by Devin Hanson
“They are necessary.”
“Oh, I’m not discounting that. It just makes my skin crawl, thinking that there are alchemists who train to hunt down and kill other alchemists.”
“I know,” it was Kilpatri’s turn to shake his head. “I don’t like it any more than you do. But if anything, the recent events have only emphasized how important they are.”
There was a polite knock on the door, and Kilpatri glanced at the clock on the wall. “It is time.” Louder, he called, “Come in.”
Milkin counted heads as people began filing into the room, reaching a count of twenty-eight before the last one shut the door behind him. Of the people he had invited, only two failed to show. He made his way around to the front of the room and stood next to Kilpatri on the low platform.
“Good morning,” he greeted everyone, after waiting a moment for them to grow quiet. “No doubt you wonder why you are here today. Professor Kilpatri, if you would?”
“Thank you. Yesterday, we sat in judgment on the first Ranno Kossar in written history. As you no doubt are aware, we have found the first Dragon Speaker in two thousand years. Both Professor Milkin and I witnessed the ritual test, and there is no doubt that Andrew Condign is indeed a Dragon Speaker. It was Speaker Condign who accused Trent Priah of being Ranno Kossar, and per our laws, that is enough to cast Priah out of the Guild permanently.”
Milkin nodded and added, “Beyond the strict letter of our laws, there is a practical concern. A Ranno Kossar is an egg thief. The dragon Avandakossi has laid one clutch in two thousand years. If we allowed eggs to be stolen, the dragons would die out and the alchemist guild would be no more. Preventing exactly that eventuality seems to be the purpose behind the severity of the law.”
“Quite right.” Kilpatri cleared his throat. “While conducting the test, the dragon detected among our number a corruption. Later, the Speaker clarified that Avandakossi had smelled an Incantor.”
Muttered disbelief filled the room and Kilpatri raised his hands for silence. “No doubt this is a difficult thing to hear. Let me be very clear with you on this matter: Incantors are no myth. For as long as the Guild has existed, there have been Incantors in varying numbers. There have never been many, but the presence of an Incantor among the investigatory delegation hints at a broader problem than we thought possible.”
One of the students raised a hand and Milkin pointed at him. “Yes, Jesse.”
“Why keep it a secret? If the Incantors are real, aren’t they incredibly dangerous?”
“I’ll take this one,” Milkin said. “Yes. You are right, but perhaps not in the way you think. Incantors are dangerous, but in the end they are just alchemists. We train you to deal with an alchemical attack in the Academy, and within the scope of physical danger, that suffices. The true danger of Incantors is the lure of power they represent. Believe it or not, I was young once, too.” Milkin paused for the chuckles to die away, then said, “I don’t forget the stress of a difficult course exam or the desire to gain quick power in some way to overcome a rival. The existence of Incantors was kept as a myth because we don’t want students to make decisions that will ruin the rest of their lives for some quick-fix solution.”
“That isn’t to say we think you irresponsible,” Kilpatri hastened to add. “But if the Incantors are a myth, there’s no temptation to seek them out.”
“Then why tell us now?” Jesse asked. “Are we forming some kind of anti-Incantor force?”
Milkin nodded to Kilpatri, letting him field that question. “No,” Kilpatri said, “one already exists: the Fraternity Sicaria. They are tasked with bringing justice to alchemists that break our laws, but also to hunt down and destroy Incantors wherever they may be.”
“Then why are we here?” another student asked.
“We are here to form a nucleus of people whom we can trust beyond a doubt,” Milkin answered. “We fear that with Salia moving to war, the Incantors will try to create a rift in the Guild and form a new order of alchemists without the restrictions of the old laws, an order where the Incantors can form a power base and come out of hiding.
“We are here to try and convince you that such a fracture would be disastrous, to try and convince you of the importance of keeping the Guild intact and with a united front.”
Most of the gathering were nodding in agreement, but not everyone. “What if we think the Guild’s restrictions are too harsh?” someone called.
