Jommy sighed. “You’re right, but I can’t help myself. It’s like those Bakers’ Boys down in Kesh—bullies just make me want to start cracking heads. Probably comes from being the smallest lad in my family.”
Tad’s eyes widened. “You were the smallest?”
“Downright puny,” said Jommy as he pulled his uniform tunic on over his head. “My older brothers, they were big, strapping fellows.”
Zane looked at Tad. “It boggles the mind.”
“Come on,” said Jommy as he finished dressing. “We need to get back to the others.”
The students followed Brother Samuel back to the university, where they returned to their other classes. For the three boys from Sorcerer’s Island, that meant returning to the modest study room put aside for them in which to meet their tutor, Brother Jeremy, who was attempting to give them a fundamental grounding in mathematics. Zane took to it naturally and couldn’t understand why Jommy and Tad seemed to have such difficulty with something he found surprisingly simple.
After two hours of math tutoring, it was time for the evening meal, a meal that was conducted in silence, as the students dined with the monks, and occasionally one of the priests of La-Timsa. Breaking fast and the midday meal were noisy and as lively as a hall full of boys could be, but the only sounds to be heard during the evening meal were the clatter of dishes being moved around the table, and the sound of knives and spoons against crockery.
Jommy couldn’t speak, but nothing prevented him from nudging Zane, who in turn nudged Tad. Jommy indicated with a slight tilt of his head that someone special was sitting at the head table. The man was a tall, older cleric: from his robes a priest of some important rank. His eyes seemed fixed on the three boys from Sorcerer’s Isle. The cleric’s stare made Jommy very uncomfortable and he quickly dropped his gaze to his plate.
At the end of the meal, the students had specific duties until their free hour before they turned in, but rather than go to the kitchen where they were required this week, the three boys were approached by Brother Stephen. “Come with me,” he said, turning his back and walking away without waiting to see if they followed.
The boys followed the Proctor until they reached his office. Entering it, they found the cleric who had sat at the head table, waiting. He motioned for them to shut the door; then he sat behind Brother Stephen’s desk. He inspected each boy in turn, then finally said, “I am Father Elias. I am the abbot here at the university. While it may not appear such, this school is, in fact, an abbey.
“You three have managed somehow to get on the wrong side of some very powerful people. I’ve been fielding many inquiries about you, including one from a deputy to the King himself, regarding the reasons why you’re here, why a Keshian noble of considerable influence with the Emperor and his brother would sponsor you, and a host of other, difficult and awkward questions. Suffice it to say I’ve had some very annoying exchanges of messages over the few weeks since you’ve arrived.”
Jommy looked about to speak, then remembered he wasn’t permitted to without permission. The abbot saw this and said, “You have something to say?”
“Yes, Father.” He fell silent.
“Then say it, boy.”
“Oh, well, then…” Jommy began. “Father, we didn’t come here looking for trouble. It was waiting for us when we got here. I don’t know if it’s just one of those things, or if someone decided it was fair game to start in on us before we’d even set foot inside this building, but the truth is we’d have rather walked in, made ourselves known to Brother Kynan, and obeyed the rules as best we could.
“But Servan has decided to make it his life’s work to make our every day miserable, and while I’m inclined to be easygoing, I just don’t see how I can ignore this for…however long it is we’re supposed to be here.”
“How long you remain here is one of the things we’re going to talk about.” The abbot’s dark eyes narrowed slightly as he studied each face. “Tell me what you were told to expect here?” he asked, directing the question at Jommy.
Jommy said, “Father, truth is, we weren’t told very much, just that we were to come here from—”
“I know you came from Olasko, that colorful tale about the caravan from the Vale of Dreams notwithstanding. I also know you didn’t come by ship.”
“From Olasko,” Jommy continued. “We were just told to get ready, come here, and learn whatever it was we were taught.”
