by Amy Keeley
Hon Vialasin spoke then. “I’ve heard nothing of this woman. What did she do?”
“Nothing?” Hon Licentor said, incredulous. “You must be working too hard not to hear about her.”
Hyaji shook his head. “I’ve heard very little as well. Only that they found a woman and burned her.”
“They claimed she was Ornic, but I doubt she was powerful enough for that. All they found on her was a pair of boots with Ornic scribbles on them.”
Hyaji frowned. He had never felt comfortable with executing those who felt the need to extend themselves beyond their lot in life. Prison, maybe. Never execution. “Spells, then?”
“Oh, yes. But no one knows what those spells did. The Dogs might, but if they do, they aren’t telling. Do you have any stories? I’m collecting them for when I speak with the brethren. Perhaps, if I gather enough proof of injustice along the way, they’ll call the Dogs back and we’ll all go back to the peaceful life we once had.”
Hyaji shook his head. “I’ve been rather focused during my journey. I’m sorry.”
“Ah, well.” Hon Licentor tried to smile. “Perhaps the Blessed Ones will send me some trusting souls along the way. Most people are good and trying their best. But life is hard. Some leeway must be given, and if our brethren at the capital have forgotten, then someone from outside those walls must remind them and try to change the laws, if he can. As a tradesman, do you agree, Hon Vialasin?”
Hon Vialasin had been staring out the window, deep in thought. “Hmm?” In the dim glow of the King’s Light, his eyes glistened, as if filled with tears. His smile trembled. He cleared his throat. “Of course. Stories are always a good thing to collect.”
Having been sustained in his mission, Hon Licentor grinned and went back to finishing his soup. Hyaji, however, wondered at the odd phrasing. “Do you know any good stories, Hon Vialasin?”
“Always.” And in spite of the pain now clearly etched in the man’s eyes, Hyaji swore he had seen that smile somewhere before. And heard that tone. Arrogant.
“Forgive me,” Hyaji said. “I don’t believe I heard your trade.”
Shaking his head, obviously disturbed by the news of the woman’s death, he said, “I hadn’t mentioned it.” His fingers tapped restlessly on the table. “I’m a spell trader. Anything you might need, anything you might desire, all for the right price.”
That explained the arrogance as well as the disturbance. He must be one of the ones who sells them to those to whom it is forbidden, Hyaji decided, and wondered if his luck hadn’t actually worsened.
There is no luck, the honorable Toth had once said. All things are meant to occur for the good of all, the worst as well as the best. Still, he didn’t like the thought of sleeping next to a spell merchant. Especially not with the books he’d decided to carry with him. “Does it pay well?” Hyaji couldn’t help asking, though he knew his own tone conveyed his suspicions.
Hon Vialasin had heard it as well. His smile grew. “You’re eating, aren’t you?”
“Is that where you keep them?” Hon Licentor said, pointing at something Hyaji couldn’t see.
“No. It’s a fiddle. I won the case from a man in a game of cards, along with some gut strings and a cake of rosin. The fiddle is mine, though.”
“Inherited?”
The tradesman shrugged. “In a sense.”
Hon Licentor stared a moment, then chuckled. “We’d best stop asking questions, Hon Hyaji, or we might start to doubt our right to eat this food.”
Hon Vialasin only grinned, and yet, he only went back to looking out the window, obviously lost in thought. Hyaji found his appetite waning. With that kind of grin, this merchant was definitely one of those who sold spells to those who shouldn’t have them.
Men who sold spells illegally, he had always felt, were part of the problem. He’d heard how the system worked. The sale of spells was done on the honor system, in the hope that the fear of the Dogs and the high price of illegal spells would discourage the commoners from searching for spells outside their trade. Whether it worked or not, Hyaji couldn’t say, though he had noticed that certain spell merchants seemed to do much better at trading than others.
“Now, answer me this, Hon Vialasin,” Hon Licentor said, obviously no longer caring if he would become filled with doubt. “How do spell merchants know they’re selling to someone who truly is in that trade?”
Hon Vialasin didn’t hesitate. “Truth spells.”
