by Mark August
Her soles pressing against the uneven cobblestones made Vedette’s heart pump with life. The soft rugs of her family home dulled the senses and muffled life’s passions. Her fingertips danced along the plastered walls of houses as the frost retreated from the warmth of her touch.
Voices carried in the morning stillness along the canals lined with buildings, and the city market wasn’t far now. The Porters Guild would already be in full operation as the city woke. Goods and new materials needed to move to and from the market stalls.
The morning air's smells changed from saltwater and still canals to smoke from morning fires and a city waking from a night’s slumber. Fortunately, the aroma of cooking food carried stronger than the waste of the city.
Traders and merchants came from around the world for the opportunity to ply their craft on her family’s island. Singsong of different languages was a street band carrying a raucous tune. Gaudy stalls with vivid colors assaulted the eyes. The bustle of humanity starting its day had its own rhythm.
Vedette couldn’t be part of this world. Her birth dictated otherwise. But she could blend into the mixing bowl of nationalities gathered this morning.
Merchants made shrewd deals with each other before the residents of the city shopped for goods. Prices were fair, and bargaining was short. The game would be different as the sun broke over the cityscape.
“Good morning, miss.”
“Good morning, Coletta. What do you have this morning?”
“I have the freshest fruits from the Empire. I know you’ll love my pomegranate.”
“Frost is already on the walls.” Vedette ran her hands across the small box of fruit.
“This is the last shipment for sure. The price will be awful next week.” A grin lit up the old woman’s face, revealing several missing teeth and wrinkles radiating from the corners of her eyes. And those eyes were shrewd. “I can give you my best deal today.”
Vedette smiled and pulled out a silver penny. She would typically pay far less for fruit, but the season's last shipment had its own price. Time spent with the people in the market was worth a gold coin. Her father would be mortified if he knew his cash was going to the Empire of a Thousand Spears.
“Be back again tomorrow?” The woman gestured toward the bay. “A few ships left to unload their goods.”
“It’s getting harder to get out. Who has the best bread in the morning, Coletta?”
“The next aisle over, miss. The fat one has the best dark bread. You should hurry before it’s gone. Never lasts.”
True to Coletta’s word, the fat baker had a diminishing supply of dark bread. Money changed hands, and loaves disappeared. Vedette wondered how long this man had been up baking his bread. He must sleep during the day. She grabbed a warm loaf and headed toward the water.
Ships rocked with the morning tide. Water slapped against the boats' sides that would soon spend their day pushing people and goods along the city’s canals. The bang of the ships against piers was the morning heartbeat of the city. A different life than nobility.
“You going to share that bread?”
Vedette tried not to jump even as she recognized the voice. Her older brother, Giomar, heir to the House of Atros, destined to be Duke of Caesea, was the icon of nobility. His thick, curly black hair did not show the first signs of gray. He had the broad shoulders of a swordsman and the posture of one used to giving commands. His thick belt secured a heavy sword and a flintlock pistol. His brown eyes were playful as he waited.
“You’d eat the whole thing, you oaf.”
“This oaf snuck up on you, sorceratti.”
“How’d you find me?”
“You’re becoming predictable, Vedette. You like your schedule.” His eyes lingered on her purchases, appraising her choices. “I knew you’d sneak out.”
“But it took a while to find me.”
“I thought you’d use the servant entrance.”
Vedette’s smile glowed. “That was last week, Lord Pattern.” Her older brother reached out and tore off part of the dark loaf of bread.
“Wow, better than ours. Just might be worth sneaking out.”
“Not just the bread. I like the few moments of freedom.”
“I bet you do. I don’t know if it’s harder to be the oldest or the youngest.”
Vedette gazed out to sea. “Sorceratti.”
Her brother let the statement hang in the air. They watched the sunrise while sharing the warm bread, and Vedette offered a pomegranate.
“How’d you get out?”
“Why?”
“If you didn’t get out the servant’s entrance, the guards would’ve stopped you.”
“I went out my window.”
“Five floors up?”
“Don’t tell Father.”
“You can fly?”
Vedette couldn’t hold back a giggle. “No, but I can fall slowly.”
“If dad finds out…”
“Are you going to tell him?”
This was her brother’s turn to pause and look out to sea.
“Not this time.”
“You can’t tell him, or anyone else, either.”
“Vedette, what if you get caught? What if the people of the city caught you using magic?”
“They’d fear the power of the sorceratti,” Vedette said.
“Seriously.”
“I’ll be more careful. It’s just hard sometimes as the youngest in the family.”
Morning chimes from the clock tower began as the sun cleared the horizon. The call to work rang across the large island and summoned the workforce. The sound of the bells was meant to be a song of beauty. To Vedette, it was a dirge.
“You’ll be late if we don’t head back. And we will run out of excuses soon.” Her brother spit a pomegranate seed into the bay.
“How about we pick up more bread and fruit from the market, and we can use that as our cover?”
“You may be too good at this, Vedette. In the game of families, you will be an amazing force for us.”
