Poison Study (22 page)

  “But what?”

  “I only eat it once a day. The Commander has a piece after every meal, including his evening snack. Why this sudden concern?” I asked.

  “Just a feeling. It might be nothing.” Valek was silent during the rest of the trip.

  “Well, Valek, any new promotions?” the Commander asked as we entered his office.

  “No. But Maren shows promise. Unfortunately she doesn’t want to be in my corps or even be my second. She just wants to beat me.” Valek grinned, delighted by the challenge.

  “And can she?” the Commander inquired. His eyebrows rose.

  “With time and the proper training. She’s deadly with her bow; it’s just her tactics that need work.”

  “Then what do we do with her?”

  “Promote her to General and retire some of those old wind-bags. We could use some fresh blood in the upper ranks.”

  “Valek, you never had a good grasp of military structure.”

  “Then promote her to First Lieutenant today, Captain tomorrow, Major the next day, Colonel the day after, and General the day after that.”

  “I’ll take it under advisement.” The Commander flashed me an annoyed glance. I was dawdling, and he had noticed.

  “Anything else?” he asked Valek.

  I finished tasting, placed the Commander’s tray on the desk, and headed for the door.

  Valek grabbed my arm. “I’d like to try an experiment. I want Yelena to taste the Criollo every time you do for a week, then the next week I’ll taste it for you. I want to see if anything happens to her when she stops eating the dessert.”

  “No.” The Commander raised a hand when Valek started to argue. “I recognize your concern, but I think it’s misplaced.”

  “Humor me.”

  “We can try your experiment once Rand duplicates the recipe from General Brazell. Acceptable?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Good. I want you to join me in a meeting with General Kitvivan. We’re just starting the cooling season, and he’s already worried about snow cats.” The Commander’s eyes found me. “Yelena, you’re dismissed.”

  “Yes, Sir,” I said.

  After stopping at the baths to wash, I visited the kitchen to borrow a large sieve and bowl, which I carried to the library. The remaining four pods had turned brown and were starting to rot, so I opened them, scraped out the browning pulp and seeds into the colander, and placed it into the bowl. Its bottom and sides were suspended above the inside of the bowl by the metal handles. The strong odor from the seeds permeated the room. I set the bowl on the windowsill, and opened the window to air out the smell. My experiment wasn’t based on any scientific research; I just wanted to see if the pulp would ferment. Maybe Brazell was using it to make some kind of alcoholic beverage.

  My careful reading of the various botany books hadn’t revealed anything useful so far. The poison books, while interesting, had made no mention of Butterfly’s Dust. In four different volumes on poisons, I had discovered missing pages. Poking up from the binding were ragged edges where the paper had been ripped out. Valek had probably removed all pertinent information long ago in anticipation of the food tasters’ keen interest in Butterfly’s Dust.

  Sighing, I piled the books at the end of my table. I knew Valek was attending the Commander’s meeting, so I slid the book of magic out of my backpack. The silver lettering of the title glinted. My stomach knotted.

  Opening the slim volume, I began to read a technical discussion of the source of a magician’s power. Unable to understand all of the detailed descriptions, I only sensed that the power source blanketed the entire world, making it accessible from anywhere.

  The magicians used this power in different ways, depending on their talents. Some could move objects, while others could read and influence minds. Healing, lighting fires and mental communication were also magical skills. Some could only do one thing, but the stronger the magician, the more the magician could do. A weaker magician could only read someone’s mind, while a more powerful one could not only read but communicate and even control someone’s mind. I shuddered at the thought of Irys controlling my mind.

  But the magicians had to be careful when drawing power. By pulling on the source too hard or misusing it, a magician could cause creases that would set off a ripple effect. This effect, or warping, would concentrate power in certain areas and leave other places bare. Fluctuating unpredictably, another wave might reverse the amount of power available. In order to tap the power, the magicians would have to seek areas of power, but once they found a pocket, they wouldn’t know how long it would remain.

  The book chronicled a time when a strong magician had tapped into the source, pulling it toward him. Because he was so powerful he was able to control the blanket without causing an explosion. The other magicians were then uncovered. Stripped of their power, they united and searched for him. Once found, and after a battle that left many dead, they tapped into his stolen source, and killed him. Eventually, the blanket had smoothed out and returned to normal, but that had taken over two hundred years.

  Fingering the raised lettering on the cover, I now understood why Irys had been so determined that I should either be trained or be killed. When my magic reached a flameout, it would cause major ripples in the blanket of power. I sank deep into my chair, disappointed that the book hadn’t contained magic spells or lessons. I had been hoping for an answer. Something along the lines of: this is why you have the power, here’s how you use it, and while we’re at it, this is how to conjure up the antidote to Butterfly’s Dust.

  It had been wishful thinking, plain and simple, dangerous for me to indulge in. Hope, happiness and freedom were not in my future. They had never been, not even as an ignorant child in Brazell’s orphanage. While hoping for a normal life, I had been raised as a laboratory rat for his experiments.

  I slumped in my chair until the sun set, allowing self-pity to run its course. When the muscles in my legs began to throb with inactivity, I stood and physically shook off my gloom. If I couldn’t find the antidote in the books, I would find it another way. Someone had to know something. There had been food tasters on Commander Ambrose’s staff for fifteen years. If no one could help me, then I would try another way, perhaps stealing the antidote or following Valek to its source. Skills I lacked, but I was determined to learn.

  The next morning, prepared with an empty stomach, I joined in the flow of jogging soldiers. Ari and Janco breezed past me. Janco flashed a jaunty wave and mischievous smile. Later, when I heard heavy steps pounding behind me, I assumed Janco was up to no good.

