Barath sat back on his heels. “We’re leaving?” The idea was unthinkable. He had lived here as long as he remembered. “Why?”
“It’s time to leave,” Mayan’s tea cup was hiding her annoyance. Barely.
“That’s not fair to me – I don’t want to leave. This is my home. It’s your home. You have responsibilities!”
“I am thinking of my responsibilities, Barath. Where are you going?” As if she didn’t know. Barath took his scabbard from the alcove near the door and slammed it shut behind him. Because I can’t wield. I bet she is just disappointed with me. He flipped his hair from his eyes, hating the copper curls that made it obvious he was Sanrucki and not Sarenese – as Mayan was. I fucking hate her! He stormed through the halls, people crushing themselves against the walls to stay clear of his rampage.
Their behavior was normal, people always stepped aside for him. But the frenzied, wild-eyed movements made him look down. His sword was out of the scabbard. He was sure he had not brandished it. But the people around him were frightened. It made him feel a little more powerful.
He made his way to the practice yard. This late in the afternoon, only the over achievers and the ones being punished were out in the frigid air. Barath approached an interesting looking ring of people and watched two of his acquaintances sparring. “Who’s up next?”
Marty turned and flashed a self-assured smile in his direction. “Me. You can fight me second.”
Barath accepted the challenge, questioning his friend’s masculinity and offering to make him a eunuch free of charge. The fight in the ring seemed sadly one sided- a burly beast of a man was squaring off against another that Barath was sure could fit inside his own arm with room to spare. He could not quite remember their names, but the wiry one had won a hundred silver marks off him a few weeks back at the gaming tables in the barracks. He wouldn’t be sorry when the little guy was pounded into the ground.
There were a few women in the ring, watching the fight with interest. Some of them gambled, Barath knew. But as he watched them, a raven haired cutie caught his eye and winked. Barath smiled back, flexing his arms in anticipation of exercise. Barath was surprised to look back at the fight and see it was over. “…can’t believe how fast…” The wiry man was standing over the battlehorse, looking smug. “What happened?”
One of the onlookers informed Barath that Bur had slipped past a vicious lunge to his chest and punched his foe in the throat. Toney was sitting on the ground, hands at his throat, taking on a decidedly blue tint. Two of the women were petting him, and the quartermaster Graman was yelling at people to get the sluts away from the battlefield. A Healer, a prissy child-like man, ran out and soon had Toney sputtering and coughing. Now that it was clear he was going to live, people were starting to tease him for losing to such a grass stalk.
Marty sauntered out, assuring people that he would be careful. Since he was closer in size to Bur, people were beginning to place bets, and excited that the fight should be more interesting. Barath put a gold mark on his friend, as a show of good faith, but Bur was fast, and Barath thought that annoying pipsqueak might win after all.
The fight lasted a long time. Marty was keeping a conservative distance, feinting and blocking, but circling and circling. Barath grinned. Marty would tire Bur out so that his speed was less helpful. All that effort on Bur would definitely work to Barath’s advantage. Eventually, Bur was breathing harder, pouring sweat from his pointy chin. It happened fast, too. Marrty was beaten back, and knelt under the blows, using his wooden practice blade like a staff to ward off the blows. Then he swung the hilt around by the would-be blade, surprising his opponent with a left-handed attack. There was a crunching sound as the hilt connected with exposed ribs, and Bur went down, wriggling like a worm.
Interrupted for the second time that evening, Graman spit and started breaking up the practice going on. “Lucky for you Barath,” Marty said as they walked towards the barracks. “I was going to fix that pretty face of yours once and for all.”
“Bullshit,” Barath scoffed. “I know to watch for your left hand attacks you fucking cheater. Besides, you already tired yourself out on that idiot.”
“I would have punched you in the throat, just to prove it’s easy to do on the big dumb brutes.” That grated on a raw nerve with Barath. He had grown up in the Citadel, part palace, part college for wielders, and he had failed at everything. The only thing he excelled at was gambling, whoring, and occasionally getting so shitfaced that it took three days to sleep it off. He was pretty handy with a sword, and he occasionally joined the practice battles and such, and was even occasionally asked to help train recruits. Still, he doubted that would happen if Mayan was not a Citadel Elder.
He drank with his buddies, and gambled away several weeks of their wages. This is why they pretend to like me, he thought. Mayan’s stupid allowance. It’s why the teachers try to pretend that I’m making progress, and why the pretty girls try to seduce me. The longer he tried to escape by drinking and gambling, the more barefaced these truths became.
So when that raven-haired beauty came into the barracks and whispered in his ear, he followed her to her luxurious apartment and spent the rest of the night trying to lose himself in the sound of her gratuitous moaning.
The next morning was as difficult as he knew it would be. Mayan was seated at her desk near the front door. Her tea cup set to the side for now, though her hand strayed towards it. Her thinly veiled disgust grated at his soul. “Good morning, majesty.”
“It’s hardly morning anymore, Barath. Lunch will be sent up shortly.”
“Still planning on defecating?”
“Defecting,” Mayan snarled as she got that far away look in her eyes that usually indicated she was wielding. Barath scratched at his scalp. “Watch your mouth, Barath. You know my leaving will have…ripples.”
