Lesson of the Fire (32 page)

— Nightfire Tradition,

Vangard’s Rules in Practice

The living area of Brand’s
home had been converted from a schoolroom to a courtroom.
Nightfire’s lined face looked grave as Sven entered with Katla. He
was sitting in a rocking chair, which spoiled this effect somewhat.
The ancient red with the gold and silver ring sat on a three-legged
stool to Nightfire’s left, leaning heavily on his gnarled cane. Dux
Volund Feiglin stood next to the stool, leaning against the wall
near the hearth where a fire burned too much peat and the remnants
of …
is that a broken crib?

There was no sign of Erbark or Erika — or
anyone else, for that matter.

They think I am alone, but I am never truly
alone.

“Weard Takraf, stand before us,” Nightfire
addressed him.

Sven obeyed without hesitation.

“You have been accused of very serious
crimes, including capital offenses. Do you understand?” Nightfire
asked, voice deadly serious.

Sven nodded. “I accept any trial to which
the gods subject me, master.” He raised his hand in salute. “By the
Oathbinder and my patrons, I will be worthy of this trial.”

Nightfire rocked back
slightly, frowning. By the fire, Volund failed to suppress a small,
satisfied smile. His shadow from the fireplace flickered against
the wall. The ancient red leaning on his cane remained utterly
neutral and utterly still, as if made of stone.
Who is he?

Suddenly, Katla was at Sven’s side. “Weard
Takraf cannot defend himself in his present condition.”

“Who will represent him then?” the ancient
red asked.

Even in his dazed state,
Sven recognized the rhetorical question. Only a wizard could
represent a wizard, and all but one was already involved
here.
Did Nightfire choose to bring my
sister, or did my patrons?
He wasn’t sure
there was any difference.

Nightfire spoke. “Weard Katla Duxpite, you
will speak for Weard Takraf. Dux Volund Feiglin brings these
accusations. Master Brack will speak for Dinah and Domin. As Master
Nightfire, I will speak for Seruvus and the Law.”

That’s Brack — the dark wizard who commands
the Mass?

Katla saluted. “By the Oathbinder I swear to
defend the accused as best I can.”

“Dux Feiglin, bring your accusations against
Weard Takraf,” Nightfire said.

Volund stood up but didn’t move away from
the fire. “Weard Takraf has broken Bera’s Unwritten Laws. He has
broken his oath of fealty to the Duxy of Flasten. He has broken the
Morden Accords by setting himself up as a dux on the Morden Moors.”
The dux took a sharp breath and said nothing for a long while. When
he spoke again, his voice and hands shook with rage, and he had to
lean against the wall for support. “Finally, he and his accomplices
murdered fifty-one of my magocrats, including Weard Arnlaug
Saugen.”

“What of all the mundanes who marched with
him?” Sven asked mildly. “Or do their deaths not matter?”

Katla gasped. Nightfire frowned.

Volund took a step forward, his face twisted
in rage. “You will pay as Brand did!”

“Peace, both of you!” Nightfire said. He
shot a glare at the dux. “And if you touch the myst again before
this trial is over, I will administer the morutsen personally.” He
took in the whole room. “That goes for all of you. Weard Duxpite,
speak for the accused.”

“Yes, master,” Katla said, sounding
embarrassed, almost contrite. “I regret the outburst. Weard Takraf,
please have a seat over there and say nothing without instruction
from me.”

Sven opened his mouth to object. He could
certainly defend himself against these ridiculous accusations.
Katla placed a finger to his lips and leaned in very close to him.
Her whisper was so soft that he still had to strain to catch all of
it.

Swind’s whisper,
he thought with a small shiver.
Our father’s gift.

“I will save you from this, Sven, but you
must trust me.”

He nodded once and meekly
obeyed, taking a seat on the pile of black cloaks by the door.
Perhaps they had once belonged to the mundanes who had already been
executed — victims of Brand’s folly and the Law that had delayed
Weard’s dream for so long.
Who serves the
mundanes serves the gods.

Katla turned to Nightfire and Brack. She
stood tall, with shoulders back and jaw set. With a voice that
flowed from gentle to hard and back again, she attacked Dux
Feiglin’s accusations ruthlessly — seeking and exploiting
vulnerabilities like an ochre systematically testing magical
defenses.

