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

by Robin Lythgoe

  “It is not just your life that depends on your freedom, Sherakai.”

  “What do you mean? Have you seen something?”

  She stared at him, then nodded. “One of them. Four of them. You must weigh their few lives against a host I cannot measure. Crimson rivers. Your hands, your arms, your face all painted in blood.”

  He shook his head, shocked and disbelieving. “I will kill scores?” He couldn’t imagine something so outrageous. Patterns, dear Creator, patterns. Think, Sherakai!

  “Hundreds. More. Please, please believe me when I tell you this. I can offer no proof except my willingness to risk helping you and Mimeru get away. If she knew how she endangers you she would take her own life.”

  He didn’t want to believe her, but truth and desperation wove jaggedly through her aura, her face, her eyes. Her grip on his arm betrayed her anguish.

  “Go back upstairs, Sherakai. You cannot be caught here now.” She tugged him close, kissed his cheek, then fled back the way she’d come.

  Sherakai took two knives from the armory without the slightest trace of guilt. He smiled grimly to himself. Bairith had put him in this position, Bairith would pay. Two knives, clothing, food, horses—a paltry amount, all things considered. After he and Mimeru got home they would figure out how to get real justice. One blade tucked into each boot, he wished he could take a sword and a crossbow. Fesh and Teth came trotting into the long room, chittering and huffing the way they did, claws scraping on the stone floor.

  “I’m coming, I’m coming,” he complained. “You know I had to put our weapons away, I do it every day.”

  Fesh hissed and grinned.

  “Fine, I do it every day that I’m able to walk off the field. So… sometimes?”

  The creature chortled, and Sherakai shook his head. Sometimes they seemed so human. That course of thinking only made him ill, for if they’d once been human, what had Bairith done to them? How had he done it? Sherakai had never heard of such hideous practices before. He was learning there were many things he’d never heard of before. He missed his boring, sheltered life. He decided he didn’t like adventuring at all, which was just as well because Jansu Tanoshi’s heir had no time to waste on such silly things. With one creature fore and one aft, Sherakai left the armory.

  Deishi waited for him, leaning against the wall, moving a thin stream of water from one hand to the other. “You did awfully well today.”

  “Or you did really badly,” Sherakai countered. “Are you not feeling well?”

  His practice dummy gave him a wan smile. “I’m feeling extraordinarily tired. As if I haven’t slept in days.”

  “You have been spending a lot of time in the library.” He extended his senses cautiously, looking for suspicion.

  Deishi dispersed the water with a flick, pushed off the wall, and began the ascent to their quarters. “That’s true. The jansu has a fantastic library. Books give us so much to learn! So many minds to explore! It’s as if the authors are speaking to us from the shelves. Have you ever thought that?”

  Sherakai trailed up the steps behind him. “No, but I like the idea.”

  “I should cut back. I’m becoming addicted.”

  “I suggest you stay away from the library tonight. Get some sleep. Live to fight the entrancing pages another day.”

  “Do you think the library is enchanted?”

  He snorted. “No, I think you’re a goose.”

  “That is highly uncomplimentary. I’d challenge you, but we’re already halfway up the stairs and moments away from a quick nap.”

  “If you are sleeping, who is going to drill me in Galayan conjunctions?”

  “Have mercy! Just this once.”

  Sherakai rolled his eyes and leveled a scolding finger. “One time. That’s it. But you’ll have to give me a couple of sentences to practice if Bairith asks.”

  “Sly, sly Sherakai,” Deishi sang, tired eyes alight.

  He let him get away with it because it was the last time. “You’re tired. Work with me till we get to our quarters, then you’re free.”

  “Too kind, oh my master, too kind! Yeka sa gansi pesip. You are a prince.”

  “I can see where that will be useful in the future.”

  Deishi backhanded him in the chest playfully. “Say it!”

  Dutifully, Sherakai mimicked the words. Deishi gave him another sentence. Back and forth they went. When they reached their rooms, Deishi walked straight to the bed and fell on it. His pretend snores lasted about half a minute before real ones took over. Sherakai watched him ruefully, then heaved a sigh.

