Spells of the Curtain Volume One

by Tim Niederriter

  Razili and Brosk helped tutor him in combat techniques in their time off, but they were both royals and were trained to at least partially rely on their toshes in battle. None of them had much experience with fighting, though Brosk knew the most, having been around his father, the Whale King, and Zemoy Benisar long enough to have some training. Still, he could only pass on additional non-magical survival arts for the most part.

  That week was the first time in a long time that Edmath began to wish he was a royal for reasons beyond making things easier with Chelka. He felt unable to rely too heavily on magic against a faster-fighting physical mage, and not skilled enough with the short blade he had gotten from a smith in the city to trust his life to its thrust.

  He told Zuria and Sampheli about the fight, of course. In the end, the best they could do for him was offer him their ears when he became frustrated with training. Sampheli almost offered to go to the palace to request the High Emperor call off the fight, but Edmath found himself explaining to her why that could not happen. He needed to do this, one way or another.

  “But you didn’t even know the man who wronged him. Zuria and I are your family, not some Worm Tribe warlord.”

  “Of course you are, of course, you are. I know it isn’t fair, but I’m past that.” He left the Serpent Hostel where Sampheli was still staying, now employed as part-time host, and returned to the palace in Augo Vassma’s moth carriage.

  He needed a plan, anything that could save his life against a superior fighter. The duel was in two days and he had nothing to use beyond his plants and a few of the hot-light tricks Chelka had taught him back at Lexine Park. He’d never been skilled with heat, preferring growth over battle.

  Yezani Rumenha appeared at his door on the afternoon before the duel, when he was trying hard to study a long spell, a chant and symbol combination that could freeze the air in a small area while super-heating the space all around it. Surprised, he let her in. He barely knew her, but she entered and began to pace back and forth in front of the window.

  “Brosk told me you picked him to be your second. You’re a good friend of his, aren’t you?”

  Edmath shrugged.

  “Of course. We went to school together. He will probably have to fight tomorrow. After all, I don’t expect I’ll last long enough for the judge to declare the fight over when I die.”

  Yezani fixed Edmath with a sad look. Her eyes were not like her fathers. Where Haddishal usually wore a solemn expression while dispensing business, Yezani’s eyes became unsteady as she looked at Edmath.

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I’m sorry to ask you, but please, ask someone else to be your second, not Brosk.”

  Surprise ran cold through Edmath like cold water down his back. She must know how deadly his opponent might be.

  “I can’t do it. He’d never give that spot up.”

  “Saale Donroi, I’m sorry to be so insistent. You have to listen, please.” Yezani folded her arms. Her hair fell around her shoulders as she put a hand to her forehead. “Brosk is a fine warrior, but your foe is Ursar Kiet. He has killed two-dozen opponents in his duels and he is no older than you or I.”

  Edmath gave a numb nod. He hated that his odds sounded worse and worse every day but nobody explained exactly why. Never mind that Kiet was a deadly fighter. What could the man do? How did he kill?

  “Say on, but please don’t just try to depress me.”

  Yezani let her hand fall to her side. She stared at him with wary eyes, figure framed by the light streaming in through the window. Bowing, she made a fist with each hand. Edmath looked at those fists, clenched so tight her knuckles turned white. She sighed heavily, like a growl in frustration. Finally, she looked up at him.

  “I’ve heard Kiet has a power, a spell that required immense amounts of magic, which can shatter bones with a mere gaze. He will use this spell on you, and then he will use it on Brosk if you don’t do something about it. It is impossible to dodge, difficult to block for any Saale, and has no known counter.”

  He listened to her and frowned. Ursar Kiet used a particular spell to kill opponents. That could prove important.

  Edmath snapped his fingers. “Of course it doesn’t. That is exactly it. I can’t fight a feeling. I can fight a spell. Thank you, Yezani Rumenha, and don’t worry.” He walked to the door and opened it. “I won’t give Brosk a chance to fight Kiet. I’ll beat him myself.”

  “But how? I just told you-”

  “About a spell. All spells have a weakness, even if they can’t be blocked or countered. Magic is not perfect, and I intend to exploit that fact. Now please, I don’t have much time.” Edmath gestured toward the door.

