The Alchemy of Chaos: A Novel of Maradaine (Maradaine Novels)

by Marshall Ryan Maresca

  At the same moment, she bounded forward, the hoops spinning around her muscular body or in her hands never faltering. She moved with a grace and rhythm that was downright hypnotic. In fact, most of the Red Rabbits were all staring slack-jawed at her, even the women. If she weren’t obviously trying to kill him, Veranix might have done much the same thing.

  Veranix jumped back, drawing and shooting another arrow, which she again blocked with surprising ease.

  “Thorn is in trouble now!” cackled one of the Rabbits.

  “Pile it on!” another shouted, and out of the corner of his eye, Veranix saw several of them draw weapons.

  The last thing Veranix needed was to have to deal with Bluejay and a dozen Red Rabbits at once. Time to take them out of the action.

  In quick succession, Veranix shot another futile arrow at Bluejay’s lethal advance, while channeling numina into his legs, flipping over her head. She threw one of her small discs as he went above her, but he gave another swat of magic to bat it away.

  On the ground behind her, he did two rapid draws and blasts of magic. The first bowled all the Rabbits off their feet. Nothing that would hurt them, just send them to the ground. The next covered them in a mess of sticky glop, so they wouldn’t be able to get back up.

  Inelegant, but effective.

  Also draining. He could feel he had pushed himself past his natural limits, and magically he was running on the grace of the cloak and the rope and their numina-drawing powers. If he could, he’d have to deal with Bluejay in a more traditional way.

  “Showmanship,” she purred. “I can respect that.”

  Veranix drew and fired two more shots, risking just a hint more magic to tweak their velocity. Bluejay was fast enough still to dodge and block them, but it was clear from her expression that it was, at least, a little more of a challenge.

  She closed in, and Veranix decided it was pointless wasting more arrows on her. She spiraled close to him as he jumped out of the way, dropping the bow and pulling out the rope.

  In one fluid motion, she grabbed the upper hoop with her right hand and lifted it over her head. With a twist of her wrist, she spun it around so she could crisscross it back and forth on either side of her body, all while never losing the one she kept spinning on her hips.

  Veranix had to admit Bluejay was ridiculously skilled. “Time to clip those wings.”

  He shot the rope out, entangling the large-bladed hoop in her right hand. Before he could yank it away from her, she sliced at the rope with her small-bladed disc. The rope didn’t cut, but a shock flowed up it back into his arm. He instinctively released the rope from her hoop and pulled it back.

  That hadn’t happened before. It was if being magically connected to it made him feel pain through it.

  “Did you see that?” The call didn’t come from the Rabbits. Veranix turned just for a moment, seeing that it came from a group of Waterpath Orphans on the other side of the square. Even more audience was forming for this one.

  The distraction gave Bluejay the opening to move in. Her large hoop thundered toward him, about to slice his arm when, on instinct, he wrapped the rope around it. It took the strike, but again the full pain of it hit him. He may have avoided getting cut, but it still felt like it. For a moment, he almost let the cover of his face drop.

  He sprang back, landing on one of the performance platforms of Cantarell Square. Magic was barely an option, nor was using the rope. Arrows had already proved useless.

  Not that there was any need to prolong this. He had stopped the drop, burned the effitte, shown the Red Rabbits what for. He had no particular need to fight Bluejay beyond saving his own skin. Running away would do that as well.

  “Thorn is getting hammered!” yelled a Rabbit from the sticky mess.

  “Get her, Thorn!” That one came from the Rose Street side.

  Now he had to at least put up a good fight, move it away from the crowd, before getting the blazes away from her.

  “Get her, Thorn,” Bluejay mocked. She had taken a few steps back, giving herself a moment to catch her breath. She kept one hoop spinning above her head, the other on her hip, while still twirling the bladed disc in her left hand. She was breaking a sweat, but she still looked like she could spin her hoops all night long if she had to.