Milkin felt a surge of pride as those of his students he could see rolled their eyes or shook their heads. If they had done the homework he had assigned, they knew what he was going to say already. “The laws of the Guild have been in place for two thousand years, but it isn’t mere tradition that keeps them intact. No body of law could exist for so long if it wasn’t completely necessary. Every time one of the laws of the Guild has been neglected, terrible things have happened. For example, we forbid the sale of alchemical weapons. Why?” Milkin pointed at Meria Yale.
“Every time sale of alchemical weapons was permitted by the Guild,” Meria said, her clear voice loud in the room, “the weapons soon fell into the hands of criminals. There is a wide range of documented disasters, from mass killings, to regicide, and, once, a war starting with thousands dead on both sides before the law was enforced again and the weapons destroyed.”
“While it is easy to quickly make a lot of money breaking the laws of the Guild,” Milkin concluded, “the laws are there for a reason. Currently the Guild enjoys a fairly good reputation, and the desire for what we can produce is high. Two hundred years ago, though, most cities in Salia would punish the practice of alchemy with burning at the stake. That particular dark age was brought about by a popular vote to repeal another one of our laws, the one forbidding alchemists from acting as mercenaries.
“Every time one of the laws was relaxed or changed, disaster for the Guild soon followed. It may seem tempting to split off and form a new guild, but history has shown the folly of that. Break the laws of the Guild, and eventually things turn for the worse.”
“Any other questions?” Kilpatri asked. When none were immediately forthcoming, he directed everyone’s attention to the vials. “Over here, by Milkin, we have some pureglass vials. Avandakossi was able to detect the corruption of an Incantor by smell alone. We ask that everyone present prick their finger and put a few drops of blood into a vial, which will be sealed and labeled. Later, the Speaker will have the dragon smell each vial to ensure there are no Incantors among us.”
“Oh come now,” someone muttered, “that’s absurd.”
“Professor Milkin and I have both done it,” Kilpatri said harshly. “Refusal to participate will be seen as admission of guilt.”
“You can’t–”
“Hey!” Jethram, Milkin’s student, said loudly, overriding the protest. He pushed his way to the front and confronted the student who was complaining. “Do you have something to hide?”
“Well, no. But the principle of–”
“What, you’re offended? ‘They should trust me on principle’ or something?” Jethram scoffed. “Don’t be dense. Weren’t you listening? The Incantors are real, man. You should be happy to have this chance to clear your name. I, for one, am happy to do it. I’ll even be the first.” Jethram stepped up onto the platform and presented his hand to Milkin for pricking.
Milkin smiled at Jethram and handed him a needle and a vial. “Better you do it, I don’t want to stab you too deeply.”
Jethram took the needle and jabbed his thumb, pressing the flesh until a few drops of blood fell into the vial.
“That’s fine. Drop in the needle too.” Milkin stoppered the vial and sealed it with wax, using a runing awl to neatly print Jethram’s name into the wax as it cooled. “Thank you, Jethram. You’re free to go if you like, or you may stay. Who’s next?”
Chapter 7
A Test of Blood
The aurochs complained throatily in the distance as the handlers coaxed them out of their yokes. Andrew shifted hi
s grip on the wooden dowel practice sword he held in his hand and blinked sweat out of his eyes, forcing his attention to stay on Jules despite the distraction. He held his free hand near his shoulder, fingers splayed, the alchemic shield runes ready on his tongue.
Jules held her own practice blade and she shifted around him, probing at his defenses cautiously. He had the reach on her, but she was blindingly fast and had the advantage of years of experience in actual combat. He had long ago given up any lingering sense of chivalry preventing him from hitting her; repeated bruises and contusions had cured him of that.
Andrew shifted his feet as Jules swung around his left. The footing was noticeably different today. The ground was harder, dryer, the vegetation sparse and brown. It was a vast difference from the northern reaches of Salia where he had spent most of his life. There, the grass was thick and tall, the soil rich. At their current location, a few hours north of the border to Nas Shahr, the land was dead and dry, soil was almost nonexistent and only hard-packed sandy clay remained.