  Yezani frowned, but then nodded and left in silence.

  Edmath had most of the night. He could study Ursar Kiet’s spell, and with a little luck, he might live through tomorrow. A spell that breaks bones through the gaze. He furrowed his brow and dug into his books.

  The next day he rose around noon, yawning with sleep. He dressed in a white tunic and gray breeches, buckled on a loaned pair of close-toed soldier’s sandals and went to eat breakfast in a small market outside the palace walls. Edmath did not like the idea of missing out on a last meal, and the duel had been set to take place just after dinner time.

  There would be no use fighting with a full stomach. He met Brosk in the afternoon and they talked strategy. Edmath told Brosk about Ursar Kiet’s gaze of death but left out where he had heard about it. What he did explain was the plan to keep it from killing him.

  “He is a Dawkun, so all the life gates in his body will be open all the time, the opposite of our own. This affords him great strength and speed. Of course, the power that comes from those gates is usable by any Saale who can reach it. Say, for example, me. If I can predict which gate he uses for that spell I can drain the magic from it before he can act.”

  Brosk nodded with an expression of dawning comprehension on his face.

  “I see what you mean. Most likely a spell that targets with just the eyes draws its power from the head gate.”

  “Of course, the throat is also near enough, as far as I know. If I can take the power from both of those areas his spell will have no chance.”

  Brosk furrowed his brow and tapped his cheek with a finger.

  “The real problem is getting that close to him. And he will protect his throat, for certain. I suppose it depends on his tact. We don’t even know if he uses a weapon.”

  Edmath remembered Akalok’s fists as they slammed into his stomach. He hated the thought of it but knew being stabbed would be worse. “He is a physical mage. He may not need one.”

  “Indeed, but keep thinking. There must be a better way.”

  “Well, unless you can find a way to draw magic without touching it, I don’t know if there is one.”

  They broke off their conversation an hour before the duel and headed for the fighting grounds. The High Emperor had decided on the Grand Stone in the southern palace between the High Castle of the War Empress and the Saale Palace.

  Arriving early, Edmath found himself staring at the ten-foot-tall hump of black rock that jutted up from the grassy ground. The Grand Stone was the place where the Zelian Empire had been officially founded. Clearly, the High Emperor meant to prove something by fighting here.

  Edmath’s stomach felt suddenly all too light. High Emperor Vosraan Loi’s rivalry with the Minister Regent of Roshi was well known throughout Zel. This duel belonged to the High Emperor by proxy as much as it did to Edmath directly. Perhaps that meant the Emperor thought he could win. After all, a Saale dying at the hands of a Dawkun might only embolden Roshi toward aggression.

  Edmath saw no sign of either mirache nearby. While that pleased him, it didn’t change the fact that somewhere in the growing crowd of onlookers, Ursar Kiet was preparing for combat. Edmath closed his eyes to help keep focused on the plan. He had to open a tear in the proper spot to give him enough magic to close with Kiet, then, if he got through, he woul
d have all the power he needed from Kiet himself. The gathering crowd consisted mostly of servants setting down benches and preparing barriers of stone to keep stray magic from hitting spectators. Edmath sat down on a bench beside a sundial and waited with Brosk. They lay their swords on the ground at their feet.

  Within the hour the light began to fade. The sundial darkened, and Marnaia Hayel, the War Empress appeared at the head of her court with Morior Lem, the old Saale who had spoken at the Lexine Park graduation ceremony less than two months ago. This was the first time Edmath had seen Morior since the ceremony, and the first time he had ever seen Hayel.

  He recognized her at first by the great rega she wore and the Elk Tribe cloak hanging from her shoulders. She was a tall woman, with broader shoulders than most women, and younger than either Zemoy Benisar or Haddishal Rumenha, in what looked like her middle thirties. She wore her dark hair at shoulder-length with colorful cords woven into it. The War Empress raised one hand to greet the party approaching on the eastern path. That group included Haddishal Rumenha and his wife the Saale Hierophant, Nelna.

