Lesson of the Fire

  Katla nodded.

  “Did it burn them any less because they were important t’us? No, because fire isn’t picky. It isn’t patient. It knows it’ll die if it doesn’t eat, so it burns ev’rythin’ it can. That’s what fire does — it burns for as long as it can.”

  Katla still didn’t understand. She was crying too much.

  Tyra sat on her heels and kissed Katla’s forehead. “Take care of your brother, and keep the fire burning until I get back. You’ve watched me, right? Gentle breaths, first, an’ then bigger ones. Little sticks and then bigger ones, but never too many at once.”

  “But there’s nothin’ left to burn,” Katla objected softly, wiping her cheeks.

  “You have to be like fire, Katla. You have to fin’ somethin’ to burn. But you have to be smarter than fire, too. Don’t burn anythin’ you don’t have to. There’s wood i’the walls, but if you burn it, you’ll let i’the cold. Your blanket will burn, but if you burn it, it can’t keep you warm at night. Fire will burn anything it can. That’s what fire does. You have to tell it what it can burn an’ how fast without lettin’ it go out.”

  Katla nodded her understanding. Then Tyra kissed her again and left the house for the last time. The fire went out a few hours later, and only Pitt’s arrival that night with food and firewood kept both children from dying of starvation or Dinah’s Curse.

  * * *

  I have to control the fire. I have to tell it what it can burn without letting it go out. It can’t stop itself from burning. That’s what fire does — like the Mar, like the Mass, like Sven.

  Katla woke to blistering pain, though the fires were no more. A ravit looked down at her. She opened her mouth to speak, but it hissed at her for silence.

  “Yee Ka Lah, your wounds aren’t healed. You need rest.”

  She squinted painfully against the sun and tried to summon Vitality. There were few burns magic could not heal. Her eyes widened in shock when nothing happened. The ravit shook his head.

  “We have been feeding you morutsen to keep you from hurting yourself.”

  A hundred questions blurred through Katla’s mind, some sincerely curious, others desperately worrying.

  “One of the insero brought you out of the fire before it consumed you, but Yee Roh Yeh was gone. He did not complete his mission, so now the First Wave will march.” The ravit seemed disappointed. “I will not be in it, but I will be in the Twentieth Wave. Will the Yee hold out for that long?”

  And they would not find Brack. Morutmanon made certain of that, too.

  One in a million wizards had the knowledge, discipline and magical strength to wield morutmanon. Sven made wand-like gloves that could mimic it, so in that respect, Katla was stronger than her brother.

  Even the most militant reds largely scoffed at it as senseless overkill. It took too long to master, left the wizard exhausted and barely capable of any further magic and it was no deadlier than a hundred other attack spells that only used one or two magicks.

  Katla knew the truth, though. Weards universally feared anyone who could wield morutmanon — not just because it required incredible skill and dedication, but because of the spell’s legendary ability to recognize spies, traitors and even those who could easily be swayed. Legends claimed it sometimes spared an obvious enemy it knew could be turned or killed a close ally it knew would one day become an enemy.

  And so, proof that I could never convince him to my cause. If it had spared him, instead, I would have gotten a different sort of message.

  Coughing, she asked, “How soon ... ?”

  “No questions now,” another ravit said, gesturing to her guard to leave. This one was older. She crouched down near Katla.

  “Once you have healed yourself, you will accompany the guer in the First Wave when they cross the Fens of Reur. If you kill Yee Seh Tah where Yee Roh Yeh failed, there will be no Twentieth Wave. Does Yee Ka Lah understand?”

  So many questions! How soon will the Mass reach Domus Palus? How much time has passed? Will they ever let me meet with the Delegates?

  The ravit watched her until she nodded, then left. The young guard remained, jabbering in his excitement. He seemed to think the Twentieth Wave would mobilize tomorrow, or in a span. Katla lay there, dredging up patience to cover her anger. Killing this guard would not help her, not now.

  I cannot stop the invasion, but I can deny it surprise, at least.

