Knights Magi (Book 4) (20 page)

He chuckled despite himself – it was an apt description of the experience.  “So if you got
that
much,” reasoned Tyndal, “then you also realize . . . ?”

“Yes, she doesn’t like me,” groaned the boy.  “At least not like she likes you.  Yes, point conceded.  You are her heart’s temptation.  I’m not.  That doesn’t make me hate you less.”

“
’Fault not the victorious for their achievements, but instead fault the rules of the contest,’
“ quoted Tyndal.  “I cannot help how she feels.”

“No, but you don’t have to feel that way back!” Rondal accused.

“As if I had any say over Ishi’s whim!” he snorted.  “Look, I
do
like her.  She’s pretty.  She’s smart.  She’s . . . funny, even.  But I don’t like her nearly as much as she likes me.  And part of why she likes me is I
don’t let her know
I like her that much.  That’s one of the Laws of Love.”

Rondal made a face.  “You can’t study love like you study physics!”

Tyndal shrugged.  “Why can’t you?  Just because love is Ishi’s domain does not mean it’s forbidden to study as you would any other subject.”

“It’s . . . it’s dishonest!” blurted Rondal.  “You should let it happen naturally, and not try to force it!”

“And how is that strategy succeeding for you?” Tyndal shot back.  The question hung in the air, defying Rondal to defend his position.

“It’s just wrong,” Rondal said, sullenly, at last.  “Love just
happens
.  There
are
no rules.”

“Why are those who least know about love those most insistent they know all about it?  There are
too
rules,” Tyndal assured him.  “You can deny it, but you might as well deny gravity.  It will be as effective.  Men and women,” he stated, matter-of-factly, “
mate.
   And they do so according to easily-observed rules of behavior.  A wise man does so consciously, if not conscientiously, according to Sire Rose.”

“Sire
Rose!” sneered Rondal.  “He’s a self-absorbed, cynical boob!”

“You’ve read him,” Tyndal countered, evenly, “and he has a lot of excellent and pragmatic advice on love.  And no, he does not advise fawning all over a woman.  Quite the contrary.  He counsels strength and silence.”

“And they just walk into your arms when you do that,” Rondal said, skeptically.

“Well, you keep doing what you think best,” Tyndal said with a sigh.  “And I’ll follow Sire
Rose’s advice, and we’ll see who fares better,” proposed Tyndal.

“My romantic life is not here to amuse you!”

“Your romantic life isn’t amusing
anyone
,” Tyndal pointed out.  “Take my advice or keep doing this idiot-waiting-for-attention act you’ve perfected, either way is fine by me.   But eventually you’re going to get tired of being lonely and realize that being nice and friendly to girls makes you seem harmless.”

“I am harmless!” Rondal declared.

“And that’s why you fail,” Tyndal snapped.  “Quit being so harmless.  Girls
don’t desire
harmless men.  They want dangerous men who have decided to lay aside their danger on their behalf.”

“That’s . . . that’s . . .”

“That’s a testable hypothesis,” Tyndal finished.  “I’m not saying that to be hurtful, Ron, I’m telling you this because the longer you spend playing the rabbit when you should be playing the hound the more you will resent it when you do realize this.”

“I think you’re just trying to get me in trouble,” dismissed his fellow apprentice.  “But . . . that actually gives me an idea.  I think I know who the thief is. 
And
his confederate!"

“You do?” Tyndal asked, almost speechless.

“I think so,” Rondal agreed, smugly, and explained his reasoning.

“That . . . that actually makes a lot of sense,” Tyndal agreed.  “How do we . . . ?”

“We get them to move it,” answered the other boy with a nod.  “Then you wait here to nab the thief while I contend with his friend.”

“You think you’re up to that?” asked Tyndal, surprised.

“I’m a knight mage,” reminded Rondal.  “And right now, I’m the most powerful one on campus,” he added, boldly.

Tyndal rolled his eyes and handed him the wand he had been toying with.  “Take this anyway,” he advised.  “If your great and powerful sorceries cannot bring him to bear . . . poke him in the eye or something.”

*                            *                            *

They started the next morning at breakfast, after reporting to the Head Master, where they all quietly spread the whispered rumor that Magelord Minalan the Spellmonger was due to make a surprise visit . . . and inspection.  They left the details of his arrival and its purpose open to speculation, but the word spread like milk across a table.  Both boys were alert for any signs that their prospective thieves would give themselves away, but there were no confessions forthcoming.

