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The others laughed. Arram patted his friend’s shoulder, but something about that smile and the flicker in Ozorne’s eyes disturbed him. He dismissed the feeling. Doubtless the healer was made nervous because Ozorne was now second in line for the throne and too powerful to offend.
“How fares His Imperial Majesty?” Gissa asked. “The shock of losing another heir must be dreadful.”
“He does as well as any man who began the decade with seven heirs and now has two,” Ozorne replied. “Now, please, everyone, let me eat.”
The others laughed and obeyed, turning to talk of their classes. Ozorne listened, his eyes alert, even as he devoured the contents of his plate. Once he’d finished, he sat back with a sigh. “You’ll help me catch up, won’t you?” he asked Arram.
Diop, their old roommate, was seated with friends at the next table. He looked over at them, a strange light in his eyes. “There’s a laugh,” he told his companions, his voice loud enough to be heard by everyone nearby. “I’m surprised they don’t arrange for him to take all of His Highness’s examinations.”
Ozorne tapped the table with his finger as he half turned in his chair. “I don’t recall anyone asking you to join our conversation,” he said mildly, despite that tapping finger. “I have yet to hear it said that I have not done very well on my own.”
Diop sniffed. His tablemates were trying to hush him, but his voice got louder. “But now you need not bother. Only command your freak to manage your studies for you, Your Highness.”
“You are even more obnoxious than you were when you lived in our quarters,” Ozorne replied, his eyes not wavering from Diop’s face. His finger still drummed the surface of the table. “For your information, the three of us have shared classes—and work—for a number of terms. I have yet to see you in our classes.”
“Did you have to pay so the other two could share your…classes?” Diop asked, his voice full of rude suggestion.
Ozorne lifted the finger he had been drumming and pointed to the doors. “Out,” he ordered quietly.
Diop stared at him for a long moment. None of the students who were listening seemed to breathe. Then he gathered his book bag. “You’re not emperor,” he said, his voice shaking. “And the three of you are nothing special.” He spat on the table and walked out.
“Well!” Varice’s voice shook. “Somebody sat on a snake.”
“People are jealous,” Tristan murmured with a shrug. “They would like to get to know Prince Ozorne better, but Highness, you limit your circle to Arram, Varice, sometimes Gissa and me, and anyone we may be courting. People grow bitter.”
Ozorne’s eyes glinted sharply. “I won’t have my friendships dictated by the likes of Diop Beha.”
“There is advantage to be had, Your Royal Highness,” Tristan replied simply. “Perhaps not with Diop, but with others. You could use allies.”
Ozorne looked at Tristan but said nothing.
Arram said wistfully, “I should like to know what put the bur in Diop’s anus.” As Ozorne and Gissa choked on their drinks, Arram explained, “He never liked us, but he hasn’t gone after us for months.”
“He was kept back this year,” Varice said, stacking her dishes and placing them tidily on her tray. “At least half of our first-year Upper Academy class has been kept back. Maybe you only looked at your marks, with the fasting and the prince’s memorials, but I look at all the marks. Every fall class is reduced by a good number. The students are held back, or some go home, or switch schools.”
When Arram stared at her, Tristan said drily, “Here is where the winnowing starts. Each term more of us will be left behind to repeat the one before. Not all mages are equal. Surely you knew that.”
Arram had known it in a vague way. Since it never had anything to do with him or his friends, he hadn’t spent time worrying about it. He barely knew what year he was in these days.
“Forget Diop,” Ozorne said, putting a hand on Arram’s arm and on Varice’s. “I’m just delighted to be back where I belong. Tell me all the gossip.”
They talked school and palace gossip until Gissa reminded them of the night’s studying yet to be done. When they scattered, Ozorne looked more vigorous than he had when he’d first sat down at the table.
Late that night Arram woke and found it hard to go back to sleep. Resolving to find the most boring volume on Lindhall’s shelves to put him in the right frame of mind, he pulled on his robe, called up a ball of light, and wandered into the study.
