9.21 Dragon

The Legion Infirmary, Barracks 24, Minrathous

Callum focused on the sound of the boy dying. It wasn't what he had expected a human death to sound like, but as he lay and watched the life leave the conscript in the bed next to his he accepted that most things he had imagined were different in real life.

The soldier must have been younger than Callum, but his face was etched with fine lines made visible due to the film of dirt and sweat that covered his skin. Callum watched as blood bubbled up between his lips, and his chest rose and fell painfully slowly, as if under a hundredweight, making it impossible to breathe. The moment the boy died was marked not with a scream but with a wet, sucking sound as the blood that was filling his lungs reached its inevitable conclusion. Callum saw his eyes glaze over as he changed from a living, breathing human being to a slowly cooling cadaver.

"Disgusting," Hadriana shuddered.

Callum turned his attention back to his visitor. He wasn't sure how to reply, so he said something that sounded vaguely agreeable, and turned his head back to the boy. Hadriana was talking to him about the events of her last twenty-four hours; detailing the troubles she had had with the slaves, who all wanted to attend the funeral procession of their late master, with the accountants, with the coroners, with the signatories. It seemed that the living found the business of death a lot more difficult to manage than the dying. The boy had done it so simply.

"…At least the laudation should go smoothly enough, thank the Maker. The body is in good condition, a little lead, a little alkanet and he should be presentable enough…"

Callum tried to make the right noises as Hadriana went on about the funeral. He wondered when the boy would be taken away. It was hot, and the body would begin to smell. Callum had heard once that corpses soiled themselves after death. He began to ponder what he would find if he were to get up and lift the thin muslin sheet that was draped over the body's midriff and legs.

Callum had killed before, but he had never really paid attention to death. Of course, his first murder had been magnificent, but he had never intended it and so reasoned the blood was not on his hands, but on the hands of the demon who had twisted his wishes. No, best not to dwell on that; he did what he did for love – when something is done for love it can never be truly ignoble. When Hadriana had first begun to teach him blood magic they had started on animals, pigs and goats and such. They had screamed, Callum remembered. Screamed and shat and pissed every-where, and it had been both terrifying and relieving to slide the knife across their throats. When he had moved on to the slaves he had dreaded it. But they had just stood there quietly and calmly as he had cut them. In general he never set out to kill them, as it was annoying to have to replace a slave and, more truthfully, the spells Hadriana taught him didn't require that much blood. But he had killed a few. Not many, not many. But some. They had died simply too.

He wondered now what had happened to their bodies. Had they been made-up with lead and khol and alkanet to mask the way their skin had greyed and their eyes turned to glass? Did the other elves have a version of the procession, did they elect a speaker to perform the laudatio funebris? Were they cremated or buried? Did the family wear the masks, were Faces made and placed in a Hall?

What would Varania want? Callum found himself wondering as he stared at the dead solider.

"Anyway, enough of that. We need to discuss your training. The insult will be redressed after the new year, which leaves us with just under four moons to prepare you."

Callum pulled his attention away from the body, and tried to concentrate on what Hadriana was talking about. It was hard enough to concentrate on anything here, due in part to the heat and in part to sounds of the soldiers around him fighting to stay alive. There was a smell that lingered in the air, slightly sweet and slightly sour and wholly unpleasant. It reminded him of spoiled meat, and once he had made the association he fought to forget it. In a land of magic, there had never been a pressing need to invest in curative medicine, and so the North stood at least an Age behind the cities in the South with regards to remedial knowledge. Instead the Imperium chose to rely mainly on the power of magic to prevent any illnesses, and for those unfortunate to sustain a physical injury there was always the saw and tar and the Maker's will.

In fact, in this one area the poor generally fared better than the rich, as they would usually rely on the powers of a hedge mage or witch to see them through illnesses, to deal with broken bones, difficult births or any of the multitude of ailments that were the scourge of life on the wrong side of the poverty line. The wealthy, on the other hand, concerned with keeping up appearances, preferred to visit 'doctors', a rare title given to Magisters who completed a year's training upon receiving their cap. It was usually those Magisters from poor families, without a House but with Ability, who chose to pursue the vocation. However, it was not a popular specialism and was generally considered a poor substitute for real power. For many the Ability to heal and the Ability to destroy were impossible to maintain simultaneously and, rather than dedicate themselves solely to the medicinal arts most doctors attempted to excel in each skill, resulting in a broad incompetence in both. It was a rare individual who could balance creation and destruction well, though such persons did exist.

"What insult?" Callum asked. Hadriana sighed heavily, and then remembered her role and offered him a half-hearted pat on the hand. He didn't fail to notice that she immediately wiped her palm on her dress.

"The insult to our House, of course. I have just come from the Senate. Do try to keep up," she said with ill-concealed annoyance. "It has been settled that you will meet with the offender in the Coliseum."