  When the morutsen finally wore off, she eliminated all signs that she had been burned badly enough to put her life in danger. Then she gathered the myst and fell into the Tempest, ignoring the young ravit’s pleas to take him with her.

  I must get the fire under control.

  Chapter 16

  “Lavender is for Presence. Presence deals with the manipulation of emotions. It is perhaps the most difficult magic for a Mar to use, but the farl enchantresses of Flecterra excel with it. In its simplest form, Presence can attract or repel the attention of those nearby. More advanced applications can generate intense emotions such as fear, love and rage.”

  — Nightfire Tradition,

  Nightfire’s Magical Primer

  Einar checked the spells protecting Zerst, the last stop on his survey. Weard Takraf’s defenses were intact. His twenty representatives in the Protectorates — an amber and some blues, auburns and greens recruited from Nightfire’s Academy and the Academy of Domus Palus — had maintained them dutifully. Einar also noted those wizards were making progress toward educating the people of Zerst, Leiben and six of the other large villages. Hundreds could read and write Mar and Middling Gien relatively well, and soon a few of those would be able to teach others. In Zerst, a tiny handful of students were already beginning to learn the rules and Laws of magic.

  This is Weard Takraf’s real goal, Einar realized. First the Protectorates, and then all of Marrishland.

  He smiled, the creases in his aged face deepening. In two years, maybe three, the Protectorates would graduate more wizards than the Domus Palus Academy, and those wizards had been groomed to teach others.

  Working within the Law, the magocrats cannot touch him. Why has no other Mardux done this before?

  The Mass.

  But the Mass was just a legend — an excuse made by the magocrats like Dux Feiglin to protect their own precious knowledge. It was a religious myth invented by superstitious Mar after the fall of the Gien Empire. It explained why the Drakes had attacked the Giens and why they would never raze Marrishland again.

  According to Asfrid Staute, the amber in charge of Sven’s operations in the Protectorates, Drake attacks were increasing — mostly gobbel raiders with a few spiny-tailed guer. She mentioned it in passing, as if it were no more interesting than another raindrop in the river. The defenses held firm, after all. The Protectorates were the northernmost collective, even farther north than the Duxy of Domus, and yet Drakes had not come within eight miles of one of its villages in at least three years.

  But it is only a matter of perception, Einar thought as he turned his attention to the town’s reconnaissance stone. The Fens of Reur have safe and dangerous times, too. My children learned that at a high price.

  The living things marked on the large, round slab moved in stop-time. Every four minutes, the spell connected to the device scanned the area in a nine-mile radius for all signs of life, especially noting those signatures belonging to Mar and Drakes. And every hour, the device exchanged its reconnaissance with all the other villages, making the Takraf Protectorates so well scouted that Asfrid’s overconfidence seemed understandable.

  From here, I could cast a spell on every Mar on the Morden Moors, if I wanted to.

  Einar suddenly wanted to return to the Fens of Reur and implement these defenses there. His magocrats would have to become as comfortable working with Knowledge and Elements as they were with Energy, but with what he had learned from the Protectorates, the Mar could put an end to all the Drake attacks along Marrishland’s northern border. The damnens could still leave the Dead Swamp
s whenever they wished, but the gobbels? The ravits? The guer? Those threats would end forever.

  Why did the Mardux send me? These defenses could indefinitely hold anything less than a massed invasion of Drakes. Even if the Mass were real, the defenses would slow them down a month or more. Did he hope I would learn enough to retake the Fens of Reur?

  He frowned at the stone in concentration, looking for the answer. The information updated, and Mar went about their daily business.

  Does he not trust me to help him deal with Dux Feiglin and his duxy?

  Suddenly, he had it, and the color drained from his face.

  These defenses are designed to ward off Drakes, not wizards!

  He viewed the myst, studied the patterns of all the spells on the stone. He was no farl enchanter, but he knew Knowledge-based reconnaissance spells could be altered by Elements. Many a magocrat had been defeated by simply mistaking information for truth, and the recon stones were just as vulnerable to misinformation as a wizard.