  “You’re a good man, Deishi dan Arunakun.” He pulled off his companion’s boots. I am going to miss you.

  Chapter 78

  “Where is your friend?”

  Sherakai stopped at the edge of the rug and bowed. Fesh and Teth lowered and slipped out to wait in the hall. “I have no friends here, sir. If you are talking about Deishi, he will be here in a moment.”

  “It is good we have a moment before he arrives. Today I want you to use your Voice on him so I can judge how your skill is progressing.”

  He hesitated. “I don’t think he knows yet that I am a mage.”

  “What difference does that make? I had him brought here for one reason only.”

  He did not know why it mattered to him. Deishi would leave one day, and he’d likely never see him again. What difference indeed if Bairith turned them into enemies?

  As if to save him from having to reply, Deishi skidded in and hurried to join Sherakai. He offered Bairith a quick, sloppy bow and a smile. “Sorry, sir.”

  The jansu eyed him critically, then nodded. “I’m sure it won’t happen again.”

  “No, sir. I admire punctuality.”

  Silence made a fine-edged weapon. At last Bairith smiled slightly, then turned to Sherakai. “Let us begin.”

  Nerves fluttered in his belly. As he drew upon the aro, he considered the best course of action. He did not want to hurt or embarrass Deishi and, suspecting that the lesson might last awhile, he chose something simple. The aro filled and wrapped a single word. “Deishi.” He let the name linger in the air, imagining that it sparkled and shone as well as its owner did. “You are a good man, Deishi dan Arunakun.” Sherakai kept his Voice as soft and sweet as a spring breeze. “So trusting, so obedient. You like to please people, don’t you? You can best please me by doing what I tell you to do. You will not question, you will not resist. Do you understand?”

  Brows quirking, Deishi glanced at Bairith, then back to Sherakai. “Yes, of course.”

  His nerves quivered again. “Go pour us each a glass of wine.”

  He started to speak, looked inquiringly at Bairith, then went to do as he’d been told. “Starting early, are we?”

  When he’d filled all three glasses, Sherakai spoke again. “Deishi. I’ve changed my mind. Pour the wine back into the decanter.”

  ~Very good, you’ve learned that using the subject’s name makes the compulsion stronger.~

  “Do you mind if I—No, never mind.” Carefully, Deishi trickled the ruby liquid into the crystal vessel.

  “Again,” Bairith ordered. “Something less agreeable this time.”

  “Deishi. Strike me.”

  His eyes widened. “I don’t want to!” Even so, his footsteps carried him to Sherakai.

  “You know you do,” he coaxed, lifting his chin and trying to ignore the alarm in Deishi’s eyes. “So satisfactory to feel the sting of it, to hear the sound. Open handed. Across the face. It shows your strength.”

  “Sherakai.” The slap resounded sharply. The force of it turned Sherakai’s head.

  At the same instant, he felt the prick of satisfaction in the forced link. Braided with it he felt wicked pleasure. Bairith liked to see him hurt? He hadn’t the time to work it out.

  “It’s you that’s sent me to the library every night?” Deishi demanded, shock sparking off of him.

  He wanted to apologize, to tell him he hadn’t meant to
deceive him, but he had. It was necessary.

  “Why?”

  “As a part of my lessons.”

  “And you couldn’t tell me?” Anger kindled in Deishi’s eyes.

  “No. Your lack of knowledge was the only way to measure success.”

  “You couldn’t even tell me you were a mage.”

  “I—”

  “You can take this up later,” Bairith interrupted smoothly. “Give him a new task, my dragon. Something he would never do. Tell him to draw his knife.”

  “No!” they both cried together.

  “I won't do this. You're mad, both of you,” Deishi snapped, and made for the door.

  “So very much depends on this, Sherakai,” Bairith noted, his calm a direct contrast to the high emotion in his students. “Your future. Your sister’s…”

  “Deishi. Stop.”

  With a growl of frustration, Deishi came up short of the door.

  “Come stand beside me.” Sherakai waited until his roommate faced him again, a scant arm’s length away.

  “You have a fine talent with your Voice,” Bairith mused, “but it needs refining. Strengthening. You had him firmly at first, but you’ve let your hold waver. Proceed.”

