Rebel Elements (Seals of the Duelists) Page 8

  A short, awkward pause filled the room. Philo knew the tale of the imperial heir’s demise as well as any. Prince Caspar had sailed toward Karkhedon on a secret mission, but the Gyre had had other plans for him, sinking the ship and killing all souls on board. He had been sixteen years old, on the cusp of assuming more responsibility in his father’s vast realm. Instead, that burden fell to young Jaap, the boy who should never have been emperor.

  “Ah, we were such naughty princes.” Emperor Jaap smiled again as if to cover the unease of the moment. “Lead the way, Wateyo, if you will.”

  The group descended several curving flights of stairs into the building’s cool, dim sub-basement. Philo noticed his assistants glancing at each other and checking their distance from the emperor. He smiled at their efforts not to walk too close to the ruler, yet not fall so far behind as to appear lazy.

  Wateyo turned a corner and halted at a heavy iron door, darkened with age and rust. He slipped his key into one of two sturdy locks on the door’s face. Philo inserted his own key as well, and together they twisted the locks open.

  As Wateyo pushed open the creaking door, Philo accepted a frosted-glass lamp from Kipri, who’d had the forethought to light it while the door was being unlocked.

  Inside the door, a vast archive spread across dozens of old wooden shelves and stone niches carved into the walls. Philo set the lamp on a nearby table, and his assistants lit several more.

  “What are we looking for today?” Emperor Jaap rubbed his hands in anticipation.

  “A sea chart from the Teresseren Empire, my liege, showing the coastline of Balanganam. I need it for reference and comparison, or perhaps contrast.”

  “Ah, the Teresseren Empire,” Emperor Jaap began, as the group separated. Each individual took a lamp to illuminate the labels on the ends of the shelves. “In power from 1685 to 1911 I.C. One of my favorite periods in history. It’s the only time the Waarden were a sea power, but no one challenged our supremacy. The Tuathi did not sail, and the Raqtaaq were on the far side of the Shawnash peninsula, busy fighting with the Corona.” He shrugged. “Still, there’s a certain romance to an empire by the sea.”

  “Here we are.” Wateyo indicated a few shelves marked with the Teresseren name and crest, a curling wave. Philo eased between them and lifted his lamp to read the cramped and faded ink from centuries past. Finally, he came to a thick roll of parchment sheets wrapped in sturdy leather stamped Westzeekarten: Pinamuyoc en Balanganam. He eased the roll from its slot and took it to the table.

  “Gloves, if you please, everyone.” Philo fetched a box and bowl from a lower shelf on the table. He pulled off his rings and placed them in the bowl, then took a pair of smooth cloth gloves from the box. Kipri took up the bowl, added a small brass ring, and held it out for the others to place their rings in as well.

  Philo pulled on his gloves. “When you were last here, Your Majesty, did you remember to wear clean gloves so as not to damage your treasure maps?”

  “I confess,” Emperor Jaap replied, dropping a few rings into the bowl, “I may have overlooked that requirement.”

  Focusing on unrolling the sheets as smoothly and gently as possible, Philo nearly jumped out of his skin at the metallic clatter of rings across the stone floor. “Kipri, if you please, I’d prefer not to shred these priceless historic maps to bits while in the throes of a fatal heart seizure.”

  “M-my apologies, Philo, Your Majesty—” Kipri knelt to retrieve the rings, vanishing from Philo’s sight below the table. Lord Eshkin knelt to assist him, holding one of the lamps. Jumpy little boy, Philo thought. The emperor must have breathed on him.

  When Kipri put the ring bowl aside, again filled with rings, and everyone wore clean gloves, Philo instructed his three assistants to begin turning the maps over, like enormous pages, until he found the ones he needed. He had expected Lord Eshkin to take the fourth corner, but Emperor Jaap stepped forward and offered to help instead. That seemed to make Kipri yet more nervous, though Cassander and Gael seemed to have adjusted to the emperor’s easy demeanor.

  Slowly, they flipped the maps from one side of the table to the other. Occasionally, Emperor Jaap commented on one feature or another as it related to imperial history. Halfway through the stack, the maps switched from representing Pinamuyoc to depicting Balanganam. Philo leaned in, examining the seaside town names and consulting his list.

