Decoy

by S. B. Sebrick

Jensai stumbled ahead as Honmour howled with delight and plowed forward, sending waves of pain down Kaltor’s leg as he clutched his makeshift stretcher helplessly. "Do you know what this means?!" Honmour shouted enthusiastically.

  "Yes!" Kaltor grumbled angrily. "The king wants us in the field a year earlier than planned, now slow down!"

  "Wrong!" Honmour spat. "We get to see the royal attendants. Women!" Suddenly Kaltor and Jensai found the simple act of not falling to the ground required their full attention. The runner tried to keep up, but in the end was left behind, fatigue and his under-developed Varadour powers strangling his pace to a crawl.

  Finally Kaltor managed to shout, "But how will you talk with them? You ate the soup last night!" Honmour ground to a stop so fast that Kaltor flew right into Jensai, sending them both tumbling through the trail exit and onto the grassy outskirts of camp. Gasping and grunting in pain, Kaltor couldn’t spare his injured leg from the impact of the collision.

  "Way to go," Jensai muttered from beneath Kaltor’s leather body armor. "Next time keep your mouth shut, you idiot. Look at Honmour."

  Through his skin vision, Kaltor could see his friend’s crestfallen face. "How could I have known they were coming?" Honmour asked pitifully. "Why today? Of all days, why today?" He looked like a small child who’d won and lost his weekly sweets in a single moment.

  Jensai sighed, stood up, and put an arm around his friend. "Look at it this way, Honmour," He swept his arm in front of their camp of make-shift huts and thickly walled cabins. "If you hadn’t eaten that recipe, you could have been viper hound food long before you even got the chance to miss being with the girls!"

  Honmour nodded somberly. "I must sacrifice for the cause, I suppose."

  Kaltor waved his arm in the air. "Hello, remember me? Near death experience and a broken leg? Little help? If I have to crawl, those girls will be all over me, instead of adoring you for the ‘heroic’ rescue."

  With a sigh and a chuckle each friend grabbed an arm and helped Kaltor up. In a few minutes they reached the largest structure of the camp. The building stood out from the rest as a two-story "town hall" of sorts for serious discussions during wartime. It held all the maps and strategic information Master Taneth used for training and coordinating missions.

  The whole area was strangely devoid of any attendants, female or otherwise. A few Stunts sat before the fruit trees just outside their camp, trying to push their vitality into the trees before them— a vital technique for any Varadour on the move.

  Only one thing obviously did not belong. A lone horse outfitted with a harness and saddle from the capital, its reins wrapped around the post in front of the main building. They paused on the front steps, a loud argument inside easily audible once they used their power to accentuate their hearing a bit.

  "They are not ready for a job!" Master Taneth rumbled threateningly.

  "It’s not even an assassination," a familiar voice reasoned, coated in an odd mixture of honey and frustration. "It’s little more than a protection detail. Bodyguards," Kaltor’s insides tightened up like a bowstring as he recognized the speaker.

  "Then you’re wasting our precious time with a job any hired soldier could perform!" Taneth cut in. "Get Kaltor bandaged and healed, you two!" he bellowed suddenly, sending Honmour and Jensai scampering away with Kaltor in tow.

  "It’s a wonder we need spies at all," Honmour muttered. "That man’s senses are so well attuned he could stand outside the king’s own castle and repeat his most private conversations verbatim," Kaltor nodded in agreement. Many Varadours had a knack for one aspect of their power or another. Master Taneth had quite a few, though he never divulged the details to his students.

  They reached an empty cabin and pulled Kaltor alongside an elevated bed for medical uses, stuffed with plush white feathers. "Who do you think that other voice was?" Honmour asked.

  "I’ve heard it once before," Jensai answered, helping Kaltor lean back onto the bed and undoing the makeshift bandages. "He’s Lord Gereth, the king’s personal advisor. It sounded like he’s trying to enlist us in some personal project of his, maybe something that doesn’t have to do with the kingdom’s security. He’s as smart as they come, I’ve heard, so the king puts up with his hobbies— to a point," They rarely saw visitors so far in the mountains, so what visitors they did have were well remembered.