But the rumor did have the required effect.  They let it brew all day, until the entire campus was abuzz. 

“There’s no way he’ll let that stone just sit there and be discovered,” Rondal promised, when they met up after lunch. 

“Let’s just stick to the plan,” Tyndal said, worriedly.  “I still think it’s  long-shot.”

After dinner Tyndal collected Ancient Galdan, the captain of the guard, to sit with him at the darkened window and await the thief while Rondal shadowed his partner elsewhere.   Estasia had insisted on waiting with Tyndal, and in truth he did not mind her company.  She smelled much better than Ancient Galdan.

Now . . . if everything they’d figured was correct . . .

Their patience was rewarded when a dark figure crossed the rooftops, swathed in black and shadow.  With a single glance toward their window the thief went to a chimney leading from the bowels of the school below . . . and triggered the wards Rondal had set there.

The spell wasn’t highly focused or dangerous - that might have been noticed with magesight - merely something to foil a quick getaway and indicate where the trespasser had touched. 

With a growl Tyndal sprang out onto the roof through the window, Slasher in hand, the Ancient right behind him as they moved cautiously but quickly across the slate tiles.  As they came nearer, the thief overcame the effects of the spell and whirled to meet them.  His hood had been thrown back, confirming their suspicions.

“Kaffin,” Tyndal said, sighing sadly.  “I thought it was you!”

“Really?  How?  What gave me away?” he asked in a friendly voice.

“The test,” Tyndal decided.  “You utterly failed that test.  You’re a good student.  I checked.  But you were supposed to be studying all night.  That was your alibi.”

“But other people testified that they saw me studying!” he protested.

“Exactly!  You
had
studied.  You’re even a quick study, if you’re familiar with the material.  But you weren’t.  Even though you read it. 
Because you were under the influence of a memory agent.
  You read the material, but you didn’t recall it any more than you recalled poisoning me, paralyzing me or stealing my stone.  Not until the restoration spell we cast last night!”

Kaffin smirked.  “Then why didn’t you come after me?”

“Because I wanted to be
sure
,” Tyndal said, walking carefully toward the boy.  The Ancient drew his sword behind him.  “It made sense, but I wanted you to reveal yourself.  I restored your memory—“

“Actually,
I
restored his memory,” reminded Estasia.  “Remember?”

“It was my idea,” Tyndal defended.  “When you remembered you committed the crime, you also remembered where you had stashed the stone.  You didn’t need to retrieve it until you left the school at the end of term, so you didn’t need to remember where you left it until then - when your partner would remind you when it was safe to do so.

“By that time either it would have been discovered or we would have given up the search.  We could have questioned you a hundred times, but if you didn’t remember stealing it, you couldn’t confess it.   Without remembering you did it, you wasn’t couldn’t remember where you put it. 

“But then we made you remember,”
Estasia said.  “We let it be known that the stone’s hiding place was in danger.  You might be able to hide it from us, but the Spellmonger?  You couldn’t take that chance.  So you had to check and make sure that it hadn’t actually been found, and move it, once you remembered you stole it.”

“So I made you come to me,”
Tyndal picked up.   “Or at least back to where you hid my stone.  Once you had your memory back and heard that my Master was coming to Inarion, you had to act.”

“And how did you know where that was?”

“I saturated the entire campus with a low-level magical field,” explained Estasia.  “The same time we did the memory restoration spell.  It was visible by scrying . . . every place it being absorbed or countered.   Once we knew where the cloaking spells were – and there were a lot more than we anticipated – narrowing it down to the most likely spots, the ones near to the path between the tower and where we found the cloak, wasn’t difficult.”

“We knew you couldn’t have had it on you, and you wouldn’t have stashed it in your room.  So you put it up here, on the way of your escape.  You met your accomplice – but didn’t hand off the stone.  He gave you the drug, instead, and stashed your cloak and gloves.  You had just enough time to get back to your room, slip in without notice, and return to studying without anyone suspecting you got out.  Shadowmagic,” Tyndal said.

“Very good, Sir Tyndal!” laughed the other boy, drawing his own blade.  Not a mageblade, but a long, slender scimitar.  “You had almost all of it.”

“Except your accomplice, Kaffin,” Tyndal said, carefully.  “Rondal is heading toward him now.”