“Yeah. Like losing all our friends and destroying what’s left of our reputations. Like convincing everyone that you’re as batty as Jalal. Aren’t you sworn to be here, protecting the Citadel – they arrest oathbreakers, don’t they?”
“They do.” She fidgeted, and took a sip of tea. “But I’m not breaking any oaths. In fact there are several who would be happy that I will be stepping down.”
“Right. Lily will be pleased, won’t she? Everyone will rest better knowing that blood sucking bitch is watching over them. I was hoping that you’d come to your sense after a good night’s sleep, but you’re still bonkers.”
Mayan was ignoring him again. He hated that. When he had a point, she argued with him. When she respected people, she would spit and hiss and holler like a cat in heat to brow beat them into seeing things her way. But when she did not believe listening was worth the effort, she just ignored you. He slammed his hand against the wall and said he would tell everyone what she intended if he was not allowed to stay. “Don’t be stupid Barath. Of course I’ve thought this through. Someone will be here after lunch to discuss our plans. She comes highly recommended and I would like you to make the effort to be civil and refrain from trying to seduce her.”
“What plans?” he demanded a third time.
“We’re leaving. It’s not safe here, anymore.”
“So make it safe. You have an army at your beck and call and you’re the strongest wielder in Saren. Do your fucking job!”
Mayan’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “You will not speak to me that way. I have taken care of you, child. I will continue to keep you safe – that is why we are leaving and that is why you will do as I say!” he strained to hear the end of the speech.
“What does that mean? Come on, Mayan. You waited until I was seventeen and gave up on me being Talented. Get me a commissioned position in the infantry and send me on my way.”
Mayan was about to respond when some poor soul knocked on the door. Barath seriously considered bolting, but he was sure she had already taken precautions. She wielded the door open, pointedly ignoring Barath as she inspected her lunch. She nodded and tossed the little serving girl a coin. “Put your sword up,” Mayan ordered.
Barath hung his belt in the alcove belt to the door and followed Mayan to the table where they dined together. He watched Mayan as they ate. Totally self assured, rigidly straight, and furious at him. He ate his salmon and grilled vegetables slowly, waiting for her to relax or snap. “Why can’t you just admit you made a mistake? I’m not what you think I am.”
“I think you’re a spoiled child living in sin while I pay for you. You are exactly that. Go get the boy, I have an errand to send him on. You will stay here for the afternoon.”
Barath slumped. She was too old to fight with. He would endure a little longer, but when he turned twenty five, the age of majority in Saren, he would leave – and she would have to break laws to try to stop him. The thought saddened him.
For all their disagreement, she had saved him. She had adopted him when he was orphaned by border skirmishes between Sanrue and Azule. She was distant, and often too busy to see to his needs, but she believed in a great deal of freedom and gave him an allowance that allowed him to live in any way he wanted. She dismissed his failures as unfortunately inevitable since he was not the fruit of her own loins, and tried to be rational even when he tried to prick her temper. He cared about her in a loose, distant way. And these last couple of years had been hard on her.
He did not fully understand, but there was a line being drawn between different factions of the Elders. And Azule had been a more prominent part of that line, of late. Barath naturally hated Azule since he blamed them for his parents’ deaths, and Mayan detested their influence – especially with Jalal who, unhinged in the best of times, was being more and more militant in protecting traditions and wielders over whatever the threat of the week was.
He sat and ate, defeated.
Ranel sat with heavy tome in her lap as her legs slowly went numb. Her chin was resting heavily on her left hand while her right, ink stained, crinkled the letter hidden in her shirt, close to her heart. She had hoped to distract herself from the unpleasant decision, but her eyes continued to drift to the tiny crevice that served as her window.
Her room was cool, and her bare feet tingled against the cold stone floor. She looked down and focused on the tome in her lap, only to glance to the waning light of the crisp fall day. I don’t want to go back. Her thought circled for the twentieth time since she received the blunt edict just before lunch. Feeling weary, Ranel let her chin sink back to her hand, wondering why she wanted to seek Danny out even in the place she wanted to avoid. I miss the asshole, she shook her head, upsetting the inkwell at her elbow.
She sighed. Living in the students’ quarters at the Citadel meant that she was not allowed to be caught wielding. Technically, almost no one would be able to detect her activity, but her conscience pricked at her whenever she cheated. Her Talent was buried so deeply within her that, though she was one of the strongest wielders she had ever met, few people thought her capable of more than auralight. This suited Ranel just fine: she had paid for being competitive before, and was perfectly content to let others lead, provided she could live her life in relative privacy.
The paper crinkled against her breast as she scrubbed the ink clear of the table. The black smudge spread until she shrugged away her guilt and wielded the liquid back into the well and shoved the stopper into place. The smell of the youth, or rather, his cloying perfume, made Ranel gag long before he knocked the wall near her opened door. “Why’s it so cold in here?” his voice sounded curious, but Ranel waited a moment, not wanting to see the usual disbelief and then dismissal that occurred with most of the servants and other students upon seeing her lackluster accommodations. “Lady Cama said we’re allowed to light fires the regular way, you know.”