  "I doubt Master Taneth will be so understanding," Honmour chuckled, moving to the fireplace. "Maybe he’ll offer this guy a deal. If he can wrestle one of us to the floor he can take us along," He pulled a handful of small branches and tufts of flammable material from a stack in the corner, snatching the flint from the mantelpiece.

  Jensai snorted. "That’s a good joke, Honmour. The man’s a Sight Seeker, a strong one," He tore away the last of the cloth, exposing Kaltor’s broken leg and discolored flesh.

  Honmour paused. "Oh. Yeah, that wouldn’t be much of a fight."

  "Unless he got into your head and convinced you he was a viper hound," Jensai joked. "That would be worth seeing for a different reason," He shot his friend a sadistic, but playful glance. Kaltor simply nodded with a non-committal grunt, not really listening.

  I know that voice, he thought as he curled his toes nervously. And now he knows I’m wounded. He glanced to his left and right, chewing his lip in frustration as he tried to think of a way out of his situation.

  Aside from his existence as a Remnant, his noble heritage was something else that he preferred his fellow students not be aware of. Taneth had recruited most of them from among the local population, people without money or influence, who saw the nobility as either symbols of gluttony or injustice. They were always grateful for the training, however, since in exchange they were provided enough gold to make their family’s lives considerably easier.

  Are they ready to meet him? he wondered. Would they see me the same way afterward? He grimaced, an expression that had little to do with the physical pain he endured.

  "How’s that fire?" Jensai asked. "Kaltor’s leg is ready."

  "Almost there," Honmour answered, throwing another crooked stick in the fireplace. After a few firm strikes with the flint against his short sword a thin trickle of smoke seeped into the chimney. A small metal pot hung over the fire, suspended by three poles anchored in the log walls.

  "Just waiting for the water to boil," Honmour finished, pouring the contents of his canteen into it and adding a few medicinal herbs.

  "Great," Jensai said. "Now, help me make sure this doesn’t get infected."

  Honmour walked over to Kaltor’s small bed and pulled it away from the wall. He slipped into the small space between the cot and the wall to face Jensai, their patient’s leg broken and bleeding between them. The wounds in his back would take some time to heal, as well, chunks of flesh visible through the torn armor. Thankfully, a viper hound’s claws were not poisonous.

  "One on each side," Jensai ordered, pulling a thin needle from his belt.

  Honmour did the same thing and after three tries managed to prick his shaking finger. "Hate this part," he muttered. Both Varadours put their bleeding finger tips on Kaltor’s wound and nodded, awaiting their friend’s silent command.

  Kaltor closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Slow and easy, he reminded himself. Don’t slip into using your full power. He could almost feel the sac above his heart contract, releasing the valve holding the healing liquid back.

  Energy surged through his arteries and skin. With a practiced effort he managed to tighten his muscles and constrict certain routes, forcing the substance to flow into his leg. He could feel the shape of the broken bone, similar to his skin vision’s black-and-white image, though this was more of an instinctual feeling than a concrete image.

  Two other Varadour powers rushed in against his own, opposing currents struggling for control. "Hold the bone in place, you two," Kaltor ordered, wincing as their combined wills put pressure on the break. Their strength receded, holding the bone and cleansing the surface of the
wound.

  Kaltor focused his thoughts on the break, coaxing the bristling energy to gather there. Move! he ordered. Slowly, the liquid enveloped the wound. After a few minutes a very thin layer of hastily forged bone connected the two pieces, enough to hold it in place and direct additional re-construction, but not enough to support any weight.

  The door opened, and a fresh breeze swept into the room, disturbing Kaltor’s concentration as his stomach spun in circles. He’s here, he thought. Time to stomach the blade.

