Icestorm

by Theresa Dahlheim

  “It doesn’t matter how this started,” Ferogin said. “Let’s finish it.” He looked at Natayl. “Are there formal words to it? Something like, ‘I challenge you to a duel’?”

  So this was about a duel. Graegor said, “I accept,” at the same time Natayl growled, “It matters to me how this started, you puppy.”

  “I accept,” Koren raised her voice.

  “Respectfully, sir, it doesn’t matter.” Ferogin still spoke only to Natayl. “Tell us where to go, and we’ll be out of your house.”

  Natayl stared at Ferogin for another long while. Eventually he stated, “You want to know where the dueling ground is.”

  Ferogin’s eyebrow lifted. “So there is one.”

  “Pascin wouldn’t tell you?”

  “Pascin neither confirmed nor denied its existence.” Ferogin paused. “He also neither confirmed nor denied that you and Contare had a brawl there recently.”

  “We did,” Natayl stated.

  There it was. Graegor felt like a brick had been pulled out from his life’s foundation—and then broken over his head.

  “You shouldn’t be surprised,” Natayl said to him. “Contare isn’t any more civilized than the rest of us.”

  “Why were you fighting?” Ferogin asked.

  “None of your business.”

  “Exactly,” Ferogin returned. “I have my reasons too. Just tell us where the dueling ground is, and as I said, we’ll be out of your house.”

  “Excuse me,” Koren said, too softly, then again, too loudly. “Excuse me. I accept the challenge.”

  “I didn’t challenge you,” Ferogin told her, but then smirked. “Or would you like me to?”

  “Graegor was only trying to help me,” she said. “I am the one you wronged. So even if you don’t challenge me, I challenge you.”

  “Enough,” Natayl broke in, exasperated. “Girls don’t duel. It’s not fitting.” As Koren stared at the older sorcerer in astonishment, he went on, “Josselin will never allow it. However …” He looked at Graegor. “Contare will.”

  “‘Tisn’t Josselin’s decision,” Koren managed to say, though her voice was quieter.

  Graegor did not like Ferogin’s smirk, and he opened his mouth to say something about it, but Natayl interrupted by asking him, “Can you reach Contare?”

  “Do I need his permission?”

  “If you don’t have it, I won’t tell you where to go.”

  Koren turned directly to Graegor now. “Don’t,” she said. She glanced at Tabitha, then back to Graegor. “Thank you, but I’ll do this.”

  “Forget it, girl,” Natayl snapped. “I won’t tell you where it is.”

  Koren took a quick, deep breath and turned to face Natayl. “My name is Koren fa Lairconaig,” she said firmly, but much more softly than she probably intended. “Not girl. I am a sorceress and I have the same rights to the dueling ground as any sorcerer.”

  “And I have the right to refuse to tell you where it is, girl.”

  “Watch out,” Ferogin chuckled at the look on Koren’s face. “She’ll challenge you next.”

  Koren was standing right in front of Graegor, her shoulder to him, so he could see the tears of frustration in the corner of her eye. It was obvious to him that she did not want to duel Ferogin, but equally obvious was her determination to force them all to take her seriously. She narrowed her gaze on Ferogin, but she did not seem able to speak. Against Graegor’s shields, she was now radiating a deep green rage.

  “Koren,” he said, hoping he had a way through this, and hoping she wouldn’t get as mad at him as Tabitha already was. “Ask Josselin. If she says you can do it, then she’ll tell you where the dueling ground is. If she says you can’t do it, then I’ll do it. He hit me, remember.” He threw a glare in Ferogin’s direction.

  Koren folded her arms over her chest but didn’t answer right away, her eyes on the floor between them. In the silence, Tabitha’s voice suddenly snapped in Graegor’s head. “Do you think I can’t see what you’re doing?”

  “I’ll explain. I promise I’ll explain. Please, Tabitha. Don’t be angry. I have good reasons. I promise.” But she didn’t answer.

  Suddenly Koren nodded, a quick jerk of her head. “I’ll call to Josselin.” She closed her eyes.

