Age of Swords Read online

  Arion furrowed her brow, thinking. “And no one else?”

  Nyphron looked at her curiously. “Who were you expecting?”

  “Her.” Arion pointed toward the mystic, who lingered partway up the slope. “Mawyndulë didn’t tell his father about Suri. I wonder why. If Lothian has decided to slaughter the Rhunes, it’s only because he considers them nothing more than animals. Knowing they can wield the Art could change that perception. Discovering our similarities would make it impossible to annihilate a whole race. It would end the conflict, save lives on both sides. Suri proves Rhunes and Fhrey are more similar than anyone previously knew.”

  Nyphron shook his head. “No, you have it wrong. Rhunes with the Art would be seen as an even greater threat. The last thing people in power want is to share. Lothian won’t welcome them as equals. It’d harden his resolve against them.”

  “I don’t agree, and I know Lothian better than you.”

  “Well, you have your opinion and I have mine. Guess we’ll never know for sure, especially now that the fane knows about your part in Gryndal’s death.”

  “He doesn’t know the circumstances. He’s only heard one side of the story.”

  “Oh, so you think he’ll believe you over his own son? And exactly how are you going to get an audience with him? You have as much chance getting into the Talwara as I do. Welcome to—”

  “Hey,” Rapnagar interrupted. “Haven’t you forgotten something? Let me out.”

  “Seriously?” Nyphron smirked. “You think your life is worth three names? You’ll have to do better than that.”

  “What else do you want to know?”

  “Well, you can start with who hired you.”

  “His name was Vertumus, but he spoke on behalf of a fella named Petragar.”

  “Vertumus went to Hentlyn?”

  “Came right to the Yarhold. Actually knocked on the door. He was very cute.”

  “He didn’t go alone.”

  “No. Sikar was babysitting.”

  “Did Sikar look pleased with his orders?”

  “Sikar looked as if he hoped we would step on Vertumus. Only reason we didn’t was because Furgenrok thought it was a trap.”

  “Strange,” Nyphron said.

  “Yeah, that’s why we let them leave. Figured it was a trick.”

  “No.” Nyphron leaned over to clean his blade on Rapnagar’s hair. “I meant it’s strange that Furgenrok is capable of thinking.”

  Arion took another step forward, coming so close that she could touch the giant’s ear if she wanted. “What did this Vertumus say? What did he ask of you exactly?”

  “Said there were herds of Rhunes in the south for us to eat if we killed Arion, Nyphron, and Raithe. He also said Petragar was the new lord of the Rhist now that Zephyron was dead and his son Nyphron had turned traitor. We were also told that the Instarya wouldn’t enforce the ban anymore, and we’d be allowed to feast on any Rhunes we came across.”

  “Were any Miralyith with you?” Arion asked.

  “Nope. Not even Vertumus showed up for the fight. But they said we’d have help. They were sending a storm to soften things up and show us where to go. The lightning would indicate where you were. Most hit the Rhune fort, but I noticed the bolts up here and came to check.”

  “From how far away can a Miralyith create a storm?” Nyphron asked Arion.

  “Depends. If they used the Valentryne Layartren…”

  “The what now?”

  “It’s a room in Avempartha, the tower that sits on top of a waterfall just west of—”

  “I’ve seen it.”

  “Ah, well, the tower gathers the power of rushing water and channels it to a chamber. It significantly improves the ability of anyone utilizing it. The tower is excellent for finding things. Working together, teaming up, I suspect a group of Miralyith could attack us all the way up here. Lothian would just need to issue waivers from the Law of Ferrol.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he’s done that.” Nyphron frowned as he rubbed his chin, a hard look in his eyes. “My guess is he’s granted universal immunity to everyone. Probably placed a bounty on our heads as well.”

  Arion looked concerned. She stared at the ground near her feet, wet her lips, and then said in an ominous tone, “They can kill us, but we can’t kill them.”

