"Son?" Nariem asked. He poked his head around the doorway to the kitchen, mouth full of Masha's honey glazed biscuits. He carried a cup of water in his other hand, taking a site as he hastily swallowed. "You look awful! What happened? Did this happen in class?
Seeing Nariem's genuine concern pushed Keevan's anger down to a steady burn. Keevan glanced down, noticing the dried blood on his knees and elbows. Corvan's healing had taken care of the bruises, but a knot forming above Keevan's right eye still hissed in pain whenever he turned his head to fast. He shrugged off his tattered cloak, still moist from his time near the canal.
"I'll explain, but first, I've got a question for you," Keevan sighed. He draped his cloak over a dining room chair, taking a seat next to his father at the table. Nariem took a deep swig of water, sighing contently before asking, "What's wrong, Son?"
Keevan smiled in relief, for Nariem's gifts did not lie in deception or masking his emotions. Masha's work with the Suadans kept her skills quite sharp in that department. She might be able to slip a lie past him, but Nariem couldn't.
"You remember when you first adopted me?" Keevan asked, pointing at his head. Over the years, the wound faded to a mere patch of bare skin along his scalp. "I had a wound on my head. Dara was convinced it's the reason I can only see the elemental plane, nothing else. She called it a mental block."
"Yes, I remember," Nariem nodded, taking another bite of biscuit before continuing. "You know this story. We've gone over it many times. What's your question?"
Gulping nervously, Keevan shifted into the elemental plane. Nariem's field sprang into view. Strands of energy connected him to the water in his cup and the sink in the kitchen. Heat glowed around him, his temper still warm from his work at the forge. There were no sparks of fear.
"How fresh was the wound on my head?" Keevan asked, eyes fixed on the elements around them.
"How fresh?" Nariem asked, waving a dismissive hand. The moisture in the room did not suddenly increase, as one might expect from a lie. The electricity around him did not jump or crackle, as sparks often did when a Tri-Being feared discovery. Instead, he peeled off a chunk of biscuit and handed a portion to Keevan. "No, the wound was at least a month old. Why would you ask such a question?"
Keevan sighed in relief, laughing as he saw the truth behind Corvan's allegation. The Outlander needed to drive a wedge between Keevan and his parents, if Keevan were ever to leave them. He smiled at his father. This was the difference between Nariem and Masha, the blacksmith answered a question with a friendly smile and waited for an explanation. Masha would have already seen the implied lie in the question, not to mention set to anticipating who would concoct such a deception and why.
"Someone told me the wound was fresh when you adopted me," Keevan explained, accepting Nariem's offering and savoring the honey glaze. The biscuit was cool, but still moist. "In other words, when they saved me, they wounded my mind to keep my powers from developing. They created the block that Dara's been managing from time to time. That's what I was told, at least."
"That's a terrible thought," Nariem said with a shudder. The elements held steady around him, though the heat in the kitchen grew slightly in tune with his rising anger. "I couldn't imagine smashing a child's skull, for any reason. Nor would I hide those responsible."
"I know," Keevan agreed, rubbing his temples. "The Persuaders are all about rooting out traitors, intrigue, and finding the truth when everyone's appears to be lying. I didn't mean to bring that home with me."
"It's part of life, learning to keep things in their place," Nariem said, patting his son on the shoulder. Keevan winced from the pain, wondering how he managed to bruise himself on his back as well.
"But, I jumped onto the lie so quickly," Keevan muttered, glancing up at Nariem. "It's a crazy thought. You wouldn't leave me in a weakened state, in the same city as the Harbor Guild. And it's not like you could fix my block."
In the instant, Nariem's emotions whirled. The anger connecting Nariem to the warm kitchen faded, leaving a dull chill in the air. Sparks coated the blacksmith's heart, dancing along his limbs. They were faint, restrained enough that without Keevan's elemental vision, he wouldn't have noticed.
"Indeed," Nariem said, "That would be-"
"You can fix me?!" Keevan blurted out. He abandoned the elemental plane at once, so he could see the truth on his father's face. "I saw it. You turned cold at the mention of undoing my block, and electric."
"You're my son," Nariem implored, setting the remaining biscuit aside. "Of course I feel sad when I think about your limitations."
