When Dragons Rage

12

It didn’t occur to Kerrigan that trying to catch a snowflake on his tongue might not be dignified until he heard someone behind him clearing his throat, and a hissed whisper accompanying it.

Until that point, Kerrigan had been out, knee deep in snow, not far from the inn in which he was being housed, marveling at how the snow softened the city of Meredo. It muted the gay colors splashed on houses and hid the red of the tiled roofs. Thick garlands of it covered the skeletal branches of the trees and little drifts had collected in corners. The thick flakes fell slowly, then swirled and eddied, sometimes dancing down the street, other times falling from branches and eaves in a puff of snow.

Kerrigan had seen snow before on Vilwan. Still, the warmth of the ocean tended to ensure that any snow that fell did not last very long. He’d certainly never seen the quantity that had fallen in Meredo, nor had he been allowed to go out in it.

Just raising his face to the sky and feeling flakes melt against his cheeks had made him laugh. His delight mirrored that of children playing in the snow, launching snowballs at each other, building forts, shrieking as they closed and threw, then ran as a volley from playmates chased them back. Other children lay on their backs, flapping their arms, making snow-Gyrkyme, while yet others crawled into barrels and careened wildly down hills, screaming all the way.

Yet Kerrigan’s smile had not been for the snow alone. His previous experience in cities had been something less than positive. In Yslin he’d gotten waylaid by a gang of street urchins and beaten up. And Fortress Draconis had been a city of war. There were few children and less laughter.

The thing that made the difference here was the attitude displayed. As he wandered into the snow-choked street, he had impulsively hand-packed a snowball and thrown it at a hitching post—missing horribly—a man gathering wood smiled at his effort. Some kids threw at the same post from further away, and they cheered and laughed as one hit it. A woman brushing snow from the steps looked at him and nodded, smiling as frosty breath wreathed her face.

None of them knew him, since he had arrived in Meredo with no fanfare. He was just a person and even in a city where those who wore masks considered themselves superior to others, everyone still smiled and was polite. There was a cheerful civility to the interaction of strangers that he’d never really known before, and he liked it.

The voice and the whisper, however, had none of the same friendliness. Kerrigan turned slowly and saw a trio of figures, two male and one female. He did not recognize any of them, but the cadaverous man in the lead wore the grey robes of a Magister, despite his seeming youth. The man’s shaved head, beaked nose, and prominent larynx conspired with the grey pallor of his flesh to reinforce the impression that he was dead or close to it. The woman and the other man, who made up in bulk what their leader lacked, both wore the blood-scarlet robes of Adepts, though without any other decorations that might cue him as to their areas of expertise.

The Magister nodded solemnly and drew his hands to the small of his back. “You are Kerrigan Reese.”

Kerrigan felt a shiver run up his spine. Orla had admonished him to stay away from Vilwan, and this trio represented his old home. Part of him wished running were an option, but even if there were no snow, he could not have moved fast enough to escape a spell.

And running would be thinking like prey.

Kerrigan nodded slowly. “I am.”

“I am Magister Syrett Kar. I am here to take you home.”

“Take me home?”

“To Vilwan.”

Kerrigan shook his head. “Vilwan is not my home.”

The woman leaned in to whisper something to Kar, but the Magister raised his left hand to silence her. “Adept Reese, you have been through a great deal. The Grand Magister is pleased with all you have accomplished. You are now required to return to Vilwan with us to complete your training.”

“There is nothing more for me to learn at Vilwan, Magister.” Kerrigan tugged on the sleeves of the sheepskin coat he wore, then stripped off his mittens. “I have things that need to be done here, and I will do them.”

“You are mistaken, Adept Reese.”

The man snaked menace into his voice and it found an ally inside Kerrigan. My whole entire life has been spent being mistaken, learning, training, trying to do things no one else could do, being told I was wrong, and being made to do it over and over again until I got it right and got another task. None of his teachers had ever told him why he was being asked to do the things he was, why he was getting the training he was. All they told him was that he was wrong or stupid or too slow or too sloppy. They had used the same tone of voice over and over, and part of him bent to respond to it.

Another part, however, rebelled. It was the part of him that had been reinforced by countless little things. Since leaving Vilwan he had done many things right. Perhaps not everything, but he had done enough things right, and those successes drained Kar’s voice of some potency.

Kerrigan brought his chin up. “By what authority do you command me?”

The Magister’s composure broke for a heartbeat, but he narrowed the surprise out of his brown eyes quickly enough. “How dare you question me?”

“How dare I not, Magister? I know that I am engaged in the struggle to defeat Chytrine. I know she will stop at nothing to stop me. How do I know you are not students of her academy masquerading as officials from Vilwan? In fact, I do not believe you are from Vilwan, but instead serve at the consulate here.”

While Syrett Kar kept his face impassive, the chunky Adept at his right did not. That man looked surprised. His female compatriot’s blue eyes darkened as she stared hard at Kerrigan. She took a couple steps to the left and removed her gloves.

Kar glanced in her direction and frowned. “Adept Tetther, no melodramatics. Adept Reese will not be attacking us.” Kar’s gaze returned to Kerrigan. “Your questions are well asked. We should go to the consulate to get the answers. I do know you’ve not visited there yet. That should prove I am genuine.”

“Chytrine surely has agents watching our consulate.” Kerrigan fought to keep his nervousness out of his voice. “You may return to the consulate, and when you have sufficient authorization to compel my return, then send me a message and I shall come. Not before.”

The woman snarled. “We do have ‘sufficient authorization.’”

Kerrigan turned his head, slowly and fluidly, imitating the look of contempt he’d seen Resolute use. “Sufficient for you, perhaps, but my concerns dwell in spheres far above your petty interests.”

