Rebel Elements (Seals of the Duelists) (28 page)

Taban had recently begun wondering whether or not Braam would make Avatar Duelist. Some days, he was complete master of his avatars. Other days, he could barely summon them. That had made things hard for Cormaac, who’d initially taken the subservient position of toadie, but was now outperforming his master.

All the better that I took my own path, then. Politics and nobility have little moment when you can drown someone in the middle of a room.

He stepped inside the large room he shared with the others. “Wind at your backs, lads. We’ll be late for Etiquette.”

“Won’t be missing anything I don’t already know.” Braam tossed his head back and gulped something from a small container hidden in his hand.

Taban squinted. “What’s this, now? You drag us back up here so you can—what is that?” He grabbed Braam’s hand and wrestled the small dark vial from his grip.

Backing out of Braam’s reach, Taban quickly glanced at the vial, noting the faint imprint of a heart and stylized vial pressed into the dark glass.

“Are you totally mad?” He thrust the vial toward Cormaac to show it to him, but though Cormaac looked uncomfortable, he didn’t look surprised.

“You knew he was dosing?” Taban demanded.

Cormaac looked away.

“Sints preserve me. You got these through Master witten Oost’s network! He dinna let us in on the network just so we could abuse it like that! You know they’re illegal! You know
why
they’re illegal! Please, tell me, what in the name of sanity were you thinking?”

Braam looked at him with a stormy, stubborn expression. “Sanity is exactly what I was thinking. The Void classes leave me feeling terrible, empty. Not even human. I hate it. I need to feel
something
in this place, or I will go mad. Look, you didn’t even know what I was up to. I’ve been very careful. Just ask Cormaac. I only dose after arena classes, when I’ll have time for the potion to wear off. I don’t need the Void in Etiquette. I get to stay sane, and my arena classes aren’t disrupted.”

“Except…” Cormaac said quietly, not looking at Braam.

“Except what?” Taban turned to him. “Except what, Cormaac?” He touched Cormaac’s shoulder when the black-haired boy wouldn’t look up.

Braam laughed, then breathed deeply and let out a long sigh of satisfaction. “Except, Bayan just drank my potion at the fountain. I’d just poured some Righteous Anger into the cup I was holding when he pulled it from my hand and guzzled it down. Thought it might spark some interesting debate with Master witten Oost, but I guess it’ll be sparking something else entirely, won’t it?”

Taban stared at the blissful look on Braam’s face. “The Shock exam! You great stupid oaf!”

“Finally get that little mudsucker out of here.”

Taban glanced at Cormaac, who had the grace to flush and look away, but not the spine to act.

“I’ll never forgive you for this.” Taban backed toward the door.

“For what? Accidentally raising the average level of intelligence around here?” Braam called. His voice dissolved into giggles.

