Night Born

by K L Reinhart

  That they had always known he was wrong. That it wasn’t just his skin or his ears that made him an outcast here. It was something far, far worse.

  What was wrong, though? Terak thought to himself.

  “Chief Arcanum, control yourself,” the magister snapped. “The acolyte is just a boy.”

  “That’s no normal boy!” the Chief Arcanum said in disgusted voice, which hurt Terak far more than any of Gourdain’s strikes.

  “Chief Arcanum!” Inedi rebuked him, and the older man lowered his hand, winking the blue flame out. “Acolyte?” Inedi stepped before the elf.

  Terak saw the stern look in Inedi’s dark eyes. There was no remorse or compassion there at all.

  “Magister—” Terak started to say.

  “It has to be done.” Inedi reached over and tapped the elf lightly on the forehead between the eyes, and Terak remembered nothing more.

  Blackness.

  If Terak dreamed, he did not recall anything. When he eventually opened his eyes, he was lying in the dark—just as he had been surrounded by the dark all his life. Everything at the keep was black, from the robes that the others wore to the stones, to the looks that everyone threw his way.

  If I still even am at the keep . . . Terak had heard stories, of course, of particularly difficult students a few generations before, or someone who had trained under someone who had known someone else—

  The Enclave had a way of making those who broke the rules or proved too troublesome to train disappear. They were never heard from again.

  But I haven’t broken any rules! Terak thought. It was all so completely unfair. He had never asked to be here in the first place!

  “We have to get rid of him!” Terak heard a voice, and with it, he realized that it wasn’t a total pitch black that surrounded him. There was a lighter haze visible on one side of the room. As he squinted, it resolved into a blurry strip of light.

  From under a doorway? Terak guessed.

  Through this finger-gap, the voices came.

  “ . . .there is no other way! You know the danger that a null presents to us all!” That was the voice of the Chief Arcanum, still sounding disgusted that Terak even drew breath in the same building as himself.

  “For all his . . . strangeness, he is still a boy, Chief,” said a new voice, a man’s voice, fuller and deeper than the Chief Arcanum’s. Terak didn’t recognize it.

  “It’s not like you to be so charitable, Chief External,” the Chief Arcanum snapped.

  “There is always a time for charity. I am just very choosy about when it applies,” the richer voice intoned, before Inedi’s voice interrupted them.

  “We are not here to argue philosophy, gentlemen,” she said, “but to argue the inevitable. Acolyte Terak presents a problem for the Enclave. All here can see that, can you not?”

  “The other acolytes will probably try to throw him off the walls.” Terak recognized Gourdain’s deep and gruff tones. Strangely, the Chief Martial didn’t sound pleased at this prospect.

  What for? What’s wrong with me? Terak could have howled in frustration. But he didn’t. He wanted to know what they would say about his fate first . . .

  “We have friendly houses, Magister,” said the reedy voice of the Chief Hospitality. “Those merchants who provide our stores, or the weavers who provide our robes. I could make inquiries if any of them would take the youth in . . .”

  “He’s not a youth, Chief Hospitality.” This time, Gourdain did sound gruff. “He’s a young man, or young elf. Seventeen, eighteen summers perhaps. Enough to make his own way in the world.”

  “Unacceptable,” the Magister Inedi stated heavily. “Both of your methods completely forget the basic principle of the Enclave—that we guard and protect. What greater danger could there be than to have one of our own, half-trained, and yet with all the knowledge of our routines, our habits, our gates and our guards, out there in the world? Must I school you all in the Twelfth Maxim?”

  If you leave a dagger lying on the ground, don’t be surprised when it is picked up, Terak repeated in his head.

  “Then there is really only one option left, isn’t there?” The arcanum’s voice returned with vigor. “Hand the null over to Chief External, and let us be done with it for good!”

  Terak growled in the dark—or he would have done, had he any control over his own voice. Did they really mean that there was only one way to deal with him? Only to be disappeared . . .

