done much for him, but even he fell short of your talent.”

  Truth or flattery? He could not tell. Either way, it made him cautious. “It isn’t easy.”

  “You need self discipline and patience, my son,” Bairith went on. “I admire your desire to master what I teach you, but these things take time.”

  “How much do we have?” Days, his heart insisted. Impatience laced through him.

  Bairith squeezed Sherakai’s shoulder again, then leaned against the windowsill, arms folded. “How is Deishi responding to your suggestions?”

  He shrugged. “With growing confusion.”

  “Have you attempted to influence him to forget?”

  “Yes.” His lower lip disappeared between his teeth. “He is strong-minded.”

  “Like someone else I know,” the jansu chuckled. “Do you like him?”

  He gave another shrug, hoping it covered the truth. “I neither like nor dislike him. He is friendly. Smart.” He almost added ‘noble,’ but thought that might give Bairith reason to torment Deishi. “I’ve learned much from him in weapons practice and Master Iniki approves of his skills.”

  “That is good. And what of his cultural knowledge? Have you learned anything in that area?”

  “His mother is from Galay and he’s traveled there and east along the Midland Sea.”

  “Does he speak the language?”

  Surely Bairith had appraised Deishi—and his family—up one side and down the other before purchasing and offering him as a gift. The wheels in Sherakai’s head turned down a fork in the road of probability. What price had the jansu paid for the man? With an ailing heir, Arunakun would not have sold his youngest son. A favor, then? “Yes. He’s teaching me a few things. It’s not like Suminian. I don’t like it as well.”

  Children of both the High and Lesser houses learned Suminian as a matter of course. Trade—and competition—made fluency necessary. The Westlands and the Suminian Empire faced each other across the Midland Sea, robbing each other at the same time they shook hands. To make matters more interesting, the Suminia’s northern state
s had decided they no longer cared to remain under the thumb of a distant ruler who had no real understanding of their needs, their culture, or their purses.

  Simultaneously, the Westland kingdoms had fallen into the habit of spoiled children bickering over the slightest offense. Romuru, always the bully, dug in deeper and fought harder. There were those who feared the alliance would fracture and that Suminia would give up her northern states in favor of reaching across the narrow sea for richer, less hostile pickings.

  “You will learn it anyway,” Bairith said. “Language is a good exercise for the mind, and this needn’t take you from your other studies.”

  “Of course,” Sherakai murmured, inclining his head in acceptance. If only all of his lessons were as easy and painless as learning a new tongue. “Sir? Seers are Gifted with the spirit, aren’t they?”

  “Indeed. Why do you ask?”

  “I had a dream. I don’t remember much of it, but a woman sang to me. I thought it was my mother at first, but then she said—” He licked his lips as he considered how to phrase the impression he had, and how to choose his words to keep from lying. “I am not sure how to put it. I understood that my future was not certain, and my life depended upon something vague.”

  “You were dreaming about a seer, then?”

  “I suppose. How do visions come to seers?”

  “I don’t know,” Bairith confessed. That he would plainly admit to a lack of knowledge came as a surprise. “No one does. We do know that women are more likely to be seers than men. Strength in their Gift is important. Visions cannot be controlled; they either come to you or they don’t. One cannot choose to see an event, or a day, or a situation. Sometimes a seer will experience a particular vision multiple times, but no inarguable way to establish the importance of that vision.” He held up a cautionary finger. “The most important thing to remember is that what is seen is not Certain.”

  Sherakai sank down onto the arm of a nearby chair as he listened. “Visions are foggy, then? In pieces?”

  “Often, yes, but the point is that just because something happens in a vision doesn’t mean it will actually happen. It is probable that it will happen, not definite.”

  “Visions can be changed?”

  “Not the visions themselves, no, but the choices surrounding the event. If, for instance, you had a vision in which you slipped on wet stone and fell down the stairs, you could avoid the tumble by choosing a different route.”

  “I see. So the seer could act on specific details if they are clear and change the—probability.”

  “Exactly. The trick is discovering and interpreting the details, which are not always clear. Sometimes the things one sees are merely representative. It is more difficult yet when the visions come when one is sleeping. How to separate dream from vision?”

  “Is there a way?”

  Bairith lifted one hand and let it fall to his side. “Practice. Time.”

  “So I might have been having a vision and not just a dream?”

  The mage’s gaze sharpened, became predatory. “It is possible, I suppose. Did this dream feel any different from others?”

  Stars, had he just turned Bairith’s interest to training that skill? What would it take? Was it even possible? “I don’t think so…”

  “Have you ever before had dreams that came true? Think about it, boy.”

  “I— I don’t remember any.” He needed to turn attention away from himself. “Do you have visions?”

  The open, sharing attitude disappeared. “Why all this curiosity about seeing?”

  “I am a spirit mage,” he answered truthfully. “I want to learn all I can about my Gift, even if I can’t master all the aspects. My father said that an untrained mage is like an untrained rider on a dragon.” The summary lacked the depth the elder Tanoshi had included.

  “A colorful image, however unlikely. Dragons let no one ride them.”

