Lesson of the Fire (33 page)

Sven chewed his lip thoughtfully. He knew
Nightfire tended to regard each student as a possible contributor
to his Academy’s famous library — worker bees who gathered pollen
from far off flowers to make honey in his paper hive.

“Your apprentices would come with you.
Erbark will wear green within two years, Erika a year or two after
that, if she is diligent. If you want to spread your ideals, teach
apprentices and young wizards. Some will loathe you, but others
will flock to you. And a brighter colored cloak will win you more
respect even from your enemies.”

Sven knew he needed to go back to school. He
needed to steal some of the honey for himself before he could ever
defeat the likes of Volund.

“Very well. I will teach at the
Academy.”

* * *

“You killed Dux Feiglin’s son and made him
look the fool,” Pondr said. “No wonder he hates you.”

Sven balled his hands into fists. His voice
came out as a hoarse whisper. “As soon as he found out I had
returned to the Academy, Volund returned to Tortz. Well, I cannot
actually prove it was him, but when Weard Staute returned to renew
its defenses, she found it empty and destroyed by fire.”

“He killed them?”

Sven shook his head. “He took them all as
slaves. I discovered that when three of them returned to the
Academy with Weard Robert Wost a year later.”

“The farl.”

“Yes. The enchanter. He claimed they were
tribute slaves, of course, and none of them contradicted him. I
thought they were just afraid of him, so I found ways to talk to
them where he could not find out about it, but they did not even
recognize me. He … he did something to them. I do not regret what
happened to him, but we did not exactly part on the best of
terms.”

Chapter 27

“
The heroes of stories the Mar love most
dearly are often those who are nearly as vice-ridden as their
enemies, but possessed of an impossible number of balancing
virtues.”

— Weard Eira Helderza,

Unavoidable Problems in Literature

Horsa steadied himself in the Tempest, the
motes of Knowledge warning him his trip was nearly finished. He
gripped the hilt of his marsord, silently praying the Domus army
would recognize him and not kill him.

The Tempest exploded into the swamp, and
Horsa crouched down in the mud to steady himself from vertigo.

The first thing he became aware of was the
sloshing of feet around him. Then there were shouts, and green- and
auburn-colored arms were hauling on his bright yellow shoulders to
help him to his feet.

Horsa was questioned, and only the Mardux’s
symbol on his cloak convinced them he was from Domus. He was
brought before the four lavenders who led the army.

“The Mardux sends his respects to the
commanders of the Domus army, and thanks them for their obedience
so far. Here is the writ that places the army under my command. We
are to turn around and intercept the Flasten army before it leaves
the Duxy of Gunne and enters the Duxy of Domus.”

One of the leaders stuttered. “We are on
Flasten Palus’ doorstep, Weard Verifien. We will crush the dux as
the Mardux ordered.”

Horsa prayed they would understand when he
ignored the protest.

“Turn the army around now, good weard, and
tell me what you have been doing.”

Another lavender took the protester aside.
One left to get the army moving. The fourth told Horsa about their
formations, their divisions and organization.

Horsa nodded. “The Mardux said we must catch
the Flasten army. Can we do that?”

The woman shook her head. “No. There are too
many of us, and we cannot move fast enough.”

“We could try the Mobility trick.” The other
two had returned, and it was the protester who made the suggestion.
“Groups of four weards, or just pairs. Two of them use Power and
Mobility in tandem to generate short line teleportation hops on the
group. After a mile, switch. Nothing fancy, but it would quadruple
our speed.”

“Why have you chosen now to tell this?”
Horsa’s informer said.

He shrugged. “You told me to develop a quick
scouting force. This is what we came up with. Groups of three can
go slightly faster, but we think the safest is groups of four. The
ones using magic will not be much good if they meet an enemy force
along the way.”

Horsa took a deep
breath.
Marrish, let us not be walking
into a greater danger than we face from the Mass.

