Rebel Elements (Seals of the Duelists) (22 page)

“Well. Well, we need to focus on our strengths—”

“That’s not going to help fix our weaknesses.” Kiwani’s voice was cold and irritated. “We need to find out what’s wrong with those of us who can’t grasp even the most basic castings.”

Defensive, Odjin thrust out his jaw. “What if there’s nothing wrong with us? What if it’s just the best we can do, and we’re not meant for being duelists after all?”

“I can’t accept that,” Kiwani said, with a delicate shake of her long hair. “The hexes are formed on the premise that their members are well-matched in strength and ability. Half of us are doing fine, which means that the other half needs to work harder.”

“You mean
you’re
doing fine, and you can’t accept that you might not get anywhere close to Hexmagic Duelist,” Bayan retorted.

“You’re right. I can’t accept that, because I’m not the only one who’s doing well in class!” Kiwani replied. “Tarin is doing just as well as I am. Even better than me in Flame. Eward isn’t having any troubles—”

“Except for trying to motivate us with empty words,” Odjin grumbled.

“Excuse me for trying to keep our spirits up,” Eward said. “I just don’t want us to lose our hunger for being duelists, for helping each other get there.”

Calder had to admit that Eward’s heart was in the right place, but he didn’t seem to know how to handle actual problems. Not that anyone else seemed to, either. At least Eward was trying.

The flames of the fire pit were suddenly too much to bear; their heat seemed to sear the scar on his cheek, making his mind burn and writhe with searing memories. Standing abruptly, Calder headed for the doorway. “You let me know if you all manage to solve my problems for me. I need some space that doesna have you in it.”

He made it three paces into the brisk evening air before a hand on his arm made him stop. He looked down into Azhni’s troubled face.

“Scars change us,” she rasped. Her free hand patted her throat.

“Aye.” He looked over the balcony, across the night-swept plaza.

“Don’t be like me.”

Calder met her eyes with a questioning look.

“Afraid. I don’t speak. I sound strange.”

“I don’t think so. You’re just you. Nice, too, to hear you talk for once.”

Azhni smiled. “You’re sweet. Don’t stay afraid.”

Calder smiled back, feeling the scar tissue on his cheek pull at his skin. “I’ll try not to.”

On tiptoe, she gave him a peck on his scarred cheek. He put a hand to it, feeling its rippled surface with his fingertips.

That night, Calder dreamed of fire.

“Is your tea hot enough?” asked His Imperial Majesty Jaap voorde Helderaard. “I can have one of my duelists reheat it if you like.” He gestured toward the pair of bodyguards who stood at the entrance to the latticed tea gazebo.

Philo blanched beneath his dark ringlets, imagining a fireball erupting around the teapot and setting his fine woolen tunic afire. “No, no, the tea is perfect, Your Majesty. Thank you.”

Emperor Jaap took a sip from his own delicate teacup, a fine example of Aeolian craftsmanship. Philo had a similar set at home. “I understand Lady Eirene’s office arranged this private meeting. Of great import, I’m told. Can I expect a new wave of forged ducats filling my markets’ tills?”

Philo took a deep breath. “I’m afraid it’s worse than that, Your Majesty. Rather far worse.”

“Please, explain.”

Philo’s eyes shot to the Duelists. “Er, perhaps we could discuss this matter in private?”

Emperor Jaap lifted one corner of his mouth. “Philo, we are as alone as we’re going to get. And may I suggest that trying to get my bodyguards to leave will only make them nervous.”

“Not as nervous as they’ll feel after seeing what’s in my pocket, Your Majesty. I only hoped to spare them the discomfort of what I’m about to tell you.”

The emperor leaned forward. “If it will disturb the best soldiers in the empire, then for the sake of that empire, they should be disturbed. Tell me why you have come.”

Philo eased a small wooden box from his pocket and placed it in the center of the table. “What is inside this box was collected by my men after a failed vagary raid in Marghebellen. It was subsequently stolen, but I managed to retrieve it without alerting the thief. Its like has not existed within the empire in a century. Not since… the War of Steel.”

