The Eighth Born: Book 1 of the Pankaran Chronicles

by C. Night

  Silence stretched between them. “Gretle.” The old sorcerer said at last.

  Rhyen regarded him with disbelief and sympathy. He hadn’t expected Cazing to reveal anything about his family and was not sure he wanted to hear. But he had the impression that Cazing was saying something that he had bottled inside him for a long time, and so he waited. Cazing’s face looked very old for once, and he sadly continued, as though he were confessing.

  “My daughter was called Gretle. You remember me talking about Vara, the girl I loved from Avernade? I told you we were sweethearts. My mistress didn’t approve, and when I married Vara, she left. She had told me to stay away from love, that it was a distraction sorcerers should avoid, but I didn’t listen to her. I should have.”

  Cazing was staring at his hands. His eyes were distant; he was caught up in his memories. “Calascada left when I was still learning. You see, Rhyen, you learn much faster than I did. I studied under my mistress for over ten years before this happened, and I still had much to learn. But she left, and my education ceased, and—though I felt I knew everything—I had no idea how little I really understood.

  “I told you that even old sorcerers can make foolish mistakes when they are not focused. I made one such error, and I have and always will live with my regret.” Cazing put a shaking hand to his temple. It was a long time before he was able to go on.

  “A few years after Vara and I married, we had our daughter, Gretle. She was my pride and my joy. And I promised myself that always I would protect her, always I would love her, my precious child… I failed her.” Rhyen saw that his master’s eyes were bright.

  “I did worse than fail her. I caused her destruction.” Cazing spat. He screwed up his face and buried it in his hands. Rhyen saw his shoulders shake. He hung his head, dropping his eyes from the sight. “It was on her fifth birthday. Vara had taken her to town to be fitted for a new pair of boots. Vara, you see, was an avid gardener—she had the most beautiful flowers in all of Avernade. And my little Gretle loved to help her mother in the garden. So, while they were in the town, I decided to make her a garden of her own.” Cazing raised his head and looked out the window.

  “I was clearing rocks out of a patch of earth, down there, to the southwest. I thought it would get the best light. But I was trying to hurry—I didn’t know when they would be home, and I wanted it to be ready to surprise her. I was wielding, moving things out of the way… but I was thinking about how happy my little girl would be, and I lost my focus.” Cazing’s eyes were wide as he looked out the window, as if he could see it all happen again in his mind. “I told the rocks and branches to ‘move’. And they did. All of them.” Cazing swallowed hard, running his hands frantically through his hair as though he was considering tearing it out. “I didn’t mean to, but it was all my fault. There was a landslide, a terrible one—I accidentally moved half the mountain, and it crashed down on top of Avernade.”

  Rhyen remembered the shopkeeper, the day after they arrived in Avernade, mentioning the landslide. His breath caught in his throat as his listened helplessly to his master.

  “I saw what I had done, and I couldn’t stop it. I tried wielding, but I was too frantic, and I could do nothing. I ran faster than anyone had before, trying to get to Avernade before the rocks flattened it… I was too late. I pulled out as many people as I could while I was trying to find Vara and Gretle. But I didn’t get there in time.”

  Silence filled the kitchen. Even the horses were silent in the stable. It grew darker as snow began to thickly fall again, flashing in front of the windows. “After I buried them I left this place. I didn’t wield again for over a year. I was too terrified. I wandered here and there, looking for my mistress, so I could learn more wielding and focus, so that I would never lose control again. When I found her, Calascada was almost on her deathbed, but she helped me as best she could to master my focus…

  “Besides you, Rhyen, she was the only one I ever told about this. I never had the courage to admit my crime to the villagers of Avernade. They thought the landslide was a natural disaster. I never corrected them. I was ashamed to admit that it was my fault, that I was responsible for the deaths of their loved ones… They thanked me, Rhyen, for pulling out the few that I did. Thanked me.” He rubbed his hand over his eyes again. “For so many reasons, that was the worst day of my life.”

