by Hylton, PT
Even Dahlia had to admit there was something to be said for flexibility.
Viktor paused when he noticed her standing at the back of the room, but he quickly recovered. “All right, everyone, continue working on the flow. I’m needed elsewhere for a moment.” He spoke a bit more quickly now, with a hint of nervousness in his voice. He wasn’t a stable man, and his quirkiness surfaced more strongly when Dahlia was around. He didn’t even try to hide the fact that he was terrified of her.
He walked to the edge of the pool and climbed out, splashing noisily.
Dahlia shook her head in annoyance as she gazed at the soaked bottom of his already tattered robes. His toes were like shriveled little raisins.
“Dahlia!” He injected fake happiness into his voice, but it wasn’t fooling anyone in the room. “I’m a real pleasure. Er, it is. A pleasure, I mean.”
There was no use drawing out the awkward conversation, she decided. “Viktor, I’m not pleased with what I’m hearing.”
The false smile fell away and a panicked look appeared in his eyes. “What are you hearing? I’m training the storms. Er, I mean, training the Storm Callers to bring storms. Twice as many this year.”
Dahlia grabbed him by the arm and led him out of the room. “That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m referring to the special project I gave you.”
Viktor let out a strained laugh. “How could you? Hear anything, that is? You and I are the only ones who know about it.”
“Exactly.” She leaned in close, sensing his discomfort and wanting to exploit it. “And you know what I’ve heard on the project? Nothing. Zero updates on your progress.”
“Ah.” Viktor stared at her a long moment before speaking again. “That’s because there hasn’t been any. Progress, I mean.”
“I see.” That was exactly what Dahlia had been afraid of.
How was it possible? Viktor was the most creative Storm Caller she’d ever met. He’d invented a method of storm magic so different from what Dahlia had been taught that she could barely wrap her head around his methods, and he’d done it all without any training. A mind like that didn’t come along often.
As much as Dahlia was loath to admit it, his connection to the sea was even stronger than her own.
So how was it that Dustin, a Storm Caller trained in the Holdgate method, had developed a way to cast storms without seawater, and Viktor could not crack it? By all accounts Dustin was talented—he’d shown that from his first days as an apprentice—but he wasn’t a genius. He followed instructions; he didn’t invent.
Viktor shook the bottom of his robe and seawater splashed onto Dahlia’s feet. He didn’t seem to notice. “All due respect, Dahlia, but it’s impossible. Casting without seawater. It makes no sense. It’s like asking someone to breathe without air. Or to cut without a blade. Storm magic comes from the sea itself.”
“And yet,” Dahlia replied tersely, “I’ve seen it done.”
“You might as well ask me to fly!” Viktor was exasperated. He sounded much more sane when he was talking about magic.
“You talk like a man whose given up. Keep trying. If you crack this, you will be rewarded, I promise you that. But if you continue to show no progress, perhaps I’ll have the guards throw you out a window and you can try that flying thing.”
It was an empty threat, and they both knew it. He was the only one who could teach his style of magic. Others had tried and failed.
She couldn’t have him killed, but she could make his life very, very uncomfortable.
* * *
“I don’t mean to be that guy, but I gotta ask.” Clemens scowled. “Why exactly are we doing this?”
Abbey glanced at Dustin, who just rolled his eyes.
Abbey, Dustin, Clemens, Olaf, Rafn, and Fannar were gathered in the latter’s kitchen. Abbey had just finished relaying the events of the discussion with Petur and informed them their next mission would be to break into the Barskall stormcalling school to rescue Viktor. Olaf was up for the challenge, which was no surprise since he was always in if there was fighting. But Clemens wasn’t taking the news well.
Abbey turned to the first mate. “We were sent here to find Dahlia, and we’ve done that. Additionally, we’ve figured out where those Storm Callers in the south are coming from. Plus, we’ve got a map to the school.” She tapped the parchment Petur had given them. “Not a bad day’s work.”
