Rebel Elements (Seals of the Duelists) (18 page)

He jerked his chin down and looked at his feet; his posture fairly shouted of alarm. Aalthoven fell to his side, batting madly at his toes. After wrenching at them as if trying to detach them from his feet, he abruptly flipped onto his hands and knees. He stared at the ground ahead of him with an agonized expression Bayan could identify even at a distance, then crawled across the arena with grasping hands, grunting, “No, no, no,” while his hands dug amongst the pebbles as if trying to locate a small, lost object.

Giving up the chase, the instructor turned his head slowly and stared across the arena, mouth agape. “What are you doing here?” he shouted. “How can you be here?”

At that, witten Oost came to squat at Aalthoven’s side and murmured something. Aalthoven shook his head. Witten Oost spoke again, and this time Aalthoven nodded. Together, they returned to the table at the side of the arena, and witten Oost poured his tegen a cup of something that wasn’t from the teapot.

The crowd murmured, uncertain. Headmaster Langlaren approached the table and spoke to the two men. After a few moments, he stepped forward into the arena, then raised his hands to get everyone’s attention.

“My apologies, everyone. The experience of being tegen to an applicant for Master Duelist seems to have overwhelmed Instructor Aalthoven. He has, however, assured me that he saw various elemental objects created by Instructor witten Oost, and he described them to me in detail. My question to you as observers is critical in the completion of this examination: did any of you see anything whatsoever aside from the two men in the arena?”

“No!” came the overwhelming response.

Amid the cheering and clapping, Headmaster Langlaren turned to Instructor witten Oost and waved him out to the center of the arena.

“Then it is my most humble pleasure, on this historic day, to present to you the foremost of all duelists in the empire, Master Duelist Ignaas witten Oost.”

The audience was on their feet, cheering, shouting, and sharing looks of awe and excitement. Bayan tried to figure out how Master witten Oost could possibly have accomplished all that he had, but Bayan simply didn’t know enough about the ranks of magic yet.