  I moved aside to let him pass, but the runner stayed close on my heels. I glanced back in time to see Nix thrust his arms out. His hands connected with my back. I fell forward, crashing to the ground. As Nix ran over me, his boot slammed into my solar plexus, knocking the wind out of me.

  Pain bloomed in my chest. I gasped for breath while curled in a fetal position on the ground. Once I regained my wind, I pushed myself to a sitting position. The flow of soldiers remained unabated, and I wondered if anyone had witnessed what that bastard had done.

  If he was trying to discourage me, he was going about it the wrong way. Nix had just increased my resolve to learn self-defense so I didn’t fall victim to mongrels like him. I stood up and waited for Nix’s next circuit, but he never came back.

  Ari stopped. “What happened?”

  “Nothing.” Nix, like Margg, was my problem. If I didn’t deal with him, he would never leave me alone. A tingle of doubt touched my stomach. It had been that kind of thinking that had landed me in the dungeon, awaiting execution.

  “Your face is covered with blood,” Ari said.

  I wiped the blood on my sleeve. “I fell.”

  Before he could question me further, I changed the subject by giving him something else to think about. I repeated Valek’s advice about concealing our training sessions; Ari agreed that it was prudent to go “underground.” He offered to scout out a suitable location.

  “You’re Maren, right?” I asked between gasps for air. I had been running laps for a week, and this morning I had timed my pace to run beside Maren.

  She shot me a quick, appraising glance. Her blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Wide muscular shoulders atop a thin waist made her figure appear disproportionate. She moved with athletic ease, and I had to scramble to keep up with her long, loping strides.

  “And you’re the Puker,” Maren said.

  It was an insult aimed with a purpose; her interest in my response was keen. If she had wanted to dismiss me, she would have made her comment and sprinted away, not bothering to watch for a reaction.

  “I’ve been called worse.”

  “Why do you do it?” Maren asked.

  “What?”

  “Run till you’re sick.”

  “Five circuits were assigned. I don’t like to fail.” I received another measuring look. With my words coming out as huffs, I knew I wouldn’t be able to maintain a conversation for long. “I watched you fight Valek. I’ve heard you’re the best with a bow. I want to learn to use one.”

  Her pace slowed. “Who told you that?”

  “Ari and Janco.”

  Maren snorted as if she thought a con artist had duped me. “Friends of yours?”

  “Yes.”

  Her mouth formed a small o as she made a mental connection. “They found you in the forest. It’s rumored they were training you to fight but you quit. Are they foisting you off on me?”

  “The problem with rumors-” I panted “-is the difficulty in sorting the truth from the lies.”

  “And the reason I’m willing to donate my time?”

  I had anticipated this question. “Information.”

  “About what?”

  “You want to beat Valek, right?”

  Her gray eyes focused on me like two sword points pressing against my skin.

  With the last of my breath, I wheezed out, “Come to the east entrance of the castle this afternoon at two and I’ll tell you.” Unable to keep up with her any longer, I slowed down. She pulled ahead. I lost sight of her in the press of soldiers.

  Throughout the rest of the morning, I replayed the conversation in my mind, trying to guess her response as I tasted the Commander’s meals. At two o’clock, I waited in the castle’s east doorway, chewing on my lip. Ari and Janco had spread a rumor that my training had stopped. I’d taken a considerable risk by indicating to Maren that this might not be true. When I spotted a tall figure carrying two bows heading in my direction, my anxiety eased a little.

  Maren paused when she entered the corridor. She spotted me leaning against the wall.

  Before she could comment, I said, “Follow me.” I led her to a deserted hallway where Janco and Ari waited.

  “I guess gossip is not to be trusted,” Maren said to Ari.

  “No. But there are certain rumors we would like to keep as is.” A thinly disguised threat laced Ari’s words.

  Maren ignored him. “Okay, Puker, what’s your information? And it better be good or I’m walking.”

  Ari’s face reddened and I could see that he bit back a remark. Janco, as always, grinned in anticipation.

  “Well, as I see it, the four of us can help each other out. Ari, Janco and I want to learn how to fight with the bow. You want to beat Valek. Working together, we may be able to achieve our goals.”

  “How’s my teaching you going to help in a match against Valek?” Maren asked.

  “You’re skilled with the bow, but your fighting tactics need work. Ari and Janco can help you with that.”

  “One week of training and the Puker thinks she’s an expert,” Maren said to Ari with an incredulous voice. He remained mute, but his face darkened.

  “I’m not an expert, but Valek is.”

  She shot me a cold stare. “He said that? About me?”

  I nodded.

  “So I teach bow, and Ari and Jan teach tactics. What’s your contribution?”

  I gestured to the four of us. “This. And…” I hesitated, unsure if my next statement would have any sway. “I could teach you some flips, and help you to gain greater flexibility and balance that might benefit you in a fight.”

  “Damn.” Janco was impressed. “She’s got you there. And four does make for a better training group than three.”

  Annoyed, Maren shifted her focus to Janco. He smiled sweetly at her.

  “All right, I’ll try it on a temporary basis. If it doesn’t work, I’m walking.” Before anyone could interject, she said, “Don’t worry. I may listen to the rumor mill, but I don’t participate in it.”

  Once we shook hands on the arrangement, my apprehension dissipated. We showed her where we had been meeting for the last week.

  “Cozy,” Maren said as she entered our training room.

  Ari had found an abandoned storeroom on the lower level in the deserted southwest corner of the castle. Two windows near the ceiling let in enough light to work by.

  We spent the remaining time practicing the rudiments of bow fighting.

  “Not bad, Puker,” Maren said at the end of the session. “I see some potential.”