The abbot was silent for a minute, drumming his fingers on the table in an absentminded gesture that set Jommy’s teeth on edge. Finally, Father Elias said, “We have a special relationship with your…mentors.” Again he studied their faces. “While we don’t entirely accept that all their aims are in concert with our own, we do accept that they are an agency for good, and as such are to be given the widest possible latitude in matters of trust.” He sat back and stopped drumming, for which Jommy was grateful. “I suspect if I were to mention a man named Pug, you boys would never have heard of him.”
Tad shook his head as did Zane, while Jommy said, “Can’t say I have, Father.”
The abbot smiled. “Very well. We’ll continue with the charade, but like so many things involving the man you’ve never heard of—whom I believe to be your adopted or foster grandfather if I have the story right—we’ll continue to let things remain shrouded in shadow.
“But here is what he should have told you, or at least Turhan Bey should have told you: this is the finest institution of its kind in the world, in many ways unique, and here we train the sons of Roldem, and the rest of the world, to be leaders. Most of our young men enter the navy—we are an island people—but some enter service in our army or in other capacities. We do not discriminate against boys who are not from Roldem. Some of the finest minds serving nations who at one time or another were our enemies have studied here. We teach them because people do not fear things they are familiar with. We are certain that over the years powerful men have been sympathetic to Roldem because of the time they spent here, and that has tipped the balance in our favor against war, or simply made them more prepared to listen to us.
“Toward this end, you will be given the same education as the other boys, and no matter how long you are here—a week, a month, or a year—you will master the subjects before you each day. Moreover, you will cease this endless hostility with the other boys. So, I am making some changes. You will all be moved into senior boys’ quarters. Three to a room is the usual rule.”
The news surprised them. The senior boys were the ones who were expected to end their studies within the coming year, or promising younger lads, like Grandy, who were thought to benefit from spending time in the company of older students. They grinned at each other; but their joy was to be short-lived.
“You two,” Father Elias said to Tad and Zane, “will share quarters with Grandy.” Zane exchanged glances with Tad.
“And you, Jommy,” the abbot went on, “will be joining Servan and Godfrey in their quarters.”
Jommy could barely suppress a groan. “Father, why not just hang me?”
The abbot smiled slightly. “You’ll adjust. You all will, because as of today, if one of you earns punishment, all six of you will be punished. If one of you is to be given the cane, all of you will. Is that clear?”
Jommy couldn’t speak. He just nodded.
“Good, then be off and move your possessions. Your new assignments are in Brother Kynan’s hands, and he will not brook your being late.”
The three boys nodded, said, “Yes, Father,” and left the room. In the hall, Jommy took two large strides, stopped, put out his hands and looking upward made a sound of pure aggravation. “Argghhh!”
Jommy pushed open the door and saw three faces look up in surprise. Grandy grinned, Godfrey scowled, but Servan jumped up as if he’d sat on a blade and said, “What do you think you are doing?”
With an insolent grin, Jommy said, “Seeing if this is the right room.” He made a show of looking around and said, “Ye
s, it is.”
Grandy looked over his shoulder at the two older boys, seeing their distress at the intrusion, and his grin broadened. “Hello, Jommy. What are you doing?”
“Moving in,” Jommy said, turning and hauling in his own trunk. “You’re moving down the hall with Tad and Zane. Better get a shake on.”
Grandy said, “Really?”
“On whose authority?” shouted Servan.
Jommy pulled his trunk across the threshold. “Father Elias, I believe was the name. You met him? He’s in charge.”
Servan said, “Who?”
“Father Elias, abbot of this—”
“I know who he is!” shouted Servan, jaw jutting forward as he strode in Jommy’s direction.
“Now, now,” said Jommy, raising his right hand. “Remember the last time?”
Servan hesitated and stopped. “I’ll go see about this.”
“Have a good time,” said Jommy cheerfully as the young nobleman pushed past his new roommate.
“Better get going,” said Jommy to Grandy.
“Wait,” ordered Godfrey.
Grandy hesitated, and Jommy said, “Get along. It’s all right.”
Grandy started to get up to grab his trunk, when Godfrey said, “I told you to sit down!”
