by R. K. Thorne
“Of course. I never considered anything else.”
“You could still do that as a clan leader’s wife.”
She winced. “I could. But not as Andius’s wife. He’s made that abundantly clear.”
“Ah. I see.”
“Anyway. It was a nice dream. You should think about the Hiven Mountains. Getting away from all this. If I could escape, I—” She stopped. “Well, I hear they are beautiful.”
“I hadn’t intended to ever leave, but you might be onto something. Oh—how did I get back here, by the way?”
“Pyaris is a friend. She called me. I had some guards bring you back, since I couldn’t carry you myself. We shared a tutor when we were young.”
“Who’s Pyaris? A tutor of what?”
“She’s the necromancer who helped to heal you. Our tutor taught us herbs and gardening, if you can imagine.” She smiled. “Her father was very wealthy, for our clan, once upon a time, but he died young. He tried, but he couldn’t get her a sword either.”
“The sword smiths are corrupt little toads. Even my brother can’t get one.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re surely joking.”
“Not Raelt,” he was quick to add. “You’ll never catch me referring to him as a brother. But Grel’s been denied at least ten times now. Maybe more. I think he may have stopped telling me. Or asking them.”
“That can’t be.”
“I’m sure he’ll get it eventually… But could you not repeat that? He probably doesn’t want people to know.”
“Of course. I guess Pyaris shouldn’t be too bitter either then.”
“But I don’t understand. How did I get there? Why did she call you?”
“The man who showed up at her door told her to.”
“The man—who?” He bolted upright, then gasped at the pain. Bad idea.
She jumped forward to brace the wound and support his shoulder. “I don’t think that’s advisable—will you lie back down? By Dala.”
He relented but grunted through clenched teeth. “What man? The last thing I remember is…” How little could he explain? “Is falling in the river.”
Her eyes flickered with something—worry? concern?—and she seemed to know he was omitting something. “I don’t know who the man was. Neither did she. He refused to share his name. We both knew you would want to know, and we wanted to know ourselves, but it didn’t matter. He paid her five fat gold coins, though, so he must be wealthy. Unless he stole them from you? Pyaris wondered if perhaps he was an attacker who’d changed his mind.”
Nyalin shook his head numbly, still clutching both hands over the wound. “Why… No, I’ve barely got five coppers, let alone five golds.”
“Duly noted. I didn’t realize the ‘five coppers’ was literal.”
“It is. But, who would do such a thing?”
“I wondered that myself. She also said the wound was cursed. She removed the curse first. Which was lucky, or someone might have missed it, and you might have wasted away while we all wondered why the healing wasn’t working.”
“So… the man knew the wound was cursed, how to find her, and he paid her handsomely.”
“Yes.”
“Bizarre.”
“I agree. Especially when he then fled the scene and refused any credit for his heroism.”
“Hmm.” Nyalin stroked Smoke again, trying to think. “If the blade was cursed, does that mean a necromancer was involved?”
“Not necessarily. Pyaris stressed the blade could have been made by a necromancer for someone else. Did you see one, though?”
He shook his head. “But it’s not like they wear EVIL NECROMANCER tattooed on their foreheads.”
“Yes, most people prefer forehead tattoos strictly for fashion purposes.”
He laughed as her eyes twinkled. It eased some worry from her face, and that eased something in his chest. Su’s words about fated something or other came back to him, the memory a bit blurry now. He’d have to look it up. But something about the theory, the fairy tale felt right. He had felt connected to her from the moment he saw her in that graveyard. Without her, he was… less than he was with her at his side.
“All my attempts at magic fail when you aren’t there,” he muttered. He meant it simply to share the information, but it came out like an accusation.
She winced, and he regretted the word choice. “Sorry. I had… something I had to do. It wasn’t fun, if it’s any consolation.”
“No, no. You don’t owe me anything.”
She opened her mouth as if to disagree, frowned, and then looked away.
