The Firemage's Vengeance

by Garrett Robinson

  Ebon’s throat seized up. He had never heard such soft words from his own parents. Forgetting his manners, he seized Halab in a tight hug. “How could I ask anything of you, when already you have been my one bright light in dark times?”

  She let him hold her for a moment, and then gently urged him away. “Go now, dearest nephew. I must leave, so rejoin your friends and your sister. The shadow has passed—enjoy the daylight while it remains.”

  He smiled in answer, and held it until she left the room. Then his face fell, and he put a hand to his forehead, remembering Matami’s empty eye socket.

  two

  THE GARDEN WAS LIKE A stage play, for it was hushed and fresh, the white snow forming a platform waiting for its actors to arrive. The quiet of winter’s air was like the audience standing in the pit below, breath held eagerly in anticipation, hearts thrumming with promise. Ebon stepped into it, and for a moment he paused there in the door. He closed his eyes, breathing deep to take in the smell.

  Then, far off, he heard Albi’s bright laugh. He opened his eyes with a sigh and set off down the path to find her.

  She and Kalem and Theren were among the hedges, walking aimlessly along winding paths. He could see from their footprints that they had walked in many circles already. Albi still held tight to Kalem’s arm, and Kalem was pressed against her side—though he flushed and parted from her slightly when he saw Ebon. Behind them, Theren had a long-suffering look on her face, and her relief at Ebon’s arrival was obvious.

  “You and Halab must have shared heartfelt words,” said Albi, smiling at him. “I can see your eyes clouded in thought.”

  “We did,” Ebon said quietly. “And she gave me this.” From his pocket he withdrew the firestriker and held it up.

  Albi tilted her head. “Why … why, that was Uncle Matami’s. I saw him use it on the road we took here from Idris. Sometimes he would strike it absentmindedly as we drove, his thoughts wandering elsewhere, and his hands seeking something to do.”

  That put a sick feeling in the pit of Ebon’s stomach. He looked at the firestriker anew. It had to be a message. Had Halab simply meant to tell Ebon that she knew of Matami’s death? Or was it a token of forgiveness, absolving him of blame for his part in the murder?

  He had been silent too long, and they were staring at him. “What have the three of you been speaking of?”

  “I was telling Kalem of the caravan I will soon lead,” said Albi. “I will take the wagons back home to Idris—though not directly, for that would bring us far too close to Dulmun, and there is a war on, after all. First we will sail to Selvan, there to take the King’s road until it reaches the Dragon’s Tooth river. We will sail upon those waters until they reach the king’s road again, and then drive east until we are home. I am most excited about the whole thing.”

  But Ebon was gaping at her. “You will lead the caravan? But … but your age.”

  He could almost see her hackles rise. She released Kalem’s arm to put her hands on her hips, and her plump, rosy cheeks grew redder for a moment. “You think me a child? I am fourteen, Ebon—very nearly a woman grown. Our father was my age when he led his first caravan, and Halab was even younger.”

  Theren smirked as she looked at him over Albi’s head. Kalem’s eyes were wide, and he looked as though he would rather be elsewhere. “That—that is—I meant no offense,” stammered Ebon. “I was only surprised, that is all.”

  A thought tickled his mind: Albi would lead this caravan, not because that was what the family wished, but because Matami was no longer there to do it himself.

  She lifted her chin haughtily, but some of the spark of anger died in her eyes. “Well. I suppose surprise is warranted. I half died myself, when Halab told me. But the more I have thought upon it, the more excited I have become.”

  “Will you not grow bored?” he said, smiling to soften the words.

  Albi stuck her tongue out at him. “I will have plenty and more to do. We are not only driving the carts. We will be trading wherever we stop. That, of course, will be managed by others—I will have some oversight, but this trip is as much for me to learn as anything else. Come now, though. I am nearly frozen through. Let us go inside, and I will tell you more.”

  They followed her back to the manor, where they tramped the snow off their boots and removed them. She then led them upstairs to a sitting room, smaller than the one where they often met with Halab. A servant at the door stepped forwards, but Theren spoke before he could even open his mouth.

