Lesson of the Fire (59 page)

“Immortal patrons — Marrish, Niminth,
Fraemauna, Sendala, Heliotosis, Swind, Seruvus, Cedar and Her — we
are lost without your aid. Help your people!”

Still, the Mar hesitated.

“Her, give us a sign of your presence!” Sven
shouted.

Please, gods.

Horsa and the last remnants of his priests
took up the cry, unleashing fire and force and morutmanon. The sun
stood still in the sky.

“Cedar, give us a sign of your
presence!”

The Duxess of Pidel and the Duxes of Gunne,
Piljerka and Skrem shouted oaths of fealty to Sven, and massive
trees sprang up from the ground, their branches shielding the Mar
from the insero and ravits above. Sven felt a slight shift in the
battlefield as both sides hesitated slightly in light of this
unusual phenomenon. Even the damnens, on the edge of another roar,
took a collective breath.

“Fraemauna, Sendala and Niminth, give us a
sign of your presence!” he shouted just as the damnens’ roar came
again.

Erbark, Eda and the Dux of Wasfal drew
marsords in unison and assailed the damnens, driving them back for
the first time in memory. The moons danced in the sky. The armies
of Flasten and Domus cheered. The Drakes renewed their assault
without the damnens or insero, compressing the remaining Mar into a
tiny ball.

“Swind, give us a sign of your
presence!”

Einar, Erika, Asfrid and Sigrun reconned,
and a dome of Energy like the Mosquito Shields of the Protectorates
sprang up around the Mar. The Drakes who tried to pass through it
burned, while the wounded Mar within it healed. A warm south wind
stirred Sven’s cloak and drew water from the pools to splash on
cloaks and corpses alike.

“Heliotosis, give us a sign of your
presence!”

The Dux of Wasfal came from the east with
Ari and Arnora and all the other Mar who had opposed the Mardux.
The gobbels and guer grinned, welcoming them as reinforcements, but
Dux Gruber Ratsell gave the order to attack, instead, and the
stingers and jabbers were unprepared for this abrupt flanking
maneuver. An icy gale blew from the north, forcing Drake and Mar
alike to grab shrubs and tree trunks to keep from being knocked
over. The gobbels fled, and the guer trembled.

Sven screamed over the din. “Seruvus, give
us a sign of your presence!”

Bui and Finn and all the adepts,
wand-wielders and mundanes in Marrishland rose up from the mud of
the swamp and struck down tens of thousands of stinger and jabber
guer, and then hundreds of thousands. Thousands of humanoid shapes
formed of brackish water rose with them and struck down Drakes with
liquid fists.

“Marrish, Lord of Wind and Fire, God of
Magic, Father of the Mar, show us a sign of your presence!”

Nightfire took the field with all the
professors and apprentices of his Academy. Cold rage flickered
across his features as they hurled striped guer around like clods
of clay. The sky turned black with thick clouds. Lightning struck
the ground in a hundred places, blasting Drakes to ash where they
stood.

Sven fixed his gaze upon the Mass and
stretched out with both his hands. The black storm clouds broke
open, dropping balls of fire that sucked the moisture from the air.
The water of the swamps rapidly evaporated. The air became choked
with the stench of death as the Mass crumbled before the onslaught
of the gods.

“Praise the gods!” the Mar shouted over the
deafening thunder.

The myst appeared to plain sight, and Sven
blinked, lowering his arms. It stood still, the colors separating
and gathering. Suddenly, it shifted. Cyan and lavender motes
illuminated the dark cyclone, spinning around as though chasing one
another. The pools of water radiated an amber glow and red motes
danced around the grasses and wild rice. The clouds struck the
Drakes with bolts of green lightning.

The Drakes, finally overwhelmed by the
combined attacks of Mar and gods, broke and fled in every
direction. At the north, where most of the Drakes still lived, nine
figures dressed in green, auburn, blue, amber, cyan, lavender,
yellow, red and white cloaks waited for them. The nine gods each
glowed with light corresponding to the color of his cloak, and each
held hands forward, fingers outstretched.

Every wizard on the field of battle
recognized that gesture. Even the mundane — none of whom had
studied the careers of such wizards as Nightfire, Brack, Olaf
Weisht, Asfrid Gegnart and the bare handful of other wizards who
had possessed the power such a gesture represented — had heard the
stories.

