by Beth Alvarez
“Just the basics,” the captain replied, cutting her short. “Just enough to make sure he's got himself under control. Not that it's a concern while he's in the city, but if patrols take him beyond the barriers, I want to be sure.”
Barriers? Rune frowned. No wonder, then. If the entire city was layered with a barrier that kept energy away from mages, it explained why he was still powerless. But it didn't explain why Sera was able to reach through it, or why there was enough concern about magic that it warranted a mage escorting prisoners to and from the arena. Rune sighed and rubbed his eyes. More questions for every one answered.
Sera scratched the tip of one pointed ear and pursed her lips. “I can't promise he'll be a quick study. I've not worked with his sort of magic before.”
“Just give it your best effort and I'm sure it'll be good enough. I'll let you get right to it. You know I have things to attend to.” Garam patted her shoulder and offered her a fond smile before he left.
Rune looked away.
“Things to attend to,” Sera grumbled, crossing her arms and squinting up at Rune. “As if I don't. Sit down, snake! You're making me nervous, hovering over me like that.”
He shot her a glare. “I am not a snake.”
“Lizard, then? What am I supposed to call you? I've never seen a...” She waved a hand as if trying to summon a word as she studied his feet.
“You could try my name.” He seated himself at the other end of the bench and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
Her eyebrows lifted until her forehead creased. Then she laughed, a bright and clear sound, altogether lacking the mockery he expected. “Maybe so,” she said, tapping a finger against her chin as if the idea hadn't crossed her mind. “Very well, then, Rune. What sort of questions do you have for your new teacher?” Her nose crinkled as his name left her tongue, though her expression was more amusement than distaste.
There weren't many questions in his mind. Though Sera's hair and eyes were bleached, she did not wear the robes of a Master mage. He could feel the strength of her Gift well enough just by opening his senses to it. Having felt how quickly she was overwhelmed by coming in contact with his power, he had an idea of the extent of her control. His last teacher had not been stronger, but she'd been much more refined. He swallowed and pushed thoughts of Firal from his mind. “I cannot touch the energy here, it moves from my grasp. Yet you seem to have no difficulty touching power. Why?”
“Ah, yes.” She pushed her booted toes at the ground. It was then he noticed what she wore—the same sort of shirt and trousers he'd been given. At first glance, it had looked like peasant's garb. It startled him to see the uniform on a woman, though evidently not enough for him to notice it right off.
“The barrier is relatively new,” Sera said. “It covers the entire city and extends a little farther than the city walls. The shanties and markets outside the wall are protected as well. It was put in place to keep peace within the city, so the Aldaanan and the college mages would keep their magic to themselves. There was only the one incident, but one was enough for the barrier to be put up. There are a handful of mages in the guard who were given amulets to let us bypass the barrier, but you can keep the idea of you getting one out of your head. There are only a few, and each only works for the mage it was given to.”
He remembered the college from conversation with Redoram, but the Aldaanan she spoke of were something they hadn't had time to discuss. “What happened between the mages and the people of Aldaan?”
“You don't know?” She looked surprised. “No, I suppose you wouldn't. The barrier was erected not long before you went into the prison. Garam said he didn't think you spoke our tongue when you were arrested, so I suppose I can't expect you to have heard.” She twisted one of her many white braids around a finger. “The barrier has only existed for a few months, but the Aldaanan and the mages have been at odds for years. The Aldaanan wish to eradicate the college, while the college wishes to advance its power. It's just poor luck that both countries ended up as provinces beneath the same ruler.”
“And this led to fighting in the city?”
“There was an incident where a college mage started something with a group of Aldaanan in the city. Or perhaps the Aldaanan started it, I don't know. Either way, it ended with the college mage trying to do something to them with his magic, and the Aldaanan severed him. Cut him off from magic entirely.” She shuddered, rubbing her arms as if chilled.
