Lesson of the Fire (6 page)

It’s a fantasy, but what
else do we have left?
Sven thought, but he
chuckled and pulled the hood over his head, his green eyes gleaming
red in the firelight.

Lori stood up, pulled on her boots and
stormed to the front door.

Erbark hurried to her side. “Where are you
goin’, Lori?”

“To watch Nightfire take Finn away from us
with the rest of th’adults i’the town. When you’re done talkin’
like mapmakers, let me know.”

Then the door opened, and Lori was gone.
Erbark paused, deciding, and then returned to his chair.

Sven, Erbark and Hauk regarded each other in
silence, suddenly uncomfortable. For a long while, none of them
spoke. The sounds of Finn’s departure filtered into the cabin,
interrupted only by the occasional pop of the fire in the
hearth.

Hauk stood up suddenly. “I’d better get some
sleep. Thorhall might want me to make some nails this
afternoon.”

It was a weak excuse. Compassionate almost to
a fault, Thorhall would spend the day consoling Finn’s mother. It
was unlikely he would work at all. But Erbark and Sven empathized
with their friend. They all needed some time alone, now. Sven
opened the door for Hauk and wished him peace and comfort in
Marrish’s name. Hauk murmured a blessing in return and plodded
toward his house.

Sven returned to his seat and watched the
flames of the hearth fire. His hooded head nodded once, and he woke
instantly. He looked around his cabin, re-familiarizing himself
with the room. Erbark’s grey eyes were still open, but the eyelids
were heavy, his expression blank. The fire had burned low, leaving
only hot coals and ashes. There was little firewood left.

Not yet ready for sleep, Sven found that he
was glad of the chore of chopping wood. Ignoring the crowd of
people gathered at the distant village green, he began chopping
vigorously, splitting the logs into flinders with heavy-handed
blows. When the well of energy in his stomach had died down, he
gathered the wood and returned to his fire. He fed the greedy
flames until, it seemed, they would accept no more wood. He kicked
off his boots and sat on his chair, satisfied, watching the fire
dance madly around the logs, devouring them.

He sat there feeling the heat on his face —
fascinated, horrified, afraid for his life, helpless.

“You or me?” Erbark asked suddenly.

Sven did not answer, could not.

“Your dad’s already lost Katla to
Nightfire.”

Sven turned his head to face his friend. “An’
your mom lost both your brothers to ochres on the way to
Rustiford.” His eyes shone in challenge. The very memory of the
mossy, muck-covered Drakes would not be enough to shake his
friend.

Erbark paused and looked at Sven intensely.
The smile vanished, and a look of understanding replaced it.
“You’re a good man, Sven. None doubt your courage. You won’t take
Lori or Hauk away from their duties an’ dreams any more than I
will.” Erbark leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes heavily.
“But I’m goin’ with Nightfire next year. Rustiford’ll need someone
as smart as you when you’re old. You’re a good man, Sven.”

Sven did not respond.
But you’re in love with Lori
, he wanted to remind his friend. But he knew it would be
useless to argue.

A light snoring filled the room. Sven turned
back to the fire. It crackled and smoked heavily in the still-wet
wood, fingers of it seeking the cracks that would lead to the logs’
dry hearts. It snapped wildly throughout its cage — yellow and red
on the outside with sharp blue at the heart. Not for the first time
he wondered whether the colors of the wizard’s cloaks came from the
colors of the fire. Sometimes he thought he saw deep reds and dark
greens and black on the logs themselves. He knew the colors Mar
wore were protective, helping them blend in and hide from Drakes.
The wizards, though, wore bright colors that made them stand out.
The brighter the cloak, the more powerful the wizard.

Nightfire wears red, so he must be very
powerful. But why do they choose the colors they wear?

The room grew warm, and Sven became drowsy.
His head dipped and did not rise for a long while.

The flames painted patterns on his closed
eyelids, sending him strange, disturbing dreams of a burning town
and swarms of attacking gobbels and ravits. He saw Lori at the
center of a throng of children, trying to shield them all from the
poisoned darts of the small, bristly ravits. Then he saw Erbark
watching them all, too far away to help her.

