Traitor Savant (Second Seal of the Duelists) (13 page)

Bayan nodded
. He always wanted to watch the hexmagic students hex various objects into existence—and remain past the duration of the magic that formed them—but they rarely did so. They said, teasingly it seemed, that they didn’t want to distract him from the things he needed to learn by making him drool in outright envy. Maybe Master witten Oost employed a similar consideration for the weaker duelists around him—which was everyone.

“I want him to know that
someone isn’t happy with his regime,” Gerrolt continued. “That’s why I’m doing this again. I want to see what he does about it.”

“Gerrolt, be sensible,” Bayan said. “You have trimmers. You’re the Groundsmaster. He’s going to know it was you.”

Gerrolt raised his chin. “If he’s all he says he is, he already knows that.”

And to think I used to consider Gerrolt wise
.
“You could get booted from campus!”

“Yes. Could happen. But I can’t sit here and let my best friend get shipped off like he done. It ain’t right. And if my booting is what it takes to expose witten Oost as a knee-jerk dictator, then so be it. I’m willin’ to take that risk.”

Bayan was torn between his desire to support the campus leaders and his sympathy for Gerrolt’s frame of mind. What wouldn’t he do if he thought Calder had been wrongfully potioneered? Finally, he reached out for the tall flower stalk and held it still.

“What are you doing, son?”

“Helping you. If you get booted, you should leave knowing you have someone who supported you, just as you supported Doc.”

Gerrolt frowned hard, as if swallowing back his feelings, then nodded sharply. “Best work quickly, then. Far be it from me to get the Hero of the Kheerzaal potioneered.”

Bayan did not think they were spotted by anyone as they snipped off the flower heads. But the next morning, when Bayan and his hexmates showed up Avatar Tactics, he stopped short in surprise at the state of the flowerbeds surrounding the building.

They were bare
. Only the pale dirt remained.

The place where
Tala’s hiccups normally lived swarmed with confused bees. She clutched at her stomach as she walked down an outbuilding corridor along the curve of the Temple’s bowl, hoping she wouldn’t throw up. Although, if she was going to spill her breakfast, the Temple Chantery was the place to do it.

She wasn’t
sure what to pray for: that her constant stage fright stopped producing panicked hiccups, leaving her more opportunities to perform terrified in public, or that the chanters told her the hiccups were a permanent mental block and that she would have no choice but to join their ranks. The suspense of not knowing her fate wore constantly on her mind, and Tala couldn’t decide whether to keep hoping for a miracle, or whether hope just hurt too much.

As instructed, s
he approached the front counter inside the Chantery’s spacious foyer and presented herself as a temporary trainee to Choralist Pherenike, the kind-faced Akrestoi woman who oversaw the chanters’ duties. While she waited for the white-robed singer to bring her assigned chanter mentor, she gazed at the extensive crystal collection lining the foyer’s walls. The slender tools were grouped into three sections, one for each of the imperial citizens’ blood types. No doubt they’d been put on display primarily as a show of magical healing power. Tala knew that some of the crystals were also awarded to singers who achieved their solo and duet competencies. Tala despaired of ever holding one herself, or performing any of the duet magic which required one, let alone trio magic or the truly complex choir spells.

A tall, slend
er man with gray hair stepped into the foyer through a curtain made of numerous strands strung with circular discs carved from shells. The Akrestoi singer followed him. In contrast to her white robes, his were brown. Her smile was gone, and both her gestures and her tone of voice were curt as she directed his attention to Tala. Tala gulped. Had she done something wrong already?

The woman returned to her stool behind the counter, ignoring the man, but h
e approached Tala with a smile. His robes rustled softly in the quiet foyer. He was about a hand taller than she was, and his eyes were a bright Waarden blue, but they crinkled with genuine happiness. “You must be Tala.”

“I am. You’re my mentor?”

“I have that privilege. My name’s Theo Willemsen, but you can call me Doc Theo, or Doc. It’s what all the students at the Duelist Academy call me, and I tell ya, I’ve grown fond of the name.”

Doc Theo
seemed nicer than she’d expected her mentor to be. Somehow, Tala assumed that old chanters must be bitter people. She knew if she had to live in the heart of the Temple and never sing again, she’d go insane with jealousy. Smoothing away her internal turmoil, she smiled up at Doc Theo. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Right this way, then.” He led her into the back of the Chantery, behind
the curtain of white shell discs. The Akrestoi woman didn’t even look up. A few people in brown robes busied themselves with a complex chanting pattern in a spacious room at the end of the long white hall. To Tala’s left and right lay numerous small rooms, all empty at the moment. Each doorway bore dangling strands of shell discs.