  The next map was a full-coastline map, exactly what Philo had been hoping to find. At the bottom, he recognized the broad flood delta of the Mambajao River near Pangusay.

  “This is what I need, though we should check the other maps as well.” Philo opened his scroll case and separated a large sheet of blank rice paper from its brothers. His assistants helped him smooth it atop the Teresseren map.

  Fetching a charcoal pencil from its case, Philo leaned over the top edge of the map and instructed, “If you please, press the paper firmly, and try not to tear it. I just need a tracing, and then we shall be done.”

  Time passed, and Philo labored over faint shoreline details in the bright lamplight. Soon, feet shifted under the table, and quiet murmurs passed among his young helpers. What felt to him to be a rather quick and dirty tracing job must have seemed like an endless task to them. Perhaps all the tracing they’ll shortly be performing for me will disabuse them of that notion.

  Eventually, the tracing was complete. Philo put away his pencil, rolled the rice paper with exquisite care, and tucked it in his map case.

  There were no other full maps of the Balanganese coast, so Philo and the others rolled up the portfolio case. After placing it back in its home on the shelf, Philo pulled off his gloves.

  “Thank you all most kindly for your assistance. I hope our little expedition didn’t delay your schedule, Your Majesty.”

  Emperor Jaap gave an embarrassed smile. “Not at all. I just needed the company of adults for a while. I spent the early morning hours with my sons, and let me tell you, incontinent, drooling pink babes are not as cute as the girls pretend. Neither are toddlers who can only articulate the first half of ten words, and everything else is ungh! And I get a kick in the shins for not knowing which ungh stands for what. So let me thank you all for your full sentences and emotional restraint. I should excuse myself now, though; the Minister of Means is expecting my approval on his financial allocation reports. Philo, I look forward to your finished maps.”

  The emperor set his gloves on the table, retrieved his rings, and exited the Archive. Cassander collected everyone else’s gloves and put them back in the box.

  “If you need any further access to the Archive, Philo, don’t hesitate to ask.” Wateyo

  slipped on his rings. “This has been a pleasant diversion from approving High Way repair requests.”

  Philo reached into the bowl for his rings, and came up one short. He tsked. “Kipri, son, you missed a ring earlier.”

  “I did? I’m sorry.” The young man scooped up a lamp and held it high as he scanned the floor. “Which one are you missing?”

  “It’s that gold one I acquired after our little adventure near the Marghebellen border wall. Had that funny symbol on its face.”

  Philo and all of his assistants searched the floor around the table, but did not find the ring. Not wanting to keep Lord Eshkin from his duties, Philo called off the search.

  “Ah well.” He blew out his lamp. “It’s not like I have no other jewelry. Still, it was a fine souvenir.” Lord Wateyo and Philo locked the Archive door with their keys and returned to the main floor, where they parted ways.

  Back in his office, Philo instructed his young eunuchs to sit around the larger of his two work tables. “Now,” he began, opening a desk drawer and lifting up a false bottom. He pulled out a spare gold ring and slipped it on. “It’s time to get those hands cramped and aching. I want a full copy of my tracing from each of you today, and then we’ll begin our comparisons.”

  Philo beamed at the boys’ expressions of dismay. Yes, it’s good to be home.
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  Theory and Practice

  Bayan trailed Calder and the rest of his classmates along a well-used trail that arced across a windswept plateau covered with bent, dead grasses, then through a narrow tunnel. On the far side of the dark passage lay an oval structure reminiscent of a switchball stadium, open to the sky with a tunnel leading through the center of one long side of its thick outer wall.

  On the smooth pebbled surface of the arena, the students huddled in their heavy blue winter uniforms, tucking their icy-cold iron manacles under their armpits and blowing frosty breaths, while six beaming individuals stood before them. Bayan looked at the stances and smiles of his new teachers and cringed. They seemed entirely too excited for his taste.

  “Welcome to your first class, trainees,” said the curly-headed Tjaard Staasen, stepping forward with an inclusive gesture. “We’ll lead you to a warmer classroom in a few minutes, but there are some things we can show you here in the Wind Arena that we can’t in the form training classroom. Namely, any magic whatsoever.”

