Lesson of the Fire (37 page)

Einar struggled to gather myst through the
barrier, but the suppression was too strong in his exhausted
condition.

“Please, Ari!” he rasped, breath rattling
through scorched lips.

His frail stepson gave no sign beyond a
slight widening of the eyes.

Then the fire was gone, and Ari poured
morutsen into Einar’s mouth. The myst slipped beyond his control as
the sweet liquid soaked into his body. He closed his eyes against
the pain. He felt the life ebbing from his body, knew that he had
been bested.

I made the enhanced warrior’s mistake of
fighting when outnumbered. I should have fled as soon as I saw the
light.

Robert Wost’s voice broke his musings. “How
embarrassing that must have been for you, Weard Schwert — tricked
not by farl trickery but by mundanes dressed in red.”

Vitality surged through Einar. Broken bones
knitted together. New flesh crept over exposed bones. Fresh skin
replaced the charred remains of the old. Ari took a few steps back,
and an enormous red replaced his spot in Einar’s vision.

“Will you tell us how to make Mardux
Takraf’s gloves?” asked Vigfus, still breathless from the exertion,
his marsord dripping with Einar’s blood.

“No, Weard Geir.”

“Yes, you will,” Valgird said. “Ari. Burn
him.”

Einar saw his son, whom he had just kicked,
beaten and bruised, turn pale at Vigfus’ words.

“No,” Ari rasped.

“But this is what you wanted, was it not?”
Robert asked.

“Not like this. Not trussed and weak
...”

“Fine.” Vigfus raised one thick hand
theatrically.

The flames returned. The spell holding Einar
rigid kept him from squirming in agony. Then Vigfus healed him and
turned his attention to Einar’s intestines, stringing them out like
vines in front of him.

Vigfus looked at Robert meaningfully, who
feigned a yawn at the display. Behind them, Ari turned away and
vomited.

Einar gritted his teeth in defiance. He had
endured more pain for lesser causes.

I will hold out, Weard Takraf. I will
fulfill my oath to you.

And deep inside, Einar prayed he could.

Chapter 30

“
Like the Tobruson who laid the
foundation for the magocracy, the Kaliheron shared their magical
knowledge freely with each other to maximize the effectiveness of
their research. Before being allowed to join Kaliheron, students
and scholars swore to take no personal credit for their discoveries
while there, for no Mar could claim to have discovered what Marrish
designed and Seruvus already understood. This would later evolve
into the Nightfire Tradition, which does not credit individual
wizards who make discoveries while in residence at Nightfire’s
Academy.”

— Weard Gilda Kronas,

The Rise of Magocracy

“Let us take a few days and go
somewhere.”

Sven and his family sat in his office. Erika
sat by the fire and mended Asa’s clothes. Their daughter practiced
her alphabet on the stones of the floor with a piece of charcoal.
Sven, at his desk, quietly read reports out loud to himself. They
came in fast and furious these days: supplies, training regimes,
desertions, materials requests — the endless barrels of torutsen,
for instance. Sometimes he thought half the slaves in the city were
pressed into making the drink for the adepts.

He had checked the reconnaissance stone less
than fifteen minutes ago. Weard Salt could not find the Mass — the
fake one Sven had discontinued — despite creating a new stone, but
was certain the problems would be fixed soon. Sven came back to
find Erika settled in as though this were her sitting room.

This is my private place
to conduct this war,
he thought, not
looking up. Out loud he said, “Where would you like to go?” He
turned a page.
Boots? Where will I find
the people to make boots?

“Let us go visit my parents in Leiben.”

Boots! Cloaks! Belts!
People should wear pants that fit!
Sven put
the report down in exasperation and met his wife’s eyes.

“There is the war, love,” he said casually,
leaning forward. The fire made shadows across half his face. “I
really cannot leave for an extended period.”

“Just two days. You can teleport us
there.”