  “If Josselin agrees to this, I’ll drop dead of shock,” Natayl muttered, then looked at Tabitha as if expecting her to react favorably to that idea. She didn’t return the look; it was her turn to glower into the flames on the hearth. Graegor resisted the urge to call to her again. He had to give her time to calm down before she would even consider listening to him.

  “Pascin has given his permission,” Ferogin announced then. “I am instructed to tell you that he does so in order to give me an opportunity to learn the consequences of my impulsive and disrespectful behavior.” He said all of this without a trace of shame.

  “Your master is an optimist,” Natayl murmured.

  Graegor felt pressure against his shields that meant Contare wanted to reach him. He opened his mind to the sky-blue magic of his master, who didn’t give him a chance for a greeting. “Do you want to do this?”

  Graegor didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

  “Then you have my permission. But we’re going to talk about it once you leave that room.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Contare’s mental presence vanished, and Graegor felt a little rattled. It wasn’t like Contare to be so abrupt. And his instant agreement was very strange; Graegor had expected to need to lay out an argument. He brought his attention back to the drawing room. “Contare has given his permission,” he said.

  “He’d be a hypocrite not to,” Natayl said. A sense of dark grey clouds crossed the edge of Graegor’s mind, and the fire snapped and popped as the coals at the bottom shifted. A piece of charcoal as big as Graegor’s thumb twisted itself out of the pile and rose toward the wall.

  “Here we are,” Natayl said, and the charcoal scribed a black curve in the blank space between two framed paintings. “West coast. City here. House here.” The charcoal made two black dots inside the curve. “My pier is here. Contare’s pier is here.” Two more dots appeared on the curve’s edge. “Line up the two piers.” The charcoal drew a straight line from Natayl’s pier to Contare’s, then kept going northwest, into the Central Sea. “After about eight miles, you’ll see it.” The charcoal made several dots and slashes.

  “What are we looking for?” Ferogin asked. “There’s no island there, only shoals.”

  “It’s in the middle of them. There’s a tall rock jutting out of the sea that looks like an obelisk. That’s the edge of the dueling ground. A sheet of basalt, about two acres across, sits just below sea level, so you can walk on it.”

  Ferogin raised his eyebrows. “Why is this the dueling ground?”

  Natayl smiled without humor. “You’ll figure it out when you get there.”

  “How do we get there? The shoals are too dangerous for ships.”

  “That’s your problem, not mine.”

  “How did you get there?”

  “I flew. Has Pascin taught you that yet?”

  Ferogin shook his head. “Not yet. May I ask the rules of engagement?”

  “There are only three. First, confine the fight to the dueling ground. Second, you can’t have help. It’s strictly one against one.” Natayl glanced at Koren, but her eyes were still closed as she sent to Josselin. “Third, once one of you has had enough and wants to stop, that’s the end of it.”

  “Is that what determines the winner?”

  Natayl scoffed. “Winner. Yes, of course. Call it that.”

  “I’ve spoken to Josselin,” Koren said then. She seemed in better command of herself, her eyes clear and her voice calm as she looked at Natayl. “As you predicted, my lord, she forbids it. You are correct; sorceresses don’t duel. She reminded me that we have better ways to settle our differences.”

  Ferogin snickered and Natayl rolled his eyes. Tabitha turned from her study of the ch
arcoal marks on the wall, and as she did, the white front of her dress reappeared, sparkling and gleaming in the room’s dim light. “Yes, we do,” she said as she looked at Koren. Graegor had no idea if she was simply agreeing with Josselin’s sentiments or implying that she and Koren had differences to settle. The silvery cords of his bond with her lay flat and dull, telling him nothing, and that made him more nervous than any impending duel.

  Koren turned to look at Ferogin. “I’ll state this plainly, in front of witnesses. I don’t like you, and you need to stay away from me. Do you understand?”

  He executed an extravagant bow. “As my lady decrees.” But when he straightened, he was wearing that same smirk. He looked back at Natayl. “Is there anything more we should know about the dueling ground?”

  “Plenty, but that’s all I’ll tell you.”

  “Very well. Thank you.” Ferogin turned to Graegor. “I’ll see you there at noon tomorrow, if that works with your busy schedule.”