  “Yes, wine, please. Something fine.” She blinked, and looked at Ebon as if it were an afterthought. “That is, if you do not mind. I never learned my noble graces.”

  “Not at all,” said Ebon. With all of the news Albi had told them, he thought he could rather use a drink.

  As they waited for the wine, Albi took a table and put it in the center of the couches. Then she leaned over, putting objects and trinkets at various places, naming them for the cities she would visit upon her route. And Ebon noticed that whenever she leaned forwards or back, she brushed against Kalem’s arm.

  “Here is Garsec, where we will land first. Then we follow the road west, until it turns south and reaches Cabrus. We will stay there a little while; there is no better place to find steel in all of Selvan. Then it is a journey of many days to Redbrook, with little on the road to entertain, and that sits upon the Dragon’s Tail. In each city, and perhaps some of the towns, we will stay a short while in order to trade some goods for others, or for coin. And, of course, to find new guards, if we should need them.”

  The wine came, and Theren drained her cup at once before handing it back to the servant. The man refilled it, and then left the bottle for them. “Why should you need to find new guards?” said Theren.

  “Why, if anyone should die, of course,” said Albi simply. “A caravan should always travel with at least half again as many wagoners and guards as it needs. The roads are not safe in these days of war, and if some of our men should be waylaid, or shit themselves to death from foreign water, who will keep our goods moving safely?”

  Ebon balked, and Kalem spit up the little sip of wine he had just taken. To hear Albi speak so plainly of men’s deaths … it made Ebon feel suddenly lightheaded, as though he had found himself in a dream. Who was this young woman who sat before him? Where was young Albi whose eyes would shine when he told her his dreams of the Academy? It seemed impossible she had changed so much in the short time he had been here upon the Seat. Yet the only other explanation was that she had ceased to be a little girl some time ago.

  Theren laughed at her frank words, while Kalem turned red. Albi saw his reaction and giggled, putting a hand on his arm. “Do I shock you, dear Kalem? You must understand, I spent two months on wagons traveling here from Idris, and wagoners have bawdy tongues. I would guess I could teach you a thing or two of language.” Then her eyes brightened, and she gently slapped his arm. “Kalem, you must make me a promise. Once you have finished your studies in the Academy, you must let me take you upon a trip. Some caravan on a long route across the nine lands. Perhaps not even to Idris. I think we might have more fun other places.”

  Her eyes flashed, while Kalem’s grew wide and starry. But Ebon scowled in disgust. Albi’s relentless flirting seemed harmless enough, most of the time, but she never left well enough alone.

  Ebon stood quickly. “We should leave.”

  Albi frowned at him. “What? But the day is young.”

  “It was Halab’s invitation that brought us here in the first place, yet she is gone, and we continue to take her hospitality. Besides, I have an appointment at the Academy.” And that, in fact, was true. Astrea waited for him there, the way she did every day, their visits born half from Ebon’s desire to help and half from his own guilt.

  “Then why do you not go yourself, and leave your friends here?” said Albi.

  Kalem looked like he might agree, but Ebon took him by the arm and lifted him up at once. “I am not the only one with duties at
the citadel,” he said, and fixed Theren with a meaningful look.

  Her eyes darkened, and she rose as well. “You are right. I had hoped you would accompany me in my chores this evening, Kalem.”

  Kalem’s mouth turned in a frown, and he lowered his eyes. In the manor, it was easy to forget about Erin, and Isra, and Dasko, but now Ebon had brought memory back to the fore. “Of course,” he said quietly. “It was my pleasure to see you again, Lady Drayden.”

  “Albi, I beg of you. Lady Drayden sounds ever too formal for such a dear heart as yourself.” She held his hand tightly in hers, until at last he kissed her fingers. Ebon gave her a brusque hug, and Theren clasped her wrists, before he could finally usher his friends out the door and back into the snowy streets.

  three

  “THAT SEEMED A BIT RUSHED,” said Kalem as they trudged on.

