Voice of Dominion (The Spoken Mage Book 3)

by Melanie Cellier

  A healer could use power to speed up the natural healing process of the body, even to perform wonders of healing the body could never achieve on its own. But the same rules regarding physical objects applied. Gregor had lost his leg to an explosion from an enemy mage, and while I could have spoken a new leg into existence for him, it would only last as long as I continued to pour power into it.

  Thus why he had been stuck in the healing tent for a whole season. Beatrice was treating him with a complex series of compositions that spurred his leg to regrow itself. In order to fuel the growth, he ate enough rations for two soldiers, despite his inactivity. He had confided to me several weeks ago, that it was the only real perk to his situation.

  The process was unnerving to watch, and Saffron had almost lost her lunch after Beatrice first explained his case to us, showing us his exposed stump. The power of her compositions kept the blood from pouring out and infection at bay. It was a masterpiece of healing, really, and I could see why she was so valuable at the front.

  At least his service won him the treatment. If he had been a farmer who lost his limb to an accident, he could never have afforded the cost of such a healing.

  “Elena!” Coralie’s whispered warning sent me hurrying back to the rest of the trainees before someone noticed and reprimanded my absence.

  With the aftermath of the attack, Captain Matthis had failed to show for training either of the last two mornings, so I felt unusually full of energy. Beatrice must have noticed because she offered to let me take a turn at healing one of the women still waiting to have a deep burn on her arm treated.

  The woman was young—my own age possibly—but she had none of Saffron’s squeamishness. While the mage girl hid behind Finnian’s tall frame, averting her eyes from the procedure that held the attention of the rest of the trainees, the patient watched with as much interest as any of us.

  “Remarkable,” she said. “It feels sort of…itchy.” She wrinkled her nose as if the word didn’t adequately describe the sensation.

  I looked at Beatrice. “Should she be able to feel anything? You did say you’d already worked a pain relief composition for her today, didn’t you?”

  Beatrice nodded. “My compositions don’t numb all feeling, just pain. The sensation is perfectly normal.”

  “Well, look at that!” exclaimed the soldier at the same moment as I felt the drain on my power cut off, the healing complete. “It looks as good as new. Better in fact!” She smiled at me. “I had a scar on that arm from a run in with a tree when I was a girl. And now it looks as smooth as a baby’s.”

  “Sorry!” I smiled back at her. “I hope you weren’t fond of the scar.”

  The woman chuckled, assuring me she had not been, her words partially masking the disgusted sound from behind me. Apparently Lavinia’s willingness to overlook her fellow Stantorn’s friendly manner with the patients didn’t extend to me. Big surprise.

  A tall, slender figure stepped up beside me. “You know, I have a scar from a similar childhood accident myself,” said Dariela, holding out the underside of her forearm for us to see. A thin ridge, the same color as her skin, extended diagonally across it.

  “Must have been a sloppy healer, My Lady,” said the soldier, regarding the proffered arm in surprise. No doubt she herself had lacked access to any healer.

  Dariela shrugged and smiled. “I think my mother left it on purpose, to remind me not to go climbing any more trees.”

  I watched her out of the corner of my eye. She didn’t seem discomfited by the thought, but it made me a little sad. Had Dariela ever been allowed to be a child, or had she always lived under the pressure to perform?

  Beatrice congratulated me on my work and gestured for us all to move on to the next patient. A commonborn nurse assistant came in behind us to see to the healed patient’s discharge.

  Dariela gave no final glance back at the healed woman, and her cool eyes held only academic interest in the next patient. She hadn’t stepped in for the sake of the commonborn, she had done it for me, openly siding with me over Lavinia. When she glanced my way, I smiled in gratitude, and she smiled back before returning her attention to Beatrice.

  “Is it just me, or is Dariela being much more friendly to you than usual lately?” Coralie whispered.

  “I’ll explain later,” I whispered back. One of the junior healers was watching us with narrowed eyes, and I didn’t want to bring down his ire on my friend.