He knew he’d been pushing it with that last, and she reacted hotly. Power began to course through her as her fingers clawed. Kar turned toward her, snapping a command, but her eyes had tightened into angry slits. The other Adept began to withdraw, a look of horror widening on his face.

Time began to move oddly for Kerrigan. Part of him—the scared child that wanted to comply with Kar’s commands—recognized the danger. Just from the traces of the magick radiating out from Tetther, Kerrigan deduced she was a combat specialist and had been ready to deal harshly with him. Part of him wanted to drop to his knees and beg for mercy, but the fear remained muted and controllable.

Another part of him, that which had studied magick, likewise recognized the threat. He analyzed it in an instant, knew the spell, and had a choice of a half-dozen spells that would counter it. A couple he could have cast quickly enough to stop her spell from even being cast. Her effort would have been bottled up in her body, and would have savaged her. As an exercise in magery, he viewed his counter and the consequences in a completely clinical matter—the human cost merely a minor abstraction.

A third part of him, the part tempered by all he had seen and done since leaving Vilwan, won out. He ignored the fear. He acknowledged the cost. Then he gestured with his right hand, simply and easily, triggering a spell he knew so well that using it was hardly an effort.

It was the telekinetic spell he’d used to pluck books from a library shelf and, just as easily, had used to pluck a ship from the ocean. In this case he used it to tickle snow from a roof and brought it sliding down upon her in a small avalanche. The snowfall slammed heavily into her back, pitching her forward and burying her. It knocked the wind from her and shattered the concentration she needed to cast her spell.

Kar leaped back a step. He looked at her, then carefully brushed a dusting of snow from his chest and arms before turning toward Kerrigan. “You took a chance dealing with her that way.”

Kerrigan shook his head. “No chance at all.” He looked up at the roofline and Kar turned to follow his gaze. Up there, at the peak of the red tile wedge, squatted Lombo. “If I hadn’t done something, he would have. Please tell Vilwan I am well protected.”

The Magister blinked, then glanced at Tetther struggling to free herself from the mound of snow. “You are not what I was led to believe you would be.”

“And what was that?”

Kar started to answer, then snapped his mouth shut. “It doesn’t matter. I shall get the authorization. But I suppose I should ask what you will consider sufficient.”

Kerrigan shrugged. “I suppose that is a point I can discuss with the Grand Magister when he arrives.”

“You can’t honestly believe…”

Kerrigan held a hand up. “My last mentor was slain by Chytrine, but she was your senior by decades. You know enough about me to know I am assigned to no one school of magick, so I have no Magister over me. With Orla dead, the Grand Magister is the only one to whom I should answer. That is the way of Vilwan. It is the system from which you derive your authority.“

Kar frowned. “Now you have me puzzled, Adept.”

“About what?”

“You have concluded that I am not sufficiently versed in combat magicks to apprehend you. If I were, I’d not have brought Adept Tetther along, and had I had any inkling of this outcome, I would have brought more people. You are powerful enough to ignore me, but you provide me this reasonable request to give me a way to preserve my dignity and avoid having to explain how I failed to bring you in.”

Kerrigan fought mightily to keep any expression off his face. Will had recently confessed to Kerrigan that he didn’t really know what Kerrigan had been carrying until Kerrigan himself had confirmed his guess. Will called it a bluff. Just as Kerrigan had assumed Will had known something he did not, Kar was assuming Kerrigan had drawn certain conclusions and Kerrigan clearly saw it was in his best interest to let the Magister go right on believing them.

“Magister, no disrespect intended, but I’ve been at Svoin and Port Gold and Fortress Draconis. I’ve lived with Panqui. I’ve fought pirates. I’ve fought bandits in Yslin and gibberers in the woodlands of the Black Marches. There are events unfolding that are more important than the orders you’ve been given. If I have to choose between obeying you and defeating Chytrine, well, my choice is clear. As should yours be.”

Kar nodded slowly; then walked to the half-buried Tetther. With the help of the other Adept, he dragged her clear. Kar sent the two Adepts off, then turned and bowed in Kerrigan’s direction. “I would like to say I shall see you shortly, but I do not feel I will. My school, by the way, is Clairvoyance—this is how we knew where to find you.”

“Clairvoyance is one of the most difficult schools to master.” Kerrigan glanced at the pile of snow. “You said you had no idea that she could not handle me. Your visions stopped with meeting me here?”

“One did. Others, well…” The man sighed out a cloud of steam. “Your path, Adept, moves through more darkness than light. Be wary, but of stout heart.”

Kerrigan nodded, then bowed respectfully. “Thank you, Magister. If our paths do cross again, I hope it will be in the light.”

“As do I, Adept Reese, as do I.”

The grey-robed mage departed and a heartbeat after he turned a corner and disappeared from sight, Lombo leaped from the roof and landed in the snowpile that had buried Tetther. His claws raked through the snow, then he smiled up at Kerrigan. “Good no kill.”

“Sorry for robbing you of your fun, my friend. She didn’t deserve to die.”

“More smart live longer.”

“True enough.” Kerrigan smiled. “Had you not been up there, I’d not have thought of bringing the snow down on her.”

“Kerrigan no kill.” Lombo shrugged. “No kill hard.”

“No. It’s just that killing is a lot easier for some. I just can’t…”

“No need.” Lombo ambled over to him and draped a long arm over his shoulders. “Kerrigan make Will-talk. But less.”

The magicker laughed. “Yes, Will can talk a lot but sometimes, what he says is useful. It was here. It saved a lot of trouble. That’s good, I guess.”

Lombo nodded. “Much trouble coming.”

“So Magister Kar said.” Kerrigan sighed out a misty cloud. “Let’s just hope it’s not so much trouble that Will-talk and no kill can’t get us out of it.”