  The spell radiated along a single plane, several feet above the ground, to a specified diameter. To get around it, simply get above it. Einar smiled grimly at that. A little Power and Mobility to levitate me.

  I could kill one of their sentries and return with no fear, since the spell cannot detect the differences between Mar.

  There is a four-minute lag between updates. With Mobility, I could run the distance in less than that.

  For that matter, I could teleport in.

  The actual defenses were another problem, but Einar saw holes in them as well. They were designed only to attack Drakes and wizards who did not fit certain descriptions. Any mundane army could walk right up to the walls and beat them down. Since wizards were often identified by their cloaks, any wizard who disguised himself with a different color cloak, hooded or grew a beard — Einar shuddered and fingered his bare chin — could easily get inside the defenses.

  And, of course, once inside the walls, the defenses were useless.

  These defenses have too many holes, Einar thought, running a hand through his hair. Can I close some of the biggest ones?

  He knew he couldn’t. Even the simplest of the automated spells demanded such a precise arrangement of Knowledge that only Elements could place the myst in the right shape. The triggered spells themselves weren’t the problem. If he wished, he could incinerate all mundanes in the Protectorates instead of shielding them from Seruvus’ Breath.

  But the triggers are beyond me. I don’t understand the theory behind them well enough to design new ones.

  An apprentice or first-degree threw the myst around indelicately — calling the myst and activating it. Energy made fire. Power was a punch or a wall. Mobility increased speed. But there was so much more to magic than that. More powerful wizards learned to arrange the myst into patterns that changed its behavior — light without heat, lifting instead of pushing, true teleportation. They learned how to call different kinds of myst at the same time, which required an iron will and years of practice. The most powerful spells demanded both, and wizards had spent centuries designing magical applications based on the ways each color of myst behaved when arranged in a particular pattern.

  Where did the Mardux learn to work with Knowledge and Elements like this?

  He gave up the problem as unsolvable, for now. Weard Takraf knew Knowledge better than any wizard Einar had met, so perhaps he would have some ideas.

  * * *

  Ari watched as Robert carefully examined the information his spell had gathered. After a moment, Robert nodded and turned to Valgird.

  “Well?” the gold-burdened wizard asked.

  The enchanter smiled. “It is just as I had expected. Weard Takraf, like all Mar, is not as powerful a wielder of Knowledge as he is of Energy. The defenses of the Protectorates extend only nine miles from the outlying villages.”

  They stood on the northern border of Flasten, facing a broad swath of rolling brown that looked more like mud than water. Black things like sticks occasionally surfaced and made Ari wince, much to Robert’s amusement.

  A hundred low-ranking mercenary wizards stood behind them.

  “Are you certain?” Valgird demanded, gold glinting off his fingers like the sweat shining off his forehead.

  Robert flushed in annoyance, the blood showing clearly through his pale skin. “Yes, yes. I probed to the walls with Knowledge. It was not much more to find the exact spot of the nearest town.”

  “And what are we facing?”

  “If we teleport, nothing. There are no spells functioning within the town walls.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Robert regarded him coolly. “I know these patterns perfectly well. Where do you think your Mardux learned them?”

  Valgird’s brow furrowed, his face a mask of confusion. “Nightfire’s Academy, I had assumed.”

  The farl snorted his contempt. “What they know about Knowledge patterns at Nightfire’s Academy would not fill a thimble. I should know. I taught there for several years.”

  “He was Weard Wost’s student,” Ari supplied. Robert had told him the story when Ari had come to him to learn more about farl magicks — his second apprenticeship. “Back when Weard Takraf was just an apprentice.”

  “I taught him a few simple trigger patterns,” Robert admitted with a nonchalant shrug. “He built the Protectorates on them.”

  “You farls have nothing like these spells protecting your towns,” Valgird objected.

  Robert smiled mysteriously. “We do not need them, but you are correct. Enchanters do not rely on violence to rule, as you do. Just as you Mar are useless with Presence, Knowledge and Wisdom because you have no finesse whatsoever, we have little reason to practice with Power and Energy. I have learned much in my time here, just as my students have learned much from me.” His face clouded. “Unfortunately, not all my students respect the debt they owe me for their success.”