Jules shifted again, her wooden sword flickering out, and Andrew barely brought his own sword up in time to deflect it. He retaliated, but his footwork was off, and Jules just stepped backward out of range. Andrew cursed to himself. He had to stay focused.
He cleared his mind of distractions, using a similar method to how he composed his rune songs and found a measure of quiet and focus. Jules’s next attack he turned away, with a muttered “Ban!” The air hardened for a split second, turning Jules’s downward stroke to the side, throwing off her balance and leaving her open long enough for Andrew to swing in and tag her across the ribs.
“Hah!” he cried. “Score one for me.”
“Keep it up,” Jules returned, “and you’ll catch up to me.” She spun around Andrew, practice sword darting.
“You’ll have to try harder–” Jules’s antics made Andrew turn and suddenly the setting sun blinded him over her shoulder, and he felt the stinging impact of the practice sword against his knee, then hard in the chest and he toppled to the ground, winded.
“What’s the first rule of sword fighting?” Jules asked as she knelt over him, blocking out the sun once more.
“Pay attention –ow– to your surroundings,” Andrew gasped.
“It’s more than just footwork.” Jules hauled him to his feet and swatted some of the dried grass off his back. “More than just making sure you don’t step in a cactus. It’s everything around you, everything that could influence the fight one way or another.”
Andrew grunted an agreement. As if he could argue after the object lesson she had just delivered. He looked over at the caravan. They were still unpacking and it looked like they were starting a bonfire. “What are they doing?” he glanced at the sun again, estimated less than an hour of light left. “They won’t make it inside the waystation before dark.”
Jules followed his gaze and smiled at Andrew’s reaction. “There are no dragons this far south, not as you’d know them at least. They will spend the last night out in the open. It’s traditional.”
“Well, I hate to be a downer, but I know of at least one dragon who will be here before too much longer.”
Jules frowned. “I didn’t think of that. Will Ava be a problem for them?”
Andrew shrugged. “How should I know?”
“Maybe you could ask her to eat before she comes?”
“Dragons don’t eat all that often. She only hunted daily when she was brooding and needed to gather the extra vitae.”
Jules shrugged. “Then I don’t see the problem.”
“Maybe, just to be safe, we should put a hill between us or something.”
“You see a hill,” she responded, arms spread wide at the desolate flatlands, “let me know.”
Andrew scowled at her. “This isn’t a joke.” He walked over to where his pack was and heaved it up onto his back. At Jules’s insistence, they both kept fully stocked packs close at hand in case they had to depart the caravan in a hurry. An old employer and friend of Andrew’s ran the caravan, and he had been accommodating so far with the demands of his well-paying passengers. Marich Shen hadn’t asked why Andrew and Jules had spent so much time out of the waystation at night and had distanced himself from the congregation of alchemists a week before. He didn’t know Andrew was a Dragon Speaker and probably wouldn’t react well to Avandakossi landing next to his celebration of the empty night.
Jules grabbed her own pack and followed him. “Sorry. I know it’s not. But seriously, unless you ask Ava not to come, I don’t see how we’ll avoid it.”
Andrew rolled his eyes at her. “She’s already almost here.”
Jules jerked her head to look at the sky, a reflexive habit born of a lifetime hiding from dragons. “She didn’t go home?”
“I’m sure she did swing by, but she’s bringing a delivery from Andronath. Our first mail package from Milkin, unless I’m mistaken.”
“What about her brood? Doesn’t she need to, I don’t know, nest on them or something?”
“Ava’s not a chicken. Her eggs are being kept warm by the kossarigan I made for her so she doesn’t need to stay by them and keep them hot. She’s free to do what she wills.”
“And they’re safe? What if Trent goes looking for them again?”
Andrew laughed. “They’re safe. Last time I was there, she had at least a dozen of the largest, meanest male dragons you’ve ever seen patrolling and guarding the nest. You couldn’t steal an egg from there even if you had every airship in the world in your fleet.”