  "I need to speak with Kaltor," ordered the familiar voice from the previous argument in the town hall, still frustrated and coarse. "Is he stable enough for you to give us some privacy?" Both his friends’ wills receded, and through his skin vision he could see their confused faces. He did not open his eyes to witness the event in vibrant color.

  Maybe he’ll manage to hide our connection, Kaltor thought hopefully.

  "With all due respect, sir," Jensai said. "Kaltor will be busy healing for another day or so. If you need a message delivered or something we would be happy to–"

  "Call me Gereth. He can speak, can’t he?" the man asked grumpily. "Why would a broken leg prevent a father from talking to his son?"

  Kaltor groaned audibly as both his friends stepped back as if struck. He opened his eyes and sat up. "Go ahead, guys. We can finish setting the frames in my leg later," They nodded stupidly, too stunned to speak, and walked out of the hut. When he reached the door Honmour pointed to Gereth from behind his back and mouthed the silent question, "Seriously?"

  "Go take care of the attendants, you two," Kaltor suggested with a nod of affirmation. Honmour’s features brightened, his curiosity overwhelmed by momentary hope.

  "I came alone," Gereth said with a shake of his head. Honmour looked torn between falling to his knees in despair and thrashing Gereth on the spot, or both. Thankfully, Jensai appeared behind him and pulled him away, firmly shutting the door as they departed.

  For a moment, they did not say anything. They just hovered there with a quiet tension between them. "So, I see you had some trouble today," Gereth said, his eyes bursting into a vibrantly deep shade of blue as he approached Kaltor’s bed, putting both hands on the wound with enhanced vision of a different nature. There was little instinctual or even physical about a Sight Seeker’s powers. Most of it had to do with the mind.

  "A viper hound chased me into a waterfall," Kaltor said simply. "It surprised us," Now that the door was closed again, the vapors from Honmour’s boiling herbs swirled around the room. The fire licked the bottom of the cauldron greedily, drawing the plants’ tender juices into the water.

  "Ironic," Gereth said. "I spoke with Master Taneth earlier to secure myself against the very same danger, surprises," Though a simple traveler’s cloak covered his shoulders and thighs, expensive blue silk trousers slipped from the protective cover into his travel boots, hinting to the higher status he tried to hide, especially while traveling alone.

  "Looks like you gave it an interesting chase," Gereth said proudly. "This isn’t from its teeth, is it? I don’t see traces of antidote in your Varadour energy."

  "No," Kaltor admitted, lying down with a dejected sigh. "I fell into the waterfall."

  Gereth nodded, his expression turning to that odd half-smile he got while studying something intriguing. "And if you could have used your full powers?" he asked tentatively, the poorly contained excitement evident in his tone.

  "Master Taneth and I were practicing last weekend," Kaltor said contently. "I could have either outrun it or out-maneuvered it," He drew his dagger and flipped it into his hand, catching it by the flat of the blade. "But I think if I practice throwing these more I may be able to solve such problems at the start, without risking exposure."

  It’s odd, Kaltor thought. All this power and my first concern is finding ways to avoid using it. Ever since his sixth birthday, Kaltor’s parents had realized their son was blessed with the power of a Remnant, and daily they had worked with him, teaching him to hide that fact. The prophecies said those set aside by the Gods for greatness would be marked as such, given total access to their racial power, unimpeded by the Crippling’s hold on the rest of their kind.

  Gereth’s eyes returned to normal as he untied the clasp around his neck, tossing his travel cloak onto a chair in the corner. His purple tunic and golden necklace attested to his good standing with the king, While the ornate, heavy mace at his waist warned all attackers that he was a capable Sight Seeker, something even the most desperate of thieves would not dare challenge alone.

  "Do you think you could help me with Taneth?" he asked. "Your master is very stubborn and narrow-minded."

  "He’s an idealist," Kaltor said with a shrug. "If you think he’s hard to reason with, try training under him. Did you really have to tell them I’m noble-born?"