Ranel turned around with half a smile on her face. She ignored the bare stone floors, the wobbly table, the threadbare blankets, and the fat candle on top of a stack of old and brittle books on a shelf that might be mistaken for a foot rest. Actually, her room was much more generous here that it had ever been there, where the students dwelt in closets half this size. She took in the perfectly manicured hands, soft soled slippers, and oiled hair. If he was a student, he did not live in this wing – she would have remembered him. The fact that he was currently wearing the livery of the Circle servants meant he had connections. The rich kids get all the best paying jobs. She forced herself to smile the rest of the way, irritated that such a petty thought came to mind while she was feeling so ambivalent about Dan’s idiotic request. Demand, really, she resisted the urge to take the letter out and read it again. “Are you Lady Ranel?” His tone suggested an apology for mistaking her as some kind of lady.
Fighting the urge to roll her eyes at him, “I’m Ranel.” I bet Danny had a giggle over that one. Ranel continued smiling, though.
“Oh,” the kid looked more confused as his eyes took in the most humble of habitats that existed in the main hall of the Citadel besides the servants’ huts. Except for her collection of books and a rather plain looking but finely crafted tea kettle, there was only the standard items entrusted to students: one chair of unfinished wood, a matching table, a bed (her quilt was rather tatted), one plain chest, one book case and a tapestry with the national sigil in the window, pulled aside to let in the late afternoon light. “The Lady Elder Mayan Alia Saren wishes an audience,” his tone implied he had no idea why that might be.
“Thanks,” Ranel replied, and stood to get her robe and slippers.
“She didn’t say what it was about?” He was curious and asked a question more than made the statement. He looked directly at her as if to demand why one of the Elders of the Circle would even acknowledge the existence of a student who could not afford a rug for the floor or a decent bed covering. The Gifted poor did start out as a bit of a burden on the Citadel, but they always worked off their debt with jobs no one else volunteered for. Ranel was actually very happy with her current assignment of cleaning tack in the stables. Her wielding meant that she could ensure that even the tiniest crevices were polished free of dirt, debris, rust, or mold. It also meant that she could be around Dryn, her colossal war horse.
She stooped to pull on her muddy boots since people frowned at her walking the halls barefoot. There it had rarely been an issue. The boy tapped his foot impatiently while rubbing his arms through the thin silk of his livery. “Are you going to escort me?” she asked a little too brightly, reminding herself that no one chose the conditions of their birth.
“The Lady didn’t say, so…yeah, I guess.”
“Great.”
Mayan sat pensively, watching the door over her tea cup, listening to Barath’s continuing rant about being forced to leave home against his will. Mayan ignored him: He was being stupid. She was moderately tempted to respond to his claims that her decision would have damaging effects on his romantic life. He sleeps with a new whore all the time and believes that’s romance? I’ve failed him so many ways. The pang of guilt lingered with her, honing her temper, helping her dispel any sympathy for taking him away from the only life he remembered having. . It was one of his first real traumas, at least that he could remember. His first love had come and gone – that had gone poorly, but Barath recovered in a couple of weeks. That was about as long as he stayed with anything beyond his soldier’s training.
“I could just stay,” Barath spat, “Plenty of people would put me up.” Mayan watched him as he stomped past the elaborate mirror on her carved ebony mantle, circled a low table that gleamed in the lamplight, and came to stand defiantly in front of her desk. She looked up briefly, not bothering to reply. She privately suspected no one would think twice to help him if she abandoned him. Barath resumed his stalking, muttering quietly enough that Mayan was able to pretend she could not hear his comments about her very great age and the dust that had settled on her brain.
The twit had better get here fast…she’ll learn one way or another that I am always in control. Another pang hit her. She was not, lately, in control of much.
The Azuli had been hinting at alliances and the growing threat of the greedy Sanrucki for decades, but the Circle had steadfastly ignored them. There was always some greedy group aiming at power that would upset the balance of life and the fate of the world. The Circle was too farsighted to worry about the effects of any one. And yet, the Dogram Jalal had suddenly decided to listen. Positions of power and influence started to become open under strange circumstances and then filled with advisors who, if not Azuli, at least hated the Sanrucki. While her people had all but melted into other races of people, this sort of racism bothered Mayan enough to notice.
When she had prompted some of her peers in the Lesser Circle to point out the obvious, they, too, had met with unfortunate demises. Mayan had taken a personal interest – as she had with Barath and a few other issues in the past – and discovered that no poison or natural cause had killed her acquaintances. A wielder had performed a kind of execution that smacked of Azuli ritual. She had initiated a few investigations and, quite by accident, discovered someone had been reading interesting materials. And Lily was lurking in the background. Always there when something bad happened, always vouchsafed by Jalal in his mad ramblings. I should have done something about this years ago, Mayan realized. But he never seemed totally wrong…Just a little off – and entirely too interested in the perks of his office, of later, of course, but… Her mental egg hunt was interrupted by an especially venomous exclamation from Barath. She looked pointedly at him, a sure sign of her censure, when the rapid knock of her foolish servant drew her attention back to the door. “Come.” She took a sip of her tea before responding. “Go see if Lady Cama needs any help inspecting dustbins,” Mayan dismissed the bothersome child. He mumbled an introduction for the student she had called. Mayan frowned her displeasure behind her tea cup.