  Bayan’s eyebrows rose.

  “That’s right. As powerful as duelists are, we must maintain a safe environment for training purposes,” added Wekshi, the Wind Instructor. Her short, stiff braids barely moved in the strong breeze. “You’ve all experienced at least one magic mishap, or you would not have come to the attention of the Academy. We don’t want any more of those to happen while you’re still learning to master your magic, and we don’t want these fine old buildings to be damaged either. They’re hundreds of years old and represent a physical connection to our history.”

  Takozen, the sleek Flame Instructor with a hooked nose, spoke next. “There are many exceptions to the indoor magic rule, but everywhere that trainees are regularly expected to be is protected, with the exception of the center of your barracks room. As that is where your hotstone is, I assume you will be wise enough not to stand on it and bake your feet while trying a little premature magic.”

  After the nervous giggles had faded, Instructor Staasen spoke again. “We’ll begin today with a little explanation of the way in which magical motions differ from the basic defense moves you all learned in school. This will demonstrate clearly why you will spend so many hours of your life perfecting them.”

  “Excuse me, Instructor Staasen? I’m just curious whether that’s true.”

  Bayan looked back to see the copper-skinned girl who had reminded him of Imee. Her dark gaze was one of mild curiosity with a hint of smugness, and it was aimed not at the Instructor, but at Bayan.

  “Whether what is true, Kiwani?” Staasen asked.

  “Well, not all of us attended school in Helderaard, Eikenweer, or Gallenglaas. If someone hasn’t had the full experience of learning the Waarden defense moves, won’t this class be a bit above his comprehension?”

  “Bayan,” Calder said in a warning tone.

  The darkness had swirled all the way up into his head and was pressing at the back of his eyes. He’d balled his fists and taken a step toward Kiwani without realizing it. If she noticed, she showed no sign of concern.

  Several other trainees eyed Bayan doubtfully, but Staasen gave Bayan an easy smile. “Bayan, would you care to show the class your defense competency?”

  Bayan jerked his head in a nod, eyes still on Kiwani.

  “Then, please, choose your tegen and—”

  “Her.” Bayan pointed at Kiwani. To his annoyance, she seemed surprised that he’d selected her as his sparring partner. Who does she think she is, that she could accuse me of incompetence, then expect me not to prove myself directly to her?

  Bayan strode over to her, crunching across the pebbles of the arena floor. The other trainees backed away from Kiwani, and only then did her expression change to one of uncertainty. He gave her a perfunctory bow, which she returned a split-second before he grabbed her by the right arm and jerked her off-balance. She bent her knees and tried to twist into a counter-throw, but Bayan had too much strength and momentum in his tug.

  He whipped her by the wrist in a big circle. She flew head over heels with an undignified squawk, and thudded onto her back on the pebbled ground. The force of her landing made her wheeze. Before she could catch her breath, Bayan, still gripping her wrist above the manacle, rolled her face down and twisted her arm behind her back. The darkness thudded with every pulse of his heart, and he couldn’t help reveling in it. He jammed a knee on the back of her neck and pushed on her twisted arm, further tightening the lock.

  A frantic patting brought him out of the blackness. Kiwani was tapping on his leg. “Sey, sey, let go!” she cried, her voice muffled by pebbles.

  He let go of her twisted arm and backed away, breathing hard. The other trainees stared at him. A couple of them offered Kiwani a hand up, but she clambered to her feet without help. She waved off her companion Azhni and glared at Bayan.

  “I don’t believe such a forceful show was necessary.” She straightened her blue tunic with an indignant tug.

  “It answered your concerns, didn’t it?” Bayan retorted.

  “Enough, trainees,” said Staasen. “Bayan, please watch your use of force when working with a smaller tegen. And Kiwani, please keep in mind that you are here to train as hard as you can, and then some. This is not finishing school. The trainees who have the hardest time adapting to the level of effort expended in workout classes are the children of nobility. But they all toughen up. You will too.

