by Guy Antibes
“I don’t think I have to worry about Bepiro and you,” she said, patting him on his hip.
He had to clear his throat before he could get out, “You don’t.”
~
The next morning, Bepiro took Trak aside. “Do you want to go out to dinner tonight?”
Trak couldn’t help but stammer. “I don’t think so. Dalistro had a talk with me yesterday.”
“And you believe him?”
Trak looked Bepiro in the eyes. “Is he telling me the truth?”
Bepiro scowled and his eyes narrowed. That was enough for Trak, but he didn’t want to lose all of Bepiro’s friendship. “Look, we had some men who lived together in our village at home. We all were friends with them. I’d like to remain a friend with you, but nothing more. Understand?”
“You won’t ignore me?”
“Just friends, but no dinners in discreet places. No ‘just the two of us’, okay?”
Bepiro’s eyes softened. “That’s a lot better than I usually get. Sure, shake on it?”
Trak nodded and they shook hands. Bepiro left him in what appeared to be a reasonable mood. Trak didn’t know what Bepiro would do, but he hoped he wouldn’t expose him to the Magician’s Guild.
That night, Trak skipped dinner and hurried over to Honor’s house.
“Did the Magician’s Guild contact you when you were in Espozia before?”
She colored a bit. “I was careful then and I’m careful now.”
She didn’t look convinced by her own words. A sliver of doubt entered Trak’s mind, her words could be taken a number of ways, and easily as an evasion. He paced in their workroom working his fingers together. “Do you trust Dalistro?”
She shook her head. “No, but if he wanted you or me put away, he could have easily told them.”
“So what is the difference between put in jail in Pestle or cloistered in Espozia like monks in a religious order?”
Honor laughed softly. “At least in Espozia, you would occasionally see the light of day. The magicians don’t have it so bad and they do get let out to perform assignments using their magic. There are just a few powerful magicians in Santasia and if they don’t run the Guild, they have all fled to live in seclusion, some even with the Toryans.”
“The forest people?”
“Yes. Oh, there aren’t any on the Pestle continent. They used to rule here until migrants took Cokasan over and renamed it for the three major countries that developed. Before then, this continent was called Torya. The Toryans are magicians of an unusual sort. They still exist, but were pushed back into the mountainous forests that border Colcan, Kandanna and Santasia. I’ve never met a Toryan but maybe I will before all this is over.”
Trak sat again. “I must learn enough to escape if the guild captures me.”
“Then you will have to work harder. Get the poses copied and learned in your portfolio and then we go into words of power.”
“Why can’t you teach me more, so I can protect myself?”
Honor squinted at him. “You already know enough to do that. Why would you need protecting? Dalistro keeps you in his house.”
He felt he’d have to tell Honor some time, so he took a deep breath. “A friend,” Trak winced inside while he said it, “and I went over to the Ozitzian side and were attacked by robbers. Neither of us thought to arm ourselves, so I had to use magic to defend us. It was sort of dark.”
“They would know you were from this side and were young men, though,” Honor said. Her face looked like stone while she shook it slowly. “You used—“
“The first spell that I ever tried.”
Her face broke into a smile. “I’m sure you surprised them.”
“They never caught up to us.”
“In Espozia, to be struck by your power would utterly astound them. It’s a good thing you made it back safely, but who knows what might happen? A story in a tavern, words to a cleric, any number of ways and the Magicians’ Guild may hear of a young Estian magician. We don’t know who Dalistro has told.”
“All the more reason to get my poses written. I’ll get them done!” Trak vowed.
~
The Reception Room in the building housing the Santasian Council had been converted to a ballroom for the night. The ceiling rose to at least twenty-five feet high and massive tapestries of Santasian victories covered the walls. Trak looked across the room at the girls, no, young women, arrayed across the room. Gio had arranged a graduation of sorts for his students. They had all passed his fencing class, including Trak, and could now solicit positions in the guard or legally duel other certified swordsmen in the city of Espozia. Trak had learned quite a bit during the winter months and had learned to keep his abilities tamped down. Bruises and a few scars attested to his ability to absorb undeserved punishment. The scars had come when, at the end, they trained with real weapons that Gio provided.
