Rebel Elements (Seals of the Duelists) (5 page)

“Not so fast, young man.”

Cold metal pressed against the back of Bayan’s neck, and fear shot down his spine like chill lightning.

“No one leaves without my permission. Empty your pockets.”

Bayan eased up into a kneeling position and held his trembling hands away from his sides. “I have nothing with me.”

“Liar.” The man circled Bayan and leaned close, baring crooked teeth. His hair wasn’t gray after all, but powdered with flour, and the bandage on his leg didn’t slow his stride. “Show me your baubles, muckling.” The man lifted a dirty boot, put it against Bayan’s chest, and shoved.

Bayan tumbled back into the dirt, skidding across rough stones that dug into his back. His mind flashed back to Imee’s slap, when the dark something inside him had risen and retaliated. At the time he’d been terrified of the unknown power within him, but at present, he was more terrified of the man before him.

You can come out now
, he told the darkness.

The vagary stepped closer and reached for Bayan’s collar, his short sword in his other hand. Bayan parried away the man’s reach and threw him off balance. He jammed a foot into the vagary’s gut and shoved hard. A bright light buzzed around Bayan’s shoe, and the man flew through the air, trailing a conspicuous arc of white light which vanished while he was still in midair. The man landed with a surprised grunt among some dusty shrubs. He shook his head and blinked as if waking from a dream. He lunged for his dropped sword, but released its hilt with a hiss of pain. With an angry grunt, he stood and drew a long dagger.

Bayan jumped to his feet, anticipating a quick attack; the look in his opponent’s eyes promised Bayan a plethora of pain. Weaponless, Bayan adopted a narrow defensive stance. The vagary advanced and thrust his blade at Bayan’s belly. Bayan sidestepped and grabbed the man’s wrist, then spun down to one knee, hurling the man over him. Trapping the man’s wrist in an uncomfortable position, he stripped the knife from the man’s grip and pressed it against the vagary’s throat.

“
Don’t
call me muckling,” Bayan hissed, pressing his knee onto the man’s chest. The vagary wheezed.

The sound of thundering hooves reached Bayan’s ears. He glanced up and saw Joord, Lemmert, and Konrad approaching at full speed, ignoring the road switchbacks. Konrad dismounted from behind Joord’s saddle as the horse thundered by. He skidded to a halt on the other side of the carriage. Bayan had no idea what had happened to Philo and Kipri.

Bayan heard gurgling and glanced down. Startled, he nearly dropped the dagger, its blade red with blood that gushed from the man’s neck.

Bayan shot to his feet, clenching the reddened dagger. Kipri, Konrad, and Philo ran around the end of the carriage, but their footsteps slowed as they approached the vagary’s body.

“You’re all right, son?” Philo came to Bayan’s side. Bayan nodded.

“He’s dead,” Konrad said, seeming surprised. “You killed him? Brave lad.”

Kipri’s wide eyed gaze shifted from the body to the blade in Bayan’s hand.

Bayan couldn’t remember if he’d killed the man, yet there he was, dead at his feet. And the darkness that fought back from inside him still thrummed in his head.
Run!
his mind screamed.
Escape to Pangusay!
It was too late, though; the chaos that might have covered his escape was gone, and he stood within arm’s reach of the surveyor’s guards.

The sky above was nearly black, and hundreds of stars winked overhead. Somehow, Bayan felt as if part of the night’s darkness had slithered inside him. It had been within him since he’d left home, if not longer. He dropped the dagger and climbed back into the carriage, which still bore the acrid smell of the gas ball. Carefully, he tried to ease the darkness back down, but it wouldn’t let him go. Impatient, he tried to pry himself loose from its grip, but the darkness swelled, permeating his every fiber. His bones vibrated to a rhythm he couldn’t hear. Surely, staying much longer at this level of tension would exhaust the power inside him, and cause it to retreat.

He startled when the carriage door opened. Philo climbed in, wig askew, then sat on the bench and sighed. “The boys have taken care of the remaining vagaries. We’re safe now.”

Bayan waited a moment to see if his darkness would retreat at that news. It didn’t. “What about Lotte? Where’s her wagon?”

