B00B15Z1P2 EBOK (8 page)

Two of the older apprentices turned to face him. “Is this bed taken?” Mik asked.

“Over by the door,
boy
,” the taller one sneered—his accent, pale skin, and thin yellow hair marked him as a Northerner. “This side is for the senior apprentices.”

After facing rogue mages and river pirates, let alone an ice dragon, a supercilious apprentice intimidated Mik not at all. “I was told I could take any open bed. Who are you to say different?”

The blonde scowled; to Mik’s surprise, the other one grinned. “You
should
know me, boy. You certainly will in time to come. I am Hen sim Miran, descended from the Age of Heroes and the brave men of Ak’koyr. And who are
you
?”

“Mik sim Mikhile. My mentor named me Mik Dragonrider.”

The older boy barked laughter. “
Dragon
rider? Because you sat on a skink?”

Mik felt a touch on his arm and heard a low voice: “There’s plenty of bunks over by mine.” Mik turned to find a Western boy, closer to his age, wearing a friendly smile. “I’ll be better company than them, for sure.”

Mik returned the smile, and gave the newcomer a nod. He hefted his pack and looked at Hen. “What you believe does not concern me in the least.” He turned away, this time to a laugh and stifled snickers from Hen’s counterparts.

“I’m Charn sim Bas,” the new boy said. “You’re a brave’un, facing down that braggart.”

“Eh,” said Mik, “I’ve seen scarier things than him.”

“Oh? Like what?”

Mik grinned. “My aunt. She’d have cuffed me if I let a tater intimidate me.”

“A tater?”

Mik pitched his voice higher and rougher, mimicking his aunt’s voice and Low Speech dialect: “Yar, a tater, about his ancestors goin’ on. Best part of him’s buried, it is!”

Charn whooped with laughter, rocking back on his bed. “Oh, that’s one to remember! I’ll have to tell my mentor that, she has to deal with taters all the time!” They bumped fists, and Mik had a new friend.

“Are you first-year too?” Mik asked.

“Second,” said Charn. “But that’s all right. We’ll have a fine time.”

Several other younger apprentices gathered to see what the commotion was about. The older ones ignored them, except for a brief glare from sim Miran. Only the latest comers missed the confrontation, and even they were drawn to an animated low-voiced conversation. “Why did your mentor name you Dragonrider?” one of them asked.

“It’s a long story,” said Mik.

“Good, you can tell it tonight,” said a brown-sashed Eastern boy. “After His Imperial Highness over there goes looking for a girl to impress.” He held out a fist with the pinky drooping away, an insulting gesture that he made sure Hen sim Miran could not see, and was rewarded with a chorus of snickers and stifled laughter.

• • •

“The First Gathering,” Bailar told his apprentices over breakfast, “includes the Resolution of Grievances. If any has a grievance against a sorcerer, then this is the time to bring it forward.”

“How long does that last?” asked Sura, spooning the last of her eggs into a biscuit. “This is nice. A meal I didn’t have to cook.”

“I thought you’d been here before?” Mik gave her a puzzled look.

“Only as an attendant. They sent us to help in the kitchen right away. Now I don’t have to cook!” She leaned into Mik’s shoulder for a moment. “So how long will it last?”

“Most years, it’s very brief.” Bailar looked amused. “Most grievances are petty enough that the accuser feels ashamed to bring it before the Conclave. One year, though, two fellows contrived a elaborate prank based on an outlandish story. That was most memorable, and we laughed about it for the entire Conclave.

“One thing.” Bailar’s gaze fell on Mik. “Whatever is said, do not speak unless you have been addressed directly. You are still an apprentice, no matter how directly involved you may be in a dispute.”

Mik gave his mentor a curious look. Surely a wrong-foot beginning, even with a haughty senior apprentice, would not merit a hearing before the entire Conclave.

“So when that’s done, what comes next?” Sura asked. “This biscuit is a little dry,” she muttered, and gulped some tea.

“Then the apprentices are dismissed and sent to learn things that their mentors have not had time or inclination to teach,” said Bailar. “Apprentices are separated by years of service, so you two will see each other often. Meanwhile, your elders will tend to other matters. Updates and corrections to records, and other such tedium.” He laughed. “The things you may look forward to when you earn your own sashes!”

“It is said, before the Age of Heroes, that the Great Hall would be full to capacity and beyond.” Bailar led his charges down an aisle, lined with endless rows of seats, occasionally catching himself on a chair. “Apprentices sat in the aisles and lined the walls, and spilled out the doors. Today, we will need no more than a tenth part of this place.”

