Lesson of the Fire

  Erlend gave a low chuckle. “Your mother could only wait two.”

  Batha smiled. “An’ your father didn’t return with enough meat to feed a mapmaker. Isn’t that right, Littlehart?”

  “The mapmaker was sick! You wouldn’t let him eat any meat!”

  All three of them laughed.

  Erika allowed herself to be distracted by everyone she knew, seeking out friends and family, letting Erbark guide her around to meet people from other towns. As time passed, people left to sleep. Finally, she was left with some of her dearest friends, at a small fire in front of her house.

  “Do the last bit there, dear,” Batha had told her daughter. “It’ll drive him crazy.”

  The soup was at near boiling, the herbs she had gathered on her own added. It was certainly a bowl of flavorful soup, the “love draught” she was supposed to be making him. Would she be able to wait as patiently as him while he waited for the soup to cool?

  Fidelity, respect, patience — these are the things one needed to survive. And to marry.

  Taking a deep breath, she went inside. Tonight ...

  Chapter 9

  “Cyan is for Elements. Often considered a ‘farl magic,’ it is among the most versatile of the myst colors despite its arcane name. Elements can block, modify or counter other spells, which is useful enough when facing an enemy wizard. It also synergizes very well with every other kind of magic, especially Knowledge.”

  — Nightfire Tradition,

  Nightfire’s Magical Primer

  “You should take better care of yourself, Erbark,” Erika said as they went to the front door. “You’re a wizard, remember?”

  He tied a knot in the broken knife belt and reached for his green cloak. “Seems unfair using magic on someone who can’t.”

  “That’s not what I mean. You let Olver beat you broken, and you don’t even heal yourself on the way home?”

  Erbark shrugged. “Pain punishes my mistakes. Scars prove how often I’ve been wrong.”

  “We all earn our legends in different ways,” another voice said from the living area behind them.

  Both of them whirled in surprise.

  Sven sat by the fire, red cloak emblazoned with a broken marsord engulfed by flames. He sat sideways in the chair, watching them. The fire flickered to his left, illuminating half of his face while plunging the other in shadow. He smiled at her — the light side warm and affectionate, the dark side sinister and filled with rage.

  “How have you been, my love?” he asked slowly, as though very weary or uninterested.

  Does he think I’ve been unfaithful? Erika flushed. Not that she hadn’t thought about it, but she knew Erbark would never betray Sven. Would I?

  “Fine, Sven.” Erika shifted nervously. “Where have you been?”

  Sven fingered his red cloak. “Domus Palus.” His right eye caught a glint of firelight, transformed it into an orb of red light to contrast the deep green of his left.

  “Domus Palus?” She was confused.

  “Yes.” He paused. At last, he gave a soft laugh that sounded almost like a rasp. “You might find this hard to believe, Erika, but I am now Mardux.”

  Behind her, Erbark released a held breath. “That explains some things.”

  Sven’s face turned a little to look at him directly, and the shadow clouded his entire face. “Thank you for taking care of my family in my absence, Erbark. I know what it has meant to you.”

  “Will you be here tomorrow?” Erbark asked.

  “Yes. We will talk then.”

  Erbark nodded, turned on his heel and vanished into the night, closing the door behind him.

  Erika swallowed. “If you’ve taken the Chair that means … ”

  Sven nodded grimly. “I preserved one opponent but was forced to slay two others. I have come to take you and Asa to the citadel with me. It might no longer be safe for you here.”

  Her patience slipped. “But we’re comfortable here, Sven. Asa’s playmates are here. I’ve made new friends of all the women at the Academy. I’ve almost finished my studies. And Domus Palus is so far away from Leiben, I’d never get to see my relatives.”

  She knew there had to be a better argument for staying, but she was too angry to come up with any others.

  He shook his head firmly. “That is not important now. My enemies know you are here. They will try to use you and Asa to get to me. I cannot bear to see my family suffer, but nor can I surrender to my opponents. If they captured you and demanded my abdication as ransom, I would be forced to make a choice.”