Barath stood stolidly in front of the fireplace. He could be downright impressive when he put his mind to it. He liked to play with the soldiers, and even went so far as to put himself through the recruits training a couple of years ago. It had less to do with his professed boredom than his observation about girls and muscles, but the results were the same. He was tall, broad, and glared like a falcon spying out prey. He stood with the easy grace of the other soldiers, but Mayan knew he was impatient and spoiled. She knew that she was at least partly to blame for his childish nature, but she also knew it was the best way to protect him. At least, it had been. Regrets piled up at her feet until she felt she had to leave or be buried in them.
Ranel walked in. Lopsided, chubby, and dirty, she did not appear nervous in the least but examined the room as she waited to be asked to sit. Her page hissed at Ranel to curtsey, and the fool girl chuckled before executing a ridiculous curtsey in her pants and muddy boots. “Aren’t you going to curtsey?” she asked the child. Her page looked disgusted, replied stiffly that boys bowed, and left without bowing.
A brief glance at Barath told Mayan that he was less than impressed with their visitor as well. Mayan sat back and let the silence work on the girl. She fidgeted a moment. “Don’t we have a class together? You’re in the medic training class, aren’t you? Most of the soldiers…” she trailed off as Barath’s expression went from surprise to distaste.
“This is our hope? Really, Mayan?” Mayan ignored his outburst.
“I’ve learned a lot in that class,” she added before going back to examining the room’s opulence.
As an Elder of the Citadel Circle, Mayan’s personal apartment could comfortably house thirty people, and she had filled her abode with treasures and knickknacks from centuries of collecting. In addition to her gilt tables and brocaded furniture, the fine porcelain tea ware and rich, polished wood, the paintings and the tapestries that decorated her receiving room, there was an impressive fireplace and arched ceilings that echoed the Circle Hall. This was by design – her own in fact ,since she had been present when the architect made the plans. Sculptures and fresh flowers adorned pedestals around the room which was, despite the other finery, overpowered by the large mahogany desk that sat to one side of the door, with a cushioned chair that looked more like a throne than anything else. Mayan sat at her desk, tea cup raised to hide her pursed lips.
Something in the girl’s eyes lit up as she gazed at a sculpture across from Mayan. Ranel approached it slowly, completely unconscious of the upset her actions caused. “You have a Collins eagle!” she said with quiet approval. Mayan quashed the warm flood of pride in her property and respect for this child that, despite her crude behavior, knew a little something about high art.
The girl inhaled deeply and turned slowly, finally aware that she was acting disrespectfully. “I’ve only seen one other,” she shared. “I apologize for becoming distracted.” She returned to waiting, completely unperturbed that Barath had resumed his angry pacing and that Mayan had still not spoken to her.
Mayan sensed nothing, even after delicately probing for any Talent. The girl was nothing special. Less than that. Everything about her suggested she could barely care for herself. Why would Scar send her? Mayan wondered as she watched the slouching figure with her dirty fingernails.
To avoid fidgeting herself, Mayan finally broke her silence. “I don’t think you’re what I wanted after all.” She glanced at a paper on her desk. “If anyone asks why I called you here, tell them you asked me to advise you on your apparent lack of strength and that I suggested you find a use for the limited Gift you have in a line of work you find palatable.”
The girl rubbed at her nose and cheek, making the mark there slightly darker than before. Mayan squinted and saw that her hand was also ink-stained. Her hair was long but disheveled even in its braid. Her students’ robe hung open, revealing work clothes underneath. Her appearance and lack of Talent suggested that she should not feel at home here, and yet, she smiled halfway and approached Mayan’s desk without fear or defense. Her ink-stained hand reached into her bodice and reemerged with a folded paper strip. “I’m sure that I’m not what you wanted,” the eyes danced with a dark light as she said this, “and if you’re in no hurry, Moltok will send you someone …better –” Mayan hissed and snapped an Aural shield into place. Hers hit something.
“You can invert?” she dropped her tea cup to the table, spilling hot liquid down her robes without even noticing the scald.
Ranel nodded uncertainly before picking up mid sentence, “suited to your tastes. But I have the feeling that your business is urgent. Have you and Barath ever traveled before? I mean, without a retinue?”
Mayan spluttered. “How do you know his name?”
“Everyone knows Barath,” Ranel shrugged one shoulder to indicate her knowing his name was nothing unusual to her. Of course. Everyone knows Barath – the idiot. “Look, I don’t mind not helping – I would rather not travel in winter across the country under pleasant circumstances. I would not even have answered the summons for anyone besides the person who wrote me that letter. But if you’re as serious as that says you are, we should put our druthers aside and at least get you out of Saren.”
“Who from Nouti’s Realm do you think you are? You are speaking to Lady Mayan Alia of the Circle!” Mayan rolled her eyes as Barath barked his rage. Curious that her shield had included the would-be soldier. Mayan would have shut him out as a matter of convenience.
“Enough!” Mayan voice was quiet but forceful enough to stop Barath from advancing, and snap Ranel’s mouth closed again. Pleased she still had some authority at the moment, Mayan continued in an almost normal tone. “You may have been asked to help with a minor detail,” her carefully controlled, blank expression spoke volumes to Mayan, forcing her voice to a constricted whisper. “But you are still only a student here and will speak to full fledged wielders with respect if you speak at all.
