"What if I get it wrong?" Keevan asked, his voice hollow, overwhelmed.
"If you are to lead," Lanasha said somberly, looking out over eastern Issamere. "You must endeavor to learn by others mistakes, first and foremost. Then, when you make your own, at least they will be new ones."
Keevan didn't respond right away, but he wrapped his arms across his chest as the temperature around them suddenly plummeted. His breath left his lips in hot puffs. Streaks of frost formed spider-web shapes across the pavilion's canvas roof. The water once revolving through her hair hung from her locks in thin icicles. Faint electricity tickled her limbs, but she restrained her fear so the electricity didn't create openly visible sparks. Only Keevan's eyes could recognize the fear swirling within Lanasha.
"Is everything alright, High Priestess?" Keevan asked.
Lanasha snapped her attention back to the present. Calm replaced her sorrow and fears, as the temperature around the pavilion returned to normal. "I'm alright, Persuader Stratagar," Lanasha insisted, rolling up her scroll of orders. With a snap of her fingers, a runner appeared from the bushes, lighting snapping from his toes as he leapt to her side.
"Take this to the captain of the city guard, and have copies made and sent to the High Priests of Beletok and Raejin," Lanasha ordered. The frozen strands of ice now returned to their liquid form, circling around her limbs like hungry snakes.
"At once, High Priestess," The runner nodded, sprinting away with a crack of electricity.
"I will take my leave, then," Keevan said, interlocking his fingers and nodding in respect as he relinquished the elemental plane. Lanasha mirrored his salute and the depth of her bow, which sent his stomach writhing nervously again. The High Priestess reserved such farewells for her equals.
"You will have to grow up fast, in order to face what's coming." Lanasha advised, her face the perfect measure of control and dignity. "But I've watched you grow much in the last few months. I trust you will serve Issamere well."
"I will do my best, High Priestess," Keevan echoed.
"That is all anyone can ask," Lanasha nodded. "Rest well."
Chapter 14
"You'll have to be faster than that, boy," Persuader Madol growled, advancing again with a quick pair of thrusts at Keevan's chest. The Persuader's attacks were getting faster as his temper mounted. "You'll only get one chance to surprise an opponent with that powder. Again."
Keevan lunged forward, stabbing at the Persuader with three quick thrusts. Madol deflected each blow with ease, turning Keevan's aggressive advance into a tactical retreat in a heartbeat. Hopping to his right, Keevan swung at Madol's legs, simultaneously hurling a handful of dirt at the Persuader's face.
Their training swords rang against each other with a slap of wood against wood, as the Persuader covered his face with his free hand, blocking the majority of the oncoming dirt. In moments, Keevan found himself pinned against the wall with the Persuader's blade against his throat.
"Too slow," Madol grunted, taking a step back and sheathing his weapon. His free hand already glowed red from the powder, so he rubbed the powder onto his pants leg, drawing up wisps of smoke from the battered leather. "You've got to find an opening, one I can't block so easily. It's instinct to cover one's face against a projectile. Even if your enemy doesn't know what the powder is, an experienced fighter will think you're trying to blind him, and cover his face anyway."
"I still think pebbles are a sore replacement for danica powder," Keevan grumbled. He picked up another handful of dirt from the tunnel floor. He broke up the clumps of grit between his fingers, holding it up for Madol to see. "The powder is very fine, after Nariem's worked with it. I wouldn't be surprised if you still breathed some of it in, even if you blocked it with your hand."
Madol hesitated a moment, glancing over at the handful of leather pouches sitting on the training table on the other side of the cavern. He brushed his hands clean of Keevan last attempt to place the attack squarely in his face. Nariem sat opposite them, quill scratching away at a fresh parchment as he prepared his next project.
"That may be true," Madol admitted, hands resting on his sword hilt. "But we only have a few handfuls, and the powder is too difficult to acquire, for us to literally throw to the wind."
"That's not what you said last time," Keevan challenged, sheathing his own sword. His other fist clenched tightly around the dirt ball is his off hand. "You said slag was something other artisans throw away."
