by Kris A Hiatt
“My son is dead,” Destin said with a pained look on his face. “Of that I am sure.”
“Why would we lie about that?” Joran asked.
“To protect him,” Brental said simply. Wasn’t it obvious?
“I wish that was the case. I wish my son was still alive.”
If he was telling the truth, and it looked to Brental like he was, then how did the healing magic not work? It worked on all physical impairments. It didn’t mend bone or heal problems with the mind. That much was known, but it healed everything else. Wait. It was clear to him now what had happened. The pained look on Destin’s face said it all. The boy was dead, of that Brental was certain. But he didn’t die of some unknown disease. The boy was stone-faced. He doubted Destin killed his own son, but Brental couldn’t be sure. His own father had rarely shown him any kindness and Brental often feared for his life when he was a child. He didn’t get that from Destin, but he wouldn’t know for sure until he asked. “Did you do it, or did he do it to himself?”
“How would I give him the disease if I’m still alive?” Destin asked.
“He didn’t die from a disease and you damn well know it,” Brental told him. “So did you stone-face your son or did he do it to himself?”
“I would never hurt my son!” Destin yelled. Tears began to streak down his face.
“So he did it to himself then?” Brental asked. He wasn’t going to stop until the man said it. He needed to see his face when he said it. The truth would be there when he did.
“He died from a disease,” Joran put in.
“No, he didn’t,” Destin replied, not nearly as loudly as before.
“But,” Joran said, sounding hurt. “You said.”
“I know damn well what I said you idiot,” Destin told him angrily. Tears flowed freely from his eyes. “It’s all my fault.”
“So you did kill him?” Brental asked. He looked to Joran and the man seemed deeply hurt. The man had just found out he’d been lied to for years. Thinking of Nimbril, Brental could understand that.
“I may as well have,” Destin replied, regaining some composure. “But no, not in the way you’re thinking. I can’t do that.”
“What happened?” Brental asked.
“Like I said,” Destin said. “I taught him everything I knew. He was better at it than I was. It all started because he would always ask why I wasn’t teaching anymore. I told him I wasn’t allowed to. He convinced me that if I taught him in secret, no one would ever know.”
“And Gilly approved?” Joran asked.
“She never knew,” Destin replied. “All the way to her grave.”
“Your wife I presume?” Brental asked.
“Yeah,” Destin said, nodding his head. “The woman gave me a son and I lied to her for our entire relationship. At first it was just about why I quit teaching. Then it was about what happened to our son. For over twenty years I lied. I lied until she was dead.”
Brental wasn’t expecting so much to come out of the man. But he figured after keeping lies like that for so many years it probably felt good for the man to get them out in the open.
“You can’t blame yourself for her death,” Joran said.
“Of course I can,” Destin replied. “I blame myself for both. If I didn’t tell him how Truntil thought he could use magic from a distance, he wouldn’t have tried it himself and he’d still be here. And if I didn’t kill my son, my wife might still be alive.”
Hearing him say that he blamed himself made Brental think of the entry in the Archmagister journal. Nimbril said the blame for Truntil’s death rested on his shoulders. Could he have meant the same as what Destin was now saying? Could Nimbril have meant that he blamed himself for Truntil’s stone-facing simply because he let it happen? It was possible, but he still leaned the other way. He’d have to think on it later. “But you did, and she’s not,” Brental said, trying to get this back on track.
“You’re heartless,” Joran told him.
“And you’re weak,” Brental spat back, having quite enough of Joran. The man simply had to go. He was too weak to be of any use to him. Destin on the other hand had fire. He had anger inside of him. He may even have a few surprises left in him. He meant to keep him around for a while. “Disdane, please get him out of here.”
“What should I do with him?” Disdane asked.
“Whatever you think is right,” Brental replied. He could pretty much guess that meant he had just killed the man, but unlike Destin, he wouldn’t blame himself for it. If Disdane chose to kill Joran, that was on Disdane, not him. Brental’s conscious was clear.
“With pleasure,” Disdane said grabbing the man roughly and pushing him out of the cell.
“You’re killing him?” Destin asked. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I’m not doing anything to him,” Brental pointed out. “I have no idea what Disdane will do with him. They may go for tea for all I know.”
“Lying to yourself doesn’t change the truth,” Destin said. “Trust me, I’ve been trying to get it to for years.”
“But you see,” Brental explained. “It’s not lying. Not in the least. I never once implied for Joran to be killed.”
“But you know the kind of man you were talking to,” Destin argued. “He’s a killer, no doubt. And you just gave him all the reason he needed to kill him.”
“Disdane’s decision is his alone, not mine. Just as your son’s decision was his, not yours. Don’t accept blame for that which isn’t yours.”
“Are you going to kill me too?” Destin asked.
“Why would I kill my new teacher?”
“What could I possibly teach you?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Brental admitted. “But I’ve no doubt we’ll find out soon enough.”
“Why would I help you?”
“Because not only do you want to live,” Brental told him. “But because you love to teach.”
“And if I do help you, what’s in it for me?”