Brand, Erbark and many others had testified
that Sven had not been involved in teaching magic to mundanes. He
would have brought the crime to Nightfire, but Brand held him
prisoner through a combination of blackmail and direct threats of
force. Even as a captive, Sven had worked tirelessly to bring Tortz
into compliance with the Law — an impossible task under the best of
circumstances, and yet only a handful of Brand’s illegal
apprentices had failed the inquisition.

By the end of it, Nightfire was nodding
along with her. “You are correct, Weard Duxpite. Weard Brand Halfin
has already claimed sole responsibility for this.”

Brack said nothing, but he watched Katla
with rapt attention.

Katla struck the other deadly accusations.
Sven had not sworn fealty to any duxy, least of all Flasten.
Nightfire dismissed that charge as well. That downgraded the
seriousness of the murder charges substantially. If Sven owed no
fealty to Flasten, Dux Feiglin had no power to sentence him. It
would then fall to Nightfire to collect a weregild on Volund’s
behalf.

“While Weard Takraf owed no fealty to
Flasten, he knowingly killed magocrats who did. I cannot accept the
claim that he did not know who his magical traps would harm at the
time he designed and placed them,” Nightfire said, rocking a
little. “As those wizards’ master, Dux Feiglin is entitled to a
weregild from Weard Takraf as compensation for those losses.”

Volund looked at Nightfire with unmasked
fury but said nothing.

Nightfire met Volund’s eye with a placid
expression as he rocked gently. “Dux Feiglin, the next time you
suspect a wizard outside of your jurisdiction has broken Bera’s
Unwritten Laws, you will come to me immediately instead of taking
their enforcement into your own hands. I alone am arbiter when it
comes to judging the Law.”

Sven could see the accusation on Volund’s
lips — bias of a master for an apprentice. Nightfire frowned, and
the dux’s words died in his throat.

“If Tortz lies within the Duxy of Flasten,
Dux Feiglin, justice is still yours,” Brack said, casting an
irritated look at Nightfire. “And if it turns out that Tortz is not
within your duxy, you will receive the maximum possible weregild.
That much I can promise you.” The dark wizard turned his attention
back to Katla. “Weard Duxpite, you have one further accusation to
address before we can pass sentence — one that interests the Mass
greatly.”

“The Morden Accords, yes,” Katla said, and
she sounded uncertain for the first time since entering the house.
“In accordance with an agreement with the Mass, the Morden Moors
are neutral territory. Mar and Drakes may live there, but neither
is to establish a duxy in the region nor add territory there to an
existing duxy. Tortz falls north of the established boundary of the
Morden Moors.”

“Masters, that is not correct,” Volund said
defensively. “The Grenz Verken shifted south only two years ago.
Tortz has long been a part of the Duxy of Flasten.”

Brack frowned at the dux briefly. “We will
save the discussion for why you did not immediately relinquish your
claim over Tortz for another time. Regrettably, she is correct on
this count. Weard Takraf’s crimes did not take place within the
Duxy of Flasten.”

Sven blinked at
that.
Seruvus changed the river’s course
just to place me beyond the reach of my enemy.

Katla spread her hands helplessly. “The
other communities within Weard Takraf’s so-called Protectorates
possess superior magical defenses, but they do not fit the legal
definition of a duxy.”

“How so, Weard Duxpite?” Brack asked, his
eyes intent upon her.

“First, he exacts no tribute from the
mundanes who live in the forty communities there. Second, no other
wizard has sworn fealty to him as his magocrat. To my knowledge,
Weard Takraf is the only wizard acting within the
Protectorates.”

“Weard Halfin admitted to helping him,”
Nightfire observed.

Katla shrugged this off. “He no doubt hoped
Weard Takraf would reveal the secret of those defenses. I suppose
you could declare an inquisition on every village in the
Protectorates.”

Nightfire barked a laugh and rocked
leisurely in the chair. “There must be tens of thousands of people
living on the moors, Weard Duxpite. Brack and I have better things
to do than chase thousands of flimsy accusations.” At a look from
Brack, though, he added, “I will, of course, send some wizards from
my academy to investigate. If they find anything suspicious, I will
take the appropriate action.”

Brack nodded at this, satisfied. “Weard
Duxpite, once Master Nightfire and I have finished our business
here, I would sincerely like to speak to you.” He smiled at her — a
knowing, calculating smile. “You may go now.”