  There was silence. Then, slowly, Cazing said, “After that terrible day, I thought I never wanted to see this place again. But after you’ve been living as long as I have, Rhyen, you come to appreciate the good memories you have. Sometimes, they can even outweigh the bad.” He wiped his face, smiling a little watery and looking around him with newfound appreciativeness. “I sit here at this table and remember Gretle sitting on my lap, feeding me bits of her dinner, concerned I wasn’t eating enough vegetables. And I can still see Vara there, by the sink, smiling at us while she shucked peas from her garden.” He looked directly at Rhyen. “I will have to live with my mistake for the rest of my life. Not only did my wife and child die that day, but so did a hundred others—all because I let my emotions get the better of me, let them steal my focus. I knew eventually I would have to tell you this. I hope you will learn from my mistakes so that you too will not have to live with something you regret.”

  Rhyen nodded, his throat too thick for speaking.

  Chapter 16

  The atmosphere of the Tower was strange for the next couple of days. When Cazing instructed Rhyen in wielding, his apprentice did so with a newfound reverence and care. He would never forget the lesson he learned in his master’s tale: Even the smallest lapse of concentration could yield terrible results. Rhyen was resolved to never let his focus waver again.

  Eventually, though, the atmosphere returned to normal, and Rhyen felt comfortable enough to bring up the seventh floor to his master.

  “Why didn’t you tell me I was sleeping over a fortune?” he demanded.

  Cazing grinned. “Does it matter?”

  “Yes!” Rhyen answered indignantly. “In Ikha you were going to make me buy my own horse.”

  The sorcerer laughed. “Buying your own things builds character, Rhyen. Besides, I did buy you the horse, in the end.”

  Rhyen sniffed. “Only because I didn’t have any money.” He frowned, thinking about the unheard of treasure trove upstairs. “How did you make all that money, anyway?

  Cazing lit his pipe happily. “I didn’t. Not all of it, anyway. Most of it was here long before I arrived, and I’m sure before Calascada did as well.” He leaned back in his chair. “Lots of it was gifts—sometimes rulers of countries offer treasure to sorcerers, hoping to have their support if ever they need magical solutions. But we don’t usually get involved, and if we do only for good reason. Yet they still give us stuff.”

  “It all looks like it should belong to kings and queens.”

  “Most of it did, at one point. The rest is payment.”

  “Payment?” Rhyen asked. “I thought you said we shouldn’t interfere, that we should refrain from using magic to help people solve their problems?”

  “In most cases, yes, we should refrain. But sometimes in the past sorcerers have intervened, and they were paid handsomely to do so.” Cazing snorted. “Mostly, I’ve never added to that pile, although I have become very good about taking away from it. You have, too.”

  “What?” Rhyen spluttered. “I’ve never touched that gold!”

  Cazing laughed again. “How do you think we pay for all of our food and supplies and drinks? Or my tobacco? It all comes from up there.”

  “But that door has been locked until just over a week ago. How were we using it before?”

  “When I left Avernade over a hundred years ago, I took a lot of money with me, in my bag. It doesn’t weigh anything in there, and I could put a lot in. I didn’t know how much I would need, but since, at the time, I didn’t intend to return, I got as much as I thought I co
uld use. That’s what I’ve been using all this time. I’ve still got loads left, but now that you’ve opened the treasury you might as well start paying your own way.”

  Rhyen glanced upwards, thinking of the riches above him. “Paying my own way? What, just go grab some gold and keep it in my pocket?”

  Cazing nodded encouragingly. “Take as much as you want. It doesn’t matter. Even if we both spend like elected officials, we’ll never get even close to the bottom of the pile. Plus, everything I have will be yours someday anyway, so you might as well get some use out of it now.”

  * * *

  The following autumn was a mild one. Rhyen lugged chairs outdoors so they could watch the leaves fall. The leaves were spectacular that year—the forest had exploded into various shades of red and gold and orange, and the flashing leaves rained softly down on the pale green grasses. Last year, winter had come so quickly that they barely registered fall, so now they relished the autumn afternoons outdoors, among the leaves. The sun was warm, the sky a pleasant blue, and the breeze just cool enough to make long sleeves comfortable.