“And Barath,” she did not even bother to look at him, “ your muscles might impress the cooks and whores, but they won’t help you much against even a student. Stop!”
Ranel was heading back for the door. Mayan wanted to warn her about the consequences of exposing what little information had been shared with her by this “D” person who had written to her. She threw up a shield to keep the girl from leaving before her dismissal, but Ranel barely paused before walking through it and closing the door with a soft click behind her. “Follow her, Barath. If she talks to anyone about this meeting, I need to know about it. Interrupt her with a message to come back here – to retrieve her book.”
“Why don’t I just bash her head in?”
“You’re no match against a wielder. Even a weak one has more defenses than an orig.” Mayan made a mental note to check his suicidal confidence lately.
“If you’re worried, why didn’t you just stop her? No one would believe a student’s word against yours.” Mayan stared at him until he looked down and mumbled something about Lily seizing an opportunity. Sulking, Barath looked reproachfully towards her before slipping out the door to follow the…girl.
Ranel paused outside Mayan’s door. “Quite takes your breath away, doesn’t she?” Ranel asked the boy who had brought her here. He nodded, still sulking for having been thrown out.
Not the library, Ranel decided. So she retraced her steps to her room, exchanged her slippers for boots, and went to muck out a few stalls.
Ranel walked purposefully to the stables, stopping for a moment to greet the stable-kids, the ones who were paid a pittance and given free room (with the horses) and board (leftovers) because they were orphaned or refugees or both. Ranel stopped by almost daily to visit her horse and help them out a bit with the more physical chores or very difficult horses (any that belonged to soldiers).
Barath was careful not to slam the door behind himself. The chubby bitch was already gone by the time he stepped out of the room. The page’s expression when Barath told the boy to take him to her room made Barath’s shoulders hunch. Mayan’s going to pay for this, he thought darkly. Bad enough we have to leave all this, his hand touched the plastered wall of the Citadel fondly, but now everyone’s going to think I bedded that ugly girl. I hate Mayan. His thoughts attacked each other as he followed the page to the student’s wing, with their rough stone corridors and freezing drafts.
When she did not answer her door, Barath kicked it open. “Do you think she’s even got any Talent?” the page asked, glancing at the shamefully bare little room.
“Doubtful. Get back to the Lady in case she misses you.” The page looked about to object, but Barath turned away and started walking towards the barracks. He stopped a terrified new student in the hall and demanded to know where a girl matching his harsh description of Ranel might work. The stable. Should have guessed with those pants and muddy boots. Mayan must be losing her mind.
He walked through the stables, pretending to be checking on some soldier’s complaints about their horses. The stables master, an unkempt short man with arms that looked a little too long, glared at Barath before shrugging and walking away.
He heard the urchins before he saw anyone. Barath had intended to ask one of them if they knew… but he could not remember her name. Cursing under his breath, Barath followed the sound of their breathless little chatter. “Ranel! Ranel? Master Steb asked if you could come? A horse done thrown a shoe? He said he needed a hand to cam it some?”
“Of course,” he recognized the name when he heard it. Other children called to Ranel as she walked an aisle further down than Barath. They were asking for help, asking if she wanted some dinner, if she would stay, give someone a ride. It’s like the people that come demanding from the Circle all the time, he thought, angry at all these demands as much as her seeming willingness to go along with it.
He followed, and watched her take a twitch from the horse’s nose and pet the beast, whispering and scratching while the wrecked shoe was removed and replaced. “Thanks, ma’am,” Steb shook her hand when he was done. His apelike fist was likely the only thing on the planet that could make her dirty, rough hands look dainty.
“My pleasure,” she smiled and turned to go. “I’ll take the last two aisles this evening, if that’s okay?”
“Don’t know why you ever think it wouldn’t be,” Steb sounded perplexed.
“Your stables,” Ranel replied. Three of the children volunteered to help her. She politely refused. “I have a lot of things to mull over.”
“What does mull mean?” one of the younger ones asked. Ranel paused a moment to answer it meant think about before striding off again. The stable monkey was gruffly ordering kids to their chores. Barath followed with an aisle between them.
“There’s no need to insult Master Steb just to keep an eye on me,” she said this just loud enough for Barath to hear when they were away from the crowd. He pretended he did not hear, and walked purposefully towards his horse’s stall. Keth, a huge chestnut war horse, had one of the larger stalls in the stables. There were bite marks along the top of the stall door and Barath noted with some distaste that a few of the boards had been kicked loose again. He sighed. The horse wanted him dead, and now that he was here, he was probably going to get bitten or kicked or trammeled.
He turned and saw Ranel was leaving a stall she must have mucked out. She marched a full barrow down the aisle to the compost bins and hauled it back to stop in front of Keth’s stall. Part of him wanted to watch her get mauled by his beast of a horse, but he could not allow a girl to be killed over mucking out a stall. Even if she was stupid enough to volunteer to do the job. “He bites.”
