Lesson of the Fire (3 page)

He imagined it whole once again.

I will commission a tapestry of the gods
giving the Guardian his tasks, and the Guardian will have my face.
No one will forget Mardux Sven Takraf.

“You will challenge Einar Schwert.”

Sven did not turn to welcome Nightfire. “Of
course, master. Marrish said I would be Mardux. Fraemauna convinced
me. Seruvus stood there, and even the gods must fulfill promises
brought before the Oathbinder.”

Nightfire stood next to Sven, followed his
eyes to the gaps in the ceiling through which the stars shone. He
was a much older man. His hair was streaked gray and black, his
skin much paler than Sven’s for lack of sun. Under his cloak, he
wore an outfit similar to Sven’s, and he had not brought his
marsord with him, either.

There are no Drakes in
Domus Palus,
Sven thought,
and Nightfire is a scholar, not a
magocrat.

He noticed that his master’s companion had
joined them. Katla Duxpite was Sven’s green-eyed sister and four
years his senior. She had worn the red a year longer than Sven.
Education had transformed her as it had him, but in different ways,
and they had barely spoken since Tortz.

“Weard Schwert is not your enemy. What will
you do when you are Mardux that he would not do?” Nightfire asked
softly.

“Unite Marrishland. Defeat the Mass. As the
gods said I should.” Sven couldn’t keep the hesitation from his
voice.

“And?”

Sven met his master’s piercing green eyes.
“And they said I will succeed you.”

“You cannot be the arbiter if you are the
Mardux.”

“I will change the Law. I will remove the
distinction between magocrat and mundane.”

“Did the gods truly ask for that?”

“It is necessary.”
They implied it.
They
want it.

Nightfire frowned deeply. He took several
steps away from Sven and turned around.

“You asked to see me. What is it you
want?”

“I need your support when I take the Chair
tomorrow. No one must doubt I am the Guardian.”

“You speak as though you have already crushed
your enemies!” Katla snapped.

Sven ignored her.
Her master is no threat without Volund.
“I have told you this day would come,
master.”

Nightfire shook his head. “As many times as I
have supported you, Sven, you know I cannot take a side in
this.”

“Then tell me about Einar Schwert. You say he
is not my enemy. Why does he seek the Chair?”

Nightfire glanced at Katla, and they sighed
almost in unison.

“Please join us, Sven,” Katla said finally
with a weak smile. “We have some soup.”

Chapter 3

“
Auburn is for Wisdom. Few Mar can use Wisdom
well, but its power is that of illusion and deception. Though it
may not seem as practical as Energy, Power or Vitality, do not
underestimate Wisdom’s power. Farl enchanters ruled kingdoms in
Flecterra on the strength of their command of Wisdom.”

— Nightfire Tradition,

Nightfire’s Magical Primer

Einar, wearing a new red cloak, regarded Sven
coolly from the other end of the walkway. His marsord hung at his
right knee, the gouger and hilt peeking out through the gap in the
front of his cloak.

An overcast sky hid the noon sun. The six
reds and Robert stood between Sven and the temple. The Duxess of
Pidel and the Duxes of Skrem, Gunne, Piljerka and Wasfal, as well
as Dux Feiglin and his son — the entire Council — blocked the way
to the Citadel. Nightfire and Katla stood to the right of the
Council.

“Weard Takraf,” Einar said, drawing his
weapon slowly and examining the saw-toothed hacker. “I warn you to
step down. You are a legend whose blood I do not want on my
hands.”

Sven’s gaze never left Einar, though he
adjusted the leather gloves on his hands. “Weard Schwert, I admire
your devotion to principles so much like mine, but I must be
Mardux.”

Einar nodded and extended the marsord toward
Sven in challenge. “Then let the duel begin.”

Einar’s approach to duels, Sven had found out
at dinner the previous night, was an enhanced warrior gambit. Power
to strengthen the sword and his body, and increased speed to get to
his opponent before a spell was cast. Sven had devised a defense.
Before Einar even moved, he set a spell his opponent would trigger.
Einar rushed him, raw force surrounding the blade, feet leaving a
trail of lightning on the ground. Sven built a shield of force and
braced himself. The two crashed into each other in a blaze of blue
motes, but the force of Einar’s rush threw Sven backward.