Clemens leaned forward and wagged his finger in the air. “Exactly. We’ve done a damn fine job. I won’t lie; I was pissed when Captain Roy appointed you leader, Abbey, but you’ve proven me wrong. So why the hell do we want to push our luck now?”
“Because we’re here,” Dustin interjected. “Let’s get this thing taken care of. What’s the other option? Head back to the Farrows? Why? So Captain Roy and his mom can send us straight back here to take care of it?”
“And what if we die?” Clemens demanded. “The information dies with us.”
Abbey slammed her hand on the table. “This isn’t a debate. We’re doing this thing. Dahlia’s moving fast, and I’m not going to risk allowing her to bring her Storm Caller army to Kaldfell because we spent three extra days traveling back and forth to check with the folks on the Farrows. We’re taking care of this now.”
Clemens gritted his teeth for a moment, but then leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Whatever you say, boss.”
Abbey smiled. She’d been waiting for the perfect moment to address his insubordination, and this was it.
She was on him in a flash, leaping across the table and grabbing him by the throat.
“Hey!” he yelled.
She punched him in the mouth, then hauled him to a crouching position and walked him to the door, still holding onto his throat. She opened the door with her free hand and shoved him outside into the darkness.
Clemens stumbled, but he didn’t fall.
Abbey stalked out after him. “How many times?”
He rose to his full height and dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, wiping blood from his split lip. “What?”
“How many time are you going to make me kick your ass before you deal with the fact that I’m in charge?” Abbey couldn’t help but smile at the shocked look on his face. “I mean, it’s not that I mind, but you’ve got to be getting sick of it.”
Clemens sighed. “Look, I know I’ve been hard on you. It’s just—”
Abbey held up a hand and frowned. “You can stop right there. I don’t want us to brush each other’s hair and talk about our feelings. I just need to know that you’re behind me and that you’re going to follow orders. If you’re committed to that, and I mean committed all the way, come back inside. Otherwise, it’s a long walk back to the coast. Better start now.”
He looked at her for a long moment, then slowly nodded. “I’m with you, Abbey. All the way this time.”
Abbey flashed a smile. “Good. Then get your ass inside. We’ve got work to do.”
As they walked into the kitchen, Olaf clapped Clemens on the back. “I’ve been there, my man. Your best bet is to move on. She makes a pretty great friend and a pretty terrible enemy.” He turned to Abbey. “So what’s up with this school? We going to dress like students and sneak in or something?”
“I don’t think that’ll cut it.” She nodded toward the table and the group gathered around it once again. “Petur says the school’s built on a mountain on the southern coast. The east and west sides of the mountain are sheer rock. The south side is more sheer rock that drops into the sea. The only possible approach is from the north. That wall is still steep, but slightly less so, and there’s a staircase cut into the rock. Everyone who comes and goes uses that staircase.”
“I don’t suppose they leave this staircase unguarded?” Clemens asked.
Abbey was glad to see he’d gotten over her dressing him down and was engaged in the conversation. “Afraid not. There are three guard stations on the way up the steps.”
“Does this school have a nam
e?” Olaf asked.
Fannar chuckled. “You Holdgatesmen and your obsession with naming things!”
“The way Petur tells it, it doesn’t need a name,” Dustin offered.
Fannar grunted thoughtfully. “Hmm. So we’ll have to fight our way in. Not to mention the dozen or so Storm Callers in the school itself; they could bring on a world of hurt while we’re heading up those stairs.” He turned to Abbey. “Unless you have a better plan?”
In truth, Abbey didn’t. Not yet. “That’s a work in progress. I’m just glad you said ‘we.’”
The Barskall man chuckled. “You thought I wouldn’t come? I’ll do anything I can to be a thorn in King Elias’s side. If we have a shot at stealing their Master Storm Caller, we have to take it.”
After a bit more discussion, Rafn stood up and stretched. “Enough work for tonight. Even suicidal warriors such as yourselves have to fill their bellies. Allow me to cook you some stew. We’ll talk about happier things while I prepare the meal.”