  Nyphron smiled at that. “Well, not exactly. We just can’t use our own hands. So long as it isn’t our arms that swing the sword, Ferrol will look the other way.”

  “When did you become an Umalyn priest?”

  “It’s true, isn’t it? If I convince you to kill another Fhrey, the Law of Ferrol descends on you, not me. The act, not the instigator, is punished.”

  “Strikes me as manipulative and self-serving, even cowardly.”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t make the rules. Ferrol did. Personally, I prefer to see it as allies coming together in a common cause against a common enemy. Sounds so much better that way, don’t you think?”

  Arion sighed.

  “Now, if you don’t have any other questions, I’ll be putting Mr. Rapnagar out of the misery he’s called his life.”

  “What?” Arion gasped. “No!”

  “No, what?” Nyphron asked. “No, you don’t have anything else to ask?”

  “No, she doesn’t want you to kill me,” Rapnagar shouted.

  “Stay out of this,” Nyphron snapped. “This has nothing to do with you.”

  “This has everything to do with me. You said if I talked, you’d let me live. And I did. You need to hold up your side of the bargain.”

  “The giant is right,” Arion said. “You aren’t going to kill him. You made the deal. Now honor your word.”

  “See, that’s the difference between you and me. While I tend to be pragmatic, you let idealism cloud your judgment. I can’t kill you…well, I could, but not without severe repercussions for breaking Ferrol’s Law…but I most certainly can kill Rapnagar. And believe me, he deserves it.”

  “I don’t, and you made a vow!” the giant shouted.

  “He’s right, you did,” Arion said.

  Nyphron rolled his eyes. “No, I didn’t. I only promised. A vow is different. I promised my father I’d accept Lothian as my fane if he failed in the challenge; I also promised Tekchin he could have the last chunk of bread last night, and I promised myself I wouldn’t drink to excess anymore. I’m lousy at keeping promises.”

  “Well…well…then I vowed on your behalf,” Arion said.

  Nyphron shook his head. “No, you didn’t.”

  “Someone did!” Rapnagar yelled.

  “There wasn’t any vow,” Nyphron said. “Neither one of us swore to anything. We just engaged in a weak agreement, which I am willing to break.”

  “I’m not,” Arion declared.

  “Fine.” Nyphron pointed. “You stand over there. Look away if you like.”

  “Absolutely not! I assured this Grenmorian he would be set free, and he will. Now put your sword away before I melt that little toy.”

  Nyphron hesitated. Arion’s hands came up.

  “Okay.” He dropped the sword back into its scabbard. “But you’re making a mistake. Rapnagar, well all of the Grenmorians really, is monstrous. Grygor being the one exception. If the situation were reversed, Rapnagar would be burping you up right now.”

  “Suri.” Arion waved the mystic over. “Remember how I discussed teaching you? Well, today you’re going to begin your first practical lesson in the Art. You’re going to free this giant.”

  Suri had never done anything more than start fires and cast bones, and freeing the giant was as unlikely as restoring the trees or bringing Magda back to life. If such things were possible, she certainly wouldn’t put any energy into helping Rapnagar.

  As a rule, Suri didn’t dislike anyone, but she would make an exception for him. He had destroyed the rol—one of her favorites—and was, by his own admission, in league with those who’d murdered Magda and Suri’s other friends, like the beautiful young maple.
Suri had only recently become acquainted with the sapling who was now lying in a pile of debris, snapped in half three feet up from her roots. Suri had been surprised Wogan hadn’t killed the giant during the night. She imagined rodents gnawing out the giant’s eyes and burrowing into his head. While Suri wasn’t overly fond of Nyphron, she sided with him about how to deal with the giant.

  “This might take a little while,” Arion told the Instarya. “I don’t want to rush her. So you can go back if you like.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of leaving,” he said, moving to sit on the body of a freshly fallen birch. Suri didn’t know the birch, but he looked like he’d been nice. “I’d love to see how one teaches magic, this Art of yours.”

