by Guy Antibes
He walked into the hot sun that beat down on the stone pavement of Balbaam. Water sat in troughs for horses and in fountains. The treasure of water in the Arid Lands was free in Balbaam and all along the great banks of the Pusuun River that gave life to a third of Warish. The people along that strip were soft and pliable, no match for the aggressive tribesman of the Arid Lands.
The two round red globes that hung above an ornately carved door stopped Asem. He expected to find Nez’s friends enjoying the paid company of women inside. If Nez weren’t bound to the castle, he would be in there joining them.
He pushed the door open and stepped into the coolness of a court misted with water to make it cool in the year-around heat of Balbaam. Plants littered the pavement in large colored pots, making the place lush with plants and difficult to see others relaxing in the misty coolness.
Asem shunned such activity. He preferred strolling in the sands and bending over to play with his children. Unfortunately, his first wife had kept his children well away from their father. She remained far from Balbaam, encouraging them to live the honorable tribal life his family had experienced for generations upon generations. A pity his second wife could not bear children.
An older woman, swathed in bright colored gauzy silks that, thankfully, hid anything of interest, confronted him. “The mighty Prince Asem has finally deigned to join our humble group in fun and frolic and fine wine?”
“You wish, woman. Do not call me Prince. That is reserved for Marom’s line.” Asem knew that wasn’t the case, actually, but he didn’t thrive on being called prince like Nez.
She looked a little confused and that didn’t bother Asem at all. “I look for Prince Nez’s companions, Bachalian and Merchez. I will pay to remove them from your profit stream.” The woman would lie in order to keep draining the two’s pockets for as long as possible if he didn’t offer some compensation.
“A gold diam each?” she offered
Asem had no desire to bargain and pulled out his pouch and paid the ransom.
She cleared her throat as she thrust the coins into her bosom. “Follow me. I believe they are enjoying midday together.”
But certainly not alone, Asem thought. He had retrieved the pair often enough. Pitiful wastrels. Had they been true tribal Warishians, their clans would have thrust them out of their tents long ago.
His escort opened a curtain to a skylit court, much smaller than the central courtyard, bordered with fabric hangings. In the middle, lay two skinny men and four women, all snoring away, all naked.
Asem felt like spitting on the ground and cursing it where he stood. These boys had no sense of honor or decorum. The thought made him stand straighter. He wondered what privileges Nez would shower on them once he sat upon the Pestlan throne. He shivered at the repugnant thought and kicked the bare buttocks of the two young men.
“Up, up. You must make yourselves presentable for an audience with your friend, Prince Nez. You may choose a presentable female companion to accompany you,” Asem said three times to the groggy boys. “Preferably not any of the ones arrayed unceremoniously about you.”
Asem stood there and glared at the older woman, who shooed her girls away. Asem couldn’t help but let his eyes stray, but castigated himself for such weakness. He had two wives and they were sufficient for him.
He picked out their clothes mixed in with more feminine things that littered the little court. “Quickly now. Baths and fresh clothes, then sober yourselves up. Nez will certainly have you drinking again, but you must approach him with relatively clear heads.”
Asem would have just as soon used his sword on these whelps, but his own sense of honor wouldn’t have permitted it. Instead he liberally applied his boot and open hand to physically urge the boys on. Finally he left the brothel, feeling dirty and demeaned. He looked forward to a late afternoon soaking in the castle baths.
~~~
Chapter Seventeen
TRAK COULDN’T KEEP THE SMILE FROM HIS FACE. Words of power. Now he’d know more than just a handful of words. He really only knew three, counting the word that activated the pose he used to chase away the shark on his night swim into Pestledown months ago.
“You must memorize the words of power. It is the tradition of magic.” Honor said it in a strange way.
“Tradition?” Trak said.
Honor colored a bit and Trak could see a flash of uncertainty in her eyes. “I am Colcanan. Colcan tradition.”
Trak knew a bit of the country of Colcan from Dalistro. They were a fiercely independent people. Now he could see why Honor always acted so severely.
“I understand, I really do,” Trak said.
She gave him the ghost of a smile. “I suppose Dalistro mentioned my country in your tutoring.”
“Briefly, but enough to get a flavor of the place.”
Honor shrugged. “Memorization is key.”
“Then let’s get started. Can I put a code or something on each page?”
She narrowed her eyes. “If it is sufficiently obtuse.”
Trak brightened. “A word I know.”
“You should know lots of new words by now.”
“Pestlan words and Santasian words. I never thought I could stuff so much knowledge in my head.”
“What about sums and numbers?”
Trak shook his head. “Dalistro is giving me two weeks off before my next set of tutors. Literature, Santasian, and Numbers. His history lessons are starting to turn even more political. He did tell me that he might have to leave for three or four months.”
“Back to Pestle?”
“I asked, but he wouldn’t tell me. I would imagine more political games for Santasia.”
“No political system is perfect, you know,” Honor said.
