Renegade Wizards (35 page)

She disagreed with Berthal on a couple of points; she thought some regulations were needed to ensure evil men and women were deprived the magic that would allow them to hurt others. Then she thought about the Black Robes and realized that the test didn’t stop evil from happening; it only gave it the air of respectability—evil by sanction.

Berthal’s words resonated with her concerns and fears, and she studied the components of her own test. They lived in vivid echos in her thoughts, the test remembered with such clarity it might be transpiring at that moment. So consumed was she with the thoughts of it she sat there while the burning wood disintegrated into glowing nuggets. Only when she felt cold did she distract herself long enough to throw more branches onto the fire. Her thoughts overtook her again, and she thought about her test.

What would she sacrifice to practice the arcane, the test asked of her. Who would she sacrifice? Then it showed her who she loved and asked her to choose between them and the craft. The only surprise was the one she loved—not who she expected. She saw the women of her life and few men. She recognized them for who they were, as father, as grandmother, as mentor, as friend. She saw Elisa. But she saw others in a new light and was forced to choose between their love and the love of magic.

Amma Batros was there, as mentor and more. Though Tythonnia had never shared anything intimate with her teacher, the visions in her test had been specific and
embarrassingly erotic. She never thought of Amma in that way, but when she saw her now, all her previous actions and thoughts suddenly carried a different nuance. Suddenly, it wasn’t Elisa she kissed in the high grass of the fields, but Amma Batros and a handful of other women she’d unknowingly gravitated toward. And it wasn’t her mother who caught her, but slavering monsters of shadow and web.

The test was forcing her to reveal her true self, for nobody could maintain a lie
and
practice magic. Perhaps that was the true meaning of the test. It wasn’t choosing between the arcane and those she loved. It was choosing whether to hold on to a lie so perfect she believed it herself, or to burn away the deceit and practice magic without the proxy of masks. So Tythonnia immolated herself instead of the monstrosities threatening her loved ones. She set herself ablaze with her own magic and screamed through the fire.

When Tythonnia had emerged from the test, there were no burn scars, though the heat blossomed from her skin for days after. There were no marks on her, but the sense of pain remained. Her skin felt uncomfortably tight, as though still healing, and she could remember her anguish in perfect detail. Still, despite all that, she could still feel the kiss on her lips and the heat of Elisa’s breath in her mouth. That burned worse than anything else.

Amma Batros proclaimed her success a miracle, not a single blemish showing, but Tythonnia knew better. She knew the fire that burned her was on the inside and that if she ever cut herself open, her organs, not her skin, would bear the scars.

So Tythonnia sat there, considering how much was too much and trying desperately to ignore the phantom tickle of a beard against her cheek.

The grass was comfortable beneath their backs, the sky their beautiful ceiling. Par-Salian’s head rested on Ladonna’s naked stomach, and she tousled his brown hair absently.

“I’m not too heavy, am I?” Par-Salian asked.

“No,” Ladonna said.

They fell back into calm silence, each one lost in the nothingness of their thoughts. Lovemaking had a way of clearing the mind of all its woes and securing people in the moment. And what a moment it was, thought Par-Salian. The wind lightly caressing their bodies and cooling their skin, the campfires distant. Like the world was made for them and untouched by anyone else.

It couldn’t last, however. Perfection existed for a few moments at most then was gone. Life would move forward again, and things would change. Par-Salian sighed at the thoughts that returned.

“You’re questioning our role here, aren’t you?” Ladonna said gently.

“Yes,” he admitted. He shifted position and lay on his elbow to face her. She turned to face him as well, their whispers intermingling. “Don’t misunderstand—I am still loyal to the Wizards of High Sorcery. But I can’t help but think these renegades may have a point. In some regards,” he amended.

Ladonna nodded and waited for him to continue.

“Have we become too political? Too involved with ourselves to notice the world around us? Despite the Wyldling magic they practice, these people work to benefit each other. They help one another. They guide and nurture. What do we do? We bicker and we jockey for status. We fight over the most mundane things. Who are we benefiting?”

Ladonna smiled and shook her head. It was a sympathetic look she wore, not one of admonishment or disappointment. She pressed closer to Par-Salian until her lips could almost touch his.

“I can see why you’d find their intentions attractive. It’s not my way; we both know that. I think competition breeds stronger wizards and benefits the practice of the arcane as a whole. We sometimes fight too much or work at cross-purposes too often; I’ll admit that. We do pay for it. But Berthal and his followers are naive if they think they won’t suffer the same fate. Idealism is a great motivator, Par-Salian, but eventually idealism becomes the status quo. And the first thing the status quo does is defend its power and philosophies against all threats. The renegades here can afford their idealism because they haven’t been forced to put it into practice.”

“You’re saying they won’t be any better than the wizards? That seems more like a condemnation of our practices, doesn’t it?”