“I just meant to apprise you of what had happened. I didn’t mean you should have been there.”
“I had hoped to be. I was… delayed.”
He frowned. Her caginess on the topic was highly unusual. Her typical mode was burbling openness. What had she been up to? Not that he wasn’t hiding something himself.
She seemed to sense his intensifying stare and looked up with the fear of a hunted rabbit in her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but a knock sounded at the door. She looked to him, and he nodded. “Come in.”
The door opened to reveal Grel’s familiar, worried face. “You’re awake!”
Lara smiled. He had the distinct sense she felt she’d dodged something difficult. “He stopped several times while you’ve been out.”
“You had us worried sick.”
“Us?” But Nyalin saw suddenly what he meant as Elix’s scowling form lumbered through the doorway. At a much slower rate. “Oh.” He highly doubted more than Grel or perhaps Sutamae had been involved in any worrying.
“What happened? Who—” Grel started.
“It was Raelt,” he said quickly, forcing himself to spit out the words. He couldn’t meet Elix’s eye. His foster father had never chosen sides between them, but the man hadn’t defended Nyalin from Raelt’s harassment either.
Grel cursed his brother for a good five seconds.
“Well, that explains why he vanished.” Even Elix’s scowl had deepened, though. He let out a slow, seemingly disappointed sigh.
“You believe me?” Nyalin struggled not to look incredulous. “I mean—it surprised even me.”
“I might have struggled a few days ago, but Father’s right. He was just up and gone, the same morning we got word from Clan Leader Cerivil that something had happened. Good thing your new friends have the right friends, I guess?” Grel glanced at Lara who smiled but ducked her had. Necromancers weren’t usually considered the ‘right’ friends.
“I better check that that healer is coming,” she muttered, sheepish.
“No.” Elix held up a hand to stop her.
She stopped short at the bold command.
“We will only be a moment. He must rest.”
“And we saw the healer preparing on the way here,” Grel said. “I’m sure it’ll only be a few minutes. Is there anything I—uh, we—can do?”
Nyalin frowned from Grel to Elix to Lara then back again. He wouldn’t have imagined two out of three of these folks would care a few months ago. How things could change. He shook his head. “No, I’m in good hands here.”
Now Grel’s eyes flicked to Elix, his expression darkening. “We have to find Raelt.”
“Better ask your Bone friends for some luck, then.”
Grel scowled harder. “Don’t you care? Raelt could have killed him.”
“He didn’t.” Elix sniffed haughtily, the meaning of the gesture totally lost on Nyalin.
“But he could have. This is attempted murder. Arguably of a ward of two clan leaders.”
Elix pursed his lips. “I don’t dispute that. Look. Hunt. But you won’t find him.”
“Why not?”
“They’re two steps ahead already. Maybe more, by now.” Elix’s eyes rested on Nyalin and flickered with some emotion Nyalin couldn’t read. “Strength to you, son. And for once, I mean it.” He bowed.
Nyalin nodded to return the gesture as best he could.
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Grel was still fuming as Elix turned to walk away, black robes swaying behind him. But the heir to the Obsidian blade hadn’t come up with anything by the time Elix had vanished. He gritted his teeth and looked at Nyalin. “He might be right. But I won’t stop looking. Raelt won’t live in this city and get away with this under my watch.”
With one last embrace, Grel followed his father and was gone.
He raised his eyebrows as he looked to Lara, but she was nervously gathering her things. She’d remembered all that while that she was trying to dodge something? He didn’t even remember what they’d been talking about. “I’ll get you some more of that tea—”
“Lara, wait—”
But before he got the words out, she was already out the door after them.
He tilted his head again and frowned. What a curious creature she was. Not that he was one to criticize. They made a curious pair. Ah, but that was the stuff of daydreams, very foolish ones. Or Su’s romantic tales.
But at the moment he had all day. And not even a book. What else was he to do? Live in Elix’s world of reality and the probability that enemies could nearly get away with murder if they planned well enough?
