by C. M. Hayden
“I’m still mulling that over, actually,” Vexis said. “I’d planned to keep you alive for at least a little while.”
Senly grabbed Sikes by his collar and dragged him a few feet toward Taro. Sikes had been etching an inscription into a smooth stone, and when Senly grabbed him, the inscriber fell from his hands.
Senly stuck the blade to Sikes’ throat and shouted like a rabid dog. “I’m done with the games and stories. Get those bracelets off her, or I’ll run your little friend through right here; then I’ll relieve you of your other leg and send you home in a wheelbarrow.”
A thin bead of blood came out of a slice in Sikes’ neck, but he didn’t whimper. He didn’t cry. He didn’t even flinch. In Ashwick, Sikes and Taro had been a team; death threats were commonplace. Sikes had been stabbed, beaten, bruised more times than Taro could count, but he never showed any fear. It was his eyes that Taro remembered the most, they were always full of fire and excitement, like he relished having his life in danger. Since he’d freed him from the Carcerium that fire seemed a dim memory, but now it was as if something had awoken that sleeping part of his soul.
Sikes’ eyes flared, and he grinned. “I think we should give them what they ask for.”
“Essen vae ko?” Taro suggested.
Sikes nodded. “Ren ko rekk will work, too. I’ll take the left, you take the right.”
“What are you going on about?” Senly demanded.
It was a gamble, there was no doubt about it. Even if Taro and Sikes could muster the templar to take out a few of the bandits, they certainly couldn’t get them all. They had to trust that Rodrick and his men would help them when the moment came. The runes on Taro’s aurom glowed white as he applied his templar, and the medallion hurled toward Senly and bashed into his cheek with much more force than Taro had intended.
He felt it. Deep in his soul, he felt a huge piece of his templar fade like a candle’s flame starved for air. He needed to conserve what templar he had, and when he brought the hurdling aurom back to the next bandit he had to struggle to keep it steady.
The bandits clamored in a disoriented haze, then went for their weapons.
Rodrick didn’t need a signal. With his wounded shoulder barely bandaged, he barreled into one of the archers as the man floundered with his bow. The archer tumbled backward under Rodrick’s significant weight.
Rodrick’s men charged, but weren’t fast enough to stop the arrows from coming, and two of his men were struck dead within seconds. Sikes had some trouble getting the stone he’d inscribed off the ground and was just strong enough to hurl it into the face of one of the approaching bandits.
Many of the bandits abandoned their bows and unsheathed their swords, but others were already backing away in terror. It was simple magic, really, but outside of the Magisterium such things were exceedingly uncommon. A person could go his entire life and never see a magister in person. It was at that moment that Taro realized how intimidating he must’ve appeared. He stood in the middle of the fray, his hands held up like he was pushing at the wind, and around him his glowing aurom ripped and tore at his enemy’s flesh.
Maybe the showmanship got the better of him. His aurom waivered in the air and fell to the dirt like a stone. Taro felt like a damp rag that had been squeezed of all its water. He fell to his knees, face in the dust, and vomited.
He had never felt pain like this before. His body shook violently, and he swallowed a mouthful of sand as he convulsed. Amidst the clang of steel and whoosh of arrows, he lost consciousness, and the whole world faded to blackness.
During brief, terrifying moments of consciousness he saw the silhouette of a person standing above him, looking down. The whole world spun around him as the shadowy figure knelt and spoke. It had Aris’ voice, though somewhere in the back of his mind Taro knew that he must’ve been dreaming.
“I swear,” Aris said as Taro’s eyes went black. “Don’t they teach you kids anything?”
_____
Taro wasn’t sure how long he’d been out, but it was nighttime and brilliant stars were sprawled against the cloudless night sky. He was beside a drinking trough, being splattered by sprays of water from the drinking ponies. There was a flickering fire ten yards to his right, but he couldn’t quite bring his head to turn.
