The Deadly Magician (The Memory Stones Series Book 2)

by Jeffrey Quyle

  Theus’s ears perked up at the name of the location as the armory. He hadn’t even considered the likelihood of one being located in the palace, as his head had spun with the need to adjust to his changed status. But in just a few minutes, he would be sent on his way to the armory, to learn where it was and how it was run.

  “What’s that look in your eye?” Torella asked him.

  “I was just thinking. Nothing,” Theus hastily replied. “I’ll go get started on mixing the medicines for this afternoon,” he stepped away and walked over to the counter where the bag of unused supplies waited for him to resume his work. He opened the bag and began measuring out ingredients for several minutes, until Torella called his name.

  “Are you ready?” she asked, walking halfway towards him from the other end of the kitchen.

  Theus left his unfinished concoction on the counter and joined Torella, letting her place three of the four warm breakfast plates on small cushions on his arms, while she carried the fourth plate and a carrier with bottles of juice.

  “Follow me, and don’t dawdle,” she ordered him authoritatively, then proceeded to move with a quick step out of the kitchen, out into the hallways of the palace, and into a maze that looked unfamiliar to Theus. She stopped at a pair of double doors and pulled one open, at which point Theus knew where they were.

  He smelled the familiar scent of the armory – ten times stronger than the scent he had known in the Warrell estate armory, but the same nonetheless. It was a musky mélange of sweat and leather and wood and metal, all deeply ingrained in all the artifacts of the armory, even into the very floor and walls and ceiling of the space.

  “Phew!” Torella wrinkled her nose. “I hate coming here!”

  They entered the room, where Theus heard only a pair of practice competitions taking place in a vast hall that was large enough to hold scores of battles. Torella walked along one edge of the room to a set of doors, then knocked briefly, and entered, followed by Theus.

  There were four men in military uniforms at a table at one end of the room, while a large desk dominated the other end. The men had large pieces of paper that Theus recognized were maps, spread across their table top.

  “Steep Rise will fall if the magician is right,” one of the men said. “But which direction do we go next? Exlive or Stoke itself?”

  “Wait,” the man at the end of the table held a hand out to cease the conversation as Torella placed her plate of food in front of him. She put down her bottles, then led Theus around the table, taking his plates from him one by one to serve the other members of the meeting.

  “Will there be anything else, my lord?” she asked meekly when the service was done.

  “That’s all for the moment. Why don’t you wait outside for a few minutes, then clear these things away when we’re done?” the commander at the head of the table spoke again.

  “Yes, my lord,” she replied. She gave a curtsey, and led Theus towards the door.

  “A dainty dish there,” Theus heard one of the officers say as the pair of slaves exited the room.

  “What do we do now?” Theus asked.

  “We wait,” Torella answered, leaning back against a wall.

  Theus stood beside her for a few moments, then gave in to his curiosity, and walked down the wall to where a number of wooden practice swords were stored in racks. He idly pulled one off the rack and assumed the position Vanline had taught him as the beginning of any engagement. He was conscious of Torella’s eyes upon him, as he began to advance through the motions that had been so rigorously drilled into his consciousness.

  “You look very elegant,” the girl said with a smile, stepping closer to observe him.

  “Would you like to try?” Theus offered.

  “I’ve never done anything like that in my life!” she laughed.

  “Here,” Theus slid over to her, flipping the sword in the air so that he extended the handle towards her.

  “Okay,” she said, taking the handle. “Now what?”

  Theus grinned, and stepped around behind her.

  “Here, hold your elbow cocked just so,” he reached around her body, adjusting her posture, suddenly aware of her scent and her small, compact body that began to lean back against his.

  “Now, move forward with your body, as you extend your arm, and take a step,” he pressed a leg against hers to signal the move, while his hand on her forearm pulled her, and his chest and hips against her back pressed her forward.

