“Nonsense,” said Farran airily. But he grinned back, and winked before he continued. “The thing I find intriguing is that this strange power is, in fact, learning you. It may not know who you are, or how to find you, but it’s learned to stop trying to hurt you. It’s merely watching. And someone, or something, is calling the actual soldiers to do the dirty work.”
Fox stared at the god incredulously for a moment, before bursting out, “How is that supposed to be any better?!”
“Oh, it’s not,” admitted Farran. “It’s quite terrible. And dangerous for you in particular. BUT —” he pressed on before Fox could argue, “just think about the possibilities of this sort of uncharted magical territory.” His eyes gleamed wildly, and for a moment it seemed as though more of his normal color was returning. “This city is sitting on something very powerful, and possibly very valuable. If we survive, if we can find it? We can take it.”
Fox rolled his eyes. “Pirates,” he grumbled.
“Don’t act like you’re any better, daydreamer,” said Farran. “Treasure comes in many forms. Power; gold; magic; the promise of becoming a legend; the love of a beautiful woman ...” He trailed off, a sudden sadness overtaking him, and the two walked in silence for the rest of the journey.
They traveled back to Fox’s workshop, where Darby and Bartrum were waiting for a report. All afternoon, the four sat in conversation, swapping theories about what magic was running the city. Was it a person? An artifact? Or something else entirely?
It was agreed that Neil should be allowed in on the secrets of the group, at least in a minor capacity. Next to Bartrum, he was the most dedicated and able scholar of the group. He saw magic in ways that even the Darby and Bartrum didn’t, and they all agreed that his input could be invaluable.
When the group finally went their separate ways for the evening, careful to stagger their departures, Bartrum and Fox were the last to leave.
“I’m sorry,” said Bartrum after a moment of silence.
“What for?”
“For getting you wrapped up in all of this.” Bartrum was leaning against a wall, peering out the window. There were more guards out than normal tonight, patrolling in pairs, still searching. “My work is dangerous enough already. And with your Blessing acting like a magical beacon for all that’s wrong in this city ... ”
“Farran says I just need to learn more control,” said Fox. “I should be using my magic more subtly. You can teach me, can’t you?”
“You still want lessons, even after all of this?” asked Bartrum, turning to face him. “You collapsed and were almost found out, after I started teaching you how to make your own parchment and ink.”
“Which I asked for,” insisted Fox.
“You’re being followed, hunted, and watched by the city itself,” Bartrum countered. “You’re only sixteen! You shouldn’t have to deal with this. It shouldn’t be your responsibility.”
“And how old were you when you saved the princess, in Athilior?” said Fox, recalling Bartrum’s tale.
The spymaster sighed. “Sixteen.”
“You turned out alright,” said Fox. “I’ve already dealt with things I shouldn’t have. I’ve fought monsters and my own magic ... if teaching me to be a spy, and use my magic in the shadows, will help save people, then I’m afraid you’re stuck with me, Bartrum.”
A small smile began to tug at the side of Bartrum’s mouth. “I gave you a chance to say no,” he said. “I gave you a fair and honest out, and you refused. From now, there is no going back.” He held out his hand. “You will be trained to be a proper espionage agent, not simply a civilian recruit. You will operate in secrecy, under the guide and leadership of myself, and the High King in Athilior.”
The thrill of adventure was humming in Fox’s chest again, and he was careful to squash it quickly, before the wind got the better of him again. He reached out and clasped Bartrum’s hand. As they shook, Bartrum’s grip tightened, and the spymaster held his gaze intently.
“Nothing about your training will be simple, you must know this. You will be tested, you will be caught off your guard at every turn. And, you will always run the risk of being found out. This assignment does not end when we free you from Calibas.”
With determination and resolve, Fox squeezed his own hand tighter around Bartrum’s and nodded once. “Aye, sir,” he said. “At your command.”
“Excellent,” said Bartrum, separating with a proud glint in his eyes. “Now, I certainly hope your senses are prepared. Because I’ve just poisoned you. The antidote is hidden somewhere in this room, and I pray you find it before your time runs out. Go.”