  Erika began to cry. “Oh Sven, why can’t you ever be happy? Why do you always need something bigger to do? Aren’t we good enough for you?”

  Sven’s green eyes flashed red in the firelight and then changed to an eager green as he wrapped his arms tenderly around her. “Shh. My dear, I am doing this for you, for Asa, for our children’s families. You have to understand. I started the Protectorates to improve the lives of the Mar. Zerst, Leiben, Tortz — they were all kindling for the flame of change. Now, the fires have gotten strong enough that I can add larger logs. I have enkindled the flame of change in Domus Palus in the last several spans. The wet wood is just starting to burn a little. All it needs is someone to fan it, and then real change can happen in Marrishland. But if I leave it unattended, the whole fire will go out, and I’ll have to start again with kindling. I have to bring warmth and illumination to the Mar. It is my destiny!”

  Erika tried to formulate an argument that would sway her single-minded husband, convince him that maybe so much change was not good all at once. But she knew from previous discussions that nothing could convince Sven to abandon his ambitions. He needed evidence, not appeals to tradition or emotion. How, then, could anyone change his mind?

  From the nursery came the frightened squeals of children.

  “Oh by Fraemauna, Asa!” Erika cried.

  Her husband momentarily forgotten, she raced to the door. She yanked it open to find the room filled with smoke. Tendrils of flame snaked up one wooden wall. The children huddled in the opposite corner, sobbing in terror. Asa looked up at her mother in surprise and relief.

  Erika gathered Energy, hurled the magic at the flames to extinguish them. Then she grabbed her daughter in a crushing embrace. “What happened, Asa? How’d the fire start?”

  Asa burst into tears. “It was an accident.”

  Erika ran her fingers through the girl’s hair soothingly. “Tell mommy all about it.”

  The girl spoke between sobs. “We were playing Academy. And I was teaching them magic, but Ottar couldn’t see the myst, so I gave them all torutsen. Then the green motes were all around me, and I got scared, and everything was on fire.”

  “There, there,” Erika said softly, though inside she was as shaken as the children. “Everything is all right, now. We’ll take care of this in the morning. Right now, it’s time for your friends to go home. Their parents will worry about them.”

  Asa nodded weakly.

  The woman addressed the entire nursery. “And I don’t want to catch any of you drinking torutsen again.”

  A six-year-old squirmed. “It was Asa’s idea.”

  “Unn!” Asa moaned, betrayed.

  “Home, all of you,” Sven rumbled from the door.

  “Daddy?!” Asa cried in joy and terror.

  The children scampered past him and out into the night.

  “And Asa.”

  The girl looked up at her father nervously. “Yes, daddy?”

  “You are to go to bed right now. We will discuss your behavior in the morning.”

  Asa hung her head. “Yes, daddy.”

  Erika kissed the girl on the forehead. “You go to sleep. Everything will be all right.”

  Asa nodded and hugged her mother’s neck. Then, not meeting her father’s burning gaze, she retreated to her bedroom, whispering, “I missed you, daddy.”

  Sven examined his wife’s face carefully.

  She did not flinch. “You
could at least have spent a few minutes with her after being away from home for so long.”

  He ignored the comment. “How long has she been playing this game?”

  “The last three months.” Then, bitterly, “If you were at home more, you’d know that.”

  “Three months, and she’s already stealing torutsen and playing with the myst?”

  Erika nodded silently.

  “Where did she learn to use magic?”

  “She’s grown up at a wizards’ academy, surrounded by magic. She’s very bright. It was only a matter of time before she learned to do it herself.”

  “I could get in a lot of trouble if someone found out about this.”

  “Your daughter almost burned to death in your house, and you’re worried about what would happen to you?” she raged, turning her back on him.

  He must have caught the bitterness in her voice, because he softened. “I’m just afraid my enemies will try to do something to her. This might give them an excuse.”

  Then his arms were around her, and his lips pressed against the back of her neck tenderly.

  How can a man so gentle be so cruel?

