Children of Fire (13 page)

“Surely if he had the Gift we would know by now,” Andar objected. “It's not something that can be hidden. Other wizards can sense the power dwelling in the child.

“I was barely three when my own talents were recognized,” the High Sorcerer continued. “It is the same with all the mages who serve in the court: Their Gift was noticed well before they reached the prince's age.”

“Perhaps we do not know what to look for,” Drake countered. “Among our people Chaos is strong, and those with the Gift perform magic naturally and at a very early age. But in my travels among the Southlands I encountered many human mages who had not learned to shape Chaos until well into their teens. Maybe Vaaler's Gift is hidden, locked away like the power of the humans.”

“Even if it was,” Andar said, “we would not know how to unlock his talents. The rituals we use are very different from the strange arts the humans use to unleash and control their power.”

“The humans study Chaos and magic in ways foreign to us,” Drake agreed. “The Gift does not come naturally to them. But through years of patience and practice they can unlock power that rivals that of any Danaan sorcerer.”

Drake hesitated before continuing, as if he was afraid of what he was about to suggest. “In my travels among the humans I encountered many individuals who possessed great knowledge of Chaos and magic. Perhaps if Vaaler were to be given to one of them—”

“No!” The Queen's voice was filled with the anger of betrayal. “I will not send my son out among the savages! I will not give him over to the Order to have his eyes plucked from his head!”

“Please, my Queen,” Drake implored, “hear me out. I would never allow your son to fall into the hands of the Monastery's butchers. They seek to destroy the Gift, not nurture it. But there are others who wield Chaos among the humans: witches, alchemists, and mages. Near every village lurks a man or woman who uses strange rituals to shape spells. They bring rain or heal the sick; some have the power to forever change the fortunes of those who seek them out. All for a price.

“The Order tried to wipe these people out during the Purge, but despite their efforts nearly every noble House in the Free Cities employs a wizard or court mage. Often these mages will take apprentices, to nurture their untapped talent and teach them the art of shaping Chaos.”

“Are you suggesting we offer my son as an apprentice to one of the Houses in the Free Cities?”

“I would strongly advise the Queen against such a course.” Andar's interruption was sudden and urgent, but he still maintained the formal speech expected of the High Sorcerer. “The Houses of the Free Cities are in a perpetual state of unrest. Their fortunes rise and fall and rise again on the whims of politics and chance, and they are not above exploiting a situation for their own gain. To deliver the heir to the Danaan throne into the hands of one of these noble Houses would present them with an opportunity to leverage the young prince for promises of alliance and political support from our nation.”

The Queen was aghast at Andar's words. “Are you saying the humans would use my son as a hostage against our kingdom?”

“I have studied the political history of the Free Cities in great detail, my Queen,” Andar reminded her. “Vaaler would be little more than a political commodity for whichever House possessed him. Needless to say, rival Houses would be anxious to acquire such a valuable bargaining chip for their own purposes—or at the very least, to eliminate its presence from the political table. Your son's life would be in constant danger from both enemies and supposed allies in such a situation.”

“I am not suggesting we send him to the Free Cities,” Drake countered. “My agents in the Southlands have brought me news of one particular man who could be the answer to our problems. A Chaos mage of immense power who has studied and researched his craft over many decades.”

“It sounds as if you have been preparing for this for some time,” Andar interjected.

“Forgive me, my Queen,” Drake said, ignoring the High Sorcerer to address Rianna directly. “I had hoped this day would never come, but I thought it best to be prepared. For Vaaler's sake.”

The Queen nodded for him to continue. Drake had clearly overstepped his authority, but he had done it out of affection. She wasn't about to chastise him for helping her son.

“What else do you know about this human?” she asked.

“His name is Rexol. Several of the more prominent families in the Free Cities employ mages who once studied under him, though he himself has no political affiliations. He is rumored to be looking for a new apprentice. And it is well known that he is no friend of the Order.”

“How can we trust this man?” Andar demanded.

