Lesson of the Fire

  The yellow raised her hand to him. “By the Oathbinder and Fraemauna, my patroness, I vow to serve and obey you, Dux Horsa Verifien. May Fraemauna grant you wisdom.”

  The yellow withdrew, but the other magocrats formed a procession, each one swearing fealty to him and offering him the blessings of their divine patrons. Horsa accepted their loyalty numbly, torn between shock and grief.

  What a sad sight I must be, he thought. Dux Weinen, they should call me — “the weeping general.”

  The oaths and blessings continued all afternoon and late into the night. Shortly before dawn, a thunderstorm swept down from the north, and the magocrats all declared it a sign of Marrish’s approval of the new dux’s rule.

  Horsa wasn’t so sure.

  * * *

  The Delegates were locked in a power struggle, though Katla doubted any other Mar would have been able to tell. The courtesies were there — the little rituals that held the Mass together in an allied whole — but every suggestion sparked a fierce debate between those who supported Doh Zue Sah as chair of the Delegates and those who opposed her decision to continue the war against the Mar.

  She wanted to gloat. She had helped foster this chaos.

  The Delegates’ Tent was much more crowded today than it had been when Katla first arrived. In the past months, delegates had trickled in to voice their concerns before Doh Zue Sah, who manipulated the Delegates deftly at this point — this was her war now. Katla had burned many torches to stubs to make sure everyone was aware of that.

  All of their losses, all of the death, rests at the hands of Zue Sah.

  She smiled grimly at the striped guer as she entered the tent, escorted by her Hue honor guard. Today, three more waves had begun the march south, and the Thirtieth Wave had begun mobilizing.

  The tent was full: all thirty-five tribes of spiny-tailed guer had delegates in the Delegates’ Tent. The regular doling out of unpleasant duties to those tribes who had no delegates present had seen to that. One jabber guer delegate was here, for the others had been eager to join their armies in war. Both gobbel delegates — Gue Gue Jue and Hue Tah Heh — had stayed to oppose Koh Zue Ja and the five other ravit delegates who had joined her.

  The delegates from the other four tribes of striped guer were today’s surprise, and their presence was a sure sign that Zue Sah would soon have her authority challenged, or so the captain of her Hue “honor guard” claimed.

  Zue Sah returned Katla’s smile with a flat stare of her own, and rammed her staff firmly into the ground.

  “The Delegates recognize Zoh Lee Zah,” Doh Zue Sah intoned.

  The emaciated spiny-tailed guer stepped forward, and there were murmurs among the delegates. Zoh Lee Zah was dressed in the military uniform of his tribe with badges that marked him as a member of the First Wave, which meant he was the lone survivor of the Mass’s first battle with the Mar — the one the Mardux had ordered teleported back to the Drakes.

  “The Zoh thank Doh Zue Sah and all the Delegates for hearing their concerns. My people are deeply troubled by the events outside of Domus Palus. They have sent me to humbly request that the Delegates intensify the attack on the Yee lands. Yee Seh Tah killed every soldier of the First Wave with an army much smaller than our own, and he did it with few casualties. Zoh Lee Zah lives because Yee Seh Tah wished to use me to convince the Delegates that we cannot win this war. The Zoh believe we can still achieve victory, but we must send all the Waves we can muster.”

  Most of the delegates had stepped forward to speak before Zoh Lee Zah returned to his place among them. If the Zoh had intended that Lee Zah’s speech convince the Mass to redouble its efforts, and Katla wasn’t sure they had, it had the opposite effect.

  Zue Sah allowed another spiny-tailed guer delegate to speak. Of the thirty-five there, Katla knew more than half wanted an end to the war. Zue Sah had to know she was outnumbered. The almost daily votes were getting closer and closer. The arguments were never new.

  But she wielded her staff with brisk, vicious motions, and the spiny-tailed guer delegates opposed to the war spoke one after the other, interminably, until even Katla was bored with their monotonous arguments. Then an eloquent supporter of the war — and Zue Sah — woke everyone up with a crafted, impassioned speech.

  The tactic was brilliant, but Katla, watching the striped guer delegates eye each other, felt it would be too little, too late.