"A father, feeling sorry for his son, wouldn't feel afraid," Keevan challenged, standing up from his chair. Now he stood at equal height with his seated father, but judging from the sparks coursing through the blacksmith's veins, Nariem didn't feel large at all. "What are you afraid to tell me? I want the whole truth."
Nariem flustered for a moment, sputtering. Pursing his lips, he groaned in frustration and took another sip of water. "Are you sure you're ready for this? You must promise me that you will not go charging after her."
"Who?" Keevan demanded, slamming his fist on the table. Pain radiated from the bottom of his hand, another bruise from the day's events. "Dara? She's just a Rhet, why can't I go after her?"
"I've known that woman for over a decade and I'm still not sure what she really is," Nariem insisted, scratching the back of his head. "But I'm sure she's not 'just a Rhet'. She's treated your mind a couple times and she has mentioned in the past she might be able to undo your mental block."
"Then, why haven't you done so already?" Keevan growled, finally reigning in his temper. He realized he was shouting, and took a step back. This newfound rage felt unnatural, and for a moment, he felt guilty for turning on Nariem so. Briefly, at least.
"Keevan, take a breath," Nariem insisted, reclaiming the last of his biscuit. "You're a smart boy, stop talking and think it through. Masha had to explain it to me a few times, but I bet you'll figure it out quickly. If we'd stepped forward when you were five, or ten, and resolved your mental block, what would have happened?"
"I'd-"
"I said think it through," Nariem cut in, his throaty tone hinting at an oncoming tide of anger.
Keevan bit back a reply, noticing the gradual heat building in the stone dining room. Stepping away from the table, he paced back and forth, glaring at Nariem occasionally. After a full minute, Keevan's anger faded, and his cool logic took hold. With a gulp of realization, he sighed in relent.
"We can convince the Harbor Guild to let a wounded, incapable Sight Seeker alone," Nariem offered quietly. "But if we returned you to your full strength, able to touch the thoughts and emotions of others... I doubt even a decree from the Malik himself would have stopped them. This way, you lived. This way, you've thrived. Your elemental sight alone will open doors no Tri-Being could have dreamed."
"When would it be safe for Dara to heal me, then?" Keevan asked, watching the floor sullenly. "When I graduate from the academy?"
"Possibly," Nariem admitted, "your mother and I have discussed it at length. It depends on how well this city trusts you. Then there's Dara's tribe to consider."
"Her tribe?" Keevan echoed, flexing his bruised hand. "What about them?"
"Her tribe is even worse than the Harbor Guild when it comes to you," Nariem said, drawing a line over his throat like a blade. "Honestly, that woman risks her freedom every time she stops by to tend to you. If they knew she spent her time tending to your wounds, it could mean her life."
"An entire tribe of ... whatever she is," Keevan muttered. He resumed his pacing along the length of the room. "Not a people we'd want to offend. Particularly if we don't know the full extent of their abilities."
"No, their flames work differently than ours. I don't understand it myself and Dara's never offered to explain it to me," Nariem sighed, rising to his feet. He crossed the room in three long steps and wrapped Keevan in a big hug. The burly blacksmith smelled of smoke, ce
dar and sweat. "I'm sorry my boy, we didn't want to burden you with knowledge you couldn't act on."
"Why haven't any Tri-Beings studied them?" Keevan asked, breaking their embrace. "You would think the Scholar's Guild at least, would jump at the chance to study something so strange."
"They're a nomadic people, and very shy toward outsiders," Nariem explained, breaking their embrace. He walked over to a chest against the wall, lifting the lid and pulling out a roll of maps. "I'll show you."
They set the map out over half the dining room table. Nariem outlined a path with his finger, pointing ever eastward. "A few weeks journey from Issamere, are the mines that fuel the city's trade in ore and Danica." Nariem explained.
Countless valleys were marked over the years with little 'x' symbols, as each site dried up and new locations opened. Then, as one, the mountains rose into a high, impassible wall running from north to south. Beyond that, Nariem marked a wide circle with his pointer finger.
