B00B15Z1P2 EBOK Page 7

  “You bring a grievance to the Conclave?” the First Protector asked, as the newcomer marched to the dais.

  “I do.”

  “Then please state your name and title for the records.”

  “I am Chileane sim Nalfur, Ambassador to the Stolevan Matriarchy from Westmarch.”

  “Very well, Ambassador. And with whom do you have your grievance?”

  “Unknown. But I warrant the offender is among you.” Chileane turned to the assembly and raised his voice as if making a speech. “A sorcerer has violated The Treaty, signed four hundred years ago in the ruins of Camac That Is.”

  There was a murmur; the First Protector was among the few unruffled by this accusation. “A sorcerer went to war? This is news indeed. If you saw such a one, surely you could identify him? Or her?”

  “I come not on my own behalf, but for all of Westmarch. I now summon the sorcerer Zharcon the White to provide details,” said the Ambassador. A woman, wearing the white sash of Air magic, stood and approached the dais. Turning to face her fellows, Mik thought her expression both resigned and annoyed.

  “As some of you may know, over the winter, Prince Nalfur of Westmarch invaded the western reaches of the Stolevan Matriarchy,” she said. Chileane started at the baldness of the description, but let her continue. “There was little resistance throughout the Two Rivers district, but the Matriarchy was able to halt the advance at the Laughing River.”

  Mik gasped and nearly stood, but Bailar put a calm hand on his shoulder. “Not yet,” he whispered. “The accuser must be allowed to state his grievance.” Sura’s grip on Mik’s hand became almost painful. They looked at each other, in shock and surprise.

  “A blizzard came up, only on the west side of the river, where Westmarch was encamped,” Zharcon continued. “It was difficult to see, but eyewitnesses affirm that an ice dragon brought the storm. Soldiers and officers alike heard its repeated demands to retreat. Since Elemental Dragons are awakened only by magic, the surmise is that it was summoned to fight against Westmarch.” She glanced upward and took a deep breath. “If true, then such an act is evidence of a breach of The Treaty. Our forces retreated, and the hostile weather ceased the moment our last soldier crossed the Weeping River back into Westmarch. This is seen as further evidence that a sorcerer has taken part in a conflict of folk.” She nodded to the First Protector and returned to her seat, with barely a glance at the Ambassador.

  “Assuming this accusation is true, Ambassador,” said the First Protector, “then what do you request as reparations?”

  The Ambassador looked offended. “Assuming? And do you not have your own laws concerning this?”

  “Perhaps we may, but such an accusation has not been brought before the Conclave in living memory. If it is as you say, that a sorcerer has violated The Treaty, then we shall have to consult the text of The Treaty itself. I do not happen to have a copy here.” A few chuckles rippled through the assembly, and the Ambassador flushed.

  “Are there any who have knowledge of this matter?” the First Protector asked. Bailar stood and nudged Mik and Sura to their feet. Together, they approached the dais. “Now comes Bailar the Blue, Sorcerer of Exidy,” said the First Protector. “All hearken to his words.”

  “You are the man?” the Ambassador growled. “Your children will not protect you from justice!”

  Bailar ignored him, and turned to face the assembly, Mik and Sura at either side. “To be clear,” he began, “I am not he who awakened an ice dragon. My reading suggests that awakening any Elemental Dragon is usually a spectacular method of committing suicide. The last recorded attempt was four hundred fifty years ago, by Amon the Red, who awakened a Firedrake during a war between Ak’koyr and the Northern Reach. The ensuing havoc, wreaked on both forces, led to the signing of The Treaty.

  “And yet, I can shed some light upon this matter. Over the winter, a young boy came to me—on the back of an ice dragon—asking me how to dispel such a beast—”

  “Preposterous!” the Ambassador bellowed.

  The First Protector struck the floor with his staff, three times. “Ambassador, the Conclave heard out your accusation in silence and respect. Courtesy for courtesy.” The Ambassador glared, but crossed his arms and remained mute. “Do continue, Bailar.”