  Coralie gave me an unimpressed look but returned her attention to the lesson. I found it hard to focus after that, though, because in the shuffle of trainees, I had somehow ended up next to Lucas. And though he said nothing, I could read what his face was trying to say. He wished he had been free to step up to my defense instead of having to leave it to Dariela.

  I only wished I could tell him that I understood. But I was as constrained to silence as him. And so we stood side by side, not speaking, until the lesson finished, and we all dispersed.

  Lorcan had been remarkably absent that day, but he showed up to training the next morning with both Captain Matthis and a lieutenant I didn’t recognize in tow. I sighed. It seemed my reprieve had ended.

  But Matthis made no effort to call me away. Instead he stayed with our instructors as they gathered us together to one side of the yard.

  “During the recent attack, you had the opportunity to see how such engagements are directed from headquarters,” Lorcan said. “Today we will analyze the battle itself. Please note the efficacy of the strategies ordered by the general and his officers and be ready to discuss their strengths and weaknesses.”

  He pulled out a composition and tore it in half. A bright light shot out of the pieces, racing forward to envelop the lieutenant. The brightness obscured his features for a moment and then the light moved past him into the empty yard. Small insubstantial figures moved inside the space, five squads of gray-clad soldiers rushing toward a large group of the enemy.

  Araminta gasped quietly, and Clarence twisted backward to try to get a glimpse of the words on the torn parchment, seeming more interested in the working itself than the scene now playing out in front of us.

  It had been two and a half years, but I recognized the composition. It was one of the first workings I ever saw. Except on that occasion, Lorcan had reproduced only a small number of people and no more than a minute of my history. And I had received the impression that even that was a working of great strength and skill. I glanced quickly over at him. No wonder no one had seen him yesterday. He must have exhausted himself to produce a working of this size.

  The scene centered on the lieutenant, who I now realized must have been chosen because of his participation in the battle. It took me a moment to orient the scene with so many fast-moving transparent forms. It didn’t help that the power employed by the mages showed in visible silvery waves, just like on the two previous occasions I had seen the composition worked.

  A group of Kallorwegians moved, and I caught a glimpse of a section of the Wall behind them. They had been mostly facing toward it when our troops appeared, but they all spun around at their approach.

  With the jagged, dangerous rocks at their backs, they formed into lines, spearmen on one knee, spears pointing outward toward the incoming Ardannians. Their archers stood behind, sending arrow after arrow at our soldiers. Most of them hit a number of interlocking silvery walls in front of our squads, falling harmlessly to the ground, but one of the walls flickered and disappeared, three arrows flying through the now empty air where it had stood.

  Two of our soldiers fell, struck by arrows. The image of the lieutenant in front of us now tore a parchment, and a new wall of silver appeared, but already another one had fallen on the far end of the line.

  The five enemy mages huddled together in a clump behind the lines of their soldiers. One of them still faced toward the Wall, throwing silver at it from a series of parchments. The other four had turned their attention to the attacking Ardannians. I knew we were supposed to be watching t
he strategy of the battle, but I kept my focus on the mages.

  I wished there was some way to distinguish the purpose of the compositions we could see in visible form. Particularly the ones the lone mage flung at the Wall. How did he plan to break through? Or was it all for show, their plans already laid for a secret escape, their purpose as a diversion already achieved?

  One of the enemy mages ripped a composition, and several trees behind our troops caught alight. The flames leaped toward two soldiers, drawing my eye, and I recognized the woman I had healed the day before.

  An Ardannian captain stepped forward, a composition already in hand, and a shower of water extinguished the flames. The exchange had drawn the attention of many of the soldiers, causing them to falter, but the squad under our lieutenant had managed to break through the Kallorwegian shields at one end.

  The whole scene had an eerie feel, due in large part to the silence. As the Ardannian forces pushed forward, their mouths twisted into silent battle cries, only enhancing the effect.