  “All right, then,” he said. Time for nothing but muscle and bone and skill. That meant the staff. Drawing it out, he used just a whisper of magic to encase it, protect it. The last thing he needed right now was for Bluejay to chop it up. “Do you know this dance?”

  Feinting a jump, he dropped down low as she swung her hoop above her. He ducked her blade and brought his staff on the hoop circling her hips, knocking it out of alignment. As it clattered to the ground, he managed a glancing blow at her ribs before having to dive out of the way of the hoop in her hands.

  Now unfettered except for the one large hoop, she came at him with speed and lethal grace he had no hope of matching. Her relentless attacks kept him on the defensive, his parries doing nothing to diminish her control on the spinning hoop. It took every ounce of skill and effort he had just to hold her at bay.

  “I know this dance,” she said. “And I know how it ends.”

  Her attacks were getting harder to block, and she was chasing him backward around the square. She was going to wear him out soon enough.

  “Then let’s change the music.” He dared a quick glance behind him to make sure that he was heading toward the alley—the same alley he and the constable were in last night—and then knocked her hoop upward as hard as he could while spinning around and running to the alley as fast as he could.

  Bluejay was right on him, and the onlookers—Rabbits, Princes, and Orphans all—howled and jeered as he tore into the alley. She had almost caught him as he slipped into the alley, sparks flying as her hoop hit the brick walls.

  Using the last bits of magic he dared to spare, he threw some bursts of light in her face—nothing more than to dazzle her eyes while he shrouded himself. Then he made a bit of insubstantial shadow fly up over her and out to the roof across the street.

  Thankfully she fell for the feint, cackling as she chased the shadow, swearing that she would run him down.

  Keeping the shrouding, Veranix slipped out of the alleyway, mouse-quiet. Not that he needed to be quiet. The Princes and Orphans who had been watching the fight were now in the square, shouting empty threats at each other. Some of them had picked up all the weapons that had been abandoned in the fight, including Veranix’s bow.

  That had been his father’s bow.

  There was no way to get it back. He had absolutely no fight in him, barely the strength to walk back to campus.

  He took one last look. As far as he could see, the person holding the bow was a Prince. If nothing else, that would be something his father could respect.

  He walked back to campus, sticking close to the buildings so no one would bump into his shrouded form. Once he was at the campus wall, he climbed over and stumbled to the carriage house. The south lawn was not unoccupied tonight—several people seemed to be scattered around, most with instruments pointed at the sky. Was there an astronomy exam tonight? Veranix had a vague memory of Eittle saying something along those lines.

  Kaiana was in the carriage house when he slipped in, still in her yellow dress.

  “How did it go?” she asked as soon as he unshrouded. She didn’t even flinch.

  “Horrible.” He took the cloak off, steeling himself for the hammer to the gut he would feel without its numina-drawing powers stimulating him. As he handed it to her, it hit him as bad as he expected, but he managed to keep his knees from buckling. He had pushed himself, magically, way too far again.

  “You didn’t stop it?”

  “Oh, the effitte? That, yes. Stopped it, destroyed the drugs, killed Fenmere’s two goons. That part was fine. Tell me you have some food.” />
  She went into a cabinet and brought out some dried lamb. “You look a mess. So what happened?”

  “A girl,” Veranix said. “A very strange girl with spinning blades tried to kill me.”

  “An assassin?”

  “Probably. If she wasn’t doing it for money, then it was to make a name for herself. ‘Bluejay.’ Seriously, that’s what she called herself.”

  “Are you hurt?” she asked, checking him over. “I don’t see any blood.”

  “I think I got very lucky on that score.” He looked at his arm, and noticed the rope was still wrapped around it. He willed it to uncoil, but it didn’t move. “Something’s wrong with the rope.”

  Kaiana touched it. “What happened?” She tried to get her fingers around it, pry it off his arm, but it didn’t budge for her, either. “Why can’t you get it off?”