“You’re a lonely old man whose closest friends won’t be around to visit anymore. I suspect you’ll need a new friend to talk to.”
“So now you’re saying we’ll become friends,” Destin said. “That’s absurd.”
“I believe you’ll find we have more in common than you think,” Brental told him.
“I doubt it.”
“We’ll see,” Brental said. He turned and walked out of the cell, leaving Destin there to weigh his options.
“Shall I lock him back in, sir?” the jailor asked as Brental neared.
“I don’t know,” Brental replied loudly enough for Destin to hear. “Am I leaving you in there? Or are you coming along?” He didn’t wait for a response and simply turned and exited the jail.
He was not surprised when he heard hurried footsteps behind him a few seconds later.
“I don’t know why I’m going along with this,” Destin said.
“Because you’re smart.”
“Or very stupid,” Destin countered.
“Don’t worry,” Brental told him. “No disrespect to your son, but you’ve never had a student as powerful as me.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Together we can progress this order,” Brental told him.
Destin didn’t reply, but Brental could almost feel the interest emanating from the man.
“I’ve got a job for you,” Brental informed him.
“What’s that?”
“You can go visit one of your old friends.”
“Who?”
“Kint, of course,” Brental replied. He needed to test the man. He wanted to make sure he could trust him. Should the man take it as a warning of what Brental would do to him should he cross him, then so be it. He preferred to be surrounded with those submissive to his needs.
“He’s stone-faced, he can’t talk to me.”
“See if you can find any journals he may have kept and bring them to me,” Brental instructed.
“And what
of Kint?”
“Make him some tea, make him comfortable, I don’t care,” Brental said. “Then put him out of his misery.”
“You are heartless.”
“Why, because I speak the truth?”
“Put him out of his misery?” Destin asked as if that would explain everything.
Brental stopped and pulled Destin to a halt to face him. “Which should indicate to you just the opposite. You of all people should be able to appreciate what I’m telling you to do,” Brental explained. “He will die, alone, in days with no one to ensure he drinks water. He won’t do it on his own. He’ll die within a few weeks even if someone forces food and drink down him. He’s dead regardless. The question is, are you a good enough friend to do what’s right?”
Destin didn’t reply. He merely gave him a hard look before walking to a nearby window.
“Put on some robes,” Brental commanded. “You are a magister.”
Brental walked away and left the man to his thoughts. He had a lot to think about.
Chapter 13
That morning Treace had woken up stiff, not being used to sleeping sitting up with his back against a tree. He guessed Kiril wasn’t used to sleeping while leaned against someone because she blushed when she awoke to find him wide awake. He was awake before her, but he didn’t want to disturb her so he sat still and waited. He remembered how his bladder protested, but he wanted to make sure she had all the rest she needed. She’d been through a lot. But, now that they had been on the road for a while, his back had finally loosed up.
They had ridden the last several hours in silence. Treace used the time to replay yesterday’s events in his mind. He had thought about Kiril’s actions, the things she had said, and the things he had felt from or toward her since the healing. He was confident some of her actions were due to their emotional connection. Take the kiss for example. He didn’t mind the kiss in the least, but he found it odd that a young woman grieving for her lost father would take the time to give someone a tender kiss. But he remembered thinking at the time that he’d like to kiss her. He knew the connection between the healer and those that they healed was a strange one and couldn’t always be predicted, but sometimes it could be very strong. Perhaps she was only acting on his wishes, but didn’t know why, and truth be told, he didn’t care. He enjoyed the kiss very much and realized it was the first kiss that he could actually remember. He was too drunk to remember his first kiss, but imagined it didn’t compare to this one. That led him to think of his interaction, or near interaction, with the prostitute and then the fight with the four guards because of the kiss that he couldn’t remember. Had he not stolen a kiss while he was drunk, he wouldn’t have been attacked. Had he not been involved in that fight, he didn’t think he’d be one of the baron’s guards. If he wasn’t one of those guards, he wouldn’t be here.
He felt the corners of his mouth turn up. He always marveled at how events strung out from one point to another. Another thought crept its way into his head then. What if he didn’t lose to Disdane? His smile faded quickly. If he didn’t lose, then Kiril might not have had to heal him. He might not have received her kiss, but then would Kint still be alive? Would he even be traveling with Kiril? What string of events would follow if Treace hadn’t lost to Disdane? He gave up thinking about it and focused on his surroundings for a moment. He wanted to get some thoughts out of his head for a few minutes.
He was on the horse, Kiril still sitting in front of him, with Moff riding his horse to his left. He admitted to himself that there were far worse places to be than atop a horse with one arm around her. Moffred had a long weed sticking out of his mouth, chewing on it absently. They were somewhere a few days west and south of Kilindric by Treace’s estimation, keeping closer to the mountains than the sea. They felt it best to stay off the main road connecting Kilindric and Kadenton so they were on the far less traveled roads, usually used by miners and the folk of the local land.
“How’d they see in the dark?” Moffred asked, breaking Treace from his thoughts.
