Lesson of the Fire (9 page)

“You are right. This is the most prestigious
academy teaching the art of magic in Marrishland. Every magocrat
would gladly pay the considerable tuition to send his children to
study here, but we only accept the most promising students.”

“Tuition?” Sven asked, repeating the
unfamiliar word precisely.

“Something of value they give us in exchange
for receiving our knowledge.”

“Like metal an’ food? Or coins?”

“Something like that,” Nightfire said with a
slight shrug. “It is our tradition, though, to enroll a small
number of gifted youth from rural villages.”

“Your slaves,” Sven said, surprised by the
anger in his voice.

Nightfire’s eyes glittered with fire for a
moment and then cooled. “Magic is a secret knowledge. The rules for
picking apprentices are very complicated. Those slaves who do not
pass the tests never learn magic.”

“Why didn’t th’other slaves tell me about
the test?”

“They do not know about it. One test is
keeping the existence of the tests a secret from the others. If you
can pass that test, you will receive a chance at education.”

The wizard stood up, his red cloak making
him appear taller and more imposing. His voice took on the
qualities of a seasoned orator. “I warn you the path will not be an
easy one. The rigors of obtaining an education are more than many
can bear, and you must compete with those who have spent the early
years of their lives in learning. No concessions will be made for
your rural upbringing, making your task all the more challenging.
Think long upon the implications of your choice, Sven.” Nightfire
moved to the door. “I will give you three days to decide if you
wish to accept this apprenticeship.”

“I accept it,” Sven said levelly.

Nightfire turned to face him. He waved his
hand in Sven’s face. “This is not a decision to make lightly! There
are responsibilities and implications you cannot even begin to
comprehend unless you are a wizard. And by then, it is too late to
hide in ignorance.”

Sven did not flinch. “I’ve thought about
this long enough, an’ I tell you, I’ll accept your offer. Then I
can return to my home as a wizard who can protect his family from
the trials of the swamp an’ keep magocrats like the ones that took
my mother from makin’ them slaves.”

Nightfire opened his mouth, and then closed
it. At last, he spoke.

“One day, you will think differently, Sven.
Your love for your friends and family and the grudge you bear
magocrats might provide you with the sense of purpose you will need
to succeed in your studies. I will not deprive you of your desire.
But you must still wait a few days before a pair of boots can be
provided for you. If you change your mind, do not hesitate to
refuse my offer.”

* * *

“An’ so Sven Gematsud became Nightfire’s
apprentice. His intelligence an’ enthusiasm served him well i’the
classrooms of the Academy. His warmth an’ energy earned him the
respect an’ love of his fellow students, earnin’ him the nickname
‘Takraf,’ which means ‘energy.’ For eight years, Sven studied at
Nightfire’s side, learnin’ the craft an’ theory of magic. So
absorbed by his studies was Sven, he didn’t notice that no more
slaves had come from Rustiford.”

The Traveller’s story ended, and Einar
realized Sven was gripping the edge of the writing desk with white
knuckles. The chancellor himself wanted to hear more, but was
grateful Pondr had stopped, for Sven’s sake.

“No one tells of your apprenticeship at
Nightfire’s Academy. Or they do, but it is entirely unbelievable.”
The Traveller’s earnest blue eyes watched Sven closely. “I do seek
that margin of truth you discerned in my other story.”

“So I see.” Sven’s eyes hardened. “You
should not try to leave, Traveller. Before you could get far in any
direction, there will be blood spilt.” Sven rose and opened the
door for the man.

As Pondr turned to leave the room, Sven
clapped him on the shoulder. “If only for the satisfaction of
seeing the story unfold before your eyes,” he said with a hard
smile, “you should stay.”

As the man left, Einar stepped forward.
“What is wrong, Mardux?”

Sven’s hands shook as he gripped the back of
a chair. “The Traveller’s story reminded me that I need to leave
Domus Palus for a few days.”

Einar weighed the Mardux with a glance. He
recognized that worried expression, recalled how it had felt on his
own face not so many years ago. “You have a family. You think Dux
Feiglin will try to use them against you.”

Sven nodded mutely and swallowed hard.