"Yes, and if we were to suddenly show up, intent on collecting it, it would instantly arouse suspicion." Madol repeated, his voice rising, "Beletok's fury boy, what's gotten into you today?"
"I was almost captured yesterday," Keevan countered, shaking a fist in Madol's direction. "I need something that will protect me from a group of Rhetans, and you're telling me I can't even effectively use this powder against one? It's frustrating and I don't have the time to develop the perfect technique."
"Nariem, why don't you help your son cool off," Madol called from across the cavern. "If he were Tri-Being, I'd douse him in water to ease that temper of his. What works on Outlanders to calm them?"
"Honest, open communication," Nariem muttered, barely audible from across the chamber. His eyes didn't leave the page before him. "Works for Masha and I as well."
Madol groaned, clutching his head in his hands, before facing Keevan again. "Very well, boy, you think the powder is thin enough to be breathed?"
"Yes," Keevan insisted, standing his ground.
"Nariem, any ideas about how to try this out?"
"I brought a blanket along to oil the training weapons," Nariem said, his expression hollow and distracted. "It's wide enough to catch the powder if someone draped it on the ground and stood in the center of it. Retrieving the individual grains would be impossible, though."
"Not for me," Keevan volunteered. "Danica lights up when I see it through the elemental plane. If Madol helps, I bet we could gather most of it, if not all."
"Well, I'm not letting you throw the powder in my face," Madol insisted, folding his arms resolutely across his chest. "I'll not risk it injuring myself, not with the Rhetans on the verge of rebellion."
"More like starvation," Keevan muttered back. "If the only the Etrendi could fix that with, I don't know, the reserves they saved up when they realized a famine was coming."
Madol scowled in response, "They tried. The stores were poisoned."
"What?" Keevan asked, taken aback.
"What?" Nariem echoed, looking up from his parchment. "Are you serious?"
"The Etrendi have enough food to live comfortably until the relief ships arrive," Madol admitted, seating himself next to Nariem. "But the Council decided to keep it quiet."
"Why?" Keevan blurted, before rolling his eyes in embarrassment.
"The Council can't admit to the Haustrans and Rhetans that someone destroyed their reserve food supply right under their watch," Nariem scoffed, shaking his head. "Even I can see the consequences of such an admission."
"They'd appear too weak to face Zerik at all," Madol grunted, glancing at the pouches of Danica powder on the table. "He wouldn't need to sabotage the Rhetan's emotions, only offer them food, and their loyalty would be his."
"So the Etrendi are forced to act indifferent to the plights of the lower districts, like they always have," Keevan sighed, glancing up at the cavern's entrance. "I don't know who to blame anymore, the Etrendi for their usual lack of care, or Zerik for risking mass famine just to settle a score with Malik Morgra."
"Malik Morgra is not a perfect ruler," Madol admitted, "But trust me, he's better than Zerik. You weren't around when Zerik was in power. He got along very well with the Harbor Guild, if you get my meaning."
Keevan shuddered, a reaction that had nothing to do with the dank, cool atmosphere of the cavern. He thought of Corvan, and the poor Varadour's months spent at the Harbor Guild's hand. How would his life be different if he'd spent those months under their lash, instead of Corvan? With a grunt,
Keevan pulled himself from those dark thoughts, from the fear of failing those who relied on him. All he could do was focus on one task at a time and hope for the best.
"Throw the powder at me, then," Keevan decided, taking Nariem's folded up blanket from the table's edge. He rolled the rectangular fabric out across the stone ground and stood on top of it, facing Madol. "We can shake the grains from my clothes and sift them from the blanket later. Try it."
Madol chuckled, picking up a small leather pouch. The red string binding the bag shut marked the contents as fire powder. "You've got guts boy, I'll give you that much."
Nariem snorted in laughter, "He's not Tri-Being, Madol, I'm sure he'll be quite safe. Stop making fun of the poor boy. It would be good to see how the powder spreads when thrown. More useful than hurling pebbles at each other, at least."
Madol sighed in relent, "Very well."
