by R. K. Thorne
Three more steps. Five. Seven. She broke into a run. Soon, she was under the cover of the woods, of night, racing through them with blind, unbridled elation, guided only by the light of an early moon. A few hundred yards into the forest, she felt a wolf who sensed her elation. He, too, raced with her over and under branch and stream, intoxicated with motion unchecked, laughter in their thoughts.
It was true. She was—somehow—free.
Free.
She could hardly believe it, hardly think; instead, the only expression of the explosion of emotions in her mind came through her body, burning out in sheer speed and movement through the trees. The wolf came nearer and raced by her side for a while before heading back into the forest depths. Time disappeared again, and she had no idea how long it was till she tired enough for thoughts to be thinkable again. They crept back in slowly in the form of questions, like… how could this happen? And when?
And then a thought stopped her cold in the darkness. If it was true—as it seemed to be—was there something she could do to help Aven?
She turned on a dime and headed straight back to consult with her father and form a plan.
She was on her own damn mission this time.
As she ran back toward the border, she reached out to find her father. She needed to know if the prayer was over yet and if he was still in their rooms or if he’d gone somewhere else to look for her. She found him just outside the dormitory rooms.
I’m on my way back now.
Okay—it’s over. What the hell is going on?
I’m not sure. I’ll be there shortly. Meet me at home.
She took even more care going back. Some of her excitement had burned off, and there were likely more people about now that prayer was over. In her cat form, she slinked under as much ground cover and as many bushes as she could, darting as though she chased some unseen, tiny rodent. When she felt certain no one was in sight, she transformed back into herself in an alley between buildings and walked with as much calm as she could muster back to the dormitories. Of course, it was suspicious to not have been at home during evening prayer, and quite out of her normal routine, but it wasn’t suspicious if no one was paying attention. And why should they be? There was no way for slaves to get free. So there was nothing really to be on the lookout for.
When she arrived back at home, her father and Luha threw their arms around her as soon as the door was closed.
“How did you do that!” Luha demanded.
Father shushed her. “Whisper, dear. What’s going on, meesha? Have you looked at your scar?”
She pulled the neck of her tunic aside again, pushing her shoulder up through it and showing them. Her father studied it with wonder, grazing his fingers across the surface; Luha stared, perplexed.
“I don’t know any better than you do. Nothing out of the ordinary has happened to it.”
They all exchanged glances, unsure of what to do or how to even begin to understand what was happening.
“Except your last mission,” her father whispered.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I went out. Outside. That’s where I ran—outside the border. Into the woods. Nothing stopped me. It seems to be… gone.”
Again her father and Luha exchanged wondering glances. They were shocked into silence for a moment, until her father burst into action, darting to the closet where she kept her traveling gear.
“Then you have to go. While you can. You have to get out of here, meesha, while you have the chance—”
“No, Father, I can’t—”
“You must.”
“There’s something I have to do first.”
He turned to stare at her with sad, worried eyes. “You’re not thinking revenge, M—”
“Of course not,” she said quickly. “It’s Aven—the prince I brought to them. I have to undo the harm I’ve done him.”
Her father came back near them so he could speak more quietly. “Come, let us move away from the door, toward the fire. Could that prince have something to do with this? He is Akarian. Perhaps they have some weapon against the Masters?”
“No. He is a mage, to my surprise, but he knows nothing. He’s had no training. He said they didn’t train him, because they hoped his magic would fade away. Can you imagine? Just brushing it under the rug?” She was shaking her fist when she suddenly realized—the map he’d given her! “Wait! There was one thing. I didn’t know he had it until the very end, but—” She pulled the map from her pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to her father. “Have you ever seen anything like this?”
Her father’s eyes searched frantically, scanning the map back and forth. “It’s a map—of the stars. This is an ancient mage language. I only know a few of the words, but here, look—freedom.” He glanced up, fire in his eyes. “This is deeply forbidden magic, Miara. If they find this, they will destroy it. This is star magic—the very magic used to enslave the king.”
She took the map from him again and scanned the symbols. None of them made sense, although now she could see some of the star patterns of the sky. “If this records how to enslave, could it also tell us how to free someone?”
She glanced from her father to Luha and back again.
“A good hypothesis,” her father said, “and a good reason for them to ban such magic. Of course, without knowing these symbols, we can’t be sure. But you can’t try to interpret them here. If you really are… free, meesha, then you must get away from here and discover what this map means. That would be the best way to help all of us.”
She stared at the symbols, finally ending her eyes on the one her father had indicated—freedom.
“Aven,” she whispered, mostly to herself. “You bastard, you never told me. Why?”
Immediately, she knew, though. He couldn’t have known much more about this piece of paper than she did, or her father did, probably less. Even if he had been up to something with it, with his training he couldn’t have been very sure it would work. And you couldn’t go giving people hope about things like this if it was unfounded. Especially if chances were you would fail.
And yet—somehow—perhaps he had not failed. If she ever had him alone in the woods again, she was at least going to kiss him.