  Hue Tah Heh and Gue Gue Jue had stepped forward to speak when the spiny-tailed tirade had tired, but Zue Sah chose another veteran of the Mass’ invasion: the lame jabber guer Jah Ta Jee. The gobbels held their ground but exchanged glances with each other.

  What is Zue Sah planning here? Katla wondered.

  “The Jah thank Doh Zue Sah and all the Delegates for this audience.” Ta Jee looked around at all the attentive eyes on him. He raised a fist into the air. “The Jah are without fear of death! We have been warriors for as long as the sun has risen and set! The Jah gave five thousand to the First Wave and forty-five thousand to the next nine Waves — our strongest, proudest and bravest warriors.” He glanced at the badged spiny-tailed survivor. “Unlike the Zoh, no Jah warriors tried to surrender to the Yee when the First Wave attacked their great city.”

  Tah Heh and Gue Jue, as well as the other handful of delegates waiting to speak, abruptly stepped back. A spiny-tailed delegate placed a hand on Lee Zah’s shoulder to hold him back, whispering ferociously in his ear.

  Those are the waves that are known to have been destroyed. The next ten, at least, are at the front right now. Ta Jee will call for more waves, again, like Lee Zah did. Except he called out the Zoh.

  Ta Jee was alone in the center of the tent, staring at everyone as his words faded into silence. The rage on his face was marred by the tears in his eyes. He turned to face Zue Sah and squared his shoulders.

  “The Jah are the fiercest of warriors,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Jah Ta Jee cannot offer the Delegates more warriors, because the Jah have no warriors left to give. We are bled dry.”

  He shook in his boots in rage or sadness, Katla couldn’t tell. The jabber had so much pride, and even that had been defeated. In the thick silence, the only sound became the wracking sob of the lone delegate.

  Zue Sah raised the staff, possibly to order Ta Jee to leave the ring. She did not look happy. Before she spoke, two striped guer delegates stepped forward. One quietly bent to remove Ta Jee. The other met Zue Sah’s eyes with a look of imperious arrogance.

  She has no choice, Katla thought. She has lost.

  “The Delegates recognize Due Goh Rue.”

  “The Due thank Doh Zue Sah and all the Delegates for this rare opportunity to speak.”

  The tone was as flat as Doh Zue Sah’s had been, but Katla heard volumes of irritation in her choice of words. Katla had long suspected the striped guer were not capable of a lot of vocal variation, and this confirmed it, in her mind.

  “Due Goh Rue thanks the Jah for their nobility and strength in these dark days. The Due, the Dah and the Doh are troubled by the news coming from the war with the Yee and are disappointed that the Delegates have not, in our opinion, been allowed to do enough to resolve this situation. If the Delegates are restrained in their actions, the blame lies with the Overseer. Before this debate on wartime strategy can continue, Due Goh Rue feels it is necessary for Doh Zue Sah to step down as Overseer of the Delegates.”

  The striped guer stepped back even as one of the other striped guer stepped forward. None of the other delegates moved. Though they had few votes, a striped guer had sat as Overseer for as long as the Drakes had kept records of the Delegates’ membership. No one would think of interfering with a dispute between the leaders of the striped guer. Zue Sah was left with no choice, then, but to give Doh Yue Dee — another delegate from her own tribe — the floor.

  Yue Dee seconded the request, and Zue Sah had to open up the matter for debate. Lee Zah was the only ally the Overseer had left, but he attempted to drag out the debate for as lo
ng as possible. After nearly an hour of exalting Zue Sah without presenting any new arguments, Yue Dee interrupted him.

  “Stop speaking. You insult the Delegates and the process by which we reach decisions, and if Doh Zue Sah has grown so lax in her duties as to allow you to do so, Doh Yue Dee must put an end to it instead.”

  Zue Sah should have reprimanded them; instead, she stood stiff and righteous. Lee Zah’s imploring look was met with the side of her head, and he trailed off and stepped back into his place in the circle as much out of surprise as out of a desire to comply. After that, no one stepped forward to defend Doh Zue Sah, forcing her to call the question. The Delegates removed her and put Due Goh Rue in her place.

  Goh Rue leaned heavily on the staff.

  “The Delegates recognize Yee Ka Lah.”