“That’s because people aren’t perfect. Dalistro didn’t have to teach me that. He’s talked to me about golden ages, but do you know what spoils every golden age of politics?”
“People,” Honor said drily.
Trak nodded. “Exactly, now memorization.”
During the session, Honor made sure that Trak knew the pose and the word of power. Trak figured out a little code to use to remember the word. He put a tiny number in a specific part of the pose that corresponded to the letter in the Pestlan alphabet. At least he would know how the proper word started. Honor agreed that was subtle enough for her as long as he added a few numbers in other places of the pose to distract anyone nosey enough to look through his portfolio.
“You’ve done well,” Honor said. “That’s enough for today. Remember, if you practice, make sure no one is near and that you only whisper the words of power without any focus.”
“I will,” Trak said, when he left her that afternoon for dinner, and promised to practice his poses and power words that evening.
~
Dalistro ate his evening meal at his father’s rooms in the palace. The Senior Dalistro hadn’t slept in his own house for years.
“Tell me,” Garono Dalistro said, “of this Pestlan boy you have taken under your wing.”
Misson nodded. “Trak Bluntwithe? I actually learned of him from a fellow spy. He comes from the joining together of family lines of powerful magicians.”
“In Pestle?”
“In hiding. His mother’s brother died and left him a legacy for an education. The boy was mostly illiterate when I first met him. He’s very bright, but grew up as a stable boy in a rural village.”
“And he quickly developed the talent to graduate with Arman Gio’s latest class?”
“At the top, in my opinion. He might have been illiterate as far as language, but I’m convinced he knew many practice forms before he ever left his father’s inn.”
“Why do you say that?” Garono took a sip of wine and coughed.
“I gave him lessons until I convinced Gio to use our conservatory. Trak comes up with new sequences from time to time and then doesn’t use them again.”
“That is a smart boy.”
“Once he
established his prowess, he let the others catch up to him. There is a good head on him, for only being sixteen.”
Garono put his napkin down on the table. “Sixteen? Arman doesn’t teach any boy younger than eighteen!”
Misson nodded and smiled. “I know. I had to prepare him for the class.”
“So what other things have you been wasting the family’s money on with this Bluntwithe youth?”
“Lessons,” Misson waved his hand in the air, “an education. I stole him from the tutoring he had been given in Pestledown and am educating him here. In Espozia, I can keep my eye on him.
“And why do you want your eye on the boy?”
“Magic. Most magicians have just enough power to do little more than tricks. I also brought a Colcanan woman to teach him how to pose.”
Garono pointed a fork at Misson. “Now there is a land where magicians know how to practice. Without their magicians, they would be speaking proper Santasian long ago. Make sure the Magicians Guild doesn’t seize him or his teacher. I don’t want to spend the capital to get him out of their grasp.”
Misson nodded, “Indeed. To keep him from wanting to return to Pestledown, I have made sure his training has not gone too quickly by loading him up with other tutors.”
“Madame Barrazi?”
Misson grinned. “Why father, you’ve been keeping track of me.”
He waved away his son’s words. “I already knew much of what you’ve said. But I like to hear the truth from your own mouth. I have to keep you on your toes, you know. I have another mission for you.”
“I suspected my time in Espozia would end with the spring.”
“The Warishians have just about completed their campaign in Pestle. I want you to go back there and find a useful resistance organization we can use.”
“I didn’t think Santasia had any interest in Pestle, however, I have just come across some information that might make that task a bit easier.”
Garono frowned and made a face. “I don’t have an interest in an active presence in the country.” He waved his knife at his son. “Remember that both the Council and I don’t. It’s too far away to govern. I wish the Warish King felt the same since it would make our lives easier.”
“King Marom? I remember him when I was young.”
“Somewhat older than your Bluntwithe protégé when he spent a few years poking about Espozia and the countryside. He knows more about us than we do about the Warishians. See if you can make a connection to the Warishians through a friendly spy in Pestle. Do it without bloodshed, understand, my son? There may be a time when we will need to have a serious talk, Warish and Santasia.”
Misson grinned. “I understand completely, Father. Our neutrality is about to end? Perhaps I can speak with Podor Feeley.”
“Perhaps you might find one with more integrity.”
“Spies? Integrity?” Misson assumed a look of mock horror.
“A hopeless task, my spy for a son, I know.”
~
Trak ate in the kitchen, as usual, when Dalistro was elsewhere. As he went to his room, a servant gave him an envelope. He examined it as he unlocked the door to his rooms. The thick brown paper had been well traveled. The seal appeared to be intact. Trak had heard enough about seals from Neel in the good old days talking about marginally legal activities in his father’s inn. He sat down on the settee and slid his finger underneath the flap. Due to the inebriation of his father’s good friends, Trak never quite knew what was fact and what was not.
Dear Trak,
I have finally discovered that you left on the same ship as Misson Dalistro, headed for Santasia, so I have sent this letter to his house in Espozia. I assume that Honor Fidelia went with you. From what I know, Misson Dalistro is a reasonable man, so I assume you’ve been treated well.