“Groups of eight will be safer,” he said,
and the lavenders listened. “Just as groups of four, only double
for protection.” He cast the reconnaissance spell. Flasten was
still out of range. “Get the weards moving, but after two hours I
want to stop and gather everyone. Let us use that to gauge our
speed.”

“Yes, Weard Verifien,” they said, and the
army turned around.

In two hours, they had traveled close to
nine miles. In a day, they could travel about seventy miles.

Six more days,
then,
Horsa thought.
We can catch Flasten’s army before it reaches the Duxy of
Domus.

He still couldn’t believe their pace, even
with himself teleporting to catch up.

Fraemauna, help me deal wisely with this
situation. Let us have good soup and healthy Mar when this is all
over.

* * *

The reconnaissance stone in Domus refreshed,
showing the Flasten army slightly closer to the city. The Domus
army had just appeared on the stone, and in a few hours, Sven would
be able to gauge its speed.

Will Horsa catch up with
Vigfus and Ragnar? Will the Domus army trust him?
Sven could have no doubts the priest would be able
to take charge. The weards lived by the system of degrees, and no
one in that army was equal to Horsa’s rank.

The Mardux stood patiently by the stone,
well lit by the white sphere of Energy above it. Weard Devla Salt
and two greens stood silently in a corner, conferring over notes
under their own, muted light. Weard Salt was in charge of the
stone. She had a very precise mind and could make minute
adjustments as necessary to the stone. Sven felt lucky to have
found her.

His right hand, fingers resting on the edge
of the stone, lifted for a minute, casting a shadow over Domus and
the Flasten army. It cupped the red, vibrating Mass on the north
edge that represented the coming danger.

It is good that it is not
real,
he thought, glancing at the three
weards. A green looked away as he looked up, and Weard Salt said
something sharp to him.
I wonder what
Katla is doing.
He had his suspicions, but
no proof, and no time. There were too many people to
watch.

The three other weards occupied, Sven closed
his fist over the Mass on the stone. When he moved his hand, it had
disappeared.

“Weard Salt,” he said with some
satisfaction. “There seems to be a malfunction.” He left them to
work it out.

In the hall outside, a runner met him with
news that washed his contentment away. He hurried to his sitting
room, poured himself a cup of water and stood by the fire. The door
opened, and boots stopped two paces inside. Sven waited until the
door was shut again, and then turned, his face half-lit by the
flames.

“Weard Stormgul. Your arrival is as
unexpected as your departure was.”

She has changed,
Sven noticed as she lifted her chin. Though
freshly scrubbed, her face still looked dirty from the shadows
under her eyes and cheeks — she had lost weight and stood in a
manner that suggested she might run at any minute, in any
direction, including right at him.

You look dangerous now, Eda Stormgul. You
are like Erbark, only you were a wizard first.

“Report,” he said, when she did not
respond.

“Mardux,” she said. “Bui Beglin, his men and
I stalled the army of Flasten, led by Weard Ragnar Groth and Weard
Vigfus Vielfrae. ...” She gave a full report, from when they
arrived to what they did to how many supplies they stole.

Nothing I can use now,
though, because it’s moving. It will be harder for Horsa to catch
up. His test just became more difficult.
Sven felt his patience melting like iron in a forge. He tried
to keep an edge off his voice.

“You swore to obey me. I did not order you
to delay Flasten with a handful of mundanes.”

“You were in no condition to give me any
orders,” she said with no apology in her voice or liquid brown
eyes. “Flasten’s invasion demanded action, and I took action.”

“You took useless action — like firewood
that gives off neither light nor heat, only smoke. If you had
stayed in Domus Palus, I would have sent you with an army of
wizards to delay Flasten. I would not have needed to send Horsa to
turn the Domus army around, and he could have organized the adept
training program.”

“If I had stayed in Domus Palus, Flasten
would already be at the gates!” she snapped back. “I immobilized an
army of twenty thousand wizards for an entire season with twenty
mundanes, and I kept all of Bui’s guerillas alive throughout.”

“Why return here now?” Sven asked with a
snort of derision.

