Spellshift Page 7

  Garen didn’t shout back, but his tone showed no remorse. “You’re saying I should have ignored a perfect opportunity to see where they took Belen’s sister? And let’s not forget the part where I didn’t alert or injure a single guild member.”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying! And it’s because your flawed judgment would rather sacrifice the trust of a neighboring king than risk the safety of a few laborers.”

  Garen didn’t make eye contact. Micah sighed, and his tone shifted from outright venting to one of his teaching moments. “I think you want the right things. I even respect the lengths you’d go to attain them. But you have the diplomatic sense of a barbarian. You can’t run around picking fights with everyone you disagree with. At some point you have to decide which problem is gravest and make allies until that is resolved. Understood?”

  Garen nodded to appease him, but he didn’t quite agree. Sarkos needed to stop warmongering. Amiri needed to address the slave trade in his kingdom. Neither of these matters should require the help of the other.

  Garen saw Micah’s fidgeting and knew his friend’s mind was still at work, overanalyzing every word between them. “I deserve some of the blame for your missteps. I’ve always let you address me casually. I prefer having a few friends instead of one more person bowing to my last name. You probably see Amiri as an old friend, too, but I’m not sure he allows himself any of those. If you want a voice at his table or any others, you’ll have to learn their language. Perhaps Drake can educate you.”

  Garen felt his heart lighten for the first time since they entered the city. The people of Kalyx might be some combination of evil, clueless, or self-obsessed, but at least he could rely on Drake as a go-between. They exited the gates of Spiredal into the city proper. The palace occupied the north-most region of town where the brightly colored wall bordered against it. Argus, Belen, and the sisters were waiting ahead. Garen heard Master Googan’s voice before he could see him or his brightly colored cloak.

  “…for each resident. They design the stone themselves and we expand the wall with it. I’ve been told the design is silly and mismatched. But it lets people know this is their home.”

  “Ah yes,” Garen intruded into the speech. “Because nothing says home like confinement.”

  “Garen!” Master Googan responded with excitement, ignoring the jab. “I was worried there was trouble when we were separated earlier.”

  “Thankfully not,” Micah answered. “I apologize that I didn’t contact you sooner that I requested his presence. I was unaware you were separated.”

  Googan laughed, and if he suspected anything, he carried himself far too well to show it. “Think nothing of it.”

  Micah thanked the Floor Speaker and informed him they were leaving tonight. Googan bid them fair travels. Garen wondered if they would take a king’s word or if more eyes would be watching them from the dark heights above. It didn’t seem to matter at this point. Garen was pretty sure Micah had no tolerance for any additional risks.

  The Spellswords walked east to meet Drake, away from the vivid lights pulsing from the Prosquarity forum. The sounds of banging drums faded in the distance. The streets widened and the buildings sat further apart from each other. The rest of Kalyx had been stacked vertically. The landscapes of these homes were intentionally spaced wide. An Ambersong page greeted them at an estate unlike any other. Inside the gates, two crystal blue ponds glowed with light. They were surrounded by a lush garden. A stone pathway took a scenic bend between the ponds before it approached the glass-paneled mansion.

  The Ambersong page slid open a door into a spacious foyer, then left to summon Drake. Garen took a seat and waited with the others. Belen seemed lost in thought. Naia seemed to avoid eye contact. The group’s lack of conversation allowed Garen to pick up on the shouting match taking place deeper in the estate. He couldn’t make out the words, but one of the voices was clearly Drake’s. It reassured Garen to know he wasn’t the only one riled up enough to make a scene, but the other voice shouting back was evidence that none of them were making friendly connections.

  A door down a long hall slid open, and Drake stormed out of the room. Artwork and tables with ornamental vases shook as he walked past them. Gusts of wind emanated beyond his control.

  “Drake, you will not walk away from me.”

  “You’ll find I can do a lot more than that.”