“And can you truly know if someone is lying?”
“Indeed I can. It’s how I stay out of the way of the Dogs.” There was a snap to the words, a bitter edge that Hyaji heard, but didn’t understand. All he thought he understood was a disguised confession, another man leading the innocent to sin and death.
What had begun as mild annoyance had begun to turn into pure anger. “And how you know who can pay a higher fee?” Hyaji’s accusation briefly silenced the two men.
“I’m not one of those,” Hon Vialasin finally said. “I only serve those poor souls who find themselves with a trade and no master to teach them.”
Hon Licentor, puzzled, looked at Hyaji a long while before turning back to Hon Vialasin with his questions. “How do you get the spellbooks in the first place? I thought all tradesmen were terrified of passing on their knowledge to the wrong folk.”
Hyaji barely listened to the answer. Something about a requirement a King had made long ago because of the selfishness of a few. Books for those who had no one to teach them in their legal trade. He stared at the remains of his soup. “I think,” he said softly, “I shall retire for the night.” Getting up, he bowed. “Thank you,” he mumbled.
“The young have so many ideals,” he heard Hon Licentor say as he left the room. He didn’t care. And he hoped that his oath-brother found no more stories, no more opportunities gained from the likes of the spell merchant, who in spite of his knowledge could sell any spell he liked to whomever he wished. For a price, of course. For a very high, destructive price.
Valensi, the merchant who had fallen on hard times and been executed in the square, it was said he had won his knowledge in a game of cards with a spell merchant. Perhaps this was the same man.
Terrible men, waiting for a moment of weakness and holding out promises that could destroy far more than they built. Fatal, that’s what they were. And yet people took that risk. People like Goodwife Gillasin. And the damned dagger. Wouldn’t. Work. Frustrated, he nearly slammed the door behind him as he entered his room. It had been a long time since he’d gotten this angry. Too long.
He sat on the bed and breathed deep. Much as he wanted to give in, he remembered too many times when he had wanted to burn something and it had happened without much more thought than the desire and a reach of the hand. He couldn’t even remember if he had drawn any spells in the air. It wasn’t his concern now. Let the spell merchant carry on his work of death and he, Hyaji, would find the Ornic, the true evil in this. Because without the Ornic belief in using whatever magic you could learn, this world might actually gain some peace.
With a sigh, Hyaji opened his shoulder bag. Reaching in, he found the slim volume he was looking for. The gilded letters in the cover seemed to turn to liquid gold in the Light. “How much would he pay for you?” he whispered, running his hand along the leather front. “I bet he’d wait until he found someone truly desperate for you, then he’d raise the price until the poor man’s purse screamed in agony. That seems to be the sort of man he is.”
Afraid of being caught, Hyaji breathed in the scent of the book and put it away once more.
It was a long time before Hon Vialasin came to the room. He lay down on the floor, leaving Hyaji to stare at him in shock. “I’m sorry,” Hyaji said. “I didn’t know you—”
“I prefer the floor tonight.” He looked exhausted. “Besides, I’ll be gone in the early morning. I’m less likely to wake you if I’m here.”
Hyaji looked around the room. “Rats?”
“Oh, no thanks. I’
ve already got enough responsibility as it is. A pet would be too much.”
Hyaji paused, then shook his head. It couldn’t be a joke. The man’s smile had entirely disappeared and showed no signs of returning. “No. No, I mean, aren’t there rats running around on the floor?”
Hon Vialasin shrugged, as if it were no concern of his. Once again, Hyaji got the odd sense that there was a mismatch between the man before him and the soul inside. And something in those eyes, in the way they sized a person up...he’d seen that before, but when? “Did you do much trade in the capital?” he asked.
Hon Vialasin shook his head. “Sleep first. All questions will be answered in the morning. If you wake before me.”
Tired of the game, Hyaji said, “Do I know you?”
That made the merchant pause entirely. “I’m starting to question my decision to help you.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Just...now and then, something in your eyes—”
Hon Vialasin raised one eyebrow.