  “I’ll make the time,” Graegor answered through his clenched jaw.

  “Wonderful,” Natayl grumbled. “Now, all of you, out.”

  Tabitha was only a step from the door, and she opened it quickly, not looking at Graegor. He hurried to keep close to her as she strode back toward the ballroom. He tried to touch her mind, but she would not open their link. Only when they reached the edge of the marbled foyer between the ballroom and the dining room did she suddenly halt, breathe deeply, and turn to him with a false smile, gesturing for his arm. Of course, she wouldn’t want her guests to think they were arguing.

  “Can we talk?” he asked quietly as he held out his arm and she slipped her hand over it.

  “Later,” she said without looking at him. He counted it a victory that she had not refused.

  Koren had caught up to them by the time they reentered the ballroom. No one was dancing anymore, and the orchestra was playing the same even-toned music that had accompanied supper. The guests stood in bunches, with the servants moving around them with trays of goblets full of mead. All of their faces turned to Tabitha and Graegor in an expanding wave that swept across the room in seconds. Tabitha tightened her grip on Graegor’s arm and lifted her chin to speak to everyone.

  But then the Adelard ambassador appeared in front of them and bowed deeply. “Thank you, my lady,” he murmured. “It was a lovely party, but I’m afraid I must now bid you good night.”

  Graegor briefly glanced back at the double doors, but there was no sign of Ferogin. The jackass had already left. The two remaining Adelards, a magus and maga, also gave Tabitha their compliments and farewells, and then an elderly Thendal couple came up after them. Without seeming to hurry, many of the older and non-magi guests began to cross the ballroom floor to take their leave. Graegor could feel anger now seething through his bond with Tabitha, even as she graciously thanked each departing guest.

  As he stood beside her, smiling and nodding, irritation began to creep around the edges of his worry. Ferogin had hit him, not the other way around. But Tabitha blamed him entirely, Natayl had looked at him immediately, and not even Contare had seemed sympathetic. He honestly didn’t think any of this was his fault, and was feeling testy about it when Contare called to him.

  “What happened?” Contare asked as soon as their link was open.

  “Ferogin was bothering Koren,” Graegor told him. “Harassing her. She wanted him to leave her alone, but he wasn’t listening to her. I tried to help, and he hit me.”

  “So now both Natayl and Tabitha are furious with you.”

  “Yes, sir. Are you? I know you didn’t want to be disturbed.”

  Contare moved straight past that. “What did Natayl tell you about the dueling ground?”

  “He told us where it was and how to find it. He said it’s a shoal.”

  “Did he tell you that you can’t use earth magic there?”

  “No.” Suddenly Graegor felt much more anxious. “He didn’t say that was one of the rules.”

  “It’s not a rule, it’s a fact. We can’t tap earth magic there.”

  “Is it because of the water? You told me we can’t use earth magic when the sea is too deep.”

  “The water barely covers the dueling ground.”

  “Right ...” Natayl had said that.

  “The reasons are unknown. It makes a good place for sorcerers to fight because the power we can use is limited, and therefore so is the damage we can do.”

  Graegor wanted to ask who had discovered the place, and how, but he knew it wasn’t the best time for a history lesson. He also really wanted to ask Contare about his duel with Natayl, but it didn’t seem the right time for that either. “Natayl said that sorcerers fly there.”

  “Which you can’t do.”

  “I’ll need a boat.”

  “And someone to sail it. You’d better find both as soon as possible. If you can slip away before sunrise, you might avoid leading a flotilla of sightseers after you.”

  “Yes, sir.” It hadn’t occurred to Graegor that there might be an audience.

  “Some fishermen visit those shoals in the summer,” Contare sent. “You should ask whichever of your friends are still awake and sober to go to the harbor for you. Right now.”

  “Yes, sir.” Contare seemed to have thought this through already. He had probably talked to Pascin. “Is Lord Pascin angry at Ferogin about this?”

  “Of course he is. But he believes that experience is the best teacher, so he’s allowing it.”

  “Sir, is that why you’re allowing it?”

