The Seekers of Fire Read online

  * * *

  Rianor managed to interpose his boot between her head and the ground a split second before her head would have clattered on the cobblestones. He hit the side of her attacker's neck with the edge of his hand, trying to control the force so that the young Mentor would faint but not die; then grabbed her shoulders and pulled her straight. Although unsteadily, she remained on her feet.

  "Do not move and be silent!" Rianor snapped, then bent to remove the young Mentor's dagger from his belt. He heard her inhale sharply when he thrust the dagger into the old Mentor's body and extracted his own dagger from between the ribs.

  "You—You killed the old man."

  Rianor snatched her hair with his weaponless hand and hauled her towards himself. "Say one more thing, and I will kill you."

  He was sorry for the impulsive remark even as he was saying it because the girl's feet suddenly gave away, and the only thing that kept her upright was her hair in his hand. With a muttered curse he put his other arm beneath her shoulders, being careful with the dagger. "Stay straight. I told you that I am on your side, you impetuous woman."

  * * *

  The lord's bloody face floated into Linden's vision as her dizziness cleared a little. His arm was still supporting her firmly, but the healer's daughter in her knew what to look for in his eyes.

  She steadied herself entirely and pushed him softly in the direction of the house.

  "Let's go. My father will help."

  Rianor and Linden

  Night 77 of the Fourth Quarter, Year of the Master 705

  Shortly after, Rianor lay on her parents' bed, concentrated on controlling his muscles to not flinch at the healer's touch. Linden was in the other room, and he heard occasional weeps and a muffled soothing voice through the wall.

  "Stop that," the healer said. He proceeded to capture Rianor's shoulders and pressed at two tiny spots whose existence Rianor had not been aware of. Rianor's hand instinctively dashed to his belt, and he only recalled that his dagger was away on the table when, a second later, his body relaxed by itself and the pain subsided.

  The healer gave him a hard look. "I need you to calm down and lie still if I am to help you, young man."

  Rianor nodded slightly. Throughout his life he had rarely faced an authority high enough to challenge his own, but right now the man was just that. He did not threaten and did not force submission, but he nonetheless radiated power that was strong and established itself in a pervasive, albeit soft, way. Rianor should not be surprised. His earlier investigations had revealed that the man was one of Mierber's best healers—or a Commander of Life and Death, as his kind were known better. Rianor shook his head to chase the name away; the last thing he needed now was a painful memory. He focused his attention on Linden's father again and murmured, "Do not 'young man' me, if you would please, sir."

  The older man gave him another hard look, and Rianor met and held his gaze. The healer did not look away.

  Rianor broke the eye contact as the weeping from the other room stopped completely. He tried to stand up, fighting sudden dizziness.

  The healer caught his shoulders and supported him as the objects in the room blurred and the floor started shaking. "Back to the bed now," he said with a voice that was not unkind. "I'll bandage you, and then you shall rest. We can talk in the morning."

  Rianor shook his head, then straightened with some effort and looked into the healer's eyes again. "Thank you, but no, Mister Ellard. We have no time. I must leave now, and I am taking Linden with me."

  The man's body stiffened almost imperceptibly and a droplet of sweat glistened on his eyebrow, but he did not reply immediately.

  "I am sorry," Rianor said softly. "I did not plan it like this."

  "No." The healer was a tall man, but he appeared to shrink. For a moment there was fear in his eyes, and there was pain, but then he straightened again and his face became hard. "I am not giving my girl away."

  "I am not asking for your permission."

  Rianor waited for the man to fully perceive his words, then grabbed his shoulders and locked his eyes. "Listen to me, Mister Ellard. The young Mentor will wake up soon. He will either think that he killed the old one himself and that she was a vision, or he will go looking for her. Or he might do both."

  He released the father's shoulders and continued in an even softer voice, "Do you know what they do to reprobates?"

  "What do you know about it?" the father whispered. Rianor could see the effort it cost him to keep himself in control, but his voice was level when he spoke again. "And why did you kill one of them, but left the other one alive?"

  Rianor laughed humorlessly. "I am not a cold-blooded murderer, I assure you, no matter how casually I described it. It had to be done, so I did it, and I will come to terms with my own actions when I have had more time to reflect upon them. I value human life, Mister Ellard, just like a healer should." He met the eyes of Linden's father again.

