Michael Stackpole - When Dragons Rage

Nefrai-kesh, on the other hand, had been much of what she imagined a father would be. He had, over the years, introduced her to many things. He taught her how to ride a Grand Temeryx. Newly returned from his journeys, he would give her gifts. The one she treasured most highly was a sapphire ring he said the Queen of Oriosa had insisted he bear to her. Other things, from small bone carvings to exotic teas, had brought her hints of the Southlands and expanded the world beyond the white disk that surrounded the Citadel.

“You know, my lord, that I am not as delicate as you might imagine.”

“I know, Princess. Your peregrinations through the streets of Meredo alone tell me you are capable of many things.” Neither his body or voice betrayed any hint of suspicion. His face she could not read because of the mask he wore, but had he thought she’d done anything wrong, she’d have known long before this.

“It is that I need to engage an enemy who has proved rather crafty.”

“But I would enjoy seeing my mother’s enemies vanquished.”

“Indeed, I believe that.” Nefrai-kesh nodded toward Neskartu. “Resistance to your mother’s army has crumbled in Sebcia. Her forces advance into Muroso, and Neskartu will be leading a group of his students to join them. Your mother does want you to see her enemies fall, so you will do so in Neskartu’s company.”

Isaura tugged lightly on her lower lip with the thumb and forefinger of her left hand. “Will we be going to fight, or just to observe, Lord Neskartu?”

Your mother desires you to observe. My students will fight if they have the opportunity.

Nefrai-kesh raised his right index finger. “It is important that you understand something, Princess. Muroso, before it was part of the great revolt, had been home to the empire’s own school of magick. The Academy at Caledo rivaled Vilwan for a time, and Murosan sorcerers are very proud. It is their tradition to engage in duels. They do this for their own pleasure, though they say it is to save the simple folk from suffering. They will challenge our magickers, but you are not to allow yourself to be drawn into one of these duels.

“I need you to observe, and report back to me. While your mother wishes you to see her enemies collapse, I desire this favor of you: use your eyes and senses to tell me how best to continue to defeat her enemies. Will you do this for me?”

“Of course, my lord.” Isaura nodded solemnly. “Shall I send to you by arcanslata , or is there another means I should use?”

The sullanciri stepped forward boldly. Snow crunched beneath his boots. He stopped in front of her, then raised his right hand. “Close your eyes, Princess; open yourself to me.”

She did as she was bid. She felt him press three fingers to her forehead. For a moment her flesh tingled, then she shivered. It felt as if something had, just for a heartbeat, frozen the river of magick. It rushed on immediately after that, but the pause shook her.

She opened her eyes as his fingers left her flesh. “What did you do?”

“A trickle of magick, Princess, linking us. When you wish to speak with me, just concentrate and I shall find you. You will tell me what you know, and I shall be obliged.”

Isaura nodded. “Yes, my lord, and I shall be pleased to be of service.”

“Excellent.” Nefrai-kesh turned quickly and peered at Neskartu. “And you, my old friend, you know that if any harm comes to her, you had best be dead. In fact, your last act should be to send her home. Your failure to keep her safe will result in untold miseries.“

Of this we are aware, my lord. Even death will not prevent me from keeping our beloved empress’ daughter safe.

Isaura felt the confidence in Neskartu’s thought, but the creature’s colors had dulled and slowed while his outline lost some of its crispness.

The king of the sullanciri nodded. “Very well. Princess, you will be traveling south by conventional means. Do not feel you need overburden the drear-sleigh with chests of clothes or an overabundance of supplies. Anything you need shall be given to you on the journey. By its end, you shall be bedecked in the finery of Sebcia and Muroso, honoring your mother’s new subjects with your choices.”

“How soon do we leave, my lord?”

“Tomorrow evening.” Nefrai-kesh waved her back toward the Citadel. “Servants will come and aid you in packing. It is not much time, I know, but to delay would deprive you of learning what your mother desires you to know.”

“It is enough time, my lord, thank you.” Isaura smiled, then turned in a circle to survey the garden one last time. The snowflake tree chose that moment to fall to pieces, and its swordlike branches sheared through a family of rabbits as they descended, but it did not seem to her an ill omen. It would occur to her later that it should have, but by then events were moving so swiftly that even with this warning, disaster could not have been averted.

Kerrigan Reese felt better, though still uneasy. Before he left the chamber, Rym Ramoch had instructed Bok to bathe and clothe Kerrigan after the young mage ate. The meal had proved filling though not terribly appetizing. Kerrigan suspected the meat in the gravy was really rat, but at that point he was so hungry he didn’t care.

After that came a bath. The urZrethi wrestled a half-tun cask into the small room and filled it with water. From a shelf he took a small piece of volcanic rock, whispered over it, then tossed it into the water. Bubbles rose quickly and steam drifted, then the urZrethi pulled the rock out, bounced it from hand to hand, and finally set it steaming on the shelf.

Kerrigan slipped into the warm water and prepared to relax, but Bok took the orders to bathe him seriously. The urZrethi scrubbed him up one side and down the other, leaving his skin red and tingling. Kerrigan had never felt so much a child as he did in that bath. With one hand Bok was able to shift him this way and that, and Kerrigan had no doubt the urZrethi could have hauled him bodily from the bath without difficulty.

Once he’d been bathed, Bok brought him warm clothes of a very utilitarian nature. Though Kerrigan had grown up wearing robes, he had since gotten used to trousers and tunics. Moreover, he associated them with adventure. And because his wearing of them would be frowned upon by his superiors on Vilwan, that sort of minor rebellion thrilled him.

Once Bok had cleared away the wash basin, he brought bedding and bid Kerrigan lie down. As the mage did, the urZrethi stretched an arm up until it was thinner than a spear haft, and pinched the chandelier candles dark.

Kerrigan lay back and considered what Rym had told him. The simple fact that Kerrigan could perform the magicks that he did meant that men could learn them. While Kerrigan loved to think of himself as special, it did seem curious that someone like the Grand Magister could not cast even the most simple of healing spells. And yet, the Grand Magister did know that it was possible for a man to cast those spells.

Either Yrulph Kirun had been a genius and figured out a lot of things about magick for himself, or he had been taught a great deal and expanded upon it. Or both. Perhaps he so outstripped his superiors that they really had no idea what he was capable of doing.

Just like me.

It made sense, in the aftermath of it all, for leaders on Vilwan to institute changes in instruction that hobbled their charges. If the greatest threat the world had ever known had come from Vilwan, without concessions and safeguards Vilwan would have been destroyed. Nations would refuse to send their talented sorcerers to Vilwan to be trained, shutting down the island and its culture.