“Did you see?” D’Jenn asked, and Bethany nodded.
“But why did it freeze?” she asked.
“Remember,” Dormael said, “when we told you that when you Splinter someone’s spell, that unexpected things can happen?”
She nodded, but her face still showed her confusion.
“Well,” D’Jenn explained, “remember that magic is formless, for the most part. It is an energy that you can use to do almost anything. When you use it, you gather it and sort of command it to become something, or to do something. It responds to your desires instead of just floating around waiting to be used. When you Splinter magic, it unravels. But all that magic that had been previously something when you were using it had been changed just by the act of using it. That energy doesn’t go away so quickly – it has to expend, to finish, because the wizard who has been Splintered is still commanding it to be used.”
“I still don’t understand,” Bethany said; the disappointment evident in her tone.
“That’s alright,” Dormael said, “Many wizards don’t understand the basics of the theory, and even the Philosophers don’t fully understand why it happens the way it does.”
“Let’s say that I had a pie, Bethany,” D’Jenn explained, “And you came along and stuck your finger in it. Now, the entire time I’m telling you not to stick your finger in it, but you do it anyway.”
“How does that make any sense?” Dormael asked, genuinely confused by D’Jenn’s analogy. D’Jenn shot a dangerous look at his cousin. Dormael shrugged back at him.
“I’m getting to that,” D’Jenn continued, “Now, let us say that I had created that pie with magic, and every part of the pie was required for the pie to exist. So, when you come along and destroy the crust and mess up the insides, does that mean that the pie just disappears? No – the crust is still there, and the insides are still there, but they’re destroyed. Do you see?”
Dormael and Bethany both just looked at D’Jenn with confused expressions on their faces.
“Alright, answer me this. If the pie is pumpkin pie, it only has crust on the bottom. What happens then? And another thing, would a pie created with magic be delicious?” Dormael asked.
D’Jenn’s face contorted into a confused expression that almost mirrored the one that Dormael and Bethany had shot at him just a second ago, then he snorted and looked at Dormael with a suffering expression. Dormael just smiled back.
“You’re not even trying to understand,” D’Jenn said.
“It’s a ludicrous analogy.”
“No it isn’t, not when you think about it. Remember I said that every part of the pie is required for it to exist in the first place,” D’Jenn said, his tone growing irritated.
“D’Jenn, a teaching analogy is supposed to be simpler than theory, so you don’t have to think too hard about it. If you have to ponder the explanation, then what good is it?” Dormael said.
“It’s pie, Dormael. What can be simpler than pie?”
“Have you ever tried to bake a pie, D’Jenn? Simple doesn’t come close to explaining it.”
“We’re not even talking about pie. We’re talking about Splintering.”
“You said pie. Bethany, didn’t you hear the word ‘pie’ come out of his mouth?”
Bethany nodded dutifully, with a smile on her face. Dormael winked at her.
“Can we just stop it with the pie, already? We’re never going to get anywhere if you keep jabbing me,” D’Jenn grumbled.
Dormael winked at Bethany, who giggled in response.
“Since pie was too hard to understand,” D’Jenn went on, his tone indicating that it shouldn’t have been, “let’s try this one. Imagine Dormael’s spell as a bubble, Bethany. Your magic is a knife. You’re going to take your knife and burst his bubble, but when you do, the water that made up the outside of the bubble doesn’t just disappear, a little falls to the ground and a little also splashes into your face. It doesn’t just go away because the bubble goes away, it has to go somewhere.”
“Alright,” Bethany said, comprehension dawning slowly onto her face.
“So it is with magic. The magic that Dormael used to create the spell that holds the rock in place doesn’t just go back to being magic, it has to do something because Dormael didn’t command it to stop being used. That’s why you have to be careful when Splintering someone’s magic – it could have unexpected effects.”
“Much better, coz. I always did like the bubble analogy. Pie was a new one to me,” Dormael commented, and D’Jenn shot an offensive gesture at him.