The pair headed back into the stalls to find the best bread to bring back to the family and deflect questions. With a loaf in each hand and a sack of pomegranates, Vedette hardened her heart.
Six
Vedette - Lessons
“I will not tolerate tardiness, student.”
“Where is Magi Cormac?”
“You will address me as teacher.”
Vedette sized up her new instructor. At first glance, he was a young man in his early twenties. But he had a balding hairline and a stoop in his posture. His eyes drew her in and wouldn't let go. Deep within, his pupils bore the agony of an aged man. This foreigner made little sense.
“Teacher,” she choked. “Where is Magi Cormac?”
“I have not decided if I will entertain your inquiries, student.”
“Then this will be a short lesson if I can’t ask questions.”
“I should begin a lesson with a switch.” For the first time, Vedette noticed the riding crop the man carried at his waist. He slipped the end from his belt and placed the flexible tool in his right hand.
We’re on an island without horses. Is this guy for real?
“Teacher, I am curious. Where is my former instructor?”
“Student, you need to focus on your lessons.” He ran his left hand back through his thinning blond hair and snapped the riding crop into his hand as it came down. “We will begin with your magic.”
Vedette stalled. Magic didn’t come to her like this. The demand to put on a performance made her hesitate.
“Just like that. On command, teacher?”
“You have done nothing. You are standing like a dolt.” The riding crop snapped across her thighs. The pain shocked her, and the blow would leave a welt.
Arcane power surged to her call. The force flooded her soul and powered through her veins.
“ Good, student. With some encouragement, you have a great deal of magic to control. One of the strongest I’ve ta
ught. Now I want you to let most of it go. Just enough to hold the door open to the arcane.”
The pounding flow of magic hungered for release. Visions of lashing back at the man who had snapped her legs with a riding crop flooded her mind. She was a member of the ruling family and did not have to suffer this fool.
She let go of most of the magic.
“Excellent control.”
He paced in a circle around her. Vedette felt like a piece of meat on display for this man. She held onto her power and reached out as Magi Cormac taught her to perceive another person’s arcane power.
Her instructor was prepared with his own flow of magic.
Snap. The pain came across the back of her thighs. She yelped and let the magic surge again.
“I did not tell you to use your arcane power, student. Must we learn obedience and magic at the same time?”
She looked off to the side and answered. “No.”
“Excellent choice. Are you ready to continue?”
Vedette maintained tight control and nodded.
“Very good. Wizards who lose control consume themselves in arcane fire. Did you know you can burn yourself from within?”
“Magi Cormac taught me to respect the power of magic. We can use the power beyond our world for anything, but even the tightest control has a price.”
“Yes, very good, student. Most favor one type of element over the others. What is yours, I wonder?”
“Teacher, I haven’t tried to explore my magic.”
“Then show me.” The snap of the crop in his hand made Vedette wince. Fury rose as she hated giving control to this man.
Vedette pulled a deep breath and let it out. Her mind opened a flood of arcane energy into her soul. As the magic pumped with each beat of her heart, she visualized lightning from a summer storm. Her hair rose from her body in a static surge, and lightning arced and sizzled between her fingers.
“Let it go, student. Don’t hold all of that power, or you will lose yourself to it.”
The man was shouting into her ear. He was so close the breath of his words tickled the hairs on her neck. A piece of her mind begged to regain control. Her soul pushed back for control of the magic, and her heart pounded with the effort that wracked her body.
Tears fell down her cheeks as she realized the power could have claimed her. Hair hung around her face, and her fabric smoldered. Holes smoked from the lightning still dying out from her arms and hands.
“Student, did you learn something today?”
“Yes, teacher. I learned to be afraid of the power.”
“Good. Had you been fighting a trained wizard, they would have let you destroy yourself.”
Vedette’s head ached, and her body cramped from the exertion of magic. The reek of her burned clothes churned her stomach.
“Again.” With a snap of his hand, the riding crop appeared and caught Vedette on her bicep. Her mind reached out again to the forces of magic, and this time she brought just enough in to heighten her senses and assess the nuances of the environment.
“Opponents will strike when you are tired.”
Vedette’s rage was cold and controlled. She turned her power to wipe away her exhaustion and to sense the flow of magic in the instructor. Brutal lessons in swordsmanship paid dividends as Vedette kept her weight forward and maintained an unblinking focus on her opponent. She began a slow circle around her instructor.
Through her magic, Vedette heard the muscles of his hands contract. Without thought, she took a half step back from this teacher. The crop swung short. She stepped over and caught his arm, still in the backswing. Arcane power poured in her arm, and she squeezed until he yelped in pain.
“If you try to hit me with that crop again, I will tear your arm out of its socket and stuff it down your throat. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, student.” He dropped the riding crop to the carpeted floor of the room. And then he smiled.
Magic coursed through the man in a rushing torrent. A blast of air slammed her into the opposite wall. Furniture exploded into splinters and showered the floor. “I do not need a crop to teach you, whelp.”