  The two of them were necessary, Edmath knew. The Roshi, as foreigners, were usually guests of the War Empress, and Morior was one of Hayel’s personal Saales. By the time the Roshi themselves appeared, Razili Nane and Yezani Rumenha had arrived along with Zemoy Benisar and the rest of his court.

  Yezani’s eyes moved from Brosk to Edmath and then back to Brosk. Razili seemed to look only at him. Dark eyes bright with worry. Once again, Edmath wondered what he had done to deserve her apparent admiration.

  The Roshi walked with pride, power, even some small majesty. Akalok led the way, long hair, and limbs, with the shorter Tamina and Ursar beside each other at his back. All three of them wore only red and were conspicuous for their lack of sashes and regas as well. Ursar’s short, dark hair moved like grass under the same southwest wind that made Tamina’s red locks dance the same color as fire, and Akalok’s stream with its beads, a combination of the others and burning coal.

  Behind them, Kethina sat on an open litter, braided white hair hanging at her sides. She wore an expression of boredom as if this fight could not matter any less. Edmath did not know whether to be annoyed or hopeful at her disinterest in the event.

  Haddishal Rumenha put a hand on Edmath’s shoulder, startling him.

  “It’s time,” he said. “Get up. Take your sword, and fight well.”

  Edmath bowed his head.

  “Thank you, Excellency.” He took his sword and stood.

  The sun sank upon the horizon. Edmath rose from his seat, swinging the sword in its sheath onto his back. He left it hanging out of its scabbard enough to reveal a small length of steel that reflected red sunlight.

  Ursar Kiet stepped forward, parallel to the crowd. He turned to reveal a long wooden spear in his grip. He touched the Grand Stone with one palm, eyes closed. Edmath walked onto the stone path.

  Ursar looked up at him. Small fires seemed to burn in each lethal eye. The Dawkun often did things most Saales didn’t dare. Their eyes focused many of their spells. Those were the eyes Edmath could not allow to see him when the fight began.

  A servant girl walked up behind Edmath. He turned to see her wrapping another short sword with a rope around the blade. His brow furrowed as he looked at it. What was going on? He looked back at Ursar. The Roshi planted his log-like spear on the ground while servant tied a sword to his hand so that the blade pressed slightly against the skin.

  “The duel will be one of pain, as requested by the Minister Regent of Roshi’s ambassador,” Marnaia Hayel said in a rich, loud voice. “These blades of agony are gifts from the Minister Regent. Fight with honor, both of you.” She sat down and Edmath felt the blade press against his skin, threatening to break it with its cold edge.

  Realizing he would need a striker, Edmath fumbled in the pouch at his waist for a moment. It took only a second to retrieve a ring and slip it on. Still, it might not be durable enough to fight with for long. Ursar raised his spear and charged. Edmath struck the air as he ran to his left, diagonal to the charging Roshi.

  He ducked as the weapon lashed out. The handle smashed into his shoulder and sent him stumbling. Ursar thrust at him, slashing across Edmath’s forearm near his sword hand.

  Magic flowed from the tear Edmath had made and reached him. Trying to ignore the blood dripping from his fresh and smarting wound, he drew in the power and tossed a barrier of growing wood from quickly rotting roots. His wooden wall stopped the next stab of Ursar’s spear. Edmath fell back a step, panting. The new wood splintered and turned ashen in color, but the spear’s point remained stuck.

  Edmath raised his short sword and slashed off the spearhead. Brief shock ran upward and through his arm. Ursar pulled back the remains of his weapon and then jabbed the broken end at Edmath’s face. It didn’t quite reach. Blood flowed freely from the cut on his forearm, but the pain was not enough to destroy his will to survive. Still, he panted in pain.

  Edmath stepped around the wall of wood and chopped another length off of Ursar’s spear. The Roshi hefted his weapon and hurled it. The broken end slammed Edmath in the stomach. The splintery impact of the handle knocked the wind out of him, and he stumbled backward.

  He must get closer. That thought, as much as it terrified him, blotted out the pain. Closer. Following him, Ursar grabbed Edmath’s left hand with his right. Pulling away, Edmath felt the blade tied in that hand slash into his palm, and then, intense pain, pain such as he’d never felt before. He howled in anguish and slashed at Ursar only for the Roshi to block with the sword tied to his own hand. The Roshi released only a small gasp of pain.