“Does he?” Ranel overrode Barath’s weak attempt to stop her from going in. He felt sickly betrayed when Keth swiveled his ears forward and docilely allowed Ranel to slip a halter over his head. He did not try to pin her as she led him out, or bite her when she offered him a feed bag, or even prance sideways when she knelt to pick out his hooves. She mucked the stall, emptied the barrow, and returned Keth to the stall without a single bruise or broken rib! Barath was outraged. “Seems like a nice fellow to me,” she remarked as she headed for the next stall.
As soon as she was out of sight, Keth charged the door, startling a yell from Barath. Ranel poked her head out to see what the noise was, and the dumb horse turned back into his stall to nose through the freshly laid straw.
She worked quickly, and managed nearly two aisles before anyone brought her a bowl of steaming stew from the kitchens. She sat in the aisle with a couple of the older hands, and listened to their chatter. Barath realized he was hungry, and wondered why no one had thought to bring him any slop. It was fairly obvious to Barath that Ranel didn’t care whether he was there or not, and that she did not seem social enough to tell anyone anything.
He followed her as she finished the last row, spending extra time and attention on a large white war horse. The horse seemed…happy…to see her. She spent extra time grooming him, and seemed content to sit there all night. Just as Barath was beginning to wonder about whether she really would be there all night – in fact, the stall seemed preferable to her empty student’s room – Ranel finally spoke to him. “Are you going to babysit me all night, or will someone else be taking over soon?”
He jumped. “I…”
“I only ask because I’m tired and dirty and I’d really like to take a bath before I go to bed. I have an early class,” she yawned for emphasis, “and you’re probably getting hungry.” His stomach growled, right one cue. She stood and stretched before gathering up the cleaning tools. “Get the door please?”
Barath was surprised by two things: first, she had said please. Second, and far more disconcerting, was that he was reaching for the stall door before it registered that she was an unTalented student who had pissed Mayan off this afternoon. He snatched his hand back, but the damage had been done: she was out and dumping the barrow onto the shit mountain outside the barn. “Thanks.”
“Yeah.”
Ranel paused to look at him. Up close, he was surprised to see her eyes were green. It almost made her look pretty – but the ink smudge was still faintly visible and that judging look, pretty much habit for wielders, made him want to look away. Then she was walking briskly away, leaving him feeling far more exposed than he ever did when he was merely nude. He trudged along after her, close enough that he could watch where she went, but not near enough to make it obvious that she was worth his attention.
Why would Mayan care what Lily says? She’s not that strong. She is not well liked. Jalal grew tired of her a long time ago. So who cares? He was getting angrier the more he thought. And how dare she speak that way to Mayan! No one – not even Jalal – spoke to Mayan as though they were equals. Even though Jalal outranked her, and was a bit older than her, Mayan commanded a great deal of respect. Or at least, she had.
Mayan rarely went long without reminding him that she sacrificed a great deal in order to raise him. Barath had asked her once, and only once, why she bothered. He had not understood her reply then, and it was still cryptic to him now.
The last couple of years, as it became apparent to everyone that Barath would never be a wielder, Mayan had seemed to decide that he ought to be more disciplined. The more she tried to control his development, the less she seemed to be able to control anything.
He kicked at a rock, trying to dismiss the guilt that crawled up his spine and rested squarely on his shoulders. The only two things they had been able to agree on lately was that “playing soldier boy” was good for him, and that he was right to refuse to bed Lily. While he had bristled when Mayan wondered aloud why Lily might be interested in a boy like him, even he had felt bizarrely about her advances. They might have been the very first he had fended off.
Not that he slept with nearly as many women as the rumors suggested – Barath rarely spent the night alone anymore. If he wasn’t enjoying some female company, then he was in the barracks gambling and carousing. He was finally not so dependent on her for everything. He was earning at least of the money he spent, earning the respect of his friends, earning his mostly passing grades for useful skills like basic medical care and identifying hazardous vegetation – sort of – and now he was going to be forced to leave it all behind because… He couldn’t really say why. She thought that the Azuli were gaining too much influence. She thought that no one was listening to her like they used to. She was afraid of something – losing power, losing control. Barath kicked another rock.
“You’re not going to sleep with him are you?” Barath looked up sharply, and realized that Ranel had stopped at the kitchens.
“Just tutoring. We have the same medic class – please?”
“You remember Trina? You stay away from him!”
“I will. I promise,” Ranel took a tray from the kitchen wench while Barath spluttered. Why would he want her? She wasn’t Talented or pretty or rich. She didn’t even have a stupid rug! Ranel gave the wench an awkward one-armed hug and carried the tray off, forcing Barath to follow or be left behind.
“Why’d you say that?” he demanded when he caught up. She looked at him blankly for a moment. Not the level look that Mayan turned on him when he was being foolish, but still a look that screamed he was asking questions when he should not be. “Why’d you say you were tutoring me?”
“Did you want me to tell the truth?” her green eyes sparkled and her mouth pulled into a half-grin. She might be okay if she put full effort into the smile.
“No.” He wanted to argue, but he could not. She passed the tray to him. He shoved it back at her. “I’m not your pack horse,” he snarled.
She stopped. “I thought you were hungry.” She looked at the tray in her hands before shaking her head and turning to walk again. Her gesture made Barath even angrier. How was he supposed to know why she was handing him the tray?
