The crowd was buzzing as they left, many people talking about the Old Man sparing his opponent for the first time. There was awe in their voices when they spoke of Maran, amazed that he had survived the fight. Betar scoffed. In his opinion, Maran owed his life more to the Old Man’s fatigue than to his respect. But he heard the excitement in their voices. Maran’s next fights, if he could be put back together properly, might draw a big enough premium to cover the medical expenses. . . . But no. He hadn’t become rich by taking unnecessary risks. Sure things and situations that could be rigged to one’s advantage were the way to get ahead. Time to cash out of this little game. He’d let this fool Carver take the risks, and Betar would find himself a new game to play.
CHAPTER 3
Salt had no memory of falling asleep again, but he woke to hands shaking him.
“Come on, lad, it’s time to get to work.” Gurt was standing over him wearing a new-looking set of leather armor. “There’s clothes in the trunk at the foot of your bed. Should be a near enough fit. And there’s a loaf of bread and a jug of water on the table in the corner. Now get a move on. The rest of the squad is already in the training yard. You may not have taken the oath to become a full member yet, and I know you had a rough night, but I expect you to keep up from now on. Go out the door and down the stairs; you can’t miss it.” Salt nodded, and Gurt left without another word.
Salt sat up gingerly. His head was spinning, and the cut across his chest was a dull, throbbing pain. All in all, not nearly as bad as he usually felt waking up the morning after putting to shore. He stood up, opened the trunk, and pulled out a city guard tunic and breeches. What have I gotten myself into?! And, more importantly, how do I get myself out? He got dressed quickly, all the while looking around at what he guessed was, at least temporarily, home. Eight clean cots were set up in the large room, a large wooden trunk at the foot of every cot. Several tables, chairs, and even a fireplace and two large bookcases were set at the far end of the room. The walls were bare stone, but three large windows were set in the west wall. Looking out at the city, Salt could see that he was in the very heart of the crown district, and a wide wall surrounded the courtyard outside. I was thinking I needed to find a good place to live for a while. I guess the palace qualifies, he thought. He opened the door and went out. Three other doors were positioned in the long hallway he found himself in, and he saw a wide staircase at the end. Salt walked out into the training yard. About four-dozen men and women, no two of them alike, were hard at work drilling with swords and shields in the late afternoon sun. Salt was surprised to see people of Keralan or Abolian ancestry. A few even looked to be from Gho or Samora.
Gurt waved everyone to stop when he saw Salt walk into the yard. “Nice of you to join us, lad. You slept later than anyone else here, so I’ll expect you to train harder too.” Salt looked around, confused as to what he was supposed to do. “Krigare, show the lad the ropes if you will. I’ll put him through some drills after you’re done.”
The man who walked over to Salt barely came up to his chest. His thinning black hair was long and unkempt, trailing down past his waist in a ragged mess. His deep-olive skin hinted at Keralan blood, or possibly even Eastern Borogian. His wide frame and the dark look in his eyes made him as intimidating as a mountain troll. Unlike most of the others Salt had met, Krigare didn’t smile. He barely even looked at Salt before throwing him a practice sword and taking a swing at him with his own. Off balance, Salt awkwardly blocked the first swing, only to have his legs swept out from under him. He landed in a heap in the dirt. Clearly unimpressed, Krigare turned his back on Salt and waited for him to get back to his feet. Salt wondered if many of Krigare’s trainees were stupid enough to try and attack him from behind. He dragged himself to his feet and held up the wooden blade in an approximation of a guard position. Finally, Krigare turned back to him.
“Coward,” he said.
Salt wasn’t falling for it. He’d been the new guy on enough ships to know when he was being tested. He stood there with his sword ready to defend himself. Krigare looked around at the other Night Guards training in the yard.
“Okay, who told the new blood what to expect?” He seemed angry. Everyone shouted back a variety of “not me”s as well as some colorful suggestions as to what Krigare should do to himself.
Gurt walked over. “I don’t think anyone told him, Krigare. He’s just not quite as dumb as he looks.” He grinned at Salt.
Krigare squinted at him for a few minutes and nodded. “All right, New Blood. So maybe you’re not completely brain-dead. That doesn’t mean you don’t have a long way to go before you’ll be of any use to the Guard. Now defend yourself. I’ll go easier on you this time. . . .”
Nearly four hours later, Salt stumbled back up the stairs to the barracks. He was bruised and battered and so utterly exhausted that he could barely walk up the stairs. Krigare had dunked him in a barrel of water before heading off on patrol. Bastard probably knows I’m too tired to wash. Gods, I think even the stubble on my head is bruised.
Nial walked into the shop in the slums, a tall man floating in the darkness behind her. A gust of wind pushed through the door behind her and blew out the little shop’s lone lamp.
“Hello, Mister Skeg,” Nial called out brightly as she pushed the door closed.
Skeg focused his power and wove a spark onto the lamp’s wick. “Hello, child. Welcome back.” Nial was staring at him, eyes wide.
“How did you do that?”
