by R. K. Thorne
“Who?” demanded Toyl.
“Who else?” she said through gritted teeth. “I’d wager Kavanarian mages. But it’s not like they sent us a letter.”
“This is because of that demonstration—the gods will punish you—” a voice started. Was that Alikar? Some other priest? She couldn’t see who spoke in the throng, but the voice sounded familiar, almost like Sorin’s. But that was insane; he was far away in Mage Hall.
“Derk, up here with me,” Wunik ordered. “The rest of you get back. Get out of here.”
The crowd didn’t listen to him, but Derk did. The two mages braced themselves against each side of the tunnel. What were they planning? They seemed to know each other well enough to not need explanations.
Rumbling began again, then grew louder. Then another crack sounded, and another.
Where in all the gods and heavens was he?
She started forward. Elise caught her arm. She was probably right, but Miara was tempted to tear her arm free and run forward anyway.
Fortunately, before she had to, Aven’s form sprinted around the corner. Another man, a woman, yet another followed. How many were there?
Another crack, lower in pitch this time and closer to them. The earth above the hallway shifted.
“Now,” Wunik snapped.
The air vibrated bizarrely, strange and unnatural and moving away from them in a rapid wave toward Aven and the gate guards. Several of them started to cough—whether from the dust falling through the cracks in the hall or the strange spell, she wasn’t sure. The air snapped back and forth in space, but not going anywhere; it vibrated in the tiniest bits, but all around them, pulsating toward the people running up the hallway. It tickled the hairs inside her ears, and she stifled a sneeze. It was like the air almost hardened, shifting back and forth every moment. Like the wind blew back and forth endlessly on the tips of her fingers.
The next crack, and the ceiling visibly began to sag. Wunik, too, sagged against the wall. Elise let go of Miara and ran to him.
He needed help. She had little energy left, so she reached for those around her, dug deep, and closed her eyes, demanding the strength of the oak to sprout before them, for its branches to grow low and wide and help hold up the mountain. There—she’d done what she could. That was all she could muster. She opened her eyes.
Aven was close now. Twenty paces.
A thick tree was pushing its boughs and tendrils up against the rock above, but she could also hear the wood snap. It was not enough. Most creature magic was not strong enough to withstand the weight of a mountain above it. Could she mend the tree? No, nothing left. And she couldn’t pass out now. She had to know if Aven made it.
The loudest rumbling yet shook the earth beneath and the walls above them. She stumbled and, in her weakened state, fell to her knees. When she straightened and looked up, to her horror she saw that much of the hallway before them had collapsed.
Only a small tunnel at the bottom remained. She glanced at Derk, who was still bracing hard against the wall and sweating profusely. Wunik, too, had crumbled quite a bit, but they still strained.
They were holding up the tunnel with only the air.
It seemed like a lifetime passed before she saw that sandy hair crawl out of the tunnel, shaking dust off his head and reaching an arm back to help out the next person.
She wanted to shout at him to get the hell out of there, with her voice or her mind, but really she had hardly enough strength for either.
You can’t help anyone if you’re dead, prince, she finally managed.
He glanced at her with a twinkle in his eye. After a few more were free, he got to his feet and staggered to them, collapsing into her arms.
Six more men came out, eight women. The last one looked back for a moment, but then said with a voice that suddenly knew death, “I am the last, I fear.”
They held the tunnel for a minute longer, maybe two. But no one came.
“How many guards were there?” she whispered to Aven.
“Some may have gone out into the courtyard,” he said, his voice hopeful. “But twenty.”
Into the courtyard where an air mage waited, brewing a storm likely designed to keep them from running out into it. Those guards were likely no safer out there.
Miara had no doubt that slaves from Mage Hall must have caused this. Mages had finally been sent to attack. How many? And to what end? Had they hoped to trap the Akarians inside? Kill the guards? Perhaps they hoped to shake Akarian confidence, show them that even their strongest fortress was not impenetrable. Perhaps they were simply trying another tactic to provoke war. Or was there some other goal they had in mind?
Whatever they were seeking, it could not be good.
Chapter 9
Disguises
Jaena hopped along irregularly beside Tharomar as he headed for the smithy. Could she really play the part of a merchant? It had been a long time. She’d have to bluff her way past having no coin, although in this bartering community, that didn’t seem like it would be a huge obstacle.
“What is Hepan like?” he asked as they strolled. “I have never journeyed so far.”
“Have you traveled much?”
“Not outside of Kavanar. And even inside, I’ve only lived here and Evrical. But I’d like to someday.”
“Use those languages you know.”
“Indeed.”
“What languages were those, by the way?”
“Are you dodging my question?”
“No.” She smirked.
“Takaran and Farsai.”
“Were those your best guesses or just the only languages you knew?”
He narrowed his eyes at her, although he was smiling. “You ask a lot of questions to answer one simple one.”
“My curiosity outweighs my loquaciousness, I guess.”
“I speak about a dozen languages. Scraps of others. Can read a few more.”
Her eyes widened. “That’s—a lot for a blacksmith.”
“And you?”
“Just this common tongue. I knew ancient Hepani once, but nobody uses it anymore.”