He sighed, shut his eyes, and breathed deep the smell of cedar. And dreamed.
It was three more days before Nyalin was back on his feet again. By then, he was dying to be up and about and actually doing something. So once the healer finally cleared him, he headed to class practically at a jog. For breakfast, maybe some fruit this time. Sure, the bearded baker had been Emperor Pavan, and the bread hadn’t truly given him mad hallucinations, but it just seemed safer to try something else.
He walked around corners a little more warily, and jumped at odd sounds a little more quickly, but the hard work of the Bone Clan had made it like his attack had never happened.
There was barely a scar. Physically.
But his already jangled nerves ratcheted up a level higher when Lara again was absent from class. To add to the fun, Faytou started off the day sitting at Nyalin’s side, and Andius leveled them plenty of glares communicating his disapproval.
The lesson for the day was in the water sphere. All of magic could be divided up among one of thirteen known spheres—or schools—of magic, and each sphere had a few spells all mages could learn. The base spells could be mastered by any swordmage—except for Nyalin, apparently.
The youngest students were working on just such a spell: levitating the water, as he’d been supposed to do in his first test. Andius was scowling at a cauldron before him and practicing a second-level spell that boiled the water down to nothing. A requisite practice sword sat across his lap, powering the feat. Two other students had steaming bowls as well. A shame they didn’t throw in some potatoes and carrots and make a stew. Faytou and many of the students were practicing the first-level Water Bubble spell, though.
Beyond the base spells, the first-level spells required a blade most of the time, and they nearly all involved bubbles—Fire, Acid, Dirt, Shadow. Nothing like a Dirt Bubble popped over your head to ruin your day. That was where the practice swords came in, for those who hadn’t yet been granted one by the greedy, ever-stingy sword smiths.
Nyalin scratched his head as he surveyed the students. Not a one of them seemed to have anything other than a community practice sword. None wore sword belts or scabbards at the hip. In the Obsidian Clan, every swordmage would eventually receive a sword, as soon as they could afford one and the sword smiths granted them one.
Theoretically. But in practice it had mostly held true until now.
Here, though, Nyalin wasn’t sure if any of them expected to get one. Or were they all practicing under the illusion that the Contests were still potentially winnable by anyone? If that was the only chance many of them had, his new clan was weak indeed. A shame, but if they had no smiths of their own, it seemed likely that was the case.
Faytou shadowed him again for lunch. Nyalin stuck close to the large, busy hallways and convinced Faytou to eat in the kitchens, amid the throngs.
“How do you stand it?” said Faytou, sliding onto the bench across from Nyalin with a bowl of stew.
“Stares are uncomfortable, but they’re better than cursed blades to the gut.”
Faytou blew out a breath. “Wow, it was cursed? Someone’s got it out for you. Bad.”
Nyalin winced. “It looks that way, doesn’t it.”
“Could it have been a thief or something?”
“Like I’ve got anything to steal.”
“It’s true you don’t make a good target.” Faytou swirled a finger at the room around them. “We’re the poorest clan. And most of the money we do have is pooled into shared communal resources like this. This hypothetical thief would have to be serious with his weapons, but not with his targets. Literally any other clan would be more lucrative. Plus you’re young. They’d know you probably don’t have much wealth to your name yet.” Faytou arched an eyebrow now, wondering. “I mean, unless you do.”
Nyalin snorted. “Do five coppers count as wealth?”
“No. Not even in the Bone Clan.”
“Then I am a typical young man of your clan.”
“Our clan.”
“Right. Our clan.”
Faytou grinned. “Okay, well—there you go. But why else would someone want to kill you?”
He shrugged. He had no idea why Raelt had suddenly decided to kill him. None of it made any sense.
The discussion around Myandrin nagged at his mind. And of all the “accidents.” Myandrin’s attack, too, had happened on a bridge. Had it really been an accident, or had he simply not lived to point the finger?