“First, I have to try to help him. He’s the one who brought us this map, after all, and maybe he even used it to free me. I have to try.”
Luha and Father nodded in unison. She had almost expected them to try to force her on her way. She should have known better.
“What can we do to help?” her father said.
It wasn’t until nightfall the next day that Daes and the Tall Master were able to discuss the situation again, alone. Seulka had had her eyes on them all day, but he couldn’t risk her tendency to employ flawed logic slowing them down or throwing them off track. It had thrown them too much already, since she had insisted it was impossible that the Akarians had kept the star magic or any magic at all.
And yet, here they were.
“Same, again,” the Tall Master whispered.
“Did he speak while you branded him again? Could you catch the words?”
“Not this time.”
“And the old wound?”
“Still too fresh, can’t quite tell.”
Daes shook his head, trying to think. What could the prince have discovered? How could he have discovered it? How could he have been a mage his whole life, and the Masters were only learning of this now?
“He was visibly exhausted afterwards. I think he’s expending energy each time. It’s possible if we tried several times in a row, he might run out of energy. Perhaps not be able to defend himself. We could wear him down. But aren’t we going to kill him anyway?”
Daes shrugged. “The king ordered his death, after his arrival.”
“It could be useful to taunt Akaria with their beloved prince on puppet strings.”
“It could be if we could actually do it,” Daes said. The Tall Master scowled at him. “Let’s see. The king did not know that the young p
rince would be a mage.”
“Indeed, none of us did.”
“So he will not expect him to be enslaved.”
He nodded. “So we will not necessarily need to tell him that the brand is not working. If we can keep that knight out of the way.”
“Perhaps the best strategy,” Daes agreed, relieved he didn’t have to spell out every little detail. Just then there was the faintest knock on the door. “Hmmm?”
The door cracked open slightly. “Sir, the king has arrived. His carriage has just reached the stable. He will not accept visitors tonight but will be ready to see the prince in the morning.”
Daes nodded, and the door shut again. He turned back to the Tall Master. “Well, at least he didn’t dally this time.”
“Yes. The one time it would have been useful. So, in the morning, we’ll do our best to praise the king’s brilliant political plan to murder him?”
“We’ll do our best.”
“See you in the morning, then.” And out the Tall Master went with a bit more bounce in his step. That man cared more for human suffering than Daes was sure he was comfortable with. Fine when it was turned on others, but… someday it could be turned on him. Fortunately, he always made sure to have one or two weapons in his bag of tricks against people like the Tall Master.
For a moment, Daes sat alone, doing nothing. He often found that if he listened quietly to himself in such moments, he realized what he truly needed or wanted. He could feel the path that would lead him to rule over these fools and keep them from losing everything they’d built out of reckless hubris.
But as he sat, he only felt afraid.
He knew too little. He had so many questions. What would the king do? What would he want? Would he figure out the prince was a mage? Would it matter? Should he kill the prince right away and prevent the potential embarrassment? How could the brand not be working? How was he doing it? Where had he learned this magic?
And then it hit him. He had questions. The prince was a dead man with the rising of the sun. His time to ask those questions was rapidly dwindling.
He jumped to his feet and headed for the dungeons.
The clanking of the iron bars sliding against each other shook Aven awake. No guards greeted him this time, though. It was their leader, the one who dressed in black.
He entered the cell and then stopped, studying Aven.
“If you’re trying to figure out if your enchantment worked or not, the fastest way would be to just unchain me and see for yourself.”
The man grinned as a guard brought him a stool, which Daes positioned in the corner of the cell. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. My name is Daes. I am one of the Masters of this hold.”
“You know who I am.” Aven shifted, but there was no such thing as a comfortable position in this setup.
“Indeed. It was I who sent the slave after you.”
“Her name is Miara.”
“Is it, now? Did you get to know her well on your travels?”
Aven said nothing.
“Quite well, it seemed to me. Well, she was ordered to use any means necessary. She is quite… skilled.”
The barb did sting a little. But he wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t falling for that old ploy. He remained silent.
“She does have quite the air about her, doesn’t she? Not many in Kavanar would appreciate it. But I’m an old warrior myself. I must say I admire that certain wild strength. Doesn’t it make you wonder what she could do with it?” He eyed Aven intently as his smile slowly broadened, his eyes growing amused.
Aven again said nothing. Could this Daes tell that Aven was gritting his teeth? He hoped not.
“Do you know why I sent her after you?”
“Because you’ve got a death wish?”
Daes just continued to smile at him, unmoving, which was more than a little disturbing. “Which one of us is closer to death at this point, my friend?”
“You tell me.”
Daes grinned but said nothing.
Aven tried a different approach. “Because Kavanar is populated with scum who require spies to do their dirty work, cloak and dagger style?”
It worked. Daes bristled, shoulders stiffening even as he tried to hide his reaction by looking off at the central hearth. Ah, excellent—a sore spot.