“Are you ready to try again, Bethany?” D’Jenn asked.
“I think so.”
Dormael summoned his magic once again and the rock floated from the ground. The ice was quickly melting, and water dripped slowly down the side to patter into the grass below. Dormael felt Bethany’s song ring out in the magic. Again, he was amazed at how quickly she’d learned. He could remember when she’d barely been able to touch her Kai, much less summon it so easily – or use it to burn someone alive. He shuddered and put the thought from his mind.
“Remember, dear,” D’Jenn said, “be strong, be quick. Don’t hesitate.”
“Alright,” Bethany said, and she narrowed her eyes at the rock and attacked.
Bethany’s magic lanced into his, and his spell rebounded upon him, unraveling. That cold feeling washed over him, and he let out a laugh at Bethany’s success. She clapped her hands and giggled, and D’Jenn clapped her on the back. The rock fell to the ground, and for once, nothing else happened.
“Very good, Bethany!” D’Jenn said, “Very good, indeed.”
“I was years older before I could do that,” Dormael said, winking at her.
“Well, you are slow to pick up on things, coz. You didn’t even understand the pie,” D’Jenn deadpanned, and then he took Bethany’s hand and walked back toward the camp, leaving Dormael to stare at the rock. Slowly, he laughed a little, then he turned and started to follow the two of them back to where they’d come from.
There was a rustling noise from behind him and off to his left side, and in an instant Dormael had pulled a long dagger from his boot, turned around in a fighting crouch, and summoned his Kai. His magic pulsed through him violently, enhancing his senses and moving in time with the world around him. He waited, heart beating in his ears, but the only thing moving was the grass blowing in the wind.
He peered around him, trying to glimpse something, anything, out of the ordinary, but there was nothing. He quested out with his Kai, but still he found nothing out of the ordinary. He was loathe to turn and walk away – he knew he hadn’t imagined that noise – but though his instincts told him to be wary, his other senses were all coming up with nothing.
Slowly, still watching everything around him, Dormael slid the dagger back into his boot and turned to walk away. He listened carefully as he stepped back toward the camp, trying to pick out noises that were different from the regular sounds of the grasslands. Finally, he decided it must have been fancy, or some animal. He did, however, hold on to his Kai until he got back to the camp.
****
The Hunter slid slowly back into a crouch as it watched the wizard walk away. The shell that held it was slowly breaking down, causing every movement to be a creaking discomfort. It loathed this world, this place of dirt and sky where everything endlessly killed and was killed. It could smell the wizard still; smell the direction he had gone like a tangible mist that hung in the air.
It would need a new shell soon. If this one broke apart, the Hunter’s true form would be obliterated by the very world around it. It would have to speak to the Binder about it. Perhaps it would give it something sweet and living this time, instead of this creaking, dead flesh. The Hunter could smell itself, too, and it was deeply unsatisfied.
The Hunter longed to be done here and return to its home, but the Binder had been very specific. Watch, he said. Wait, he said. Follow, he said.
So the Hunter would watch, it wou
ld wait, and it would follow. It would track this wizard to the end of his days, if it must. The Pact was very specific.
The Hunter slunk silently over to the rock on which the wizard and his friends had been using the magic. It sniffed, pulling in the scents of the rock, the wizard, and his magic all at once. It touched the rock with the deadened flesh of its shell, feeling the gritty solidity under its dry hands. The bones scraped against the rock with a strange noise, and the Hunter shivered at the sound.
It resisted the urge to crush the hard stone. It longed to experience the sensation, but it knew that its shell could only handle so much. Besides, that would undoubtedly give away its position, and the Hunter was not to confront the wizard or his friends, not yet.
So it slunk through the tall grasses that grew from the dirt underfoot, back toward the place where the wizard had slept the night before. It watched, hidden low in the grass, as the humans made ready to continue their journey. It waited as they clucked to their horses and began to ride north. It rose slowly from its position and followed, keeping its quarry in sight.
The Pact was very specific.
