Chapter 22. Hey guys! I know, I know, I took forever to update again. I had writer's block, but I finally got the juices flowin'. So, without further ado (other than the disclaimer), here you go!
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or places in this story, they belong to Tamora Pierce.
"Mage Battles," Master Southbard had begun one scorching summer afternoon, "That is, the magical embattlement of two or more gifted persons holding the rank of yellow robe or higher, are great occurrences in themselves."
"Pages and pages of text have been filled with accounts of great mages facing off to the death over money, land, power, or," the blackrobe added, "more often than not a woman." The Marenite received the chuckle from his students he had anticipated.
"If you lads ever find yourself in such a situation, there are a few things of great importance you must take heed of. Are you all taking notes?" he asked. Arram Draper, of course had been scribbling madly since the beginning, trying to catch every word that came fourth from his idol's mouth.
Even now, as his legs mechanically climbed and more important worries should be clouding his mind, Numair still felt the sense of awe just remembering the man that he had felt whenever he heard Southbard lecture. The famed black robe had been the most powerful mage in the world when Numair Salmalin was still Arram Draper, the eager to please novice at the Carthaki Royal University. Whenever Southbard made his annual trip to the university, Numair had always gone to his lectures, hanging on to his every word.
"First," Southbard had said, "never engage yourself around others. Too easily a spell can go awry and innocent bystanders can become victims."
"Second, be at the peak of health. Make sure your gift is plentiful and you've eaten a good meal. It would be more than a little embarrassing to faint of hunger in the middle of a duel."
"And third, make sure you get to a deserted area where no man, animal, or rogue magic can interfere and get you killed."
This third bit was the reason why Numair was now ascending the endless flights of Balor's Needle. Up at the top of the needle, no one else could get hurt, and no one could interfere.
Master Southbard had been an excellent teacher, among the best Numair had ever had, second only to Lindhall Reed. Shortly after that last lecture, Orzone had had him executed for treason against the Imperial house. He had been to powerful for Numair's former friend's liking.
Finally, the mage reached the top landing and pulled open the door leading to the top of the needle. He was met with the normal gust of wind greeting him as he calmly stepped out onto the platform.
"Inar Hadensra!" he called into the wind, somehow sure that his enemy could hear him. "We need to talk."
"More cold water!" Rubinyan, King of the Copper Isles called idly. A slave standing by the door to his private bath chamber ran like a startled doe to obey his command.
It was a hot August day, a hotter day than even the oldest courtiers could remember. All he wished to do was spend the day soaking in cold water in his private baths, enjoying the artificial breeze produced by the slave with fans on either side of him.
Normally, even scorching days were made bearable by the sweet ocean breeze, but ever since the summer had begun, not a single gust of wind had stirred the flags of Rajumaut. The harbor, which should have been packed with fishing boats, was remarkably empty. There was no wind to fill anyone's sails and only fishermen with substantial money were out today, their slaves rowing slowly out to sea.
Rubin kept complaining to his weather mages to make a breeze, but they claimed that there was nothing they could do. The king shook his head. The only mages worth having were war mages. There was no use for the others.
The King and Queen's advisors whispered among themselves that the weather was the doing of the local sea god, Kypo, or some other ridiculous raka name. Rubinyan could only laugh at them. No raka god could contend with the powers of Mithros and the other laurin gods whom he worshiped. Once the weather became more bearable, the King made a mental note to get rid of all their stuffy advisors. They could tell he and Imajane and nothing that they didn't already know.
Just as the slave returned carrying a large bucket of icy cold water, his peace and rest was disturbed by one of the very men he was just thinking about. One of his wonderful advisors.
"Your majesty," the young man bowed very low. Rubinyan struggled to remember his name. It was Macet, or something along those lines. The man was easily the youngest of his advisors and was the only one that Rubinyan liked in the least. The young man was almost as power hungry as he himself.
"Speak Macet." Rubin said, annoyance clearly in his voice.
"Makay, your majesty," The advisor corrected.
"Macet." Rubinyan said giving him a glare. How dare he correct the king?
"Of course, your majesty," Makay answered, "I come bearing news from the front lines in Tortall."
Rubinyan sat up from his relaxed position in the water and gave the man his full attention.
"Go on," he commanded coldly.
"Our forces and the Tortallans are at a stand off. We have control of the city of Corus, but all the inhabitants of the city are currently taking refuge in the castle. The generals are advising that we hold the siege until their supplies run out and we force a surrender."