  “Now, let us continue.” He raised his voice to the entire class once more. “Weaponless combat is for the defense of the common masses. A defensibly trained society is a polite society. However, when you train to be a duelist, you learn the difference between theory and practice. In theory, common defense moves and duelist magic are based on identical elements: the six sacred motions.”

  Bayan gritted his teeth. Despite knowing all the basic defense maneuvers Dakila’s uncle had taught him in school, he had no idea which six motions were sacred, nor which matched with which element. Since Instructor Staasen had not bothered to list them for anyone, he guessed that his fellow trainees already knew them by heart.

  Students and instructors alike backed up to make room as the Staasen waved to Wekshi to join him in the center of the group. Wekshi and Staasen bowed, then she threw a punch at Staasen’s stomach. He parried with a smooth arc and stepped back. She advanced and punched again, this time at his face, and again he parried. After four punches, they paused.

  “All parries, all arcs, correct?” Staasen asked.

  The class nodded.

  “I had to modify those arcs each time, to fit the various attacks my tegen made. This is the defense you know, but take a moment to tell yourselves that you’ll probably never need to use it again.”

  “Why not?” Calder asked.

  “Because in practice, the six sacred motions are used differently in magical defense than they are in common defense. With common defense, the motions are inanimate, applied to individual situations by the waarden to his tegen. With elemental magic, the motions come alive, and the elements fight for you.”

  Wekshi stepped forward, performing a quick maneuver involving different arm positions. She did a stylized spin, followed by a ducking step forward and a double-arm push that didn’t come anywhere close to Staasen.

  “Doesn’t look very dangerous, does it?” Staasen asked.

  Admiring murmurs rippled through the gathered students. “Pretty, though,” one of the girls said.

  “Now watch what these moves do when Wekshi invokes her magic.”

  Bayan watched, wide-eyed, as a misty rippling gathered around Wekshi as she repeated the maneuver. The rippling seemed to change color, or possibly texture, as she slid into her low, wide stance. When she thrust her arms at Staasen, who had remained still, the mist around Wekshi hardened into a sky-hued whirling force that blew him backward through the air for several strides before he landed, skidding through the rounded pebbles.

  Many of the trainees gasped or made sounds of awe. Bayan overhe
ard Instructor Amyntas whisper to a colleague that she was glad she hadn’t drawn the short stick.

  When Staasen stood up, Bayan was surprised to see that his curly hair had frizzed out and crackled with static electricity. The man dusted himself off and returned to the gathered class, then bowed to Wekshi, who grinned and bowed as well. Turning to the students, he patted his frizzed hair and said, “And that, class, is what happens when you let the resident Wind Instructor perform Storm’s Harbinger on you. Her Elemental Invocation—the first motion she made—and its subsequent Wind Invocation aren’t practical moves during a common fight. But because she possesses magic, she doesn’t need practicality of that sort. She can simply and literally blow her tegen away.”

  He raised an instructive finger. “But only if she performs her motions the same way, every time. This is the key difference between magic and common defense, between theory and practice. You can only perform spells properly if you have perfected the six sacred motions.”

  “So, it’s time to start learning those moves.” Instructor Eithne Mikellen stepped forward. “If everyone will jog with me to our first lesson?” Without waiting for a reply, the sturdy woman began a swift trot toward the arena tunnel.

  “She’s joking, aye?” Calder squinted after her. Bayan clinked one of his heavy iron bracelets against Calder’s. His blond friend groaned and trotted ahead. “At least I’ll beat you,” he called, prompting Bayan to bolt after him.

  ~~~

  Bayan staggered against Calder, his panting breath visible in the air as he waited for the exhausted students ahead of him to move into a low, broad building with gleaming green roof tiles. As the students shuffled in out of the wind, Bayan glanced at one of the metallic sint-fingers curling downward from the building’s corners. It dripped with moisture, and Bayan shivered. Calder nudged him, and together they entered the warmth of the workout room. Once inside, Bayan looked around. Low-ceilinged and paneled with dark wood, it was nevertheless lit well with large windows. Next to the doorway, two rows of benches stretched along the wall and seated a few observers. A sort of padded canvas occupied a large section in the center of the floor. Instructor Mikellen directed the trainees to warm up and stretch on the hardwood floor.