Callum sat up in bed, his attention no longer divided. "Absolutely not. I refuse."

Hadriana rolled her eyes, all pretence at friendliness gone. "For Maker's sake Callum. You should want to do this, it was you whom he attacked."

"You don't say?" Callum jeered, gesturing around him, taking in both his bed and the other fifteen beds in the infirmary, the dead body on his left and the old soldier sleeping on his right. "But I will not fight him. Just have him executed. What's the problem with that?"

Hadriana paused.

"Well?" Callum pressed.

And then Hadriana said something she had never planned to say. Later, when she was alone in her rooms, washing off the dirt and tiredness, she tried to make sense of why she hadn't simply stuck to the story Denarius had fed her. But when the moment came she just couldn't bring herself to say the words… Perhaps she had been too frightened of what she might give away, perhaps she had realised Callum would never believe her… And a real Magister never lies… Either way, she found herself uttering words that never should have passed her lips.

"I need him to die, and it must be in the Coliseum. I have started something that I cannot stop. You are my last hope, and I believe I may be yours."

Startled, Callum searched her face, looking for any signs of dishonesty or of trickery or even, Maker forbid, truth. But there was nothing there. Just like always, her perfect, porcelain expression remained fixed, her sky-blue eyes cold and empty.

"Go on," he said, watching her intently.

"I know the elf who attacked you is your wh- was Varania's brother. I am also well aware of what you did to the rest of her people. I have known for a long time."

Callum shrugged, trying to appear casual and aloof, but panic began to sting him, running along his arms and squeezing his stomach. "What of it?"

"Grow up, Callum," she hissed, finally losing her temper, "you're in this more deeply than your pathetic little mind could ever imagine. How do you think the brother found you? What do you think is happening here? You're nothing in this game but a pawn, easily scarified and never missed. I'm offering you a chance not only to survive but to escape, with your elf. You have heard of Magister Denarius?"

Callum, stunned into silence, nodded.

"Maker be praised, there is something you know. Denarius wants the brother –"

"Leto. His name is Leto."

"For pity's sake. Yes, if there is one thing I am very blighted aware of it's the name of that fucking elf!" Hadriana pinched the bridge of her nose, drawing a long breath through her teeth, visibly trying to calm down. Callum had never seen her so angry before, and the sight both terrified and fascinated him. It was like watching a ship sink. You could hear the screams of the drowning and knew what you were seeing was a tragedy, but nevertheless couldn't look away from the perverse beauty of all that power slowly faltering and falling beneath the waves.

"Right. Fine. Leto. Why not? "Leto and Varania". Wonderful. Denarius has invested a lot of time and money into this Leto. He has plans for him – never mind what. Just be aware that, as far as you need be concerned, Leto is currently infinitely more valuable than you are. You won't survive this, Leto needs to kill you and Denarius needs Leto. He is even now with the elf, offering him your head on a plate."

"But why? I don't understand any of this!" Callum wailed. If his neighbour hadn't died already he would have drawn attention to himself. The other patients took no notice, too consumed by their own pain. Little mercies, Hadriana acknowledged.

"Does it matter? Who are you to understand the will of great men? Denarius is the greatest Magister in an Age, and when he has finished with Leto he will unstoppable… untouchable. No, Leto must die. And you must kill him."

"Why don't you kill him? You're stronger than me. You know you are, we both know it."

"I cannot do this thing. I must be able to deny any involvement."

"And how will you manage that?" Callum shot back. "It's all but impossible to keep anything hidden in this city. You just admitted you've been reading my memories – probably form the first moment I met you," he added bitterly.

Hadriana smiled, and leant back in her chair. "There at least we are in luck. I can keep this from Denarius easily – in fact, it is his own decision that makes it possible."

Callum paused. His head was spinning. He had cracked his skull hard against the cobbles when Hadriana had thrown him to the ground, saving him from both Leto and the huge charge of Egidius' last ever manifestation of power. It was hard to concentrate. If what Hadriana was implying was true, that this illustrious and eminent man, who he had never met in his life, had decided he must die, Callum was not so stupid as to not realise that his life was forfeit.

He turned again to the body of the soldier. Does he have a family? Callum wasn't sure where the question had come from. Hadriana was talking again, explaining to him that she could help him, train him. She knew how Leto was being trained; she would give him an edge in the fight. It was his best chance of survival. He listened with half an ear, nodding along. But he stared at the body.

Callum thought of his brothers. Both were younger than him, and neither had any Ability. His middle brother, Atticus, would be being trained to take over his father's role on the Asariel council. He had always been a serious minded boy, and would do well. His younger brother, Benedict, on the other hand had always been trouble. Reckless and irresponsible, he would constantly get into fights with the other boys, rolling home long after curfew covered in fresh scabs and dried blood. Callum wondered if the soldier had been like Benedict, always looking for danger and adventure.

And now he's dead.