  “Thank you, notable.” Bailar bowed to the First Protector, then continued. “As I said, a young boy came to me, from the town of Lacota, along the Laughing River, riding an ice dragon. He had learned the spell from a children’s rhyme, of all things, and awakened it to drive away the invaders who threatened his home—drive away, mind you. Not kill. As the boy’s motives were pure, the ice dragon let him live and even did his bidding, but it now was demanding to be dispelled and he had no idea of how to go about it. Thus, he came to me for advice.

  “Seeing the boy obviously had Talent, we explained the Three Principles to him. After some thought, he saw what he needed to do and was indeed able to dispel the dragon.” He laid a hand on Mik’s shoulder. “I offered to take him on as my second apprentice, and he—and my daughter and first apprentice, Sura—are better students than I ever was.” Many of the older sorcerers, including the First Protector, chuckled at that.

  “So, Ambassador and members of the Conclave, I did not name him Mik Dragonrider out of fancy. Your invasion was undone by a boy, not even an apprentice at the time, who had no understanding of what he had unleashed. That he stands before the Conclave this day, whole and living, is evidence of his good heart and more than a little Talent.”

  “Thank you, sorcerer,” said the First Protector. “Apprentice,” he addressed Mik, “is it as your mentor has said? You were not an apprentice when you did this thing?”

  “Yes—yes, notable,” Mik stammered. “Lacota is a hundred miles from Exidy. There are no sorcerers nearer to home. I would have been apprenticed at the equinox.”

  Chileane gaped for a long moment then sputtered. “But—but The Treaty! It must yet apply, no?”

  Bailar nodded to the Ambassador. “Notables, I anticipated that a charge might be brought against my apprentice this day. Thus, I took the liberty of studying a transcript of The Treaty before we embarked for the Gathering. It is explicit in that it allows a sorcerer to defend both self and family in any circumstance. But even without such a provision, I would ask: does The Treaty apply to one who was not a sorcerer at the time? Not even an apprentice? I would say not.”

  “Well, Ambassador?” asked the First Protector, but received no response. “In that case, as the boy who awakened the ice dragon was neither sorcerer nor apprentice at the time, I rule that The Treaty has not been violated after all. If he, now duly enrolled and bound to observe our traditions and bylaws, were to perform such an act a second time, you would truly have a grievance.”

  The Ambassador’s glare could have melted an ice dragon on the spot, but he finally nodded. “Very well,” he said. “But we will be watching for further violations.” He turned and stomped up the aisle and out.

  “Well, then,” said the First Protector after the door closed behind the Ambassador, “the Gathering begins with a little excitement. Are there any others with a grievance? No? Then let us dismiss the apprentices and attend to the business of the Conclave.”

  Mik hardly heard the last. He was enjoying the stunned look on Hen sim Miran’s face, not noticing how the woman beside him looked at Mik.

  • • •

  Charn caught up to Mik and Sura outside the Great Hall. “Mik!” he cried. “You awoke the ice dragon?” He gave Mik a wide-eyed look.

  Mik sighed and nodded. “I did.” Other apprentices began to cluster around them, mostly watching Mik.

  Sura laughed. “You heard about that?”

  “You’re joking,” Charn grinned. “That’s all anyone’s been talking about at home since winter!”

  Mik glanced around. “Where’s home?”

  “Oh. Westmarch. Ah, don’t look like that. Zharcon’s my mentor. She said to thank you.” Charn looked at the s
mall crowd, then lowered his voice. “We’re not supposed to talk politics at the Conclave, you know, but the sorcerers at home are glad it happened. That ambassador is Prince Nalfur’s younger son. And the prince is… oh, where do I begin—”

  “Sura!” Isa dashed through the others and into their midst, already chattering. “That must have been so exciting, standing with the First Protector! Is this your friend? You didn’t tell me he’s the—well, I might just break my promise—” she noticed Charn watching her and stopped. “Oh, hello. Was I interrupting?”

  “Isa sam Parica,” said Sura, “this is Mik sim Mikhile, also called Mik Dragonrider, as you’ve heard. And…”

  Mik grinned. “Oh, this is Charn sim… um…”

  “Charn sim Bas,” said Charn, still watching Isa. “Well met?”

  “Well met!” Isa laughed, and all four bumped fists. The apprentices around them began to disperse, most with friendly words. “How do you know Sura and Mik?”