“Where do we sit, then?” Sura asked, as Mik tried to take in the entire vastness of the hall.

“Anywhere,” said Bailar. “We should find seats near the aisle though.” He looked ahead of them. “There.” He pointed at a place a dozen rows from the front. They took seats; the apprentices fidgeted and looked around the hall. Mik’s hand found Sura’s, and they looked only at each other for a moment. Then Hen sim Miran and a Northern woman, likely his mentor, brushed past. They wore the red sashes of Fire magic. The apprentice had his nose in the air, but did glance down at Sura as he brushed by. The woman gave them both an appraising look as she passed, then glanced back at Bailar.

“Is that the one you told me about?” Sura whispered, and Mik nodded. “I think he’s worse than you described.” She squeezed his hand, making Mik smile.

The murmurs of many conversations faded and died as a grizzled old man in a red sash and matching cape took to the dais above them. Mik thought he must be the First Protector, the leader of the Conclave. Taking his place at the podium, he struck the floor with his staff; the sound echoed through the Great Hall.

“Let the Gathering of the Conclave begin,” he said. “All who are not sorcerers or apprentices, leave this place now.” A few attendants, mostly children, dashed up the aisles and ran through empty rows, clustering together as they reached the exits. Sura smiled, remembering all the years that she’d been one of them. After a quiet moment, the man in red continued. “We open the Gathering, as always, by remembering those who have passed into the next life during the year gone by. May Heaven welcome them and smile upon them.” He read a list of names, punctuated only by the sighs of friends who remained behind.

“And now,” said the old man, “let us honor the living and the life to come. Let all first-year apprentices stand and be recognized.”

Mik and Sura stood, along with several others, to polite applause. Taking a quick count, Mik found their number two fewer than the list of the departed.
Every year, our numbers grow a little smaller
, Bailar had once said.

“Let these, the newest apprentices, be joined by their fellows,” said the First Protector. The other apprentices around the Hall stood. To their right, sim Miran looked as if all the scattered applause was directed at himself. With a nod from the First Protector, the apprentices again took their seats.

“Next, as tradition and the harmony of the Conclave demands, comes the Resolution of Grievances. Are there any here who would bring their grievance before the Conclave?” Nobody spoke. “And so, conduct yourselves in peace and harmony.

“Tradition also requires that we allow any man or woman among the folk to bring their grievance against a sorcerer at this time,” he continued. “Let the doors be thrown open, to allow one and all to come as they wish.”

A murmur grew around them, and people began looking back. Down the aisle came striding a well-fed man, dressed in fine clothes of purple, wearing a conical hat and an iron medallion. The latter was a mark of great wealth, a treasure in itself. He said nothing to those he passed. Mik noticed that Bailar was one of the few who showed no surprise, and his stomach sank. Sura clutched his hand; they looked at each other but neither had any wisdom to offer the other.

“You bring a grievance to the Conclave?” the First Protector asked, as the newcomer marched to the dais.

“I do.”

“Then please state your name and title for the records.”

“I am Chileane sim Nalfur, Ambassador to the Stolevan Matriarchy from Westmarch.”

“Very well, Ambassador. And with whom do you have your grievance?”

“Unknown. But I warrant the offender is among you.” Chileane turned to the assembly and raised his voice as if making a speech. “A sorcerer has violated The Treaty, signed four hundred years ago in the ruins of Camac That Is.”

There was a murmur; the First Protector was among the few unruffled by this accusation. “A sorcerer went to war? This is news indeed. If you saw such a one, surely you could identify him? Or her?”

“I come not on my own behalf, but for all of Westmarch. I now summon the sorcerer Zharcon the White to provide details,” said the Ambassador. A woman, wearing the white sash of Air magic, stood and approached the dais. Turning to face her fellows, Mik thought her expression both resigned and annoyed.

“As some of you may know, over the winter, Prince Nalfur of Westmarch invaded the western reaches of the Stolevan Matriarchy,” she said. Chileane started at the baldness of the description, but let her continue. “There was little resistance throughout the Two Rivers district, but the Matriarchy was able to halt the advance at the Laughing River.”

Mik gasped and nearly stood, but Bailar put a calm hand on his shoulder. “Not yet,” he whispered. “The accuser must be allowed to state his grievance.” Sura’s grip on Mik’s hand became almost painful. They looked at each other, in shock and surprise.