He rolled to his feet even as Einar brought
the gouger down on his back, below his ribs.

Sven gasped, fell down and rolled over. A
healing spell began as flames crackled in the air, aimed at his
opponent’s midsection, but Einar had moved in a flicker.

Sven’s triggered spell struck Einar blind.
Momentarily confused, he froze, and Sven used that moment to heal
himself fully.

Einar began the counterspell, but Sven,
anticipating it, twisted and corrupted it delicately. Einar
regained his sight, but now he saw six Svens standing before him,
none of them real.

Abandoning his enhanced warrior gambit, Einar
launched spheres of fire at the illusions Sven had placed in his
mind, forcing Nightfire and the other reds to counter the attacks
before they hit the audience of greens and blues below. Using this
moment of uncertainty, Sven added more subtle components, though he
felt the strain of working with illusions in spite of his
preparations. The Mar were weakest with those parts of the myst,
and using them quickly tired a wizard.

To all appearances, Einar stood in one place,
completely immobilized by the phantasms of his corrupted spell.
Sven locked a shell of countermagic around his uninjured opponent.
A murmur drifted through the crowd as Sven casually took off his
gloves and plucked Einar’s marsord from clutching fingers. Even the
other eighth-degrees seemed ill at ease.

They are uncertain of what I have done.

Sven ceased gathering the myst, turning the
marsord over in his hands absently. The sword had a blade on either
side of the hilt. The longer blade, known as the hacker, was
serrated on one side and finely honed on the other. The shorter
blade, or gouger, was thicker with grooves on it to let blood
drain. It was a weapon for use against Mar, Drake or swamp. Sven
wiped his blood off the gouger.

He knew he possessed the power to kill this
man. It was the way of duels. No one was foolish enough to leave a
rival alive.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ari lean
forward in anticipation of the inevitable.

What interest do you have in this man?

Sven looked at Einar carefully — the aged
face, the brown eyes, the grey hair. The red cloak was still clean
and free of wrinkles. He checked his magic. The illusion would fade
soon — half a minute, at most. He would have to choose quickly.
Last night, in talking with Nightfire and Katla, he had learned
much more about Einar than his fighting style, and even then, knew
what he would do if his gambit worked today.

You guarded our frontier once before. I will
give you a chance to do so again.

Sven placed the tip of the marsord against
Einar’s chest, prepared to summon magic if the man resisted, and
waited. The crowd held its breath, watching him and looking for the
killing blow. Einar came to his senses with a jolt, eyes wide in
shock.

“How did you ...?”

“Einar Schwert, you are defeated. Yield.”

Einar attempted to cast a spell, but the
shell held his magic at bay. He stared hard at Sven.

What are you thinking, old
man?
Sven kept his face passive.
Are you thinking, why would Sven Takraf want the
Chair? Or why tell me to yield if you are going to kill me
anyway?

Finally Einar nodded. “You have indeed bested
me, Weard Takraf. The Chair is yours if you can hold it against
them.”

Sven did not stir. “Swear your loyalty to
me.”

The crowd murmured. Robert whispered
something furiously to the other eighth-degree wizards.

“I understand.” Einar raised his right hand
solemnly. “By the Oathbinder, and Marrish, my patron, I swear my
fealty to you, Sven Takraf, Guardian of Marrishland.”

The signs are everywhere! How many others
have noted them as he has?

Sven removed the blade and returned it. “You
serve your patron loyally, Weard Schwert.”

Einar stepped back and out of Sven’s way.
Sven stuffed the gloves behind his utility vest and drew out
another pair from the pouch at his side.

As he put them on, he met Nightfire’s eyes,
skimmed past the Duxess of Pidel and the duxes of the southern
duxies and rested on Dux Volund Feiglin. Volund glared back in
undisguised fury and prodded his son, Ketil, forward.

Sven deliberately turned his back on Ketil
and spoke to the remaining six reds.

“Who disputes my ascent? Step forward and
speak.”

Solvi looked past his shoulder at the spurned
dux’s son and stepped forward with a confident smile. Vigfus’ smile
had finally reached his eyes. Sven sized up his opponent,
considering this man’s value to his plan. Alive, Solvi would turn
against him someday. Dead, then. But … Sven steeled himself.