He opened the lid, revealing the golden ring. Its scuffed patch gleamed with the bright gray of forbidden metal.

The two duelists came fully alert, shared a single glance, and warily exited the gazebo, turning their backs to it at the bottom of the steps.

Emperor Jaap fixed his eyes on the damaged ring. He did not speak for some time. “Well,” he said at last, “it seems you got your request for privacy after all. Steel within my borders. I had hoped to avoid this particular demon during my reign. Tell me what you require, Surveyor, and it is yours.”

~~~

Bayan woke to the sound of dull thumps. A moment later, Kah squawked sleepily on his platform and ruffled his feathers in annoyance. Bayan sat up on his bed and looked around, noticing the season’s first frost patterning the corners of the window. But the thumping came from the hallway. He padded to the door and peeked out. Across the hall and over one room, Cormaac held the door wide while Taban and Braam dragged out a large trunk.

Calder poked his head out around Bayan’s shoulder. “Middle of the night, aye? What are you about, banging things at this hour?”

Eward and Odjin jammed themselves into the doorway as well, looking out in sleepy confusion.

Taban glanced over as he hauled the trunk by a thick leather handle past Bayan and his hexmates. “You little elemental students are so cute when you wake up from your naps. It’s barely dark out, in case you haven’t noticed. And Braam, Cormaac, and I are moving upstairs. We want to spend our first night as proper Elemental Duelists on the right floor, not down here with you clumsyfoots. Tomorrow, it’s on to Avatar Tactics and Etiquette classes.”

“Your hex took its final exams?” Eward asked. “Did you all pass?”

“Of course we did,” Braam replied with a rude look.

“It’s tattoos all around, tomorrow,” Taban said, waggling his left hand.

“We all passed because we don’t have any mudsuckers in our hex.” Cormaac smirked.

Bayan shot him a cold glance and opened his mouth to reply, but it was Taban who spoke first.

“Oh, shut it, Corm. You’re the great stupid idiot with the double-jointed elbows. At least all of Bayan’s joints move properly.”

Braam sniggered as he shoved the trunk. “Too bad his brain is made of mud.”

“Bayan’s brain, it works better than yours,” Odjin retorted.

By now the new avatar students had heaved their chest to the end of the hallway. As they hefted it for carrying upstairs, Taban called back, “Too bad he doesna use it more often.” His hexmates chuckled and disappeared from view up the stairs.

“Don’t listen to them, Bayan.” Odjin put a hand on Bayan’s shoulder and pulled him back into their room. “We know you’re working as hard as you can.”

But Bayan wondered if he truly was. He hopped onto his bed, waving Calder onto his own mattress across from him.

“I’m slowing you down,” Bayan confessed. “I don’t want to overwork you with all the tutoring you’re giving me. Maybe I should ask someone else.”

Calder snorted. “Eward and Odjin don’t even know as much as I do about the wars and how they were fought. And I only know some details from talking to history buffs at firedust events. We’re all struggling. Unless you can convince Kiwani to teach you. She’s perfect at everything.”

“She wouldn’t touch me with a Shock punch. She’s never worked out with me in class, not once.”

“Aye, that’s what I was afraid of.” Calder’s face took on a crafty expression. “But there may be other options we haven’t yet considered.”

“Like what?”

“You told me Taban once offered to help you out, for a price. What if he was serious?”

Bayan’s nose wrinkled. “You want me to ask Taban for help?”

“Aye, think of it. He’s not as rude as Braam. He’s not a brainless toadie like Cormaac. He’s just now a class ahead of you, so he’ll have a brain full of everything we’re trying to learn. If you can find out what he wants and give it to him, he’ll probably do right by you. It’s a Dunfarroghan point of pride: we’ll trade you fairly, as long as we think we’re getting the better deal.”

Bayan gave him a suspicious squint. “I canna help it, Bayan. It’s in me bones,” Calder said with injured innocence.

Bayan rolled his eyes. “All right, I’ll find out what Taban might want to trade for tutoring.” He lay down, praying for sleep to return.

Whatever I think of to trade with Taban, it’ll have to be simple, menial. I can’t possibly help him with classwork or studying or magic. Maybe I can clean his room. Bayan made a face of disgust in the dark. As if our room isn’t smelly enough.