  Arion shrugged. “Suri, we in the Miralyith call the ability to use the power of the world the Art, because it’s such a creative process. While there are basic foundations, principles, and techniques, just as you would find in any artistic endeavor, these are only guides. They are mostly designed to assist students to grasp ideas, to get them started. But I think you’ll find there are no genuine rules except those you set for yourself. Some of these will be choices you make; others will be made for you, simply because of who you are.”

  Suri assumed Arion was speaking to her, and she heard all the words clearly but still struggled with their meaning. Over the last month, the bald Fhrey Miralyith had improved Suri’s understanding of the Fhrey language, but she still had to guess at a few of the words, and Arion was talking fast.

  “Thing is,” Arion went on, “everyone is capable of using the Art, in the same way that everyone can draw, but not all drawing is considered art. In this same way, people use the power of nature all the time. Speech, for example, is a form of mundane magic. A base branch of summoning, in fact. The natural powers of sound, pitch, and tone can ‘magically’ transfer ideas from one person to another. Smiling and causing another to smile back is another form of the same idea. Do you understand?”

  Suri shook her head.

  “Creating fire—the way you already know how to do—is yet another form of basic magic. Nyphron can also create a fire. To do so he’ll harness the power of friction to summon heat. A more advanced wielder of nature’s powers might use metal and stone to generate sparks, an easier and faster method. And to the person who uses friction, it can be seen as magical, but magic is merely another word for ‘I don’t know how you did that.’ You, of course, know an even better way to start a fire.”

  Suri smiled, having understood this last part. She had seen Tura start fires using both methods, but the old mystic never started one the way Suri did.

  “Your method, Suri, is even more elegant, easier, and faster. And to you that’s all it is, another way of making a fire. But to Nyphron, with his lack of understanding, it’s magic.” She turned to the Galantian. “I apologize for using you as an example, but you chose to stay.”

  “Not a problem,” he replied. “I enjoy seeing how you instill a sense of superiority in your student along with the lesson. I can see how it happens.”

  “How what happens?”

  “How you’ve come to see yourselves as gods.”

  Arion paused, and a shadow of self-doubt crossed her face.

  “I’ll do the same thing when I teach the Rhunes to fight. Confidence is important, particularly in a war.”

  Arion hesitated a moment longer, then turned back to Suri. “So where was I? Oh, yes, there’s a divide between those who trace or copy a picture that someone else drew and people who can create a drawing out of their own imagination. The people who have a natural talent, something they are born with or develop at a young age, are Artists. But there are others who can only use magic by relying on physical constructs such as wood, water, minerals, and metal. Those who must rely on the crutches of physical items are known as faquins or stylists. You, Suri, are a true Artist.”

  Suri smiled again, certain that was a compliment. She liked Arion. The Miralyith wasn’t just beautiful; she was fascinating, too. The Fhrey was like an elegant version of Tura, kindly, understanding, and wise. They both dripped with knowledge like an overloaded sponge. No one could be around either and not learn something.

  “You improve as an Artist by understanding the basics of how elements interact and how to affect them,” Arion explained. “This is similar to learning to communicate. You learn to speak by discovering which sounds mean what. A lot of magic is based on sound. Sound and motion can create weavings and bindings like knots, similar to the string game you play. They fasten aspects of natural power into patterns that can be used by the Artist. Knowing the language of the world and how to speak in usable patterns allows an Artist to effect change.

  “Everything in the world is connected to everything else. Understanding the paths allows you to make new connections. To do this, an Artist needs to be in contact with a source of power. In terms of the string game, this would be your fingers. In the real world, power comes from life, heat, and movement. So you can use sunlight, fire, the flow of water, or life itself. Seeds are a good source; the potential they hold is extremely powerful and you can carry many with you, which makes them convenient as well. Of course, here in this forest, you have an abundance of power to tap. Now, there are several categories of source power. Elemental, which is most common and is the manipulation of elements: Rubbing wood makes fire, adding heat to water makes steam. There are subcategories of this such as weather art, water, fire, and such. There’s also Life and Vision art, but there’s no sense going into those yet. Today we’re going to begin with dirt.”

