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“Put those disgusting magics next to Faziy,” Sebo ordered.
Arram flinched slightly. “Sorry, Master. I forgot I was holding them.” He gently placed the globe of magics next to the corpse. Sebo was rubbing her temples and watching the riverbanks as they passed. The hippos and crocodiles were beginning to stir. It was late afternoon, and the sun was setting. He and Sebo had been underwater far longer than he realized.
“Why would anyone go to such trouble to kill and bury a mage?” he asked her.
“Every mage has enemies,” she murmured.
“These must have been really angry ones, then.”
“For your own good, lad, you should forget this ever happened. Ask no questions. Never mention Faziy’s name, understand?” Sebo was digging in her workbag. “Whoever they were, whoever she offended, they wanted her forgotten. As forgotten as if she’d abandoned her obligations and run off beyond the reach of anyone who cared. Anyone who asks questions will doubtless get the same treatment she did. Mind me, Arram!”
“Yes, Master,” he replied softly.
Sebo bent her head and whispered to her mirror. Despite the boat’s small size, Arram could not hear her over the drumming rain and splashing river. Finally he gave up and folded himself in a kind of human tent over Preet, his elbows on his knees. His hair came loose from its rawhide tie and streamed down his forehead and back.
“You’re lucky you weren’t down there,” he told the bird. She stared up at him, her eyes glowing in the darkness of the shelter made by his curled body.
Who would kill a lightning mage? he asked himself. He’d suggested they were angry, but what if they weren’t? What if they wanted to hide something that Faziy had seen—or done?
Like summon the lightning snakes, he thought suddenly. Like calling all of them to her from a really large storm.
And we found her when they didn’t want her found, he realized. They will know mages did it. And there are mages who will look into it, at the university and in Thak City. That’s why Sebo wanted those ugly magics. As evidence…
He must have drowsed, because the next thing he noticed was the lurch as the boat ground onto sand and stone. He nearly toppled onto the corpse. Preet flew up, shrieking, as Arram grabbed the rim of the boat to keep from falling on the dead woman. The two young crocodiles dropped their ropes and plunged into the river, while Enzi thrust the small craft higher up onto the shore. Suddenly the rain stopped.
Arram looked up. It was not the rain. Six mages on the riverbank had created a protective shield overhead, which now covered the boat. Yadeen came forward and gently lifted Sebo from the bow. Preet flew to him, chattering quietly. Four other mages stepped up with a litter; Chioké was one. Cosmas stood in the background.
One mage made signs to lift in a Gift that shone pale blue. Chioké called up his orange magic. Between them they raised the dead woman in the air and settled her onto the litter, along with the ball of magics.
I will thank you humans to keep your murders out of my river in the future, Enzi said. He turned and slapped the water hard with his tail. It drenched Arram’s back as he stumbled ashore. When he turned to shout at the god, there was no sign of him. The rain fell without letup.
“Come along, Arram,” instructed Master Cosmas. “We may not be as wet as you, but it is getting cold. I would like to shift this puzzle someplace private before people come to snoop.”
“Master,” said one of the mages now holding the litter up. “In front of the boy?”
“Arram can be trusted,” Cosmas replied mildly.
“But—” the same mage said.
“That will be all.” Cosmas’s voice was still gentle, but the man closed his mouth. “Sebo?” Cosmas asked.
“I will come now, if Yadeen will give me his arm,” the old woman said, obviously knowing what Cosmas wanted. “Let the boy go to bed. He’s done more than his share tonight, and without a word of complaint.”
“Sebo, Master, Masters, I’m fine,” Arram protested.
“Bed,” ordered Yadeen, and that was that.
After he took a searing hot bath, Arram joined Preet in his room and plunged into sleep. He regretted it. In his dreams he drifted in the river without protection, inhaling water, dropping to the bottom, and sinking into soft, lumpy mud. Several times he bumped into Faziy’s unwrapped corpse, chained to its rock. The last time he was her body. He was still alive, screaming, and drowning as he fought the chains. Lightning snakes darted everywhere, trying to free him, but they only passed through his bonds.