  "That much will be obvious after your first mission," Gereth said, glancing toward the pot as the liquid finally hit a strong boil. "As my son, you can be part of my retinue when we visit other domains. With a little training we can make sure people see you as a soft, pampered boy. None will suspect your true nature," He grinned confidently.

  Kaltor nodded at their shared vision of freedom. That was one of the main reasons he had chosen to train under Master Taneth as a Battleborn. Such training taught him to use all aspects of his power to survive, as well as granting him the discipline to hide that power when necessary. All of Taneth’s pupils were expected to hold their own in any kind of war that might ensue, open or covert.

  He bit his lip nervously. "I had a vision during the fight," Kaltor admitted. "I think Keevan’s been hurt."

  Gereth’s eyes widened, and with a panicked hand he grabbed Kaltor’s wrist and turned it over, running his finger along the palm of his son’s right hand. "Scar is still hidden—" He pouted for a moment, thinking. "Did your hand hurt during the vision?" he asked.

  "No," Kaltor replied, a little puzzled. "But I was a little preoccupied with the viper hound’s claws in my back."

  "The lock is still in place, then," Gereth muttered, half to himself and half aloud.

  Kaltor sighed. Seven years ago they had brought his infant brother to Master Taneth, when they realized Keevan could not live among them. When utilized, his Sight Seeker powers were fully visible in his eyes and impossible to hide.

  Gereth and Master Taneth had used some experimental magic that day, with a relic from before the Crippling, to form a powerful bond between his sons. For a brief moment their powers were linked, and then Gereth used his own power to numb the connection. Once Kaltor completed his training, they would unlock it.

  Master Taneth assigned one of his fellow war veterans with the task of hiding the child. They’d hoped he could find a simple family out in the country to adopt the infant, buy their silence, and then return with word so Gereth and Krin could visit occasionally. Both he and Keevan disappeared. Every search, carefully excused to the King with reasons of national interest, turned up nothing.

  "If the lock’s still in place why did I almost get killed today?" Kaltor demanded.

  "Well, what did you see?" Gereth asked, his eyes locking with his son’s with a feverish intensity. "Did you see where Keevan is?"

  Kaltor explained the vision as clearly as possible. They compared it to notes taken years earlier when Keevan had first disappeared. Even after years of searching through the king’s spy network and the details of a cliff near the ocean, it was not enough. It left far too much ground to cover to abandon king and country and search for Keevan. They still had to wait for more visions, more clues.

  "I don’t know if he was pushed off the cliff or just fell," Kaltor added. He paused a moment, hesitating. "I didn’t see him get rescued. Do you— think he could be dead?"

  Gereth scratched his scalp, eyes unfocused as he recalled the many texts and prophecies he’d studied at the capital. "The Link would have severed completely if he died," he finally answered. "Your hand would start bleeding profusely."

&
nbsp; "So what happened with your lock?" Kaltor asked again. "What if it happens during a fight? I could get killed," Gereth stewed over the topic a bit, silent and sulking.

  "There’s a cup on the mantelpiece," Kaltor grumbled impatiently, motioning toward the pot suspended in the fireplace.

  Gereth nodded, retrieving a scoop of the medicinal tea and blew over the top of the cup tenderly, cooling the liquid. "You both are Remnants," he explained. "Your combined power is far beyond my own. It would seem that when both of you are in danger—even over vast distances—your powers can beat the lock, briefly. I’m afraid you’ll just have to be careful. Visions like this are impossible to prevent or predict."

  Kaltor sighed. Just one more thing completely outside my control, he mourned inwardly. Another thought caught his attention, a detail from the vision. "When you look at water with your power," he asked. "Does it shine sky blue?"

  Gereth paused at that comment. "Interesting," he said. "Keevan has already learned to access different racial powers though his eyes. Even if only extinct ones no one’s used since the Crippling. The Children of the Sky could manipulate water the way I can affect another’s mind."