“Dear, the Mass is less
than two spans from reaching us. I cannot take a break.” His voice
was a little colder than he would have liked.
And Valgird and Robert are there, seeing to Einar’s
test.
He could see the set of her
jaw.
She will not accept this
excuse.

“There is nothing more you can do,” she
said, putting down her own work and placing both hands on the arms
of the chair. “The war is happening well enough without you. I have
not seen my family in months.”

“Nor have I.” Which was certainly true.
Katla was the only one left alive, and no one had heard anything in
months.

She misunderstood. “Of course not. You have
been here the whole time, being a dutiful father and husband.” She
rose, took a tentative step toward the desk. “My family is your
family, Sven. They are in the Protectorates, and we should go to
them.”

“No,” he said, straightening in his chair.
Then, more emphatically, “No. I cannot leave for that long.”

She turned away. “If you don’t want to go,
then I’ll find someone else to take me.”

Sven went to stand next to her. When she
looked back at him, he stared down at her, half his face glowing
from the light, the blind orb of his left eye reflecting the dance
of the flames. He saw something in her expression, some fear or
confusion.

And she should be
confused. She should listen to me. I am trying to protect her. She
needs so much help.
He thought of when he
had saved Erika, when they first met. How stupid was anyone to go
out by themselves in such dangerous territory? But it was her
bravery that made him notice her — she chased him, not the other
way around.

Maybe the only thing she
will understand is an ultimatum.
He knew it
would not work, but he said it anyway, softly, from lips dry from
the truth.

“You will not go to the Protectorates.”

Her eyes opened wide. “What? Why? The war is
in the south. The Protectorates are perfectly safe. You made them
so.”

He shook his head. “Einar has not returned
yet.”

“What?” The realization set in. “Flasten
attacked the Protectorates?” Strain showed in her face as she tried
to remain calm.

Sven tried to keep his
voice normal.
She asked, and I cannot lie
to her, no matter it will hurt her.
“Einar
is there ...”

“Without an army.” She stood, stalked to the
fire and prodded it viciously with the poker. “Alone. When there
are more than enough wizards in the army to spare some for the
north. And your adepts, what are they doing? They could be guarding
my home!”

So it was never our home
like she suggested?
He wanted to be
reasonable. This had started out as a calm conversation. But she
insisted on not understanding what was going on.
She cannot see I was trying to protect her from
what I was doing.
He felt his back
tense.

“Einar knows what he is doing. I promise
...”

“But you never told me there was war up
there!” She hung the poker up with a clang, turned and faced him,
arms crossing her chest.

Asa had stopped writing and was watching
them, now. Sven spared her a brief flicker of a glance before
returning to the argument.

“I did not tell you because I wanted to
protect you.” He felt better for saying it, but the wild look
didn’t leave her eyes.

“Well? What if your hometown was attacked?”
she said angrily. “If Rustiford was a part of this, would you be
leaving it to be conquered?”

Sven felt his temper
flare.
She has not even heard me! I come
right out with it and she ignored me! She should be mad at that
now, instead of questioning the way the war is going.

“What do you know about handling the war?”
he snapped back at her. “Who made you a general? Would you like me
to explain why to you? Why even if Rustiford was attacked I would
still be here? Flasten has practically played into my hands — this
huge step toward peace we can take, and you are trying to stop the
river with a mud wall. You do not understand!” He felt the heat on
his cheeks, felt his muscles tense in a sneer, the skin taut and
wrinkled like an ancient monster’s. He could barely think for
Erika’s stupidity. “Sometimes I think I am talking to a book, you
are so dense.”

“What did you just say?” she said quietly,
her eyes spears.

“I am doing this to save Marrishland,” he
said slowly, deliberately. Spittle flecked through the air toward
her. “I cannot explain why I do it. I have to.”

“You have to?” Her voice was small and lost.
She looked like a little mouse in front of him. And just as
confused. “You can give me this one thing,” she said, tears in her
eyes.

“You will not go to Leiben.”

“I can. I will take adepts and free the
Takraf Protectorates.” The words were clipped, harsh.