“I don’t believe you,” Kaffin said with a sneer, testing the air with his blade.  “And the name is not Kaffin of Gyre.  Oh, it is my name – in Narasi.  In Farisian, though, my name is Relin Pratt.  Lord Relin Pratt, of the House of Pratt.  My mother’s side,” he explained with a self-satisfied grin.

“Pratt?” Estasia asked, confused.  “Like—”

“Orril Pratt,” agreed Tyndal , grimly.  “The Made Mage of Farise.”

“Do not call him that!”
screamed Kaffin, suddenly angry.  “My uncle was a great man!”

“Your
uncle?
”

“My mother is his younger sister, Dorilia,” he explained, proudly.  “And the House of Pratt has been producing great magi since before Perwyn sank.  She married my father, but she never lost her allegiance to Farise.  When I was a child, when the war started, I was hidden in the north, in Gyre, under my father’s name.  The Seaknights of Gyre have ever looked south for their brides . . . and their loyalties are notoriously tenuous,” he added, with a chuckle.  “That’s what comes when pirates serve the landborn.”

“You are no pirate,” spat Tyndal.

“You’re right,” he agreed.  “Nor a seaknight.  But I was my mother’s pupil long before my full Talent emerged – she knew it was going to come.  So I’ve been learning Shadowmagic for as long as I could read.  All in preparation for the day when I could act to avenge my uncle!”

“By stealing my stone?” Tyndal asked, incredulously.  “I never even fought in that war!  I was a kid!”

“
This
isn’t our revenge, idiot!” Kaffin scoffed, leaping from one side of the roof to the other and landing as nimbly as a cat.  “The stone is just the first step.  It needn’t have been you who donated to our cause, but my captain needed a stone, any stone, and yours was at hand.  I’d originally planned on stealing Rondal’s but yours was just too easy to take.  Besides,” he snorted, “I hated having to lose to you on the field that badly on purpose .  But if I’d fought you the way I wanted, you would have started asking questions.  And that also gave me the opportunity to slip the Bardain into your water after the bout.”

“That was you!”

“Your attention was so fixed on the lovely lady,” he said, laughing nastily as he walked across the beam, his sword steadily in hand, “that you never looked to see which of your fawning admirers was giving you a drink.  A couple of hours later you were easy enough to find in your room. “  He stopped at the end of the beam and slashed the scimitar through the air a few times.   “Shadowmagic.  I could have walked in through your door, but the window was actually easier, for a man who’s spent time in the rigging.  Shadowmagic and swordplay, I’ve studied both.  That’s what will give me a crew of my own some day.”

“Crew?  You want to be a pirate?”

“Fool!  I aim to become a captain within the Brotherhood.  With this stone, I will be.  And then I will help lead my House in its revenge against the Duchies – your so-called King Rard, most of all.”

“The Brotherhood?” asked Estasia.  But Tyndal knew.  They were a vague, sinister criminal organization in Alshar and southern Castal  They had even
infiltrated the Alshari court, he knew from what his master had told him, and had been implicated in the murder of the Alshari duchess.  He wasn’t the only one who hd heard of them.

“The Brotherhood of the Rat,” Galdan supplied, matter-of-factly.  “They were pirates themselves once, back during the Magocracy.  Then they ruled the night on the docks in ports from Alshar to Remere.  Only the Iris is larger . . . but the Brotherhood is far more sinister, by reputation.  Their guile and treachery is legendary,” he said, warningly.  “Their plots and schemes as tangled as anchor chain, it is said.”

“Cutthroats and assassins!” spat Tyndal.

“Princes of the Waves!” corrected Kaffin.  “The Seaborn are the elite of the Brotherhood.  Our families have guided it for centuries.  We swear allegiance to whichever Landborn lord we need to, but our hearts and souls belong to the Brotherhood.  I aim to claim my rightful place on the council.  A stone will secure that right.”

“But you lost your chance at a stone,” reminded Tyndal.  “You’re caught, or did you forget?”

“Am I?” Kaffin laughed.  “I don’t see a stone in your hand, Sir Tyndal.  ‘Sir’!” he sneered. 
“I can’t believe the likes of you acquired a witchstone when my uncle was besieged and slaughtered for the crime.  You’re a bastard stableboy from some godsforsaken pissant mountain village who got power beyond his wits.  I am the scion of a family of magi who can trace its lineage back to the third Archmage!  I’ve been trained for command and leadership my entire life.  You’ve been trained to shovel shit and kiss some baker’s ass!”