Jommy took one menacing step toward Godfrey and said, “And I told him it was all right!”
Godfrey sat down, his eyes widening.
Grandy dragged his trunk from the foot of his bed and out of the door, and Jommy pulled his into the now-vacant space. He looked at Godfrey and said, “So bed-sitting is all right in this room?”
Godfrey jumped up as if burned. “Only when the door is closed!”
Jommy grinned. A few minutes of silence was ended by Servan’s return. He pushed past Jommy and said to Godfrey, “We’re stuck with him.”
Jommy closed the door, walked over to what was now his bed, sat down, and said, “Fine, then. What do you want to talk about?”
Miranda walked purposefully down the hall, ignoring startled Tsurani magicians as she swept past them. Reaching the door leading into the room where the Talnoy was kept for study, she walked in to find four Great Ones of the Empire studying the device.
“You broke it?” she asked unceremoniously.
Alenca turned with a wry smile. “Miranda! How lovely you look.”
“You broke it?” she repeated.
He waved his hands slightly. “No, we didn’t break it. My message said it suddenly stopped working.”
Miranda moved past the old magician and his three companions to the bier upon which the Talnoy rested. She didn’t need to touch it to know that something about it had changed. It was a subtle change, imperceptible except to the keenest magical sensitivity, but it was…as if something weren’t there.
“It’s empty,” she said. “Whatever was inside before is now…gone.”
“That is our conclusion,” agreed Wyntakata. He gestured with one hand while holding his staff with the other. “We were trying a new set of wards—constructed by a group of the most gifted Lesser Path magicians in the Empire—and gave the creature a simple instruction so that we could see if the ward shielded it…and it didn’t move. Every test we can apply says that whatever the motive power was before, it’s now absent.”
“The soul is finally gone,” said Miranda softly.
Alenca looked doubtful. “If, indeed, a soul was the power within, then it is gone.”
Miranda said nothing of the other Talnoy still motionless in a cave in Novindus. She sighed, as if disappointed. “Well, one good thing; I suspect we can now stop worrying about rifts from the Dasati world to here.”
“Would that this were true,” said Alenca.
A magician Miranda knew only by sight—Lodar—said, “We had a report this morning, after we had discovered the Talnoy was inert, and we sent two of our members to investigate, as we usually do.”
Alenca said, “They returned telling of a terrible sight; a portion of woodlands was…bare, every last living thing sucked into a newly established rift. We had to send Matemoso and Gilbaran to close it. They were tested to the utmost before they could shut it down.
“But the most perplexing thing was that it was a rift back to the Dasati world, and the energy being sucked through the rift—which was about the size of your body—was a wind fierce enough to topple a grown man.”
“No,” said Miranda slowly, “that’s not what’s perplexing. What’s perplexing is how a rift from here to the Dasati world could open. Because the original one usually comes from there to here, not the other way around. Which means it’s half of a pair…” She turned and gripped Alenca by the shoulder. “There’s another one that you haven’t found, and it’s out there somewhere. You must find it!”
THIRTEEN
CHANGE
Valko struck hard.
His opponent staggered backward, off balance, and Valko lunged. He got both arms around his opponent’s waist, picked him up, took two quick steps and slammed him into the wall, driving his shoulder into the helpless man’s stomach. Air exploded out of the trainer’s lungs and Valko thought he heard ribs cracking.
He let go, stepped back, and as his opponent began to fall to his knees, Valko brought his right knee up hard and fast and struck him full in the face, shattering what was left of an already bloody nose.
“Enough!” shouted Hirea.
Valko halted, fighting down the urge to step on his opponent’s neck, crushing it and taking the young man’s life. He looked at the remaining warriors, who were watching him in cool appraisal. He knew what each and every one was thinking, even his “brother,” Seeleth: Watch closely; you may have to kill this Valko someday. The fight had been taxing, though the outcome had been in no doubt from the start; Valko had known he was faster and stronger, and after the first minute, he had known he was smarter. For the briefest of instants, now, he felt a sudden fatigue, a fatigue beyond what was to be expected from this sort of exertion.