  “Not even elves?”

  “Only in myths.”

  “But myths are born from real events, aren’t they?”

  “So it is said.” Bairith straightened from his casual lean. “We will be a myth one day.”

  “How do you know? Have you seen it?”

  He tipped his head. “I intend to make it so. It has already started.”

  The idea that Bairith might have what it took to do such a thing frightened him. The recipe for success included him, and Sherakai could have no part of it.

  Chapter 77

  Sherakai’s attempts to influence Fesh and Teth with magic were unreliable at best. He kept trying to get past whatever spell Bairith had laid on them, but he took great care that the jansu did not suspect him. Still, he could not count on them to come with him when he left the Gates or even to let some of his more unusual activities go unreported. He’d taken to smuggling tidbits from his dinner to give to them. They enjoyed the treats and he enjoyed spoiling them because he knew perfectly well that Bairith would disapprove.

  As he fed them their goodies, he watched to see if they noticed the flavor of the sleeping draught he’d stirred into the gravy. He had no idea how much to give them, nor how long they’d sleep if he succeeded. It took four days of experimenting to provide himself with a reliable hour in which to do as he pleased.

  Deishi provided no obstacle. It took little effort to talk him into doing something he enjoyed, or to persuade him to stay at the library to finish whatever book he’d picked up.

  On that fourth night, Sherakai left the beasts snoring by the fire and slipped out into the hall. With the door closed, scarcely daring to breathe, he conjugated verbs in Galayan as he descended the stairs. It was dull, repetitive, and beyond suspicion.

  With Fesh and Teth beside him all the time, Bairith hadn’t seen the need to employ more guards at his door, nor even in the hall. The men were put to better use at the front gates, along the defensive wall, and at the gate towers. Sherakai discovered that pairs of them roamed the castle when he almost ran into them at the bottom of the tower steps. The scuff of boots warned him, and for just a moment he hesitated, wondering who would be about at this hour in this particular part of the keep. Just as quickly, he decided he didn’t want to have to explain himself, and ducked inside a doorway, pressing himself tight against the wall where shadows dwelt.

  Two guards walked past, one peering into the sparsely lit space, then going on without a word. Sherakai waited a minute or two, then crept down to the next level. He collided with someone as he slipped around a corner. The scent of perfume revealed his victim was a woman. She gasped, but did not cry out. He caught her upper arms to keep them both from falling.

  “I’m so sorry, miss,” he murmured, releasing her and stepping away. His eyes widened.

  “Sherakai,” the nameless woman whispered back. She looked past him, then back the way she’d come. “Here.” She thrust a bulky parcel at him. “Clothes for you and your sister. A map from here to Tanoshi. Do you know the Hall of Porcelain?” When he nodded, she went on. “There is a large trunk there. I’ll leave food in it.”

  “Thank you.” He clasped the package with one hand and caught her shoulder with the other. “How can I ever return your kindness?”

  Her brows drew down fiercely. “By getting away safely and running as fast as you can. Once you are clear, you must not stop. Did you find a way to deal with your guardians?”

  “Yes, I think so, but I’m not sure how much time it will give us.”

  “Kill them. You can take a knife from the armory during weapons practice.”

  “What? No. I can’t do that.” He couldn’t kill them, but he knew a good place to put them where they wouldn’t be discovered for a long time. He would leave them food and water, and perhaps they’d forgive him.

  “Then I will probably see you again soon.” She cupped his face with one hand and shook her head, denying the possibility. “If you can get home, you will be safe from them. Did you find a way out of the keep?”

  “Yes, I can—”

  Sh
e pressed her fingers against his lips. “Don’t tell me.”

  He nodded and she let him go. “What about my sister? Where do I find her? Is she in a cell in the dungeon?”

  “Tomorrow night I will make sure he sleeps. I will bring her to the Blue Parlor.” At his blank look, she whispered hurried directions. “There is something else.” Loosening the ties of her leather purse, she produced a small cloth-wrapped object. “This will help.”

  “What is it?”

  “Bleakstone.” She tucked it beneath a fold of the bundle. “You needn’t put it in your mouth. That’s what Iniki did to you, isn’t it? It just needs to touch your skin to interrupt the magic.”

  He remembered all too well the horror of being cut off from the aro, but this was exactly what he needed, what he’d hoped to find. With the awful metal separating him from the magic, he’d be separated from the beasts and from Bairith. “Is he going to know you took it?” he whispered, clasping the bundle tight against his chest.

  She paused, then shook her head. “No, I was careful.” She embraced him without warning. “Be strong. Whatever it takes, you must not fall into his hands again, do you understand?”

  “I understand.” Panic and excitement twined through him. It frightened him. He could not give in to emotion or it would be his undoing as well as Mimeru’s. Patterns were everything. Patterns were soothing. He focused on the cursed verb forms.

  “Do you? It might take killing someone.” Hands on his shoulders, she gave him a little shake and everything about her took on a hard, sharp quality. “Your guards. Your friend. Your sister.”

  The patterns shattered. “Never Mimeru,” he hissed, and was horrified that he’d even consider murdering the others.