  “Dirt?” Suri asked.

  “Yes, dirt. It may seem inert, but like seeds, it holds the power of life. The soil has provided strength and nourishment to these massive trees, and it will provide the power to free Rapnagar. Now, you should already know how to tap. You do it every time you start a fire. It’s that sensation, the drawing in of elemental strength that is akin to taking a deep breath, the summoning you do just before you clap. I want you to do that now. Close your eyes. That’ll make it easier to concentrate. Listen to the wind; feel the ground beneath your feet. Reach out with your senses and explore. Try to feel the dirt around Rapnagar. Imagine the ground being an extension of yourself. It is. Everything in the world is part of everything else. We are all related in that we affect one another. You just need to pull on the right thread and manipulate the string pattern so that the dirt moves away from Rapnagar.”

  Suri tried to do what Arion asked, but she didn’t have much to go on. Her eyes were closed, and she was imagining the dirt—seeing worms wiggling around. That was pretty easy. She also felt her feet on the soil but wasn’t sure how that helped.

  As if understanding her difficulty, Arion said, “Try humming.”

  “Humming?”

  “Yes.”

  “What should I hum?”

  “Nothing. Don’t hum a tune, just a single, even tone. Just make a steady sound.”

  Suri did.

  “Feel the vibration? Now change tone and feel the difference. This will help you center yourself. It’s a good base point. It’ll help focus your mind on what you’re looking for. Now reach out and search for a similar tone outside of you, the same way you do when summoning fire.”

  Suri did feel the vibration in her throat, chest, and head as she hummed. It almost tickled when she changed notes. She thought of how she found fire. Suri always thought she called to the fire spirit, but maybe she summoned it, sucked it in like a breath. As she hummed, Suri sensed another vibration outside herself. The vibration was familiar—fire.

  Suri grinned broadly with this discovery. How exciting it was to learn more about something she’d done for years, like the time she found out it was impossible to swallow without touching the roof of her mouth with her tongue.

  At the same moment, she became aware of other tones, other vibrations.

  Sound and motion can create weavings and bindings like knots, similar to the string game you play.

  Suri realized i
t then: The vibrations were like strings she could pull and twist. Without thinking, she raised her hands, moving her fingers just as she would when playing the string game. The movement was familiar and helped her balance, helped her focus.

  “That’s it,” she heard Arion say. “Work it out just like the game. Form a pattern to draw the ground apart.”

  Suri struggled. She didn’t know which strings did what, and the more she concentrated the more strings she found. She became overwhelmed. This was a game with an infinite number of strands.

  “There’s too many. I don’t know which—”

  “You’re standing on it,” Arion replied.

  Suri grinned again. This time a bit more stupidly because the answer was so obvious.

  She found the chord, big and deep, heavier than most of the others. This was less a string and more a rope. Without thinking, she dropped her humming to a lower tone and let her fingers play out before her. She heard a sound through her ears, a faint rustling as she bent the chord slightly.

  “That’s it,” Arion said. “You’ve got it. Just hook and draw apart.”

  Suri slipped her fingers underneath, as she would have if she were playing the game, and pulled her hands apart. As she did, just as in the game, the chord slid around her fingers and tightened.

  “Suri, no!” Arion shouted. “Stop! Stop!”

  Stopping wasn’t easy. Just as with the game, after looping a finger she had a natural desire to pull the strings out to their full extent. Suri craved to feel the pattern complete, to feel the loops tug near her knuckles, and it was all happening so fast.

  The rustling became cracking as if trees were being broken.

  “Suri!”

  Arion grabbed her hands, and Suri opened her eyes.

  The expression on Arion’s face was one of horror, and Suri turned her head to search for signs of what had caused it. Suri was terrified that she may have inadvertently harmed more trees, but they looked exactly as they had before. This left her puzzled as she had heard the cracking of trunks.

  “What’s wrong?” Suri asked.