"How much longer?" Rubin asked.
"It depend on how much food and supplies they have sire, but the estimate is about two months." Makay replied, bracing himself for the torrent of furry that he knew would come.
"Two Months!" Rubinyan exploded, splashing Makay and the slaves with water.
"That's what the generals say, sire," the advisor said, hinting that he had another opinion.
Rubinyan took the hint. "And what do you think, Macet?"
The advisor winced at the butchering of his name. "Your majesty, other than Tortall, we have no threats. No enemies, except perhaps rebels from Carthak, but their attacks are rare..."
"On with it, my patience wears thin!" Rubinyan yelled. He hated the way everyone always danced around a point, vying for interest.
"Sire, we should send in more troops, we have six infantries that stayed here in the Isles. If we send four of them to Tortall, the other two staying to keep our own nobles in place, we might just be able to break through the Tortallan defenses." Makay spat out.
Rubinyan stroked his chin thoughtfully. "What if it's not enough and I leave the Isles with no defense?" The king pondered roughly.
"That brings me to my other idea, Majesty. The Dominion Jewel, sire, it's a crutch that the Tortallans lean on. If things get bad enough, the King can use it against us, and even when he doesn't use its magical capabilities, it still give the country a strength and luck. Take it away..." Makay let the king use his imagination.
Rubinyan looked out the window. The Dominion Jewel, the stuff of legend. If it was in his possession, he could use it to invade not just Tortall, but all of the eastern lands. Power with no limits.
"My king, I have a team assembled in Corus, ready for the order to be sent in. Our spy in the First Company of the King's Own, which guards the palace, has learned the whereabouts of the jewel. He has learned that Prince Roald is holding onto it for protection, and he is hidden deep within the palace's catacombs. A small group can infiltrate the palace, and it only takes one man to get out with the jewel for the mission to be successful. A tunnel has already been dug, your majesty. All I need is your word."
Makay was bold, Rubinyan would give him that. Especially since the plan had already been set up without the king's knowledge. However, the plan was sound and it looked like it could work. The thought of holding the famed Dominion Jewel in his hand was too powerful for him to forbid it. He had nothing to lose but a handful of soldiers.
"We could send in the extra soldiers if you held the Jewel, sire. That could protect the Isles better that 10,000 men could." Makay continued
After all long moment of silence, Rubinyan finally spoke.
"Alright Makay, send in the soldiers. Get the Jewel. If anything goes wrong, it'll be your head."
"Of course your majesty, thank you your majesty," Makay said, backing out of the bath chamber, bowing regularly. Rubin noticed with amusement that there was a look of triumph in his eyes.
When the advisor left, Rubin sank back into his bath. Makay was like a dog, eagerly wishing to please his master. He was smart too; in fact, he reminded Rubinyan a lot of himself when he was that age.
The King closed his eyes, ready for a nap. Perhaps he wouldn't get rid of all the advisors after all.
Sarai could hardly contain her excitement. She was about to begin her first sword lesson with Lani. To be taught by a Shang warrior was a great honor and Sarai couldn't help but think how lucky she was that Lani had used to live in Puhon. Else wise, she would have never found her way to Tanair.
"Do you need to stretch out?" Lani asked as she entered the dining room where they were going to train. It was raining again, which was good for the crops, but it also meant that her practice session would have an audience again. This time, however, Saraiyu didn't care about the audience, she was too nervous and excited to be working with a Shang warrior.
She shook her head, proud of herself, "I already have," She answered.
Lani nodded her approval. "May I see your blade?" she asked.
Sarai nodded and slowly pulled her sword out of its scabbard, handing it carefully to the Tiger, hilt first as she had been taught. Lani gripped the sword firmly and gave it a few swings, then tested its balance, letting the blade rest on her forefinger.
"This is a good weapon," Lani admitted, "Perfectly balanced and beautifully made." She handed the weapon back to its owner. "But," she continued, "It wasn't made for you, was it?"
"No, it was made for my father, it was his, until...until he passed." Sarai replied, "How could you tell?"
"It's not..." Lani struggled to find the right words, "It's not fitted for you," she tried to explain.
Sarai's puzzlement must have clearly shown on her face because Lani continued, leaning back against one of the tables the servants had pushed to the sides of the hall. "If a swordsman is lucky, she will find that one perfect blade. The one sword in the world that seems destined to be theirs. A weapon that fits their grip, and their grip only."