  Kaltor sighed. "Not that it’s much help to know. We’re still stuck here, huh?"

  Nodding in agreement, Gereth flashed a confident smile. "Still, we know your brother is alive. Your training is going well. Within a year you will be assigned to my personal guard and we can start searching for Keevan."

  "What about the king?" Kaltor asked curiously.

  "The king will wait to see how your friends perform in the next conflict," Gereth explained. "He already suspects our neighbors to the north and east of mobilizing for war. His spies just have to confirm it. If the situation turns dire, he’ll want me protected by the best."

  "That’s why you’re here, then?" Kaltor asked, pulling a small stone from his belt and spitting onto its center. The room filled with the eerie screech of steel on stone as he sharpened his dagger, the sound complementing the feelings of both frustration and excitement billowing up inside him.

  "I’m here on my own—endeavor," Gereth admitted.

  Kaltor rolled his eyes. "You’ve been reading in the capital’s library again, haven’t you?"

  Feigning insult, Gereth put his hand to his chest in a mocking gesture. "My son, those books have been read by thousands of people since the Crippling. If there were a secret treasure hidden somewhere, someone else would have found it before me, right?"

  Another shriek of metal on stone was Kaltor’s only response.

  "Fine," Gereth said with an annoyed pout at his son’s stubbornness. "I found a hidden chamber beneath the capital library that literally has not been seen since the Crippling. Satisfied?"

  "Almost," Kaltor answered. He picked up his dagger, tip facing away from his face. Lining the blade up in front of his right eye, he examined the freshly sharpened edge. "What are you getting us into, Dad?"

  Gereth glanced around, noting the closed doors and windows in hesitation.

  "Every Varadour in this camp trusts me," Kaltor assured him, annoyed at the delay. His stomach rumbled threateningly as well. The morning’s drain on his power had amplified his appetite. "You don’t have to worry about eavesdroppers. I would sense them if there were any."

  In the distance he could feel two Varadour powers surging and abating as they sparred. He recognized Honmour’s and Jensai’s techniques and sharp reaction times as they fought. They were trained to live for the moment, constantly in motion. Sitting down and simply waiting was not in their repertoire of skills.

  With a grunt of resignation, Gereth reached into his pocket and pulled out a map. "You take all the fun out of the presentation," he complained.

  "That’s because I hear the real fun is in the execution," Kaltor quoted. "That’s one of Taneth’s favorite lines," He took the map and looked it over. "The original is back where you found it. This is a copy, right?"

  Gereth’s mace sparkled and danced a bit in the fire-lit cabin as the Sight Seeker put his hands on his hips. "Give me some credit, my son. I’m not an amateur when it comes to research!" he huffed. "Besides, anything we can find about our past might help us better understand the future. Your future," Gereth added. His eyes unfocused for a second, lost in thought, memory, and hope.

  "The king’s spies haven’t figured out I’m a Remnant yet, have they?" Kaltor asked. "Only you, Mom, and Master Taneth know?" He sheathed his dagger and, after a brief pause, added, "You sure you can keep them off me? We both know what would happen if they found out."

  Capable Varadours were granted the mandatory "privilege" of serving the king, but they were also the target of every other nation’s assassins. They could not reveal his secret to the world until he was strong enough to put those nations in their place, or simply skilled enough to disappear into exile and avoid detection entirely.

  "My son, I know here in the mountains you learn many skills that set you apart from the layman," Gereth said. "But please remember that in my day I helped save a kingdom and earned my position as the king’s advisor. I can hold my own," He stepped forward, putting his finger on the map’s center. "Have a look."

  Kaltor followed Gereth’s eye, taking in the map’s landmarks. He whispered recognizable ones to himself, counting on his fingers as he circled them. "This map is of our country, just before the Crippling," He pointed toward a known mountain range. "See, the Undying Storm hadn’t possessed this region yet."

  Gereth nodded excitedly. "What’s not supposed to be there?"

