Fire Games (Pyforial Mage Trilogy: Book 1)

by B. T. Narro

  “To whom? He certainly doesn’t mind.”

  I glimpsed the headstone. Dane Kimmer. “Plucked from the bosom of life, here he lies. One end. One beginning of infinite peace.”

  “His relatives. His friends. Anyone who cares about him,” I pointed out.

  Her voice fell to a whisper. “Where in the two hells is it?”

  She clearly didn’t care.

  “Finally,” Shara said. “Here it is.” I saw something buried to the side of Dane Kimmer’s skeletal arm. She quickly dug around it, pulling on it as she went. As she made progress, I noticed leather. There were straps, and around them appeared to be a casing of some sort. She grabbed the straps and pulled hard, singing while it broke free from the dirt.

  “I knew I’d find you here. No one searches the graves. You won’t disappear. You’ll protect me from knaves.”

  It was a sword in a sheath. The damn thing was as long as Shara’s legs. The leather straps could be used to fasten the sheath to a belt. She set it down and started pushing the dirt back into the hole. “Will you help me fill this in, or are you too scared?”

  I figured I’d feel no worse helping her than I already did just standing there, so I knelt beside her and started pushing the dirt back where it belonged.

  “How did you know he had a weapon buried with him?”

  “Because I put it there.” She stopped to look around. I did the same and saw no one.

  When we finished filling the hole, we walked down the path out of the graveyard. There were a few turns, making it a longer route than if we went straight over the graves, but I wasn’t about to do that, and Shara seemed content sticking with me.

  “I found a body in an alley by my house about a year ago,” she told me in a hushed voice. “If he wasn’t a guard of Lanhine, then he certainly was dressed like one. I took his sword. I didn’t even know why at the time, though the realization came later—I wanted to learn how to use it.”

  “Could you even lift it?”

  She chuckled. “Barely. I still planned to train, though. I knew I’d get stronger, but I buried it soon after that and never went back for it until now.”

  It seemed absurd to me. “You know who buries things? People who are mad…and dogs.”

  “And smart people,” she added.

  “Smart people keep their belongings in their house.”

  “Not when guards were looking for the murderer of the man whose weapon I took. They were trying to find the person responsible, and they were enraged. I think it was their friend who was killed. So I hid the sword. I didn’t want to get involved in their investigation.”

  I got a chill as I examined her innocent-looking face. Could she have killed him? No one would suspect her. No, that couldn’t be.

  “Why did you bury it here?”

  “I thought of where I could put it so that I could find it again and no one else would.”

  “But why Dane Kimmer’s grave?”

  She looked at me with a twisted smile, half irritated and half amused. “You’re extremely inquisitive.”

  I wasn’t normally. Her smile turned into a frown. “Or is it because you’re trying to figure out if I’m insane?”

  I fell silent.

  “I’m not,” she said.

  “So then why poor Dane?”

  She sighed. “I might be insensitive to the rules of zuji, but I still feel bad digging into someone’s grave. I read hundreds of headstones around the back of the graveyard, looking for the right one. Not that I even knew what the right one was at the time. Then I came to Dane Kimmer’s headstone…and I knew I’d found it. Did you read it?”

  I nodded.

  The pitch of her voice dropped an octave, and she gestured as if speaking to a crowd. “Plucked from the bosom of life, here he lies. One end. One beginning of infinite peace.” She stopped gesturing as her voice returned to normal. “Herall Danmaw’s poetry is so bad, I want to vomit every time I read even a line of it. I couldn’t believe someone would want any part of his poetry on a headstone. Dane’s memory already was completely disgraced by that, and there was nothing I could do to make it worse.” She shrugged. “So I buried the sword there.”

  I’d never heard of Herall Danmaw. I didn’t mention this or how odd it was that she could recite verbatim a line by a poet she despised. I’d just read the headstone, and I’d already forgotten exactly what was written on it. I let all of this out of my mind because there was something far more important that needed to be addressed.

  “Why do you care about learning the sword when you can cast magic?”

  She showed me a disappointed look. “So you noticed the wand. I was hoping you might’ve missed it over the glorious sight of my rear.”

  I was too tired to feign amusement at her joke. “Bastial or sartious?”

  “Bastial.”

  Damn, another fire mage. I couldn’t help but think of my father’s smoldering chest as he died. Could she be as powerful as Callyn?

  “Why do all the mages I meet specialize in bastial energy?” Of course I was exaggerating, as I’d only met two.

  “Because it’s easier. I can’t do much with sartious energy.”

  Even though it was supposedly the easiest to manipulate, I couldn’t do anything with bastial energy. This meant I couldn’t make light or fire. I didn’t mind, for lamps gave me light, and I could build my own fire. On the other hand, there were physical feats I could manage with pyforial energy that no man could hope to accomplish without it.

  “Have you any skill with the three energies?” she asked me.

  “No,” I lied.

  “Well, it’s a good thing I got you a weapon, then.”

  My eyes went to the sword. She held its handle with one hand, resting it on her shoulder to take most of the weight off. The leather straps at the end of the sheath dangled down her arm. No doubt it was too heavy for her. I was surprised she’d even carried it this long.