Nae, Taban thought. For making me go save Bayan’s life, after all the hard work I’ve put into looking like I don’t care about anyone but myself!

~~~

“All better?” Diantha tucked her crystal away in a pouch on her belt.

“Aye, thank you.” Calder focused on the linked circles embroidered on her tabard and blinked first one eye, then the other, to assure himself he could see equally well out of each. The blonde chanter had had to lead him by the hand from the main arena floor to an alcove just inside the main tunnel. “Hopefully Tarin will be over her nerves, now that she’s nearly fried my brains.”

The chanter smiled. “I think you’ll all do fine at the end of the day, Calder. When your hex comes to practice Shock, you all seem to have it under control. Which is good, considering it’s the quickest element to kill.”

Calder glared at the young, dreadlocked chanter. “Thank you for that encouragement.”

She gave him a cheeky grin. At the sound of feet pounding down the arena tunnel, she rose to her feet. “Is someone hurt?”

Taban stumbled to a halt, wheezing. “Stop Bayan… potion…”

“What?” Diantha grabbed his shoulder and looked into his face. “Bayan took a potion?”

“Accident. Stop him!”

“He’s already started,” Calder said, eyes wide.

Diantha fled toward the arena sand, with Calder on her heels, leaving Taban to collapse on the cot in the alcove.

Calder’s mind flooded with panic. Potions sparked specific emotions, so they were outlawed on campus due to the obvious risk to duelists. How had Bayan gotten one? What would it do to him?

As Diantha and Calder burst into the arena, Bayan and Odjin strolled toward them, chatting amiably and wiping sweat from their brows onto small arena towels.

“Bayan!” Calder shouted, slowing abruptly in case his friend shot out a sudden bolt.

“What? Why are you running?”

“Don’t do any magic, Bayan,” Diantha said in a soothing tone. “Your spells will be wild.”

“But—” Bayan gave Odjin a confused look. “We just finished a session with Instructor Ithrakis. Everything was fine.”

Taban, looking haggard, appeared behind Calder. “That’s impossible.”

“Why? What are you all talking about?” Bayan asked.

“What happened, Taban?” Diantha asked.

Instructor Ithrakis jogged over, wearing a look of concern. “What’s happening?”

Taban looked at Bayan. “Your cup. At the fountain. Braam put a potion of Righteous Anger in it.”

“Braam dosed me?”

“That bastard wisp,” Odjin said, through clenched teeth. He stalked into the tunnel without another word.

Bayan tried to follow, but Diantha stopped him. “You need to go to the Chantery for observation. Amyntas, please escort him there safely.”

The Shock Instructor nodded and called forth her Shock avatar. The small ball of glowing lightning hovered between her and Bayan as she led him away. Her urgent questions faded down the tunnel with their departure.

Diantha said, “Taban, you may go to class, but I’m sure the headmaster will wish to speak with you later.”

Calder accompanied Taban as he traversed the tunnel again. “You said it was an accident.”

“Aye. Braam meant the dose for himself.”

“What? Why?”

“He hates the Void.”

Calder digested that. “Thanks for trying to save Bayan, even if he dinna need saving. I dinna know you cared.”

Taban gave him a warning look. “Just looking after my own interests, mind you. Bayan does have a fine hand. I’d hate to have to write my own essays after so long.”

Calder nodded as if accepting the explanation. “I guess you got here before the potion could affect him.”

“Nae, they work right away. Braam took another potion right in front of me, and it had him giggling within moments. By all rights, Bayan should have fried someone, even if only himself. I canna figure how he’s still walking around.”

“Maybe he’s just that good.”

Taban turned to him. “No one’s that good, Calder. No one. Not with one of Lady Caolan’s potions in their blood. Instructor Ithrakis knows it, too. You heard her start to pepper Bayan with questions. You just tell that lucky muckling he still owes me an essay tonight.” He turned and jogged off into the bright morning.

Calder tugged at his hair in frustration. He didn’t have time to worry about essays. He needed to find Odjin for the next round of tests. He trudged outside the Shock Arena to look for him, but his hexmate had already disappeared.

He’d better show up eventually. He’s supposed to tegen for me in the next round.

But Odjin never returned. And nothing was ever the same after that.

Savitu knelt in the small rectangle of soil that graced the center of the darkened prayer room at the Huku Hills estate, relishing the warm, dry comfort of the sacred space as a howling storm from off the Gyre battered itself against the windows. Bowing, he dug his fingers into the rich clay and inhaled its earthy mineral scent.

Tuq, guardian of the Raqtaaq, guide our hands. Make them strong and swift. Hasten the destruction of our enemies and let the next day dawn, for your people suffer in darkness. We are shaded from your blessings by the bloodied hand of the Waarden. Set us free, give us tilaa, and let us walk between your light and your soil, free as we used to be, free to choose our own destiny.

He rose from the soil and dusted it from his knees and palms. He’d needed an entire season to smuggle that much earth out of the old Aklaa palace grounds; the Waarden knew how sacred that soil was to the now-forbidden Raqtaaq god and his devout followers.

Now, Savitu took fierce joy in praying in that soil every day he escaped to the estate in the hills. The act was just one more form of rebellion.

A knock came at the door; Marco slipped inside. “The Tuathi has arrived. Hahliq has Kuvi watching him.”

“Excellent news. Between that and your flotsam-themed catamaran, it’s been a good few days.”

Marco’s expression turned predatory. “I already dream of it. Do you? I wish my father could see how I’m going to destroy his—”

“Your benefactor.”

“What?”

“You meant to say your benefactor. Didn’t you? You wish your benefactor could see how you’re going to destroy his enemies…” Savitu trailed off. Marco’s mistaken invocation of his father hadn’t been filled with pride, but with anger. The voice of an angry son. A voice like Savitu’s, only… lower. A sudden unease tickled his spine. “Marco. Who is your father?”

Marco looked away. “My father’s been dead a long time.”

“Try again.”

Marco met his gaze. “I don’t owe you anything.”

“You’re Waarden. You owe me my country.”

“
I
didn’t steal it from you! That was my—” He broke off suddenly, staring at Savitu like a rabbit seeing the hawk descend.

A numb horror washed over Savitu from head to toe. “It seems,” he said, drawing a small utility knife from its sheath at his belt, “that your benefactor deceived us both. He did not tell you, before our first meeting years ago, that I am a eunuch, son of a rebel who defied your father. And he did not tell me that your real name is Caspar voorde Helderaard.”

The other man’s eyes fixed on the knife.

“Your father is indeed dead.” Savitu let his short blade flick back and forth in his grip. “Have you any children? I’ll assume you don’t.”

The man who called himself Marco gasped. “You can’t castrate me. I’m helping you!”

Savitu let his smile linger on his lips before sheathing the knife. “
Naa
. I would not see another prince made into a eunuch. You have value in other ways.”

“One of them had better be letting me go through with my part of the plan! It benefits us both, and you know it!”

“Of course. You may go now. But, Caspar,” he called, as the Waarden heir stepped through the doorway. “You should have told me the truth.”

Caspar gave him an uncertain nod, then left. Savitu stood in the prayer room, letting the thunderous flood of his rage pour through his veins. An enemy prince, alive and whole, prancing about the world while Savitu had to cower and bow! He closed his eyes and begged Tuq for peace. But the peace that came was borne of anger. The mission would move forward, but Savitu now had one small addendum to the order of events.

He slipped out of the prayer room and went to see the Tuathi.