He was shocked to find Ozorne curled up on the floor between Lindhall’s great chair and the table covered with enamel pieces. He had his head on his knees, while with one hand he was scratching Lindhall’s large land tortoise, Sunstone, on the head. The animal was leaning against Ozorne’s side, making soft sounds of contentment. Ozorne, too, was making sounds, but to Arram it sounded as if his friend was weeping.
He reached in a pocket and found one of several handkerchiefs. Gently he poked it through an opening between Ozorne’s free hand and his knees, then sat with the table between them. He didn’t want Ozorne to feel crowded. If he wanted to talk, he would.
At last the prince raised his face and scrubbed his eyes with his handkerchief. “Tell anyone you caught me crying, and I’ll…I’ll tell Varice you fart in bed.” He blew his nose.
“And I’ll remind her that you will say anything if you’re trying to get revenge. Which of us do you think she’ll believe?” Arram reminded his friend.
Ozorne lowered his knees. Immediately Sunstone climbed into his lap. His host sighed and helped the great animal to get his hind feet up, then spread the handkerchief on the table neatly. Tugging the corners into shape, he murmured, “Why did he have to die? I liked him. The others I don’t care about. Mikrom? Well, the less said about him, the less vexation to the gods. He’ll be emperor after all. But Stiloit was always decent when he was around. When I was little he’d take me out on his ships and name all the parts for me. If he caught Mikrom bullying me, or anyone else, he’d give them what he called Sailor’s Brew.” He raised a hand and tapped it lightly against one of his eyes. “And now we can’t even bury him. He’s—” The tears were coming again. Ozorne covered his eyes with his arm. “He’s at the bottom of the sea.”
“I liked him, too,” Arram said. “Even if he kissed Varice’s hand too many times. He was generous with the plague infirmaries, and the children.”
“And a valiant captain in battle,” Ozorne said mournfully. “He would have been so good for the realm if he could have lived.”
“Sometimes the gods take our best,” Arram said. He wasn’t certain that he believed the old saying, but it felt like the right thing to tell Ozorne.
“Don’t blame the gods,” Ozorne told him. “I asked Uncle to have the shipbuilders investigate. That fleet was pronounced fit to sail in the spring.” His eyes flashed in the dim light cast by Arram’s Gift. “If they betrayed Stiloit to an enemy—if they sold good materials and used cheap ones, then pocketed the rest of the money—they will pay for it in blood.”
“Ozorne,” Arram said, hesitating. For the first time he was a little afraid of his friend. “It was a storm. A storm and lightning. You can’t behead nature.”
Ozorne was silent. Arram wished Preet had woken. She could always cheer Ozorne when he got in one of his dark moods. Finally the prince shifted. “Sunstone, my legs have gone numb.” With a grunt he lifted the animal and gently set him on the floor. Muttering, Sunstone set off down the hall. To Arram, Ozorne said, “Where would I be without you to keep me in check? Gods will it, I shall never find out. Give me a hand up.”
Arram clambered to his feet and pulled his friend up one-handed. Ozorne hugged him impulsively. “Don’t ever abandon me, Arram,” he said. “I don’t know what I would do if you weren’t at my side.”
Before Arram could reply, Preet flew in, cheeping imperiously. She circled Ozorne several times, then landed on his shoulder and tugged at his braids. The prince began to laugh. “All right, all rig
ht, I’m sending him back to you! Whoever heard of so strict a bird!” He kissed her when he lifted her on his finger and placed her on Arram’s shoulder. Then, with a wave, he left for his own bedroom across the hall.
Ozorne had been back for two weeks or so when Arram, on his way to class with Sebo, found Enzi blocking the path. He greeted the crocodile god with pleasure; Preet said hello by running her beak along the creases in his rock-solid hide. Enzi had been away since giving his mysterious warning to Sebo and Arram. Now he was back, looking plump.
“The hunting has been good?” Arram inquired politely once he’d greeted the god with the proper respect.
Well enough, Enzi replied. But it’s good to be among intelligent companions again. I hear you lost another prince. You humans had best be careful—you only have two left.
Arram shrugged. “The emperor has placed all manner of guards on Ozorne. And if he isn’t safe in the university, where can he be safe?”