  A man as similar to Drake as Garen had ever seen stepped into view at the end of the hall. He wore his long brown hair up in a knot. His green and brown striped tunic had small adornments of embroidery. In contrast to Drake, a considerable weight of gold chains and pendants hung around his neck.

  Drake exaggerated a bow before them. “May I present to you, Baron Tyrus Ambersong, the utterly blind. If your presence indicates we’ll be leaving early, I’m grateful. We can leave my uncle to watch our kingdom fall to ruin.”

  The Baron stepped into the foyer and bowed to Micah. He seemed far more in control of his frustrations than his nephew.

  “Please excuse Drake,” Micah offered. “It has been a stressful few days for the lot of us.”

  “And I must apologize for my shortness. Drake knows I am only hard on him because I love him.”

  Drake gave him no response and turned to Garen. “Did you find her?”

  Garen wanted to share the horror he’d seen, but he worried Drake might take it harder than any of them had. Garen would spare the details but not the truth.

  “Not her, just the cart. It was within the Geonode Guild’s territory. And we think there’s more being forced into working for them.”

  Drake spun to face his uncle, the wind circling around him fast enough to ruffle loose parchment in the room. “You lied to me. For fifteen years you’ve sworn on Elic’s grave that the rumors weren’t true.”

  “And they still aren’t,” he insisted. “Neither our family nor the guild would take part in the abduction of children. How many times do I have to tell you and show you? Our workers are treated fairly. We can visit the towers again tomorrow.”

  “No, I’m done seeing what you want me to see.” Drake stepped through the group, flinging the sliding glass door open with a wave of his hand. The glass jumped off the track and shattered outside on the walkway. Micah bowed quickly and hurried after him. Argus led Belen out, who had done nothing but stare with hatred the entire time. Once Naia and Morgan followed, only Garen stood in shock. The Baron displayed a surprising emotion without family or a king in the room. Not embarrassment or regret. Annoyance.

  Garen shook his head in disgust. “Is this how things end every time you force Drake to travel home?”

  Baron Ambersong looked at Garen as if he were a stain on the ground. “You know nothing of our family. Drake visits at his own willing.”

  Garen didn’t believe the man, but it was hard to tell his sincerity through the amount of disdain on his face. Garen left as well.

  Belen was waiting for him out front. “So, what do we do next?”

  Garen’s heart sank. Ever since they’d seen where the slaves were kept, Garen refused to think about how difficult this conversation would be for Belen. He couldn’t put it off any longer.

  “We have to leave the city,” Garen said. “We’ll come back for her another time with a better plan.”

  Belen stared at him like he was crazy. “I’m not leaving her.”

  Garen didn’t know how to convince him, but he knew what Belen was going through all too clearly. He remembered the days spent wondering if his father was alive or not. When Garen first met the Spellswords, they told him not to chase after his father blindly. And foolish as it would have been, there was a tiny chance his father would still be alive if he’d taken that route. Garen couldn’t wipe the doubt from his own past, but he knew what Belen needed to hear. Maybe that was part of maturing—seeing the truth for others before he could see it for himself.

  “I know it feels wrong to wait. You want to rescue her more than you want to sleep or eat.
But this isn’t something we can solve today.” Garen tried to pour that grief he shared into his words. “We have to go back home…for now.” Belen didn’t seem affected.

  “Leave, I don’t care. I’m gonna get her back.”

  Garen nodded. “Okay. How exactly? Did you try moving the stone?”

  “Yeah, it was hard, so I’ll go through the window.”

  “Alright. Now, you’re inside some hall. The rooms don’t have windows. How do you find her?”

  Belen bit his lip hard. “I don’t know. I just do!” The others stood apart in their own discussion but glanced over at the outburst. Garen waved their concern away. He couldn’t even look at Belen. Garen knew every ounce of the fury and helplessness the boy felt.

  “I know it’s not fair, but this got a lot more complicated than I’m used to. We have to find a way to help her that doesn’t hurt all of our friends back home. As soon as we do...”