Honestly, he was more than a little surprised that he was still alive, all things considered. A familiar voice nuzzled at his ear when he stirred. It was Vexis. From the angle the voice came from, she must’ve been sitting next to him. When he found the strength to turn his head, he confirmed this. Taro was glad to see her magistry cuffs were still present.
Taro said the first thing that came to his head. “Sikes?” His voice crackled and barely came above a whisper.
“Aww.” Vexis swooned and clasped his shoulder in an exaggerated manor. “You boys are so cute together. If it puts your sweet and tender heart to rest, he’s fine. Looks like you lucked out, once again. The power of love wins out. How sickening.”
Taro sat up and stretched his back. “Where is he?”
“Talking to Rodrick. They’re trying to decide what to do with us. I got bored, so I came to sit with you.” She had a thin dragon bone in one hand and was drawing lines in the sand. “That was really, really stupid by the way.”
“I can’t argue with you there. I feel like I just got trampled by an elephant.”
“Didn’t the magisters teach you about aftershock and over-exerting yourself? You could’ve died,” she said dispassionately.
“I figured if I could take Dr. Halric, I could take some bandits, right?”
“You didn’t ‘take’ Halric. The old geezer screwed up and opened his templar to you. Overconfidence defeated him; and you’ll suffer the same fate if you keep pulling idiotic moves like that.”
“Why do you care?” Taro countered.
Vexis shrugged. “I guess I don’t. Like I said, I’m bored and calling you an idiot makes me feel better.” When she stretched out her arms, her gaze caught her magistry cuffs again, and she held up her slender hands to examined them. “You would’ve saved yourself a lot of pain and trouble if you’d just let me out of these.”
Taro looked at her seriously. “I’d rather die. At least then you couldn’t hurt anyone.”
“I think you’d be surprised by how many people I can hurt without my templary.” Vexis pushed Taro backward and climbed onto him. He tried to push her off, but his limbs were limp and numb. She put one knee on both sides of him, and her left knuckle onto his right hand. She then sat her chin on his chest and stared into his eyes.
“For example,” she continued, sliding her right hand to his throat, “I could choke you to death right here.”
Taro struggled weakly and coughed against her grip. “Please…”
Vexis let him go. “Oh, don’t piss yourself, princess, I’m not going to kill you.”
She released him and Taro found the strength to stagger to his feet. The nub of his prosthetic burned so much that he put most of his weight on his left leg and dragged it toward the encircled fire. Rodrick, and those of his company who were still alive, sat in the midst of a heated argument. Sikes sat on an overturned log with a wet rag over his eye, but he was otherwise unharmed.
A few yards away were huge dragon ribcages, and the few bandits left alive were tied to them.
“It’s dark stuff, Rod,” one of Rodrick’s men said in a wary tone. “We shouldn’t be associating with these kinds of people this far into Helia.”
“We saved you,” Sikes said.
“And for that you have our thanks. Truly,” the man said. “But the reason won’t matter in Helia. If we’re caught on the road with your lot, they’ll burn us right next to you. I’ve heard stories about what the Shahl does to magic-folk, and I got a wife and kids to think of.”
Rodrick’s bandages looked much cleaner, as if they’d been re-done since the attack. He was near the fire, rubbing his thick, curly beard absentmindedly. “It’s mighty bad luck,” he began, “to
renege on a fairly struck deal.”
Taro spoke up. “We just need to get to Rohesh. It’s not that far. Thirty miles at the most.”
Rodrick’s man spoke up again. “I say we go back and head south to Solis Enor. Getting this close to Helia Edûn just spells trouble.”
“We had a deal,” Taro said firmly.
“I’m afraid…” Rodrick said slowly, “I have to put the safety of my men above anything else. You’ll have to continue on your own from here. We’ll load you up with enough food and water for the last leg of the trip.”
“And the money I paid you?” Taro asked, though he suspected he knew the answer.
Rodrick shrugged. “It’ll be put to good use if that’s any comfort.” He glanced at the wagons and counted them off with his fingers. “We lost two ponies back there, and most of the horses ran off. So, you see, we won’t be able to spare any riding animals.”