“I would prefer a less covert strategy,” Daes said, turning his eyes back to Aven. “And there will indeed be time for that. But it will likely be after your death.”
Was Daes suggesting what he thought he was suggesting? Aven took a deep breath and waited. Perhaps he would reveal more if he remained quiet.
“There are things you practice in Akaria that threaten the safety of all I hold dear. Dangerous things. That is why I sent the slave after you.”
Daes seemed to think that this would make sense to Aven. What the hell could he be referring to—sword fighting? Battle? Akaria was not known for much else. He also seemed to think Aven would know why Daes was concerned about him in particular. What gave him that idea?
Unless… Unless he somehow knew.
“In fact, it’s why they are all slaves in the first place.” Daes stood from his stool and crouched down in front of him. “Let’s not waste any more of each other’s precious time, shall we?”
He waited. Gods, what did the man want?
After a long moment, Aven could only raise his eyebrows. “I’m not sure what you’re looking for.”
“Must we really play these games? I should have known. I detest the type of man who hides behind lies and manipulations.”
“I’m not playing any games,” Aven said flatly. At this, Daes cocked his head to one side, the slightest crease in his brow. Perhaps he was realizing that Aven might in fact have no idea why they had come after him. Daes had laid cards on the table without realizing it.
“The star magic. Tell me what you know.”
Aven wanted to groan. He knew. He knew! How the hell could this bastard, so far away from Akaria, know about star magic? It was all Aven could do to discover the tiniest shred of it! No one in Akaria knew, it seemed, except perhaps the Takarans. Of all people! And yet Daes knew? This was a royal mess indeed.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Hmph. You’re a bad liar.” Daes gave a nod to a guard who shuffled back toward the central hearth.
“Miara said the same thing,” Aven replied.
Daes pressed his lips together, frowning, and signaled a summons to the guard without turning away from Aven. “I’ve tried to treat you as a gentleman, from one noble to another. Tell me what I want to know. Did you think it was your little Akarian secret? I don’t believe you.” As he spoke, the guard shambled back with a hot iron poker in one hand.
Aven didn’t know what to say to that. He hadn’t understood the magic long enough to even wonder who else might know. But assuming it was his little secret was basically exactly what he’d done.
Aven eyed the poker—another enchantment or an ordinary torture device? He tried to sense any magic, groping at awkwardly, but he felt nothing.
“How many of you practice the forbidden magic? Tell me,” Daes ordered.
Aven said nothing. What could he say? Daes would hardly believe the truth, and what good would a lie do? Should he tell him everyone in all of Akaria knew, perhaps?
In response, Daes leaned forward and pressed the poker to the inside of Aven’s left thigh, face emotionless and cold as a slab of marble.
Aven yelped before twisting away, out of reach. “What forbidden magic?” he panted against the wave of pain.
“How many of you practice the forbidden magic?” Daes repeated, calm and cold as ice. He pressed the poker to Aven’s right thigh now, briefly making contact before Aven twisted away again.
“You will tell me.” Daes came down to one knee. Good idea—this might take a while.
“Not used to people not following your orders, huh?”
Rage flickered in the dark man’s eyes for the
briefest moment. But then it was gone—contained, bottled up. Aven had found another soft spot. But by the ancients, he did not want to be there the moment that dam burst.
“How many?” Daes said again instead, moving toward his ankle with the poker.
Aven kicked at Daes’s temple, sending his tormentor scuttling back and saving his ankle for the moment.
“Must we really persist in this?” Daes sat back down on the stool for a moment. “You may not know me, but I do not quit. I will not stop until I know every bit of the forbidden magic is gone. Eradicated. I will not risk everything I have worked to build here. Tell me what I need to know.”
Aven met his gaze levelly. He said nothing because there was no point. No matter what he said, Daes would not believe him. Truth or falsehood, he would have no way to verify.
“I’m only out to protect my country. Just like you are,” Daes said. Then he waited. Aven could wait just as long. With a sigh, Daes again rose and coldly, brutally applied the poker at his shoulder. The heat made contact between his neck and collarbone, and a bellow escaped Aven, something between a groan and a war cry. After Daes withdrew it, Aven sat panting, trying to recover for several moments.
“There’s only me,” he said, trying to let the pain taint his voice as much as he could stand.
“That’s not possible—someone must have taught it to you.”
“I swear it to you. I discovered it in the library by myself only last week.”
Daes’s eyes flickered with confusion. “But, only last week—” Aven knew his words would ring true—since they were true—and he could see Daes stumble. Because he was buying the truth of it. But his story was also what seemed like the best lie. Of course he would claim Akaria was helpless. Daes had to be suspicious of such a claim.
Unfortunately, that was also the truth. Akaria was helpless.
Even more unfortunately for Aven at this point, there was almost no way to convince Daes of the truth.
Daes moved forward again, but before he could apply the poker, Aven cut him off.
“Listen, you want to talk noble to noble?”
“No, as a matter of fact, I don’t—”