You will make a valuable lesson for my
enemies.

“I warn you, Weard Zorn,” Sven said coldly,
stretching his fingers out in front of him. “Yours will not be the
fate of Weard Schwert if you oppose me. Step down and swear fealty
to me, and I will spare you.”

Solvi sneered. “You may have survived Tortz,
but you will not survive me, now that you have exhausted yourself
with farl tricks.”

Sven kept his left hand up, stretching the
fingers wider. “Then let the duel begin.”

Solvi was still readying his first attack as
Sven closed his hand into a fist and a green beam of fire burned
into his challenger’s throat, melting it closed. Solvi clutched at
his neck, all thought of attack forgotten. He mended his windpipe
and prepared to throw up a hasty defense. Sven didn’t wait for
him.

Slices of fire slapped off Solvi’s hands and
cauterized his wrists. Tiny beams of light burned out his eyes.
Invisible hammers snapped his shinbones and kneecaps. Knives of
force filleted his skin. Bolt after bolt of intensely focused
energy struck the wizard, hacking him limb from limb. The smell of
burnt flesh made Sven gag. Ari whimpered. Someone at the edge of
the square vomited.

They have seen my mercy. Now I will live up
to my reputation for ruthlessness.

Numbly, Sven continued. After the eighth or
ninth bolt of fire, the man was surely dead. But he continued until
there was little more than a steaming pile of burnt flesh bubbling
on the walkway.

Sven stripped off his gloves to dead silence
and stuffed them behind his vest, retrieving a fresh pair from a
pouch at his side. He turned to the other five reds. He could see
the uncertainty on their faces and knew the reason why. Wizards
never put on such displays when fighting for the Chair, because it
was imperative they save their strength for the large number of
challengers they might face. The use of illusions to subdue an
opponent would have worn out all but the most powerful wizards. To
win the second duel so flamboyantly might be possible for the
strongest magic-wielders, but afterward, a green could defeat
them.

And they are right. The duel with Einar
should have left me too weak to set dry tinder alight.

“Are there any others who would challenge my
authority?” he demanded. His voice could have frozen the swamp.

Prodded by his comrades, Horik stepped
forward hesitantly.

They test me,
Sven thought.

He allowed Horik two nervous steps, and the
challenger was looking back at his companions when Sven struck. The
melon-sized fireball made barely a noise as it struck, leaving
sparks licking the other wizards’ robes. A headless Horik Neid
slumped at their feet. Ari turned and vomited.

“A challenge must be issued!” Volund
exclaimed. “That was cold-blooded murder, and the weard should be
tried for it.”

From his place at the back of the pack of
reds, Robert granted Sven a small smile.

I learned your lessons, but I was never your
pupil.

Sven turned away from Robert to face
Volund.

Nightfire spoke. “Weard Takraf issued the
challenge. Weard Neid took the step forward. The Law says nothing
about waiting for your opponent to be ready. That is a courtesy
developed from centuries of challenges.” He glared at Sven.

Courtesies are well and
good, but the Law is the part you must follow,
Sven thought. He considered if they would change the Law for
this.

It will do them no good, for I will change
the Law more dramatically.

“We will be back tomorrow,” Volund said.

“Then you will lose another of your sons to
me, Dux Feiglin,” Sven replied disinterestedly.

Ketil shivered, turned to his father and
whispered hurriedly in his ear. Volund slapped his son away. He
made no effort to mask his hatred. “We will be back tomorrow.”

Volund grabbed Ketil by the arm and stalked
away. Sven waited as the carrion eaters passed him to follow the
dux. Vigfus offered him a shaky grin while sweat poured off his
brow. Arnora nodded respectfully, and Valgird ignored him. Ari’s
head was bent in almost supplication, but Robert met Sven’s eyes
with a knowing smile that sent a chill down his spine.

Yellow-garbed priests took the bodies of
Solvi and Horik. Sven started toward the citadel, but Katla
approached him in the middle of the walkway. The audience remained
hushed, and even Nightfire seemed on his heels, ready to stop what
appeared to be a challenge.