  “I feel so militant!” she laughed, and turned her head on her shoulders, looking back and up at him. Their faces were quite close, and the sparkle in her eyes seemed unnaturally bright and appealing as they looked at one another.

  Their mutual smiles faded, as they looked at one another and felt the warmth of one another. It was intimate – an intimacy Theus had not known or thought about for several days, and it ensnared both of them for having bubbled up in such an unexpected moment.

  “What do we have here, a slave boy sword master?” a voice spoke with a loud laugh.

  Both Theus and Torella’s heads snapped up and swiveled around to see that one of the officers from the meeting at the table was standing at the door, observing them.

  “If the lady really wants to learn about how to handle a man’s sword, I can give her a lesson,” the officer said.

  “No better than the lesson I can teach her,” Theus said hotly. He was mad about the interruption, embarrassed to be made fun of, and angry at himself for having fallen so close to changing the nature of his relationship with Torella.

  “Whoa ho!” the officer laughed, as the others came to the doorway to see what the topic of the mirth was.

  Theus released his hold on Torella and ended his body’s pressing contact with her.

  “Would you accept a challenge?” he asked the officer boldly.

  “Theus,” Torella hissed. “No! you’re a slave. A slave! You don’t challenge the officers of the palace.”

  “Well,” the officer said softly, stepping forward.

  “Go on, Montuse, see what the boy has to offer! Maybe he’s an untapped talent,” one of the men behind him said.

  “Theus, put the sword down and apologize, and let’s just go get the plates and get out of here,” Torella begged him.

  “Go ahead and listen to the reasonable young lady,” Montuse the officer mocked him.

  “No,” Theus answered. “I think I can beat him.”

  “Let me get one of those swords. Alamice, will you officiate?” Montuse asked one of the others, an older man. Montuse appeared to be in his thirties in age, while all the others were older.

  “Let’s just use this practice mat right here,” Alamice suggested.

  “Go easy on the boy, Montuse,” he said in a softer tone.

  Montuse approached the mat with a wooden sword in hand. “We’d normally wear padding, but I’ll make sure I don’t strike you too hard,” he said to Theus as they took positions facing each other.

  “First to land three strikes wins,” Alamice said. “Fighters, go,” he called the beginning of the match.

  Montuse approached Theus with astonishing speed, and tapped him on the shoulder within five seconds, before Theus even had his defenses up.

  As Montuse backed away, smugly smiling with satisfaction, Theus managed to lunge low and land a tap on the man’s thigh.

  “The score is one to one,” Alamice announced.

  The other two officers murmured in low tones to one another.

  The contestants stood cautiously, eyeing each other.

  “Was that luck, or thoughtful?” Montuse asked. “I think it was luck,” he said, as he stamped a foot then lunged towards Theus once again.

  Theus blocked the thrust cleanly, and with a riposte brought his own wooden blade to within an inch of Montuse’s shoulder, before the officer managed to block the attack and send it rising above its target.

  Theus stepped back before Montuse could recover, and he feinted high again, then struck low, ta
pping the side of the man’s thigh.

  “The score is two for the slave, one for Montuse,” Alamice intoned in a neutral voice.

  “Is this a trick?” Montuse asked aloud. “General, Benitte, did one of you dress one of your guards as a slave and bring him in today?”

  “As far as we know, he’s just a slave,” one of the men answered. Neither Montuse or Theus shifted their eyes to look at the two; the two contestants held a steady gaze that examined each other.

  “Okay slave, let’s see how you react to this,” Montuse launched a furious attack that drove Theus two steps backwards, until Montuse started to back up himself. As Theus tried to advance, Montuse startled him by flipping his sword from his right hand to his left, and planted a tap squarely in the middle of Theus’s chest.

  “The score is tied, two to two. The next touch wins,” Alamice let a hint of excitement creep into his voice.

  “That was tricky,” Theus said.

  “But completely within the rules,” Montuse countered, as they engaged in a desultory exchange of strikes against one another.