“Finally something about Hepan.”
She snorted as they arrived at the smithy, and he found her a stool. “Oh, it’s not that different from here.”
He took a key from his belt and made quick work of a lock on a cabinet on the far wall. “Not much pride for the motherland then?”
She shrugged. “We spent a lot of time traveling. To Detrat, Sverti, Farsa, here. My father spent some time delivering relatively unimportant diplomatic treaties.”
“Which was your favorite?”
She raised an eyebrow. “My favorite of the treaties?”
“Of the kingdoms. Would you go back to one of them? Someday in your merchant travels?” Something about his voice made her think that he did not completely buy her merchant story. Or possibly any of it. If that was the case, then why was he playing along? He was drawing pieces out of the cabinet onto a long table perpendicular to it.
Hmm. She struggled to remember. It had been a long time since she’d thought about those days. About being able to travel if she liked. If she made it away from here—if she could destroy the damn brand—could she somehow make it to the other side of Kavanar?
Could she someday see her mother and father again?
She didn’t like the news she would have to tell them. About Dekana. But they probably considered both their daughters lost. Perhaps getting one back, even if not their favorite, would be some consolation… But that was a long way off. Although—perhaps she could write them a letter.
She was still not answering his question, she realized. He seemed to be pretending not to notice.
“Farsa was very beautiful. If I could go back to one—perhaps there.” The beaches had been Dekana’s favorite. Jaena crushed back a wave of grief. No—no, she had never liked beaches herself. That wasn’t her truth. Wasn’t there anywhere else she remembered she might someday want to return to? “Wait, no. T
he great market in Leniya, western Sverti. How amazing would it be to trade there one day? But such a thing is a long way off, if it could ever happen.”
“Oh, you never know,” he said, with a twinkle in his eye. He strode back to her and held out his hand. She took it and made her way ungracefully over to the table, and she sucked in a breath.
The work was beautiful.
“So what I’m taking from this was that Hepan is very boring. Or you are mostly never there. Except right before you came here.”
“These are stunning, Tharomar. What? Oh, well, it was very boring. The capital, Sicat, has a magnificent library, open for all to enjoy. You might like it, a lot of ancient tomes.”
“That’s what you think of me? That I like ancient tomes?”
“Well… don’t you?”
He narrowed his eyes, but he was grinning.
She decided to carry on briskly, in case it had been a bit of an insult, stifling her own grin. “And it’s well known for its public gardens, saltwater pools, and mineral baths. But outside that, it’s mostly very crowded and dirty. And the rest of Hepan is much like Kavanar. Wheat fields, small villages. Nothing much to see otherwise until you get to the other side of the mountains and the rainforests, but we almost never traveled there. Did you make all of these?”
“Finally, I get it out of her, thank Nefrana. Now that you’ve actually answered my one casual question, yes. I did.”
“How long have you been a smith?”
He shrugged. “I began learning in temple.”
Door knockers, hooks, utensils, candleholders, pendants, hair sticks, knives, hammers, axes. Dozens of items littered the table, each with a similarly fine artistic touch. “I’d venture it must be a might boring here too,” she breathed. “I see you’ve been keeping yourself busy.”
He snorted. “Perhaps.”
“You are very talented.”
“You don’t have to flatter me, I’ll still give you a good deal.”
She glared at him. “I would never say something if I didn’t mean it. By Nefrana.” There, perhaps that would assuage him more than her usual mutterings.
“Think you could make some sale of these?”
Gods. Here it came. She had no idea how to handle this. He would see right through her. “It… depends on how much you want for them,” she bluffed. “But the quality is certainly high.”
“How about this? These aren’t doing me any good, sitting in my cupboard. Winter’s on its way, and there will be fewer traders coming by until the snow and cold breaks. You take some of these with you to trade, and you can bring me back my share.”
She raised her eyebrows, tearing her gaze away from the items. “I daresay you’re far too trusting.” Of course, his proposal was perfect. It would be a fine thing to have some items to start with, exactly what she needed to start off as a merchant. She thought she could get a good price in the White City or Takar, even. Perhaps he wasn’t too trusting, because she would dearly love to make a profit for both of them. He just didn’t know she had a brand to dispose of, the Devoted to escape, and revenge to wreak before she got around to that. “Do you always trust everyone to do the right thing?”
“No.” He boldly met her gaze with a crooked smile and a twinkle in his eye. “But that ankle won’t hold you here forever. Maybe the guilt will lure you back.”
She let out a bark of laughter but then sobered a bit as the implications of his words dawned on her. He… cared that she should return someday? “What if I invest your fine profits a few times first? As you said, traders aren’t fond of winter travel.”
“All the more for the womenfolk.”
She felt her smile fade a little but tried to hide it. Ah, yes. The damn temple of Nefrana, the religion that would keep you from truly… caring for me. Oh, Tharomar, if you knew my whole story, what would you do? Would you still want to lure me back? Would you send me away or call the Devoted before I had the chance to run?
Curse her stupid magic, yet again. Damn her for being born a mage. What had magic ever done to help her? It had only brought harm. She shouldn’t be surprised. The only thing surprising was this new, subtle source of pain.