  He gave Deishi an apologetic look that did nothing to relieve the anger in his companion’s face. “Deishi, draw your blade. Free it from the cage that holds it. Let it shine in the light. Draw your blade…”

  “Very poetic,” Deishi ground out. He fought against the compulsion, but the knife came free anyway.

  “Excellent,” Bairith nodded. “Have him sheathe it in his leg.”

  “His what?” Sherakai stared at the jansu. Panic beat at him—his own and Deishi’s.

  “No! What do you want from me?” Deishi cried.

  “You, young man, will stay right where you are.” Bairith’s Voice, like iron, rooted Deishi to the floor even as the mage met Sherakai’s astonished gaze. His eyes held as much warmth as frost on a winter morning. “You heard me.”

  “You can’t be serious! He’s a man, not a block of wood!”

  “His leg. Or I will find someplace more interesting to put it.”

  “In mine, then.” Jaw inching out, Sherakai faced Deishi again.

  “Do not be ridiculous. It will take you days to recover properly, and you have a great deal of work ahead of you. I forbid you to cause yourself harm.” His Voice lashed Sherakai, drawing a gasp and an involuntary jerk backwards, as if he might escape it. When he had steadied himself, Bairith extended his hand toward Deishi. “I have no need for him. He is here at your request. You may continue.”

  “Sherakai, no,” Deishi pleaded. “Don’t do this.”

  “I—I must. If I don’t he’ll kill you. Or my sister.” He drew aro to him in bits and strands.

  “Steady,” the jansu cautioned. “Breathe into it. Relax. Let the aro flow into you, don’t drag it haphazardly.”

  Green eyes flashed. “Why do you want so badly for me to hate you?”

  “I do not want you to hate, I want you to learn.”

  How could he stay so unemotional when he demanded such horror? “Congratulations. You’ll have both when you’re finished with my lessons.”

  “Trust me, I know what is best for you, Sherakai.” Fingertips tented before his chest, Bairith waited.

  Loathing prickled his skin and curled his lip. “Leave me to it, then,” he growled.

  “Don’t do this, Sherakai,” Deishi begged. The knife in his hand shook wildly. He tried to drop it, but his fingers refused to uncurl.

  The assault of emotions—fear and expectation alike—threatened to shatter Sherakai’s concentration altogether. He dug his fingernails into his palms and let the pain become his point of focus. He steadied his breathing and pushed the annoyance to as great a distance as he could manage. It still scraped and prodded at him with sharp edges. “Deishi, listen to me.”

  “No,” he whispered, shaking his head repeatedly. His features paled with the strain.

  “Listen to me,” Sherakai insisted, charging the words with aro. “You can do this. Trust yourself. You must act, but you choose the course of the knife. You are strong, Deishi dan Arunakun. So strong.” His eyes burned, his chest ached with regret. He wrapped both hands around Deishi’s fist, restraining the tremble, imparting calm. “Your choice will be the lesser wound. The more you fight it, the wilder the release will be. Steady. Lift the blade. Let it slide into place. The worst will be over in a moment.”

  “Filthy shader.” Deishi’s beautiful features contorted in conflicting desire and desperation.

  “Now.” Sherakai exhaled with a push of aro as he released his hold. He kept his gaze trained on Deishi’s face, watching as agony brutally eradicated desire. Quickly, he caught Deishi’s hand again and pulled the knife free. Straight into the outside of his leg. Straight out. It clattered on the tiles when he dropped it, leaving a chaotic streak of blood. Ripping off his sash, he pressed it tight to Deishi’s thigh.

  Deishi dug his fingers into Sherakai’s shoulders like claws. “You are mad, both of you!” Pain bled through his aura like water rushing from a broken dam.

  “I’m sorry, Deishi. I’m so sorry.” Ineffective, tardy, useless—he still poured his heart into the apology.

  “Shut up. Shut up!” He shoved Sherakai away and stumbled backwards.

  Sherakai followed him, catching and supporting as he guided Deishi to the closest chair. Then he whirled on the mage, fury and aro gleaming bright as swords. “Promise me that you’ll see that he’s Healed. Completely.”