  The two lines of soldiers crashed against each other while my focus returned to the mages. They appeared to have abandoned the shielding around their soldiers, and silver no longer battered at the Wall. Instead so much silver washed around the five of them that for a moment their images were entirely obscured.

  Then it faded slightly, and their shadowy figures reappeared. But a new clump of indistinct forms had split away, outlined in silver and surrounded by a further silver glow. They moved away from the action at a hurried pace, disappearing from the yard and fading into nothingness as they did so.

  Whatever compositions they had left behind them remained in place for several further minutes as the remaining Kallorwegian soldiers surrendered. The Ardannian mages cautiously approached the grouping of enemy mages only to pull back sharply when their illusions shattered.

  The whole scene slowly faded, leaving behind nothing but an empty exercise yard. Lorcan immediately began to throw questions at us.

  “Why did the Ardannian defenders choose that moment to attack?”

  “They knew the Wall would hold for long enough,” said Weston, “and it allowed them to trap the forces against it, giving us an advantage in maneuverability.”

  Lorcan nodded. “And why didn’t they send more mages?”

  “What? And risk losing them all?” Lavinia shook her head. “Mages are too valuable for that.”

  “Indeed.” Lorcan didn’t sound overly impressed. Clarence jumped in to expand her answer.

  “They learned their lesson centuries ago when a series of wars between Kallorway and Ardann decimated the mage populations. There used to be a greater proportion of us compared to commonborns back then, but many of the families died out completely. Peace lasted for two hundred years after that, until King Osborne resumed hostilities thirty years ago. But even he isn’t foolish enough to over commit his mages this time. He doesn’t have the numbers to do so.”

  “And neither do we,” said Lucas, a grim note in his voice.

  “So was it all a diversion, then?” I asked, watching Captain Matthis rather than Lorcan.

  “That is a more difficult question to answer,” said Lorcan, drawing my eyes back to him. He didn’t look pleased, reminding me that he was supposed to be the one asking the questions.

  I wanted to push through and demand answers from him or Matthis about the two missing soldiers from the smaller raiding party, but I swallowed my words. Lucas wouldn’t blurt out a question like that in the middle of class, so neither would I. Especially when I didn’t think they would give me the answer.

  I would have to find answers about the Kallorwegians, and about the general, in some other way.

  Chapter 20

  After that one raid, the Kallorwegians fell largely quiet again. An even more unusual occurrence for this time of year, Matthis informed me. He seemed to think it cause for concern.

  “Better the enemy you know,” he said, “than a new enemy. Or an old one with new ideas.”

  The soldiers didn’t seem to share his pessimism, some among them assuring one another that their successful defense of the larger raid had scared the Kallorwegians off. Yet more seemed to think something else had scared them away.

  “Heard things have changed over here, they have,” I caught one saying, with a significant look in my direction. I pretended I hadn’t heard and hurried the other way.

  The soldiers didn’t seem to have lost their faith in me as the Spoken Mage, but I knew the general was growing increasingly impatient. My energy levels had plateaued and nothing his officers tried seemed able to extend them further. I heard Lorcan arguing with him about it on one of our visits to headquarters.

  “You’re losing perspective, Griffith.” Lorcan sounded tired and out of temper. “She’s an eighteen-year-old girl. The progress she has already made is incredible. But there are limits. Strength and endurance can only be trained and extended so far. Compositions cannot store energy. We cannot replenish it. And no one—not even the Spoken Mage—has a limitless supply.”

  “We don’t really know what she’s capable of,” said the general. “There has never been one like her before.”

  “She’s still human, Griffith. Don’t lose sight of that.” Lorcan spoke quietly, and his words shocked me. Did he really mean them? Perhaps my nearly three years as his trainee had actually succeeded in doing something to change his thinking.

  Lieutenant Martin came past, and I drew back, pretending to be examining a chart on the wall instead of eavesdropping. From the quirk to his lips, I didn’t think he bought it. But he didn’t say anything to give me away, either.