“Not at all,” Ladonna said. “By the time they reach our place in life, we will have moved past the problems they have yet to face. We will have grown … matured. Maybe a more open society of wizards is called for, but why start from the beginning again? Why not steer what we have now towards something better, instead of abandoning it and running into the same exact troubles later?”

Par-Salian studied Ladonna’s eyes intently, his gaze lost in her dark pools.

“Par-Salian, it is the nature of all groups to undergo this trial. Idealism becomes acceptance; acceptance becomes status quo. After that, the people in power will dictate rules and regulations to preserve their standing. They become exclusionary, the hierarchy more rigid. Infighting occurs, and backbiting, yes. But eventually change comes, and when it does, it must be from within.

“These people have served their purpose,” she concluded. “They’ve opened your eyes to what must be done. But they aren’t the answer. You are.”

Par-Salian nodded, taking a moment to digest what she said. The words felt like an epiphany, a cleansing of his soul.

“You’re right,” he whispered. “We’ve done our work. We found their camp. We have to leave.”

“Not just yet,” Ladonna replied. “We have two problems right now. The Black Robes lost valuable books to the renegades, and we need them back. They are a danger to whoever possesses them.”

“Very well,” Par-Salian said. “We’ll try to find them. What else?”

“Tythonnia,” Ladonna said. “I think we’re losing her.”

Berthal stepped into his tent to find Kinsley asleep atop his bedroll. Kinsley, however, was a light sleeper and quickly stirred.

“Rest, rest,” Berthal said, motioning for Kinsley to remain still. “I’m not tired.”

“Mm,” Kinsley responded and yawned. “How was your walk?”

“Good,” Berthal said. He sat in the chair and fell silent in thought.

“What?” Kinsley asked, sitting up.

“We’re going to have to move soon.”

When Kinsley threw him a troubled look, Berthal continued. “Our three new recruits are most certainly spies for the Wizards of High Sorcery. They’re endangering the camp.”

Kinsley straightened, his fatigue gone in an instant. “You’re sure? Lorall and I can handle it, if you want.”

“No,” Berthal said. “I don’t want them killed. They’re still young.”

“Not Par-Salian.”

“He’s naive and that’s perhaps worse. I don’t want them harmed. They aren’t evil people … only misguided.”

“What about Tythonnia? She seems sympathetic.”

“I think she is,” Berthal replied. “We can sway her to our side.”

“Not the other two?”

“No,” Berthal said. “Par-Salian is a born and bred wizard. And Ladonna … well, given that she ransacked my tent earlier I don’t think she has much sympathy for our cause. Casting that spell on the
Arcanum Unearthed
was a good idea, by the way. But no, we handle this quickly and move elsewhere before Ladonna or Par-Salian can send for reinforcements. But we need to get Tythonnia on our side first.”

“And this has nothing to do with your interest in her?” Kinsley said. “Oh, don’t look at me that way. I know you like her.”

Berthal shrugged. “I suppose I do.”

“Lecherous old goat,” Kinsley said, resting his head again. “She’s young enough to be your daughter.”

“Says the man who has done his share of wooing daughters from their fathers.”

“Lies!” Kinsley said, throwing a finger high into the air. “Spread by my enemies.”

“Spread by your own mouth,” Berthal said.

The two men chuckled at their wit and let the fatigue overtake them.

The docks creaked beneath his feet and swayed with the urging of the shore waters, though that could have been the mead talking. Thrack was built like a stone tablet, from his frame to his dwarf constitution. He could drink the customers of any tavern along the docks under the table, though it took some of the fight out of him.

He staggered back to his keelboat, tugging on his braided beard as though trying to right himself. There was a woman and a large man in his way, looming over him. He lurched to the left, and they stepped in his path again.

Thrack looked up at them, not intimidated by the size of either of them, but he almost tipped over backward trying to
see the big one’s face. They wore cloaks, like thieves, though the woman had an odd metal book strapped to her chest. Some people had the strangest notion of what constituted armor. Thrack guffawed.

“You are the shipmaster Thrack Greenstone,” the woman stated.

“Correct. I’m glad we cleared that up.” He tried to move past them again, but the big one stepped in his way.

“You smuggle people in and out of the city,” the woman continued.

“Perhaps. If I did, though, I’d have to charge double for the big one here.”

“I am looking for two women and a man, both injured. Where did you take them?”

“Don’t recall them …” He paused to count. “Three?”

“You will remember,” the woman said, unsheathing her thin, glowing sword. “Or you will die.”

“Will I now? Well, lass, I make my living on the ocean, something no sane dwarf would ever do without getting drunk enough to knock Reorx down with his breath. So death threats don’t work on me. Now if you wanted to threaten me with coins. Well, coins, I find downright frightening. Especially the bronze or steel ones. Very scary.”

The big human looked at the woman and shrugged. She seemed annoyed that she wasn’t going to be killing anyone that night and sheathed her blade before tossing him a small purse, which he barely caught.