“Who?” Treace asked, unsure of what or who Moff was talking about.
“Arden and Draya,” Moffred explained. “Or the whole rest of the town.”
“I’m still not following,” Treace admitted.
“It had to be dark in the snake’s hole,” Moff explained. “So how did they see?”
“I don’t know,” Treace said. “And it’s not really an important part of the story.”
“How can it not be? You can’t see in the dark. It just makes the story so unbelievable.”
“It’s not whether it’s believable or not,” Treace explained. “It’s the moral of the story that’s important.”
“Not to me,” Moff said.
Treace didn’t have anything else to offer his friend. Either he could see the moral of the story and its differing meanings, or he could simply continue to pick it apart. That was entirely up to him.
“It’s also about trust and betrayal,” Kiril added.
“The townsfolk betrayed Draya by leaving her there?” Treace asked, thinking he knew what she was talking about. He had thought of that aspect as well.
“No,” Kiril replied. “Slither was betrayed by Arden.”
“How so?” Treace asked. That didn’t make sense to him.
“Arden repeatedly brought him gifts of food. Over time that built trust with Slither which he used against the snake. Slither trusted Arden enough that he simply fell asleep. You wouldn’t fall asleep in front of your enemy. He had to trust him. Arden betrayed that trust by escaping with Draya,” Kiril explained.
“But the snake was holding her hostage,” Treace countered. “How could he be trusted?”
“Why was he holding her hostage?” Kiril asked.
“Because he was a giant evil snake,” Moff said.
“No,” Kiril corrected. “He did so only after the townsfolk were rallying to kill him. There was nothing said to indicate Slither did anything to provoke the attacks. If he took the girl only to ensure his own safety from those who wanted to harm him, then was he really evil?”
She had a very good point. It was one Treace had never considered before. He had read that story countless times and could probably recite it word for word. What she was saying was true. The book didn’t have any reason given for the townsfolk attacking Slither. Treace’s recounting of it the other night didn’t either. That brought a whole new point of view to the story for him to think about.
“So Slither isn’t evil?” Moff asked, seemingly disappointed.
“What’s that you said, Treace?” Kiril asked. “Perspective?”
“Perspective,” Treace confirmed. It was a wonderful thing to have.
“Interesting,” Moff said before going silent.
They rode for another few hours in silence. Treace guessed both of his companions were looking at their lives from different perspectives. He hoped so. It usually helped when you could see things from different angles instead of focusing hard on one path alone.
He concentrated on Kiril for a moment and he could still feel her sadness. He hoped she was looking at her situation from differing perspectives, though he doubted any of them offered any comfort when compared to losing her father. He wondered how long their emotional connection would last.
He decided to replay his fight with Disdane in his mind again. Treace had already replayed it several times, but he was trying to find ways to improve. He hadn’t been beaten so soundly since he first began fighting with Exodin. The man was more powerful than anyone Treace had ever fought. He was also impossibly fast for someone of his size. Treace wondered, though, if the man ever had to adapt his routine to counter anything his opponent was showing. He doubted it very much. The man appeared to be supremely confident in his skills, and he should be, but the thought did occur to Treace and it was something he thought might help him in the future. The problem with that was that he didn’t know how to get the man to change his tactics. He had yet to find an opening large
enough to exploit. Treace hoped that Exodin, his mentor, would be able to help in that regard.
“You’re thinking very hard on something over there,” Moff said.
“Just going over that last fight in my head,” Treace explained. “Trying to find a weakness.”
“And have you?” Moff asked.
“No.”
“You will,” Kiril said confidently.
He wished he shared her confidence.
“Of course he will,” Moff told her. “He always does.”
“Always?” Kiril asked.
“Until this time I guess,” Moff admitted.
“So I take it you fight often?” Kiril asked him.
“I practice often, but I don’t fight often,” Treace explained. Just then he realized the fight with Disdane was his first true fight. He had disarmed a few drunks before and had parried or dodged some of their attacks, but he never intended on harming those men. The fight with Disdane was his first true fight with real weapons. Those were the types of fights where the winner walked away with his life and the loser was typically buried. Treace felt very lucky just then. Had Kint not placed his barrier over Disdane, Kiril would have been cut down. If she were cut down, Treace would have been dead for certain. He wondered if Moff would have made it out alive. He was, again, feeling responsible for Kint’s death.
“And how many times have you lost, Treace?” Moff asked.
“Many,” Treace admitted, shaking his mind free of Kint and speaking of not only his recent fight, but also his early days.
“Since you’ve left Lake City?” Moff asked, seeming to not like Treace’s answer.
“Just one,” Treace said, picturing that large sword swinging down at him.
“So stop beating yourself up over it,” Moffred told him.
“One loss sounds pretty good to me,” Kiril said.
“One loss is usually what all fighters get,” Treace pointed out. “The question is, how many fights does it take before you do finally lose?
“Oh,” Moff said, seeming to understand Treace’s point.
“But you lost and you aren’t dead,” Kiril pointed out.
“Perspective,” Moff said smiling.