  "I see." The healer shook his head. "Tonight's circumstances are extraordinary and priorities are shifted, as you have discovered yourself. Even for a healer some lives are more precious than others."

  Rianor looked aside. "Besides, if both of the night patrol were found dead in the street, their brothers and sisters would do quite more than look for a young woman. Your neighbors at least have a chance now."

  "I am not entirely without resources, my lord. I will take care of my daughter." Ellard wiped his forehead with his sleeve, and Rianor sighed.

  "I am confident that I have made myself clear, sir. The lady is coming with me."

  "The lady?"

  "Yes—my lady apprentice, Mister Ellard, what did you think I meant?" He sighed again, fighting the urge to succumb to the dizziness. "With me, she will be an apprentice and a lady, and no Mentors will be able to touch her. With you and your resources, what will happen to her? Will you hide her in the slums or in the villages, and how much better do you think that will be than giving her up to the Mentors? Even if you had a choice, you would be a fool to not give her to me."

  The reply came from behind his back, in a melodic voice that displayed almost no fear. "Yes, Dad might not have a choice. But I do."

  There were still tears on her face, but she met his gaze unflinchingly. Then she gently but firmly removed her mother's arm from her shoulders and stepped towards him.

  "It is my life you are talking about. But I thank you for saving it."

  She smiled slightly at him just as her mother's worried eyes focused on his wound. The woman clenched her hands together, before she looked at her husband. "Ellard, there was no need, was there?"

  So Rianor had looked bad enough for her to think about the Trial. There was no mistake in the shadow over her face. He had seen such before. Instinctively he raised his hand to silence the healer before he had the chance to utter a word.

  "No, madam," Rianor said, careful to control his voice. "There was not."

  * * *

  Linden watched silent communication pass between lord Rianor and her parents. Then the three avoided each other's eyes, her mom still clenching her hands, her dad concentrating on a bottle of medicine, the young lord reaching towards the table to reclaim his dagger. She opened her mouth to inquire, but the sight of the weapon nauseated her. She felt the lord's other hand extend to support her as she faltered. His touch was confident despite his own condition, and it was not unpleasant. She jerked her eyes away from the dagger, the image of it in the old Mentor's body all too clear, and met his eyes again.

  Dad had reached towards her, too, but he was slower, and now Mom was holding his hand and seemed to be halting him. Both were watching the young people's interaction.

  "It is not the tool that is responsible for the action," the lord said softly, his words bearing an almost imperceptible hint of hardness. His gaze was intent on hers, and his hand was holding her arm firmly. Linden watched him fixedly back, barely noticing Mom shake her head at Dad as he motioned to move towards them.

  "You ar
e right, of course," Linden said, no hardness entering her own voice despite her best efforts. "The fault is entirely mine, and I will face the consequences. And I can stand by myself, you know."

  The lord smiled then, the smile slowly turning from humorless to teasing. He gently released her arm, after making sure that she could really stand by herself. "Very strong-minded, aren't you, Miss Linden. I do appreciate your concept of responsibility, although you misunderstood my words. The fault is not entirely yours. It was not you who moved my hand. Still, you will have the responsibility of choice, since you seem to value it so much. Will you come with me?"

  The gaze penetrating hers was serious now, and somehow Linden knew that he meant it, and that he was also showing her respect. He was a High Lord. He could force her to go with him if he wanted, and the Militia would never do anything once he had reached his House with her. Neither would they enter a House to punish a Mentor's murderer, whether the murderer be the lord or herself. The Mentors themselves could not go uninvited, either. The Bers might, but rumor claimed that they did not do that as often as they should.

  Also, as the lord's apprentice Linden herself would become a lady, which was a dream, most often unfulfilled, of every common-born person who applied to join the Science Guild. If he did make her his apprentice, of course. People said that lords were not to be trusted.

  Something must have shown in her expression, for he smiled. "It is not an easy thing, choice. Many consider it a terrible inconvenience."

  His smile was handsome, but that was not the reason she returned it. "And some, my lord, consider the conveniences of the multitudes most inconvenient of all."

  "And will you two consider it convenient to stay quiet for a moment and let me bandage lord Rianor, before he has bled to death?"

  Dad inserted himself between them, bringing the pungent smell of iodine antiseptic, and Linden snapped out of the smile and the unreal light mood. It must be a strange form of hysterics, teasing a High Lord of all people, now of all times. She could not trust him. Then again, besides her parents and perhaps Cal, whom could she trust? Somehow, she was more willing to trust a man who would fight alongside her and share her opinion of choice, rather than someone who would, say, overturn a bucket on her so that she would kneel or lie trembling.

