Blood and Shadow (The Mage's Gift Book 1)

by Robin Lythgoe

  The extravagant feast following Sherakai’s introduction had provided further opportunity for Bairith to show off his new acquisition. He placed Sherakai on his right and Mimeru on his left. The scar-faced man stood against the wall on the opposite side of the table in clear view, a silent promise that no one questioned. Bairith could do what he pleased in his own house. When one of the guests loudly noted Sherakai’s withdrawn behavior, he apologized and blamed it on weariness. Lord Chiro set a rigorous schedule. He wished he could share the details, but would the guests even care if he were beaten and forced to comply? It was all part of his training, was it not? What would they think if he told them Lord Chiro had executed his brothers?

  A sense of purpose and curiosity brushed his senses, and he became aware again of where he stood now.

  He didn’t need Fesh’s hackles raising beneath his hand to know that Bairith had come to join him. He debated turning to face him politely, then chose to remain slouched against the window frame. Fesh dropped to the ground, facing the mage as he appeared in the doorway.

  “You like the view from here, don't you?” he asked.

  Sherakai nodded. Tesh slinked off.

  “Your people are pleased to see you safe and whole.”

  Pleased for his safety, maybe. Pleased to have some juicy bit of gossip to gnaw on, certainly. “Did you not invite my father to your… gathering? Does he even know I am here?”

  “He knows. Shame keeps him away. He knows his son is better off with me than unprotected in the cauldron of vipers and political instability that is the College of Magic.”

  His father had told him he didn’t approve of the school’s politics. He hadn’t disliked it so much that he’d keep his son back and let his magic get wildly out of hand, though. And Proctor Omuri had been awfully nice… A long silence followed. Bairith came to stand behind him, bringing the scent of sweet cicely flowers. A hand on his shoulder made Sherakai stiffen.

  “I am not your enemy.” The jansu’s voice came soft as silk, caressing, inviting. “Open your eyes, son. Look at the opportunities before you.”

  If anything, the invitation made the youth’s shoulders even tighter. He rebelled against the magic weight of suggestion. He wished he knew how to fight it.

  Bairith rubbed into the taut muscle, urging relaxation. “You have the look of your mother. How is it that only you and the youngest inherited her beauty?” He moved so that he could attend both shoulders.

  The closeness trapped Sherakai. Dismay induced motion. He stepped sideways and turned to face his tormentor, arms folded. “I can’t say I know. Sir.”

  The mage’s expression turned calculating. Unperturbed, he tucked his hands into his sleeves. “I don’t suppose the reasons matter. You look enough like me that you could be my son. I am not the only one to notice the similarities we share. It is a sign, don’t you think?” he asked.

  “I’ve thought about your offer. I could consider your opportunities for a lifetime, and my answer would be the same. I will not accept. You plainly have grand plans and a determination to carry them out, but you have no thought for the people whose backs will bear the burden. You discard life as if it is of no consequence. I will not, I cannot support your cause, whatever it might be. I do not want to be king, or jansu, or war master. I do not want to be your student, your partner, or your ally, and I will never be your son.”

  Bairith gave him a small, chilly smile. “A brave declaration. Short-sighted, but brave. I don’t know whether to admire you or lament your false sense of morality. I do have important plans, and you will be a part of them, Sherakai. You are a part of them. That does not change, but your own profits might.”

  His jaw inched out mulishly. “Nothing remains the same, I know. All it takes is one man who thinks he deserves more than he’s got. Before you know it, lives are changed, families are ruined. I may use the changes you work in me for my own ends, but I don’t want them. Whatever you may do to me or for me, Bairith Mindar, I do not meekly accept.”

  Bearing stiff, teeth clenched, he turned his back on his tormentor and made for the stairs. With every step, he expected Bairith to force him back, to punish him, to use the power of his magic to compel obedience. It angered him that he had so little power of his own. Honor and integrity felt like paltry weapons, but if his brothers could wield them and never give up, so could he.