  “I had forgotten about the time, and remembered all at once,” Ebon said. It was a lie, and likely Kalem could hear it in his voice. But just now, he did not care overmuch.

  They said little else before they reached the Academy. Its iron doors stood closed against the chill, but they opened easily. Without thinking, they made for one of the side halls—but a shrill cry stopped them all in their tracks.

  “Snow!” cried Mellie. The little old doorguard thrust a spindly finger at their boots, and held it there quivering. Her eyes glowed with madness, almost like magelight.

  “Yes, Mellie,” the three muttered in unison. They went to the side of the front door, where an iron grate lay over a pit, and tramped the snow off of their feet. Mellie paced behind them like a sellsword general before her troops. When they were done they stepped away—but Mellie snatched Ebon’s arm and held him still, then lifted his boot up to inspect it, as though he were a horse and she about to shoe him.

  “Fine, fine,” she muttered. “Snow! It gets everywhere, it does. Everything wet. Ugh!”

  They slipped away as quick as they could, making for the stairs to the dormitories. But once again they were brought up short—this time by Jia. The instructor stepped suddenly in front of them, sandy hair pulled into its usual tight bun.

  “Ebon, Kalem,” she said briskly. “I must see you in the dining hall this evening. Nine o’clock. Do not be late.”

  That made them pause. Ebon looked to Kalem, and Kalem back at him, but each was as confused as the other. “Of course, Instructor,” said Ebon. “But may I ask …”

  But she had moved on as soon as he had agreed, and the question died on his lips.

  “What could she want?” said Kalem.

  “You do not think …” Theren let the words hang.

  “She cannot know about … about our friend,” said Ebon firmly, meaning Dasko. “If she did—if anyone did—we would be greeted by an assembly intent on capturing us. We would not be summoned to a late-night meeting. But come, we are almost late. Our ‘friend’ needs tending to.”

  “I know that,” said Theren, scowling. “See to your own affairs.”

  “Until the morrow, then.” Kalem set off towards the grounds.

  But Theren did not follow him at once. “Go. I will be there in a moment.” Once Kalem obeyed, she turned to Ebon. “You should not think so harshly of him.”

  Ebon blinked. “Harshly? What do you mean?”

  “He is young, and likely cannot help the way he feels about your sister.”

  A moment passed before he understood. He shook his head and scowled. “You think I am upset with Kalem? You misunderstand me. It is my sister who behaves foolishly.”

  Theren cocked her head. “But she is scarcely older than he is. It is the same thing.”

  He shook his head quickly. “I might once have thought so, but no longer. She is growing up a bit too fast, and while she has a good heart, I see too much of my family in her. She plays with him, and with his affection. I am only trying to keep him from pain.”

  She gave him a sad smile. “That will never work forever. But do as you will. I only wanted to mention it.” Then she turned and left him.

  Ebon glowered as he made his way up the stairs to Astrea’s dormitory. It was all well and good for Theren to dismiss the matter brewing between Kalem and Albi. If the two of them were to have a falling out, Theren would not be the one caught between a sibling and a best friend who would not speak to each other. Then again, the thought of the two of them avoiding each other had much more appeal than the present situation. Perhaps he would let things play out after all.

  He had reached the door he sought, so he pushed his thoughts aside and stepped in. Among the many chairs in the common room beyond, he spied little Astrea where she sat by the fireplace. It burned low, and Ebon threw a new log upon the flames before he turned and sat in the chair beside hers. She did not so much as lift her gaze.

  “Good eve,” Ebon said quietly. “How do you fare?”

  “The same as always,” she murmured.

  He swallowed. “I do not have as much time as I wish,” he said. “Jia needs me for something this evening, though I know not what.”

  Her brow creased, and she folded her arms across her chest. “Very well. I have said often enough you do not need to come and see me, if you are busy.”

  “I would not leave you alone. Not after …”

  Her eyes flashed as she looked at him. He fell silent. She did not like talk of Isra, who had been like a sister to her. Ebon supposed he could not blame her. He decided to change tack.

