Casket of Souls (60 page)

“I must examine him,” Thero told him. “It’s of vital importance to all Rhíminee.”

The man goggled down at Thero. “Of course, my lord! By the Maker, wait there!” He slammed the shutters closed and a moment later flung the front door open and wrung Thero’s hand with tears in his eyes. “Come in! Oh, my lord, how can I ever repay you?”

“No need for that. Just take me to the boy.”

The happy father, who introduced himself as Aman, didn’t appear to be much older than Thero. He led the three of them upstairs to a low-ceilinged bedchamber under the eaves. A plain bedstead covered in bright quilts stood in the center of the room, and beyond it, by the far wall, a young woman knelt on the floor by a little trundle bed, rocking a child in her arms and weeping with what they could now see was joy. The boy looked over her shoulder as they came in, and Thero recognized him at once. It was Mika, sandy-haired and skinny. His eyes, which had been colorless in the mist, were the same clear grey as Seregil’s, Thero saw with an inward thrill.

“There he is, Mama, the wizard I dreamed of!” Mika cried, struggling out of his mother’s arms and coming to stand before Thero. They stared at each other in silence for a moment, then Mika threw his thin arms around the wizard’s waist. “Thank you, sir, for sending me home!”

Thero stroked the child’s hair. “You’re very welcome, Mika.” The sense of magic was much stronger. Two hours ago he hadn’t known the boy existed; now he felt a sense of excitement and recognition he’d never experienced before.

You will know
, Nysander’s voice whispered from his memory.
Just as I knew with you
.

He gently loosened the boy’s grip on his waist and drew his crystal wand, looking for any residual magics. Behind him, Micum and the parents were talking in low voices.

Casting the spell, he drew the sigil over Mika and watched as waves of soft pale light cascaded over the boy, then settled
like a veil and turned silvery white. He touched his wand’s tip to it and felt a tingle of that same familiar magic go up his arm, but with it a jolt of the foul spell that had captured the boy’s soul. For a fleeting instant he saw Atre’s face. The man was laughing with someone as he raised a phial to his lips and drank.

Thero suddenly couldn’t breathe. Hastily jerking the wand back, he cast a sign of warding, then dispelled the sigil. The boy would need cleansing.

Micum hunkered down and held out what appeared to be a cat’s eyetooth. “Mika, you traded with a beggar for this, didn’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” the child replied politely.

Thero took it, but as with the yellow crystal, there was nothing magical about it, nor any trace that there ever had been. But he had a clear vision of the dead yellow tom it had come from, and, more faintly, of Atre having handled it. These objects were not the key, just the bait.

“What did the beggar look like?” he asked.

“She was an old woman, sir, and though she was dirty, she was very kind. She said that was a baby dragon’s tooth.” He looked at his mother’s tear-streaked face. “Did I do wrong?”

His mother fell to her knees beside him and clutched him to her breast again. “No, lovey, no! She was an evil woman, this man says.” She looked gratefully up at Micum. “And he says he and his friends are going to catch her and make her stop hurting children like you. What do you say, child?”

Mika gave them both a solemn little bow. “Thank you, kind sirs.”

Thero smiled. “You’re most welcome, Mika. Can you tell us more about what this old woman looked like?”

“She had a long nose and whiskers on her chin, sir. And things hanging from her belt, skulls and stones and things.”

“Very good. Anything else?”

Mika thought hard. “Just that she smelled of onions.”

Micum chuckled. “That’s a useful detail. Are we done here, Thero?”

“I need a moment alone with the parents and the boy. Will you wait for me downstairs?”

When Micum was gone, Thero turned to the parents. “May I speak with you away from the boy?”

“I don’t want to leave Mika alone,” the mother said, putting an arm around her son’s shoulders.

“We can talk in the sitting room. It’s just across the hall here,” said Aman.

He led Thero into a comfortably furnished chamber. “Please, sit. May I offer you some mead, my lord? I made it myself.”

“Much appreciated.” Thero accepted a cup and sipped politely. “This is excellent! And please, call me Thero. No need for titles.”

“You’re very kind.”

Thero sipped the honey wine politely. “Are you a mead maker by trade, Aman?”

“I am. I have a shop in the Harvest Market.”

“You must do very well.” Thero took another sip, then rested his cup on his knee. “Tell me, when did you know that Mika is wizard-born?”

Aman sighed. “I figured you’d see it.”

“Are there wizards in your family, or your wife’s?”

“Not that we know of, but her great-granddad and my great-great-grandmother were ’faie, so Mika has the blood from both sides. But he’s the only one to show any sign of magic.”

“What have you observed?”

“Well, sometimes things move when he’s in a temper. He sent a bowl flying just last week. And he can turn fire blue if he stares at it hard enough.”

“Why haven’t you presented him at the Orëska House?”

Aman turned the cup in his hands. “He’s our only child, you see. And Yriani couldn’t bear to part with him.”

“Ah, yes. Well, I’m sorry to say this, but if Mika has the ability to move things without any training, then his power is very strong, and unless properly taught, he could hurt people without meaning to as he grows older and his gift more powerful. He might start fires without meaning to, or even kill. A
gift like his won’t just go away. And I’m sure you know that he’ll not have a normal life span. He needs to have contact with his own kind if he’s to be happy.”

Aman stared down at the floor between his bare feet. At last he sighed. “What must we do?”

“I would like to take him on as my apprentice. He would live with me at the Orëska House, but be free to visit you and his mother anytime he likes, so long as it doesn’t interfere with his studies.” He could see the man warring with himself, knowing Thero was right about Mika’s future if he went untrained, but heartbroken at the thought of giving up his son. “A wizard’s apprentice is like his own child, and treated as such. My master was very kind to me, and I would certainly be so with Mika.”