  “We’ll come back?” Belen raised his eyebrows in an expectant stare.

  Garen checked to make sure Micah was out of earshot. “Yeah, we’ll come back. I promise.”

  Chapter 7

  Garen had a little extra stress to release during his training session with Belen. An entire week without updates from Micah was more than he could stand. He understood the world didn’t revolve around the Spellswords, and he might not be able to solve some of their problems. He still hated the cold distance Micah kept putting between them. Garen felt like he should at least be out scouting the West and gathering information. However, that seemed to be the trust he’d lost from Micah the most.

  He met Belen outside the gates of Vikar-Tola. Yesterday, he’d explained the five elements and their relationship to each other. It wasn’t easy to conjure the right consistency of mud to draw on with a stick, but he recreated Micah’s diagram the best he could.

  Belen favored earth magic pretty heavily, and it was obvious he’d trained an affinity for it. His attempts at fire and wind were far more lacking. He could conjure either, but nowhere near enough to threaten or defend someone. Garen demonstrated how much wind it actually took to knock someone back. It was far from trivial.

  Belen’s use of water showed promise, and Garen suspected living on the streets had forced him to learn that skill in small but frequent practice to survive. Belen had no idea how to turn it into ice. Then again, Garen struggled with even the simplest feats he’d seen Naia perform, so the water training was useful to both of them.

  “I’m not arguing whether stone is stronger than water,” Garen said, “but sometimes you need something that reacts faster. Here, try and block me again.”

  Belen raised a wall of stone from the ground in front of him. The spell was getting thicker with training, and Belen had already proven he could stop a jet of water head on. Garen had no source of water to pull from nearby. He expended a greater measure of depth to create water from thin air. It swirled in front of him. Garen’s instinct was to reach out with his hands and command it forward, but he’d learned that the strength of the spell had far more to do with his mind than his posture. Anything showy was a crutch.

  Garen kept his hands to his side and propelled the stream of water forward. It struck the stone. The dirt along it turned to mud, but the wall held. Garen didn’t try to crack through it this time. He kept his command of the water, guiding it around the barrier. Belen took a step back and conjured another wall. Garen swerved the water to the side and bypassed it. The mid-air stream smacked Belen in the face. He tumbled away from it, swatting pointlessly with his hands.

  Garen continued chasing him with the water, amused at the game he’d created. Belen broke a flat piece of stone from the ground and tried holding it in the air to shield him. The tactic worked for a few seconds, but once again the water crept around it and blasted him in the face.

  Belen resorted to shielding himself entirely. A circle of stone shot up around him. It rounded at the top, sealing him in.

  “Can’t splash me now, can you?” Belen taunted, his voice echoing within the dome.

  “I keep telling you. Water isn’t a good opposite for earth. And earth isn’t a good opposite for water.” Garen stepped up close to the barrier and placed a hand against it. Some spells were easier when he could feel what he was shaping. He filled every crevasse of the stone, then turned the water to ice. Cracks split along the top and rippled down the side. Garen brought even more water into existence and slammed it against the top of the stone. The top of the barrier crumbled and showered Belen in the slurry.

  “I give up!” Belen shouted through the downpour. Garen pestered him for another second before relenting. Belen climbed out of the cracked dome and shook the water from his ears. His eyes showed frustration, but the slight curve of his smile told Garen he wasn’t ready to quit. Moments like these were fleeting, and he didn’t know or care if the Spellswords would ever benefit from it. Their training gave Garen something to look forward to, and he needed that.

  * * * * *

  Tarn, the man they’d rescued from the West, recovered slowly. Something was still wrong with his breathing. The physicians shooed Garen away at any signs of another coughing fit, but he was alive and was the surest source of answers to Garen’s questions. At every opportunity, Garen snuck back to the physician’s wing of the palace to bother him, hoping to get past introductions and learn something about the Apatten. Morning visits were proving fruitless as Tarn always seemed to be sleeping. Today, Garen decided to stop by in the late afternoon as well.