This time, when he woke, he knew it was a couple of hours until dawn. Preet, normally a sound sleeper, was perched on his chest, cheeping anxiously.
“I’m sorry, Preet,” he murmured. He looked over the edge of the bed. Sunstone was there as well. Arram had yet to figure out how the tortoise got into the room when his door was firmly shut. “I’m sorry, Sunstone. Bad dreams, that’s all.” The tortoise wandered out, grumbling to himself.
Rather than risk more dreams, Arram gathered up his things. “I’m going to take another bath,” he told Preet. “You can come with me and sleep there, or you can meet me at Master Yadeen’s.”
Preet hopped onto his book bag, choosing to come along.
—
Yadeen frowned when the wet-haired Arram arrived for his lesson. “I would have thought you’d bathed last night.”
“I did,” Arram said, heading for the teapot. Yadeen already had his large cup in his hands. “And again this morning.” The roll of distant thunder reminded him of lightning snakes, but he had more urgent questions. “Sir, did you find out what killed Master Faziy?”
Yadeen, caught in the act of drinking tea, choked slightly and lowered his cup. “I recall Sebo telling us you are never to mention this again.” He raised his free hand and wrote two signs in the air. Instantly Arram felt the tightening of his skin that meant Yadeen had enclosed his workshop in protections against eavesdroppers.
Reminded, Arram made a rueful face. “You were there. I thought it would be all right if I spoke of it to you.”
“You are braver than me,” Yadeen said. “I would not want the old woman angry with me.” He sighed. “Drink your tea. You look about to fall over.” As Arram obeyed, Yadeen said, “They will get nothing from Faziy’s body. The mages who killed her melted her brain before they sank her. Sometimes it’s possible to find the memories of the dead, but she was in the water for weeks. Any memories are a shot drawn at venture after so long. They made sure the shot would have nothing to strike.”
Arram couldn’t tell what was more fascinating, that memories could be gathered after the spirit had gone on to the Black God’s realm, or that the brain could be melted in its skull. “And there’s no way to untwine the magics in the wrappings, to see who belongs to what?” he asked, deciding to get all of his questions out of the way. “They were all blended together, so I couldn’t even tell what they were.”
“No,” Yadeen replied. “It was a very well-constructed plot.”
Arram chewed his lip. Three weeks ago the lightning snakes had not visited him when the great storm rolled over the university and struck Prince Stiloit’s fleet. If the storm had been a normal storm, nothing would have interfered with a visit from the snakes.
“Sir, do lightning snakes prefer storms when mages are mucking with them? Or are there mages who can trap lightning—including the snakes—and wield it deliberately? Make it go where they want it to go?”
“Why do you ask?” Yadeen leaned forward, his eyes fixed on Arram.
He told him what he’d told Sebo: how he’d called the lightning snakes and they hadn’t come.
Yadeen looked up as approaching thunder rolled. “Outside. Preet, stay here.”
Arram began to shed his robe in resignation. He was going to get wet again.
“Good idea,” said Yadeen. He stripped off his shirt. Arram did the same, even though his next class was with Cosmas, who would dry off the rest of him. Or perhaps this time Cosmas would t
each him how to do it for himself.
Yadeen led him out to the practice area where Arram had accidentally shown lightning snakes to Chioké and Ozorne. They waited in silence as the thunder boomed closer and closer. Finally Yadeen said, “Call them,” and stepped away.
Arram reached up and silently called, imagining the long, jagged strokes against the sky, splitting into forks and lesser branches. His Gift flew out from his fingers, shaping the same kind of strokes in the air as it reached for the purple-black thunderheads. Light flashed behind the heaped clouds as they rolled forward; noise made the ground beneath his feet shiver. The wind whipped his hair, the long grasses around the edges of the field, and the trees on the far side. Arram grinned in exultation. For a moment he forgot about the grim day before, enjoying the sound and sight of the storm.