  “The shoes weren’t my only gift for you, Neeko.”

  “They weren’t a gift—”

  She went on without pause, probably not even hearing my interruption. “I also got you this.” But she didn’t hand over the sword. Instead, she reached into her bag and pulled out a knife sheathed in a similar casing as the sword, with its own straps that could be fashioned onto a belt. She placed it into my hand and looked as if she might be thinking of a song.

  “What about the sword?” I asked before she could start.

  Her face soured. “What about it?”

  “I don’t need both weapons.” I offered the dagger back to her.

  “Both?” She looked confused, which made me confused as well. Why wasn’t she handing me the sword? Unless she planned to keep it while I had just the dagger? Gods no, she couldn’t be that out of her mind. The sword was half her height. It was probably a good portion of her weight as well. Some women are thin and still look strong, but Shara wasn’t one of them.

  “The sword is for me to protect us, isn’t it?” I asked.

  “The sword is mine. The dagger is for you.” She pointed at the weapon in my hand. “It’s a gift like the shoes.”

  “Shara—”

  “Neeko,” she interrupted to mock me, though I didn’t understand the jape.

  “Shara!” I repeated more forcefully. “You probably can’t even swing that thing. How do you expect to defend us with it?”

  “Stop using my name when you think I’m being unreasonable, as if you’re about to lecture me. How old do you think I am?”

  “My mother told me never to guess a lady’s age.”

  “I’m sixteen, and I’ve been taking care of myself since I was a child. I haven’t swung this sword in a while, but it’s not that heavy. I bet I’m more skilled with it than you.”

  “I’m sure you’re not.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “I’ve seen you run.” The image of her flailing limbs came to mind as I’d followed her out of the burning city. “You can tell a lot by th
e way someone runs.”

  “Let me see you run, then.” She seemed serious.

  “Shara, I’m—”

  “Neeko!” she interrupted, mocking me once again.

  “I’m too tired for this. Are you going to give me the sword?” I reached for it.

  “No!” She laughed, her eyes wide, clearly incredulous that I was still asking for the weapon.

  “Think about how ridiculous we’ll look. Have you ever seen a man and woman walking together where the woman is the one wielding a sword?”

  “That doesn’t matter. The dagger is yours, and the sword is mine.”

  “You’re more likely to cut yourself with it than fend off a thief.” I gave her the most serious look I could muster. “You should really let me use it.”

  “No. You can use the dagger, which was two ruffs and three pits.” She held out her hand.

  I grumbled as I gave up and reached for my coin purse. The issue of possession was going to be a continuous problem for us, but I didn’t know how to fix it right then.

  “Please stop buying me gifts.” As I handed her the money—keeping my purse covered so she couldn’t see how much I actually had—I realized we’d walked out of the cemetery and were headed north toward Cessri. Our trip to Glaine had begun.

  Fifteen days to get there, I reminded myself.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  We didn’t make it more than a few miles before the sun started to set. We weren’t the only ones traveling north. Many carriages rumbled past us along the path to Cessri. Couples on horseback trotted by. Travelers in groups of two or three carried bags and weapons just like we did. Shara was right. No one seemed to travel alone, but I figured none of them had just met like we had. It made me realize I still knew hardly anything about her.

  She pointed to a hill about a mile away that was covered with thick trees. “Let’s make camp there. Robbers are less likely to venture uphill when looking for a target.”

  I nodded as I yawned. “Do you have any family outside of Lanhine?”

  “I—” She bit down on her lip. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Yes.”

  “Say you hear a baby crying and find her abandoned in a barrel, left to die. What would you do?”

  Her tone made it seem like she was leading me somewhere rather than questioning me. “Bring it to a guard?” I guessed.

  “Bring her to a guard, you mean?”

  “Her, yes.”

  “All right, now for the hard part. What do you think the guard does with her?”

  “Maybe he knows someone who wants the baby.”

  “Maybe.” She shrugged. “Say he doesn’t, then what?”

  I strained my mind and came up with nothing. “There must be somewhere he takes the baby, somewhere someone can look after it.”

  “Her,” she corrected again.

  “Her,” I repeated.

  “That’s a lot of somewheres and someones. Any guesses?”

  So I was on the right track, at least. I said the first thought that came to my mind. “Is the baby sent to the king’s castle?”

  Shara let out a quick laugh. “The king’s castle? So that she can be raised in wealth and have a better life than most children? The king isn’t paying for every abandoned child.”

  “I don’t know then,” I admitted. “What happens to it—her?”

  “She becomes the property of the lord who owns the land where she was found.”

  “What do you mean property?”

  “She becomes a slave,” her tone was blunt, annoyed even. “She works for this lord until she’s old enough to be married off. But just for fun, say the lord of the land doesn’t want her. So the guard doesn’t want her, the guard doesn’t know anyone else who wants her, and the lord of the land doesn’t want her. What then?”

  “I don’t have a clue.”

  “She’s the guard’s responsibility.”

  “The guard must raise the child?” It seemed unfair to me, but then I thought of the poor child. Her fate was even worse.