Severed. The term hung heavy in his mind. It seemed like forever ago when he reflected on it, but the sensation of tearing Lumia's power from her was as fresh as if he'd just left her screaming on the floor. The tension of the power in the air, the palpable feeling of her ties to magic snapping when he pulled. It made the hair stand on the back of his neck and he shuddered, too.
“Exactly.” Sera licked her lips before going on. “Since then, the college mages have demanded that the Aldaanan not be allowed to enter Lore or the Royal City. That can't be done, since the Royal City sits where all three provinces meet. It's part of all three territories, so no one can be denied entry. To keep matters peaceful, it was agreed that the Royal City would instead be made into a neutral ground, where no magic can be used. Except by the guard.”
It was a reasonable explanation, though the issue itself seemed needlessly complicated. Rune lifted a hand to scratch his head, momentarily startled by the shortness of his hair. “Why did the king not unify the land when first he took it? Is it not more trouble to keep the provinces divided?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.” Sera peered at him from the corner of her eye. “The way you speak is very backwards. How long have you been learning our tongue?”
“Not long enough, it would seem,” he replied dryly, pushing himself up from the bench.
She quirked a brow. “Where are you going?”
“To rest indoors.” And to think. The concept of severing someone from the flows was concerning. He didn't know how he'd done it, couldn't recall what made him think he could. It had been an accident before, instinct, another twist of power he didn't know how to control. Now it weighed heavily in his mind and made it hard to think of anything else. “I am to begin training tomorrow. Will that include magic?”
Sera nodded as she rose and brushed dust from her uniform. “Garam's orders. I will meet with you after your sparring matches. Hopefully you'll be cooperative once Garam's work has you worn out, and not fall asleep while I'm trying to teach.”
Rune grunted in response and retreated into the barracks. Sera followed close at his heels. When they reached the doorway of the room he'd share with a dozen other men, she stopped at the stairs and let him enter alone. Her nose crinkled with disgust. “Ugh, those beds. I'm always glad I don't have to sleep here. Rest well, then, if you can. And don't let my brother work you too hard.”
Rune glanced up and blinked when he found the doorway empty. Her brother? Well, he supposed it made sense, though the earthen tone of their skin was the only obvious resemblance between them. Then again, her pointed ears were an explanation for that, marking them as half-siblings. What it didn't explain was how Garam could have such an obvious dislike of mages when his own sister was one of them. Rune sat on the edge of his bed, running a hand through his dark hair and frowning at its shortness again.
He did look like a different man. It was fitting for the beginning of a rather different life, but he wasn't sure he liked it. He wasn't vain by any means; the reflection of the scales and claws he so hated served well to keep him away from mirrors. It simply wasn't a flattering cut, though it showed how far he'd come.
And how far had he come? Rune sank back into his bed, grateful for the stiff straw mattress and the stale smell of the down-filled pillow. Mostly down, he corrected himself as the quill of a feather jabbed his neck. He pulled it from the cloth and twirled the feather between his claws.
He hadn't thought much of where he was or where he was going, even in the long hours he'd spent in prison. He
'd been so preoccupied with trying to figure out how to escape, he didn't know what to do now that he'd done it. Serve in the guard, learn about the city, but then what? Elenhiise suddenly seemed a distant memory, one he clung to in fear it might escape.
He missed the island. He missed the ruins, the complex and winding halls of the city beneath them. The soaring towers of the palace in Ilmenhith, the smell of the earth after the heavy tropical rains. The smell of Firal's hair.
Firal. His chest tightened with the thought of her and he laid a hand over his eyes. She'd smelled of herbs and lavender, her hair soft as silk when it brushed against his skin and caught in his scales. He could still see the way the sunlight spilled in from the hole at the top of their tent, the last morning they'd spent together. The way the light played over her milky skin and glinted off her hair, lit a sparkle in her fiery amber eyes. He could see the way she'd flushed and ducked her eyes, covering herself as if they hadn't been married a month before. More than a month, even. He curled a hand around the rings still tied around his neck, forcing himself to open his eyes and stare at the ceiling instead.