Taro stared at him blankly, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. “You’re not serious. You expect us to walk thirty miles through this?”
“It’s not as bad as all that,” Rodrick said.
Taro charged at him and grabbed him by his shoulder. His men stood, but none actually made a motion to defend him, no doubt frightened by what they’d witnessed Taro do hours earlier.
“I’m not asking anymore,” Taro spat. “If you want to tuck your tail between your legs, fine. But you’re going to give us a horse and a wagon. This is not negotiable.”
Rodrick pushed Taro away, and kicked his prosthetic leg. “You seem a bit tired, Lord Magister. Don’t tell me that little bout took everything out of you?”
“I’ll recover,” Taro said in the dirt. “And when I do—”
“By that time, we’ll be well on our way.” Rodrick motioned to the wagons, and Taro noticed that the two wagons reserved for people were overflowing with mercantile: gold and swords, silks and furs, fine linens and pottery—no doubt taken from the bandit’s cache. That was the real reason they wouldn’t give them a pony: they needed them to haul the plunder back.
Taro brushed the dust off his pant leg. “It’s all about money, huh?”
“It’s just good business, Lord Magister.”
Chapter Twenty-two
The Weight of the Crown
“Your Highness, this is important. Please, pay attention,” Lord Fenris said to Kyra. Despite Kyra ruling in her father’s stead, Fenris still treated her like he was a schoolteacher scolding a student.
Fenris advised her on all non-military matters, mostly relating to agriculture, trade, and the general upkeep of the outer provincial governorships in the Foothills. Kyra found him altogether unpleasant at the best of times; and now, with a hundred small things rushing through her mind, he was little more than an annoyance. He’d been droning on about the taxation of crop yields, but Kyra had tuned him out somewhere around the five-minute mark.
Kyra sat on her father’s throne with her fingers to her temples. “Can we pick this up tomorrow?”
Lord Fenris frowned hard, looking more than slightly offended. He’d been reading from a book scrawled with hundreds of handwritten lines and sat it down on the silk-padded arm of the throne. “With the Arclight restored and farms returning, monetary flow from them is essential. There are debts to be paid, Princess, to the Trust, to Celosa and the Western Kingdoms. The interest alone—”
“What do you think we should do, then?”
“We must ensure the taxes are being collected. I recommend an increase in collectors along the King’s Road and into the Foothills. That, along with an excise tax on—”
Kyra waved her hand dismissively. “See it done.”
Fenris made a noise somewhere between a huff and a scoff. “I would remind you that as regent you must expect some kind of personal involvement with the affairs of the kingdom.”
“I trust your judgment completely,” Kyra said diplomatically, ignoring the man’s snarky attitude. “I can see why my father values your counsel. Please, leave me and see it done.”
Fenris took his ledger aggressively and marched out of the throne room. As he did, Kyra could actually feel Magister Briego’s stare from across the room. The chamber was fairly empty, with just a few courtiers milling about and the King’s Guard standing like stone statues at every entrance.
“He’s right you know,” Briego said as he moved up the few steps in front of the throne.
Kyra stood and met him halfway down. “I know, I know, I’ll apologize to him later. But if I hear one more word about taxes or trade routes, I’ll go mad. You know I expected being regent to be a bit more exciting, all things considered. If it’s like this all the time, I’ll take the heat and steam of the Artificium any day.”
Briego raised a bushy eyebrow. “And what did you expect, exactly?”
They walked away from the throne together as they conversed, ending near one of the Curial benches on the far row. Briego sat first.
“I don’t know,” Kyra said. “Bigger decisions than whether wheat should be taxed at two percent or three percent. Who the hell cares?”
Briego held up a finger. “Wars have been started over less.” He patted the space on the stone bench beside him. “You should be thankful for ‘little’ decisions. Your father’s going to have some big ones to make very soon; and when he does, the kingdom needs to be whole.” He clapped his hands together to illustrate his point. “And solvent.”
Kyra sighed and sat. “You’re right. I just…there’s still a lot on my mind.”