The gods’ auras dimmed for just a moment as
the tendrils of black flame leapt from their fingers, the deadly
rivers of magic twisting and shifting like angry serpents as they
struck the fleeing Mass.

The divine morutmanon crackled like bolts of
lightning, held its victims fast and reduced the army to hot ash
that sizzled and steamed as it struck the water below. Then the
spell ended, and stars appeared in broad daylight and fell from the
sky. Where they landed, the legendary hero for whom each star had
been named rose from the swamp and marched forward to join the line
of gods. Sven followed them, surrounding himself with an aura of
flame. Ten thousand heroes formed a long line behind the retreating
Mass.

The Mar blinked in unison at the miraculous
vision, knowing this could not be a mere dream. As they watched,
the gods and stars joined hands, with Marrish at the center of the
line. The two heroes on either end of the long line — Weard
Darflaem and Uneheilich — took a step toward the center, their
bodies merging into their neighbors’. Gradually, all the fallen
heroes became one with either Fraemauna or Cedar. Then the deities
did the same, until Marrish (or was it Nightfire?) stood alone.

Three figures stood before the gods, barring
their way. One was either a farl or a man with the head of an
alligator who held a marsord to Sven’s throat. The other was either
Katla or a woman clad only in mud.

“We have come to beg the gods to show my
children mercy,” Dinah — Katla — said, kneeling before Marrish —
Nightfire. “In return, we have spared Pitt Gematsud’s son — the
Guardian who leads all Mar.”

Domin — Robert — did not kneel, but nor did
he voice any objection.

Marrish held out a hand. “Your offer is
acceptable to me, Dinah. Trouble my people no more, and I will
consent to a truce between us.”

The clouds dispersed. The sun shone down.
The winds stopped. The water and grasses grew still. And the moons
looked on in silence. On the battlefield, the Mar had fallen to
their knees on the dry and cracked ground, shouting prayers of
thanksgiving.

Sven felt the blade move away from his
throat, and then the darkness devoured him.

Did I truly fight Dinah and Domin, or was
that another of Robert’s illusions?

“Why can’t both be true? The moons are
lights in the sky but also gods — crescent or gibbous, but still
the same moon. Life is full of paradoxes. The storyteller is dead,
but the story is alive. Open your eyes, Sven Takraf. Use your
energy. You are not the fuel that everyone feeds on; you are the
fire in the hearts and minds of all Mar.”

The lesson of the fire. I brought Marrish’s
gift of magic to the mundanes. Marrishland is the fuel, not me. I
am the fire who touched each Mar, and now they are fire.

Sven saw the fire in the hearth first as the
room came into focus around him. He sat in a rocking chair,
swaddled in blankets like an infant, and someone had taken his
boots. Sven touched the wood of the chair’s arm and recognized it
immediately as his.

They’ve brought me home. To Leiben.

“Pondr, are you there?” Sven said, his voice
softer than he expected.

There was a whoosh of cloth behind him, and
Erika was at his side, clutching his face to her chest. Sven felt a
child crawling into his lap. He clutched both of them to him with
fingers too weak to hold them tight.

“Erbark,” Erika began, but the warrior was
outside before she could even finish her sentence.

“How long has it been?” Sven whispered
urgently. “The Mass...”

“Has withdrawn, Sven, so don’t set yourself
on fire,” Erika said, easing her hold on him somewhat. “It has been
a month. Ari and Horsa tried everything they could think of to
break the enchantment — magic, morutsen, torutsen. Asa spent days
upon days reading to you and telling you stories. Something worked,
but by all the gods, we have no idea what.”

“Papa,” Asa whispered in one ear. “It was
Pondr’s stories.”

Sven opened his mouth to respond, but the
heavy clomping of many boots interrupted him.

Erika stood up. “Can’t you give him some
time to recover?”

“We will try not to wear him out too much,
but some matters require his immediate attention,” Einar said
behind him. “Is that acceptable, Mardux?”

“Weard Schwert, I am in your debt. Please,
call me Sven, and let me know how I can repay you.”

Sven couldn’t see Einar’s expression, but he
could all but hear the embarrassment. “I took an oath, and I
fulfilled it. You owe your life to Ari and Horsa more than to
me.”

“I owe more debts than I can ever repay,”
Sven murmured.

“Are you strong enough for a brief audience,
Sven?”

“I think so. Turn me around so I can
see.”