  “This is my favorite time,” Cazing remarked one afternoon as they sat outside, sipping cider and eating pumpkin pie.

  “Mine too!” Rhyen said, grinning. “Great minds think alike.”

  Cazing smiled. “I guess they do.”

  “I like the weather best,” ventured Rhyen.

  His master snorted. “I like the food best!”

  “As always,” Rhyen chuckled.

  They stayed out until it was evening, and then it was too chilly outside. They moved indoors and sat at the kitchen table. Cazing, surprisingly, was a decent cook, and he could whip up a good meal in no time. Rhyen was grateful that wielding was so physically exerting. The two men ate constantly, and mostly desserts at that, and if they both hadn’t wielded all day, every day, Rhyen had no doubt that he would be too fat to walk the eight levels up the staircase to his bedroom. As it was, he was still as lean as when he arrived in Avernade, and Cazing was just as he always was.

  After dinner, as they were each polishing off their second spice cake and third or fourth mug of mead, Cazing threw down his napkin decisively.

  “I’m going to Wyda,” he announced. “I think I’ll leave in the morning.”

  Rhyen looked up in surprise. He was used to his master leaving unexpectedly for trips all over Conden and Zirith, but never so far away as to the land of the Sun elves. “Wyda? Why are you going there?”

  “Wyda hell not?” Cazing replied slyly.

  Rhyen grinned. “Nice.”

  “Thank you,” Cazing replied, bowing his head. “And I’m going to see Rode.”

  “I thought Rode lived up near Ikha. We stayed at his house, remember?”

  “That was his tent. He travels a lot, breeding and trading his horses. But he’s from Wyda, and that is where he has his home.”

  Rhyen frowned. “Oh. Why are you going to see him?”

  “He owes me some money.”

  “How could you possibly need more money?” Rhyen demanded, thinking of the seventh level filled with treasures.

  Cazing sighed in a long-suffering sort of way and loftily said, “It’s the principle of the matter, Rhyen. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

  Rhyen shook his head. “Then you’d be right, because I don’t.” He leaned back in his chair and watched his master, amused. Cazing loved business and anything having to do with money, and his expression was eager now as he thought about his trip.

  “I invested with him in that underground lake business, remember, and I haven’t heard anything about it in three years. For all I know, he ran off with my money, the tricky scamp.”

  “Plus you miss your friend,” Rhyen added.

  Cazing smirked. “Well, I miss looking at his wives more. You know,” he added, winking at his apprentice.

  Rhyen inclined his head, conceding. “I do.” He thought of Soti and was profoundly grateful he wasn’t expected to accompany his master. Although she was the most beautiful creature he had ever beheld, he recalled with embarrassment his last encounter with the wives and decided that, if it were up to him, he would never subject himself to their company again.

  “You’ll be alright here?” Cazing asked in an offhand manner.

  “Course I will.” Rhyen answered. “I bet I’ll finally get some work done without you hanging about the place.”

  Cazing laughed and nodded his head agreeably. “Then it’s settled. I’ll leave at dawn.”

  Rhyen raised his eyebrows. “You will?” His master was rarely up before the sun was well in the sky.

  Cazing shrugged. “Well, whenever I wake up, that is.”

  * * *

  Cazing was gone for the rest of the autumn. The snow fell late, and when it did, it was only a slight dusting that melted away quickly. Rhyen spent his days practicing wielding, riding Cinnamon, who was lonely without her mate, and exploring the mountains. As the winter was so mild, he was able to spend a lot of time outside.

  He spent practically every evening in the village. He was a terrible cook, and after suffering through a few days of burnt meat and fallen bread, Rhyen gave up. He ate his suppers in the inn or the pub and got to know the villagers more. He found he made quite a few friends, who, while they were busy with their work during the days, always made room at their table for him in the evenings, or joined him at the bar. They played cards and dice often, and while they all bet outrageous amounts, no one actually followed through and collected their debts. They even taught Rhyen Dice’s Slice, the game of betting partners that Cazing had tried to teach him so long ago in Fayer. It was a comfortable circle of friends, and Rhyen was glad to be included in it.