“It may be too late,” Einar said, wincing at
the Mardux’s stricken look. “You need to be prepared for that.”

“I will only be gone a few days. As the only
other red in Domus Palus, you will be seneschal in my absence.”

Einar spoke slowly, in awed tones. “I am
honored by your faith in me, Mardux.”

Sven frowned. “Do not mistake my trust as
affection, Weard Schwert. You are a competent man.” He smiled
grimly. “The Oathbinder himself will assure me of your loyalty.
Should you break my trust, I will lay my full wrath upon you, and
this time, I will hand you over to Domin. What, then, have I to
fear from you, Weard Schwert?”

Einar mastered his anger at the insult only
with a force of will. “I will do as you command, Mardux,” he said
stiffly.

“Yes,” was all Sven said, and then he
vanished into the Tempest.

Chapter 8

“
The blue myst is Power. It creates raw
telekinetic force — lifting, carrying, crushing and producing
barriers. Wizards use Power to attack almost as much as they employ
Energy, especially if they intend to capture an opponent. Power is
a versatile tool and the most effective defense against physical
attacks in any wizard’s repertoire.”

— Nightfire Tradition,

Nightfire’s Magical Primer

Erbark Lasik was a formidable man. He
projected “mapmaker” the way a calloused handshake radiated
bootmaker. His broad limbs and careful walk spoke of years fighting
enemies toe to toe. He had the thick black hair and sun-darkened
skin of a mundane from one of the least civilized towns in
Marrishland, but his clean-shaven face proclaimed him a wizard even
if his dark green cloak had not. His brown eyes were fearless and
confident. He had a penchant for speaking only when necessary, and
only his fellow Rustifordians recognized this as something he had
learned since leaving home.

Erbark carried a marsord out of loyalty to
Sven, who had given it to him at the end of his warrior’s
apprenticeship. He only used it where Sven and his conscience
directed, such as when navigating the Morden Moors, or in the
current situation that he found himself in on his way to visit
Sven’s family at Nightfire’s Academy.

“Are you Weard Lasik?” demanded the auburn
standing in Erbark’s path. There was nothing friendly in the man’s
stance.

Erbark nodded once.

“I have a message for Weard Takraf. Could
you take me to his house so I can deliver it?”

“I’ll deliver it.” Erbark caught a movement
out of the corner of his eye but did not turn to look.

“I was instructed to place it in his hands
myself.”

“Then I can’t help you,” Erbark told him,
moving to walk past the auburn.

“Oh, but you can.” The auburn waved a hand,
and four greens moved into the space between the trees. The auburn
smiled. “And you will.”

Erbark took in their cloaks with a glance
and snorted a laugh. None of them carried a weapon. “A few miles
outside of the Academy, and you expect me to be impressed by an
auburn and a few greens?”

The auburn frowned, and the first fist of
Power threw Erbark backward. The warrior tucked himself into a ball
and let its momentum roll him back to his feet. A pillar of fire
erupted in front of him as he reached his feet.

“Alive. Alive!” shouted the auburn.

Erbark took two quick steps and buried his
fist into the stomach of the nearest green, who doubled over and
fell to the ground wheezing as if he’d never encountered physical
pain.

The warrior yanked a flask of torutsen out
of his pocket and pulled the stopper. Another fist of force hit his
hand. The flask somersaulted out of his fingers, its contents
showering the ground. He cursed silently and charged the nearest
green.

Erbark slammed into a wall of Power at full
speed. Despite the spots in his vision, he rolled quickly to one
side and around the barrier. The green on the other side opened her
eyes wide in shock before Erbark smashed her nose. There was a
crack and a splash of blood, and the green clutched her nose with a
moan.

A fist of force struck Erbark in the back,
and he felt a rib crack. He winced but moved around the green with
the broken nose. She abruptly stood up and turned to him with a
smile, the injury healed except for the blood on her cloak.

That’s it,
Erbark thought.
Wear
yourself out healing yourself instead of attacking me.

He drew a javelin from the sheaf on his back
and slammed it into her thigh in a single smooth motion. She howled
in pain and fell to the ground as her bone shattered.