  The weather continued to warm, and I joined the vast majority of the soldiers in railing at the mud. It got everywhere and stuck to everything, and I had to spend far too much time every day cleaning my boots. At least I could do it in the sun, though, and my favorite spot was the patch of grass behind my tent.

  My friends found me basking there on my nineteenth birthday, stealing a few moments to myself between classes. Even Dariela was with them, standing a little apart from the others.

  “Happy Birthday!” they cried, piling into the small space. Coralie led them with a cake coated in chocolate icing proudly held before her.

  I laughed.

  “I should have known not even an army would stop you from producing a cake.”

  “Of course you should have.” She placed it carefully in front of me, before plopping down onto the grass. “But no doubt Lorcan will be hounding us to get to lessons at any moment, so hurry up and cut us all a slice.”

  “I’ll do it,” said Clarence, rushing to my assistance. “You sit and relax, Elena.”

  I smiled my thanks, my heart twisting a little. Poor Clarence still hadn’t forgotten his accident back at the Academy, or that I had been the one to save everyone.

  Leila appeared as the slices were being handed around, starting innocently when she saw us.

  “Oh! Is it your birthday, Elena? Happy Birthday!”

  I rolled my eyes, handing her a slice with a shake of my head and a smile. “Don’t pretend you turned up just in time for cake by accident.”

  “I may have heard something from one of the cooks,” she said with a cheeky twinkle.

  “Of course you did,” said Coralie. “One day you’ll have to teach me your secrets.”

  Not one of my friends balked at a commonborn soldier joining us, and my heart swelled with happiness. I was lucky to have them. I just wished I could forget the one glaring absence. How perfect this moment would be if Lucas sat at my side.

  As if conjured by my thoughts, he appeared, although I noticed he kept his eyes carefully away from me.

  “Class is at the healing tent again today,” he said. “A few soldiers have come down with influenza, and Beatrice wants us to observe the diagnosis process and learn about measures for preventing the spread of infection in camp.”

  “Surely you have time for a slice of cake first,” said Finnian, holding one
out to him.

  Lucas hesitated and then took it. “They’re expecting us there in five minutes.”

  Finnian groaned but made no further protest, and everyone slowly got to their feet. A hand appeared in front of me, and I took it, letting Lucas pull me up.

  “Happy Birthday, Elena,” he said. “Thank you for the cake.”

  “It was Coralie who arranged for the cake,” I said.

  “Well, thank you for having such enterprising friends, then.”

  “Careful Lucas,” said Finnian, brushing past us. “That almost sounded like humor. And the spot for the good-looking, humorous one is already filled in this group.”

  “He means himself,” I said.

  “Of course he does,” said Lucas, “he always does.” He chuckled quietly, and I remembered they had all grown up together. Lucas knew most of my friends as well as I did.

  I flushed, embarrassed, but the warm look in his eyes erased the feeling.

  “I don’t have a present for you,” he said, under his breath. “But I promise to get you something utterly extravagant when we get back to Corrin.”

  I forced my eyes to look downward despite the smile creeping up my face.

  “Don’t worry, I didn’t get you anything for your birthday either,” I reminded him.

  “Didn’t you? I could have sworn you gave me just what I wanted.”

  Warmth raced through me, but Coralie appeared, linking her arm through mine and breaking the moment.

  “If Saffron decides to lose her stomach in class again, I’m nominating you to help her. I went to far too much trouble to procure that cake to see it come back up again.”

  “But I’m the birthday girl,” I protested. “Finnian can do it.”

  “Fine by me,” Coralie said promptly, and by the time Finnian had replied, Lucas had drifted away. I joked with my friends and tried to pretend I wasn’t acutely aware of his absence.

  Dariela sometimes joined me on my patch of grass after that, seeming dedicated to the task of friendship she had set herself. We didn’t talk of anything of import while we scrubbed our boots, but she had witty observations about the people around us that always made me laugh. She might not have been making friends for the last two years, but she had certainly been observing.