“The Flasten army is on the move, again. I
knew you would need me in Domus Palus.” She held out her hands in a
gesture of helplessness, but her anger never wavered. “If you do
not want me to act on my own initiative, Mardux, give me orders to
obey. Send me to … ”

His look silenced
her.
Does she not realize how much this
has disrupted my plan? My army won’t take Flasten Palus. Horsa
isn’t here to organize the adepts. There isn’t enough time to raise
a diversionary army for Eda to lead. I only have one option left,
and it has consequences she cannot even begin to comprehend!
His voice rose a little as he spoke to
her.

“Because of your failure, a
great wizard will die, and I will lose the only advantage I have in
this war.”
Even with the amendment, the
Law will condemn me for what I must do.

“Mardux,” she said, her face closed, wooden.
“I did not fail.”

“You did,” he said hoarsely. “Get out of my
sight. I will call on you if I find any use for you after
this.”

She turned and left, radiating fury at his
treatment of her. He sat down heavily and launched into a coughing
fit, but it passed more quickly this time. Did he need to intervene
on the other fronts? Erbark was missing. Einar had not reported in
some time.

Not yet,
he thought.
Give Horsa a
chance. Maybe I should check on Einar. And no one has heard from
Erbark in months.
He shook his head. “Not
yet.”

“Not yet what?”

He wheeled. Erika had led Asa in by the
hand. “Your daughter wants you to tell her a story about Affe’s
adventures.”

“Or Tryggvi Fochs,” Asa chimed in, smiling
easily. “How he beat the Gien army by himself.”

Sven rubbed a finger
against one of the leather gloves at his belt. “I am very busy,
Erika,” he said, stepping toward them, though he did kiss Asa’s
forehead.
Not now. I have to convince the
priests the amendment also legalizes wand-wielding mundanes, and
then I have to teach them how to make them.

Erika’s eyes hardened as she looked up at
him. “I worry about you,” she said. “You might be healthy again,
but you will get sick if you push yourself too soon. You need to
wait, my dear.”

“I am so tired of waiting,” he said, voicing
what he couldn’t think in his head. “I need to act.”

She grabbed his hand. “Please,” she started,
but he threw her hand away and stalked out of the room, her shocked
stare following him.

The only applications I have kept a secret
will no longer be secret.

Sven knew Robert at least suspected. The
farl had taught him the principles behind the Blosin wands when
Sven had been an apprentice, after all. And after Tortz, Sven had
gone to the enchanter again for more instruction.

He knows how carefully I studied the
dynamics of Knowledge and Elements. He knows I can design
applications for both. It is only a matter of time before he
discovers the truth behind all my victories, and then he will use
it against me.

A portal leading through the Tempest and
into the temple of Marrish opened before him.

I must do this. I must tilt the odds back in
my favor.

Sven pulled his cloak tighter around him and
stepped into the darkness.

* * *

Ragnar listened to the messenger’s report
with a frown, not quite able to believe what he was hearing. A
force of ochres from the Dead Swamps had broken through the
southern defenses of the Duxy of Flasten.

“Does my father know how they got past our
defenses in such large numbers, Weard Spitz?”

The middle-aged cyan shook his head. “He
just received news from two magocrats that their towns have been
captured. He intends to send Weard Wenigar to investigate.”

Ragnar frowned. “This is ill-timed.
Suspiciously timed, in fact.”

Odveig Spitz could say nothing to that.

“Weard Vielfrae?”

The enormous red looked up from where he was
devouring a duck leg, grease dripping down his chin. He stood with
effort. “Yes, Weard Groth?”

“Return to Flasten Palus.”

“Ochres are slow-moving,” Vigfus noted. “It
will be months before they reach Flasten, if they even get that
far.”

“The ochres are not my worry. The Mardux is.
I would not have my father face Weard Takraf alone.”

“You think Sven Takraf has allied himself
with the ochres just so he can assassinate the dux?” Vigfus asked,
incredulous.