Rebel Elements (Seals of the Duelists) (39 page)

“You’re happy.” Kiwani sat beside him after serving herself a second helping of squash. “It looks nice on your face.”

Bayan pushed at his fish bones. “I can’t help who I am.”

“And I don’t want you to.” She laid a hand on his arm.

“Just want to be my own person.”

Kiwani sighed. “I know the feeling. Being back here…”

“You used to come here with your, er…”

“Yes, with them. Every summer between Teresseren Unification Day and Antoon de Hond’s Natal Day, until last year, when I was at the Academy. That’s how Hanna recognized me.”

“Did you have many friends here?”

“A few. The emperor was usually here when we were. I remember him bounding off our dock into the sea to try and make me laugh when I was little. After his sons were born, he’d let them ride his shoulders as he jumped off and then walked back to the beach.”

Bayan paused, his fork midair. He’d never thought of the Waarden Emperor as a real person before.

Kiwani looked at him. “Knowing him has made it easier, accepting who I am, and who I’m not. He’s in both my lives.”

Bayan nodded, but he couldn’t grasp the idea of being enslaved by someone and liking them too. He excused himself and found Hanna across the room.

“I have to meet a friend in town,” he said. She raised her eyebrows, perhaps impressed that a young Bantayan duelist would have any friends in Muggenhem. Bayan walked into the cool morning light, passing through a few duelist fans who still hung around the duel den, hoping for more interaction with the duelists.

Bayan had seen the inn called the Gyre’s Breath on the way to the duel den; it was only a few blocks away. He strode along the pale brick street, his gaze taking in the fancy woodwork, the mullioned windows, the colorful paint and bright brass accents that made the downtown shops inviting and festive.

This is the first imperial town I’ve gotten to explore at all on my own, and I’ve lived here for over a year. Everyone seems to be nobility, or here to serve nobility in some way. I’m no closer to realizing what the imperial people are really like than when I left home.

He stepped onto the sheltered porch of the Gyre’s Breath and pushed through the sturdy oak door. A few customers populated the common room for the lunch hour, scattered among a dozen square tables that ran in diagonal rows across a pale wooden floor. A staircase ran up one wall to the rooms above, and a bar counter filled the long back wall. Excellent aromas wafted forth from the kitchens behind it.

“Bayan!”

He turned and saw a tall, slender young man with a black cap of unruly hair sitting at a small table in a gloomy corner. The dark-skinned youth wore a cream tunic, marking him as a eunuch. As Bayan studied him, anxious to make sure it was really Kipri, the eunuch raised his chin and surveyed the room with a grumpy look.

That was Kipri, all right. Slipping into a chair beside him, Bayan asked, “How are you doing? Is the food good?”

“You ask like you made it yourself.”

“Sorry, it’s a habit. Food is good, and in Balanganam we want people to enjoy the process of eating it.”

“Well, this is pretty good, and I got less lip than I do sometimes at the palace kitchens when I ordered it.”

Bayan knew the sting of unfair insults and felt a burst of empathy for the eunuch’s life of forced servitude. He, at least, had managed to overcome most of his classmates’ prejudices with time and effort. Kipri, son of an executed rebel, was a walking reminder of the empire’s last insurrection, of the affront to the emperor’s power and of Waarden lives lost in battle. Bayan doubted whether imperials at the Kheerzaal would ever fully accept a Raqtaaq in their midst.

“I’m glad to see you again. What is it that Philo couldn’t tell me in a letter?”

Kipri looked around the room, distrust on his face. He stood, grabbing his roll and leaving a few coins on the table. “Let’s walk and talk. The sights here are amazing.”

Once out on the street, Kipri pointed out various important buildings or structures until they were several blocks away from the Gyre’s Breath.

“Are we being followed?” Bayan asked under his breath.

“I think so, but I think they’re just fans of the great Duelist Bayan.”

“What?” Bayan glanced back. A covey of teenage girls clustered on the side of the street and giggled when they saw him looking. “Ay, Bhattara.”