Chapter Fifteen
Limbwalker
Fox quickly became something of a favorite in his University classes. Students clamored to be on his team when they divided into false armies for practice. Teachers praised his quick eye and ready mind. At Iness’s suggestion, Fox had joined two more classes, in addition to the strategy and tactics lessons. She joined him twice weekly in Siege Warfare, and dragged him along to the Alchemy lab, where he learned everything from herbalism to poison making.
In the mess hall, he was constantly surrounded by people wanting to know his story. He indulged them out of politeness at first, and then because he found he enjoyed it. Soon, he was crafting tales about his own adventures to rival any natural-born Shavid, though he was careful to only use his words, and not his wind, to tell them.
Between classes, Fox was constantly tested on his spycraft. Bartrum would leave coded messages for him around his routes, and judge him based on how many he found. Fox was constantly checking to make sure his own food wasn’t mildly poisoned, and the two times he slipped up, he was lucky enough to be able to craft his own antidote at the alchemy lab. Then, there was the matter of his physical training. Bartrum had begun simulating small attacks against him, training Fox to utilize the new blades he now kept hidden in the wrists of his sleeves. It was an entirely new fighting style, and Fox found he rather enjoyed it. He was certain he could be even better at it if he weren’t being so careful with his Blessing, but even so, Bartrum assured him that he was learning extremely quickly.
Summer ended in a haze of rainstorms, and Autumn settled on the city of Calibas with a welcome chill. In the Shavid quarters, tensions were running high. Two more of the players – Donlan and James – had succumbed to the Still, and were now being quarantined along with Mindi. And Radda had a theory as to why.
“Wanderlust,” said Radda, re-stringing his lute one evening. He and several of his closest players sat next to the lit fire in his room, working their instruments. “It isn’t just a word, or a feeling ... it’s a place. And an event. A festival, held every year, celebrating Rhin and her children.”
“Where is it?” asked Fox.
“The location changes every year,” said Aubrey, rubbing her pregnant belly with a small grimace. “Those who can make it, do. Some hear the call more than others. And, for some of those who ignore it ...”
“The Still,” deduced Fox.
“Wanderlust is coming,” said Radda. “The Shavid will begin to gather any day now. Somewhere. And the temporary city will spring up, built by our tents and our wagons.” His eyes lit up as he spoke. “Oh how the colors will amaze you, little mapweaver. It is a town fueled by stories and music, where all of the wind’s people can gather to share their wildest tales, and write new songs that will be played throughout the Known World all year.”
It sounded magnificent. Fox could feel the wind teasing his hair, echoing his excitement. For a moment, the fears and concerns of Calibas melted away, and he forgot his duties. The espionage and political worries were lost, and Fox no longer cared about escaping for their sakes ... he cared about being free to give in to the Wanderlust. Then, he shook himself back to the present, forcing himself to remember everything larger that was at stake. And why he had sought out Radda in the first place.
“Listen,” Fox said, lowering his voice, “I never got a chance to thank y
ou, for not telling Lord Gilvard what I am. That I’m Windkissed.”
“Bah,” said Radda, brushing it off as he moved on to the next string on his instrument. “No point in you getting locked into eternal experiments with us, is there?”
“That’s just it,” said Fox glumly. “You’ve all been suffering, being tested every day, and I’ll admit I’ve felt rather guilty, being able to escape the court’s gaze.”
“No need,” Radda insisted. The man looked exhausted. His fingers shook as he worked on his lute, but still he kept a smile on his face. Fox’s feeling of guilt only intensified, but he pressed on. He had to. If the pieces for an eventual escape were going to fall into place, the Shavid had to be ready. To be at least a little bit aware of the plan, even if Fox couldn’t risk telling them everything.
Fox waved his hand, and an obedient wind closed the door. The small group in the room looked at him curiously, and Radda himself looked downright impressed.
“Your handle on your Blessing has gotten quite good, hasn’t it?” he said.