  I have to move. I have to get out of here, the elf thought. He experimented with moving his legs. They felt lethargic and heavy. Whatever enchantment Inedi had put on him had been powerful.

  But I am not powerless, he thought, forcing his hands to hold his weight as he tottered to a crouch, his senses reeling and swirling about him.

  “There is another option the arcanum is forgetting,” the voice of the Chief External said softly.

  Get up! Terak inwardly screamed at himself. Fortitude! Pain! He reminded himself of his lessons. Inch by protesting inch, he pushed himself up the wall with unresponsive hands whose fingers refused to move on command. But he paused when he heard the Chief External’s voice again.

  “The Loranthian Scroll.”

  “Preposterous!” The Chief Arcanum threw scorn at the suggestion. “The scroll has sat there for three hundred years. How could a lowly acolyte change that fact?”

  “It would be . . . unlikely, Magister,” the hospitality concurred. “As much as it pains me to say this, I have to agree with the Chief Arcanum. Getting rid of the youth is the only answer . . .”

  Terak raged silently.

  “Chief Martial?” Magister Inedi asked. “You have trained the acolyte. Do you believe he has the skills necessary?”

  There was a grumbling, inconclusive sound from Father Gourdain.

  “Exactly! Any father would have problems—has had problems—retrieving the Loranthian Scroll. To believe that now—” The arcanum was clearly fueled by his hatred of the elf. Terak wondered at how the mild-mannered arcanum could have turned so completely against him.

  The mysterious Chief External’s voice interrupted the doddering old fool, however. “—now that we have a null, I have to point out?”

  There was silence from the other room for a long moment Terak’s heart wavered between hope and fear. What were they asking him to do? Would it be his chance at survival?

  Or would it be my death sentence?

  “It is decided,” the magister said heavily. “I concur with the Chief External. At this juncture, we would be foolish to overlook the opportunity that a null provides us. Are we all in agreement?”

  “Yes.” The Chief External was the first to answer, sounding smug to Terak’s ears.

  “Yes.” The Chief Martial, sounding more uncertain.

  “As you wish, Magister,” The Chief Hospitality said after a moment.

  A pause.

  “Chief Arcanum? You seem to be the one strongest opposed?” The magister’s voice was as smooth as a dagger being drawn.

  When the arcanum’s voice returned, it was stony and sullen. “I bow to your office, Magister Inedi, but that does not mean I believe it to be wise.”

  Terak listened with fascination at this argument between the chiefs. He would never have dared talk like that to Inedi, and he fully expected to hear her imperious voice, demanding an apology. Instead, he heard a mocking laugh. “Ha! We will let our wisdom be governed by the Book of Corrections, shall we not? Does not the Eleventh Maxim say, It is a fool who stays their hand when they have the opportunity to strike?”

  That seemed to be the cue for the meeting to be dismissed, as the chiefs mumbled their respects and left, one by one, leaving only the silent Chief External and Inedi behind.

  “I shall deal with the problem immediately, Magister,” the Chief External said, the sound of furniture scraping across the floor. “But there is one last issue that I noted you didn’t discuss with the other chiefs.”

  A soft sigh. “Go on.”

&nbs
p; “What happens to the acolyte afterward? Father Gourdain was right when he said that there was no way that the other acolytes—or fathers—would accept him now,” the Chief External stated.

  “I know.” Magister Inedi sounded resigned to the inevitable.

  Terak hissed softly in the dark. So, this whole business with whatever this Loranthian Scroll was--this was only a stay of execution? They were going to use him and then throw him away?

  “But I believe this course of action is the correct one,” Inedi said. “We all know the dangers that the scroll represents. If the acolyte survives, then it is best that you . . .take care of him.”

  “As you see fit, Magister,” this strange chief murmured. There was the gentle sound of a soft footstep. A shadow cut across the haze of under-door light. Terak heard the sound of a key being inserted into a lock . . .