Next to the table, Aalthoven bent over and threw up.

~~~

Bayan squeezed the shaft of his quill, feeling it try to retain its cylindrical shape, as he read the last essay topic on his Imperial History exam. The summer heat made the enclosed classroom stifling, and he had a hard time concentrating with sweat soaking the back of his tunic. After answering questions about everything from the date range for the Teresseren Empire—1685-1911 I.C.—to the first usage of battle pennants to mark veteran duelists during the chaos of battle—883 I.C., at the turning point of the First Tuathi War—his brain felt like the pulpy rind of a freshly squeezed orange.

The last topic read: Discuss the factors that led to the Era of the Dual Emperors, the events that resulted from two Waarden empires, and the eventual changes that were made to prevent a repeat of this disastrous chain of events.

“Calder drilled me on this two days ago,” he whispered to himself, willing the answer to materialize. “Oh, wait. Eunuchs.” The rest of the situation solidified in his mind, and he began to write.

His gull-quill pen scratched out several paragraphs of indigo squid ink, detailing how Emperor Elbert van Akkeraad’s younger brother Gerlof had formed the Western Empire among those Dunfarroghan who supported him over the rightful ruler, bringing about the civil war known as the Century of Blood. In the confusion, the Tuathi attacked, and both the Western Empire and Waarden Prime eventually fell to them. The young Emperor Hubrecht fled to Shawnash’kote. In order to prevent destruction from within by a single ruling family ever again, his son, Emperor Washa, decreed that castration would be introduced as a form of imperial family population control.

Bayan thought of Kipri and Philo for the first time in a while. He looked around, realizing he was one of the last trainees still writing. Quickly, he jotted down a few more lines.

This edict created a new class of citizen, the eunuch, whose sole purpose was to serve the empire. With no hope of siring further generations, eunuchs had only their own lifespan to leave their marks. Today, the eunuch class is vital in the daily workings of the empire. Many rebellions have been prevented, and many people have found a better, or at least a safer, life in the service of the empire.

That last bit rankled as Bayan considered how it might also apply to his own service to the empire. He stood and handed in his sheaf of papers
. It’s not the same. I didn’t ask to come here, and I wasn’t rebelling before they found me. Possessing magic is treated like some sort of crime.

He stepped outside. The air was warm and fresh, delivering on its promise of freedom. Calder pushed off from the wall where he’d been waiting for Bayan.

He wore an anxious frown. “How did you do?”

Bayan had already passed his form performance tests over the last three days. He considered the written test he’d just taken. Passing meant he could advance with the other trainees. Luckily, all that working out had helped him get plenty of rest last night, after Calder had crammed a few last facts into his head.

“I think I passed, at least.”

“Did you remember which son of Empress Aasa tried to assassinate her and was foiled by a loyal chambermaid?”

“Yes, for the love of Bhattara, I remembered. I looked for a question about that because I couldn’t remember anything else until I’d written that down.”

Calder grinned. “That’s me boy.” He threw an arm around Bayan’s shoulders. “Let’s go do absolutely nothing.”

They took one of the minor paths to the top of a mesa with a popular valley overlook, and found a few other trainees there as well, enjoying the breeze that brought cooling air up from the river below.

“Bayan,” Eward called from his sprawled spot on the thick moss. “How did you do?”

Tarin and Katje stopped talking and looked over. Bayan knew they were mostly worried about their own advancement. If anyone failed the test, the entire class would be held back while he retested.

Let them wait, then
. He crossed his arms and looked out at the glorious gold-flecked green blankets formed by the alder forests that clung to the nearby mountainsides.

But Calder spoiled his plan. “He passed. Of course he passed! And he had to work three times as hard as any of the rest of us to do it.”

Bayan pretended to pout. “You only want credit for your tutoring.”

“I do want credit for my tutoring. You’re an annoying student, always asking me why this and why that. Do I look like a history instructor to you?”

“No. But you do look like the only person who was willing to tutor me, so the entire class didn’t get held back.” Bayan let his gaze slide across the other trainees. Most wore expressions of surprise or embarrassment.

Eward approached Bayan and offered his hand. “Thanks, then.” He gave Bayan’s hand a shake. “It’s great to see you worked that hard. I’m not sure I’d have had it in me to learn all of that history from scratch. As a member of your class, and maybe a member of your hex, I want to say thank you. You’re a real team player.”

Bayan smiled briefly at the Waarden boy, then turned back to Calder, who gave him a knowing nod. Taking his final trainee exams meant he was mere days from being allowed to use magic. In light of that approaching reality, Bayan finally felt something more intense than his anger: anticipation. Magic was his gift, and he’d been a fool to risk washing out before learning how to use it. If he couldn’t escape the campus, his only other option was to rank as high as he could and hope for an assignment in Balanganam. The prestige of being an Elemental Duelist would be more than enough to draw Imee back to him. Wouldn’t it? Wasn’t that what he still wanted?