  Chapter 57

  “Tylond tells me you have recovered sufficiently enough to resume your training.” Bairith’s attention remained on the books and maps spread across the table in front of him. His long hair was twisted up in a knot and fastened with a carved, decorated comb. Pointed ears lay flat against his skull, not as long or as graceful as the ears of the elves who had visited Tanoshi two springs ago. Was that why he usually hid them beneath hair worn loose and long?

  Sherakai and the beasts stopped at the edge of the thick rug that warmed the jansu’s feet. He opened his mouth, then clapped it shut again. Whatever he said, the man would do as he pleased.

  “You are holding back again,” the mage noted. “If you have something to say, say it.”

  “I did have something to say,” Sherakai allowed. “I changed my mind about the wisdom of speaking it.”

  Bairith smiled. “You are an interesting boy. So much defiance, so much curiosity, so much civility overlaying mettle. I like you.” He snapped his fingers. “Fesh. Teth. Go sit by the door.”

  Sherakai thought they deserved to lay by the fire to keep warm, but kept his mouth shut.

  A flick of his fingers invited Sherakai closer. “You will report to Iniki two hours earlier every morning. When he is finished with you, you will bathe and join me here. Come.”

  The hateful puffer would enjoy the extended hours of torture. Sherakai scanned a map held down by fist-sized weights carved in the shape of owls with human features.

  “Do you recognize the area?” Bairith asked.

  “Yes, of course. The Westlands, Suminia, Galay and the rest of the Bright Lands. The Midland Sea.” He pointed to each as he named them.

  “Who is the emperor of Suminia?”

  “Qayama Morduruk is king, not emperor.”

  “I am impressed.”

  “I am not stupid.” The insinuation brought a frown.

  “No, you are quite bright,” Bairith agreed. “I wasn’t aware your education extended beyond letters, numbers, a vague notion of magic, and animal husbandry.”

  Sherakai’s fist curled. He imagined the satisfaction of planting it in Bairith’s smug mouth. It would be worth the bloody knuckles, but not worth Mimeru’s life, which had become the currency by which he must weigh every action. “We Tanoshans are full of surprises.”

  “Mm. Some of you, anyway.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “What do you know of your family history?”

  It seemed an innocuous question with an obvious answer. Didn’t all Alshan know about his father’s career in the army? “My father served as general for King Muro. He fought in the Kyusaido Alliance, defeated Nirinikan One-Eye at the Musade River, took back the Shirai Pass, and broke the siege at Eku Giwa-o.”

  “And his father?”

  “Is this important?”

  The mage quirked a brow. “Legacy, tradition, culture… How can you hope to understand your place in the world if you do not know whence you’ve come?”

  His brows knit. “I come from Tanoshi, where we raise horses and valiant men who support the king. The rightful king.”

  Bairith’s fingers lifted as though to brush the claim away. “And you are one of those valiant men, I suppose?”

  His chin came up.

  “Our pasts shape us, my boy. Our own and those of our fathers. You are but a single knot on the journey of many lifetimes woven together. Knowing the stories of your forefathers, you can avoid repeating their mistakes. Surely your own father taught you this? Taught you the histories of those who came before him?”

  “My grandfather came here from across the sea when he was a boy. He served
King Asako the Second, who was Muro’s father, and distinguished himself in the Kin War. The king rewarded him by restoring House Tanoshi and anointing Yasuma as jansu. The House had fallen into disfavor years ago, and the lands were given over to the hero Masukiken dan Gawa. His son betrayed the king. He was executed, as were all the male heirs of his family.”

  “And House Tanoshi? How did Yasuma fit into it?”

  “He was a distant cousin.”

  “Not qualified to inherit.”

  “The king may exalt whoever he pleases. Yasuma alo Arewe found favor in the eyes of the king, and who are you to question him?”