Enzi looked up at him. Humans. So proud of your rocks and sticks and spells. You have yet to see gods at real work.
Arram looked away so Enzi would not see him smile. “And frankly I hope that I never do, begging your pardon.”
You are in a saucy mood today. Where is Sebo? the god demanded. There is something she must take care of in the river. I suppose you will come along, since you are here.
“I used my crystal to tell Hulak that Arram won’t be able to attend their lesson.” Sebo came down the path, as gaudy as usual in a yellow and black head wrap and purple body wrap printed with green and yellow flowers. She carried a cloth workbag that blazed with protective spells. “Now, what is so important?”
Not tell, the god retorted. Show, downriver. You must ride before we are close enough to walk. Come.
“Bring your mage’s workbag,” Sebo commanded. Arram nodded and took it out of his larger book bag, slinging it over one shoulder.
Preet returned to Arram as Enzi led them to the water, where an empty rowboat lay on the beach. Two good-sized crocodiles basked in the sun next to it. The god waddled briskly past the sleepers and into the river. You two, get those ropes I showed you, he ordered the mortal crocodiles as they thrashed and darted into the water. Sebo, Arram, into the boat. When he saw Arram hesitate, the god roared, They are my great-great-something-grandsons, dolt! They will not harm you!
More than a little, a voice remarked. Arram guessed that the speaker was the bigger of the two mortal crocodiles. His guess was confirmed when Enzi lashed “More Than a Little” across the nose with his tail. Ow! Grandfather! “More Than a Little” protested, paddling back and away from the god. It was a joke!
You are within my aura, young idiot, Enzi snapped. They can hear you. That is why the tall one smells of fear.
Do not worry, the smaller crocodile assured Arram. Grandfather fed us well before you came. We are not hungry hardly at all.
Ropes! Enzi bellowed. Into the boat, Sebo! Boy!
Preet flew to the boat’s rail and made a sharp, scolding noise.
Arram, Enzi grumbled. Sebo snorted.
Gently Arram held the master by the arm as she hiked up her skirts and climbed into the boat, her workbag over her shoulder. She took a seat in the bow. He eased himself onto the seat in the stern and nervously grasped an oar.
“Don’t be silly, lad,” Sebo told him. “Enzi’s grandsons will tow us.”
Arram hadn’t noticed the ropes tied to a ring that dangled off the bow. Each mortal crocodile gripped a rope in his mouth and began to swim downstream, towing the boat in their wake.
“What’s going on?” Arram asked Sebo as Preet hopped onto his knee. “Enzi didn’t tell me.”
Sebo shook her head. “He said I’d understand when I got there. Apparently it offends him greatly.”
It should offend you, old woman. Enzi rose from the water. It is a work of human magic, and it is poisoning the river. You must stop it.
“You should have gotten someone else,” Sebo retorted. “I’m too old to be galloping hither and yon this way.”
Who was I supposed to get? Him? He swung his snout toward Arram. He is a good lad, but he is not ready for this. I do not know the others, save for Lindhall, enough to trust them. You know how Lindhall is underwater.
“I know,” Sebo replied sourly. She glanced at Arram. “He doesn’t like it,” she explained.
Enzi continued, I will be doubly grateful if you tell those mages in the city and the palace that the next one to make a poisonous disposal such as this will be eaten.
The god said nothing more. Arram shifted his weight until he could trail the fingers of one hand in the river. He was reasonably certain that Enzi would discourage any predators from trying a taste. Preet fluttered to Sebo’s lap as the older mage said, “If there’s poison, we wouldn’t pick it up here, lad. The river flows downstream, in case you’ve forgotten.”
Arram smiled at her. “I haven’t forgotten. I’m just sensing things.”
“Suit yourself,” the master replied. She removed Preet from her knee and took a scrying mirror from the bag of tools she had brought with her. The fire of her Gift shimmered around it as the boat surged downriver.
Arram looked at the bird, who now perched on the rail. “Enzi, are you taking Preet back to her family soon?” The thought was a hurtful one, but he had to ask.