“Do you want to think of which to take while I work?” His voice was surprisingly soft, as though he’d read her change of mood. She liked him better when he seemed completely oblivious to what was going on in her head. This new perceptiveness was unsettling.
“Yes, yes. That’d be good.” She had nothing else to do anyway. She almost offered to help him, but how could she explain, with her made-up story, knowing her way around a smithy? No part of a merchant or diplomat’s life involved pumping the bellows, let alone trying to explain all the ways she was able to help with her magic.
But she glanced after him wistfully. The thought of working by his side was strangely appealing. And she’d been so excited to get away from those horseshoes. If only she could have told him the truth, and if he could have actually accepted it… what could things have been like?
She shook her head and tried to focus on the ironwork before her. That was a dream, another life, an impossibility. And she was much more likely to simply get caught by the Devoted first.
Aven stared at the rock filling the graceful archways that had once been the grand entryway to Estun. To his home. Had the others gotten out of the guard towers and the tunnel in time? How long would it take to clear this out? To rebuild? Would it ever be quite the same? There were other ways out but none as large or direct as this.
Toyl and his mother approached where he and Miara stood, staring at the devastation.
“I really must speak with you, my lord,” Toyl said. “Privately, please.”
“It can’t wait until after all this is… handled?” Aven gestured vaguely at the collapse.
“Unfortunately, no. If anything, this hastens my departure.”
Aven nodded. He squeezed Miara’s arm and let his mother lead her over to the group of other mages. They would all need to rest and recover. They’d meant the demonstration to be dramatic enough to use most of their energy—no one had thought an attack would happen at all, let alone that it might follow so soon after. With all that, he hoped they would get back to their rooms and rest. Who knew what else might happen? Aven was one of the few mages not utterly fatigued at this point. At least he was getting back into his training sprints.
Aven led Lady Toyl to the nearby military affairs office, waving for Fayton to join them. That should be plenty private, a place where visitors would expect to knock and request entry. The usual two guards, however, were not at their posts. They’d probably rushed to help in defense of the collapse, although he hadn’t seen any helping the group outside the fallen rock. Could they have run into the tunnel too? Gods, he hoped not. He did not want to know how many were crushed under there.
Damn them and their foolish arrogance. They needed trained earth mages, and they needed them now.
“I must stop in Dramsren before heading on to the Assembly in Panar, so I had been planning to leave later today,” Toyl said as they entered. The room was nearly pitch-black; this was not one the rooms in Estun with windows.
“Well, that may prove a bit difficult after that cave-in.” Aven headed to the hearth and stoked the flames, throwing on a log, while Fayton lit several candles. While Lady Toyl examined the books above the record cabinets, he fed the flames a little extra, and soon the hearth was ablaze.
“I am still planning to take to the east gate on foot if need be. I will not be the one who doesn’t make it to an Assembly.”
“You may not be able to make it all the way to the horses, nor do we know what condition the stable itself or the storm is in. But at the very worst, you could trek down to the villages and get horses there.” The two of them stood, one on each side of the hearth fire. Fayton busied himself straightening the shelves. The rest of the room seemed cold, as it was still dark. Aven could feel the oncoming winter in his bones.
“We will find some way,” said
Toyl briskly. “I’ve got a solid back to climb down from this mountain. I plan to beat that brat Alikar to Panar, or close to it.”
“Wait, he hasn’t left yet, has he?” Aven leaned against the hearth stone, letting the heat from the fire beat on him. The heat was barely enough, especially given the thin sheen of sweat cooling him from racing around under the falling rock.
“He’s not left yet,” she assured him. “Your father required us all to be here at least until this demonstration. But Beneral is preparing to ride as we speak. I plan to ride with him, if we can. Safety in numbers and all that.”
“Understandable.” Aven nodded, folding his arms.
“Watching all that rock crumble over your head hasn’t left me terribly enthusiastic about staying here much longer either. Seems like that could happen again.” She gestured at the ceiling warily.
“All the more reason we need mages to defend the hold from abuse like this.”
“Hmm. Perhaps. At any rate, before I go, I wanted to speak with you about all this.”
“Of course,” he said.
“You must have wondered at my complaints.” She clasped her hands in front of her, and he had the impression she was preparing herself to say something difficult.
Aven nodded, perhaps a little too quickly. “You’ve never seemed a terribly religious woman. Although I suppose people change.”
“Yes, they do. But I haven’t.”
“Then what is it?”
“I can read. You can read. I have read years of writings from the temples. Generations. The temples did not always condemn magic. Once, mages were some of the most pious followers, if you go back before the Dark Days. This condemnation is nothing but politics and manipulation. It’s dishonest. And if there is one thing I don’t like, my lord, it’s dishonesty.” At that, Toyl inclined her head slightly and paused to let the words sink in. “And so that leads me to ask, how can I possibly trust you, after all this?”
Aven let out a bit of a cough, not missing her point.
“I want to trust you. And your father. But I’m not sure that I can. And what are we voting for if not who we most trust?” Her hands were still calmly clasped, head tilted, demeanor placid. Funny how it made his heart race.