Standing just out of arm's reach, Madol undid the string, holding the leather sack tightly in his fist. Snapping his hand forwards, he hurled the contents, before Keevan could so much as touch the hilt of his blade. The cloud collided with Keevan's forearm as he tried to shield his face, but the gesture did little good.
Rough, grainy powder coated his face and hair. A heavy blow smashed into Keevan's diaphragm, driving the air from his lungs. Gasping for breath, he crumbled to his knees. With each desperate breath, he felt the powder flitting into his nose and throat, burning his nose and throat. As a child Keevan sampled a southern spiced pepper once, the vegetable left him crying for five full minutes. This fire Danica burned with even more ferocity.
"Water!" Keevan gasped, trying to scramble toward the supplies leaning against the training table, but Madol held him fast against the blanket. The thickly muscled Persuader caught Keevan by the neck and held his head against the ground until Nariem arrived, cup in hand.
Keevan spilled the cool liquid over his hands and face as he managed to siphon enough water into his throat to quell the building heat. After three deep swallows, the temperature-sensitive powder cooled. His stomach churned uneasily in an awkward attempt to digest the powder.
"We should have considered the body's warmth," Nariem said, chastising himself aloud. "The skin is cool enough to leave it inert, but the body's internal heat is just enough to activate it."
"So, it will work against Rhetans," Madol grunted, standing over Keevan while he wiped the powder from his armor. The reactive dust floated down in a lazy circle, like snowflakes, as they settled on the blanket. "That's good to know."
"And Outlanders," Nariem echoed, brushing a layer of powder from Keevan's hair. "You should be very careful with this powder Keevan. It wouldn't do to inhale a mouthful of this stuff at the same time as your opponent. Perhaps I need to revisit this design."
"Indeed," Keevan rasped. His throat felt like unpolished cedar, rough and full of splinters. A steady burn still radiated in his nose and sinuses. His eyes watered. His lungs ached and burned. Each breath arrived in short burst, leaving him on the brink of consciousness.
"I think we might have been overly optimistic about being able to reclaim the powder after we use it," Madol said. Keevan noted how the powder caked into the blanket's fibers. Retrieving each grain would be a long and painstaking process indeed. Keevan rested on his knees, facing a rising tide of frustration in his chest. If this was a foreshadowing of how his efforts at the Persuader academy would go, then perhaps fleeing with Corvan wasn't such a bad option.
"Leave the blanket, I'll see what I can do," Nariem insisted. He put a tender hand on Keevan's shoulder. "Are you alright, my son?"
"I just need a minute," Keevan insisted, glancing up at Madol. "Why'd you hit me?"
"To teach you," Madol replied. "When you land this powder, you haven't automatically won the battle. You must press your advantage beat your enemy until he has no more fight in him. Also, when you're gasping for air, you can't very well hold your breath. Makes it much easier for the powder to get inhaled."
"I'll remember that," Keevan grunted, shuddering in pain as he swallowed. His throat felt like a burned out log, splintered rings of wood rubbing against each other whenever he swallowed or breathed heavily.
"See that you do." Madol replied. "We don't have enough fire powder to experiment with again."
"Thankfully," Keevan muttered, stepping off the blanket.
"Perhaps he should head home for the day?" Nariem suggested, rolling the blanket into a bundle. He bound the fabric shut with twine from his pocket. "Someone should watch him while his body deals with the powder still in his system."
"How do you feel now, Keevan?" Madol asked.
"Like I swallowed a dozen of those southern spiced peppers," Keevan replied, clutching his abdomen. "If this is anything like what the powder does to you Tri-Beings, I will never practice it on a friend. Ever."
"I'm sure Bahjal will appreciate that knowledge," Nariem said, chuckling. Keevan shot him a dark glance. Nariem glanced away uneasily.
"Well, you two head home then," Madol relented, returning his training gear to a bag lying against the wall. "I've got to inspect the troops and make sure they're watching each pair of acolytes."
"That sounds... expensive," Nariem noted, hoisting the blanket over his shoulder. "Can the council afford to maintain that kind of constant manpower?"
"They don't have a choice," Madol shrugged, shouldering his bag as he headed for the ladder. "The city is a like a coiled Pagoda right now, waiting for the slightest reason to leap into chaos."