Hirea came to stand next to him. “This is training, not the arena. He may be a vashta at this moment, but he’s an experienced enough brawler to teach most of you a thing.” He glanced around at the other nine riders, each waiting his opportunity to grapple with the chosen opponent. “That will be enough for today. Retire to your quarters and contemplate your errors. Take no pleasure from your successes. You are still children.”
The remaining nine warriors rose from their kneeling positions around the combat grounds, and as Valko moved to join them, Hirea said, “Wait a moment, Valko.”
When they were alone he said, “When Faroon put his hand on your upper arm, you did something to break the hold. Show me.”
Valko nodded and waited. Hirea grabbed the young fighter’s left arm, and not gently, and without thought Valko reached up with his left hand, taking a very painful handful of skin on the back of Hirea’s right arm, pulling down forcefully. With his right hand, Valko formed a dagger of fingers and jammed them hard into the right side of Hirea’s neck, stepping behind Hirea’s left leg with his own, and suddenly the old instructor was on the sand, looking up at a cocked fist pointed at his face. “Hold!”
Valko stepped back. Hirea said, “No new warrior has ever come to us knowing fast-hand combat techniques, and even those whom I’ve trained for years in the Scourge cannot do what you have done so quickly and easily.” The old fighter got to his feet, and demanded, “Who taught you?”
“My mother,” said Valko. “She made it clear to me there could be times during the Hiding when a warrior might come across me while I had nothing to defend myself with but my open hands.”
Without warning, Hirea drew his sword and made a looping over hand swing that would have taken Valko’s head from his shoulders, had the young fighter not stepped inside the blow. Had he stepped away or tried to duck, the strike would have crushed his shoulder or head. Valko hooked his left arm up under Hirea’s shoulder, stepped behind his right leg with his own, and slammed the palm of his hand into th
e older fighter’s throat as hard as he could, driving him to the ground. Valko knelt as Hirea went down and at the last instant, as his knee touched the sand, he stood up and put his left foot on Hirea’s sword hand. With his right, he raised it to crush the old man’s throat.
“Hold!” Hirea managed to choke out, holding up his left hand, palm up in a sign of supplication.
Valko hesitated, then forced himself to speak calmly as he nearly hissed his words. “Why? There is training, old man, and there is killing. Why should I not take your head now? Are you weak and begging for mercy?” He spat out the last word for the obscenity it was.
“No,” said the old man. “But if you wish to live, hear me out.”
Valko reached down and took the sword from Hirea’s hand. He put the point to the old man’s throat and, with his left hand, motioned him to rise.
“There are only a few in the world who could have done what you did. Name your mother.”
“Narueen. A Cisteen Effector.”
Hirea ignored the blade at his throat. “No, she was not.” He looked around to ensure no one could hear them. “What I tell you means both our lives are forfeit should any other hear us. Your mother, whatever her true name might have been, was Bloodwitch. Only a handful of people can teach what you’ve learned, and only one band of women in the Twelve Worlds are counted among those: the Orange Sisterhood.”
“They are a myth…” Valko studied the old man’s face, and added, “Like the White.”
“Many truths are hidden by myths, young warrior.” Hirea glanced around one more time. “Now, heed me closely. Speak of this to no one. Do not trust even your own father. There are secrets you may not even know you know, and there are those who would peel your skin from your body in tiny strips to get to those secrets.
“I will send you to your father, soon—you could have taken my head today; there is nothing more I can teach you—but we shall speak of this again before you go; there are things I must ask you and things I must tell you.” He turned away, ignoring the sword at his throat. “Should anyone, especially Seeleth, ask why I kept you behind, just tell him we were correcting a flaw in your footwork. Now, go to your quarters and clean up.” He pointed to the prone figure of his still unconscious training assistant and said, “Faroon may be as stupid as a vashta, but right now you smell like one.”
Into a Dark Realm: Book Two of the Darkwar Saga Page 18