“I don’t understand. I thought Ava had her nest so far to the south because… why did she have her nest so close to Andronath, anyway?”
“Competition over food for one,” Andrew shrugged, “and male dragons aren’t protective of female dragons until after they’ve laid their eggs.”
“And when they’re ready to hatch?”
“Ava wasn’t specific, but I understood incubation times were measured in years, not months or days.”
“So she’s free to follow you around… and she’s okay with that? I would think she’d get bored or something.”
Andrew rolled his eyes at her. “It’s not like that. She waited two thousand years to find me. She’s just feeling a little protective. I’m sure it will pass eventually.”
They had been walking steadily away from the waystation, and the rising column of smoke from the bonfire was the only thing they could see of it.
“Ground is a little hilly after all,” Jules commented, glancing back.
“Let’s keep going. Just in case one of the drivers looks up and sees Ava coming in. Don’t want them to panic unnecessarily.”
As they walked, the sun settled down below the horizon and the sky exploded with color. High clouds striped the red and orange with purple hues. They paused to watch the sunset, standing close enough to hold hands. Andrew kept his hands firmly in his pockets, watching Jules out of the corner of his eye. Her green eyes caught the last light of the setting sun and glowed as if lit from within. Her lips were slightly parted, her cheeks flushed from their recent exertions. The sky was beautiful, but he would take looking at Jules over a sunset any day of the week.
Presently, he heard Ava call, silent to the ear, but clear as a bell in his mind. “I come. The meat riders have fire.”
Andrew quirked a smile and saw Jules glance at him. “She’ll be here soon,” he answered her unasked question. “She sees the caravan’s bonfire.” He didn’t translate the rest. Ava’s opinions and descriptions of average humans were often less than flattering.
“We should be safe here,” Jules said. “The caravan won’t be able to see Ava coming in, not with firelight in their eyes and the sunset distracting them.”
Andrew pulled his gaze away from the east where he had been staring towards Ava and felt himself flush a little. He glanced back toward the caravan and nodded. “Sorry, got distracted. You’re probably right.”
Close proximity to Jules for a month straight had ta
ught him many quirks of her personality. He had seen her in every mood he had a name for and knew her as well as close family. The slight tightening of her eyes, the head tilted away, mouth opened for comment then shut again. Was she jealous? He turned to her, trying to think of some way to open a conversation on the topic. Then the wind shifted and the faint smell of cinnamon reached him on the breeze and all thoughts of Jules dropped away from his mind.
“She’s here,” he said, a wide smile stretching his face.
The strop of leather wings caught his ear, then the silhouette of the dragon became visible. Seconds later, Andrew turned his back, his arms instinctively wrapping around Jules and pulling her close moments before the downdraft of Ava’s wings blasted sand and pebbles at them. A spot on his neck, bare above his collar, stung sharply, and all up his back and down the backs of his legs caught the impact of the flying grit, muted by his clothing but still smarting.
“Thanks,” Jules muttered after Ava landed and folded her wings. Her hand, caught against his chest when he had pulled her close, lingered for a moment before she pushed herself free and turned to straighten her hair and brush sand and grit from the folds of her clothing.
Andrew hesitated, sensing some hidden upset in the way Jules held her shoulders, but unsure what he had done, or what to say to make it right. “Sorry, should have seen that coming.”
“The old ith left you a package,” Ava said, using her term for Professor Milkin. Ith meant someone who spoke. Andrew guessed the added implication was that Milkin could speak the dragon tongue, after a fashion, but couldn’t hear.
Andrew looked up from Jules, saw Ava’s head towering over him, and turned to scratch the great dragon around her nose. Hot dry air blasted over his hands as Ava sighed. The scent of cinnamon, initially overpowering, was already fading to the background. “Milkin sent a package,” he translated for Jules.
Jules perked up, her sulk forgotten, then paused. She bowed to Ava, said, “I ask permission to come close.”