  Katla jumped. She had not even stepped into the circle. No one had mentioned her name yet today. She stepped forward, unsure as to what the new Overseer wanted. The rest of the delegates stepped back, but Lee Zah bounded forward.

  “The Zoh must insist that this breach of protocol be overturned,” he cried. “The Yee delegate was not in the circle to speak!”

  Goh Rue lifted the staff. “The Zoh delegate will remove himself from the circle.”

  “The Yee are savages who are not interested in truces and refuse to take prisoners!” Lee Zah shouted to anyone but the Overseer. “If the Delegates do not destroy them, what will keep the Yee from invading? We must kill them all! We must kill them or die!”

  Goh Rue gestured, and two striped guer stepped forward to apprehend the raving stinger. Shouting and kicking, they dragged him from the circle.

  All eyes turned to Katla.

  “Yee Ka Lah thanks Due Goh Rue and the Delegates for this chance to speak. The Yee are not savages. The Yee follow their ruler, Yee Seh Tah, with devotion and loyalty. If a truce is made with him, it will be honored.”

  “You may bring him here, to negotiate.”

  Katla smiled wanly and shook her head. “I am here to negotiate on his behalf. You may send one Delegate with me to negotiate with him in the Yee capital.”

  She raised a hand into the silence. “The Yee will continue to kill your peoples until the truce is made! You must call back the waves that left today, cease mobilizing the Thirtieth Wave, and order a retreat of the invading waves from the Yee lands. With this sign of good faith, Yee Seh Tah will be more amenable to a fair negotiation.”

  “And he will not pursue us into our lands?”

  “The Yee will not,” Katla said. “You have my word on that.”

  The debate raged until after sunset. When Due Goh Rue at last called for a vote, the gobbels and ravits were the only ones other than Doh Zue Sah who opposed the truce.

  “By a vote of forty in favor and thirteen against, the Delegates have chosen to offer the Yee a truce so both parties can discuss terms of a more lasting peace,” Due Goh Rue announced. She then turned her attention to Katla. “The Delegates expect Yee Ka Lah to remember that while peace is desirable to them, they will not agree to terms that will harm their constituents.”

  Katla met her gaze. “Yee Ka Lah will work diligently to ensure that both parties find the terms of any treaty agreeable to them. Among the Delegates, I represent the interests of the Yee, but among the Yee, I represent the interests of the Delegates.”

  “Then go with the Delegates’ good will, Yee Ka Lah. We will send insero messengers to order the Waves to withdraw from the lands south of the Lapis Amnis. Order your wizards not to pursue them.”

  Katla looked at each delegate in turn and left the Delegates’ Tent. She did not teleport until she was out of their sight, for though all of them knew she was a wizard, some might have regarded it as threatening if she wielded magic in their presence.

  * * *

  “You should not have killed that Traveller,” Ari said, finally breaking the morning silence.

  Robert frowned at him from across the table where the enchanter had set up a recon stone of their own.

  Ari continued. “The Drakes are invading from the north. Wasfal’s army approaches from the east. Does it even matter if they are invading or rescuing? And now a third Mar army from the Duxy of Flasten is less than a day’s march south of here. Someone will certainly have seen the last recon sweeps and triangulated our positions by now. Westward is the Duxy of Domus, and I do not think much of our chances there, either.”

  Robert’s voice betrayed no small amount of annoyance, and given the farl’s usual unshakable demeanor, Ari was certain the enchanter was more worried than he wanted to admit. “Do I have to break your will the way I have broken the others’?”

  Ari looked away, unable to meet Robert’s gaze. “No, Weard Wost.”

  Robert stood up and paced from one end of the room to the other. “Weard Faul, we have been over this a hundred times. We have Mardux Takraf to use as a hostage. His friends and allies will not risk his life by killing me. I am the only one with the antidote to the strange poison that plagues Weard Takraf.”

  Perhaps not the only one, Ari thought, but he stayed silent. The spell nestled beneath the tor buffer, which meant a simple Elements counter couldn’t reach it. It would take both Elements and Presence, which most Mar wouldn’t dare attempt. But I’ve watched you and I’ve learned, and maybe I can wield it well enough to undo your enchantment.