  Charn grinned. “I just met Sura. Mik I met yesterday. I had to rescue a senior apprentice from tangling with the Dragonrider.” Mik rolled his eyes as the girls laughed. “And you just rescued me from a boring political discussion!” This time, all four laughed together.

  “So where to?” Isa asked. “I was about to ask Sura if she wanted to go to that lecture about Chaos magic, it sounded more interesting than the elemental boundaries. Maybe you can come with us? I hope you’re first-year too, we can stay together like the Four Riders.” She giggled.

  “I’m second-year,” said Charn, “but we’re all together, as far as the lectures are concerned. They have different lectures each year, so we don’t have to hear the same thing two years running. I was thinking about the Chaos lecture too.” He looked at Mik and Sura. “Want to join us?”

  “A more recent example,” said the instructor, “involves a mage whose name is near forgotten, and is known only as Storm Cloud. Now he—” He stopped and glared at two apprentices, a boy and a girl, looking at each other and trying to stifle their laughter.

  “You two,” the instructor said. “Are you sharing a private moment, or is there something I said that you found amusing?” Some of the other apprentices laughed.

  “Apologies, notable,” said Mik, trying to put on a straight face. “Our mentor told us a story about Storm Cloud on the way to the Conclave.”

  “Well then. Perhaps one of you would like to share your story? Teach what you have learned?”

  Mik and Sura looked at each other; Sura nodded and stood. “Yes, notable. May I stand up front?”

  “By all means.”

  Around him, Mik felt the stares of the other boys, watching Sura take her place next to the lectern. You cannot dictate your emotions, Bailar once said. But a sorcerer is always aware of them, ready to harness them. He took a deep calming breath. I trust Sura, he reminded himself. They can look all they like. But part of him still wanted to blind them.

  “Our mentor told us that the rules of Chaos magic are far too complex for the reasoning mind to grasp,” said Sura, taking a formal stance. “However, Storm Cloud believed sorcerers can grasp the principles of Chaos magic by intuition, rather than reason. Specifically, he tried to work weather magic, but his attempts always brought torrential rain.” She nodded to the instructor.

  “Thank you, young lady,” the instructor said. “You may take your seat. Apprentices, your fellow here has addressed the essentials. There is more to it, of course, but that is a most excellent start. Does anyone else have more to add? No? Then let us continue.”

  “You’re so brave,” Isa whispered to Sura as she sat down. She gave Charn a grin, and to Mik beyond Sura.

  “I’ve met Storm Cloud,” the brown-sashed Eastern boy from the dormitory told Mik as they left the lecture. “He is still trying to get control over Chaos. The superstitious folk think he’s a god, because he can even make it rain in The Godforsaken!”

  Mik laughed. “He went East, then?”

  “Oh yes. The folk call him their treasure from Heaven.”

  “Have you seen those little dragons?” Sura asked, on Mik’s other side. “The ones that live in the desert?”

  “Desert Dwarfs?” He nodded. “Oh yes. Vicious creatures, are they. They’ll take the end of your finger off!”

  “Huh,” said Sura. “An enchanter lost one near our home. It was friendly to us, but it was hurt.”

  “They are smart,” said the Easterner. “If one needed help, I could see it being friendly. But it would bite as soon as it was better.”

  Mik and Sura looked at each other.

  “That enchanter,” the boy continued. “Did he give his name as Ahm Kereb? Blade of God?”

  “Yes,” said Mik, a little uncertain. “Did you know him?”

  “Not myself. But he lived nearby. My mentor says he’s like a Desert Dwarf himself. Vicious. He went West in the spring, and we have not heard from him. Perhaps he met his fate.”

  “He was hung, back in spring. For trying to kill us.”

  The Easterner gasped. “Good! That he was hung, of course, not for trying to kill you. Men like him give all us Eastern mages a bad name.”

  “The dragon attacked him,” said Sura, remembering. “And Kereb killed him for it. But it gave us time to… to get away, then fight back. Without the dragon’s help, we might not be here now.”

  “Folk say they embody the souls of those who die in The Godforsaken. Oh, you know that? Perhaps it is true.” He grinned. “And perhaps, some unkind souls give all dragons a bad name.”