  “I do not doubt it, ”Theus answered. “But if it was acceptable, so is this,” and he flipped his own sword to his left hand, lunged forward rapidly, pulled back, and flipped the sword to his right hand again, and landed a sound strike on Montuse’s shoulder as the man tried to shift and re-shift his stance.

  “The match goes to,” Alamice said in a soft voice, “the slave.”

  Theus looked at Montuse. The officer had provided competition as least as challenging as anyone he had faced during the Great Falls tournament. The man had been good, very good. Theus knew that they both had begun the match with over-confident expectations of an easy victory, and both had found the challenge to be far above their expectations.

  Theus raised his sword in front of his face, then bowed deeply.

  “You were a very good opponent,” he said. “That was a worthy battle.”

  “Listen to the slave being gracious!” one of the observers crowed.

  Montuse bowed in return, then hesitantly held out his hand. “It doesn’t matter if he’s a slave or an officer; he’s one of the best swordsmen in the palace.”

  The two shook hands, Theus grinning suddenly, until he turned and saw Torella looking at him with large eyes in a pale face.

  “I’ll help clean up your plates now, my lords,” he belatedly remembered that he was not a successful swordsman at the moment; he happened to be a slave. Seconds later he had the sword back in its spot in the rack, and he held his head down as he walked with the silent Torella into the office, where they collected the plates without speaking a word, then left the office, as the men in uniforms filtered in.

  “What’s your name, slave?” Montuse asked.

  “Theus, my lord,” Theus replied automatically.

  “Come back and bring us breakfast again tomorrow, will you?” the officer asked.

  “Yes my lord, if my supervisor permits,” Theus agreed in a low voice.

  Torella bumped her shoulder against him in a meaningful way, and the two of them shot out of the office with their load of dishes, then walked in silence until they were out of the armory.

  “Maurienne! That was something!” Torella swore the goddess’s name and gushed as soon as they were five feet beyond the doorway. “You left him absolutely flummoxed!

  “You beat an officer with a sword! I can’t believe it! Molly was really telling the truth, wasn’t she?” Torella’s words were a torrent of astonishment. “How can someone like you be a slave?”

  “I was captured,” Theus answered simply. His heart was still pounding from the adrenaline rush of the competition, but his mind was already starting to move beyond the physical event to consider the implications. He might have stirred up trouble for himself, he realized.

  “Let’s go finish mixing the treatment for Ruune and Weese, then go to the hospice,” he wanted to end the conversation and deflect it to a different topic.

  They returned to the kitchen, and Torella was assigned to make another delivery, while Theus isolated himself in his corner counter, and hoped that no one would pay any attention to him. He resumed the preparation of the burn treatment medicine where he had left off, but an hour later, a movement in the front of the kitchen caught his eye.

  A man wearing a uniform entered the kitchen and spoke to a butcher. The butcher shook his head, then left, while the officer remained standing in place. A minute later, the butcher returned, and then Letta came to speak to the officer. The two conversed momentarily, then Letta’s head jerked sharply towards Theus, who studiously focused all his attention on the bowls of materials in front of him on the counter. He worked industriously for five minutes, until he heard the sound of footsteps approaching.

  “Theus, a word,” Letta’s voice was behind him. He turned, and felt momentary relief that she was alone, not accompanied by the officer.

  “I just had a visitor, as you know,” she said in an extremely controlled, level voice. “And I’m sure you know what he wanted to speak to me about.”

  “Was it this morning?” Theus asked in a barely audible voice. “I’m so sorry,” he continued before Letta could even confirm that it was. “It just happened, and I know it shouldn’t have.

  “Torella told me to let it go,” he jumped immediately to the defense of the girl, wanting to shield her from any blame for the incident. “She reminded me I was just a slave.