  After a few moments Kaltor glanced back at his father curiously. "There’s a city here on the map where a desolate mountain range is today. But the map says it was near a—" he paused for a moment to examine the symbol carefully.

  I need to study ancient languages more with Mother, it seems, he acknowledged to himself. Gereth waited patiently, testing the water on the mantelpiece and passing it to his son. Kaltor took a sip before answering. "Volcano."

  Gereth grinned like a five year old child having just discovered a new insect. "The city was buried, my son! Who knows how many relics, records, or even weapons from before the Crippling still exist? You know the stories of the Age of Tears. If even a handful of them are true and we found just one—"

  His eyes lost their focus again and his tone filled with grandeur. "A weapon we could put in the hands of a Remnant, fully capable. Just imagine the power!"

  Biting his lip anxiously, Kaltor tried to hide his enthusiasm behind another gulp of tea, still warm enough to prove palatable. How does he do it? Kaltor thought. I’ve been trained to resist all Sight Seeker methods of manipulation, yet without any of that he can still pull me in.

  It was an interesting possibility. None could stand against him if he held a weapon from the Age of Tears. He emptied the glass and handed it back to Gereth. "I won’t be able to convince Taneth," he admitted. "I’m just the student."

  "I’ve made arrangements for him to change his mind," Gereth admitted. "I just had to make a good show of it for her sake."

  "‘Her sake’?" Kaltor repeated, momentarily confused, then he smiled ruthlessly. "You managed to sucker Mom into this as well? How did you get her to agree?"

  "She didn’t, at first," Gereth admitted, grabbing the chair by the wall and moving it in front of Kaltor’s bed. "But when she realized she would have her son traveling with us for at least two weeks as we secured the area, she agreed with my reasoning."

  Kaltor laughed. "That alone would be more than enough," A chill worked its way down his spine. "She still thinks I’m studying to be a relief soldier, doesn’t she?"

  Gereth nodded grimly. "She has a lot of political power among her followers. If she knew the state was planning to use you as an assassin— Let’s just say if she recruits some of her followers, she could lead a protest against the king and cause a lot more problems for all of us. Peacebinders like her tend to leap in front of an injustice first, without considering whether or not it might just r
un them over and keep on going."

  "When is she coming?" Kaltor asked.

  "Tonight," Gereth said. "Taneth’s family members were all faithful Peacebinders, and I’m sure he’ll empathize with your mother’s separation from her son. We’ll leave tomorrow with you and perhaps a few of your better fellow-students," His eyes resumed their magical blue hue as he returned his attentions to his son’s wound.

  "You mean we’ll leave in a few days, then," Kaltor added. "After I’ve healed."

  With a chuckle, Gereth drew his mace. From its hilt he undid four catches and pulled out a few small metal needles. Their heads were molded to the shape of an open eye, leaving a space between the metal pupil and the eyelid for Gereth’s finger tips. "This is why I don’t like you only studying with Battleborn," he said. "You forget some of the more elaborate abilities of a Sight Seeker. Call your friends over. I’m going to link our powers."

  Kaltor gulped nervously. I’ve never had four wills directly linked to my own before. "Please tell me I won’t be walking away from this healing with emotional blending again?"

  "Of course not," Gereth said. "Besides, any effects that would carry over would all be temporary."

  Of course, Kaltor thought sarcastically. But it doesn’t matter how long the effect lasts. Waking up from surgery in love with one of the surgeon’s wives is a memory that lingers— ugh. Or worse. The last thing I need is to switch our feelings for Mom after not seeing her for three years.

  Gereth interrupted his son’s inner thoughts with a playful blow to the head. "Now call your friends over," he ordered happily. "You’re going to be able to ride with us in the next twenty four hours, or I will accompany you in the wagon myself!"

  "You hate riding in the wagon," Kaltor reminded him.

  "Exactly!" Gereth said confidently. "Let’s get started."

  Why do I feel like healing on my own would be safer? Kaltor mourned inwardly.

  Chapter 3