  If they think they are going to use me just to kill me afterward, then they have another thing coming! With a grunt, he turned himself around so that his back thumped against the wall. His legs still felt as though they were made of stone, but that wasn’t so different from being in the foot clamps, was it?

  Light glared into the room as the door opened. It surrounded a figure, standing in the doorway and silhouetted in black.

  Just try it! I’ll rip out your eyes! Terak had meant to snarl, but all that came from his mouth was a slurred mangle of words, “Jgh-trk, eye’ll ip-er-ees!”

  There was a soft, mellifluous chuckle from the silhouette opposite him. The figure stepped into the room. Terak saw the suggestion of a square-jawed face and an aquiline nose. Instead of the close-cut or entirely bald pate that almost all of the fathers sported, this man had a head of dark brown hair, ragged to his cheekbone, and a close-cropped beard, both streaked with platinum-white.

  Terak growled and flailed his arms in front of him.

  “This will go easier for you if you submit,” the man who must be the Chief External said. His eyes glittered coldly in the dark. The Chief External moved, somehow going from standing in the middle of the room one moment to being right in front of Terak the next. Terak saw the man’s gloved hands moving—

  Always think your opponent is better than you, the thought flashed through Terak’s mind. In his current state, he assuredly knew this man was better than him.

  The first movement will be a ploy, Terak knew, as he lashed out with his off hand, all the while preparing for the Chief External’s real attack.

  He had been right. The man’s first hand was only a feint. He was already reaching around Terak’s arm to his shoulder, presumably to armlock him . . .

  Terak struck out, his open palm hitting the other’s hand. He heard a surprised intake of breath as the Chief External stepped back.

  “You’re quick! I’m surprised that Gourdain didn’t give you a gray belt . . .” the man said thoughtfully.

  Father Gourdain would never have allowed me to progress further anyway, Terak thought. It was frustrating, being able to think clearly but not have his body respond how he wished.

  “Let’s try this again, shall we?” The Chief External lanced a fist forward, and Terak managed to bat it out of the air with his two-handed, wrist-and-palm deflection.

  “Hmm.” The Chief External once again stepped back. “If you’re this quick under a somna enchantment, then you must be blistering when unenchanted,” Terak’s would-be assassin congratulated him.

  Stay away! Terak would have snarled, but it turned into, “Stteee-awoi!”

  The pair was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps from behind the external, and a light accompanying it. It was the magister, holding a small candle-lantern in her hands. It made her look ghoulish in its contrasting shadows. On the Chief External, the light revealed that he only had two fingers and a thumb on his right hand.

  “I see that you haven’t gotten very far,” Inedi said wearily as her eyes swept over Terak. There was no callousness or malice in her voice however, just tired frustration.

  “It’s a crying shame that he won’t join the Wall Guards,” the Chief External said, straightening up. Terak knew he meant those fathers and journeyers who protected the Black Keep.

  Inedi’s eyes flickered to the other human, who nodded just once. Even though the magister was clearly the woman in charge of the entire Enclave, Terak saw that she afforded this unknown father a lot of respect.

  “How long do you think he has been awake?” Inedi said a little irritably.

  “I know, astonishing, isn’t it?” the Chief External said in an easygoing way. “From the look of him, he must have heard it all. He will have heard about the scroll.”

  And everything else. Terak glared at the pair of them. He knew that they could probably both kill him easily . . .

  “Stars above, what a mess.” The magister sighed before addressing the elf directly. “Acolyte, calm yourself. We have no intentions of killing you. There is a job that only one with your talents can perform for us,” she said. “Consider it your final testing.”

  Oh great, Terak thought. Another test. And what happens if I don’t perform well?

  “Terak.” The Chief External stepped forward. He held his gloved hands before him in the universal gesture of peace. “I realize that you have no reason to trust us, but you have my word that the magister and I speak the truth. I swear it on the Book of Corrections itself . . . I will never lie to you. The job that we are asking you to do is dangerous. Very dangerous. You may not survive.”