  “So it was a bargain.”

  “He earned his rank!” Sherakai exclaimed, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. “What gives you the right to criticize my family, my country, and my king? You are a foreigner here,” he spat. “Unless you are the legitimate heir to House Chiro?”

  “Oh, no, I purchased my rank and titles.” Bairith gave him a shrewd smile. “The considerable cost went to support your dead king, who was evidently having trouble holding off the dogs—I beg your pardon, your fine and noble peers. Did your lessons not include current politics?”

  Politics had interested him even less than sword fighting. At least the fighting was straightforward and honest. Politicking involved copious amounts of manipulation, opportunism, and backstabbing. Tameko repeated those lessons without mercy, and now the vexing lessons had become treasures. Sherakai didn’t want to share them. He returned to the subject of ancestry. “I suppose you know your family history back to the Formation?”

  “Not quite that far,” Bairith conceded. He spread his fingers in a gesture of regret. “I can trace my paternal line to Ynhan the Nomad.” When the name produced nothing but a blank look, he explained. “He was an explorer and a sailor. He founded a little colony called—Well, the translation is Bright Water. His three younger sons turned that colony into a kingdom lasting through four generations.”

  “In other words,” Sherakai proffered in a careful tone, “you were born to rule. But your ancestors made a mess somewhere along the line and lost your birthright.”

  “It was not lost.” Bairith leaned across the table, stiff fingers planted against the surface. Danger curled around him, light glinting from its sharp edges. “It was stolen, and I intend to get it back.”

  By using a scrawny boy more interested in books and horses than winning empires? The plan certainly held the element of surprise—and Sherakai would be surprised if it actually worked. “What does my family have to do with yours?”

  Hunger slipped across Bairith’s face. “We share certain points of history, which makes you perfect for achieving the greatness I’ve envisioned.”

  “You are quite mad, aren’t you?”

  “You would like that, wouldn’t you? It would make it easier to maintain your impractical Shiran morals. But no.” Straightening, he smoothed the front of his robe, as if any part of his wardrobe might dare to rumple or look out of place. “I am as sane as you are, dear boy. More driven, and more experienced. Be glad, for you will benefit from my knowledge.”

  “I don’t want your knowledge.”

  He smiled as gently as a breaking dawn. “Yes, you’ve made your stance quite clear, and I will continue my efforts to persuade you otherwise. I truly do not want to battle you every step of the way. To that end I have arranged a small incentive. Come.”

  Fesh and Teth stood aside as the mage swept toward them and out the door. Reluctantly, Sherakai followed and the pair trotted at his heels. A short distance down the hallway, Bairith took a set of stairs winding into the depths of the mountain. The lack of light did not deter him. Holding his hand out, he murmured a spell that produced a fair glow about his hand. It lit his steps, but Sherakai had to put a hand to the wall to keep from stumbling as he followed. Behind him one of the beasts whined softly.

  Eventually, they came to a wide corridor and followed it through half a dozen twists and turns. Light filled the hall as they rounded the last corner. Sherakai shielded his eyes to behold a group of half a dozen guards. Their armor and weapons glittered in the light of two torches in brackets on the wall.

  An icy shadow of familiarity crept over Sherakai. Just to the right of the guards stood a heavy iron door with a low, curved lintel. Drawing a shaky breath, he braced himself. He’d survived the wretched cell before. Without the mind-altering drugs Tylond had given him it would be easier, he told himself.

  “Is this supposed to scare me?” he asked, pleased when his voice didn’t tremble.

  “You keep forgetting that I don’t want to frighten you, and I don’t want to hurt you.” He gestured toward the group of men and four moved to join them. “Be gentle when you hold him,” he instructed, but not before Sherakai caught sight of the woman in their midst. She was hidden by their bulk and by unnatural shadows twining this way and that. They made his skin crawl, but didn’t stop him from crying out and surging forward to get to her side.

  “Mimeru!”