  “But I was mad, and the officer made fun of me, and I just reacted,” it was the story of the tavern in Great Forks all over again, he knew. His temper had taken him into trouble. That first trouble had been the cause of his decision to sail onboard the Swaigg, leading to his enslavement. And now he had compounded the problem.

  “Theus,” Letta sat down on a stool, and motioned for him to do the same. “I find that in just these few days, I have already grown fond of you.

  “I had a son once, who would have been just your age right now if he had been allowed to live. But the priests of Maurienne took him as a sacrifice when he was small,” her eyes grew moist, and she stopped speaking momentarily until the emotional memory passed.

  “If he had lived, he might have grown to be a boy like you, and I would be very proud of him. But if he was as impetuous as you, I would tell him that his foolish actions are going to be the end of him,” she was trying to counsel Theus in a very real, kind-hearted manner.

  “Now, as it turns out, in this case, not all is so bad,” Letta’s voice changed, and Theus looked up at her, attentive to the unexpected note.

  “You apparently handle a sword pretty well?” she asked him.

  Theus gave a nod, his teeth biting his lips.

  “The officers who you showed your skills to were quite amused, apparently. They want you and Torella to deliver breakfast to them every day from now on, so that they can take turns fencing with you,” Letta told him.

  “This is real?” he asked in astonishment.

  “It might be some kind of trap or ambush, but I doubt it. They went through the trouble of sending an official courier to me with the request,” she told him.

  “Theus, I can give you a good life here in the kitchen,” she told him. “You could do some chores, and heal a lot of people, and help me keep things sane here. But not if you go out and draw attention to yourself and cause trouble for both of us.”

  She reached forward and patted him on the knee as she rose from her perch.

  “Letta?” he spoke.

  “Yes, Theus?” she replied.

  “I’m sorry about your son. That’s a terrible story,” he told her. The horror of her comment haunted him, had left more of an impact upon him than the rest of her story, which had much more obvious relevance to his own life.

  “It happened many years ago, but I still feel the pain every day,” she told him with quiet dignity. “I don’t want you to suffer any problems now; I would feel even more guilty. Please just stay out of trouble and avoid calling attention to yourself.
Be a good boy for me,” she said with a smile, the walked away.

  Theus blew out air, relieved that the stressful conversation was ended. He had been unfair to Letta, he realized belatedly. He had put her into a position that posed danger for her if she were forced to take responsibility for his mistakes, because she was his supervisor. He would do a better job in the future, he told himself fervently.

  After another minute of sitting and stewing, he finally turned around and addressed the materials on the counter once again. He shook his head to clear away the distractions, and partially succeeded, then he resumed his work, and in another few minutes he had his potions finished.

  As he put them in their jars, Torella returned to the kitchen, and strolled back to see him.

  “Are you ready to go to the hospice?” she asked, unaware of the new expectations that they would deliver breakfasts to the armory on a daily basis in the future.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” he said with false cheerfulness. He gathered up the jars for the day’s treatment, then swept his hand forward. “Lead the way,” he offered.

  Ten minutes later they arrived at the hospice, and Theus went inside, while Torella waited outside. The patients looked little changed to Theus when he set eyes upon them. Their scar tissue looked slightly less tight-drawn, but there was no tangible difference in appearances. He used the jar of treatment that he had left behind on the previous day at Ruune’s bed, then supplemented it with the additional batch he had finished in the morning. Afterwards he went to see Weese.

  “Today’s the day for the second treatment,” he tried to use a cheerful voice as he opened his ointment while standing next to the man in the bed.

  “I feel a little different,” Weese told Theus as he looked up at him. “Does anything look any better?”

  “It’s good you’re feeling something,” Theus replied. He opened the jar and stroked the first application of the new ointment on the man’s arm. “It really takes a few days for the results to start to show. I have to put this on today, and I have to give you one more layer tomorrow,” he began to apply the mixture to the man’s cheeks, “and then we just wait and hope for the best. I’m sure you’ll see some improvements,” he noted.