Is this what life amounts to? Is this all we leave behind us?

His mother had been so proud when his power had manifested. He had been in the small courtyard garden, so common in Asariel, horsing around with his brothers. He hadn't meant to, but somehow he had ended up throwing Atticus some five feet across the garden. But he hadn't used his hands – he had used his mind. He had simply decided he didn't want his brother on him, punching him, and suddenly he was on his arse half way across the patio, snivelling. It was the first thing he had ever learned to do, and it came to him as easily now as breathing. Just centre yourself and push, as if you were opening a stuck door. The Magisters had some fancy name for it – mind shield, mind blast, something. They had fancy names for all the Abilities; but to Callum it would always be, in his imagination, the 'Atticus Basher'. A silly name, coined by a child.

But I'm no more a child than that soldier.

If you do something for love, that makes it justified, isn't that right?

"What about Varania?" Callum asked, eyes still on the dead soldier.

"Haven't you been listening? I said, if you kill him you can have the House. I won't need it. You can do whatever you like with your, excuse me, with Varania."

Callum pulled his gaze from the glassy eyes of the body, and looked into Hadriana's empty blue stare. There was little to distinguish the two. Callum wondered that he had never made the comparison before, and now he had he couldn't stop himself from seeing it. Hadriana's eyes which were so regarded, so complimented, were almost exactly as lifeless as a dead foot solider's. He wanted to laugh, so he did. Why not? He was a dead man, he just hadn't died yet. So he laughed, right in her face, and then he laughed even louder as her skin flushed with anger and her eyes narrowed.

"Excuse me, excuse me," he said between hiccupping fits of laughter, trying to catch his breath. "I'm sorry… It's just… I suddenly feel amazing. I really do. I don't think I've ever felt this brilliant – I feel absolutely alive!" And he was off again, his laughter ringing against the dirty tiled walls, for a moment overcoming the groans and wails of the sick. Hadriana watched him, temporarily unsettled. She had never seen him laugh before, and it struck her for the first time how happy his face could have been, if he had been allowed. She had only ever seen his tanned skin, so common, and his broken nose, so badly set, and his brown mop of hair, so in need of cutting… she had never really noticed before how he was so much more handsome than the sum of his parts.

She stood and fetched a cup of water from the trough that ran along the back wall, and brought it back to his bedside. He thanks her genuinely, and took spluttering sips and he tried to calm down.

"Thank-you," he said after a moment, "I'm not sure what came over me."

Hadriana regarded him coolly. "That's.. No matter. What about Varania, then?"

"Yes, yes. Varania. I cannot imagine I will get out of this alive, even if I kill Leto. So, what will happen to her?"

Hadriana did not miss his choice of phrasing, and she knew she had won. "What would you like to see happen to her?"

Callum thought for a moment, trying to focus. His head was seriously painful now. "She mustn't remain and slave."

"I can take her on as an indentured servant, then."

"Over my dead body," Callum laughed again, despite the throbbing in his temples. "Absolutely not, you are to have no involvement in her life whatsoever, beyond ensuring that whatever we agree on now is fulfilled. And for her mother too. I mustn't forget Aryion."

Hadriana sighed, bored now she knew she was going to get what she wanted. "Fine, as you wish. She has Ability – why not let her be apprenticed?"

Callum considered the idea for moment, before he remembered exactly where he was and why. He shook his head.

"Well, she can hardly be returned to her people," Hadriana said spitefully, "and her brother will be dead. A slave without a master might as well be dead. She'll be in the brothels within a moon, or worse." She yawned, covering her mouth with her pale, soft hand. "You haven't left her with many options, frankly."

"She could be indentured elsewhere, though, couldn't she? Someone kind, like Egidius?"

"Someone weak, you mean? Yes, that is possible."

Callum settled back, resting his aching head against the thin infirmary pillow. He closed his eyes, and heard Hadriana stand to leave.

"One more thing, please, before you leave?" he asked, and he heard her take her seat again. "It is custom that a Magister never lies. Do you accept that? Do you abide by it?"

"Of course."

"Then you must promise that, whatever happens – if Leto lives or dies – if I die you will make sure that Varania is found an indentured position within a House run by a Magister who is kind and forgiving. You must not lie, or make a false promise." He opened his eyes and looked into her own soulless ones, "You must make sure she and her mother are safe, are not degraded, and are cared for. If you can promise this then I will fight. If I live you can keep your house, just let us leave and never try to find us. Do you agree?"

Hadriana nodded, "I agree."

"Good."

Callum closed his eyes until he was sure she had left, and then he rolled on his side and resumed his vigil, watching the body of the soldier as it slowly began its inevitable journey towards decay.

Hi there Laurie! I can't reply to you directly - but I hope this conversation met with your expectations? I thought it was time to redeem Callum a little, as I'm quite fond of him in his own overly romantic and selfish way.