"Be safe, then," Nariem advised, gathering the rest of their equipment from the table. "Zerik is not above kidnapping or worse, and Issamere would be worse off if something happened to you."
"I'm prepared," Madol said, patting a couple pouches strapped to his belt. "If they're good enough for the Outlander, they're good enough for me."
"I don't doubt it," Nariem chuckled, glancing at Keevan. Then he shuddered. "This is will change everything once word gets out, won't it?"
"It will certainly make Dancia even more expensive," Madol grunted, before climbing up the ladder. From the surface, he grunted, "don't forget to close the trapdoor when you're done."
"Of course," Nariem insisted.
A few quiet minutes passed before Keevan rose unsteadily to his feet. Nariem had the various tools and weapons tied up in individual bundles of leather. He watched Keevan with paternal concern. The heat in Keevan's stomach now shifted to nausea.
"You don't look so good," Nariem noted.
"I don't feel good, not at all," Keevan admitted through clenched teeth. "I can't imagine what this stuff would do if a Tri-Being actually inhaled it."
"I'm not sure," Nariem said, tying the last bundle tight. "It depends on the Tri-Being, I'd imagine, on their ability to command the elements within their own body. Not a common field of study, but there are some priests who are quite skilled at it. Do you feel well enough to walk?"
"Yes," Keevan insisted glumly, walking over to the table and taking his share of the leather-wrapped goods under one arm. "Let's go."
By the time he reached his home, the pain in Keevan's stomach had doubled. His abdomen burned like a fire-based pagoda were trying to crawl out of him. Itching, red blotches formed along his belly, marking where the pain and heat were at their fiercest.
"You should take a seat," Nariem insisted nervously, casting his load of leather-bound goods against the living room wall. "I'll get you some more water."
"Alright," Keevan grunted, leaving his half of Nariem's goods against the opposite wall. He made his way to the dining room, pulling up a chair. Sweat rolled down Keevan's neck, back and torso. Nariem handed him a glass of water, which he lifted and drank with a trembling hand. The cool liquid muffled the pain, somewhat. But he could already feel the heat escalating again. Slow. Infuriating. Agonizing.
"Did that help?" Nariem asked hopefully, wringing his hands nervously.
"Not a lot," Keevan admitted, sighing in frustration. "I can feel the heat building up again. Slowly.
"
"Shall I send for a healer?" Nariem asked, his face pale with worry. "A Beltokan or Suadan priest perhaps?"
"I'm not a Tri-Being," Keevan muttered through gritted teeth. "They can't just reach in and effect the elements around the Danica, they'd have to cut through my stomach to get to it."
"Well, Dara left weeks ago," Nariem sputtered, worry turning to genuine fear. "Who else is there? The Scholar's Guild perhaps?"
"Where I try to explain how I ended up ingesting Danica?" Keevan chuckled darkly, wincing as he clutched his belly.
"Who else is there, then?" Nariem asked. "Should we dip you in the canal until this passes?"
"My gut is cooking from the inside out," Keevan countered, "Dropping my outside temperature wouldn't help much. A Tri-Being's body could manage it. Mine can't."
"Then who?" Nariem demanded. "Think, my son, is there anyone else who can help?"
"Corvan," Keevan grunted. "Varadours have healing abilities. Effective ones."
"How do we go about finding him?" Nariem asked. "He's been eluding guards and persuaders alike, for weeks on end."
"He's going to meet me at the East Gate in an hour," Keevan admitted.
"What?!" Nariem gasped, eyes wide with shock and fear. "He's a murderer, Keevan. How can you-"
"I didn't escape the Rhetans in the catacombs," Keevan explained, rising shakily to his feet. "They would have caught and killed me, but Corvan caught up to them first. He saved my life."
"If Persuader Madol finds out you've been conspiring with a rebel, they could lock you up, or worse," Nariem ranted. "You really think we can saunter through the East Gate, with one of the most wanted men in Issamere by our side, and no one will take notice?"
Splintered Loyalties Page 15