“A blizzard came up, only on the west side of the river, where Westmarch was encamped,” Zharcon continued. “It was difficult to see, but eyewitnesses affirm that an ice dragon brought the storm. Soldiers and officers alike heard its repeated demands to retreat. Since Elemental Dragons are awakened only by magic, the surmise is that it was summoned to fight against Westmarch.” She glanced upward and took a deep breath. “If true, then such an act is evidence of a breach of The Treaty. Our forces retreated, and the hostile weather ceased the moment our last soldier crossed the Weeping River back into Westmarch. This is seen as further evidence that a sorcerer has taken part in a conflict of folk.” She nodded to the First Protector and returned to her seat, with barely a glance at the Ambassador.

“Assuming this accusation is true, Ambassador,” said the First Protector, “then what do you request as reparations?”

The Ambassador looked offended. “Assuming? And do you not have your own laws concerning this?”

“Perhaps we may, but such an accusation has not been brought before the Conclave in living memory. If it is as you say, that a sorcerer has violated The Treaty, then we shall have to consult the text of The Treaty itself. I do not happen to have a copy here.” A few chuckles rippled through the assembly, and the Ambassador flushed.

“Are there any who have knowledge of this matter?” the First Protector asked. Bailar stood and nudged Mik and Sura to their feet. Together, they approached the dais. “Now comes Bailar the Blue, Sorcerer of Exidy,” said the First Protector. “All hearken to his words.”

“You are the man?” the Ambassador growled. “Your children will not protect you from justice!”

Bailar ignored him, and turned to face the assembly, Mik and Sura at either side. “To be clear,” he began, “I am not he who awakened an ice dragon. My reading suggests that awakening any Elemental Dragon is usually a spectacular method of committing suicide. The last recorded attempt was four hundred fifty years ago, by Amon the Red, who awakened a Firedrake during a war between Ak’koyr and the Northern Reach. The ensuing havoc, wreaked on both forces, led to the signing of The Treaty.

“And yet, I can shed some light upon this matter. Over the winter, a young boy came to me—on the back of an ice dragon—asking me how to dispel such a beast—”

“Preposterous!” the Ambassador bellowed.

The First Protector struck the floor with his staff, three times. “Ambassador, the Conclave heard out your accusation in silence and respect. Courtesy for courtesy.” The Ambassador glared, but crossed his arms and remained mute. “Do continue, Bailar.”

“Thank you, notable.” Bailar bowed to the First Protector, then continued. “As I said, a young boy came to me, from the town of Lacota, along the Laughing River, riding an ice dragon. He had learned the spell from a children’s rhyme, of all things, and awakened it to drive away the invaders who threatened his home—drive away, mind you. Not kill. As the boy’s motives were pure, the ice dragon let him live and even did his bidding, but it now was demanding to be dispelled and he had no idea of how to go about it. Thus, he came to me for advice.

“Seeing the boy obviously had Talent, we explained the Three Principles to him. After some thought, he saw what he needed to do and was indeed able to dispel the dragon.” He laid a hand on Mik’s shoulder. “I offered to take him on as my second apprentice, and he—and my daughter and first apprentice, Sura—are better students than I ever was.” Many of the older sorcerers, including the First Protector, chuckled at that.

“So, Ambassador and members of the Conclave, I did not name him Mik Dragonrider out of fancy. Your invasion was undone by a boy, not even an apprentice at the time, who had no understanding of what he had unleashed. That he stands before the Conclave this day, whole and living, is evidence of his good heart and more than a little Talent.”

“Thank you, sorcerer,” said the First Protector. “Apprentice,” he addressed Mik, “is it as your mentor has said? You were not an apprentice when you did this thing?”

“Yes—yes, notable,” Mik stammered. “Lacota is a hundred miles from Exidy. There are no sorcerers nearer to home. I would have been apprenticed at the equinox.”

Chileane gaped for a long moment then sputtered. “But—but The Treaty! It must yet apply, no?”

Bailar nodded to the Ambassador. “Notables, I anticipated that a charge might be brought against my apprentice this day. Thus, I took the liberty of studying a transcript of The Treaty before we embarked for the Gathering. It is explicit in that it allows a sorcerer to defend both self and family in any circumstance. But even without such a provision, I would ask: does The Treaty apply to one who was not a sorcerer at the time? Not even an apprentice? I would say not.”