Sarai kind of understood what she meant. "Like the Lioness and her first sword Lightning!" she exclaimed, remembering the story that Aly had told her and Dove one cold winter night.
Lani nodded, "Exactly. The sword you have is good, but it's not your match." She was staring intently at her student now. "I might know this sword that could be your match. It's in Rajamaut. It's as if it's just waiting there, waiting to find its way to you."
"Next time I'm in the city," she continued with a sly grin, "I'll show it to you. Some how I just know it's meant to be strapped at your waist.
It was as if Lani was trying to tell her something. The last bit of their conversation had left Saraiyu wondering if the Shang knew something about her that she herself did not. Sarai didn't like the feeling she was left with. It was as if she was missing something that everyone else knew. She was getting that feeling a lot lately; from her family, the servants, and all the raka that came to ogle at her and Dove.
"Right," Lani said suddenly, clapping her hands together for emphasis, "Let's begin what we came here for. Show me the block used to protect yourself from a blow aimed at your head."
Just as Fesago had taught her, she raised her sword above her head, angling it down and to the right so an opponent's sword would slide off, softening the impact of the blow.
Lani studied the block for a moment, then adjusted Sarai's stance and the way her sword was held, telling her why each change was made.
"Good," she said finally, "But you're using the wrong hand."
Sarai looked up in surprise, only to find that she held her sword in her right hand as she always did.
"This is how I always hold my sword," she explained, "I'm right handed." Sarai was beginning to think that Lani had taken one too many blows to the head during her Shang training.
Lani shook her head with a knowing smile, "Lady Saraiyu of Tanair may be right handed, but Saraiyu the swordsman is not." Carefully, she moved Sarai's sword from her right hand to her left, angling the block in the reverse direction.
"A good fighter can fight equally as well with her right hand as her left. If her right arm were injured in the heat of battle, she could continue fighting with her left." The Tiger said.
"Oh," Sarai said simply, blushing with embarrassment. She had a lot to learn. Slowly she grinned back at her teacher. Perhaps the Tiger wasn't as mad as she had thought.
Please review and let me know how this chapter went. I can't believe I just added another sub story to this plot with the Dominion Jewel thing. Oh well, that one will be fun to write! ( I've got plans... :) )
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or places in this story, they belong to Tamora Pierce.
"Mage Battles," Master Southbard had begun one scorching summer afternoon, "That is, the magical embattlement of two or more gifted persons holding the rank of yellow robe or higher, are great occurrences in themselves."
"Pages and pages of text have been filled with accounts of great mages facing off to the death over money, land, power, or," the blackrobe added, "more often than not a woman." The Marenite received the chuckle from his students he had anticipated.
"If you lads ever find yourself in such a situation, there are a few things of great importance you must take heed of. Are you all taking notes?" he asked. Arram Draper, of course had been scribbling madly since the beginning, trying to catch every word that came fourth from his idol's mouth.
Even now, as his legs mechanically climbed and more important worries should be clouding his mind, Numair still felt the sense of awe just remembering the man that he had felt whenever he heard Southbard lecture. The famed black robe had been the most powerful mage in the world when Numair Salmalin was still Arram Draper, the eager to please novice at the Carthaki Royal University. Whenever Southbard made his annual trip to the university, Numair had always gone to his lectures, hanging on to his every word.
"First," Southbard had said, "never engage yourself around others. Too easily a spell can go awry and innocent bystanders can become victims."
"Second, be at the peak of health. Make sure your gift is plentiful and you've eaten a good meal. It would be more than a little embarrassing to faint of hunger in the middle of a duel."
"And third, make sure you get to a deserted area where no man, animal, or rogue magic can interfere and get you killed."
This third bit was the reason why Numair was now ascending the endless flights of Balor's Needle. Up at the top of the needle, no one else could get hurt, and no one could interfere.
Master Southbard had been an excellent teacher, among the best Numair had ever had, second only to Lindhall Reed. Shortly after that last lecture, Orzone had had him executed for treason against the Imperial house. He had been to powerful for Numair's former friend's liking.
Finally, the mage reached the top landing and pulled open the door leading to the top of the needle. He was met with the normal gust of wind greeting him as he calmly stepped out onto the platform.
"Inar Hadensra!" he called into the wind, somehow sure that his enemy could hear him. "We need to talk."