  • • •

  “Whoo! Cold!”

  Mik laughed at Charn, hugging himself in the bath. “You didn’t check it first?”

  “If you do, then you’ll be afraid to get in!”

  “I think I’m afraid already!”

  Charn forced himself to relax. “Actually, once you’re in, it’s not too bad. It feels good, really. It’s hot here, hotter than Westmarch.”

  “Exidy, too.” Mik took a deep breath and jumped in next to Charn, and gasped. But after a minute, his body adjusted and he ducked his head under. “Sura and I swim in the Wide at home, it’s colder than this. But we have to keep our clothes on. We don’t have separate baths.”

  “Ha! What I wouldn’t give to get a look in the women’s bath right now!” Charn grinned. “There’s a magical barrier, though, so scrying wouldn’t work. Even if I knew that spell.”

  “Oh. That explains the False Dawn in the alcoves, then. I wondered why that was there. No shadows to use with a concealment spell.” Mik looked around the bath. Most of the men and boys at the Conclave were lounging with friends or swimming. He thought about Sura and Isa, imagining the four of them naked in the bath, then had some difficulty pushing the thought away.

  “Concealment? You know—” Charn began, then a wave, traveling across the bath, rose up and slapped into them. “Hoy!” They sputtered for a moment, then looked around. Across the bath, Hen sim Miran gave them a smug smile then turned away.

  “He’s daring us to give him some payback,” Charn growled. “I know what we can do.”

  Not yet. Mik heard Bailar’s voice, but not with his ears. He is prepared for retaliation. Let him think he has won, then pick your moment. He saw his mentor nod from farther down the bath.

  Mik nodded. “Later. He’s expecting it now.” Then he called, “Hoy! Northerner! Not bad for a fire mage!” Hen flinched then acted as if nothing had happened.

  “He’ll just do it again,” said Charn.

  “Then we’ll be ready for him.” The water rippled around them for a moment, then the chatter around them grew muted and hollow. “There. He can’t hear us now, even if he projects his hearing.”

  “You can bring down the silence? Where did you learn that spell?”

  “The mentor taught it to me, after I burned myself in the kitchen last month. I suddenly remembered a few choice words I learned from my aunt!”

  Charn laughed. “But that won’t keep him from doing it again.” He ga
ve a subtle nod toward sim Miran.

  “Can you raise a fender, then? I’m not where I can hold up two spells just yet.”

  “It’s good to know you have some limits!” Charn snickered.

  “Bailar says it will come in time. I’m still new to this.” Mik crossed his arms. “Now… to the matter of payback.”

  “Right.” Charn looked thoughtful. “Hey… I have an idea.”

  “Pour it out.”

  “He woke up the last two nights to use the privy.” Charn grimaced. “I’m a light sleeper, and he wakes me up staggering by. If we could turn him around, he’d get up on the wrong side and maybe walk into the wall!”

  Mik shook his head. “We won’t be able to move him, I think. He’ll have some kind of protection on himself.”

  “We don’t have to turn him. Has your mentor taught you Lifting?”

  “Only a little. I’m not good enough to Lift someone, even if he’s not protected. I need a lot more practice.”

  “That’s alright, I’m pretty good at it. We don’t have to Lift him specifically—just his bed. Do you think you could turn a bed around while I’ve got it up off the floor?”

  Another wave rose up, but this time split and went around them, splashing onto the tiles behind them.

  “Well done,” said Mik. Across the way, sim Miran scowled but tapped his forehead with one finger, saluting an inferior. “I can try. If I tip him out of bed, though…” he chuckled. “Well, I don’t care.”

  “Too obvious. We have to be more subtle than he was. That’s how pranks work at the Gathering.”

  “I’ll do my best. All we have to do is stay awake. Oh… better yet, let’s do it tomorrow night. If we don’t do anything tonight, he’ll think we can’t touch him.”

  “Good idea!”

  They bumped fists, and normal sound returned as Mik released his spell. “I guess you like Isa?”

  Charn laughed. “I think if the Dragonrider wasn’t already taken, by her best friend no less, she wouldn’t give me a second look!”