“I’ve been working on it,” Fox replied. “But I need to know – when you saved my town from the Desolata. When you hid it?”
Radda sighed, putting down his lute. “I’ve thought about trying something like that again,” he said quietly. “We all have. We tried to hide our escape during the first few weeks of our entrapment, but Lord Gilvard seems to have been prepared for that. There are too many eyes in the city, expecting us already. The Desolata didn’t know exactly where the valley was, it gave me a distinct advantage.”
“But could you do it, even on a smaller scale?” asked Fox.
“With the people in the room, yes. I could make the court see what I wanted them to see, and possibly get most of the Shavid out. But, once we’re in the city, everything changes. We have no access to the gates without running afoul of the Iron Order. We’ve searched for back routes and cracks in the wall for months now, but Calibas is well-enclosed.”
“What if we had help?” asked Fox. “Suppose I was working with people. People who might be able to get us out, with the right plan?”
Radda raised an eyebrow. “I would ask, what is their plan?”
“Still being written,” admitted Fox. “There’s the issue of Lord Gilvard’s malicious and curious magical force, running through the city. We find that first, and make our escape after. But, no matter what, we’ve got to be prepared. And that means ...” Fox winced at the thought, but pressed on. “That means you’ve got to start saving your strength. I don’t know how quickly all of this is going to come together, but you can’t expend all your magic before it does. I’ve seen the way Gilvard runs you all every night, and I’ve seen what it does to you. If we had the chance to leave tonight, half of the players wouldn’t be able to muster up enough power to create a single illusion.”
“So what,” said Aubrey, “we all just allow ourselves to get thrown in jail? Or punished? Or hurt, for not complying?”
“Occasionally,” said Fox, meeting her gaze with far more surety than he actually felt. “Or, some of you could begin to disappear. Those of you with stronger Blessings could mysteriously fall ill, and regain your strength from a sick bed until it’s time. I have a friend who can help with all of that, should you be interested.”
He waited as the Shavid looked between each other. It was Otter, an older, grey-haired musician, who spoke up first. “Well, it sure as Spirit beats sitting around here all day, waiting for our own torture time after time! Count me in, boy!” He stood and clapped Fox on the shoulder. And, one by one, the other Shavid agreed. It was clear by the time Fox left that all of them would exercise discretion, and that they were more than eager to finally have hope.
Over the next few days, small amulets were delivered to a select few among the Shavid. One by one, the strongest among them began to disappear. They faded into the night with Fox and Bartrum’s help, hidden away in secret safe houses around town, or booked at a local room with a trustworthy innkeeper. A few more pretended to fall to the Still, including Radda himself. He was locked away with the actual victims in a small room, where he spent his days watching over his daughter’s condition and waiting for Fox’s signal to emerge.
And Aubrey, in an entirely unplanned stroke of luck, went into labor and needed to be rushed to the midwife. Bartrum and Fox paid her handsomely to keep Aubrey there longer than was usually necessary, and even managed to sneak one of the other players off to hide with her.
Soon, the Shavid who remained had started up a steady schedule of performance and jail time. They took turns actively failing to impress Lord Gilvard, allowing themselves to be thrown in a cell for a night rather than use up all their magical energy all at once. It gave them chances to recover, and to familiarize themselves with the jail itself, in case one of them needed to be broken out during the eventual escape.
And then, slowly at first, the winds began to gather in Calibas. Breezes pulled at every flag, and people could not walk out of doors without pinning down their hats. An incessant, unrelenting zephyr filled the city, blowing debris through the streets and pulling leaves from their branches. A bitter and unseasonable cold filled the air, and a restlessness settled over the city like thick fog. People complained about not being able to sleep, the whistling wind keeping them up late at night. Animals began to act erratically, and horses bucked their owners and tried to destroy their own stables. Messenger birds would refuse to come home again, and cats hid under furniture, their hackles raised and their tails puffed out in fear. The wind harassed guards at the city wall, and forced arrows to stray from their targets in the training grounds.