He looked back at her in confusion. “You look at me as if I just performed some kind of divine miracle. It was only a little weave. About all I can manage, truth be told. It’s useful enough though.”
“What’s a weave?” Skeg’s skin was covered in a cold sweat. She must be testing me. There was no other answer. This murderous little girl is playing with me. And the two voices . . . could there be two of them in there?
“Just a way to make our power do other things. Surely you know more about it than I do. The things I’ve seen you do are far beyond anything I could manage.”
“I don’t know how to do that fire thing. Will you teach me?” Her voice was every bit the ten-year-old child’s asking for a treat.
“I suppose so, child. But wouldn’t you prefer to take care of business first?” He gestured toward the man floating off the ground, eyes popping out of his head in terror. “I also have to ask; did anyone see you bring him here? Or even into this area? A lot of trouble could follow if they did.”
“We were careful, Mister Skeg. Zuly understands a lot about hiding.” Abruptly her mannerisms changed. She stood taller, looked more confident, her bearing more mature.
“I am quite confident we were not seen. I do understand we cannot hope for this arrangement to continue indefinitely without drawing notice. We will think of something. In the meantime, you are right. We should take care of business.” Skeg nodded. “We will trade you the flesh of this one in the same manner as the last in exchange for the learning that Nial asked for.”
Skeg was torn between confusion and delight. “Of course . . . ladies? There’s really nothing to it. That is a most generous offer; I cannot refuse.”
The child moved to the back room. Not stopping to ask for a light. Something else they don’t need, I guess.
When it was over, the girl called out to him. “Mister Skeg? We’re all done in here.”
There had been no further haggling after that. They fell into a permanent relationship of sorts; the girls would bring in bodies—both men and women—and Skeg would instruct them as best he could in the art of weaving magical spells. They were proving to be talented students. This can’t continue forever. I’ve already kept the corpse trade going for far longer than is prudent. It’s only a matter of time before the Night Guard catch wind and come to investigate me. Besides, it’s only been a few weeks and I’m already running out of things to teach them. And what happens to me when I’m of no use to them anymore?Skeg looked down at the obsidian orb he was carvi
ng. It was an exact match to the one the girls used to house the souls they harvested. In truth, they had taught him nearly as much as he them in their sessions, but he still had to question his sanity at voluntarily spending time with what could only be a demon-possessed child.
Nial! Stop!
What is it, Zuly? That man is horrible. We have to stop him!
We do, sweet Nial. And nothing would please me more, but I feel something nearby.
“Something?” Nial whispered aloud.
A being from my own world. A demon. And if it is out here and there are no screams and people dying, then someone must be holding its leash. An image of a misshapen thing flashed into Nial’s mind. A kind of swollen maggot the size of a dog, with insectlike legs and wings, and overlarge bulbous eyes that twitched above a fang-filled mouth.
Nial looked around the dingy street. They were hiding among the refuse at the mouth of an alleyway, dressed in rags and looking much like any other desperate child. They needed a place to hide, but not in the alley itself. A dead end offered no escape route, and flight was always the best strategy for survival. Over the past months they had learned to draw out their targets, to emulate the poor helpless children who were so often prey in the slums. Their chosen soul this evening was a man in his late forties. He hadn’t threatened them. He hadn’t spared the lost-looking child a glance. He had dragged an unconscious woman right past them, trusting in the darkness and in people’s fear and indifference to hide what he was doing. But there was no hiding from the girls’ demonic sight. Since their joining, night had become a world of vivid contrasts and muted colors.
Nial started to follow. No, Nial! Whoever summoned that demon could be looking for us. We can’t afford to do anything until it passes us by.
“But you said we were strong now. I want to stop that man! Can’t we kill the demon if it tries to attack us?”
Of course, my sweet. I have no doubt that we could handle it. Its master is another matter though. Mages are powerful. And they attract powerful friends. If the thing really is hunting for us, then it might mean one of the people we killed had powerful friends, or maybe was powerful themselves. We need to ask Skeg about the city’s mages before we destroy any of their servants.
They heard a muffled scream, followed by the unmistakable sound of flesh striking flesh. Again and again the sound came until finally the screams stopped. Nial started to cry silently.
All right, Nial. We will try without using our power. Come on then, find something sharp. . . .
When Nial walked into Skeg’s shop, she looked near tears. Her mud-caked clothes were dark and wet with blood. Skeg’s heart skipped a beat.
“We’re sorry, Mister Skeg,” she blurted. “We couldn’t bring you the body this time. He was bleeding. There was blood everywhere. It was such a mess!” The tears were coming now, fat drops flowing freely down her dirty cheeks.
“But you weren’t seen?”
They shook their head glumly.
Skeg allowed himself to relax as much as he ever did in the girls’ presence. “That’s all right, child. I was meaning to tell you, I don’t think I can sell too many more body parts for a while. It’s attracting too much attention.”
“So you’re not disappointed?” Nial said, sniffling.
“No, child. In truth, I’m relieved. I wasn’t sure what to do if you brought me another body so soon.”