  Contare ignored the question. “Make sure you go to this at full strength. Eat something, even if you aren’t hungry after all that bear meat we had tonight.”

  “Yes, sir.” He’d wolf down some of those Solstice delicacies his hometown had sent. He hadn’t had any of the shortbread yet.

  “And try to get some sleep when you’re on the boat,” Contare added.

  “I will, sir.”

  “There’s this too.” Contare paused, and the sense of his presence grew almost cold. “Hold nothing back. You’re of no use to me or to Telgardia if you let him damage you permanently.”

  “Sir, I didn’t think we could damage each other permanently.”

  “You thought wrong.”

  Contare withdrew, and Graegor blinked. Tabitha’s fingertips pinched his arm, which meant she knew his attention had been elsewhere. He focused his eyes on the two Thendal priests saying good night to Tabitha, but he could not help worrying about Contare’s curt tone and his parting words.

  The priests were the last of those who were taking their leave, and Tabitha then turned to Graegor. He looked down at the feminine perfection of her face, at her grey eyes that had turned so cold. Without touching their bond, she said formally, “You may have this dance, if you wish.”

  He bowed to her and took her hand, and she gestured to the musicians. Within a few measures, other young couples joined them on the floor, all of Tabitha’s closest friends among them, and the ball resumed as if it had never been interrupted. The dance was not a close one—most of the time they were at least an arm’s length away from one another—and Tabitha kept her gaze away from him resolutely. The silence between them grew painful, at least for him, and when they did step close together for a beat, he murmured, “I’m sorry.”

  Finally she looked at him, and her stiff jaw relaxed a little. “We will talk,” she said quietly.

  It was reassuring, but she did not say when they would talk, and after the dance ended, she steered him to escort her back to the edge of the floor, where a Thendal magus immediately took his place. Graegor watched them go, then sighed and headed back to the table where Logan now sat by himself, laying out the playing cards in a solitaire game.

  Logan was Thendal, but his parents had moved to the archipelago before he was born. He didn’t fit in with the other Thendals, and he’d instead made friends with Jeffrei and other western magi when he’d started at the Academy last term. This coming term, he was ta
king the beginning anatomy course that Graegor would be auditing, so they planned to study together. He hadn’t really wanted to come to this party, but Graegor had ruthlessly badgered him into it. He was the only Thendal magus at the Academy who didn’t resent Graegor’s relationship with Tabitha, and therefore spoke to him without that acid courtesy Graegor had come to hate.

  Logan looked up as Graegor sat down. “Some excitement,” he commented.

  “Jeh. Guess what? I found out that Natayl and Contare did have a duel. And now Ferogin and I get to have one too.”

  Logan lifted his eyebrows. “Congratulations?”

  “Let’s call to Jeffrei. I need to talk to him and I don’t want to tell the story twice.”

  It was late, but it was also Winter Solstice, so Jeffrei was still awake. “Graegor! Logan! How is Lady Tabitha’s grand ball?”

  “Jeff, I need your help.”

  “And I will give it!” Jeffrei declared expansively. “I am your sworn man!”

  Jeffrei liked to say that, but he was actually Contare’s sworn man. Even though he hadn’t graduated from the Academy yet, Jeffrei was now handling many sensitive documents in Contare’s office, and so had pledged to the Circle at the end of last term. “This isn’t an order,” Graegor told him. “More like a favor.”

  “Anything! Whatever you need!”

  These words would have been more encouraging if Jeffrei weren’t so obviously drunk. Graegor doubted he’d feel so agreeable once he forced himself sober. “I need to hire a boat.”

  “A boat? Are you going somewhere?”

  “Remember that rumor about Contare and Natayl having a duel?”

  Jeff didn’t send anything for a while, and when he did, it was a resigned, “What happened?”

  Graegor explained, and once he was finished, Jeffrei was definitely feeling much less agreeable. “Logan, I thought I told you to keep him out of trouble.”

  “He worked his chain loose while I was in the crapper. Sorry.”

  “You should be. Graegor, are you really asking me to go out in the middle of the night on Winter Solstice and find you a boat?”