Farran brought reports of all of it to Fox, Darby, and Bartrum in Fox’s workshop. The conspirators could not have been more pleased. But, when Bartrum asked if the Shavid were doing it intentionally, Fox shook his head.
“They’ve all been asked to keep their magic usage to a minimum, to preserve their strength. This is happening all on its own.”
“The wind watches over her children,” said Farran fondly, gazing out the window at the wind-tossed city streets, and the harried-looking city folk. “She’s trying to send a message.”
“To the Shavid,” asked Fox, “or to Gilvard?”
“Both, I’d imagine,” said Farran. “Support for you and your people, and a warning for him.” He turned back to the small room of spies with a wicked grin on his face. “I say we capitalize on the chaos, gentlemen. Fear tactics and pageantry are sort of my specialty, after all.”
Fox remembered all too well the visions he’d seen of Farran’s style. He could recall perfectly the old memories he’d shared, of battles won by fear and mind games. Of the terror in Chancellor DeMorrow’s face, when Farran revealed himself to the corrupt man and threatened everything he owned. He scrutinized the pirate, who was looking more and more like himself every day now, and grinned. “You’re sure it won’t drain you too much? We need you in working order as well as the Shavid.”
“Never you fret, my little scrap,” said Farran with a mock salute. “I shall be perfectly safe. But, should you order me to cause a bit of chaos and mischief amongst the people, I would be thrilled to oblige.”
“Go then,” said Fox. “Let’s keep everyone on their toes.”
Without a goodbye, Farran vanished in an instant, his disappearance leaving the slight scent of saltwater in the air.
∞∞∞
“Have you heard about the floods in the Undercity?” asked Iness. She was sitting with Fox in the University mess, a book propped open in front of her. “They started last week, and they’ve come out of nowhere! It hasn’t rained, the bathhouse pipes haven’t broken, everything’s just ... flooding!”
“Odd,” said Fox lightly, continuing to eat his way through a steady stream of meat and potatoes. With his extra lessons, training with Bartrum, and sparring with Neil every night, he found himself extremely hungry almost consonantly. He was also, he realized, growing. Hitting that phase Father had told him about, whe
re he truly started becoming a man. He remained shorter and lither than most boys his age, but he’d clearly put on a few inches, and he’d had to start shaving his face every couple of days.
“Between that and the wind,” Iness continued, “there’s rumors that the city is cursed. That your Shavid cursed it.” She looked at him pointedly, clearly waiting for a reaction.
“Are you trying to ask if my tribe and I have brought unspeakable evil into Calibas?” asked Fox with a chuckle. “Come on, you’re a magical scholar. You know that possibility has existed here for years.”
Iness flinched, glancing around to make sure Fox hadn’t been overheard. For once, they were remarkably alone in the mess. It seemed that rumors of the Shavid curse had spread far enough that students were avoiding Fox now, and he grinned to himself. Iness, however, did not look amused. “You can’t just talk like that,” she hissed at him. “People will hear. We’re not supposed to.”
“But you know something is wrong, don’t you?” asked Fox, lowering his voice so as not to make her uncomfortable. “You know Lord Gilvard is dangerous, and that something strange is happening in this city. I felt it when I first arrived, and I’ve seen it in court, with the way he controls people. You must know he’s planning something dire.”
“I ...” Iness swallowed, looking extremely tense. “I don’t know what’s happening. None of us do.”
“Think, Iness,” said Fox, more urgently now. “Why won’t he let us leave, even after all this curse nonsense? Why has he transitioned the University into mostly military classes, and why is he allying himself with the most militant country in the Known World?”
“Stop it,” said Iness sharply. “I’m not stupid, Fox. We all know he’s gearing up for a war of some kind. A takeover of a neighboring city or two, maybe. So he wants to expand his reach, so what? Great rulers across time have done just that, and built grand and powerful empires. The world is dangerous, and if Lord Gilvard can keep us safe by collecting the right people for his cause? And using the right magic? So be it. Whatever he’s doing to protect us, I agree with it.”
Inkspice (The Mapweaver Chronicles Book 2) Page 19