“Is it all right if I come and cheer for you at the tournament tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Bayan replied, puzzled.

“What’s your sigil flag, so I’ll know when it’s your turn?”

“You can’t miss it. It’s pure black.”

“What?” Kipri turned to him in surprise.

Bayan grinned.

“And they call me a rebel,” Kipri muttered.

“It’s not like that, not really. I’ve just gotten used to doing things the hard way.”

“Apparently.” Kipri gave the giggling girls another glance, then slowly filled Bayan in on why Bayan and his hex were in the posh town of Muggenhem. When Bayan learned what he had gotten his hex into by writing that first letter to Philo, he was less than pleased with the results.

“You mean to tell me,” he hissed, “that I’m to spy for the empire on one of its own citizens?”

“On a formerly rebellious citizen who has now been accused of high treason and trafficking in steel.”

“But she’s one of your own—” Bayan began. “Steel?” Kakios’ pendant—his fearlessness in attacking a duelist—that wild ice spell—Philo’s stolen ring.

“The only antidote for duelists is steel.”

Kipri lowered his brows, nodding. “You see its importance, then.”

Bayan felt horror etch itself into his face. “What does she want?”

“That’s just it. Philo has no idea. His contacts knew only that the Aklaa princess hired Anuq, the man who blackmailed them, and that her plan would reach fruition on the first day of spring. That’s three days from now. Your tournament will take place over all three of those days, so that gives you plenty of time to get noticed by her.

“Philo knows the blackmailer can recognize me, but he believes the man will remain in hiding since his failed assassination attempt on Lady Kiwani t’Eshkin exposed him. That gives me the opportunity to be your Aklaa cheering section here at the arena. The rest is up to you. The better your performance, the more invitations you’ll receive. If you get one from Lady Qivinga voorde Zeegat, accept that one first.”

“What am I supposed to do if she does invite me?”

“You do know about the whole point of the Talent Tournaments?” Kipri asked in a doubtful tone.

“I know I’m supposedly touting my skills to impress future clients. How does that intersect with spying on Lady Qivinga?”

“Nobles either want to impress a duelist with their wealth and power, or they are drawn to the sort of power that only duelists have. Or they’re bored, and you’re merely entertainment. Philo is hoping for a fourth condition between you and Lady Qivinga: your otherness. Once she sees your unique flag, she could even peg you as a duelist she might convince to join her in rebellion. If she invites you over, stay in your role as a duelist student from Balanganam. Show off your anger. She’ll relate.”

“Should I try to get her to reveal her plans?”

Kipri shook his head. “Don’t give yourself away. We’re not sure what’s going on in her mansion. Is she a single sympathetic traitor, or has she collected a dissatisfied group of Aklaa servants who’ve stolen their masters’ jewelry and sold it for weapons? The Aklaa, they never change. I’ve tried my entire eunuch life to be as little like them as possible. They’re angry, bitter, and persistent in the face of all reason. Whatever they’re involved in, stopping them will be messy. Stay out of it.”