  The victims of the Will-Breaker were easier to free. Robert’s enchantment would only last a span or two without renewal. The enchanter’s mastery of Energy was not nearly as complete as an eighth-degree wizard’s. The spell would fade, and the victims would not, thankfully, remember anything they had witnessed while they were enchanted.

  There may be hope for Einar and Sven yet, which means there may be hope for me.

  Robert turned suddenly to look at the recon stone. He smiled in that way that made Ari uncomfortable. “Come, Weard Faul. Our guests are arriving. Einar, bring me those fine gloves you made for me, and make sure these visitors do not attempt anything foolish.”

  Einar handed the farl a pair of Blosin gloves, which Robert pulled on as he strode out of the large hut. The aged border guardian trailed the enchanter’s steps as if a short rope connected them. Behind them, Ari fingered the gap in the front of his cloak, just above his knee.

  When they reached the village green, four reds and a green — Dux Gruber Ratsell, Horsa Verifien, Nightfire, Arnora Stoltz and Erbark Lasik — waited for them.

  “Weards Wost and Faul,” Arnora said in a level tone. “I accuse you of violating Bera’s Unwritten Laws. These duxes and weards stand as witnesses to this accusation, and Nightfire will try you for your crimes under Mar law.”

  Robert laughed. “Such exalted company we have, Weard Faul! The priest has become a dux, now? Did you kill Ragnar and Volund the way your Mardux killed Horik?”

  Ari’s cloak rustled as he lifted one leg, plunging the short blade of the marsord into the back of Robert’s thigh. The enchanter tried to pull away, but Ari wrapped his left arm around Robert’s shoulders, holding the farl’s back to his chest as he reached for the marsord.

  “I am not sharing your fall,” Ari whispered.

  Gruber and Arnora summoned fire to strike both of them, but Einar stepped in front of them before they could find their marks. He countered most of the attack, but fire licked his cloak.

  Robert snarled in pain and fury and lifted up his hands.

  “Counter the gloves!” Ari shouted at them all.

  It was too late. Erbark moved only a few steps, marsord already out. Nightfire and Horsa did not even move, but they had no doubt begun gathering myst. In mad desperation, Ari reached around Robert and grabbed his wrists.

  Then black tendrils of killing magic lanced out of the Blosin gloves, sweeping and twisting in the air as they chose their targets. Ari closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable.

  Abruptly, Robert’s body crumbled in Ari’s arms. He risked opening one eye.

  The wizards stood staring at him, unharmed b
y the deadly magic. Einar lay on the ground, healing himself. The light had returned to his eyes.

  “What happened?” Ari murmured.

  Everyone turned their attention to Nightfire, who cleared his throat.

  “It would seem the close proximity of Weard Faul’s tor somehow interfered with Weard Wost’s application of morutmanon. This is an unprecedented series of events, but as repeating the experiment in a more controlled environment would be ... problematic, we may never know the cause of what we just witnessed. I will make a note of it for future generations, though.”

  “If Weard Wost’s morutmanon harmed only Weard Faul’s enemies,” Horsa said, “then I suppose that means we are not his enemies.”

  “Had my son not acted when he did, Weard Wost’s morutmanon would likely have killed us all,” Einar said. “According to Vangard’s Rules of Governance, he could demand eight years of service from each of us.”

  “This is true,” Nightfire mused. “In light of that, it is my judgment that Weard Faul was enslaved by Weard Wost’s Will-Breaker and cannot be held responsible for the crimes he committed while under its effects. In exchange, no one serves anyone for eight years. Weard Faul, is this acceptable to you?”

  Ari nodded and drew the marsord. “This is yours, Weard Schwert. I was wrong to take it from you.”

  “I am sorry, son, for everything.”

  “The rightful order is restored and justice reigns again, yes?” Gruber said with mock cheerfulness. “Then we should join our armies and march before the Drakes come any farther south. These two will no doubt bring reinforcements soon, yes?”

  The wizards murmured their agreement and, one by one, vanished into the Tempest, leaving Einar and Ari alone with Robert’s army of confused mundanes armed with wands.

  “Father, even if I had not been there, Robert’s Blosin gloves would not have killed anyone, would they? The morutmanon attacked your enemy instead of his, didn’t they?”