  He even got friendly with the gaggle of pretty girls that tended bar, waitressed at the inn, or cooked in the kitchens. On their nights off, they would sidle up beside him, giggling and vying for his attention. Rhyen enjoyed the company of the ladies immensely, and although he conceded that being the sorcerer’s apprentice probably strengthened his appeal with them, he was always pleased to see them home. Rhyen’s friends whooped with laughter when the girls came in, and clapped him on the back whenever he returned from walking them home, often with ruffled hair or a mis-buttoned shirt.

  One night toward mid-winter, as he was returning from a memorable game of cards at the pub, he was pleasantly surprised to see smoke pouring from the Tower’s chimney. Rhyen grinned and ran up the crunchy grass toward the front door.

  “You’re back!” he exclaimed as he burst inside. It seemed Cazing had just arrived—his face was red from cold and he was pulling off his boots. Rhyen heard Brefen and Cinnamon nickering at each other, glad to be reunited.

  Cazing grinned as he saw Rhyen. “And thanks for the welcome home! Dark Tower, freezing cold, nothing to eat…” He tried to glower at his apprentice, but Rhyen saw through it.

  Rhyen sat at the table while the sorcerer shoveled down some cold dinner and hot tea. Rhyen was trying to be patient as he waited for Cazing to finish eating. “Well?” he said finally, unable to contain himself anymore. “How’d it go?”

  Cazing swallowed thickly. “Smashing, actually. The investment is paying out unbelievably well, I’ve made thrice back what I put in already. I left half the earnings with Rode to reinvest. Can I have some more of this?” he held up the empty pan.

  Rhyen hopped up and got out the last pan of cornbread. “You want me to warm it up?”

  “No time, too hungry. I’ll take some ale though, and whatever meat we have ready.”

  Rhyen obediently fetched a tankard of ale and a leg of roasted, salty mutton that he had brought up from the village just yesterday. He set them before his master, who tore into the meat ravenously and drained the tankard in almost one gulp. Rhyen sighed and got out more ale for Cazing, grabbing a mug for himself as well. It was obvious Cazing wasn’t going to say
anymore until he was finished eating.

  At long last, Cazing leaned back in his chair contentedly. He happily lit his pipe, and with flourish blew a few smoke rings. Rhyen held up his hands exasperatedly. “Are you going to tell me about your trip or not?”

  The old sorcerer grinned. “I already did. The investment is going well, and I’m happy with the payout.”

  Rhyen rolled his eyes. “Who cares about the money? We’ve got plenty of it.”

  Cazing groaned. “Oh, what is there to tell? It’s a boring story. Besides, I’m too tired to tell it tonight.”

  “I want to hear about Wyda,” Rhyen pressed. “Tell me about Rode, and the other elves.”

  “You mean tell you about pretty little Soti, right?” Cazing slyly snickered.

  Rhyen feigned deafness and took a sip of ale with as much nonchalance as he could muster. Cazing laughed and reached across the table to clap Rhyen on the shoulder. “She looked as lovely as always. All the wives did—but now they’ve got Rode in on their scheme to marry me off to Renna’s sister Nevardha, and I only narrowly escaped with my bachelorhood.” He looked at Rhyen under his eyebrows. “It was a nightmare. I thought they were going to flay me alive.”

  Rhyen forgot his feigned indifference. “What happened?”

  “Not so fast! Don’t you want to hear the story from the beginning?” Cazing demanded indignantly.

  “I thought you were too tired to tell it,” Rhyen countered with a smile. It was good to have his master back.

  Cazing lifted his chin and loftily proclaimed, “I suppose I could stay up for a little longer.”

  Rhyen laughed. “Go on, then.”

  Cazing scratched his chin. “Well,” he said around his pipe, “the trip there was uneventful. I caught a ride on a ship full of Water elves headed home, and I won a load of money off them. Elves are terrible card players.”

  “Water elves?” Rhyen repeated. “That far south? I thought they lived in cold places.”