The auburn and the other two greens
surrounded him, and blows fell like rain. The javelins flew from
their band on his back to well out of his reach. His belt of knives
snapped and crawled away into the swamp. Erbark tried to move
forward, but walls of Power blocked him at every turn.

Then the injured greens recovered enough to
join in, lashing at him with whips of Power. One green’s face
scrunched up in concentration, and Erbark’s left arm snapped just
above the elbow. He fought the instinct to curl up on the ground,
knowing it wouldn’t ward off the attacks.

Niminth, you know I
tried
, Erbark prayed silently.

He called the myst — not to soothe his
wounds or attack his enemies, he wasn’t skilled enough to do that
without torutsen, but he could insulate himself. With torutsen, he
could see what he was doing and could have countered the incoming
spells while still using other magic. Blind to the myst, he had to
grope and hope he gathered enough of the right motes. The shell of
countermagic would hold for a minute or two, and that would have to
be enough.

As soon as the fists of Power stopped
striking him, Erbark stood up straight and turned. The greens wore
expressions ranging from surprise to confusion to unmistakable
fear. His gaze fell to the auburn, and Erbark stepped forward, the
wall of Power disintegrating at the touch of his defensive
shell.

The auburn simply sneered. “Five on one, and
you have no magic? You can’t win this fight.”

Erbark smiled grimly. “Try telling a damnen
that.”

The auburn’s eyes widened slightly, and
Erbark used the distraction to close the distance and slam a knee
into the auburn’s groin. His marsord’s gouger bit tender flesh, and
any thought in the auburn’s mind turned to agony.

Erbark didn’t give him a chance to recover.
He grasped the blood-covered hilt and drew the hacker out, pulling
the long blade against his fallen opponent’s throat. Blood sprayed,
then pumped, and finally stopped.

Marsord dripping wizard blood, Erbark rose
and gave his attention to the greens behind him. His lips curled in
a snarl.

“Who’s next?”

The greens fled. With a heavy sigh, Erbark
rummaged through the dead auburn’s pockets. He regretted the
necessity, but the greens might regain their courage. Eventually,
he found the flask of torutsen and took a swallow.

Erbark scanned the myst around him, watching
for any irregularities in the motes’ movement that might indicate a
nearby wizard readying a spell. He saw none, so he released the
countermagic shell and called new magic to heal the worst of his
injuries as he collected his scattered equipment. He got as far as
the broken ribs before the myst stopped answering his call.

He looked at the corpse with a frown.

“I should have tended you first, I know,” he
said softly. “But there is no dry wood out here, so hopefully your
friends will come back after I leave to do the honors.”

He closed the dead man’s eyes and pulled the
edge of the auburn cloak over his face. Wincing at his remaining
injuries, Erbark continued along the path to Nightfire’s
Academy.

The dux’s magocrats are getting bolder,
Sven. I hope you come home soon.

* * *

Erika Unschul watched the flames in the
hearth consume the wood while she waited for the soup in the pot to
boil. She could hear Asa and her friends playing “Academy” in the
nursery. Their muffled voices drifted to Erika.

“Today,” Asa began in her high-pitched,
serious voice, “we are going to learn to use Energy.”

Erika smiled in amusement. Her daughter
reminded her so much of Sven — intelligent, outgoing and eager to
teach whatever she learned. Asa could already read and write
paragraphs in both Mar and Middling Gien, the language the magic
textbooks were written in. Her vocabulary was still quite limited,
but she was only three and a half years old, after all. Yet, the
bright-eyed girl had a fascination with magic that rivaled her
father’s. Already, she made use of most of the words wizards used
to describe their use of magic.

“Energy can be used to make heat or cold,
light or darkness. It is all the green specks in the myst and is
the easiest for a wizard to use.”

“I don’t see nothin’,” complained a young
boy’s voice.

That would be Ottar Verunigsud, the class
skeptic. Ottar was a constant thorn in Asa’s imaginative little
boot, refusing to pretend that her dreamed-up characters and things
were really there. Now, Erika knew, Asa would either find a way to
punish the boy’s honesty or dismiss his opinion completely.