  He found Drake there first, kneeling beside Tarn’s cot while he slept.

  “Are you comfortable like that? I’m sure I can get you a chair,” Garen offered.

  “It brings back old memories. I’m quite content,” Drake said. Garen didn’t know why, but it was good to see him calm and smiling. He took a seat on the floor beside them.

  Tarn began to stir from the noises. He leaned up on his elbows and glanced anxiously around the room.

  “I’m late for something, aren’t I?” Tarn asked.

  “There’s nowhere you need to be. Just recovering,” Drake said.

  “Okay, good,” Tarn said, releasing some of his tension. “Every time I wake up here and there’s people waiting I think I’m late.”

  “You’re fine,” Drake reassured. “There’s water by your side if you need it.”

  Tarn chugged the glass and had to catch his breath after. Even after the pause, he spoke with labored breaths. “That’s better. Maybe I can help you this time without falling apart.”

  “We’ll get there eventually. You can take it slow.” Drake looked to Garen, aware of all the questions burning inside him. Drake nodded.

  Garen tried to contain his eagerness and spoke slowly. “Last time you were awake, you were trying to tell us how they took you.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Tarn said, his tone shifting from casual to stiff. He took raspy breaths between sentences. “My captain told me I was receiving a commendation. I didn’t know why…but a summons from the king wasn’t something I could question. King Pyralis had me spar a fellow guard in front of him. I showed him I was handy with a sword, and they all seemed...thrilled, I suppose. They brought in people to size me up like tailors. But they weren’t. He called them Sanstric.”

  “I knew it!” Garen shouted and clapped his hands. They were the same clan working for Pyralis in the Te’en Mountains, the ones who captured his father. Garen had shared the connection with Micah and the others already, but they had no way to prove it based on an arrowhead symbol and no way to act on the information. If the Sanstric were spread between the Western capital and the Te’ens, it was too loose a collection to physically confront.

  Tarn sat up a little straighter and kept his focus on the ground. “They escorted me to this place deep underground. I thought maybe it was a new post to work, but those Sanstric drugged me first chance they had. They kept me restrained. I tried escaping. They always had me under watch. I’d try breaking the chains, usually get a h
and free. Then they’d notice me, and the magic would stop working. Eventually, I just endured it. Sometimes I’d wake up with a new scar.” Tarn took a deep breath. He raised his chin and closed his eyes. “Sometimes they’d cut on me while I screamed.”

  Garen shivered all over, but Drake remained still and tense. “Did they ever tell you why?”

  “No, they never answered anything I asked. Like they were ignoring I was a real person.”

  Garen frowned. “What about the Apatten?”

  Recognition lit in Tarn’s eyes. “They used that word. A lot. But they wouldn’t tell me what they were making. And they never took me out of the golden room.”

  That seemed like an odd coincidence to Garen. It was clear the Sanstric didn’t let the creatures near that room, either. Was there some risk of them interacting?

  Drake filled Tarn in on all they knew about the Apatten. Tarn seemed horrified when Drake described how much the creatures resembled him, but Tarn had no insight as to why. Garen had a growing suspicion. The more Tarn recovered, the more easily Garen could picture him standing tall and in perfect health. The man wasn’t quite as broad-shouldered as Argus, but he could probably meet him eye to eye, and that was a rare feat. If Aethis needed a template to build an army from, this seemed like the kind of man she’d choose.

  After about the tenth question that Tarn had to shake his head with uncertainty, Drake stood up. “If you can think of any details that might help us, about the Apatten, the Sanstric, or even Aethis, have your guards send for us. In the meanwhile, I hope your condition improves.”

  “Thanks. I owe you guys.” Tarn clenched a fist. “I might not know much, but I’d like to help any way you’ll let me. You know, once they’ve got me back in fighting shape.”

  Garen smiled weakly and left with Drake. He didn’t have the heart to explain to Tarn that fighting shape might never happen again, not with the amount of stitching holding him together.