“His reputation for neutrality is well known,” Drake assured them. “He dwells alone on his grounds near the borders of the Southern Desert, so as to remove himself from the earthly concerns of the various political factions. According to my agents, he quests for what the humans call Old Magic, and he is obsessed with ancient documents that predate the Cataclysm. Such documents are rare among the human kingdoms.

“We could offer Rexol historical tomes from our libraries should he agree to accept Vaaler as his disciple. Each year Vaaler studies under him we will bequeath a new batch of volumes to Rexol for his use. Should anything happen to the prince, he will see no more of the ancient knowledge we have preserved.”

“You would protect the safety of my son with the promises of mere books?” The Queen was incredulous, shocked at the cavalier attitude of Drake toward her own flesh and blood.

“You forget, my Queen: The humans are a young people. They have no history, no ancient learning. From our dealings with the Free Cities we know they hunger for this knowledge; they lust for it. To a man such as Rexol our ancient arcane texts are more valuable than any material wealth.”

The Queen considered Drake's words carefully. He was not a man to speak lightly of such things, or to make such declarations without strong evidence to support them. She had learned to trust his judgment. And she knew he cared about Vaaler. Still, the Queen had her reservations.

“What say the rest of you?” she asked the room.

“I do not like to send the only heir to the throne out beyond the safety of our kingdom's borders, but this wizard may be our only hope to discover if your son has the Gift,” Andar conceded. The others murmured their assent.

The Queen closed her eyes, hoping for a vision to guide her in this decision. She prayed for some sign that her son would be safe in the hands of a human she had never met, a man whose only allegiance was to himself and his lifelong pursuit to master Chaos. She saw nothing but the flames that haunted her dreams, a warning of the destruction of her kingdom. Would it happen in her lifetime? Perhaps in her son's? Without either the Sight or the Gift, would Vaaler be able to withstand the coming of the Destroyer of Worlds?

It was a terrible risk, but one she had to take. Vaaler would rule the kingdom one day. Despite her reservations about sending him into these strange lands she had a responsibility to the Danaan people to try to discover if her son had the Gift.

“So be it,” she said, not even aware her right hand had risen up to clutch the ring dangling from the chain at her throat in a tight fist. “Send a messenger to this Rexol with our offer and terms.”

Beyond the black Monastery walls, the night sky is obscured by thick clouds and sheets of driving rain. In the darkness she can't see them, but she can sense them. Monsters at the gate.

The pealing bells that heralded the first light of dawn rang out through the Monastery, waking Cassandra and cutting the all-too-familiar vision short before it could reach its gruesome climax.

The dream had plagued her for the past several days. She knew by the rules of the Monastery that the Pontiff was supposed to be told whenever someone kept having the same dream. But Cassandra had no intention of telling anyone about what she had seen. Her dreams scared people. That's why her parents had given her to Rexol; and that's why he had given her to the Order. Because of her dreams.

The morning bells ended, and Cassandra scrambled up from her sleeping mat and pulled off her nightclothes. She slipped into her undergarments, then into her warm, gray robe—a robe just like the one the monks wore.

When Rexol had first left her with the Pontiff she had been terrified of the monks. They rarely spoke, and with their strange, all-white eyes they seemed more like ghosts or spirits than real men and women. But they treated her with kindness, and within a few weeks her fear had given way to curiosity. She wanted to know more about the Order, and the Pontiff and the others had been eager to teach her.

Now, four years later, she considered the Monastery her home. She couldn't recall much about her parents or her life before Rexol: Vague memories of her father's kind eyes and her mother's tight, pinched face were all that remained. And even her years with Rexol were starting to fade, though she remembered enough to know she preferred living in the Monastery.

There were other children here, for one thing. A few were younger than her, several were older; more boys than girls. And even though Cassandra didn't speak to them often—like her, the other children were focused on their individual studies—it was nice just to see them around. But it was more than that. Living with the Order meant she was serving the will of the True Gods.

The young girl opened the door to her tiny room then moved quickly down the dimly lit hall, eager to get some breakfast before beginning her daily lessons.