  “Yes, until he finds someone else to take her in. Anyone else. Blind, decrepit, or lonely, doesn’t matter.” She fluttered her hand to show her irritation. “The guard just has to give her to someone, then she’s no longer his responsibility. There’s a paper the new parent signs—and I’m using the word ‘parent’ very loosely—and now this parent has a daughter.”

  “This must be rare. I can’t imagine a lot of people are abandoning their children.”

  Her gaze was fixed on the ground just in front of us. She gave half a shrug without lifting her eyes. “It might be rare, but it does happen. You asked me if I have any family. My answer is…I don’t know.”

  How did I not realize she was talking about herself? It must’ve been the exhaustion. “Oh, I…”

  “I’m fine.” And she was; at least she seemed to be. She looked up at me to show her dark eyes held no sadness.

  “What were the people like who raised you?”

  “Let’s save that for another day. What about you, any family?”

  “An aunt in Cessri. One of the people I plan to visit.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “What happened to your parents?”

  I gave the same line she’d given me: “Let’s save that for another day.”

  The trek up the hill was arduous. We constantly came to slopes too steep to scale, forcing us to go around. Shara stopped well before we made it all the way to the top, where the ground leveled out for a stretch.

  “Here’s fine,” she said. I trusted her judgment, as she was the seasoned traveler.

  She gathered rocks around our camp to contain a fire while I collected sticks. It wasn’t long before she stuck her wand, with its absurdly blue handle, against the pile of sticks and started a flame.

  I had enough wherewithal for one last question before I needed to shut my eyes. Rather than ask why she painted her wand, I chose something I was more curious about. “How difficult is it for you to make fire out of bastial energy?”

  “Somewhat,” she replied. “How much fire are we discussing?”

  “What about a fireball big enough to kill someone?”

  “Kill someone?” The words squeaked out of her throat, shrill and loud.

  “Just a question.”

  “I don’t want to think about killing someone.” She said “killing” as if it was an offensive word.

  A yawn pushed open my mouth. “Never mind,” I said, lying down on my blanket—one of the items Shara bought for me. I was thankful she had, as it was warm and comfortable. Sleep crept in.

  I awoke to the sounds of owls. The only thing I could see was the embers of our dying fire. Shara was asleep somewhere in the thick night, quiet as a mouse. I shut my eyes and tried to fall back into slumber, but I couldn’t seem to get over the edge. The damn owls were obnoxious with their constant “hoo, hoo, hoo.” I must’ve slept at least a few hours, and now I wasn’t exhausted enough to go back to sleep. I sat up and sighed.

  I wondered how long I’d have to wait until Shara was up and ready to go. I should’ve asked how many hours she usually slept.

  I lay back down, and sleep continued to elude me. My mind kept running in three directions at once. There was Jon, Callyn, Aunt Nann. There was my trip to Cessri, my trek to Glaine, the fifteen day time limit. Then there was Shara. She kept bouncing back into my thoughts like a child throwing a ball against the side of my house.

  When would she be up? Would every night be like this? When did she travel last? How far did she go? When would she be up? Would every night be like this? Would she even know her birth mother if she met her? No. Gods, what a terrible concept. When would she be up? Would every night be like this?

  I might’ve fallen asleep for another hour, I couldn’t tell. By then, there was just enough light for me to start walking north if I wanted to. I could gather my belongings and go. If Shara woke before I left, it would just seem like I was going throug
h my bag.

  She certainly would be upset to find me gone, but wouldn’t it be better than if I waited until the next night? We’d only known each other for a little more than a day; she couldn’t possibly be that hurt. My gut told me to stay, but I didn’t see why. I could travel much farther each day without waiting for her to wake up, and she didn’t need me. She had her wand and her ridiculously long sword. I might even regret staying with her. She could steal from me. She could slow me down so that I didn’t reach Glaine in time.

  I quietly rolled up my blanket and gathered my bags. Then I took what felt like half the food and stuffed it into her bag. Shara slept so quietly; it was strange not to hear her breathing even in the dead silence. I had everything ready. I gave her one last look, my gut at least making me wait another moment to see if she would wake.

  She didn’t.

  I left.

  CHAPTER NINE

  I tried to forget about Shara. There’s no point in feeling guilty.

  I sighed. I couldn’t count how many times I’d told myself this over the years to no avail. Why would I expect anything different this time?

  The guilt put my stomach in knots as I imagined Shara waking up, looking around for me, and realizing I wasn’t there. She would see my blanket was gone and so was my bag.

  I didn’t think she would cry. At least I hoped not. Abandoning her couldn’t be that bad when we barely knew each other.

  Abandoning her—the words repeated themselves in my mind. Her life began in abandonment, and it sounded like many of the people who took her in eventually abandoned her as well. I remembered something else she’d told me. “I’ve been taking care of myself since I was a child.”

  Fourteen was the legal age of adulthood. For her to be taking care of herself before then meant either her guardian was about as good a parent as Jon, or she’d run away, or her guardian had abandoned her earlier. Three terrible options, the best probably being that she’d run away, seeing as how she’d survived.