~~~

Lord Eshkin frowned at Philo, who stood before him as the noble paced behind his desk. “Philo, your work efficiency has dropped off recently. I need to ask you to focus on what it is you’re supposed to be doing.”

“My lord, forgive me. I’m working as diligently as I can.”

“Then why is it that I see you out of your office, hear of you raiding the palace kitchens, find you nosing about in departments where you are not employed?”

“An unseemly amount of curiosity?”

“Philo.” Eshkin gave him a direct look. “You are not some free agent who may poke into whatever catches your greedy little eye. You are an employee of the empire, and one under my direct authority. A score of years in service cannot excuse determined incompetence. Do not force me to disemploy you.”

Philo sighed. Such a threat could only mean he was on the right track. Eshkin was aware of the illegality of his own actions, and if Philo pressed much further, he might discover what sort of man he really worked for. But that was exactly what Philo needed to do.

“Wateyo, think on that a moment. The emperor himself was present when you and I went down to the Archive. His interest in my mapping project has not dimmed since then. I’m sure you wouldn’t wish to disappoint His Imperial Majesty by cutting free the one person who can complete this pet project of his. That would, no doubt, bring imperial attention to the Ministry of Ways.”

Eshkin’s countenance darkened. “Threats do not become you.”

“And theft does not become you, my lord.” Philo scratched his cheek, showing Eshkin the exposed steel in the vagary’s ring. “Should the emperor’s eye fall on you personally, who knows what fears and secrets he might uncover.”