He saw bolts of lightning strike out of the clouds and vanish, except for a few. These walked forward through the air as if they felt their way. He called again. Thunder crashed. Solid whips of lightning joined the first, stretching and splitting as they reached out. When the first delicate fingertips touched Arram, his hair stood up. Then the hands surrounded him, the spirits that came with them giggling and asking him to admire their shapes, their thunder, and their clouds.
He assured them that he did. Then, taking a chance, he asked, “Are there ways you can be trapped to do someone’s bidding?”
They vanished, and the clouds opened up. Arram reached out, catching one laggardly streak. “Please! I didn’t mean I would do it, ever!” he explained as it flickered in the hold of his Gift. It stung fiercely; had it been larger it would have hurt him badly. “Tell the others that. I need to know if someone did do it recently. I swear by the Hag I would never take advantage of you that way!” His mouth trembled. It was Faziy who had told him that the snakes answered to the local trickster god.
The whip of lightning hesitated, shimmering. Then it reached down and curled around his wrist. Silently it replied, It was done. The moon was half full.
Arram released it and looked for Yadeen.
When they were back inside, Arram repeated the lightning snake’s words. Then he said, “What if Faziy called lightning snakes three weeks ago?” He was about to ask, “What if she turned the storm and the snakes on the fleet?” but Yadeen gestured. Arram closed his mouth.
“I know what you were about to say,” Yadeen murmured. He made a far deeper impression than if he’d shouted. “Never speak of it, do you understand? If it is true, there is no way to prove such a thing. They still made certain Faziy would never speak. Stiloit had enemies, powerful ones. The kind of men and women who could pay a cabal of mages to drown any number of ships to kill one man. Do you think they would stop at one student?”
Arram gulped. “No, sir.”
“I will see to this. But do not investigate further, understand?”
Arram nodded, though he couldn’t help but think, What if these people go after Ozorne? What if Mikrom thinks Ozorne is trying to get rid of everyone between him and the throne? Or that his mother is the plotter?
It wouldn’t be the first time a Carthaki heir chose to rid himself of those who were next in line. Emperor Mesaraz’s grandfather had done just that, the truth coming out only after he was on the throne.
Had Stiloit faked his death by drowning, planning to hide until he had rid himself of Ozorne and Mikrom? That had happened at least twice in Carthaki imperial history. In fact, the entire history of the Carthaki throne tended to be a bloody one.
What if Ozorne was killed because he didn’t know his danger?
Somehow Arram struggled through his afternoon classes and retreated to the baths for another soak. When he finally reached his room, hoping for a brief nap, he found Lindhall’s area in an uproar.
Servants were carrying boxes out of the rooms across the hall. Three men in the uniform of the Imperial Guard, the elite soldiers who guarded the emperor and his heir, stood on either side of the door, eyeing the servants. Here in the university, where weapons were viewed as a source of trouble and, worse, an inspiration for mistakes, these forbidding individuals were armed. They carried short swords and at least three daggers, one in the belt and one in each black leather boot. Shimmering on their belts revealed magic: Arram sharpened his gaze and discovered protective spells keyed to spoken words, not the men’s Gift, for they had none. These spells were the kind that would spread to cover people closest to the men who wore them.
He was so engrossed that he didn’t pay attention to the third guard until the man crossed the hall and grabbed his arm. “Here, you,” the soldier growled. “What’s your name and business here?”
Preet began to scream in alarm. A large dog who slept with one of Ozorne’s roommates leaped through the door and began to bark. The three-legged hound and the tiny blind dog who also shared the suite followed and added their barks to his. The guards unsheathed their swords.
Arram, terrified they would kill the animals, snapped the first spell he could think of around them. It thrust the guards down the hall. When they began to run back toward Arram, he used the same spell to keep them where they were.
“Mithros rising, what is going on?” shouted Ozorne, walking out of his room. “Sit, sit and be silent!” The dogs instantly obeyed. Ozorne rubbed his head. His hair was disheveled and his tunic smudged. “Arram, release my guards.”
“Your guards? Ozorne, what’s this?” Arram asked, still angry. He kept his spell’s grip on his captives. “Those men drew steel on the dogs and Preet! Who are they, and what is this? Who’s moving?”