  “I’m trying!” he said. Even with it drawing numina, he felt drained to his limit. Focusing his concentration, he tried again. This time it suddenly sprang off his arm so quickly it knocked Kaiana off her feet.

  “Saints, Kai, are you all right?”

  “Fine,” she said, picking herself up. Her dress was now quite dusty, and she tried brushing it off, though it seemed futile.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s going on with it.” Though one thing was very strange—he had been expecting to feel even worse in dropping the rope. Instead it was almost a relief, like a weight off his chest. He still felt like he had pushed himself to his limits, but not to the point where he was going to fall over.

  “I said I’m fine.”

  “Sorry about your dress,” Veranix said.

  “It’ll wash.”

  “When did you get that, anyway?”

  “A few days ago.” Kaiana gave a bit of an odd curtsey. “Professor Alimen made sure that Master Jolen raised my salary. He also wanted to get me moved out of the carriage house and into regular staff quarters. I graciously told him that wasn’t necessary.”

  Veranix wondered if that was a sacrifice she made for him, so he would have this place. Or perhaps she really did prefer living here alone. He went into one of the stables and started to change back into his uniform. “So how long did you stay with Phadre?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe an hour or so. I didn’t pay close attention to the time.”

  “Just you and Phadre?”

  “Yes, of course. He’s very sweet.”

  “Is he?” Veranix couldn’t keep the ice out of his voice. The memory of Kaiana sitting next to Phadre on the couch, her legs curled under as her yellow dress hitched up suddenly flared in his mind. “He seems all right.”

  “I stayed and listened to his presentation.”

  “Did you understand it?”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I’m just saying, I doubt I would understand even half of what he’s talking about, so I’m sure that you—”

  “You know, it’s nearly nine bells. You have just enough time to get out of here and into Almers before curfew.”

  “I was just—”

  “Good night.” She went into her quarters and closed the door.

  Another memory sparked—a month ago, when Lord Sirath and the Blue Hand were searching for the rope and cloak, and Kaiana had stripped off her clothes, pretending to be his lover so no one would suspect why he was really there.

  Sometimes the memory of that kiss would hit him out of nowhere. Like he could feel her lips on his as if it was happening all over again. The whole moment—literally just a few seconds before the Blue Hands burst in—happened too quickly for him to process it at the time, but nearly every day since he had relived it one way or another.

  Nine bells were going to ring soon, so he couldn’t waste time staring wistfully at a closed door. He threw on his uniform coat and left for Almers.

  “Oy!” a voice called as Veranix was halfway to Almers. Three cadets came up to him on the path, two of them with lanterns. “Identify yourself!”

  They came up close and one shoved the lantern in Veranix’s face.

  “Veranix Calbert,” he said.

  “Year and study?” the central one asked.

  “Third-year, magic.” Anyone could tell that just by looking at his scarf and cap, of course.

  “And your residence?”

  “Almers.”

  The one on the right, who didn’t have his lantern in Veranix’s face, consulted a booklet. “All correct.”

  “Very well, Mister Calbert. Where are you coming from?”

  “Bolingwood Tower.” Fortunately the path from the carriage house was right along the way, so that didn’t seem unreasonable.

  “You live in Almers, you say?” the central cadet asked. “So you were there last night around ten bells when the attack occurred?”

  They were now saying “attack” instead of prank.

  “I was. I was one of the victims of it.”

  “I see. And where were you today at shortly after eleven bells?”

  “In Holtman Hall. Yes, that attack affected me as well. I was the one who helped Professor Alimen stop it.”

  “Oh, you helped stop it, hmm? A bit of a hero we have here, boys.”

  “He probably rescued people from Almers when it happened,” the one with the lantern in Veranix’s face said. “What a good soul.”

  It was clear from their tone they were not congratulating Veranix.

  “Did what I could,” Veranix said. “I’d like to get back home now.”

  “Home to Almers,” the central one said.

  “That’s right.”

  “So where were you at, say, three bells this afternoon?”