  Frantic with the pain-blade sinking deeper into his palm, Edmath threw his other sword away. He heard someone cry out in agony a moment later and his vision spun. Then he realized, lying on his back, that he was the one who had screamed. Ursar Kiet fell on top of him. His fist knocked Edmath’s glasses off with the next blow.

  Edmath hadn’t been prepared for the raw, physical, attack. He felt more than he saw magic flowing all around him. Pulling just a bit of it in, he willed a blinding flash of Chelka’s light into the Roshi’s fearsome eyes. Ursar fell backward, clutching his face with his free hand.

  Edmath struggled to his feet, pain wracking his palm where the blade cut into him. Blood dripped from the tangle of ropes that covered his fingers. He staggered away from his opponent and found his glasses in the grass. He picked them up and put them on. He turned to face Ursar as the man rose to his full five feet in height.

  The trick had not won him the fight, he realized. Ursar barreled into him, apparently cured of the spell’s effects already. This time Edmath prepared himself. Hand symbols and chants formed the magic around him into new a cluster of tangled roots. The charging Roshi struck the barrier with his fist just before Edmath lost sight of him. The roots held and covered Edmath’s opponent in growth.

  Looking down at his wounded hand, Edmath felt dizziness seize him. His blood was congealing rapidly on the rope and his nerves still throbbed with the pain of the embedded sword. Edmath made up his mind. That blade, his key to defeating Kiet, just as Kiet had used it against him, must be a Roshi pain blade. He’d heard tales of them, read a treatise here and there, but experience taught faster than words.

  The roots shook and burst with an impact. A tremor ran through his stomach, making him gag. The barrier fell away, and Ursar Kiet’s eyes shone, black orbs of inky darkness.

  Edmath hurled himself to the ground but the force smashed through the outstretched arm with the blade tied to it.

  The pain made him scream and his hand went limp within the tattered remains of the rope. Mercifully, the blade fell away, blown out by the force of the death gaze that broke his bones.

  Kiet reached him a moment later, slashing the point of his tethered blade toward Edmath’s chest. The blade scratched across the shoulder when Edmath dodged back. Edmath’s hand snaked out, grabbing for Ursar’s forehead. Magic flowed out of th
e gate there even as he met the Roshi’s eyes. They were ordinary now, human, no longer deathly black, mercifully.

  Edmath let go of Kiet’s head, dropping his arm out of the path of the Roshi’s blade. He brought his head forward, cracking against his opponent’s nose. Kiet fell back a step. Edmath shook his head and let the striker fall from his finger. He hurled it at the Roshi, focusing all the magic he had stolen into a fist of green plant matter. The blow struck Kiet in the chest, near the throat, and hurled him to the ground.

  The fist dried out and fell apart, drained of all power. He reared to his feet, but Edmath closed with him again. He scooped up the pain blade still slick with his own blood as he went. He put the tip of the weapon to Ursar’s throat.

  “Surrender, honorable Roshi.” He gasped the barely remembered line Brosk had taught him only a week ago.

  Ursar Kiet grinned broadly, though still half-gagging from the blow to his throat.

  “I surrender Saale. Well fought.”

  Someone in the crowd cried out.

  “He surrenders!”

  Edmath tossed the blade of agony to the ground at his feet, eyes watering the pain of his broken hand as the adrenaline fading. He touched the wound on his shoulder, where his tunic had been opened by the blade. He looked at the blood that came away on his fingers. Dizziness overwhelmed him. He sank to one knee even as Haddishal and Marnaia declared the end of the duel.

  Razili came toward him, along with Brosk. Tusami approached at a distance. Edmath looked from them to the tree beside the path, and then down at the grass which would be drinking up his lost blood. It thought him no different than anyone else.

  He fancied he could hear the voices of each individual plant murmur as their roots claimed his rich nutrients. He knew that wasn’t true. Plants did not speak. His friends approached him. He imagined he grass whimpering as they trampled it. Usually, he could ignore the feelings of the little plants easily but now he heard them clearly.