He woke with a deep sense of guilt. He had
missed Finn’s departure. He had not objected to his friend’s
self-sacrifice. Sven turned to check Erbark, jaw open and head
back. Then, as silently as he could manage, he pulled on his boots
and slipped out into the cold morning air. He knew what he could
do. He could save his friends from separation. He might even be
able to put a stop to slave-taking in Rustiford.

A dark cloud loomed over the sky to the
north. The leaves of the trees, painted with the colors of fall,
danced along the ground as the north wind hurled itself against
them. Sven closed the door softly behind him and began to walk,
cloak flapping no matter how tightly he held it.

Fear strangled his stomach as he thought of
Lori’s words. What did Nightfire do with the slaves he had taken?
Even if he obeyed the Law, what kind of master was he? Was he kind?
Cruel?

A fog hung lazily in the air, drifting along
in the wind without rising. He reached the homes of the town’s
founders.

I can stay here in Rustiford. It would be
far easier than volunteering. Erbark has made his decision.

The sun battled to shine in spite of the
thickening clouds, faltered and sank into the darkness. He
approached his father’s house.

He felt suddenly very stupid. How could he
possibly hope to stop the wizard’s slave-taking? A wizard could be
killed, yes, but there was no doubting their power to defend
themselves against Mar like himself. And if he stopped Nightfire,
what would prevent some other wizard from demanding the same
tribute? He suddenly felt very small and helpless.

The sun peeked through a small hole in the
darkening clouds.

I can save just one
person,
Sven thought as he steeled himself
to knock on the door.
If I go next year,
Erbark can stay here and marry Lori.
He
smiled at the thought of his friends being happy together. He could
not help himself. They deserved to be happy. The sacrifice of one
person would bring joy to two.

He knocked. A long pause before a very drowsy
Pitt answered.

“Father, I’ve come to volunteer to go with
Nightfire next year.”

* * *

“An’ Sven Takraf stepped forward an’
volunteered to pay Rustiford’s debt to Nightfire with his own life,
never thinkin’ of his own fate, but only that of his people.”

The storyteller’s voice trailed off into
silence. Sven wasn’t sure he heard it finish. A part of his mind —
the part that remembered everything it heard — began recounting the
various lies and stretching of truths the man had told, sorting it
with the other knowledge he had acquired and might one day use.

He touched his forehead with his hand as the
crowd applauded, leaving the past behind. A bead of sweat glistened
there.

I know my own story. I know why I began. But
to do what I am destined to do, I must sacrifice more than myself
to save just one person. I must sacrifice others to save all of
Marrishland. I continue as I began.

Chapter 6

“
Nightfire acts as arbiter whenever a
wizard is accused of breaking Bera’s Unwritten Laws. He alone
determines guilt or innocence and passes sentence. In the case of
capital offenses, Brack also observes the proceedings and carries
out any death sentence.”

— Weard Sigrath Brennan,

Models of Power and Authority

Weard Katla Duxpite opened the door to
Brack’s main library, where the wizard sat writing vigorously, his
hands shaking.

She was a slim woman with curly brown hair
and green eyes. She was plain and bookwormish but had exited her
thirties more gracefully than her brother Sven would, with nearly
unwrinkled skin.

“You wanted to see me, master?”

Brack looked up from his work. He looked
like he had aged ten years in the last two-month season, and he had
never looked a day younger than seventy for as long as Katla had
known him. His frame looked brittle enough to shatter in a strong
wind, and the lines of his face made Nightfire look young by
comparison.

“Have a seat, Katla.” He set down the pen as
she took the chair on the other side of his desk. “I have been
called to meet with the Delegates. They have heard much about
Mardux Takraf from the Hue, none of it good.”

Katla frowned. The Hue was the gobbel tribe
that had claimed the Morden Moors as its territory until Sven had
driven them out to found his Protectorates, long before he decided
to become Mardux.

Brack nodded, his expression severe. “You
can see why it might take me some time to placate them.”

“What will you tell them?”