  Terak blinked. Even though this was not a negotiating tactic he had ever heard before, a part of him respected the Chief External’s appalling honesty.

  “But if you survive—even if you fail—I promise that I will provide for you and protect you, as well as I am able. That is what the magister meant when she asked me to take care of you. I will school you instead of the other chiefs, and with me, you will learn the quiet ways of the Enclave-External.

  “Terak, with me, it will not matter what color your skin is, or whether you are an elf—or a null. Under my sponsorship, you will advance based solely on your skills, your bravery, and your wits. Nothing else. Do you understand that?”

  This man does not think me a worm, Terak thought hopefully.

  He nodded.

  4

  The Loranthian Scroll

  The sound of rushing water filled Terak’s ears, and even though none of the white froth of the mountain river touched his skin, he still felt drenched.

  The Chief External had taken him from his windowless cell, after first administering a small vial of something he called mercurial water. It had been colorless and tasted faintly of lemons. By the time that it took the pair to stumble through the corridors, tunnels, and downstairs to the far side of the keep, Terak’s entire body was zinging with energy.

  “What was in that? Did you make it? Who are you? How come I have never heard of you?” Terak was bursting with questions for the strange man.

  He was strange—and not only because Terak had never heard of him nor of anyone studying under him. The chief was also strange for what he wore. Not the heavy black robes of the Enclave, but a well-fitted, rugged jerkin of soft leather, studded with iron ringlets, and pants similarly armored at knee and shank.

  Terak noted that the Chief External’s martial appearance was matched by the injuries that his body displayed. There were his missing fingers, as well as a slight limp.

  The man apparently saw the youth noticing his hand.

  “Hopefully, you will be quicker than I was . . .” he said ruefully.

  The pair made their way along routes that wound through the Black Keep. Terak had never scouted them before, although some places were familiar to him—they appeared from one doorway to cross a balcony that overlooked the Chief Martial’s training hall, and they crossed a corridor that Terak was sure led to the lower canteen.

  “This old place is full of surprises,” the Chief External said, using a set of keys to open an old-looking but well-oiled door to reveal a narro
w set of steps and the roar of water.

  “The weirs.” Terak understood what this place must be, although he had never visited in person. The stairs ended on a long, open stone walkway that looked over churning, frothing water. A diverted mountain river ran under the foundations of the Black Keep, powering two massive black iron wheels. These wheels powered a hundred smaller processes—everything from grinding flour to billowing air to the ovens to churning laundry.

  The river-tunnel was well-lit with the grays of early dawn, as the far end was uncovered save for an open-lattice portcullis. The Chief External had to shout for the elf to hear him over the deafening churn of the water.

  “In answer to some of your questions,” the external shouted, “I will ask you one of my own. What do you think we do here, at the Enclave? Why is the Enclave here at all?” He indicated that they stroll to the end of the walkway, where a small metal frame was set in the larger portcullis. The Chief External produced another key. It opened with a shriek of protesting metal, and the pair climbed onto an overgrown dell of scrubby trees and tumbled boulders. Here, the roar of the river was quieter, and they could talk as the man led Terak onward.

  Terak frowned as he thought of the man’s question. He knew what he had been taught—that we study the Book of Corrections. Now that he had seen this other, hidden side to the Black Keep, in the form of this man, he thought that answer insufficient.

  In times of doubt, Terak knew that the best course was to remain silent.

  “Very wise.” The man reached an opening in the path, almost a grove under the stunted alder and birch trees. He selected a plate of rock to sit upon and set down his small carry-pack.

  “The magister said that we protect and guard.” Terak remembered Inedi’s rebuke to the other chiefs.

  “Good.” The external nodded, a half-smile cracking one side of his face. “The somna enchantment didn’t last as long or as deep for you, I take it?”