"More cold water!" Rubinyan, King of the Copper Isles called idly. A slave standing by the door to his private bath chamber ran like a startled doe to obey his command.
It was a hot August day, a hotter day than even the oldest courtiers could remember. All he wished to do was spend the day soaking in cold water in his private baths, enjoying the artificial breeze produced by the slave with fans on either side of him.
Normally, even scorching days were made bearable by the sweet ocean breeze, but ever since the summer had begun, not a single gust of wind had stirred the flags of Rajumaut. The harbor, which should have been packed with fishing boats, was remarkably empty. There was no wind to fill anyone's sails and only fishermen with substantial money were out today, their slaves rowing slowly out to sea.
Rubin kept complaining to his weather mages to make a breeze, but they claimed that there was nothing they could do. The king shook his head. The only mages worth having were war mages. There was no use for the others.
The King and Queen's advisors whispered among themselves that the weather was the doing of the local sea god, Kypo, or some other ridiculous raka name. Rubinyan could only laugh at them. No raka god could contend with the powers of Mithros and the other laurin gods whom he worshiped. Once the weather became more bearable, the King made a mental note to get rid of all their stuffy advisors. They could tell he and Imajane and nothing that they didn't already know.
Just as the slave returned carrying a large bucket of icy cold water, his peace and rest was disturbed by one of the very men he was just thinking about. One of his wonderful advisors.
"Your majesty," the young man bowed very low. Rubinyan struggled to remember his name. It was Macet, or something along those lines. The man was easily the youngest of his advisors and was the only one that Rubinyan liked in the least. The young man was almost as power hungry as he himself.
"Speak Macet." Rubin said, annoyance clearly in his voice.
"Makay, your majesty," The advisor corrected.
"Macet." Rubinyan said giving him a glare. How dare he correct the king?
"Of course, your majesty," Makay answered, "I come bearing news from the front lines in Tortall."
Rubinyan sat up from his relaxed position in the water and gave the man his full attention.
"Go on," he commanded coldly.
"Our forces and the Tortallans are at a stand off. We have control of the city of Corus, but all the inhabitants of the city are currently taking refuge in the castle. The generals are advising that we hold the siege until their supplies run out and we force a surrender."
"How much longer?" Rubin asked.
"It depend on how much food and supplies they have sire, but the estimate is about two months." Makay replied, bracing himself for the torrent of furry that he knew would come.
"Two Months!" Rubinyan exploded, splashing Makay and the slaves with water.
"That's what the generals say, sire," the advisor said, hinting that he had another opinion.
Rubinyan took the hint. "And what do you think, Macet?"
The advisor winced at the butchering of his name. "Your majesty, other than Tortall, we have no threats. No enemies, except perhaps rebels from Carthak, but their attacks are rare..."
"On with it, my patience wears thin!" Rubinyan yelled. He hated the way everyone always danced around a point, vying for interest.
"Sire, we should send in more troops, we have six infantries that stayed here in the Isles. If we send four of them to Tortall, the other two staying to keep our own nobles in place, we might just be able to break through the Tortallan defenses." Makay spat out.
Rubinyan stroked his chin thoughtfully. "What if it's not enough and I leave the Isles with no defense?" The king pondered roughly.
"That brings me to my other idea, Majesty. The Dominion Jewel, sire, it's a crutch that the Tortallans lean on. If things get bad enough, the King can use it against us, and even when he doesn't use its magical capabilities, it still give the country a strength and luck. Take it away..." Makay let the king use his imagination.
Rubinyan looked out the window. The Dominion Jewel, the stuff of legend. If it was in his possession, he could use it to invade not just Tortall, but all of the eastern lands. Power with no limits.
"My king, I have a team assembled in Corus, ready for the order to be sent in. Our spy in the First Company of the King's Own, which guards the palace, has learned the whereabouts of the jewel. He has learned that Prince Roald is holding onto it for protection, and he is hidden deep within the palace's catacombs. A small group can infiltrate the palace, and it only takes one man to get out with the jewel for the mission to be successful. A tunnel has already been dug, your majesty. All I need is your word."
Makay was bold, Rubinyan would give him that. Especially since the plan had already been set up without the king's knowledge. However, the plan was sound and it looked like it could work. The thought of holding the famed Dominion Jewel in his hand was too powerful for him to forbid it. He had nothing to lose but a handful of soldiers.