****
The ill-used cart path that the companions had been travelling down crossed a wide, trampled dirt road heading west to east around noon that day, and D’Jenn promptly turned their horses and pack train to the east. The party drew closer together as they began to encounter travelers on the road in numbers that couldn’t be considered exactly vast, but were definitely more than one would expect in the back country of Runeme. Dormael spotted carts, loaded heavily with furs, winter peppers, and other seasonal goods, trundling back and forth on the road. It was a strange sight; Dormael had thought that Ishamael was the center of all the trade on the river in this area, but obviously it wasn’t.
D’Jenn peered at every tradesman that passed by, as if he were looking for something specific. Dormael watched his cousin with interest, knowing that when D’Jenn got that look in his eyes, he was brewing up some clever idea he would spring on everyone eventually. Though it was Allen who eventually flagged down a passing cart, and Dormael narrowed his eyes at the great contraption.
It was a massive thing that took up almost the entire road. The axles were made of steel, unlike most of the carts that were passing by, and the thing had three of them, each sprouting a steel-reinforced wooden wheel at each end. The cart was pulled by a team of no less than six horses – big, strong looking animals – and was stacked to the gills with large chests, a massive piece that appeared to be some sort of covered wardrobe, and a mobile forge.
At first Dormael thought that his brother just wanted to indulge his penchant for carrying more weapons than anyone needed, but it was D’Jenn that approached the cart driver instead of his brother. Dormael clucked to Horse, bringing the beast closer so that he could overhear the conversation. This would be interesting.
D’Jenn bowed to the driver from his saddle; right fist clenched over his heart, and greeted him, “Good day friend. I was wondering if you’d care to help me out a bit, and make a little extra coin in the process.”
“Extra coin always engenders a helpful attitude,” the man said, cracking a broad smile. He wore a wide brimmed hat, and as he bowed back to D’Jenn he swept it from his head, wiped the sweat from his brow, and laid it aside on the seat of the cart. “What can I do for you?”
“Well, quite honestly I just wanted a look at your wares. I need to replace two sets of armor, you see. A chain shirt, a leather battle kit, and one Gods damned gauntlet, if you’ve got them,” D’Jenn said, holding up the steel gauntlet he wore upon his left hand and making an irritated gesture with it.
“How’d you come about only having one gauntlet?” the merchant asked; his eyes bright and interested.
“Funny story, if you’re interested in hearing it,” Allen said, climbing down from his horse alongside D’Jenn as the merchant also climbed from the seat of his cart, “We were getting ready to break camp this morning, just a few hours south of here, and we were set upon by a large group of bandits.” Allen made a gesture with both of his hands, indicating that the “bandits” in question were nothing of the sort.
“Aye? So you were half dressed, then?”
“Well,” Allen said, regarding Dormael and D’Jenn with an openly disapproving glance, “Some of us were ready. However, some of us feel the need to sleep late in the morning and make the rest of us pick up the slack. Some of us were caught half-ready and unawares when our enemies rode down upon us, and had to leave entire sets of their armor behind. Some of us will be receiving slim wages for the next season.”
The merchant let out a laugh that resonated up from his belly, then looked to Dormael and D’Jenn with an appraising glance. Shaking his head, he climbed into the back of his cart and began unlocking chests.
“So, are you telling me that there are bandits in the area that I need to be wary of?” the merchant asked as he rummaged around in the back of his cart.
“You? No sir. These bandits were other men in our profession, playing a bit of aggressive economics against us. We are both bidding on a contract in the next town, you see, and they thought it might be profitable to bruise us up a bit, and make us look a little stupid when we show up looking like a ragtag group of street miscreants, rather than professional soldiers.”
“Hah! I see. Seems a little…dirty, though.”
“Aye, it is,” Allen agreed, “But it wouldn’t have been an issue if that one,” Allen pointed an accusatory finger at D’Jenn, “hadn’t slept with one of their women, you see. Up and just got into the skirts of an officer’s betrothed lady. Needless to say, it’s earned us a bit of enmity among the other professionals in our line of business.”