Waiting for her to take her stupid bath did not improve his temper. She took the tray in with her, leaving him in a chilly hall way outside the women’s bathhouse, trying to ignore the lewd comments older women made as they emerged and entered. Why do soldiers get such a bad reputation for these catcalls when the women are so nasty? Women – especially wielders – had such an easy existence. And all they did was play with or criticize men. It would have been nice to eat instead of just standing here.
Ranel emerged damp and hunched. She was back in her filthy work clothes and her robe bunched around her shoulders to keep her hair from dripping down her back, but at least the ridiculous braid was gone and the ink smudge on her face had been scrubbed, leaving a pink blotch in its place. The tray came with her. She did not look at him as he followed her up worn, narrow stairways and poorly lit corridors. At least the cobwebs were cleared to his height.
She left the door open behind her. Barath stood in her doorway, not quite sure if Mayan’s orders meant he was to actually stay in the room. That was preferable to standing in the hallway, but he was not comfortable barging in. While he was trying to decided what to do, Ranel kicked her boots off on the floor near her door, pulled the tiny table close enough to sit on her bed, and set the tray on it. She made herself comfortable and picked up a book from the floor to read before she noticed him again. “You can come in,” she gestured towards the tray and a chair scraped across the floor to rest near the table. Barath closed the door behind him, hoping no one had witnessed him following her up here. Suddenly, he was happy that they had braved the dust and cobwebs in the little used corridors. He sat, awkwardly trying to say something to excuse his dismissal of her thoughtfulness. Nothing came to mind. His stomach, on the other hand, was quite vocal.
“Please eat something,” she murmured, her half smile tugging at her face again. Barath picked up one of the spoons and frowned at the stew. If he had gone with Mayan to the Mess, or placed his order with the page, then he would be dining on steak or freshly caught fish. Salmon sounded particularly good, even though he had had some cold for lunch. But this slop smelled edible, and he was hungry. He took an experimental bite, braced for anything. By the time he had cleaned the second bowl, Barath was wondering if the peasants’ slop wasn’t better than the refined fare he usually ate. He said as much aloud.
Ranel laughed. It was not the simpering, over done, falsetto giggle of a girl who wanted his attention or his influence with Mayan. The genuine chuckle surprised him. “I don’t think they’re holding out on you. They’re catering to the will of the Circle, just like everyone else.”
“Mayan thinks it’s changing.” The confession surprised Barath more than it seemed to affect her.
She merely nodded. “Have the two of you ever traveled without a retinue?”
“No one’s going anywhere,” he insisted. Ranel looked up at him, pen poised over the paper, her face contorted again. “Mayan doesn’t want you to come, anyway.”
“I know. I’m used to being a disappointment,” she said lightly, but the statement struck a chord, and Barath swallowed his first impulse to suggest she take some care of her appearance.
“I’ve been on the camps,” Barath volunteered. The camps were weeklong excursions that were meant to train and harden recruits. They were difficult, but Barath still enjoyed them. He was pretty good at fighting – even if they were only allowed to use wooden swords and weren’t allowed to hunt actual meat. And he had developed other ways, as well. He had earned the friendship of several of the ‘real’ soldiers. His muscles had grown enough to earn some of his liaisons on purely physical attraction. He knew how to pack and carry, and he had been allowed to lead the opposing side on the last camp. Sure, his mission had been to lose, but he had made sure the Citadel team got a real workout for it.
Ranel was not adequately impressed, even after he explained his role. “What supplies do you have?” She was uncapping a bottle of ink and pulling a haphazard pile of paper scraps. “Oiled cloaks?” He shook his head. She tsked and made a note.
“Real wielders can keep the rain off their heads,” Barath pointed out the obvious reason he might not need such messy clothing.
“Oiled boots?” He nodded, annoyed that he had those for the camps. She went through a dozen other items, causing him to doubt if she were capable of wielding a whisper of air. Why would an Elder be expected to have such mundane items as a set of eating utensils? Mayan was wealthy enough to eat at the finest restaurants every night for the next century even if she never earned another copper. “Okay then. Let’s go see her, shall we?”
“She hasn’t called you back, yet.” Barath was reluctant to move. Ranel left the door open behind her like an invitation. He caught up to her in the hall. “You should at least wear your boots,” he grumbled. Ranel continued marching. At least she knocked politely on the door, but the fact that the page boy had fallen asleep standing up made Barath’s skin crawl. Mayan’s muffled “Come!” snapped Barath’s attention back to the fact Ranel was trying to commit suicide. He reached out to grab her should before snatching it back, wanting to see her put back in her place. Wanting, he realized, to see Mayan berate someone else, for a change.
“Good evening,” Ranel’s voice, scratchy with fatigue, sounded overly bright. Barath peeked. Mayan’s level stare caught him, making him reluctantly slip inside the room and pull the door closed.
“Has she killed my page?” Mayan’s stare made beads of sweat stand out on Barath’s face. He licked his lips.
“Asleep,” he forced out.