  “An exam. History. You can confirm with Professor Besker that I was there.”

  “Besker? Take that down.”

  “Look, are we on lockdown, emergency curfew, or something?”

  “Is that what you want, Calbert? Bit of panic, shut everything down?”

  Veranix didn’t have time for this. “Am I in trouble for being out of doors?”

  “We’re on an alertness drill, Mister Calbert.”

  “We’re keeping an eye on suspicious behavior,” the one with the booklet said.

  “What about that lawn full of people?” Veranix asked.

  “Those are natural science and astronomy students taking nighttime measurements. Why the concern?”

  “All right,” Veranix said. He put up his arms, wrists together. “Iron me.”

  “I’m sorry?” the central one said.

  Veranix leaned in. “If you’re going to harass me right now, then put me in irons and take me in. Write a formal report. And be specific in your charge.”

  “Do we have a charge?” the one with the lantern asked.

  “We can’t even say he’s resisting,” the one with the booklet said.

  The central one glared at Veranix. “Get out of here. Back to Almers.”

  Veranix took his hands down. “As you say. Good night, gentlemen.” He started up the walkway, and after a bit, heard them walking off the other way.

  As annoying as that was, at least it was clear that the University was taking the attacks seriously now. As much as he hoped that alone would be the end of it, in his gut he sensed it was far from over.

  Chapter 8

  MORNING WAS FULL OF PAIN.

  Veranix had to remind himself that at no point had Bluejay actually hit him, but given how he felt, it was almost impossible to believe that. Almost everything hurt, and that was even with a proper night’s sleep.

  He slumped down to the floor, half falling out of the bed, and started in on stretches. There was nothing else he could do.

  “Morning to you too,” Delmin muttered from his bed.

  “Numina is more likely to respond to human or other biological interven
tion than any other source.” Veranix parroted one of the key points they studied before finally going to sleep.

  “Very good. Unless?”

  “Unless the other source is of greater strength. Which makes the whole thing sound meaningless.”

  “Maybe it does,” Delmin said, getting out of bed. He glanced down at Veranix. “Just seeing you in that position makes my legs hurt.”

  “Stretch through the pain, that’s the only way. Grandfather and Mother both swore by it.”

  “Well, the only way for us today is to take our exam at ten bells. So move along so we can get to breakfast.”

  Veranix pulled himself to his feet and got dressed, and in a few minutes he and Delmin were both ready to head to breakfast.

  The walkway between Almers and Holtman was occupied by a familiar face: Jiarna Kay stood with an arrogant smirk and her cap at an annoying jaunty angle.

  “Veranix Calbert, third-year magic student,” she said loudly as soon as he stepped outside. “How wonderful to see you up and about so bright and early.”

  “Morning,” Veranix said cautiously as he and Delmin crossed over. “You’ve trekked down to this part of campus again?”

  “I still need some assistance with my defense. Your professor hasn’t been of any use, but I think I have the next best thing.”

  “Good,” Veranix said. He tried to walk past her, unsure of what she was about to do. The idea that she had been behind the three prank attacks was still in the front of his mind. “Good luck with that.”

  “Oh, I don’t need luck.” She put an arm around his shoulder, and whispered with hot breath in his ear. “I have the Thorn to help me.”

  It took every ounce of self-control not to yank away from her. “That’s a very interesting plan you have. Hope it works out for you.”

  “Veranix,” she said coolly. “Come with me to my workshop. Right now. Or I’ll have to let everyone know what you were doing last night.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Veranix said.

  “Then let me talk you through it.” Arm still around him, she led him off the walkway so they could face the south lawn. Veranix craned his neck to see Delmin standing petrified in between the two buildings. She pointed to the wall in the distance. “I know you’re the Thorn, I know when you returned to campus right over there from doing Thorn things, and I have proof. Proof that my roommate will deliver to the captain of the cadets if I don’t explicitly tell her not to in two hours. So be a good boy and come with me.”