Before coming to the Monastery, Cassandra had never heard of the True Gods. Now, thanks to her lessons, she knew all about them. How they were born from the fires of the Chaos Sea. How they created the world and all the animals and people. And how they used their power to form the Legacy to protect the world from the Slayer.

Cassandra enjoyed her lessons. She liked the stories of the True Gods. She liked that the Order was working to preserve the Legacy and keep the world safe. She wanted to help them, maybe even one day join them.

Which was why she couldn't mention her vision. If she told anyone about what she had seen, they would send her away. Like Rexol. Like her parents.

“The girl is hiding something,” Yasmin declared.

The Pontiff set down his spoon with a weary sigh. He didn't need to ask who Yasmin was referring to; there was only one of the Order's wards she bothered to keep an eye on. The Inquisitor had been suspicious of Cassandra ever since the girl's arrival, as if the child had somehow been corrupted by Rexol's foul magic.

“This couldn't wait until after breakfast?” the Pontiff asked, keeping his voice low so the monks at the other nearby tables in the dining hall wouldn't overhear. “You couldn't even let me finish my porridge?”

Yasmin shrugged indifferently. The tall, thin woman rarely ate with the others. She slept only a few hours each night, and by the time the morning bells called the rest of her brethren to the tables she had already finished her only meal of the day.

“It is my duty to report what I see,” she insisted. “When you decide to take action is up to you.”

“Action for what, exactly?”

“The girl is hiding something,” she repeated. “She is carrying a secret.”

The Pontiff didn't bother to ask Yasmin how she knew this. Inquisitors were trained to sense deception and concealment; it was integral to their function. And Yasmin was very, very good at what she did.

“I will speak to her now,” he said, rising from his seat. “Will that satisfy you?”

“I will come with you,” Yasmin offered.

“No,” the Pontiff corrected. “You will not.”

If he was going to speak with Cassandra, the last thing he needed was Yasmin looming over them. Even full-fledged members of the Order found the burned scalp and intense presence of the Inquisitor intimidating.

“The girl is dangerous,” Yasmin warned. “We all sense her power. We all know the wizard was teaching her.”

“Cassandra is not our enemy,” the Pontiff told her, his voice calm but his tone hard as steel. “She is one of us now. She has power, but we must not fear it. We must teach her to control it.”

Sensing the matter was resolved, Yasmin bowed and retreated to a far corner of the room without further argument.

The Pontiff picked up his bowl and spoon and made his way through the dining hall to where Cassandra was sitting alone at one of the smaller tables. He had noticed she often ate alone, but that wasn't uncommon. Many of the monks, and even several of the other children, preferred solitude.

“Cassandra,” he asked in a soft voice, “may I share your table?”

The blond girl looked up at him, her emerald eyes wide, her spoon frozen halfway between her bowl and her mouth. She gave a barely imperceptible nod, and Nazir set down his own bowl and took a seat across from her.

Instead of saying anything, he silently turned his attention to the task of finishing his porridge. After a few seconds the girl seemed to relax and did the same. Only once they were both finished did he speak.

The Pontiff had an idea of what Cassandra might be hiding. Given her talents, and her history, there was only one logical conclusion. But he had to approach the matter carefully if he wanted to bring her into the fold.

“Cassandra, are you happy here?”

Her head snapped up and her shoulders suddenly tensed; it wasn't necessary to have an Inquisitor's training to see her obvious anxiety at the question.

“Yes, Pontiff,” she said softly. “I like it here. Very much.”

“That's good, Cassandra. Because I want you to be here. We all want you to be here.”

“All of you?” the girl asked, her eyes darting for an instant to Yasmin standing watch from the far corner.

“Yasmin can be scary,” the Pontiff admitted, “but she serves the will of the True Gods.”

“I want to serve their will, too,” Cassandra said urgently. “I do!”

“I know,” the Pontiff assured her. “You've worked hard at your studies. You've learned the history of the True Gods. But if you really want to serve the True Gods, that is not enough.”