Again, you ask! I will say when I find the proper gift, Enzi snapped. Preet chuckled. You mortals always rush, wanting things done immediately. Can you think of a suitable gift for the chief of the gods, the god of law and the bane of thieves?
Arram, speechless, shook his head.
Then do not pressure me, boy. That god is inventive when he feels a fellow god requires correction. A proper gift must be selected with great care.
After a moment Sebo remarked, “I hear lightning snakes are fond of Arram. I wonder how they might act if they thought he was being…bullied.”
Enzi rose half out of the water to eye first Arram, then Sebo. Lightning snakes?
“Lightning snakes,” the mage replied serenely.
Enzi sank down into the water before he replied, Interesting.
“They’re very friendly,” Arram called. “I’m sure they’d like you if they got to know you.”
They drew past Point Kovanik, the northern end of one of the army’s sprawling camps. Arram looked up. Atop the camp’s high stone wall, guards walked back and forth. A few hundred yards around the point, the many-greats-grandsons halted and drew back toward the boat, bringing it to a stop.
Arram frowned. He knew this part of the river after his time with Sebo, but never before had it been like this. There was something bad in the water, something rank. When he stretched out his Gift, he felt plants and tiny fishes dying a foot or two beneath the surface. Larger fish moved sluggishly, trying to escape the source of the…
“It isn’t rot,” he said, pulling his hand from the water. “Or any poison I know.”
“Let us accept that you do not know every poison in existence.” Sebo was always quick to remind Arram that, while he was advanced compared to his friends, he still had much to learn. More kindly she added, “Nor is it something I know, but it is rife with magic.” She had not needed to actually put her hand in the water.
This is why you are here, old woman, Enzi said, impatience in his voice. Do you mean to study everything from the boat? Have you forgotten my teaching of you? The only way to learn the river—
“Is to be in the river, yes! I am no longer a young thing who forgets her own name for new magic!” snapped Arram’s master. “Boy, if you are coming, you will need better protection than your robe!”
Arram had been openmouthed at the idea that Sebo might have once been young and, even more shocking, absentminded. She never forgets anything, he thought, struggling out of his outer robe. Wearing only a shirt and breeches, carrying his workbag on his shoulder, he cleared his mind and carefully wrapped himself in the spell that let him walk and see underwater. He strengthened it against magic and
poison, then double-checked every element, wary of his own tendency toward absentmindedness.
“Preet, stay here and be good,” he ordered. Then he followed Sebo and her workbag over the side of the boat.
The spell pulled him down to the bottom, just as he had crafted it to do. Here the river was murky with the leavings of the military camp and what the tides brought upstream from the port of Thak’s Gate. He hated the mess, but he had walked in it before. That was why he had added vision spells, allowing him to see in the murk.
His protections did not help with the feel of the river bottom as he walked along it. He envied Sebo the spell-work that allowed her to glide above it like a fish herself. She never touched the mud, garbage, and sewage that boiled up every time Arram put down a foot. He had tried to learn the working, but without luck.
Now he saw extra darkness against the murk. Something bulky lay on the river’s bottom. A heavy stone block secured it in the mud. Chains led from the block into an area of shadows half a head taller and a little wider than Arram. The shadows were unmoving, a dead spot in the current that flowed around them. Arram joined Sebo. “Is this the source of the poisons?” he asked her, his voice traveling through their protections.
Her eyes were bleak. “What does your Gift tell you?” she asked. She had removed a knot of fiber from her workbag and was undoing the strands.
Always teaching, Arram thought with an inner sigh. He let his Gift flow carefully toward the shadows. His magic told him nothing was there but polluted water, though it passed over and around the darkness just as the river’s currents did. “What?” he muttered. He straightened and tried again, harder. His Gift flowed up and around the floating thing, not through—but if the shadows were simply river water, why did everything pass around them? His Gift passed through everything except his masters’ strongest wards. Again his power told him that nothing was there, though something kept his power from going through it.
Arram ground his teeth. Perhaps he was spoiled, as some of his fellow students claimed, but these days he was used to his power telling him what he wanted to know.