Madam Barrazi sauntered up to him. “A graduation for the swordmaster’s class and your graduation from my class, although one never graduates, really.” She smiled. Trak drank in her perfume. She had never kissed him again, but he still felt attracted to her in a forbidden way. “I’ll find you a partner.”
She returned in a moment with a tall girl with dark red hair and pale skin. “May I introduce Yellisia Forma? Her father is a secretary to a Council member.” Trak nodded to her. “This is Trak Bluntwithe, ward of Misson Dalistro, who needs no introduction.” The girl gave Trak a deep curtsey and Trak bowed again a bit deeper.
“Well done, Trak. Now show her that a Pestlan can dance in Espozia.”
Trak took her hand and tried not to hold it too tightly. His palms were wet with perspiration. “I am sorry, this is my first formal dance, Miss Forma.”
“Call me Yellisia, while we dance.” She spoke with the conventional acceptance phrase for dancing partners. He countered with similar permission to call him Trak.
He turned his back to her and wiped his palms on his trousers before he again took her gloved hand. Perhaps he should have worn gloves. A few of his classmates did.
The music began and the dancing steps came to him immediately, just like military forms and magical poses.
“Oh,” Yellisia said, beaming at him. “You are a marvelous dancer.”
Trak forced a smile. “I know my steps,” he said as he twirled her around, just as Sereni had taught him to do. He could feel others eyes on him as he led his partner around the room. The music stopped and he properly led Yellisia to her friends.
Sereni slid up behind him and whispered in his ear. “Dance with all of them and you pass.”
He sighed and stood in front of the next girl. Yellisia stood at his side and introduced him to her friend. He took her out on the dance floor and danced again.
By the time the ball had ended, Trak’s feet hurt, but he already knew how to push himself through pain.
“One more dance and it’s mine,” Sereni said.
“This is the last?”
She nodded and gave him a very provocative smile. “It is.”
They walked out to the dance floor and waited for others to fill it up, and then the music began. This was a slow dance. Trak never liked it because it was too intimate.
Sereni clung to him as if her life depended on it, but Trak knew that wasn’t what she had in mind. They slithered around the dance floor until the music stopped.
Trak applauded along with the rest, but he clapped his hands because this was the final examination of his manners course. His magic tutoring would take on a new dimension as well, for tomorrow, he would finish his poses and start learning power words.
“Take me home,” Sereni said with her head close to his. She gave his ear the barest of a lick with her tongue.
He spied Dalistro looking at them. “Perhaps my tutor would enjoy the ride better than I.” Trak took her hand.
“Sir, Madame Barrazi has asked me to escort her home, but since I graduate from her course tonight, I understand that it would be unseemly for
a sixteen-year-old to do so. Would you mind?” He put out her hand.
He looked at Sereni out of the corner of his eye and recognized a pout.
Dalistro’s smile broadened. “How gallant of you, Bluntwithe. I would do so as an honor to you and,” he bowed to Sereni, “and to you.”
The courtesan recovered well enough. “Very good, Trak, you certainly know enough to move through Espozian society. I wish you well.”
Trak bowed to them both and left the ballroom and decided to walk back in the early spring snow to Dalistro’s house by himself. He discounted Sereni’s compliment. Trak might know where it was appropriate to bow or not, but he’d never be accepted as an aristocrat. He never did develop a close relationship with any of Gio’s other students and that included, thankfully, Bepiro.
He still didn’t know what kind of payment Dalistro wanted for all of this training: for the tutors, for his clothes, for his rooms. It had to be coming soon.
~~~
Chapter Fifteen
TRAK SPENT ALL MORNING LONG AT HONOR’S HOUSE. With the last of the poses now copied into Trak’s thick portfolio, he asked Honor if they could move on to the power words. He felt she had stalled long enough.