“Yes, Pontiff,” she said, casting her eyes down to her empty bowl.

“You know that many of the monks here at the Monastery are Seers, right?”

“Yes, Pontiff.”

“The Seers are very important, Cassandra. Their visions guide us. They show us the righteous path we must walk.”

“Yes, Pontiff.”

“But the Seers must be properly trained before they can do this. They must learn to focus their talents.

“Without this training, their dreams are nothing but the echoes of Chaos. Without the training, they have violent nightmares showing only death and suffering.”

He paused, waiting for the girl to say something. She shifted in her seat, but only continued to stare down at her bowl.

“Cassandra, would you like to become a Seer?”

The girl shook her head. “I don't have any dreams,” she mumbled.

The Pontiff reached across the table to rest his wrinkled hand on the young girl's wrist, his touch gentle and reassuring.

“It's okay, Cassandra. Whatever you saw, you can tell me.”

The young girl shook her head, and he saw she was struggling to hold back tears.

“Don't be afraid, Cassandra. It was only a vision. It can't hurt you.”

“If I tell you,” she whispered. “You'll send me away.”

“No,” the Pontiff promised. “You are one of us. The Order will never turn its back on you. We will never send you away.”

“My parents did. Rexol did.”

“We are not like Rexol,” the Pontiff said softly. “And your parents didn't want to send you away.”

“They didn't?”

Her confusion was to be expected; she had been only four at the time.

“Do you remember how you came to be with Rexol?”

Cassandra shook her head uncertainly.

“You were very young,” the Pontiff said, patting her wrist. “Too young to remember, I guess.

“Rexol stole you from your parents. They wanted you to come live with us; they wanted you to join the Order. And he stole you away from them. From us.”

“And you stole me back?” Cassandra asked, her voice hesitant.

“The will of the True Gods brought you back to us,” the Pontiff explained. “This is where you belong, Cassandra. With us. With the Order.”

The Pontiff released his grip on the girl's wrist and leaned back. Cassandra nodded, took a long, deep breath, and wiped her eyes. She seemed more relaxed. Even calm.

“Do you trust me, Cassandra?” Nazir asked.

“Yes, Pontiff.”

Her reply was short and simple, but he could sense the earnest sincerity of her words.

“Then you must tell me your dream.”

She hesitated only for an instant before speaking.

“We are in the Monastery: you, me—everyone. It's night. It's raining. The storm is so dark it blocks out the moon. There are monsters at the gate.”

“Monsters? What kind of monsters?”

“I don't know,” Cassandra said, shaking her head. “They're just shadows in the night. And then the monsters are inside.

“They break open the gate. They climb over the walls. And then they kill us all. Everyone. They rip us apart and leave our bodies piled in the courtyard.”

Though her voice never wavered, Cassandra's face had gone even more pale than usual as she recounted her nightmare. The Pontiff knew she was looking for reassurance—something to put her young mind at ease.

“Do you know what
symbolic
means, Cassandra?”

“No, Pontiff.”

“It means sometimes a dream shows one thing but means something else. The monsters might not be real. They might represent some other threat—an enemy of the Order.”

“Like Rexol?”

“Him, or others like him.”

“What about the bodies? The killing?”

“Your visions are spawned in the fires of Chaos, Cassandra. Until you learn to control them, they will always end in violence and death. But that does not mean they will come true.

“Do you want to learn to control your visions?” Nazir continued. “Do you want to learn to use your power as Seer, in the service of the True Gods?”

“Yes, Pontiff. I do. I really do.”

“The training is difficult. It will take many years. You must be certain you are ready.”

“I'm ready, Pontiff,” she insisted, and there was no mistaking the conviction in her voice. “I want to serve the True Gods!”

“We are all merely instruments of their will,” the Pontiff agreed, giving her a warm smile. “I will send word to the Seers. We will begin your training at once.”

With his mystical second sight he didn't need to turn his head to sense Yasmin storming angrily from the dining hall.