"Based on what little Dara told me," Nariem explained, tapping the spot beyond the mountains. "Her people live in these valleys, far out of reach of any army. There are countless tribes, each with slightly different takes on Outlanders. None of them are favorable, I'm afraid."
"So, we wait until she returns to check on me," Keevan sighed. "When will that be?"
Nariem shrugged, "She shows up once every couple years or so, something about a pilgrimage."
"A couple more years," Keevan muttered, chewing on his bottom lip. "Living like this."
"Is this so bad?" Nariem asked, pointing at Keevan's leather armor. "Persuadership is an honorable profession, and with Persuader Madol's help, we can make you a force to be reckoned with. Mental block or no."
"You made the right call, not telling me," Keevan relented, waving at the miles of mountain trails between them and Dara's tribes. "One word spoken in anger, when I was younger, and the wrong people would get the idea I expect to heal from this."
"Hopefully, you see the merit in keeping such knowledge to yourself, for now," Nariem emphasized, taking Keevan by the shoulder in his iron grip. He stared into Keevan's eyes, serious as death. "Not a word to Persuader Madol, or even the Malik. Understand?"
"I do," Keevan gulped. His thoughts settled on Corvan and deeper implications. Someone knew enough about Sight Seeker physiology, and Dara's healing abilities, to point Keevan in this direction. Someone was acting through Corvan, trying to turn and bend Keevan as they willed, as if by some invisible string. Zerik perhaps? The thought made Keevan angry all over again.
A heavy fist knocked on the door. "Master Stratagar!" A voice called, gruff and full of authority. "Keevan is required at the academy."
Nariem glanced at his son, a mischievous smile forming. "Why do I get the feeling they've been looking for you for a while?"
Keevan shrugged, feigning innocence. "These things just happen to me, father. Nothing I can do about it."
Chapter 13
With a guard standing on either side, Keevan stood before Persuader Madol's office, fighting the urge to expose the anxiety wrestling around in his stomach. Technically, he'd missed a full day's worth of training and course work. Master Hadrian, in particular, would be the most displeased of Keevan's instructors.
Keevan hoped his discoveries in the catacombs would help to lighten his punishment, but he still wasn't sure how much to tell them about Corvan. Despite his existence as a fugitive, the Varadour had a knack for ferreting out compromising information. If Keevan went so far as to expose his presence in the catacombs, the Varadour would surely find out. Sure, Corvan hadn't made Keevan promise to keep anything secret, but the Sight Seeker couldn't help but feel a need to preserve Corvan's trust.
"Persuader Madol, are you in?" One guard asked, a stern faced man whose eyes and gestures did most of the talking. He rapped the door's iron knocker against the hard oak door. They kept Keevan between them at all times, especially in the crowded parts of the city. Keevan couldn't tell if their attention should make him feel extra safe or extra captured.
"Come in," Persuader Madol ordered.
"We found the boy at home, speaking with his father, sir," The second guard said, nodding respectfully. "Though, from the state of his clothing, I'd assume he went elsewhere."
"Wherever it was, it wasn't Master Hadrian's sparring class," Madol grunted, pointing to the door. "You may close it on the way out. I will have words with the boy."
"As you will, sir," Both guards said, interlocking their fingers and bowing as they left. Persuader Madol returned the gesture. When the doors closed, he didn't speak right away, perusing through a stack of papers on his desk.
This left Keevan standing awkwardly in the middle of the small office, with ample time to survey his surroundings and wince at the writhing sensations in his belly. A handful of small wicker chairs lined the walls, dwarfed by Madol's thick oaken seat. The small window behind Madol overlooked the training yard, though now a drawn curtain plunged the office into dark shadows. Two candles burned on either end of his desk, giving Madol a menacing edge to his gruff features.
"Shall I sit down?" Keevan asked, inching toward one of the chairs along the wall.
"Not until I have my explanation," Persuader Madol snapped. He waved a handful of pages in the air. "Becoming a Persuader was your idea. You had many other options, softer and more lucrative ones. Why did you choose the day of Malik Morgra's special assignment to avoid your classes?"
"On the contrary, sir," Keevan countered, "It is because of the Malik's assignment I was unable to attend my classes. He ordered us to remain watchful of suspicious activity among the Rhetans, particularly if it turned out to have anything to do with Zerik."