“Well, since it’s clear that you won’t stay still for long, I suppose I can share what we’ve learned so far.” Axel was sitting nearby chatting with a lovely young lady of the court. Briego called him over. He whispered something into Axel’s ear and the boy hurried out of the throne room. Moments later, he returned hauling a slightly burned leather-bound book that was familiar to Kyra. It was one of the enormous ledgers that Moira kept in the Librarium.
Axel slammed the heavy tome onto the bench and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
“This was the ledger stolen from the Librarium days ago,” Briego said, turning it to face her. “Found, as you might expect, in the suite of Sorkesh and Trezu.”
Kyra briefly scanned the pages. There were lines and lines of names, books, and dates in a dozen different handwritings. Over four hundred books had been requested the day of the theft alone, from tomes on art and literature, to plays, arithmetic, and history. Nothing seemed to jump out.
“Any clues?” Kyra said absentmindedly, flipping another page.
“None that I can see,” Briego said. “The book isn’t even confidential material; they didn’t need to steal it.”
Kyra looked over the most recent pages once more, hoping to find some hidden meaning contained within. She found nothing but a few familiar names. Artificers, mostly, and some magisters checking out special materials for the ongoing term. Just as she was going to close the book, one entry caught her eye:
4th Cenna Taro s/o Talthis The Farseer’s Theophany J, H2
Something about it caught her eye, but she wasn’t sure what it was. She stared at the ink with maddening determination, in such deep thought that Briego eventually shook her.
“Are you all right?” he said.
Kyra shook her head as if to clear it. “Sorry. I just…what does ‘s/o’ mean?”
“Son of,” Briego said matter-of-factly. “Some students don’t have surnames and are thus identified by their father’s name.”
“Talthis,” Kyra said aloud. The name rolled off her tongue and felt maddeningly familiar. Perhaps Taro had mentioned his father in passing long ago and she’d simply forgotten?
Briego stood and patted her on the shoulder. “If you’d like to examine it in more detail, I can have it sent to your rooms. If you’ll excuse me, Princess, I’ve got to speak with General Gavin about some business with the warder distribution along the southern rampart.”
Kyra closed the book. “Warders,” she said quietly.
She was actually speaking to herself, but Briego answered.
“I beg your pardon?”
Realization struck her like a bolt of lightning. Her eyes shot open. “Talthis!” she said, trying her best to keep calm. “The warder who was knocked out at the Carcerium. It was Taro’s father.”
Briego shook his head with some trepidation. He looked back at the ledger, pulled a monocle out of his front uniform pocket, and looked it over. “Are you quite sure he said his name was Talthis? I could’ve sworn it was Tomas, or Terrance, or some such.”
“I’m positive.”
Seeing her excitement, Briego held up one hand as if to calm her. “This could be nothing more than mere coincidence.”
Kyra looked at him with a bewildered expression. “Are you out of your mind?”
Briego flinched back. “Excuse me?” he said, the tone of his voice hitting peak irritation. Had she been a student, she would’ve been in a great deal of trouble for speaking to him in such a way. She apologized immediately, but did not back down.
“This is not coincidence,” she said firmly. “The one man who saw the escape happens to be Taro’s father?” She made the last bit a question.
“You have proof that Taro’s committed some offense?”
“No, but—”
“Then a false accusation would be reckless and tarnish the reputation of not only a promising artificer but one of your father’s advisors.” He anticipated her response. “I’m not saying the matter shouldn’t be considered, merely that you need to exercise queenly caution. Your bitterness for Taro is hardly a secret. You must put that aside and use reason.”
“I feel like I’m the only person using reason!” she exclaimed. “He’s betrayed us before.”
“The Sun King does not agree. I’m inclined not to, either. Not only do the materials found at Victor Mathan’s mansion back up his claims of ignorance; but his ultimate apprehension of Vexis and the destruction of her plans, not to mention your father’s rescue and the restoration of the Arclight, were all a direct result of his actions. In the Magisterium, he may be a pariah to some; but to the Sun King and many in Endra, he’s a hero.”