Honor took him by the shoulders and peered into his eyes. Her stern face didn’t show a trace of friendliness. “If you learn the words to energize the poses, your life may change. Your swordplay is exceptional for one of your age, but there are many excellent swordsmen who still dismiss you as a novelty—one of Dalistro’s creatures. Magic is different. You have great power and it will show, unless you learn to control it. Flash your capabilities around Espozia and you will end up as an involuntary member of the Magicians’ Guild.”
“I can control it.”
Honor’s eyes narrowed. “You haven’t shown me much control and you are not a novelty to me, Trak Bluntwithe. A sixteen year old boy with the emotions of a twelve year old girl.” Her eyes lost focus. “I’ve seen it before, I have, you know. All boys your age are the same. I must get more than a promise, I must get a commitment. The future of Pestle and even the lives of your beloved friends at Greenbrook may depend on hiding your true power.”
Trak had been smirking through her little speech, but her words erased his amusement. He thought of Bepiro’s arrogance and of his strength. He knew he could beat him. A more experienced wizard would defeat him more easily than Dalistro had so many times.
Trak wiped the smile off of his face. “I understand. It’s like a duel. You don’t show your capabilities to your opponent unless you have to.”
Honor nodded. “And if you do, prematurely, you will surely die.”
“I will surely die,” he said purposely repeating Honor’s words. “But Valanna knew that I’m powerful.”
His magic tutor smiled a bit more genuinely. “What you did in my studio is nothing compared to your potential. Rough magic, that’s what it was, and barely controlled. All it shows is potential. You must meet your potential and become an adept.”
“I already have memorized all of the poses that I copied into the book.”
“Those are merely like the practice forms you use. Just because you are good with your forms, does that mean you will win a duel?”
“No. You have to…” Trak smiled, but without a smirk as realization blossomed in his mind. “It’s more than poses, it’s how you use them and in what combinations.”
“An intelligent observation! Will wonders never cease?” she said, returning to her severe expression. “I need a commitment.”
Trak walked around the room, empty except for a table and two chairs. “I commit. I worry about Neel and Esmera and my father, each and every day.” He had, unfortunately, long since stopped worrying about Valanna, although he still thought of her.
“Keep them in your mind. Shake my hand and swear on your mother’s memory that you will conduct yourself as I instruct.”
Trak blinked and recoiled at the seriousness of the vow, but he extended his hand. “I will learn how to control the words of power and will not show the limits of my power unless my life or the life of my friends are in imminent danger. I make this commitment on Galinda Youngblood’s memory. May my mother rest in the arms of her already departed family.”
Honor wiped away an unbidden tear and put her hands on his shoulders again. “That was well done, Trak. You have grown up rather well in the last few seasons.”
Trak’s eyes watered a bit and nodded. “I won’t let you down,” he said coarsely and he meant it.
~~~
Chapter Sixteen
ON A RUDE THRONE MADE OUT OF THE WOOD of the desert olive, Marom Ferez sat elevated on a platform of eleven steps signifying the eleven major tribes of the Warish. Nothing else in the large open court matched the crudeness of the throne and Marom had made it intentionally so.
Only twenty souls stood in front of their king, but they ruled the country of Warish from the great city of Balbaam and would rule the soon-to-be Warishian Empire.
“Ahem,” Marom said. “My cousin, are we close in Pestle?”
“Another year, perhaps. The populace is nearly prepared to accept a new ruler. Warish is perceived as soft and benign as we intended. Now we move into our final phase, the shaming of the Pestlan king.”
No one ever said the King of Pestle’s name in Marom’s court. Marom and his father’s twenty-year efforts were about to bear fruit. Another year and Nez would celebrate his twentieth birthday, the minimum age to become a tribal leader in Warish. With a strong aide, Nez might make a serviceable king in Pestle. He was young, handsome and had a royal bearing. He frowned as he thought of his son’s many shortcomings. He threw his doubts aside for now.
“What do we have to worry about?”
Lucaz Ferez, an older nephew, took a step towards the throne and genuflected by placing the five fingers of his right hand, closed together in the center of his forehead and twisting his hand opening it to show it palm forward to the King.