He shrugged. “Mardux Takraf will soon anger
his fellow reds, and someone will defeat him next Duxfest.”

“Sven won every duel with ease. I do not
think his enemies will have the stomach to challenge him next
year.”

“I agree. However I cannot exactly tell the
Delegates that.” Brack smiled knowingly, but the tension never left
his eyes.

“It is a delaying tactic.”

“Yes. This gives us a year to find another
way to topple Mardux Takraf from the Chair without breaking the
Law.”

“And if we cannot invent one, will the
Delegates mobilize the Mass to defend their territory?”

“The Mass only attacks, and it only attacks
with overwhelming numbers. The Drakes know the limits of Mar
magic.” Brack stood up and took a fine red cloak from a hook on the
wall.

Katla allowed herself a small hope. Brack
spoke about his meetings with the Delegates often, but he had never
let her meet them. “Are you taking me with you?”

Brack slipped into the
hisses of the Drake common tongue.
“Yee Ka
Lah is not yet ready to meet the Delegates.”

“
Stop that, Yee Roh Yeh. Yee Ka Lah no
longer needs to practice.”

“
Yee Ka Lah is still a Mar. To speak to
the Delegates, you must prove to them that you are a Yee.”

Katla resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
The Mass assigned Drake names to everyone and expected them to
respond to these names, and this included any Mar the Delegates had
reason to discuss. All names had three syllables — a tribal or
racial designation followed by a two-part personal name. Brack was
Yee Roh Yeh, and she was Yee Ka Lah. The Drakes called the Mar the
Yee, so all Mar names began with that designator.

Brack liked to juxtapose the two names for
the Mar. The Mar were proud, ruthless and savage, he claimed, but
the Yee were humble, polite and eager to serve the Delegates.

“
If Yee Roh Yeh does not
think Yee Ka Lah is ready to face the Delegates, you should go to
them, instead.”
Katla returned to the
Mar language. “Now, if I have proven that I can speak Drake, could
we please continue this conversation in a language that does not
feel like I am gargling snails?”

Brack didn’t acknowledge her question, but
he did switch languages. “Never fear. I will bring you to the
Delegates as soon as we have neutralized the Mardux.” The old
wizard adjusted the cloak on his shoulders and returned to the
desk.

If indeed they even
exist,
Katla thought.
Brand certainly never believed in them.

She met his eyes with a hard stare of her
own. “I am your only apprentice. You have named me the successor to
your post. Why do you continue to shield me from the
Delegates?”

“You will meet the Delegates soon enough,
Katla, but this is not the time.”

“I have heard that too often since I became
your apprentice.”

“Do you recall how unprepared you were to
face the reality of a Drake civilization when I first brought you
here to Tue Yee?”

Katla lowered her eyes. It had been
astonishing, seeing the Drake city of Tue Yee for the first time,
and learning just how civilized the Mar’s eternal foe really
was.

It was not that long ago …

* * *

She had been a junior administrator climbing
the ranks to become Nightfire’s right-hand weard and, eventually,
his replacement. Whatever Sven’s aspirations, she had intended to
be Nightfire’s successor.

Only one of many possible paths to the
fulfillment of my oath.

But despite Sven’s mistakes at Tortz,
Nightfire began to lean more heavily on his star pupil. In her
research, Katla had discovered the truth of a few rumors, and when
she approached Nightfire with a plan, he had sent her off without
even his trademark weighing glance.

Now, deep in the Fens of Reur, she began to
second-guess her motives for choosing another path and agreeing to
apprentice herself to the red-cloaked figure before her, blindly
following wherever he led.

Nightfire had said Brack
may be too empathetic to the force he was trying to control, that
the power to control the Drakes might be going to his head.
The stories she had read said Brack controlled the
Mass, which Nightfire had not dismissed despite refusing to answer
her.

At Nightfire’s Academy, she had been a
fourth-degree with a suite of rooms to herself and three classes to
teach. Out here, no shelter existed. She was covered in bug bites
and the humidity made her hair stick uncomfortably to the nape of
her neck.