  “Why do we not take a walk upon the grounds?” he said, sitting up in his armchair. “It is cold, but in a bracing sort of way. The air might do you good. You hardly ever leave the citadel.”

  “That is the way I want it,” said Astrea.

  “It is not good to stay cooped up. Now more than ever. Come with me. It will be only a little walk.”

  She rolled her eyes, and for a moment reminded him strikingly of Albi, though the two of them could not have looked more different. “Very well.” She rose and followed him from the room, but he could not miss the morose stoop in her shoulders.

  Outside, the air was bracing indeed. It made him gasp as it first splashed across his face, and Astrea huddled closer under her cloak. But after a few minutes of walking, the blood began to flow, and his breath did not come quite so shaky. Astrea, despite the deep scowl she kept upon her face, began to move more easily as well. After a time she even threw back her hood. The night was dark now, but the Academy’s grounds were lit by many lanterns hanging from the walls.

  “How have you been feeling?” said Ebon after a while.

  “I am fine,” she grated. “Only I am sick of you and others asking me that, or some other version of it, as though you think some lever will be pulled within me, and one day I will answer you with a wide smile.”

  “My apologies,” said Ebon. “It is only … we worry for you.”

  “Why should you? You see me every day in class, after all.”

  “Is …” Ebon tried to remember how Halab had spoken to him before, so kind and gentle. “Is there any way I can help? Do you need anything?”

  She looked away to hide her eyes. “Other than for Isra to return, and for all of this to be a terrible dream?”

  After a moment he saw her shoulders quivering. He put out an awkward arm to drape across them. “I know she was like a sister,” he said quietly. “I cannot imagine what I would feel if my own sister were taken from me this way.”

  “Of course you cannot imagine it,” said Astrea sharply. But immediately she ducked her head. “I am sorry. I did not mean that.”

  “It is all right.”

  When she looked at him again, her eyes were wet. “She always looked after me. In our orphanage, sometimes food would be scarce. She would share hers with me so I would not get so hungry. Some other children liked to bully me, but Isra never let them get away with it. She could tumble anyone, even children larger than her. I have often become lonely here at the Academy. I have often wished I had parents to write home to, or who would come and visit me
here. But during the day I could always go … go and see Isra and she would … she would …”

  She began to cry in earnest, burying her face in the front of Ebon’s robes. He held her tightly, awkwardly. With one hand he gently patted her hair.

  Her words echoed in his mind, giving him a feeling of vague unease. The Isra Astrea praised so highly was nothing like the Isra he had known. He still had dreams, sometimes waking, sometimes in his sleep, of Isra’s mad eyes as she tried to kill him. He still saw Vali, his neck snapped on the stone wall, and Oren, pierced by dozens of knives in the dining hall.

  How could the monster who did those deeds have been so loved by this innocent, sweet girl? It seemed even the worst sort of people had some good in them. If that was so, the reverse must also be true. And so he said, not as a comfort, but as a lesson, “Even the best people have some evil in them.”

  Astrea pulled away from him and kept walking. “Yet the same deeds may be called evil in some, but not in others. If Isra were rich like Lilith, she might get more help. Everyone might not be so eager to call her a villain.”

  “Lilith received no special privilege because of her wealth,” said Ebon. “I saw her while she was under the knives of the Mystics. It was horrible. She was like a broken creature.”

  The girl shook her head. Not a rejection, but a refusal to hear. Ebon almost pressed the point, but then the Academy’s bell began to ring. Nine times it called out.

  “Blast,” said Ebon. “I am late. Jia requested me. I will come and see you again tomorrow. I swear it.”

  Astrea only shrugged. “Every day,” she muttered. “Every day the same.”

  He put an arm around her shoulders and ushered her back inside, through one of the white cedar doors.

  four

  ONCE ASTREA WAS ON HER way up the stairs, Ebon ran for the dining hall. When he reached its wide oak doors, he nearly ran full-on into Kalem, who had come from the other direction.