“But we have nothing to trade for tonight’s lesson.”
“You’ve been overpaying me as it is. I’m sure we don’t have to worry about another trade for a while.”
“Oh, thank you, Mister Skeg!” The bright cheerful child was back as quickly as that. She rushed past him and sat down in her spot inside the ring of wards, not even pausing to clean the blood off herself.
As much as he was growing fond of her, Skeg couldn’t help but shudder at Nial’s mood shift. And she’s not even the demon.
“There is another matter we need to speak to you about before we start,” said Zuly.
Skeg gestured for her to continue.
“We encountered a leashed demon tonight. We need to know how common such things are in Darien.”
“Not common at all,” Skeg said immediately. “Even a minor demon would mean Arcanum involvement. No one else would dare send one out in public for fear of attracting their attention.”
“This was a flying Karethin demon. They are about this long,” she said, holding her hands apart. “They usually feed on the dead.”
“A carrion demon, we’d call it then,” Skeg said. “Nothing really scary, but the summoner has some power and is definitely connected to be able to send it out into the city.” A terrible thought suddenly occurred to Skeg. “You didn’t kill it, did you?”
“No, we hid and made our kill tonight without the aid of magic. We were lucky and it moved off before we needed to trap the soul.” Skeg let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.
“Thank the gods!”
Zuly arched an eyebrow at him.
“Er . . . thank all the . . . something ungodly. . . . If you’d killed it, whether it was out looking for you or not, it would have attracted too much attention. Only a licensed mage of the Arcanum would send a demon out in public and not a weak one at that. If you attract the attention of the Arcanum, you won’t last a day in this city.”
“What is this Arcanum?” Zuly demanded.
“Are you two going to talk all night? I want to learn more magic!” chimed in Nial’s voice. It was saying something that these outbursts didn’t even surprise Skeg anymore. It was just like having two people sitting with him but without the need to look between them.
“This will actually make a good start to our lesson for tonight, child. You see, the Arcanum is Bialta’s great school of magic. More than a school, really, since most of its members never leave. It is right here in Darien City, and it’s the main reason the capital was moved from Korsten. It’s also the largest school of magic on the continent; they accept students from every country regardless of political affiliations. But they also put powerful weaves on all their students that make it impossible for them to consciously act against Bialta or the Arcanum. There’s all kinds of mages in the world, most of them focusing on one particular aspect of their talent, like the warlocks in the Free Cities and their obsession with fire and war magic. But in Bialta, they try to teach mages a little of everything. They share as much knowledge as they can and encourage their members to innovate and dig deep in any magical skill they please.”
Nial sighed loudly.
“Nial, how about I give you something to practice while Zuly and I keep talking for a little while?” She nodded eagerly.
Skeg went back into the shop to find a sheet of paper, a quill, and a small pot of ink, then returned to his usual spot in the circle and drew a fairly complex pattern on the sheet. “We’re going to work on doing several things at once now. I know you can move things with your magic easily enough. But if you use a weave, you should be able to move more objects at once and keep them moving separately. Here’s the pattern. Try to move these coins around the room.” He dumped a handful of copper coins onto the floor between them and stuck the quill into the skin at the back of his head.
“Must you keep that feather there, Mister Skeg?” said Zuly. For some reason, the practice seemed to unnerve her though the myriad other items pushed through his skin didn’t seem to bother her. Skeg pulled it out and smiled before pushing it back in over his left ear. Zuly growled at him, showing her teeth. The sound was suddenly cut off by Nial’s girlish giggling.
Later that night, Skeg watched Nial and Zuly practice with a sense of pride and wonder. They had taken to the new weave with ease, and then with a fair bit of work from all three of them, they had even figured out how Nial and Zuly could use their power to lift their own body off the ground.
Neither of them could explain it, nor could Skeg understand why it should be so much harder to lift themselves than it was to lift someone else. It
was just one more mystery about them that he’d resigned himself to accept. But they had managed it eventually, and Nial’s girlish laughter filled the shop as she slowly floated up to the ceiling. He’d never had a family. He’d been a street kid himself who a mage noticed had talent when he was about twelve. The mage had been disappointed though. Skeg had a glimmer of power in him, no more. He reached the First Order and hit a wall. That was as far as his talents could take him. In the Arcanum that meant he was welcome, but he’d never be respected. He’d be an eternal apprentice, an assistant to the more talented mages. Since striking out on his own he’d made himself invaluable to the unlicensed mages of the city as well as to a number of priests and cultists and even a number of Arcanum mages whose research wasn’t strictly legal.
But now, his life was becoming increasingly focused on Nial and Zuly, and Skeg had to admit, despite moments of terror when he remembered he was teaching a demon-possessed child, he was actually enjoying himself for the first time in as long as he could remember. Their talents far outshone his, and they thirsted for knowledge, as excited about what they could do as he had been as a youth. He discovered things in himself that he had never expected—a joy in teaching and a feeling of warmth in the company of a child.
The Bones of the Past (Books of Dust and Bone) Page 6