I hope that he has continued with your lessons and that you can read this letter without an interpreter. It doesn’t matter. Your father and his best friend are doing well. Coffun sends his regards and wishes that he continued to monitor your education.
Valanna Sleekbottle, not her real last name, which is Almond by the way, has returned to Warish as best as I can tell. I found that there was a middling magician of that name in Pestledown, so that’s probably her real name. I’m a bit sorry about her disappearance since I knew you were interested in her well-being. I don’t think she really was that interested in yours, there’s the truth.
The Warish campaign to subvert our country continues unabated. The rural parts of Pestle aren’t that bothered, but there is talk of revolt in Pestledown and some of the other cities, even Herring’s Bone, of all places. I’d like you to know that there are those who might set up a counter to a revolution. When you return to Pestledown, be careful whom you meet and what you say. You might be in greater demand in Pestle than you wish.
You have friends in your father, Esmera and Coffun, perhaps Snively, Beanmouth’s senior clerk. I hope to see you again, soon.
With all of my best wishes,
Neel Cardswallow
Trak laid the letter down on the settee. He thought that Neel wrote the letter understanding that it would be read by Dalistro or other people. He couldn’t see anything offensive about it. Dalistro probably knew of his friends, except for Snively, and Trak still had a hard time thinking of him as an ally.
Maybe Neel mentioned their names in case Dalistro wanted to contact them. Trak suspected that a counter-revolution was what Neel had been working on, but from what Neel and Dalistro had said, the Warish were waging a very mild, but long-term campaign.
He wondered what he should do about the letter. Perhaps it would help for Dalistro to read it. He would discreetly leave the message out for others to see in case his tutor hadn’t already taken a peek.
Seeing Neel’s name at the bottom made him homesick. He had actually enjoyed his education in Santasia. He knew more than he thought he would after a bit less than a year of instruction, but there was so much more that he needed to know. Trak had to admit, he didn’t miss tending to horses and his father’s little farm, back then life was a lot less complicated. He’d make Neel and Able proud when he returned.
It was time for him to practice. He had purposely left his portfolio at Honor’s house so he wouldn’t use it as a crutch. He closed the curtains to his rooms and locked the door, before he disrobed and put on more comfortable clothes.
The poses would move water, air, fire and encourage a plant to grow, among other things. Trak stood in front of a potted plant and assumed the pose of growth. He spoke the word and didn’t concentrate very much. Nothing much happened. He decided he would concentrate a bit more, but not say the word of power any louder.
The plant grew a few leaves in front of Trak’s eyes. That brought a smile to his lips. Then he went through all twenty-five of the poses and power words he had worked on with Honor. He experimented with speaking the words and the force he had in his mind and realized that the words were more than just for focus since he couldn’t strike a pose and make a spell work without at least whispering the words.
He would speak to Honor about that. Perhaps there was a physical triggering with the word accentuated by the force of will. He looked at the clock on the wall, surprised it was so late. Just the thought of the time made him yawn.
Trak decided he would push himself and go through all sixty-seven of the basic poses before he went to bed. He treated them just like practice forms and the effort made him sweat. He laughed to himself as he realized he could use the routine for exercising.
He went over the poses and the power words in his mind as he went to sleep.
~
Dalistro personally woke him up the next morning. “Get dressed for weapons training and eat your breakfast. I’ll be waiting for you in the conservatory.”
Trak hurried through his morning meal, wondering what Dalistro had in mind. He arrived, still breathless from hustling to the room.
“I am leaving sooner than later. I want to know how well yo
u can defend yourself with staff and sword. I’ve watched you spar with Gio’s students, but I desire a feel for your true competence. I warn you, don’t hold back with me.”
Trak nodded. Dalistro tossed him a sword. Trak felt the weight of a steel sword in his hand. He withdrew the blade and looked it over. He had used the same style sword in his sparring with the students, but this one did not have blunted edges.
“I might cut you, sir.” Trak said.
Dalistro laughed. “And I am sure to cut you. Be prepared. We will spar until first blood.”
“Like a real duel.”
The smile on his tutor’s face faded away. “I will not be here to defend you in any way. If some fool wants to challenge you to a duel, you must fight. I suggest doing everything in your power not to kill your opponent, for I cannot help you from across the sea.”
“Back to Pestle?”
Dalistro only nodded. So, he had read the letter! Trak wanted to ask him to take a message to Esmera, but he bit his lip and would restrain himself.
Both of them began to practice with the blades. Trak used the abbreviated version of his forms that he often used in his class, but he would expand his fighting style. He had known that Dalistro had spent a number of classes observing him.
“Ready?” Dalistro said. He lifted his sword to his forehead. Trak did the same and they swept their blades away.
Trak scratched the ground with his feet and put up his guard where he usually did with his blade held low and across his body. He fought off thinking of anything but reacting to Dalistro’s attack, but his tutor did not attack. For a moment both of them looked at each other. Trak could wait just as long as Dalistro did.