Going back was out of the question, with the mages and his father's men eager to see him at the gallows. And yet the thought of Firal—the memory of their last encounter, the pain in her expression and the tears in her eyes—was almost enough to make him try. There had to be a way, though he'd spent nearly every waking moment since he'd left the island trying to figure out just what it might be.
The sound of footsteps in the hall shattered his reverie and he lifted his head.
“In here, is it?” a familiar voice asked. Someone farther down the hall replied with something he couldn't hear. Then the man stepped into the doorway and Rune sat upright on his bed.
“You!” He crossed the room with long strides. “Captain Kaith said he did not know if—but you already—”
“Yes, yes,” Redoram sighed, smoothing his grungy clothing with both hands. “And Captain Kaith is who sent me to fetch you. There are conditions to my parole, and one of them seems to be you.”
Rune paused, uncertain.
“So I've come to collect you.” The old man smoothed his beard and his bedraggled hair. “I didn't particularly want to cross the city looking like this, but my freedom is at the mercy of cooperation, so here I am. You have lessons with the captain and his dear sister in the morning, I've been told, but for tonight, the lessons are mine to teach.”
“Lessons?” Rune asked. The mage started walking, and Rune followed him down the hallway and into the open air of the street. Light struck his face and he blinked hard against the glare of sunlight. With how tired he was, he'd almost forgotten it was still early in the day.
Redoram beckoned him with one hand. The man moved at a surprising pace, given his age. “I'll explain once we reach my home. Come! You aren't the only one who can appreciate a bath and trim, you know.”
Rune hid a smile at that and fell in step beside the old man, not caring how odd the two of them might look. “I have many questions for you, my friend.”
“I'm sure you do,” Redoram said, his apparent gloom doing nothing to dampen Rune's newfound enthusiasm.
For the first time in ages, something seemed to be going his way.
9
Runestones
“There, that's a bit better.”
Rune glanced up and folded his book closed when he saw Redoram in the parlor doorway. The old man looked better, wearing a robe of embroidered velvet in a deep blue with a biggin on his head to match. His hair fell in white waves about his shoulders, his beard trimmed and tidy. He looked more like a noble mage ought to, complete with jeweled rings on his fingers.
Redoram arched a thick brow at the book. “You can read?” He sounded more intrigued than surprised, though surprise was what showed in the crease of his brow and the frowning twist of his mouth. “You're a clever one, aren't you.”
Rune put the book back where he'd gotten it from, squaring it atop the stack of tomes on the table beside his chair. “I used to think myself clever. I learned otherwise. It's the fools who think themselves smart, isn't it?”
The old mage chuckled and scratched his beard. His laughter came a bit too easily, making Rune uncertain it meant anything at all. “And that just shows you are clever, after all. Either way, you might want to keep that bit of information to yourself. I don't know how things are where you come from, but the ability to read is reserved for nobles here. You wouldn't want to give anyone the wrong idea about you. It's a good way to earn enemies.” He sat on the plush couch across from Rune's chair and sank into the cushions with a sigh.
Redoram's house was luxurious, though there was no reason to expect anything else. The two-storied mansion stood near the Spiral Palace, maintained by a competent serving staff even while Redoram himself was imprisoned. From the sound of things, no one had expected him to be gone as long as he had been. Ornate furniture of dark wood and expensive upholstery decorated the pristine parlor, the only part of the house Rune had seen. He was more interested in the shelves that lined the parlor walls, each of them overflowing with books.
“My father said knowledge was best when shared.” Rune leaned forward in his seat.
“Your father would have been a very unpopular man here.” The old mage shook his head. “But that's enough talk in your tongue, isn't it? Idle conversation isn't why I was pulled from the prison.”