Katla saluted and left without a word.

“Weard Takraf,” Nightfire said. “Stand
before us and receive our judgment.”

Sven rose and obeyed, deliberately ignoring
Dux Feiglin, who was no doubt still fuming.

Nightfire stopped rocking and leaned
forward. “As punishment for your crimes, we levy a weregild of
three hundred ounces of silver, three of gold, or one ton of common
metals.”

“Or three hundred mundane slaves,” Brack
added almost absently.

Sven tensed at the word.

“Or three hundred mundane slaves,” Nightfire
conceded. “Can you pay the weregild you owe Dux Volund Feiglin,
Weard Takraf?”

Sven shook his head.

Volund threw back his head and laughed.
“Your Brand Halfin made the same mistake. Do not think I will let
you guard a border town as I did him.”

Sven looked to Brack and Nightfire for
explanation. Brack was nodding gently, as if he saw justice being
done. Nightfire looked thoughtful.

“You now owe fealty to me as surely as if
you had sworn it — until your debt is paid, and a green will never
pay off a debt that large.”

“I am not convinced he is a green,” Brack
mused aloud, and Volund looked at him. The ancient red’s attention
stayed on Sven. “Weard Takraf faced an army of wizards and won. He
has earned the right to wear the auburn, at the very least, and
probably the blue. But even a blue will serve you for decades, Dux
Feiglin.”

Volund sneered. “If he lives that long, of
course. A magocrat’s life is a dangerous one.”

“Master Nightfire, is this
true?” Sven asked, voice flat even though he dreaded the
answer.
If I swear an oath to Flasten, he
will never stop finding ways to avenge his son upon me.

“Dux Feiglin is correct,” Nightfire said,
leaning back in the rocking chair, arms folded into his red cloak.
“However … ” He looked thoughtful, and his hands shifted in the
cloak. His eyes weighed Sven carefully. “My offer from before you
graduated still stands.”

“Offer?” Volund repeated.

Nightfire’s hands moved, and a small pouch
fell to the floor at the dux’s feet. Silver and gold coins rolled
out. “That should be adequate compensation for your loss, Dux
Feiglin.”

Volund let out a choking sob. “No! This is
not justice! My son … ”

Nightfire looked at him with cold fury.
“Your son took tribute where none was owed. Weard Takraf demanded
no tribute even though he more than earned it. Take your weregild
and leave Tortz.”

Sven favored Volund with a
smug smile.
You cannot defeat me over the
objections of the gods.

The dux snatched the pouch without bothering
to scoop up the fallen coins. He stuck a finger in Sven’s face as
he passed. “This is not over, Takraf. By the Oathbinder and the
Bald Goddess, I swear it!”

With a groan, Brack pushed himself up with
his cane, limbs creaking. “Nightfire, we will talk about this more
later, but if I sit on that stool for much longer, I will never be
able to stand again. Peace in the swamp.”

“Am I to be your slave?” Sven asked when the
ancient red was gone.

Nightfire resumed his gentle rocking and
didn’t speak for a long minute. “No,” he said at last. “You were
too young to remember your birthplace.”

“I remember some,” Sven told him.

“Of course. Seruvus’ memory.”

Sven remained silent.

“Your magocrat was a student of mine. She
was a cyan sworn to the Dux of Gunne, but she also considered many
of the mundanes in her care her friends, including your parents.
That is why, when she asked me to evacuate the border towns to
somewhere out of Flasten’s reach, I agreed.” Nightfire heaved a
sigh. “I am not supposed to take sides or play favorites. What I
did today was dangerous, but I am not like Volund. No, you will not
be my slave — not now, not ever again — but I want you to come back
to the Academy.”

“I have obligations, now, master.”

“Yes, you do,” Nightfire said distantly.
“The wizards I send to investigate your Protectorates will renew
your defenses. I will let you choose ones you feel you can
trust.”

“The Protectorates will stagnate at forty
towns, including Tortz,” Sven said with a frown. “Also, I won’t be
around to teach the mundanes.”

Nightfire leaned forward in the chair and
spoke in a rush. “You cannot do this alone, Sven, and you cannot do
it as a green. While you teach, you will be learning the higher
laws of magic. You will master skills you cannot even imagine yet.
You have done much with very little knowledge. Imagine what you can
achieve as a lavender or yellow!”