  “You had a falling out?” Valgird asked.

  “You could say that,” Robert said with cold fury. He visibly calmed. “On my mark, Ari will teleport the three of us into the town. You will deal with any physical threats, and I will handle the rest.”

  Ari called the myst for the teleportation. Elements shaped Mobility just so and held it ready. He reveled in how much less exhausting this had become since Robert taught him to hold spells together with Elements instead of relying on the attention-splitting exercises Ari’s teachers had expected of him. Knowledge wrapped itself around the partial spell, calculating distance and finding a safe destination.

  “Dux Feiglin put me in charge of this expedition, Weard Wost,” Valgird grumbled.

  “You are in charge, Weard Geir,” Robert said with a smile. “Lead on. Ari, now.”

  Ari nodded, and Valgird vanished into the Tempest a few seconds before he and Robert followed. By the time they arrived, Valgird had already slaughtered the militia and set half the small village on fire. Ari blanched at the sight of dozens of burning corpses.

  Robert merely clucked his tongue. “Is there any more resistance?”

  “There might be a few waiting in ambush in some of the huts,” Valgird warned. “I will drive them out, though.”

  It was too much on top of the stench of burned flesh. Ari’s stomach heaved, and he fell to his knees vomiting.

  Robert spoke quickly. “No need for that, Weard Geir. I will need a few alive to illustrate a plan of action I believe you might wish to take.”

  “They might have spears, farl,” Valgird said with a laugh.

  If the jibe offended Robert, his voice didn’t betray him. “You killed almost thirty people in the town. There should be about fifty here. Head back to the army and bring enough people forward so the town’s number match the original. The regional recon spell keeps track of the number of Mar in each town, and the sudden disappearance of several dozen citizens will raise an alarm.”

  Valgird shot the enchanter a cold stare but obeyed. Ari wiped vomit from the corner of his mouth wi
th sleeve corner of his cloak and stood up. He followed on Robert’s heels, hoping it would mean seeing fewer corpses.

  Flames licked several grass huts. Ari could hear an old man’s last agonized screams emanating from one of them. Bodies lay charred halfway out of doors, and near many of them was a dead-eyed, terrified child. Only three of the original twelve homes were undamaged.

  With a regretful sigh at the waste of resources, Robert walked the dirt paths between the huts. Mar women and children came out of hiding and followed him, their eyes glazed over as though sleepwalking. With nearly two dozen children and elderly surrounding them, Robert returned to the green, where the last of thirty-six wizards had already begun tearing down the magical defenses with their crude knowledge of Elements.

  “What is this suggested plan of action, Weard Wost?” Valgird asked, joining Ari and Robert. “Does this involve Blosin wands?”

  Robert shrugged. “Somewhat.”

  “And you can maintain this,” Valgird licked his lips, “enchantment until we have captured all the towns in the Protectorates?”

  “This?” Robert gestured at the little gathering of children and greybeards. “This is hardly enchantment. For me, this is as easy as it is for you to lift a heavy rock with Power.”

  Ari knew that was an exaggeration, but not much of one.

  The enchanter gave a little laugh. “I do not intend to maintain it that long, and I do not need to, Weard Geir. Let me show you a little real enchantment. I call it my Will-Breaker.”

  Ari had seen Robert use the spell a hundred times in the Duxy of Wasfal. Dux Ratsell prized the slaves the enchanter made with it. Even if Ari had been able to master Presence and Wisdom to such a degree and weave them together so delicately with Knowledge, Energy and Elements, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t want to.

  From listening to Robert describe it over and over again, though, he knew what happened. Each of those glazed eyes, now watering in terror and shock, faced Domin or Dinah, faced their failures and fears and their deepest secrets. It opened them to deeply rooted suggestions. Robert said Marrishland was a good place for this, because of its rich belief in the pantheon, but Ari always murmured a few words to Marrish and Seruvus to protect him in case Robert chose to use his Will-Breaker on him.