Erbark did so, and Sven scanned the crowd
for familiar faces. He saw many.

Nightfire and Bui seemed unchanged, and
Erbark had lost some more hair but otherwise was as he had always
been. Einar looked older, as did Asa, who was much heavier on his
lap than he remembered.

When was the last time she had a chance to
sit on my lap?

Erika and Finn looked fiercer than before.
Duxes Borya Zaghaf, Wolber Verden and Yver Verlren, his vassals,
looked vaguely guilty, but Duxess Glyda Zaun looked upon him with a
mixture of reverence and relief that seemed out of place on her
face. Dux Gruber Ratsell was all smiles, making Sven wonder how
much he owed to Wasfal, after recent events.

Then came the surprises. Horsa wore a red
cloak now, and once Sven determined that Ragnar was not among the
assembled crowd, he felt he already knew the cause. Arnora Stolz
seemed out of place, but she stood at Erbark’s side. Eda Stormgul
was absent, as was Pondr, and Sven wept inside for what he knew
that must mean. Katla was all business, as always, though she
betrayed her nervousness by fiddling with the braided silver and
gold ring on her finger.

He cleared his throat, commanding their
attention. “Who is first?” he croaked.

As the others were looking at each other,
Katla stepped forward, raising her right hand in a gesture of
salute.

“Weard Duxpite, I have yet to repay you for
Tortz, and now I am doubly in your debt. How can I serve you?”

“I come to you as a representative of the
Delegates — the ruling council that commands the Drakes of the Mass
— to discuss terms for a long-lasting peace. The Delegates will
withdraw from all the lands south of the Lapis Amnis, which will
serve as a natural boundary between the Mar and the Drakes. Neither
side is to violate this boundary by building settlements on the
wrong side.”

“This is a matter for the whole Council to
approve, but I would vote in favor of it.”

Sven looked to the duxes and saw no
objections there.

“The Delegates have one other small request.
They would like permission to send an envoy to Domus Palus to
represent the Drakes to the Council as I represent the interests of
the Mar among the Delegates.”

Again, Sven looked to the rest of the
Council. “Is this acceptable to you? A permanent envoy from the
Delegates might help head off future conflicts.”

“It is unprecedented,” Pidel said. “But as
the rules of magic have changed, so too may some of our
customs.”

The other Mar murmured their agreement.

“Let it be as the Council wills,” Sven
murmured, nodding his head.

“I will inform the Delegates,” Katla said as
she stepped back.

Several others stepped forward, but Erika
interposed herself between them and Sven.

“The Mardux needs to rest. The other
petitions can wait until he returns to Domus Palus. Weard Schwert,
you will rule as seneschal in his absence, as the law describes.
Erbark and Arnlaug, rebuild the Protectorates’ recon stones. Bui,
have your draxi set up a visible boundary along the Lapis Amnis.
The war might be officially over, but that doesn’t mean all the
Drakes know that yet. Until the Mardux returns, mourn your dead,
tend your wounded and visit your families.”

Dux Verlren opened his mouth to object but
closed it after a brief glance at Nightfire and the other duxes.
The Mar filed out of the house. Erbark was the last to leave,
closing the door behind him.

“Asa, go to your room. I need to talk to
your father for a little while,” Erika said.

Asa seemed on the point of refusing.

Sven kissed her on the cheek before the
words could leave her mouth. “Do as your mother says.”

Asa stared at him hard as if calculating the
probability of successfully arguing her case, but in the end, she
obeyed. When she was gone, Sven met Erika’s gaze.

“Nothing I say will convince you that I only
did what had to be done,” he said flatly.

“And nothing I say will convince you to give
up the Chair and settle for a quiet life teaching at Nightfire’s
Academy,” she countered with a surprising lack of venom.

Sven cocked his head.

“Volund is dead, and Flasten has chosen your
friend Horsa to rule them. None of the duxes oppose your rule. The
Mass has broken off its invasion and agreed to a truce between
Drakes and Mar. The adepts have proven their value, and it seems
unlikely that magic will ever be the secret power of the wizards
again. What is left to do?”

“Deal with the Drakes out of the lands south
of the Lapis Amnis — the damnens, the ochres, the ravits and the
gobbels. Nurture the diplomatic relations between Mar and Mass. Put
a stop to slave-taking or, at the least, prevent the kind of
slavery that steals a mother from her family.”