Vedette sensed her bones were intact as she pulled herself up to her feet. The man advanced on her with a scowl.
“Use your power. Shape it into something you can use.” With a flick of his hand, a blade of flickering red energy sprung into existence. “Use your magic.”
Vedette felt the flow of his magic in her mind. She sensed the focused energy creating the blade. Her mind and soul shaped her flow of magic into a blue rapier crackling with lightning energy. Her fencing stance gave her teacher pause.
A shield of black energy that stole the light from the window sprung into being on his left arm. The second strand of power did not take away from his focus, and Vedette wondered where this lesson was going.
Instead of a shield, Vedette created another blade in her offhand. House blademasters trained her for years, and one technique was two weapons to counter shields. She wouldn’t dare to defeat a shield in mass battle with two blades. But in single combat, she had an edge.
He lunged forward. Blade met blade in a clash of energy that caused a howl of agonized souls begging for release. Wind whipped around her feet and fluttered her clothes within the confines of her quarters. Another strand of power growing from within the instructor.
She couldn’t take a step forward against the howling wind. Quick slashes fell short of his body. Her blades howled in hunger.
“You are as strong as the voice said.”
The lesson had gone too far. Funnels of magic sizzled in the room. Smoke swirled as fragments of furniture and clothing caught fire.
“Who?” Magic flickered in Vedette’s mind as doubts crushed her confidence. The wind continued to whip through her clothing.
“The one who brought me here. You have few equals in potential.”
“Why are you here?”
“For you.” Vedette’s mind registered the change in the man’s voice. No more formality. “Now, close off your energy.”
Vedette bent the streams of light from the windows into balls of energy. With her mind, she flung her projectiles that exploded in harmless flashes. Harmless except for blinding her opponent. A cushion of air pushed her leap across the room as energy blades howled.
Vedette pushed her weapons through his chest. Ribs parted like paper before the arcane-sharpened edges. She howled in the throes of unbridled power. The blades responded with their howl of glory.
The teacher looked down at the blade tearing him from neck to crotch in stunned surprise. Unable to mouth a word, he looked deep into Vedette’s eyes. She saw no regret or fear. His look turned to respect and then pity as his life ended in her hands. For a moment, Vedette thought she felt his departing soul melt away from her arcane power.
The instructor did not leak a drop of blood from his wound, and the blades did not stop until she tore him in half. She looked at her hands, and her weapons disappeared. Revolted by her actions, she let the magic go as the sound of the severed body splattered across the floor.
Vedette’s body ached from the exertion, and she sank to the carpet, no longer able to support her weight. She fought to get back to her knees, and she refused to summon magic to help her to her feet. Agony overwhelmed her senses and brought blackness to her vision.
Who was assessing her power?
Seven
Kincaid - Friends
Kincaid was an outcast for the next three days. His fellow journeymen ignored him, and apprentices avoided him. His temper grew shorter each day, and he struggled to keep his emotions in check. Anger worsened his situation.
Instead, he threw himself into his work. The table legs for House Atros became works of beauty, and he started the detail work on the table carvings. At this pace, Master Barnet would finish this contract early. Kincaid hoped the guild viewed this work as the entry to the status of master.
Even his unrelenting focus on his work left him hollow.
Damn the other workers. When he was a master with his own shop in Caesea, they’d work for him.
Even with his skill and passion for creating art, Kincaid couldn’t fill the emptiness. He was ahead on his work schedule, and no one wanted him on the shop floor. A day away from sawdust and wood shavings called.
Kincaid made a show of racking his tools. He hung his work smock on its peg and plunged his arms into a bucket of water. A quick scrub removed the sawdust from his arms, and he ran his wet hands through his hair. With a few coins in his belt, he pushed through the shop door into the afternoon sun.
Approaching winter hung in the air as his breath puffed white clouds in front of his face. Brisk air came off the canals, but the midday sun changed Kincaid’s demeanor. The weight of his actions in the shop melted, and energy in his step returned.
Voices called throughout the street. Masters and merchants presented their passionate case to visit shops. Wealthy retinues pushed their way through the streets to reach their destination. The city was alive with trade, and Caesea lived to make money.
He turned right on Carpentry Street. Small signs marked buildings and streets, but the maze of winding paths and alleys made the markings worthless. Culture defined the districts, not signs. At least Carpentry Street was the center of woodworking in the city. Kincaid picked up his pace to get away.
He crossed a low bridge over a side canal. Each canal was wide and deep enough for the flat-bottomed boats to make their way to most locations. The bridges allowed a member of the Porter’s Guild standing on a small boat to slide underneath. Kincaid didn’t pause on the bridge like a newcomer and gaze along the canal’s lengths. He had a destination in mind.
The Great Market was the ideal start. Immigrants, traders, merchants, and locals blended into a crowd looking to buy and sell. Fall markets took the trade to a new level and were controlled chaos of money and goods. Merchants crowded their stalls together and fought for passing attention. Auctions broke out over remaining supplies, and emotions ran hot. Kincaid watched the show.