Doc Theo
indicated one with an open hand. “Here we have the patient rooms. Whenever someone comes in, we escort them to their own room right away, so they have some privacy. Once we’re inside, we can get a little more detail about what’s wrong, unless it’s something obvious, because their arm got carried in by someone else.”

Tal
a flinched in surprise.

Doc Theo
grimaced in chagrin. “Sorry. That happened occasionally at the Academy, but I guess it won’t be much of a problem here. From what I’ve healed so far, it seems the Temple Chanter deals with a lot of strained vocal cords and dehydration. Pretty standard fare for people who sing a lot and don’t drink enough water. Don’t think they don’t whine just as much as the duelists whose bones are showing, though. Pain is pain, and whether you think your patient is actin’ like a baby or the most stoic hero you’ve ever seen, your job is to do the healing and treat them with professional courtesy.”

Tala nodded, but her gaze slid back toward the outer curtain.

“What is it?” Doc Theo prompted.

Tala stepped further down the hallway.
“Um, chanters… I’ve heard the other students speak poorly of them. Is that… I mean… The singer out there, she didn’t seem to… If I end up being a chanter too… ”

Doc Theo
’s frown cleared. Apparently he’d inferred her concern. “All a matter of perspective. Here in the Temple, everyone assumes everyone else can sing. If you cain’t do that, you’re seen as less important. But. And this is a big but. The rest of the empire couldn’t tell a singer from a fishwife—and that’s the Temple’s own fault, and another issue entirely—so when they learn you can chant their hurts away, they’re happier to see you than their own best friend. Things have a way of working out: singers stay here with their own, and chanters get to travel the empire and be useful and feel appreciated. You’ll find your place.”

Tala nodded, feeling some of the weight
lift from her mind.

“Now, you’ll need a crystal to do your healing. I’m guessin
g, since you’re here to train with me, that you’ve never worked with one before.”

Tala shook her head, feeling her cheeks flush.

Doc Theo didn’t seem to notice. “Then this is your lucky day! The students who’re doing well in your classes won’t get to touch a crystal for a long time. Now, since we have no patients for me to demonstrate on, we’ll have to get a volunteer. Don’t worry, that’ll be me. But we also need to head back out to the foyer and pick us a crystal.”

Tala followed
Doc Theo back to the foyer. The Akrestoi looked up sharply, but said nothing. Her seeming surprise left Tala wondering if Doc Theo were changing the standard training procedures. She hoped he didn’t get himself—or her—in trouble. She stared at the walls laden with crystal segments in various lengths, from the width of her palm to the length of her forearm. Most were clear, but some bore colors, either bright or subtle. How to choose? Feeling underqualified to choose the best crystal out of hundreds, Tala hung back, but Doc Theo gave her a gentle nudge toward the wall.

“They’re all good. Chanter-made.
Find the section for your blood type, and take the one you like best.”

Tala approached the
Waarden-labeled section of the glittering wall and examined the row of crystals at eye height. She decided to choose one with a faint pink hue. She slid it out of its wooden holder and showed it to Doc Theo.

He took it and examined it closely. “Good choice. Contrary to popular belief, the best crystals aren’t
fat; they’re long and slender. This is a good, long one. Plenty of resonance. Why don’t you escort me back to a room, and we’ll see how this goes?”

Tala gulped. “Well, then,
Doc Theo, please come with me, and we’ll get you all taken care of,” she said, in her first attempt at being a solicitous chanter. She led the way through two sets of shell-disc curtains and drew him into the first patient room on the left. He draped a lanky leg over a corner of the tall cot and handed her the pink crystal.

“Everyone here at the Temple knows their blood type, but out in the empire, there are lots of
people just living their lives who’ve never been to a chanter. They might not even know about differences between one blood and another. If one of your patients doesn’t know their type, you’ll need to use a crystal from each blood category to figure out which one will heal them. Can you guess which one we always use first?”

“Waarden.”

“Good. The Waarden blood type is a dominant trait, passed down from parent to child. If just one parent has Waarden blood, all their children will, too.”

Tala
nodded. Her absent father had been Waarden. Back in Balanganam, it had made her stand out. She was taller, her skin and hair lighter. Some children in town had wanted to befriend her, others had distanced themselves. Such mixed popularity, just because of her mixed blood.