“Is that the real reason you saved him?” Aman asked.

“Not at all. He’s only the first of what I hope are many to be restored.”

“But you’ve only just met him. How do you know if you’ll get on?”

Thero smiled. “A wizard knows when he meets the right child.”

Tears stood in Aman’s eyes. “We only just got him back from the sleeping death. I don’t know what his mother will say. It will break her heart!”

“You and your wife will always be welcome at the House, and Mika can visit at home. Besides, I wouldn’t take him away so abruptly. He’ll need time to get used to the idea, just as you and your wife will. After Mourning Night and the winter festival is soon enough. In the meantime, you will all be my guests from time to time, and I will visit with Mika here, with your kind permission. I can teach him a few of the basics, and help him control his abilities.” Thero set his cup aside and stood up. “But I’m afraid I must have your answer now.”

“He could really kill someone?”

“Untrained wizard-born have no skill at controlling or channeling their powers. And if Mika is spontaneously manifesting that kind of ability at so young an age, then yes, he
will be dangerous and is likely to be killed. You have my oath on it.”

Aman cast an unhappy glance in the direction of the bedchamber, where Mika was chattering away with his mother. Her weeping had turned to laughter. “Not until after the festival? Perhaps that will be enough time for her.”

Thero resisted a loud sigh of relief. “Thank you, Aman. I promise you, Mika will have a very good life with me. I must go now, but I’ll return soon, and ask Mika myself if he wants to be my apprentice. Will you explain it to him in the meantime?”

“I’ll do my best.”

Thero extended his hand and Aman took it. The bargain was struck.

“What took you so long in there?” Micum demanded as they set off down the street.

“Discussing a few last details with the father.”

“Do you think Mika will be all right now?”

“Yes.”

“What did you learn from your magic? I saw the way you reacted.”

Thero explained the brief vision and what he’d felt.

“So we know how to cure Illia!”

“We’ll see.”

Micum’s face fell. “What do you mean by that?”

“The child is wizard-born. That might have had some effect, as well as the conditions under which I released him. He was very confused at first. I more or less told him how to get home. We must keep that in mind with the next one.”

Thero and Micum returned to the inn to find Seregil asleep on the couch and Kari pacing the sitting room carpet. Elsbet was asleep beside Illia. The little girl had been tucked into bed in one of Seregil’s nightshirts.

“Did you find the boy?” Kari asked.

“He’s alive!” Micum said, going to her. “Thero saved him.”

She rested her head on his shoulder as his arms went around her. “Thank the Maker!”

“And Illia?”

“Still the same.”

Thero went to her and took her hand in his. “We
will
save her, Kari. Even if it costs me my own life, I swear to you, we’ll save Illia.”

F
ROM
where she sat her horse in the front ranks that morning, Beka could see Klia just down the line, conferring with the queen and the other officers of her army. Phoria’s gold-chased breastplate and helm glinted in the light, and her tabard was the color of flame. Between that and the great white Skalan stallion she rode, you didn’t need the royal standard to find her in battle. Klia said something to her half sister and Phoria laughed and clapped her on the shoulder. Everyone was in good spirits today. Or almost everyone; down the line Beka could see Danos, grim and haggard as he sat his mount. In recent battles and skirmishes he’d been bold, but not foolish, yet it was clear the disgrace of his family and his severed relationship with Princess Elani weighed heavily on him.

The cold autumn wind off the Inner Sea made the myriad army standards snap on their poles, their varied colors bright against the blue Plenimaran sky. Black-headed gulls sailed overhead, mingling their shrill cries with the hiss of the wind through miles of long dry grass. Before Phoria’s massed army, the rolling hills of the Plenimaran frontier stretched into the distance, becoming foothills and then the jagged mountain ridges of the peninsula that connected Plenimar to the mainland. Between the Skalan army and the crucial pass there, what was left of the Overlord’s army stood in full array.

In less than three months since Klia’s troop had captured the vital ford, Phoria and her combined regiments and
warships had made a concentrated push, decimating the Plenimarans, and driving them back to their own doorstep.

Looking south, Beka could make out Plenimaran warships far out at sea, trying to stop a flotilla of Skala’s navy from making landfall. From this distance they looked like toys in a great tub.

There was movement in the rank behind her. Nyal emerged from the press and reined in his bay beside hers. His dark hair flowed loose beneath his scarred helmet, and Aurënfaie chain mail glittered above the front of his corselet.

“It’s a good day to fight, and good ground,” he remarked.

“It is.”

Their eyes met briefly, conveying all that they could not say here.

“A damn good day!” Sergeant Rylin exclaimed just down the row.

Others started to cheer, but Beka held up her hand for silence.

The Overlord left his lines and rode forward with a phalanx of officers under a flag of parlay. Phoria’s standard-bearer raised another and the queen galloped out with Klia and her guard to speak with him.

“This is it!” someone said among the ranks. “He’s got to capitulate now! We’ve got ’em!”

An excited murmur spread out from there, but Beka kept her eye on the queen. Klia had spent hours with the other officers in Phoria’s tent last night, and come away tight-lipped and silent.

The queen and the Plenimaran Overlord spoke for some time, small figures at this distance deciding whether or not any more blood was to be spilled.

They parted at last and each group rode back to their own lines. Klia rode back to Beka and Nyal, while Phoria remained out in front of the line.

Turning to face her army, Phoria addressed them in a ringing battlefield voice.

“My Skalan brothers and sisters, the Overlord has refused to surrender, despite our greater numbers. This—” She swept a gauntleted hand dismissively at the not inconsiderable
Plenimaran line. “This ragged company is all that stands between us and Benshâl—between us and total victory!”

A great cheer rippled back through the ranks. The queen’s words were passed back over shoulders.