  Four sturdy, solid men blocked his way. A punch to one throat and a swift kick to the groin of another availed him little beyond the satisfaction of sounds of pain. Two of the men grabbed hold of his arms and lifted Sherakai right off his feet. Another wrapped an arm around his neck, and the fourth took up a stance to one side, the iron-shod end of a cudgel held at the ready.

  He struggled anyway. The arm around his throat tightened until he could barely make out Mimeru’s pale face as the guards pushed her down the steps. One of them shoved her head down before she hit the lintel, then the door slammed shut behind her.

  Chapter 58

  The door defeated Sherakai entirely. He tried to kick it down. He tried to pick the lock. He tried to focus his magic in some spectacular way that would leave it in cinders. As if he were some great firebrand.

  “Sherakai.” Mimeru sounded eerily calm, muffled on the other side of the door. “Remember what I told you. Don’t let them win. Fight smart. Keep hold of your heart and your soul.”

  “I can’t just leave you here.” He leaned his forehead against the cold, unforgiving iron.

  “I will be fine. I’m a bargaining chip, and he can’t afford to give me up yet.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “If I die, he loses the most practical way to motivate you. Work hard, besh me. Learn everything you can.”

  He shifted to sit with his back against the door. After watching his useless assault for awhile, the jansu had left him with the admonition not to waste the entire day. The guards, too, had gone. Fesh and Teth remained, his perpetual companions. One of them sat at the top of the steps and the other paced slowly up and down the passage, talons clicking against the stone.

  “Are you listening to me, Kai?”

  He could picture her behind him, her back to his and the iron between them. “Yes. So are Fesh and Teth. Probably his shadows, too.”

  Mimeru didn’t reply. In his mind’s eye she propped her elbows against her knees and covered her face with both hands. She didn’t cry. Emotion touched her often, but she was not a weeping-and-wailing sort of woman.

  “After the—the gathering, did you learn anything?”

  “There was no time.”

  “No.” He sighed. One morning was hardly enough to sound out possible allies. Still, the loss of that small hope disheartened him. Maybe if any of them still remained at Nemura-o pera Sinohe, he could speak to them. Among all the guests, who could they trust?

  “Are you still there?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  A dull thump came against the door. “The longer you sit there, the longer I sit here.” In the dark. Cold. Sick…

  “Gods, I’m an idiot,” he said, getting to his feet.

  “No swearing, and yes, sometimes. Trust me, Kai. I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Ru. I’ll try to come back.”

  He thought he heard her laugh. “Just get me out of here.”

  Iniki found him standing at the top of
the gathering hall stairs, watching the random movement of people below without seeing a thing. He was uncertain whether to go present an apology to the jansu or… wait.

  “There you are, boy. You’re late for your lessons.”

  “Yes. I’m sorry, sir.”

  Iniki crooked a brow, but didn’t criticize or question. For a wonder his teacher didn’t immediately set him to running the practice ring. He tossed Sherakai a staff and went straight into sparring.

  “That’s it, boy. Good.”

  Master Iniki had real talent with every weapon Sherakai had seen him put a hand to. Praise from him should be worth something. Instead, Sherakai snarled and drove the end of his staff viciously at the man's head. To his credit, Iniki did not use his Gift against Sherakai in the practice ring, though he promised that would come one day. He needed to learn how to fight off mages and commoners alike.

  The man deflected the blow and ducked underneath it, graceful as a dancer.

  Sherakai had committed too much to his swing and had no time to recover before the mage’s staff slammed into his ribs. He felt the crack of wood to bone. The cry torn out of him was as much frustration as pain. He tightened his grip and aimed a retaliatory blow at Iniki’s head that was easily blocked.

  “Stop.”

  “No.” He jabbed at Iniki’s side.

  Iniki’s staff blurred as it twisted up and around to pin Sherakai’s weapon to the sand. “Yes. You are injured.”