“If their blood ain’t Waarden, then the two Commons come next. First the Nort
hern, then the Southern. I allus remember it alphabetically: N before S. Test your patients this way every time. Can you remember that?”

“Yes, sir.” Her parents’ blood types made her come f
irst and last at the same time. That sounded about right.

“
All right, then. I need to give myself a nick so we have something to heal.” He drew a short utility knife from his belt and tugged its blade across the palm of his left hand, cutting a red line that welled with blood. He tucked his knife away and took Tala’s pink crystal. “The key is constant pitch. Every chanter has his or her own neutral pitch. It’s the same one you speak with when you’re not thinkin’ about speaking. Kinda like mumbling to yourself. You’ll want to practice finding that neutral pitch and chanting in it, even without a crystal. And then you just need to memorize the rhythm. It doesn’t matter what sound your mouth makes when you chant, as long as it doesn’t interfere with the rhythm and doesn’t raise or lower your pitch. Listen to mine, and you’ll see what I mean.”

He held the crystal with a bent arm, so his voice would resonate direct
ly into its glittering matrix, and began to chant. The pattern was easy to pick out; a simple repetition of four short beats, then two long beats. The skin on Doc Theo’s hand closed, leaving only a thin red smear across the center of his palm.

Tala gave an impressed smile and brushed her finger against
his palm. No wound remained. “That was very nice. May I try?”

His gray eyebrows rose. “If you think you have the pattern. You sure you don’t want me to do it a second time?”

She shook her head. He drew the knife again and put it against his palm, but she stopped him before he could draw blood.

“Let me try it on myself. I’ll be more motivated to get it right.”

He lifted the corner of his mouth and nodded at her, then passed the knife. She bit her lip and hesitated as the blade rested against her skin. How hard it was to purposely damage her own skin! With a frown of concentration, she dragged the blade across her flesh with a quick jerk.

“Ay!
” she hissed, unable to stop herself. She looked at her wound and was embarrassed to see it was barely more than a scratch. It felt like she’d cut her hand in half.

“It’ll do
.” Doc Theo traded the knife in her hand for the crystal. “Hold it up so nothing’s between its long side and your mouth, and try to block out everything except the rhythm. Sints forbid you ever have to chant in the middle of a battlefield, but trust me, you’ll want to know how to focus.”

Tala gulped again. Lines of pain shot up her arm from the
slice in her skin. Blood finally welled up in the center of the cut. She positioned the pink crystal before her face, right over her palm, and recalled the pattern Doc Theo had chanted. Her first attempt faltered when she had to stop and clear her throat, and her second failed when she realized she was trying to force her neutral pitch up a step and a half. Frustrated, she flapped her lips and produced a few nonsense noises, seeking her true neutral pitch, then segued right into the four-and-two chant.

The hole in her skin closed up with the tiniest of tingles
. Tala let out a squeal of delight. “I did it! I did magic!” Jumping in place, she turned a full circle, whooping, then handed the crystal back to Doc Theo. “Did you see that? Finally, I—” She stopped, stunned.

“You what?”

Her wide eyes found his face. “I didn’t hiccup. Not even once.”

Doc Theo
smiled. “They told me you had performance anxiety issues, but I didn’t see any. And your grasp of rhythm is perfect. I don’t see any reason why you can’t beat those hiccups and become a great singer someday.”

Tala
bit her lip. “You really think I can be a singer, not just a chanter?”

Doc Theo
bent forward with an intent look. “I know it.”

Her shoulders relaxed, releasing tension she hadn’t known she h
eld. Doc Theo reminded her of her favorite uncle back home. If she did, Bhattara save her, end up becoming a chanter, she might not mind so much if she could train and work with Doc Theo.

“I can tutor you a bit on the side, if you like,” he said, as if reading her mind.

“Would you? I mean… can you? With singing magic?” She winced, hoping her words didn’t offend.

H
e only smiled. “
You
know the songs. But
I
can help you sing them. A singer must believe she can sing anywhere and anytime, because when you’re a singer, you’ll have to be ready for all sorts of scenarios. You’ll need to know you can trust your voice, and that others can trust you. It’s not hard. I see a lot of talent in you. It’s just a matter of learning a different kind of spell.”

“What kind is that?”

That bright, easy grin returned. “A spell to chase away hiccups.”