Even Abbey had to admit that sounded pretty great.
As they were leaving Fannar’s, Dustin stopped her. “Admit it, you’re having fun.”
Abbey shrugged. “Maybe a little. But when we get to the school? Now that sounds like a good time.”
Chapter Fourteen
The hallway to the Arcadians’ meeting room was illuminated by magitech lights that seemed to be losing their power. Benjamin briefly considered if it might be that the amphoralds just needed a recharge, but that seemed unlikely given the Academy graduates in this group. More likely, they wanted it dim.
“It’s not much farther,” Max said, glancing back over his shoulder. Benjamin, Syd, and Jarvi followed him through the long hallway. “I know it must seem paranoid to be meeting down here, but the city council gets a little jumpy anytime too many Arcadians are gathered together. It made us nervous, and that was even before we knew they were sending Storm Callers after us. Ah, here we are.”
He stepped through a doorway, and the others followed. The room was as dimly lit as the hallway and the same musty smell hung in the air, but at least it wasn’t as claustrophobic.
A dozen men and women were seated in the room, and all of them silently watched Benjamin, Syd, and Jarvi as they entered. Even in the weak light, Benjamin recognized a few of the people. He didn’t know any of their names, but their faces were familiar. They were like ghosts from another life.
Benjamin really didn’t want to be down here among these Arcadian nobles, but he didn’t have a choice. Abbey was at the Storm Wall near Barskall. If these Arcadians had any information about the stormcalling school they claimed existed up there, he needed to hear it.
Max introduced the three newcomers to the gathered Arcadians. When he said Benjamin’s name, one of the men in the room scoffed.
“I remember him.” The man spoke in a prim and proper way that seemed out of place in this grimy basement. “He was a Hunter until they found out about his wife. She was an Unlawful.” He leaned forward and glared at Benjamin. “A man charged with protecting us against unauthorized magic users, and he’s harboring one in his own home. And this is the man you expect us to trust?”
Syd took a step toward the man. “Mister, I don’t give two shits who you trust, but we’re the ones who saved your buddies from a storm the other day.”
“And how do I know you weren’t the ones who called the storm in the first place?” The man smiled nastily, revealing perfect teeth. “What if this is all a ploy to gain our trust?”
Max raised a hand. “Everyone, please. I know we don’t see eye to eye on everything—”
“That’s an understatement,” Benjamin growled. It suddenly struck him that these were the people behind the system that had caused his wife’s death.
“Still,” Max said gently, “we’re all here. And it appears we have a common enemy, so let’s talk this thing out. Consider it an exchange of information. Rudolph, since you were so eager to speak before, maybe you’d like to summarize our previous encounters with the Barskall Storm Callers?”
The man who’d insulted Benjamin nodded. “Very well. A couple months ago, some of the Arcadians arriving in Algon began to report unseasonably rough seas on their voyage to the Kaldfell Peninsula. At first we thought it was just an oddity, but then the rough seas became full-fledged storms. Two weeks ago, a ship carrying some nobles was lost at sea. We have to presume it sank.”
Syd and Benjamin exchanged a glance. This hadn’t been going on long, but it seemed to be escalating quickly.
Rudolph continued. “We’d heard stories about Storm Raiders in Arcadia, of course, and their magical counterparts who could control the weather, so we started asking around on the docks. People were pretty tight-lipped at first, not wanting to say much of anything to Arcadians, let alone talk to us about storm magic. We found eventually that a little iron went a long way toward loosening their tongues. We learned about Holdgate and the stormships, and even saw a few of them as they came in and out of port.”
“And you assumed the stormships were killing your people?” Syd asked.
Rudolph shook his head. “We wanted to. Would have been easier, but it didn’t fit. The stormships were huge, and the travelers who experienced the storms would have seen them if they’d been lurking nearby. So we kept digging, and it turned out there was a group of nine people in robes who had been making frequent stops in Algon. They traveled on a smaller ship. But our coins could only buy us so much information. Eventually, we had to take action.”