“Not like that,” Hyaji said. Ducking his head, he said, “You just remind me of someone. That’s all.”
“Hmm.” The spell merchant had already rolled onto his side, his cloak his only blanket.
And now Hyaji had the bed entirely to himself. Because there was nothing else to do, and because he wasn’t particularly displeased with the notion of the merchant sleeping on the floor, his kindness in paying for Hyaji’s space in the room forgotten, Hyaji went to sleep. Or tried. His fury made that difficult.
Hon Vialasin, after what must have been a full hour, got up, grabbed his fiddle case, and left.
Hyaji blinked. Jumping up, he wondered if the merchant was about to do a deal, one that was too important to risk in an open market. He grabbed his bag (not trusting the innkeeper to keep his hands off it if he found Hyaji gone) and hurried after the merchant.
Hon Vialasin walked briskly out the door and toward the road. Hyaji hid in the shadows of the building until he thought it would be difficult for the merchant to see him in the pale light of the moon.
He had no plan. He didn’t even have proof that the merchant was about to do anything nefarious. All he knew was that there was something odd about this merchant, and he refused to allow this one to be one more temptation in a world that demanded such strictness from those who tried their hardest to live according to Toth’s ideals. Not when the Dogs were getting ready to execute more than they had in generations.
The merchant continued down the road until it met the forest at the foot of the mountains. Then, he turned in to the forest.
Hyaji followed.
It didn’t take long before he lost sight of the merchant. Cursing his luck, Hyaji pressed on, deeper and deeper into the mass of trees.
“Searching for someone?” the merchant asked.
Hyaji whipped around. Hon Vialasin stood behind him. And now there was something clearly familiar in the wary stance, the narrowed eyes, the focused gaze of what now looked like steel-blue eyes in the faint light.
And then, in an instant, it came to him. He took a deep breath, about to shout something, he didn’t know what, but finding the Ornic seemed to demand it. Before he could, the Ornic held up one hand. Reaching across his face, he peeled the black beard off, revealing smooth skin that had been regularly shaved. “I realize you must be very proud of yourself,” the Ornic said, “seeing through my disguise and all. However, if you value the goodwife’s life, you’ll not say a word.”
His fury deepened. “What have you done with her?”
“Nothing she didn’t want done,” he smirked.
It was in that moment that something inside Hyaji snapped. It wasn’t enough that this Ornic had plotted to burn the world. He had taken a lonely woman and confused her, enchanted her into thinking she would find love in his arms if she would only do his bidding. He’d slaughtered the Queen and her children, possibly even the King himself if the rumors were to be believed. And though Teranasin said the King had been the one who wanted to open the rift, chances were very good that he’d gotten the idea from the Ornic standing in front of him. Seeing the man’s arrogance clearly, Hyaji did something he’d sworn he would never do again. Reaching out his hand, he began to draw a fire spell in the air.
Before he knew what had happened, the Ornic had grabbed both hands and flipped Hyaji over so that he was on his knees on the ground, his arms pinned behind him. “I’d really rather you not,” the Ornic said, his voice dangerously low. “I have a strong aversion to those kinds of spells.”
“You deserve to die.”
“You wouldn’t be the first to say that. Hyaji,” the Ornic mused. “You’re the one the goodwife knew in Hurush. The Disciple. Saved any souls lately?”
“When I’m free, you’ll—”
“Burn? Only the Dogs have the right, unless you’re going to use illegal magic to kill me. Bit hypocritical, wouldn’t you say?”
Hyaji struggled against the Ornic’s grip, but in return he found his face shoved into the dirt. “I’m afraid,” the Ornic said, “I’m stronger than you at the moment. Though, given what you just tried to do, I doubt that will last where does a Disciple learn to do magic?”
Gritting his teeth, Hyaji relaxed, as if he were giving up. Instead of relaxing as he’d hoped, the Ornic’s grip tightened. “Don’t. I’ve used that trick myself. Let’s talk instead.”
There was nothing to discuss. Hyaji remained silent.