Because he couldn’t teleport by crossing into another dimension?
What kind of a spell could cause a horse to rear enough to kick off its rider? How hard was it to get a cursed blade?
The silence had dragged on, though, and he was no closer to explaining all that to Faytou. He needed some other topic.
“What about you, Faytou? Your family have a little money?”
It was Faytou’s turn to snort. “Heh, yeah, right. Not even a little. Why do you think my brother is so determined? This is a huge chance to remake his fortunes.”
“What about your fortunes?”
Faytou shrugged. “I have no idea what if anything he’ll share, and I’m not sure I want him to. People mistake his bluster for strength, but I see it for what it is.”
Nyalin frowned. “What is it?”
“Greed.”
“You’ve thought a lot about this.”
The boy shrugged again as he took a bite of his pita. “Nah. I’ve just had years to observe. He’s always had a chip on his shoulder. I guess it isn’t easy to always come in second place. Not just in the Contests, but all throughout our classes. Lara’s brother outshone everyone, every time, without trying very hard. I guess he figures now it’s his turn. Or maybe he doesn’t care, and he just wants to win.”
“Do you think his greed is intense enough to use a cursed blade on someone?” Nyalin murmured quietly. Even if it had been Raelt, something didn’t add up. His foster brother had had ample opportunity to kill him before last night. Who had pushed Raelt to act?
His companion’s eyebrows rose. “Uh… possibly.” He chewed on the idea for a moment. “Except… no. He’d stab you for sure, but curses aren’t really his style. My brother’s got enough of a sadistic streak I think he’d prefer to stab you himself.”
“I agree.” If curses had been Andius’s preference, then he could have employed one in his very first attack. But he hadn’t. Although that had been an impromptu ambush, so perhaps that accounted for the difference.
He couldn’t ask Faytou if hiring an assassin would be Andius’s style. But, if their family was truly poor, what could Andius have to offer Raelt? That didn’t add up.
But then what had pushed Raelt to action?
Were curses Elix’s style? That didn’t add up either. Elix had had even more opportunity to kill him than
Raelt had. It was Elix who might be the most embarrassed by Nyalin’s change of clan, though.
The gong rang in the distant tower. Their food was long gone anyway. He said farewell to Faytou and headed again to Cerivil’s office, the pit of his stomach sinking.
Lara scanned the pages as her father and Nyalin pulled equipment she didn’t recognize off the shelves. “I can’t believe we’ve made it through so many of these.” She shook her head. Another long, frustrating week had swept by with no answers. It’d been four weeks since he’d joined them and they’d started this search for his magic, but it felt like much longer.
Da nodded. “We have been quite productive.”
“If you can call failure productive.” Nyalin’s grin was more good-natured than hers would have been.
She swallowed. “But there’s only three more tests left in here.”
“I know.” Da’s expression grew grave.
She let the page drop from her fingertips. “What then?”
“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, shall we?”
“I’m sorry this is so much trouble.” Nyalin sank into a seat across from her at the table.
“It’s quite all right.” Da stopped beside her, set down a stack of long twigs she had no idea had even been stored in this room, and leaned over the book. “Like striking flint for a fire, sometimes it just takes time to get the hang of it.”
Nyalin did not look consoled at all by that sentiment.
“We knew what we were getting into,” she added. His expression softened.
Cerivil rubbed his hands together. “Yes. Yes, we did. Let the trouble begin!”
“Let’s see…” Lara squinted at the page. “This one uses Summon Small Animals? Is that right? Unusual.”
“Yes. We’re into odd territory now. Way beyond your run-of-the-mill sparks and flashes.”
She scanned further down the page. “This works by using a salt circle for a focus instead of a charm. The salt works like a giant temporary charm. Huh, who knew you could do that? You pour the salt in the shape of a… squirrel?” She bent closer to make out a smudged word. “Oh, no, that’s just the example. You can choose anything you want, if you can draw it reasonably well.”