  Bairith surrendered a single step, paused, and straightened. An odd, satisfied look crept into his face. “Very good,” he murmured. “There’s the strength I saw in you, come out of hiding at last. You are astonishing, beautifully astonishing.”

  “Heal him,” Sherakai demanded.

  “As you wish.” He glided to the door to call for a servant.

  “You are just as crazy as he is,” Deishi hissed through clenched teeth. “Do you two think you can do as you like because you’re mages? My father and the Council of Governors in Kesurechi will hear of this.”

  Sherakai pulled another chair close and sat. “I wish they would, but Bairith’s already bought and paid for you.” He kept his voice low, but it shook with the anger coursing through him. “You must get away from this place. Soon. Here, put pressure on that.” His hand covered Deishi’s, pressing hard. He thought about bringing Deishi when he left, then immediately dismissed the idea. How could Deishi ever trust him?

  “Let us proceed,” Bairith announced, returning to join them. “While you still have such a strong hold on the aro, my son, I want you to heal Deishi.”

  “Heal him? I don’t even know where to start!”

  “I will guide you. A person’s aura stems from his pattern and is colored by his personality. You must look beyond that to the threads of energy as they shape his being.” He nodded toward Deishi. “Go ahead. Look.”

  “I can’t heal!”

  “I've sent for Mage Tylond, but Deishi suffers,” Bairith chided in a patient voice. “You have the power to help him.”

  The fury twisting through Sherakai found fuel in Deishi’s angry glare—and in the jansu’s expectant approval. Aro trembled through him. It begged release, but to heal? Was it possible? Sherakai gave Deishi an apologetic look before he did as the jansu directed. If he could help relieve the pain he’d caused, he would do it in a heartbeat.

  “No!” Deishi exclaimed. “No more magic.”

  Ignoring him, Bairith went on. “You have seen the arusat-o—ley lines—in the world at large and throughout the keep. The human body is like its own little world. It draws its strength from the earth, much as the earth draws its vitality from the universe.”

  Sherakai frowned as he strove to see past Deishi’s aura. “Can a person’s connection to the world be severed?”

  “Yes, but not permanently, unless he is dead. Death itself ends the connection, but even that is transmutable
.”

  “Stop,” Deishi interjected with growing terror. “Just stop.”

  “A man’s aro is stored, for lack of a better word, at his center. Some think it is connected to his spirit. Once you’ve located it—and it is sometimes hidden and protected, even in the simplest of men—you can call upon it to speed the normal healing process. To be effective, it must be used in tandem with exterior aro: yours or a leyline.”

  “Another person?” Sherakai asked.

  “Perhaps. Using your own energy will put you at risk. It not only weakens you, but it cripples your ability to complete the Healing.”

  Bairith put his hand on Sherakai’s shoulder. Suddenly, as if an image had been set in front of him, the youth saw the pattern the mage had told him to look for. Glittering bright threads, sparkling and alive. A sense of constant movement. A glow from deep within like a small sun.

  “I see!” he exclaimed, surprised and thrilled.

  “Yes. Study it for a moment, then I want you to locate the wound in his pattern.”

  He chewed on his lip as he searched for the injury. Nothing obvious presented itself and the constant movement made him lightheaded. “I don’t see it.”

  “Keep trying.”

  Deishi shifted, producing a hiss of pain. The pattern moved, too, and Sherakai shook his head to clear it.

  “It is so… busy. I don’t know what to look for.”

  The door opened and a new presence entered the room. “My lord, you—”

  Bairith held his hand up, forestalling Tylond’s interference. “A wound is, as you might expect, an ugliness on the pattern. A place of bruising and discoloration. Frayed threads. Holes. Tears.”

  Sherakai lifted one shoulder and shook his head again. “I don’t see it.”

  “Try harder.”

  He rubbed his eyes and leaned a little closer, pouring effort into finding the elusive damage.

  “That’s it. Stick with it,” came Bairith’s purr of encouragement in his ear.

  The longer he looked, the more the lines blurred and the more the swirling sensation dizzied him.

  “Sherakai,” Deishi rasped. “Your nose—”