“That would be me,” Ozorne said. “The emperor insists. If I’m to stay, I need a ground-floor room with more exits, and I must have guards. I’m not happy, but I wasn’t permitted to argue. Now, release the men, before they tell Uncle that you’re a danger. He might not remember that he likes you.”
Arram released the men, who ran to their charge. Ozorne snapped, “Sheathe those blades! Did you forget your orders? Only under real attack do they come out of their sheaths! And memorize this man’s face.” He pointed at Arram. “He is Arram Draper, my best friend, possibly the cleverest student at this university—except for me, of course.” He and Arram smiled at each other. The guards only bowed to Ozorne and turned their eyes on Arram. “The bird is Preet. Harm one feather on her head and I will ask my uncle for yours.”
“Ozorne!” Arram protested. These men could not know Ozorne’s sense of humor. They might believe he meant it.
Ozorne grimaced. “Arram as well as Varice Kingsford and Master Chioké may be permitted to my presence at any hour, understand? No questions. I don’t care if I’m sleeping.”
“Ozorne, does Lindhall know?” Arram asked as the soldiers bowed and separated to let the servants go by with their crates.
“Yes—he was there when the commander and Master Cosmas came with the happy news.” Ozorne slumped against the wall. “Look at it this way—now I have room for all of us to gather when we’re bored with the libraries.” He grabbed Arram’s arm and dragged him into Lindhall’s suite, shutting the door behind them. “I have to find the good in this, understand?” Ozorne slumped against the frame of Arram’s door. “I didn’t know it, but Chioké and Master Cosmas have been arguing with my uncle and my mother since we came out of isolated mourning for my cousin. They finally persuaded my family of how useful it would be to have an imperial heir who is also a mage. I had to swear all manner of oaths to let guards follow me everywhere.”
“Can you blame them?” Arram asked. He crouched to pet the three-legged dog. “Your mother and the emperor, I mean. The other heirs haven’t been particularly lucky.”
“No, only stupid or unhealthy,” his friend retorted.
“Ozorne!” Arram said, shocked.
“I’m not wrong, except where Stiloit is concerned. He was unlucky.”
Arram swallowed a lump in his throat. He wanted so badly to tell Ozorne that it was not at all a matter of luck for Stiloit.
The older boy scru
bbed his face with his hands. “Listen, I’m all over dust. Why don’t I clean up? We can walk over to supper and then the library. At least I can get some studying done tonight.” He walked into the hall.
“But…your things,” Arram protested.
“I told these people where they go. They can arrange them better than I would anyway,” Ozorne said over his shoulder. His tone made Arram think that perhaps he was not as resigned to the presence of his guards as he claimed. “Oh,” he called, and came back to the door. “I have more news, the kind that delights you.”
“Better news than I won’t have you snoring across the hall?” Arram asked.
Ozorne’s grin was the essence of wickedness. “So much better than that,” he said. “Mother has moved her palace suite on a somewhat permanent basis. She means to entertain, and asked me to put you and Varice on notice. She wants you to attend the parties and dinners that she intends to stage for me.”
Arram whimpered. “She wouldn’t be happy with just one supper to say hello?” he managed to ask. Preet, on his shoulder, croaked her opinion. She knew she would never be allowed to attend such events, any more than Lindhall’s students’ dogs would be allowed. “I have the infirmary, as well as my lessons….”
“Oh, no,” Ozorne murmured. “She mentioned ‘bringing some life into the great barn.’ I don’t know where she got the idea you might bring life, but…” He shrugged. “Mothers.” He vanished into the suite of rooms again, the inside guard following. “For the time being, you can teach me the pushing spell you used on the guards!” Arram heard him call.
Arram let his head fall back until it banged the wall. “Mithros, Minoss, and Shakith,” he said, though what he prayed for he did not know. He shouted to Ozorne, “It’s only a mix of ordinary barrier spells and runes for movement, concentrated into one sigil that I wrote into my palm!”