“Konrad said she’s just at the top of the hill, where they heard our clash. He offered to bring her down, but she refused to leave her poxy pots behind. Told him she’d use them to beat people over the head if she had to.”

“You and Kipri were all right after you got out of the carriage?”

“Oh, we were fine. My fellow cricket found a pair of hefty stones and guarded me while I wept like the coward I am.”

Bayan blinked at the vivid image his mind conjured to match the eunuch’s words, wondering if the pun had been intentional.

“Bayan. You fought both bravely and decisively tonight. Whatever happens at the Duelist Academy, don’t forget you bear the soul of a warrior.”

Bayan nodded, but unease curled deep within him, touching but not mixing with the throbbing darkness. I’ve got the soul of something, but I’m not sure it’s a warrior. I don’t think I killed that man. But if I didn’t, could he really have slit his own throat on the dagger? Why would he do that? Nothing makes sense tonight.

Kipri climbed back into the carriage, bearing a small lantern. “The men are all right, for the most part. No injuries that will slow us down. Frits said these vagaries were very well armed and organized. If we’d all been together, they wouldn’t have attacked at all. If we hadn’t had Konrad, Lemmert, Joord, and Bayan come late to the battle, they’d probably have killed us.”

Philo put a beringed hand to his chest. “Sints have mercy. It seems I may owe Lotte an apology—her squeaky wagon not only saved our lives, but rid the empire of a strong band of vagaries. I won’t live this one down anytime soon.”

Fabian knocked on the carriage door, and Philo leaned out the window. “All set, Surveyor,” the guard said. “The bodies are out of the way and their weapons have been confiscated. I also took the liberty of searching them for other trinkets. Thought you might want to have a look.” Fabian held out his hands, which cupped a mound of jewelry and other accessories.

Philo grinned, wiggling his fingers in joyous anticipation. “Fabian, you’re a dear.” He picked through the collection of cheap brass rings, braided leather necklaces, and pewter ear cuffs. Here and there, he found a gold or silver item, and at the bottom of the pile, he found what appeared to be a gold signet ring.

“Nicked it, just there on the side, with my sword,” Fabian said. “Don’t worry. I washed off all the blood.”

Examining it by lantern light, Philo harrumphed. “Something’s not right about this ring. Pretty, though. I don’t recognize this symbol. Do you?”

Fabian shook his head.

“Ah well, that just makes it more interesting. You lads do what you like with the rest.” He slipped the ring onto a pinky.

“Bayan should get something,” Fabian replied.

“Oh, of course. How crass of me. Bayan, you see anything you’d like to claim?”

Bayan shook his head, uncomfortable with their casual looting. “I don’t want to wear anything that’s touched them.”

Philo shrugged. “To each his own. If everyone’s ready, let’s fetch Lotte and find that lovely little town on the Marghebellen side of the wall. As much as I am fond of fine Bantayan cuisine, I like stopping on my return journeys for a bit of taste of home.”

“A bit?” Lotte’s voice came out of the night. “You stuffed yourself so badly with sweetmeats last year that you were constipated for three days, you fat old bitch.”

“
You
fat old bitch!” Philo’s voice shrilled as he aimed a pudgy digit in the direction of his cook.

“Oh listen, an echo,” Kipri said, hanging his lantern in a window.

Lotte’s pleasant laughter rang down the hillside.

The carriage resumed its northward journey, soon passing between the gateless pillars of the ancient imperial border wall. As they entered Marghebellen, Bayan had a sudden, disorienting thought.

Despite his terror at the prospect of death and the rage with which he had combated the armed vagary, his magic hadn’t escaped him. Not once. Not even for a moment.

“I don’t follow.” Qisuk thumped a burlap of freshly-harvested okra onto the scale that sat on the field table beside Savitu. “We’ve been smuggling these weapons in from Karkhedon for two years now; our arsenal is more than sufficient. Why are we risking our success by including
him
?”