"We could send in the extra soldiers if you held the Jewel, sire. That could protect the Isles better that 10,000 men could." Makay continued
After all long moment of silence, Rubinyan finally spoke.
"Alright Makay, send in the soldiers. Get the Jewel. If anything goes wrong, it'll be your head."
"Of course your majesty, thank you your majesty," Makay said, backing out of the bath chamber, bowing regularly. Rubin noticed with amusement that there was a look of triumph in his eyes.
When the advisor left, Rubin sank back into his bath. Makay was like a dog, eagerly wishing to please his master. He was smart too; in fact, he reminded Rubinyan a lot of himself when he was that age.
The King closed his eyes, ready for a nap. Perhaps he wouldn't get rid of all the advisors after all.
Sarai could hardly contain her excitement. She was about to begin her first sword lesson with Lani. To be taught by a Shang warrior was a great honor and Sarai couldn't help but think how lucky she was that Lani had used to live in Puhon. Else wise, she would have never found her way to Tanair.
"Do you need to stretch out?" Lani asked as she entered the dining room where they were going to train. It was raining again, which was good for the crops, but it also meant that her practice session would have an audience again. This time, however, Saraiyu didn't care about the audience, she was too nervous and excited to be working with a Shang warrior.
She shook her head, proud of herself, "I already have," She answered.
Lani nodded her approval. "May I see your blade?" she asked.
Sarai nodded and slowly pulled her sword out of its scabbard, handing it carefully to the Tiger, hilt first as she had been taught. Lani gripped the sword firmly and gave it a few swings, then tested its balance, letting the blade rest on her forefinger.
"This is a good weapon," Lani admitted, "Perfectly balanced and beautifully made." She handed the weapon back to its owner. "But," she continued, "It wasn't made for you, was it?"
"No, it was made for my father, it was his, until...until he passed." Sarai replied, "How could you tell?"
"It's not..." Lani struggled to find the right words, "It's not fitted for you," she tried to explain.
Sarai's puzzlement must have clearly shown on her face because Lani continued, leaning back against one of the tables the servants had pushed to the sides of the hall. "If a swordsman is lucky, she will find that one perfect blade. The one sword in the world that seems destined to be theirs. A weapon that fits their grip, and their grip only."
Sarai kind of understood what she meant. "Like the Lioness and her first sword Lightning!" she exclaimed, remembering the story that Aly had told her and Dove one cold winter night.
Lani nodded, "Exactly. The sword you have is good, but it's not your match." She was staring intently at her student now. "I might know this sword that could be your match. It's in Rajamaut. It's as if it's just waiting there, waiting to find its way to you."
"Next time I'm in the city," she continued with a sly grin, "I'll show it to you. Some how I just know it's meant to be strapped at your waist.
It was as if Lani was trying to tell her something. The last bit of their conversation had left Saraiyu wondering if the Shang knew something about her that she herself did not. Sarai didn't like the feeling she was left with. It was as if she was missing something that everyone else knew. She was getting that feeling a lot lately; from her family, the servants, and all the raka that came to ogle at her and Dove.
"Right," Lani said suddenly, clapping her hands together for emphasis, "Let's begin what we came here for. Show me the block used to protect yourself from a blow aimed at your head."
Just as Fesago had taught her, she raised her sword above her head, angling it down and to the right so an opponent's sword would slide off, softening the impact of the blow.
Lani studied the block for a moment, then adjusted Sarai's stance and the way her sword was held, telling her why each change was made.
"Good," she said finally, "But you're using the wrong hand."
Sarai looked up in surprise, only to find that she held her sword in her right hand as she always did.
"This is how I always hold my sword," she explained, "I'm right handed." Sarai was beginning to think that Lani had taken one too many blows to the head during her Shang training.
Lani shook her head with a knowing smile, "Lady Saraiyu of Tanair may be right handed, but Saraiyu the swordsman is not." Carefully, she moved Sarai's sword from her right hand to her left, angling the block in the reverse direction.
"A good fighter can fight equally as well with her right hand as her left. If her right arm were injured in the heat of battle, she could continue fighting with her left." The Tiger said.
"Oh," Sarai said simply, blushing with embarrassment. She had a lot to learn. Slowly she grinned back at her teacher. Perhaps the Tiger wasn't as mad as she had thought.
Please review and let me know how this chapter went. I can't believe I just added another sub story to this plot with the Dominion Jewel thing. Oh well, that one will be fun to write! ( I've got plans... :) )