  “I understand,” she said, even though she really didn’t. She touched the back of his hand with hers, and he clasped it, their fingers weaving together.

  “Then you see why we must go to Domus Palus. I can protect both of you there. I can finish your apprenticeship myself, and we will both work to raise our daughter where it’s safe.”

  Safer than being here where everyone loves you and would never let anything bad happen to her? Erika thought, but his lips were seeking her cheek and then her mouth.

  She turned in his arms and slipped her hands around the back of his neck. His chest pressed against hers as he breathed deeply, inhaling her scent. His boots fell to the floor, and she could hear her own heart pounding in her ears as they made their way to the bedroom.

  “Well? Will you?” he whispered in her ear as the fingers of his left hand kneaded the small of her back.

  She barely heard him as she undid the clasp of his cloak and let the red cloth fall in a bundle at their feet. Her mind was filled with the thought of having him close again.

  He suddenly pulled his head away from hers and studied her face in the darkness. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she knew how they were looking at her — how they were searching for her understanding, her approval.

  She could offer him neither, but she laid one hand on his arm. “I love you, Sven Takraf. I would gladly follow you to the Dead Swamps if you asked.”

  He planted a long, grateful kiss on her mouth. They separated for just a moment to undress.

  His hand touched her bare shoulder. She sighed heavily, which he seemed to mistake for eagerness, for he pulled her close.

  “Please promise you will never leave without warning like that again,” Erika murmured almost absently.

  He froze like a rabbit in the path of a gobbel, and she immediately hated herself for it.

  He recovered quickly. “I promise,” he whispered in her ear.

  But even in the darkness of their bedroom, in the heat of the moment, Erika knew this promise could not bind for long. Her husband was not a guardian of home, hearth and family. He was a visionary, a champion of the Mar and now the Mardux. She had married him thinking she had found a good man, but he had turned out to be a great man, and she couldn’t say whether what she felt was more pride or disappointment at that knowledge.

  Chapter 10

  “Amber is for Knowledge. Knowledge serves two extremely useful functions. First, it can gather a wide variety of information about the physical world, allowing a wizard to view the myst without torutsen, track enemy movements from great distances, and much more. Second, it can be used to create triggers for other spells by reacting to measurable circumstances, granting magical effects rudimentary intelligence.”

  — Nightfire Tradition,

  Nightfire’s Magical Primer

  Katla Duxpite strolled through the halls of Volund’s keep at Flasten Palus as if she did not wish death on every red living there. That it had been built of wood, not stone, was not a reflection of its shortage of wealth or power, she knew, but a purely practical consideration. Flasten Palus was not built on a foundation of coastal-quarried stone as was Domus Palus or Pidel Palus. The Duxy of Flasten was almost entirely a flat marsh reminiscent of the Fens of Reur, but with shallower water. Stone would have sunk into the mud within a decade.

  When I am finished, Volund will wish it had sunk, and him with it, Katla vowed fiercely.

  Flasten’s primary product was wild rice, which had little demand in the rest of Marrishland and virtually none outside of it. By rights, it should have been as much of a poor satellite of Domus as Piljerka, Skrem and Gunne. Volund’s ancestors, in fact, had lived in a glorified grass and mud daub hut for four generations. The only reason it had risen above its obscurity was the “innovation” of Volund’s grandfather, who first hit upon the idea of selling enslaved mundanes captured just beyond Flasten’s boundaries to foreign traders from Manerem and Aflighan.

  Katla could hear arguing voices even from outside the council chamber, and she paused to listen.

  “ … has given us nothing but empty promises for nearly a year, while Sven Takraf’s power grows. When she comes in here, I will … ”

  Katla pushed the door wide open and swept into the room. She fixed her eyes on Vigfus Vielfrae.

  “You will what? Send more greens to abduct a Mardux who surrounds himself with hundreds of yellows?” She snorted in laughter.

  Vigfus said nothing, but Katla now had the attention of the entire room — from Volund and his sons to Arnora, Ari, Valgird and Robert.

  I see you finally exchanged your yellow for red, Robert, she noted absently. Do you think the Mar would salute you if you took the Chair?