Persuader Madol leaned back in his chair, intrigued. "And here I was thinking you snuck off to toss some embers with your Etrendi girl, Bahjal."
Keevan's mood soured a bit at the mention of her name. That was a completely different problem, in some ways, more difficult to solve than Zerik's rebellion. At least Zerik didn't change his priorities at will. "No, sir."
"Well, then," Madol said, nodding permissively. "Explain."
Quickly, Keevan summed up his experience in the catacombs. The moment he spoke of Danica weapons, reinforced, and bearing flames of various colors, Madol pulled a blank page free and jotted down some notes of his own with his quill.
"I take it, your presence was discovered," Persuader Madol added, nodding at Keevan's battered attire. "There's no way climbing around the catacombs did that much damage to your armor."
"You're correct, sir," Keevan admitted. "I was careful not to use my elemental vision, so they couldn't identify me."
"I'm glad you had that much foresight, at least," Madol grunted, making another note on his page. "Continue, how did you get away?"
"Someone saved me," Keevan said. "I didn't get a good look at him in the cavern. He attacked the Rhetans from behind, one or two at a time. By the time this happened," Keevan patted the knot on his head, "only the leader remained."
"Could you identify this mysterious savior?" Madol asked, eyes narrowing intently. Keevan's skin felt like a thousand ants crawled over his body. This man ferreted out liars for a living and had the authority to execute them if need be. Lying to him...
"He didn't hang around to talk," Keevan said, keeping his eyes on the desk between them in case the lie showed in his eyes. "But judging by the way the shadows wrapped around him, and his great strength, I think it was Corvan."
"Corvan, the renegade Outlander," Madol summarized. "He saved you and then vanished, just like that?"
"Well, the last time he got near me, I called for the guards," Keevan admitted with a nervous gulp. "It was a bit of a mess, if you recall."
"Yes, when he kidnapped you. But there was no guard around to interfere this time," Persuader Madol noted aloud, not accusing just... processing. "So, what were his intentions? Did he offer you anything?"
"He just said it would be a shame if he were the only living Outlander in Issamere
," Keevan summarized, leaving out the majority of their conversation. "He told me I owed him one, whatever that means."
Madol laughed. "He's a quick study, that one. Corvan knows you're going to be a Persuader. Your Sight Seeker powers found him the first time, remember? He's going to play off of your integrity or perhaps your shared lineage, should you ever catch him. Have you considered that? Would you arrest him, if the opportunity presented himself?"
"Honestly, sir?" Keevan asked.
"Look me in the eyes, boy," Persuader Madol growled. "No more games."
Keevan met the Persuader's eyes and knew in that moment, that the man knew all along Keevan was holding back details. His stomach did a tight knot and held there, stiff and unyielding. Briefly, Keevan considered the few options available to him, then spoke.
"Sir," Keevan said, clearing his throat before pressing on, "I believe Corvan could be a valuable asset to the Malik if we could only build some trust with him. The Harbor Guild captured him at sea and tortured him for months, it's no surprise he's decided to go into hiding rather than come forward."
"What would you suggest?" Madol sighed. "He killed a guard upon his escape and helped Kors destroy the Watcher. If I suggested offering him amnesty, I'd be demoted to tavern cook for the academy."
"Perhaps offer him a chance to earn amnesty," Keevan suggested. His nerves leapt into his throat as he stepped forward and leaned against Madol's desk, trying to look as confident as possible. A hint of mirth flickered in Madol's eyes as Keevan spoke. "Don't offer it freely, though. Give him a bigger target, something that will give him a chance to prove himself and dissuade Zerik from recruiting him, all at the same time."
"All at the same time..." Madol said, his thoughts trailing off for a moment. He gestured to one of the chairs along the wall. Keevan took a seat, relief washing over his tired legs, despite the wicker's tendency to itch against his neck and forearms. Compared to Madol's suspicious gaze, the sensation was pleasant indeed.
"It would take a sweet prize indeed, to convince the council to accept Corvan into our society," Madol thought aloud, gazing off toward the covered window. "The Harbor Guild would never accept, of course. But they can be out voted by the other council representatives, like in your case."
Splintered Loyalties Page 13