The Ornic sighed. “Very well. I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you here, then. Perhaps—” and then he was silent. His grip remained just as fierce, but his prattle had ended. Hyaji, hoping perhaps a Dog had found them, turned his head. “Something wrong?” he asked.
“Shush.” After several moments of silence, the Ornic said, “Your luck has turned, Disciple.” The world went white, magic surrounding them on a level that both terrified and exhilarated Hyaji. It’s like the stories, he thought, and for that brief moment, he remembered nothing about the King, about the royal family, about Goodwife Gillasin. All that existed was magic and the power that was right there, waiting for him to reach out and touch it.
The world became dark again. The Ornic was gone.
It’s only an illusion, he told himself. A trick of the mind like the illusions that dance when a minstrel plays. He let that knowledge sink in, feeding his earlier anger until it turned to hate.
He reached into his shoulder bag and yanked out the dagger. Lord Teranasin had sent him on a fool’s errand. There was no reason for him to be here, not when he couldn’t stand...no, he could. He could stand against the Ornic. Hyaji could feel that truth deep inside his bones, in places he’d denied ever since he had first played with the fire he’d seen his father build as a child and seen his mother’s horrified face.
Placing the dagger on the flat ground, he didn’t let go this time. He wanted to feel the magic inside it, wanted to be wrapped in the flames that he knew existed inside the old magic, could feel if he simply let them exist.
Men like the Ornic shouldn’t exist.
He tried to reach inside the dagger for the spells he could feel under his palm, written in characters instead of gestures. But it was like viewing them through a window. No matter how he tried, there was a barrier he could not cross.
“I would stop if I were you,” a woman said from the shadows.
Dropping the dagger, Hyaji tried not to appear too startled. “Ih-Dog Ishia?”
“Lord Teranasin sends his greetings. He wishes to know how the hunt is progressing.”
Hyaji stepped away from the dagger. “He was here.”
“I know. And yet he’s escaped. His trail leads many places and nowhere at all. But he stopped to speak with you.”
Hyaji shook his head. “He wanted to kill me.”
“He would have done so if that was what he wished.” The Dog stepped out from the shadows. “Lord Teranasin wishes you to know that he has high hopes for your success. In spite of your current performance.”
“The dagger
stopped working.” I sound like a child, Hyaji thought, and hated it.
Now the Dog studied him as closely as the Ornic had. “You never answered the Ornic’s question. Where did you learn magic?”
I never learned it, he wanted to say. It’s always come to me. Any spell, any kind, and I find myself drawn to it, especially if it’s fire. If it’s related to fire, I can’t keep my hands away from trying to master it. Afraid of what a confession might bring, Hyaji said nothing.
Ishia studied him. “You were asked a question by a Dog of the King.”
“The King is dead. You serve Lord Teranasin.”
“King Vyomsi, soon enough. The people will cry for it because he is about to grant clemency to those who will be caught in the great sweep. The Disciples will be denounced as murderers. You will live in fear of your life. If.”
If I don’t do as he wishes, Hyaji realized, and hated Lord Teranasin as well.
“So, answer me, Disciple: where did you learn how to cast?”
Aware now there was nowhere to run, no lie he could give, and that the items most precious to him were just a search or sweep away, he said, “Nowhere. No one taught me. I read no illegal books. My mother sent me to the Disciples to keep me from casting.”
For a moment, he thought the Dog might not believe him. But after a pause, she nodded. “You have sworn oaths, Hon Hyaji. Oaths must be remembered always, for that is where we gain our strength. I am with you. There is no need for you to cast against the Ornic. He has not gotten strong enough to defeat me.”
But smart enough to elude you, he thought. He nodded, ashamed now of his lack of self-control. And yet, he wanted to...his shame grew. He’d wanted to cast, not only to fight the Ornic, but to feel that sensation once more. Feeling very small, he said, “I will keep my oath, Dog Ishia.”
She nodded. “I shall continue tracking him. When I return, we shall plan our next move. Stay here until then.”
Hyaji nodded. The Dog returned to the shadows, and all around him grew quiet. Drawing his knees up to his chest, he hated feeling as if he were a child, waiting for his parent to take him somewhere.