  Power slammed the doors shut behind Katla with a boom. She strode toward the long table as she spoke with contempt and anger made all the more convincing because she utterly loathed them all. “While you have been wasting time with your pathetic schemes to corrupt minor bureaucrats in Domus Palus, my master has been holding back the full fury of the Mass with nothing but his honeyed tongue. Do you know what he has promised the Drakes?”

  Volund’s face looked placid, which could only mean he was masking real fury at her tone. Ragnar was less successful at it and seemed on the point of objecting. The other wizards looked serious but clearly took their cues from the dux.

  “Results.” Katla tapped her finger on the table for emphasis. “Duxfest is only two months away — ninety days. Will the Mass get the results it demands of my master, or will hundreds of thousands of Mar die because of your incompetence?” She directed these last words directly at Volund, and his control faltered for just a moment.

  “Weard Duxpite, we appreciate your … perspective on this matter,” the dux managed with a thin smile. “If you would please have a seat, we would be all too happy to discuss our options.”

  Katla wanted to refuse. Brack’s prestige among these wizards granted her considerable influence over them, even if she was only his apprentice. She wanted to hurl more insults at the Dux of Flasten under his own roof.

  She recalled Brack’s words on diplomacy. Pull when they expect you to push, and push when they think you will pull. People are most at your mercy when they think they are directing the negotiations. She sat at the foot of the table.

  Volund folded his hands on the table and tried to look like he was in easy command of the situation. “We do not have the numbers to take the Chair this year. Even if we succeeded, Weard Schwert will only topple whoever defeats Weard Takraf. Nor can we abduct the Mardux or his family unless we can lure them away from their bodyguards. We have no remedies that are within the Law.”

  As if you ever respected the Law! Katla thought fiercely, but she said nothing.

  The dux continued. “We can suggest solutions, but they are all … problematic, from a legal perspective.
Whoever succeeds Sven Takraf on the Chair needs to be sympathetic to our current plight.”

  “You want a Mardux who will grant you amnesty in spite of your crimes,” Katla supplied.

  “Yes.”

  Katla nodded. “That is only fair, though I doubt it will trouble you. Weard Schwert is the only red who openly supports Weard Takraf. Defeat them both, and you will decide who next sits on the Chair.”

  Valgird smiled slightly, as though he thought Volund would pick someone other than one of his own sons for the task.

  Of course, it could happen if some accident befell Ketil before then, Katla mused.

  Volund took a moment before responding. Perhaps he had noticed her knowing smile, too. “We will invade the Takraf Protectorates. Weard Wost assures me he can dismantle the automated defenses, and the handful of lesser wizards the Mardux has charged with protecting it poses no threat to a force of a thousand weards.”

  “And then what?” Katla prompted.

  Volund seemed surprised by this question. “He will not abandon his Protectorates. Even if he does not go there personally, he will send some of his bodyguards in his stead, and that will make him vulnerable.”

  Katla laughed. She couldn’t help herself. Just because Sven doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty doesn’t mean he does it very often. He surely has a contingency for this. But would Volund know this?

  The reds in the room stared at her with a mixture of anger and confusion, and she managed to contain her amusement. “Three seasons! Three seasons, and you still have not gotten past your original solution of abducting the Mardux or someone he cares about?”

  Confusion turned to embarrassment.

  Ragnar retorted hotly, “Would you rather we all teleport into Domus Palus and assassinate him?”

  Don’t even think about it, Katla thought, but instead she spoke with heavy sarcasm. “That is a brilliant idea, Weard Groth! Surely Weard Takraf would never expect you to murder him when he is literally sitting on the Chair.”

  Ragnar stood up, face flushed. “I grow weary of your presumption, Weard Duxpite.”

  “She is right,” Robert said. “The Mardux will have anticipated such a move.”

  Katla stared at the farl, hoping she didn’t look as surprised as she actually was.

  “We could try invading the Duxy of Domus,” Ketil said in a small voice. “He’ll have to defend his territory.”