The merchant shook his head as D’Jenn regarded Allen with a surprised look, “Well, seems that you’ve gotten yourselves into quite the situation. But I’m a man who believes in competition, so I’ll sell you a few pieces for twenty five percent over market value.”
“Twenty five percent?” Allen asked, crossing his arms and blowing out a huffing breath, “You might as well be a bandit yourself with prices that high. I’ll give you ten percent and the thanks of my company.”
“Come now, my friend. You’re in a bind and we both know it. You could always keep heading towards town and hope that you pass another cart with sufficient wares on it, but we both know that’s not going to happen. Billingsley is where you’re headed I take it – it’s the only town at the end of the road, and there’s not an armor or weaponsmith in town that I’d trust to sharpen a knife, and that’s my honest, professional opinion. I’m the only one north of Ishamael on this side of the river that even carries this stuff,” the man said, smiling that broad grin of his.
“I could always just take what I wanted. I don’t see any guards,” Allen commented idly, “Your markup is almost insulting.”
“If you were brigands you’d have ambushed me,” the man replied, but his eyes shot around the group shrewdly, “You wouldn’t have asked to see what I had in stock.”
“Bah. True enough. How’s fifteen percent, then?”
“Eighteen and you take brigandine instead of chain. It’s lighter, less expensive. Besides, honestly I’m out of serviceable chain shirts. The only piece I have is a repair job that I won’t be able to sell for a month. What do you say?”
“You have gauntlets?”
“Many. Mayhap one will fit, but no promises. It would be better if you ordered the armor made, you know. But I see you need it now, so you get now prices and now quality.”
“Done. Let’s see what you have, then.”
****
Two hours later Dormael found himself wearing a scaled leather shirt much like Shawna’s, only with larger pauldrons for his shoulders. He’d had to remove his mesavai, which was fine by him. The garment would give him away to people who knew what to look for. The day was growing hot and he’d rolled the sleeves of his woolen undershirt to his elbows. The tattoos would be unremarkable here in the Seven
lands, anyway. Many Sevenlanders sported similar tastes in traditional skin decoration.
The armor was a little tight, though Dormael thought that the reason it bothered him was probably because he wasn’t used to the way it felt on his body, and the way he had to adjust his posture to accommodate it. Bethany wrinkled her nose at him, demonstrating her distaste for the smell of the cured leather.
D’Jenn seemed comfortable enough in the brigandine that the smith had sold to them. The armor was made of leather with an underlying steel mesh, and though Dormael’s seemed to move a bit better, D’Jenn’s appeared to have more underlying padding. Since Allen had done most of the talking, he’d bought D’Jenn a pair of matching gauntlets that had small spikes on the knuckles, similar to the ones Allen himself wore.
“So,” Dormael said, adjusting the armor once again, “Just when were the two of you going to let the rest of us know that we’d be masquerading as mercenaries?”
“It’s only partly a masquerade, coz,” D’Jenn said, “If we’re going to look the part, we may as well act the part and get paid for it as well.”
“D’Jenn and I discussed it last night while you and Shawna were discussing the finer points of tongue wrestling,” Allen said cheerfully.
“They were kissing,” Bethany corrected him.
“Right you are,” Allen winked at her, and ignoring Shawna’s scowl, he continued, “Between here and Jerrantis, the land is mostly uninhabited. The river is practically crawling with small-time bands of river pirates. I took a job with a company once doing exactly this.”
“You were a sell-sword? I didn’t know that,” Dormael said.
“Only a few times. What else is a warrior supposed to do for coin, save joining the army? I love the Sevenlands as much as the next man, but mercenaries just get paid more,” Allen said, “So between tournaments, I’d hire myself out to companies doing pirate runs, and caravan protection. Once I even wrestled in a tavern for an entire season, and that was fun. Endless trains of women, Dormael.”
The Sentient Fire (The Seven Signs) Page 81