Mayan released him and moved at a stately pace across the room to sit at her ‘throne.’ “When she was seated comfortably, she nodded to a low chair in front of her desk, which Ranel took as though this were an everyday sort of invitation. Mayan sighed regally, “You have been here four years. You’ve taken some…interesting…classes with no obvious pattern. You arrived with a horse that you visit almost daily while ‘helping out’ in the stables. There is nothing of value in your room except the books you have on loan – also of an interestingly eclectic nature – and that letter came to you a day before I received my reply from a friend willing to allow me some rooms to settle out some…affairs. You haunt the kitchens and, while there have been a few rumors, I cannot see that you’ve had any romantic encounters or more than passing acquaintances.”
Ranel, for the first time since Barath had laid eyes on her, seemed impressed. She did not respond to Mayan’s revelations; at least, she did not say anything. Four years and no…? No wonder she was always mucking out stalls.
Mayan continued. “Four years and this is the second letter you’ve received, both from Moltok or the vicinity. You seemed to have sent only one. Four years and you have earned enough to be comfortable in your room and yet, you seem to be unable to provide even a rug for the floor. Four years, and not even Barath remembers being in a class with you.” Barath was wondering where this might be going.
“I’m not really his type,” Ranel’s half smile was at odds with her statement. It looked like she was about to say something more, but Mayan demanded to know why she was here. “I needed better training.”
“Was it easy to leave?”
“Making the decision was the hardest part,” Ranel took a breath and settled back in her chair. Barath moved forward to see if she were crying or fidgeting. The look in Mayan’s eyes suggested that this was meant to be unpleasant for the girl. Ranel continued answering questions: she would find it easy to leave the Citadel. The horse she owned was all she had arrived with and all she intended to leave with. She would leave the Citadel in two weeks whether or not she was hired.
“And the person who wrote you the letter?”
For the first time since he had seen her, Ranel looked uncomfortable. “I think of him as my brother. We’re not related by blood, but… But he asked me to come home,” she shrugged. Barath stared. He wondered if her ‘brother’ was the reason she had left her home and spent four celibate years freezing in the students’ wing.
“Why did you leave?”
Her smile was bittersweet before she looked down and her ink stained hands spread out on her lap. “I needed something I couldn’t find in Dekan.”
“The training.” Mayan’s disbelief rang.
“I still need better training,” Ranel sighed. “But four years here couldn’t teach me to wield fire, so I think I’m done. The library was nice.”
“You can’t even wield?” Barath realized he had said that aloud only after Mayan’s light brown eyes bored into the side of his head.
“Not fire,” Ranel replied, the half smile tugging her face lopsided again. She pulled herself up awkwardly. She inhaled and set her shoulders. “Here’s what we’ll need. I can get most of this without anyone noticing…” Barath looked around the room as Ranel explained her plans and Mayan bristled at the fact that, despite having been told she was not acceptable, the chit had pursued this assignment.
“Child, the last thing I need is another twit to look after. What can you possibly offer me?”
Ranel stood and put her hands on Mayan’s desk. “I have nothing to offer you. I can help the two of you get to where you want to go because that’s what I was asked to do – I can make sure Barath stays safe. If you’re willing to wait, I’m sure they could send you someone you’d find more acceptable, but less motivated. They’d only be getting paid.” A long silence ensued. Mayan started asking questions first.
Nothing seemed real except for the echoes of their voices. What’ll go with us?
“Disgusting girl,” Mayan’s low growl intruded on Barath’s thoughts. He jumped at Mayan’s voice, much closer than he would have thought possible. “Who did she try to talk to?”
“No one,” Barath walked purposefully towards the fireplace, taking a thick log and throwing it on the fire. “She spent time mucking out stalls in the stable before getting dinner for me and making her stupid list.”
“That’s all?”
“She went to the bathhouse.”
“And you let her?” Mayan’s words hissed between clenched jaws. “Who else was in?”
“A few kitchen wenches. A couple of servants. No one I had seen in the stables or on the way. She’s made up her mind, huh?”
“Disgusting girl,” Mayan repeated. Barath glanced at her, and shivered despite the blasting heat from the fire. Mayan looked old. Her skin looked thinner, her posture more frail. There was something happening that Barath could not quite explain, but suddenly her very great age seemed…blatant. As much as he had come to expect his lifestyle, he knew that Mayan was the only thing that held something awful away from him. Her adoption had saved him from Lily. Again, he could not say exactly what was so frightening about Lily, except that every time he saw her his stomach felt like it turned to ice. “She’s rude.”
“Helpful, though.” Her cutting look prompted him to add, “the stable urchins love her.”
“I suppose we’ll need someone to look after the horses. I’ll have to take extra money just to feed her, though.”
Barath laughed and felt better that Mayan was up to insulting people. Then a thought occurred to him. “Why not just take a ship?”
Mayan squinted up at him. “You get horribly sea sick. Besides – she’s completely blocked; I couldn’t sense anything from her.”
“So she can’t wield at all?”
“Not necessarily,” Mayan’s thoughtful tone made Barath cough and ask, “Do you think she has ever seen a mirror? That ink smudge on her face at least takes attention away from that jumble of hair.”
Mayan did not answer him. She was already walking towards her room, lit by the greenish glow of her auralight. Whatever he had said, Mayan did not agree with him. He sat on the plush couch nearest the fire and looked around the room again. The firelight, no longer balanced by Mayan’s light, threw strange shadows around the room. He leaned back looking at the stupid sculpture that had caught Ranel’s eye. What did she see that was so special?