“Baker’s son,” he reminded.  “And I’ve picked up a few other things along the way,” Tyndal said, leaping lightly to the top of a chimney opposite Kaffin, Slasher in his hand.  The blade his master had carried to fight Kaffin’s uncle.

“Your swordplay?  It might impress a stupid cunt like Estasia, but I’ve been better than you since I was ten.”

“Hey!” the alchemist said, angrily.  “You little—”

“You know she’s been moon-eyed over you since the day you got here?  I heard she said she’d bed you or wed you before the next full moon – that was the terms you and Lindra agreed upon, wasn’t it?”

“How in seven hells did you know?” she demanded.  “We were alone!”

“Shadowmagic,” he reminded her.  “Do you know how many times you’ve walked right past me and not realized I was there?  I’ve seen you and the other sluts in the South Tower naked a dozen times each.  I’ve heard your secrets, listened to you plot against each other, and heard the awful things you say when you think no one else is listening.

“It’s true, Tyndal.  She and those other cunts were conspiring against you the moment you arrived.  It seems you’re quite the catch – handsome, healthy, and th
e squire to a powerful magelord.  And . . . what else did you call him, Estasia? 
‘Just stupid enough’?”

“That’s not what—” she fumbled, blushing in the darkness. 

“It bloody was to, just as brazen as whores discussing their clients.  They knew all about you fellows before you even got here.  Knights Magi – what an absurd term!  And of course there were your witchstones. 

“Duin curse you, Kaffin!” Estasia cried.  “I’ll have your head!”

“You should have heard them, Tyn,” he said, in a friendly tone of voice.  “It sickened me to hear them talk about you like that.  But you were just a step up for them.”

“It wasn’t like that, Tyndal!” Estasia insisted.  “It wasn’t!  You have to believe me, I—”

“Let’s finish this business between you and I,” Tyndal said to Kaffin, evenly.  “I’m far more concerned with the man who stole my stone than a girl.  Hand over your sword and we’ll go back to the guardhouse.  Rondal is about to take your big lug of an accomplice into custody, and then you can start considering your legal defense.  There’s no way he’s going to hang for your crime.  He’ll testify against you,” he warned, as he settled his footing in.

“There will be no trial, idiot!  And I’m not surrendering my sword.  Haven’t you figured it out yet?  I am going to get away with it. 
Because that big moron isn’t my accomplice.”

“He isn’t?” Tyndal asked, confused.  “Then who is?”

“I am,” Galdan said, from behind him.  Before Tyndal could react to that unexpected news, the head guard sprang to the spot next to Estasia . . . and pushed the girl over the side of the roof with a firm shove.

Tyndal tried in vain to reach out to catch her, magically, but without his stone he didn’t have close to the power he needed to use on such a spell.  To his horror the young woman bounced once off of the roof five stories below, and then her body tumbled to the darkened courtyard.

“Sorry, lad,” the Ancient said, unconvincingly.  “She was a pretty one, but too smart.  You can’t trust a woman who’s that smart.  She would have figured it out eventually.  She had to go.”

“Galdan!” Tyndal said, his blood running cold.  There was no way that she could have survived that fall, not without magic.  Without his stone, he’d been
powerless to save her.  He whirled and faced the ancient, Twilight in his hand.  “You betrayed us?  But . . . but . . . you’re no Rat Brother!  You were born south of Vorone!”

“
Seven hundred leagues
south of Vorone,” the older man chuckled.  “I’ve sold my sword to a hundred men, but my heart belongs to the Brotherhood.  I’m Seaborn.  I’ve been here . . . watching things for the Brotherhood.  When the young master was sent here to study, I was looking after him. 

“Then you two came here without a thought in your head.  But you had those witchstones.  We saw an opportunity, and we took it.”

“I’ll kill you both,” Tyndal promised, realizing he was between the two of them.  He could not fight one without giving his back to the other.  From all he’d heard about the Brotherhood of the Rat, that didn’t sound like a target one of them would pass up. 

He peered into the darkness quickly, pivoting to face first one opponent, then the other.  He thought he saw a way to at least change his untenable position.  All he had to do was a little warmagic.

He called upon the augmentation that gave superior strength.  Always an important thing in battle, it was nearly as useful as speeding perceptions and actions.  Instead of swinging his sword, however, Tyndal focused on his legs.  Without his stone he couldn’t power the spell for more than a fraction of a moment, but that was all he needed.