Bayan recalled Calder’s words and felt them apply to his longing for home. “Pretending until it’s real.”

“Will there be anything else, Surveyor?” Lord Eshkin escorted Philo across the thick Pallithean rug to the threshold of his personal study, which was guarded by a pair of crane topiaries.

Philo shook his fat blonde braids, and their brass end-hoops clinked against one another. “No, Minister. Thank you for taking the time to clarify our position on the new Means resolution with me.”

Eshkin smiled. “It may be my duty to serve the empire in this regard, but I tell you, Philo, working with people such as yourself makes it a very light duty, indeed.”

“Thank you, Lord Eshkin. I have always been proud to work in your Ministry, and I make a point to browbeat my assistants until they say the same.”

Eshkin laughed. “Such initiative! You can see yourself out from here?”

“Yes. Will you be back in the Kheerzaal office today?”

“I think not. Some private matters are trying to lay claim to my life at the moment.”

“Of course. I’ll speak with you on the morrow, then.” Philo nodded his farewell, descended the stairs, and made for the broad foyer of Lord Eshkin’s Akkeraad manor. His mind was already filling with a list of tasks he needed to delegate to Kipri, Cassander, and Gael.

A series of glass display cases in a corner of the foyer caught his eye before he could leave, however. Despite his schedule, Philo felt his feet change direction.

“May I be of assistance, Surveyor?” asked a wiry maid with a cap of tight iron-gray curls, who was polishing one of the cases. She tried not to stare at Philo’s wig.

“I find my attention arrested by the contents of these cases.” Philo glanced at the organized collection. All of it was pre-Imperial Raqtaaq in origin, and some of the older pieces—vases, shields—appeared to be centuries old. Philo admired the bits of lapis jewelry, golden wax-press seals, finely wrought tooth necklaces, ceremonial helms, exotic quill pens, daggers, and far more. “Why are these being displayed?”

“There’s a large ministerial event happening in five days’ time, and Lord Eshkin wants to have these out to represent some of his background for his guests to consider, if you see what I mean.”

“I believe I do. He collected these during the Raqtaaq Wars?”

“Yes. Spoils of war, I suppose, though he didn’t engage in any battles.”

“Not the military or magical sort, anyway,” Philo mused.

“Indeed, sir. Lord Eshkin’s war was of the political sort. Yet he still managed to get his hands on all this finery.”

Philo stepped around to the side of a case, looking at the smaller bracelets and rings with a fatuous smile. Bending closer, he noticed that one of the sigil rings looked exactly like the vagary’s ring he’d lost in the Archive months ago. Disbelieving, he leaned around the side of the case, examining the ring for the nick Fabian’s sword had made in the gold.

The nick was there.

“Excuse me.” Philo couldn’t pull his eyes from the damaged ring. His heart thudded against his ribs. “I don’t mean to be forward, but are you quite sure this one ring belongs in the collection?” He pointed it out to the servant.

“Funny you should ask about that one.” The woman took a chatty pose against a case and let her cleaning cloth hang idle. “I just found that ring up in Lord Eshkin’s office, while I was giving it a dusting. Well, I imagine he’d pulled it out to show to someone and forgot to put it back, so I done it for him. Too bad about that nick. You imagine it might have got there from some sort of deadly duel?” She shivered with macabre delight.

“I should imagine you’ve hit upon the truth of it, dear.” Philo studied the ring’s sigil. It was Raqtaaq; seeing it among its brothers left no doubt. Had the vagary who attacked him been a war veteran? Or an opportunist who had moved from Nunaa to Marghebellen? Or someone else?

Much more importantly, why had the honest, upstanding Lord Eshkin felt the need to steal this ring from Philo? For there could be no question that it had been stolen. Philo thought back.
He must have seen the ring on my finger. He spilt the ring bowl in the Archive on purpose.

A sudden, sinking feeling rushed into Philo’s stomach as he recalled a forgotten detail about the ring. Something had bothered him about it from the moment he’d picked it up—it felt lighter than a pure gold ring should.

Over the last two decades, the Kheerzaal had dealt with several incidents involving insubordinate Raqtaaq elements forging imperial ducats. Eventually, the forgers had all been caught and either killed or castrated, as per the law. Could one of those men have drawn Lord Eshkin into a coin counterfeiting cell? The ring itself could be a symbol of identification among the counterfeiters, or perhaps it was a showing of talent. The ability to hide lesser, lighter metal within a golden exterior would be a required skill for forging ducats.

He needed the ring. There was no help for it. Trying not to sweat from nervousness and ruin his powdered makeup, Philo made a point of studying every case and murmuring under his breath, throwing out some Aklaa city names he’d mapped a score of years ago as proof he was some sort of Raqtaaq expert. Eventually, the servant finished her polishing. She smiled, nodded, and excused herself, leaving Philo alone in the foyer.

Before someone bustled in with some other task, before he could lose his nerve, before sanity could return, Philo lifted the heavy glass flap on top of the display case and thrust his hand down into the grouping of rings, delicately picking up the one he’d lost. He jammed it in a pocket and lowered the glass lid. Belatedly, he noticed his sweat-smeared fingerprints on the newly-polished glass, and he swiped at them with his fine linen sleeve until they blurred out of existence.