Rune tilted his head. He'd shifted back to his native language without a thought and hadn't caught himself in the process. His brow furrowed and he switched to the local dialect, a tongue that seemed to have no proper name but was referred to as the trade tongue. It was nothing like the trade tongue used on Elenhiise, Rune mused with an inward grumble. That one, he spoke, and it meshed well with his mother tongue—which Redoram claimed was Old Aldaanan. Regardless of his skepticism over the name, it seemed to him that Old Aldaanan was a much more graceful language. “Why did they turn you free? The captain said he did not know if he could free you at all.”
“That,” Redoram said, pointing to Rune's face, “is precisely why the captain retrieved me from the prison. He informed me that since I started your language lessons, I'd best teach you to speak properly, because he lacks the patience for your stiff grammar and backwards speech.”
“I am doing the best I can.” Rune tried not to scowl, though his eyes flashed with anger.
“And that may be, but you must understand that Garam Kaith is not a very patient man. Learn that now, and you will be much better off.” The mage adjusted his cap as a smug look worked its way onto his face. “Although I have to say it has worked to my advantage. I must thank you for getting me out of that dank cell, even if it's only because I'm now expected to be your teacher.”
Rune looked down at the low table between the couch and chairs as Redoram pulled a checkered board out from underneath it and laid it on the tabletop. He glanced twice at the board. It stirred memories of evenings in his father's parlor. Memories he preferred not to recall. “What is that for?”
“Oh, I always had it out. For entertaining company, you understand. The staff hated trying to clean the board without disrupting pieces, so I'm not surprised they put it away while I was absent. It's been a few years, you see. When King Vicamros suggested eventually unifying the provinces into one country, I was the first to support the notion. My thoughts were not well-received.”
“Why would that put a man in prison?”
Redoram shrugged. “Unification would be beneficial to most, but harmful to the agendas of quite a few nobles. You see, as they are now, the provinces are mostly self-managing. King Vicamros has final say in most things, but the majority of provincial political choices are made by their own nobles, the counts and countesses who oversee each region. Which means that, as things are now, Vicamros is little more to them than a figurehead. The nobles do as they please in their own provinces, and there are very few nobles who would wish to give up a position of power. You understand.”
/> Rune nodded. The explanation made sense, though it made him question what he'd entangled himself in during his time in the arena. If the nobles were vengeful enough to imprison a man who disagreed with them, what would they do to a man who had killed almost every noble he'd faced? He tried not to think of it, turning his attention back to the checkered board on the table instead. “Tell me of this game. I thought it was a chessboard, but the marks are too few.”
“Ah!” The mage grinned. He opened a drawer in the side of the table and pulled out a bulging velvet purse. “Would you care to play? Chess is a thinking man's game. Runestones is similar. If you're familiar with one, you'll likely enjoy the other.”
“I played chess with my father.” Rune leaned forward, watching as Redoram spilled colored stones across the board. Runestones, he'd said. The name did enough to catch his interest, but when he saw the marks etched into the surface of the stones, he slid from his chair and moved to sit beside the table. He picked up a stone between his claws and frowned at the engraving, its lines filled with gold. He turned his hand and stared at the matching scar Lumia had given him.
“You wouldn't usually use stones belonging to another. Unlike chess, you choose what pieces you wish to use on the board. Each moves differently. You assemble your own set by winning pieces from your opponents. You win a match, you keep a stone. Of course, if you don't have your own set, you've no choice but to borrow stones to play with.” Redoram spread his pieces out, rune side up, on his end of the board. Then he pushed the rest of the stones across the table. “Choose fourteen stones and place them as you will. If you look at mine, that might give you an idea of how to start. This rune moves as a knight in chess, this one like a bishop—”
“What is this stone?” Rune turned the piece he held.
The old man squinted. “Mannei? It doesn't have an exact equivalent in chess, but it can move forward or backward and side to side. It can only be taken from a diagonal. It's a good enough piece, but can be difficult to use if you don't know what you're doing. There are more pieces that move diagonally than straight ahead.”