His hand moved, and she fell.

“You will not go to Leiben,” he growled. “If
I have to put you in a cell.”

Sven towered over his wife, his body rigid
as the building in which he stood. She lay on the floor, her hand
lightly touching the red imprint where his hand had landed, her
mouth a round O. And in her eyes, he saw understanding. He saw
every detail, right now, as the rage turned away from her and into
him. He looked away from her.

All of Marrishland will be lost if I sit
here and let the generals run the war. They will not learn fast
enough! They will destroy us, but I can stop it.

Everything was a failure. This was not
Tortz. It was too large, but Sven should be out there helping. He
looked back down at Erika, whose mouth was just closing in a snarl
of hatred. He felt the burns on his face, the glistening bulb where
his eye had been. He felt the tear roll down his healed cheek.

He could not take this anymore.

“I am the light that guides the Mar, Erika.”
He choked back a sob. “I am the fire that burns in their souls.
Without fuel, though, they cannot burn. And I have given them that
fuel.” He stepped back, bent over, wracked with sobs. “I ... will
... burn all the sickness away. If I must amputate the hand to save
the Mar, that is what will happen.”

He stepped backward into the Tempest,
leaving his stunned wife forming some word to try to stop him. He
reappeared in almost no time in the swamp near Rustiford and
roared. Fire lanced from all of his fingers at a hapless tree,
engulfing it and making it vanish as though it never was.

Chapter 31

“
The Kaliheron developed a vocabulary for
discussing magical theory, and many of their concepts survived,
symbolized in the Mar alphabet. The letters Myst, Tor and Ues are
next to each other because they refer to related fields of magic
study — mysdyn (myst dynamics), tordyn (tor dynamics), and uesdyn
(mysterious magic dynamics). Dih, Sen, Ud and Krah literally
translate as earth, water, wind and fire, but they also relate to
the study of Power, Vitality, Mobility and Energy — the only four
magicks known to the Kaliheron.”

— Weard Oda Kalidus,

The Origin of Nothing

Sven Takraf arrived at Volund’s keep even as
ochres and gobbels besieged Flasten Palus. He strolled through the
halls as though the dux had invited him in for soup, though the
marsord and the trail of fire he left in his wake spoiled the
illusion. He paused at every doorway to fling a wall of fire into
the room — empty, occupied, he no longer cared.

I never wanted this to be
about revenge for Tortz!
he
raged.

A trio of ambers challenged him, demanding
his surrender. Green fire consumed them, and they writhed and
screamed as they turned to ash. Sven did not even wait until they
stopped screaming before turning his attention elsewhere.

I stand with the mundanes, and the gods
stand with me. I will execute their will upon Dinah’s back until I
am ashes in the hearth.

The Mardux neared the double doors of the
dux’s council chamber. He hurled them open with Power, the violence
of the spell reducing them to kindling, which caught fire
immediately. Inside the council room stood a lone red with a naked
marsord held in his shaking hand. All around him, fire burned the
tapestries and rugs of the keep, filling the air with choking
smoke.

“Weard Wenigar,” Sven called to him without
slowing his pace. “Stand down. My business is not with you.”

“I should have listened to my father,” Ketil
said with confidence, but his eyes betrayed the terror. “I should
have killed you while you were still exhausted from the duels.”

Sven stopped then and tilted his head back
to laugh. “Do you think you could stand against the hand of the
gods? Do you think you could have defeated the Guardian of
Marrishland?”

Ketil’s fist of Power never landed. Sven had
already anticipated the attack, was countering the spells faster
than the dux’s son could cast them. Ketil charged forward with a
scream of rage.

Sven swatted him aside like an insect. The
younger red flew into the table with a grunt and collapsed to the
floor.

“Where is your father?” Sven asked him.

“Domin take you!” Ketil shouted, lifting up
his marsord.

Sven moved a single finger, and the other
red’s sword shattered. Drops of blood welled up from a dozen tiny
cuts on Ketil’s hands and face.