“The Santasians continue to send their spies into Pestle. Misson Dalistro has not yet returned. He took the boy that we had identified with strong magician potential to Espozia.”
“And?”
“The Santasians are adept at identifying our spies. We only know that the boy magician remains in Dalistro’s custody.”
“Their Magicians Guild has not claimed the boy?”
Lucas shook his head. “Not to our knowledge.”
Marom stroked his long chin beard and looked out the opening over the rooftops of his city and into the arid lands. “Asem, find a way to notify them of his existence. Dalistro has undoubtedly kept the boy’s identity a secret. What easier way to thwart his plans than to take the boy out of his control.”
Asem genuflected to his older cousin. “A wise suggestion, Your Highness. I have already taken steps to do so and will be leaving tomorrow to make sure he is out of the picture.”
The king’s face broke out into a grin. “You anticipate my every wish.”
“I live to serve,” He bowed and then all of them bowed as the king descended from his throne and walked through them out of the room.
~
Nez took a deep breath after his father had walked past him without acknowledgement. He looked meaningfully at Asem and waited a moment to follow others out of the room. Asem stood at his side as they looked at the city from an open gallery that led to the tower that Nez lived in.
“You are not doing what we talked about some days ago?” Nez said.
Asem bowed his head and genuflected. “Sometimes violent means, leaves alarm and a trail. I recently learned of the Magicians’ Guild. Your father spent two years in Espozia learning their vile language and knew that the guild makes virtual prisoners of the country’s magicians. It is easier to set the boy aside and make him impotent. And it’s safer for you, Prince Nez.”
“And for you, should you fail. Has the Almond girl returned?”
Asem bowed his head in assent. “I had her returned to Balbaam and I have h
ad her waiting for an audience. Do you wish to see her?”
Nez lifted his chin. “Why else would I ask if she had returned? Arrange a dinner in my quarters for tonight.”
“Do you think it wise to dine alone with her, even though she has pledged her loyalty to your father?”
Nez snapped his fingers. “Then I will not be alone.” He put his hand to his head as if in thought, but merely wished to have Asem wait on his words. “Bachalian and Merchez with female companions. I haven’t seen them this week. I believe they are still in the city.”
“I will find them immediately. I think I know what brothels they frequent when here.” Asem took a few steps back and genuflected before turning his back on Nez, who had already begun walking in the opposite direction to his quarters, happily thinking of an evening of conquest and debauchery
~
Asem twisted around and watched Nez stalk off to his little tower. He ground his teeth in frustration. Why did Marom burden him with that brat? Nez was taller, stronger and better looking that his father, but he lacked the intelligence and foresight that Marom and his father before him had.
He walked through the castle, never comfortable when confined by such incompetence, and continued to lament Nez’s lack of everything that meant anything to a Ferezanan, a member of Marom’s tribe. His lack of subtlety and good sense often made Asem want to strangle him. He couldn’t think of a worse fate than to nursemaid the objectionable prince in Pestle, when his father would put him in charge of the country when they took it over.
Marom’s father had spent enough Ferezanan blood in attaining dominance over the other ten chiefs of the Warish. Asem’s thoughts turned to his latest quest. Finding Bachalian and Merchez, the favorite drinking companions of Nez, would, hopefully be short and not excessively embarrassing. He had caught the delay in Nez’s order. Could the boy be any more infantile? He would deflower the girl without a thought. Even though she still might be of use to the king, Nez would make an enemy of her.
Nez stupidly contacted Podor Feely directly about capturing the boy and ruined Asem’s careful placement of Valanna Almond with Honor Fidelia and the boy. Her presence at the woman’s studio not only brought him information about the boy, but also helped train Valanna in the art of magic. Then Nez’s meddling turned his efforts to ruin. The Almond girl, not trained to be a spy, but just an observer, couldn’t deal with it all. It was a good thing that he had another visiting agent in Pestledown to spirit the girl away.