Bayan had an odd comparison flash through his mind, between Kipri’s beastly Aklaa and untamed duelists who let their anger rule their mind. He’d desperately wanted to control what drove him. Did the Aklaa?

~~~

“Who stands before the Muggenhem arena?” Hanna called, gesturing broadly to Bayan.

“Bayan Lualhati.” A motion caught his eye; a small black bird fluttered down and perched on the top lip of the arena’s wall, directly above and behind the den chanter, who sat alert in the first row of benches, her twin hair buns fairly quivering with intensity. The bird atop the wall was too small to be Kah, but it tilted its head at him in the same manner as his hexbird. “Uh, Elemental Duelist,” Bayan finished, speaking the remainder of his introduction in a rush.

Smiling murmurs passed through the arena’s stands. In the relative warmth of the arena, protected as it was from the constant sea breezes by its high curving walls, noblewomen fanned themselves beneath their ornate shell headdresses, and men removed their tall hats. The stands were packed with everyone from the richest nobility in the front rows to indentureds and manor servants who had skived off work to come see the duels.

“Whom do you defend?” Hanna called, continuing the duel custom.

Bayan hadn’t been given a mock client for the duel, so he was free to answer whatever he liked. Traditionally, Hanna had explained, duelist students got to say something that indicated some aspect of their personal character. In the duel just before Bayan’s, Calder had announced that he defended the right of small children everywhere to enjoy a sweet every holiday, causing the youngest members of the audience to cheer.

“I defend the citizens of Balanganam,” he announced, sticking to what he and Kipri had decided on earlier, “that they may be regarded as full equals within the Waarden Empire.”

Hanna called the same questions to Bayan’s red-haired opponent.

“Tarin Hajellis, Elemental Duelist. I defend those who stand out when they don’t mean to.”

“The duel decides the victor,” Hanna called. “Let the duel commence!”

Hanna retreated to the edge of the arena, and Bayan and Tarin performed the Elemental Invocation, then chose their first elements. Bayan summoned Wood, while Tarin selected Water.

Bayan cast Cragroot amidst a rush of green mist, sending roots under the ground toward Tarin. She blocked them with the blue fog of Permafrost, freezing the ground beneath her feet, thickening it until she stood on an ice block a stride thick. The roots Bayan had created were clearly visible, frozen solid within it. The audience clapped.

Tarin somersaulted into an aerial dismount from the ice, spinning through the moves of Crystalgrip amidst a rich blue cloud of magic. Bayan invoked Flame and pretended he hadn’t been fast enough in summoning Heavenstream. The red fog that had enveloped him faded as Tarin’s ice cooled around his arms.

Tarin, wary, came a little closer, invoking Earth and beginning the motions of Sandstorm.

Bayan bent his hands toward each other, forming a small wedge. The red mist flared for but a moment, then fire played along his arms, within the ice. The frozen manacles parted with a snap as he jerked himself free, moments before the sand of the arena reached up to envelop him. Amidst oohs from the audience, Tarin lunged aside from the miniature fiery tornadoes in Bayan’s Stormwave Flamecast, then she fired back with a powerful Dead Embers that drained them all of life.

Bayan retaliated with Bluebolt—a crowd favorite, it seemed—which Tarin defused with a hasty Ridgestrike that made her long red hair stand out from her head like a crimson dandelion. She closed the distance between them, forcing Bayan to use close-range spells.

Her shock punches weren’t terribly powerful, but they came nearly as quickly as the lightning they attempted to deliver to his body, and the slender limbs that his Wood-based blocks created for defense started to blacken from repeated contact. He threw in a cross-block that shoved her away with a shower of gravel, finally earning a momentary breather and a chance to seize the initiative.

He dropped to the ground and swept her leg with a full-circle motion while she was still staggering, and she tripped backward, landing in the puddle that his spell had summoned. She gave an indignant yelp.

Bayan, momentarily confident, felt his smile slip as she performed first the Wind invocation, then the avatar invocation. The audience roared their approval as Tarin’s form was blurred by a thick turquoise swirl of magic.
Bhattara. She’s playing for all the ducats today.

Tarin’s mist vanished as her avatar arrived. Bayan fell back several strides, guarding his eyes as Tarin’s Wind avatar whirled into existence. Its rainbow reached across half the arena, and the silvery fog that draped below it obscured the far end of the stands.

I can’t fight the wind with stone. But then, she can’t fight rock with air. I guess it’s down to who’s quickest with the spells.

His hands flashed through the Earth and avatar invocations, and moments later, his spindly, potbellied Strider clambered up through the sand of the arena floor, to the cheers of the crowd. Without hesitation, he ordered him to cast Shards of the Mountain. Thousands of stone missiles appeared in the air before Strider’s hands, piercing the airy body of Tarin’s Mistbow.

Yet they did no damage, near as Bayan could tell. He made the shards dissipate before they plowed into the audience. Mistbow retaliated with Sandcloak, whirling massive swaths of the arena floor into the air and plastering sand onto Strider’s stone limbs, making them thick and bulky. Strider slowed.