Max picked up the tale from there. “We hired men to capture one of the sailors from that strange ship the next time they were in port.”
Syd frowned. “Using the same men you sent onto my ship?”
Max nodded. “Those men are—or were, I suppose—rather persuasive. It took a little time, but they were able to extract the information from the sailor. He said he was from Barskall and that the robed men were Storm Callers who had been trained at a secret school in his homeland.”
“He also told us they’d been hired by the Algon City Council to minimize the number of Arcadians who made it here safely,” Rudolph interjected.
Benjamin thought for a moment, then spoke. “I don’t understand. Why would Barskall go to the trouble of secretly training Storm Callers only to farm them out to Algon? And since when do the Barskall want to help people on the Kaldfell Peninsula?”
Jarvi nodded his agreement. “It seems almost certain the Storm Callers have another purpose, one we need to learn if we’re going to understand the whole picture.”
Benjamin looked at his friend. “Otto said they are working on getting Storm Callers to teach alongside me at the school. Could he be talking about these Barskall?”
Rudolph leaped to his feet. “You’ve agreed to teach at their school? To teach physical magic to random Kaldfell people?”
Benjamin stood as well. “Yes. I was going to anyway, before all this. Magic shouldn’t be restricted to the elite. I’ll gladly teach anyone willing to devote themselves to learning.”
Rudolph scoffed in disbelief and turned to the other Arcadians. “Did you hear that? He’s no better than the fools now running the Academy.”
“Did you just call me a fool?” Benjamin felt anger rising in his chest, and he resisted the urge to conjure a fireball and shove it down this man’s throat.
“Enough!” Jarvi shouted. “Fighting won’t get us anywhere.” He turned to Benjamin. “The way I see it, you’re our best chance at learning more about what’s happening. You need to proceed with the plans for the school as if nothing has happened. Eventually they’ll have to introduce you to one of the Storm Callers you’re meant to teach alongside.”
Max nodded. “That makes a lot of sense.”
Jarvi turned to the Arcadians. “Thank you for the information. We’ll repay you in kind once we learn more. In the meantime, try to keep your heads down and your appalling prejudices to yourselves. Many in the Kaldfell Peninsula aren’t as levelheaded as we
are.”
As they walked out, Benjamin nudged Jarvi. “That was well done.”
Jarvi smiled. “I am the diplomat, aren’t I? It felt nice to do some actual diplomacy. Now, let’s get you over to the Cathedral so you can remind Otto how excited you are about your new job.”
* * *
Rafn handed Olaf a bowl of stew, then settled in to eat his own portion.
They were gathered around a fire outside Rafn’s home, since apparently cooking outdoors was the preferred method in Barskall. A large pot hung over the fire, and the stew within it simmered.
Abbey marveled at the massive serving of thick stew in the bowl in her hands. It was no wonder the people around here grew so big. She did have to admit it was tasty. It was a bit like the stew she’d had in Holdgate, but there was a spice or two she didn’t recognize.
Fannar nodded toward Clemens, then spoke through a mouthful of food. “That stew will set things right, my friend. I’ve found it’s always the perfect remedy to make me feel better after I’ve had my ass handed to me.”
Clemens frowned. “That’s not what happened.” He paused a moment, taking in the skeptical looks of the others around the fire. “Okay, fine. Abbey handed me my ass. Like it’s never happened to any of you.”
Rafn and Fannar roared with laughter.
Clemens looked genuinely perplexed. “What’s so funny?”
Fannar got his laughter under control after a few moments, wiping a tear from his eye. “The very idea of a man growing to adulthood without getting beat up is absurd. We have a saying in Barskall, ‘Better to lose a fight than not be in one at all.’”
“It’s true,” Rafn agreed, still chuckling a little. He stared into the fire, a wistful look in his eyes. “I vividly remember the first fight I lost.”
There was a long pause, filled only with the sounds of wooden spoons clinking against wooden bowls.