Savitu jotted down the tare weight in a ledger and glared at his cousin. They were alone for the moment in the okra field’s mobile weighing hut, but the vegetable commune bustled with hundreds of other workers, and he, as the former heir of the Aklaa throne, was never far from someone’s notice, not even his own loyal Aklaa rebels. “Voice down, Qisuk. It’s nearly time for the manager’s rounds.” In a whisper, he added, “Marco is a fine fighter.”

“We need warriors. All Marco knows is that delicate Karkhedonian dance-fighting.” Qisuk tossed the okra sack to one of the loyalists who worked on the commune, then hefted another onto the scale.

“Then he can train with Hahliq and his men.”

“You like the Waarden rat?” Mitlik joined them and offered a snack of apricots and warm goat milk from the back room. Qisuk picked up two apricots.

“If we succeed, he will be in a position to aid us.” Savitu snatched an apricot from the plate and took a savage bite. He gazed out from his weighing shed at the vast commune’s fields and its bent-backed harvesters. “It’s not so much loyalty as practicality.”

“Did Marco demand this training?” Mitlik asked.

Savitu gave him a cool glance. “I do not accept instruction from rats.”

His cousins grinned.

Savitu finished the apricot, spat out the stone, and gulped the goat’s milk. In two days’ time, when the commune took a rest day, he and his cousins could slip back out to the Huku Hills, where the rain fell aplenty and the horizon was never flat. He had played in those hills as a child, but all his childhood friends were dead, castrated, or shamed into menial work for their conquerors. He and his cousins had each other to rely upon. But his sister’s fate? At the complex where the Waarden eunuchs had tried to train the Aklaa out of him, he’d been punished regularly for demanding her release. Eventually, he fell silent and kept his guilt tucked close to his rage.

Now, the Waarden would pay. Pay for his father’s death. Pay for his own castration, and pay most dearly for making his sister’s life a cold and miserable hell.

~~~

Bayan and Kipri waited in the carriage outside the walls of the Marghebellen town of Renallen while Philo had a short conversation in the guard house at the Pinamuyoc Gate. Lotte had taken another road earlier in the morning, heading directly back to the Kheerzaal now that Philo was safely back among his favorite foods. Already, Bayan missed Lotte and her secret stash of Bantayan spices. He looked out the carriage window at the orange stone of the city walls, which bore intimidating black streaks, as if they had long ago repelled a rain of fiery missiles. “Frits?”

The rider eased his mount closer to the carriage.

“Do all the cities in the old empire have walls like this?”

Frits grinned. “All the older cities do. Your people must be very peaceful not to need walls around your cities.”

Bayan lifted the corner of his mouth. “We use swamps instead.”

“Renallen was originally a Waarden fishing village. When the Tuathi began raiding, the walls went up, but eventually Renallen, and all of Marghebellen, fell to them. They settled here, expanded the city, and eventually joined the empire. You’ll see once we’re inside: the city’s sectioned like an orange, each with its own walls.”

Philo returned to the carriage, his weight pulling it off-center as he stepped onto the runner. “Nic, it seems we have another passenger to pick up. Drive to the North Keenaght duel den.”

The carriage pulled forward through the city gates and turned onto a broad street crowded with horses, people, and wagons. Not all the odors that wafted through the window were pleasant, but Bayan did discern warm bread and fresh-cut flowers from among the less-savory aromas.

“You’re going to have company at the Academy, Bayan,” Philo said. “There’s another young man here whose magic revealed itself recently. When the gate guards learned where we were bound, they asked if I could take him.”

“Why hasn’t he gone already? It’s much closer from here than from Pangusay.”

“Apparently he was badly injured, and the chanters have only recently restored him to health.”

“Chanters?”

“Yes, they chant their healing magic.”

“Oh, them. We call them tagawiti.”

“Their enclave is far to the north, but one is assigned to every duel den. I believe there is a small collection of them at the Academy, too. Don’t want our duelists killing each other off before they can perform their duties, now, do we?”

Bayan grimaced at the idea of being hurt and then healed in an endless cycle.

Soon, Nic pulled the carriage to a stop under a pale green awning next to a broad, curving wall. A young boy of perhaps twelve jogged over, eyes on the official seal on the carriage door, and opened Philo’s door for him.