~~~

The Akrestoi sat in the Flame Arena benches after his history class and blended into the watching crowd, as he had since his target had started her first elemental magic class. He watched more urgently than he had when she’d first arrived on campus. She was dangerous now.

Yet, despite her abilities, he observed her with complete confidence. He could handle her skills with magic, given the right circumstances. And if such an occurrence never came to fruition, then he would simply remain on campus, living off his employer’s generous stipend.

This watching and waiting made for one of the most comfortable jobs he’d ever taken. It amused him no end that there was a real possibility he’d never have to kill anyone at all.

~~~

Bayan hesitated before the third-floor door, bare feet chill on the hardwood, and wondered again if this was a good idea. Before he could bring himself to knock, though, the door whipped open.

Taban stood in the doorway and raised an eyebrow. “Thought I smelled something. Applying for a position as doorstop? You’re hired.”

Bayan grinned nervously. “Actually, I had a trade in mind. You once offered to help me, for a price.”

Taban looked over his shoulder, then back at Bayan. “Aye. What did you have in mind?”

Bayan shifted his feet. “What would you want in exchange for tutoring me?”

Taban coughed in surprise. “Come again?”

“You’ve just finished the classes I’m starting. I’m struggling with all this unfamiliar history. None of my hexmates are any better at the individual history of famous duelists than I am—which is saying something—or else they won’t help at all. I figured you’d be the best person to ask.”

“Canna fault your logic, Bayan. But we’re pretty busy with our own work.” Taban waggled a quill at him. “Got an essay on the lauded and lofty talents of Hexmagic Duelist Karpos Toupoulou due tomorrow.”

“Well, maybe I can help you with it.”

Taban laughed.

“How’s your penmanship, muckling?” Braam called from inside the room. “Last essay, Taban nearly failed because de Rood couldn’t read his scratchings. He says it’s because the elemental seal tattoo made his hand swell, but Corm and I know it’s because he writes like an arthritic epileptic.”

Bayan blinked at the friendly insult between the hexmates. “I have a fair hand.”

Taban frowned. “Come in and show me. If it’s better than Braam’s writing—”

“A panicked chicken’s footprints are more readable!” Cormaac interrupted.

“—then I’ll consider it,” Taban finished. He backed out of the way and let Bayan enter.

The older students’ room smelled of candies and sweet rolls. Bayan sat at Taban’s desk and picked up the half-finished essay. “No wonder you nearly failed.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing. You have fresh paper?”

Taban pulled out a clean sheet and handed it to Bayan, who glimpsed the miniature seal tattoo on the back of Taban’s left hand.

“You like?” Taban displayed the inked art that proclaimed his fresh rank. His skin was puffy, but the image was clear. “You canna steal a tattoo. Better than the golden seals the old duelists used to hang from their belts and strut around with.”

“And if you do lose it,” Braam added as he mimed lopping off his hand, “you probably didn’t deserve to get it in the first place. Potions, anyone?” He made a one-handed stirring motion as he and Cormaac snickered.

Bayan tried to ignore them; he squinted at Taban’s first essay sentence for several moments then copied it out in a careful hand.

Braam and Cormaac stood behind Bayan’s chair to judge his handwriting. “Not bad, for a muckling.” Braam returned to his desk.

“You write like a girl.” Cormaac briefly mussed Bayan’s hair.

“A girl with fine penmanship.” Taban leaned against the edge of his desk. “Write the rest out and you’ll earn a tutoring session. At my convenience, of course.”

“But you haven’t finished the essay.”

“You can write as I talk.”

“So, when can I get my first tutoring session?”