  "I will come with you. But only if it will not make the situation worse for my parents."

  Dad's hands trembled at that, almost spilling the medicine he was just shaking. She reached towards him, and he hugged her, and she sensed his heart missing its rhythm. Linden had talked to Mom after the Mentors, but there had been no time to talk to Dad, and she felt new tears mist her eyes. There was no time now, either.

  "Mom and I will be all right, darling," he whispered, "don't worry about us. But you—Are you sure?"

  "Yes, Dad. I am."

  Mom came beside them, and the three of them embraced, then Linden gently extracted herself and stood beside lord Rianor. He smiled at her again."Let's go, my lady."

  "I will bandage you first." Dad was at the lord's other side now, suddenly erect and confident, scrutinizing the young man's blooded face. "No way I am letting you go outside like this."

  "Mister Ellard, we have taken too long already. We have no time."

  "We do have some." Linden's dad looked at her mom, then at Linden, and then once more at lord Rianor. "You know about the Healers' Trial, so I am guessing that you know about the Passage, too. I will show you the entrance, lord Rianor of Qynnsent, and may the Master forgive me and protect all of us, so that I see my child again."

  Chapter 2: Passage

  Excerpts from Introduction to Mierenthia by Eliss Librarian, Year of the Master 391:

  Our Calendar is one of the gifts that the Master has bestowed upon us. The human mind is fickle and easily confused, so measuring time in the right way is essential, for a better self and for a better world. The main units of time are a second, a minute, an hour, a day-night sequence, a quarter, a year, and a century. A second equals a moment or a breath, a minute has sixty seconds, an hour has sixty minutes, a day-night has twenty-four hours, a quarter has ninety-one days, and a year has four quarters as well as the Day of the Master. The Day of the Master occurs on the day between Day 91 of the Fourth Quarter of one year and Day 1 of the First Quarter of the next. We call a sequence of a hundred years a century.

  ...

  Our Blessed Master, in his Eternal Place, has ten trusted assistants, the Powers That Be. They stood beside Him once, when he freed our world from the Lost Ones. Now they watch over us together with Him, and would sometimes come to us and guide us. They watch the Edges, too, to help keep the Lost Ones away from us.

  Excerpt from More On Our Mierenthia by Eliss Librarian, Year of the Master 394

  Reprobates have been known to call the Bessove, those fairytale creatures with rumored powers and abilities beyond those of any human, the Powers That Be. Reprobates have also been known to insist on the Bessove's existence in the real world. This is all naught but a product of the Lost Ones spreading foulness and confusion, for the Lost Ones are always trying to reach inside our minds and break the Master's world.

  There is no power but that of the Master and those who would serve Him—and that of the foul ones who would sunder the world apart if they could.

  Linden

  Night 77 of the Fourth Quarter, Year of the Master 705

  Linden shifted her gaze away from the fire in lord Rianor's hands. Bright little dots continued dancing in her eyes for several seconds, so she saw the stone only after her boot hit it. The lord caught her elbow as she bent aside to try to discern the stone's path by the clattering and the echoes.

  "No," he whispered in a vexed voice.

  "I am only listening!" she whispered back, and then after a second of hesitation added, "My lord."

  He silently pushed her forward and kept his fingers on her elbow. The echoes slowly faded away. So did Linden's desire to follow them, to go where the stone had gone. She matched the lord's pace, a part of her feeling irritated because of his abrupt manner, while the rest was glad of his closeness in the dark tunnel. The darkness, which started slightly away from the tiny fire, had the color and density of ink. It might have the same smudged and sticky feel, too, if she but extended her hand and touched it. It smelled of must and old age.

  Another stone clattered away, but this time it was lord Rianor who had kicked it. It was his fingers, too, that stiffened with tension. Linden almost knocked the light out as she grabbed his other hand, holding him like a moment ago he had held her, so that he would not go where she herself might have gone.

  His fingers relaxed, then he turned to her with a wry smile.

  "It seems that we are even now, Linde."

  Linden released his hand and stared at the fire again, so that she would not have to face him. He had used her pet name, and for some reason it almost made her cry. It sounded almost like a normal "Lind," but not entirely. In the lord's voice, the name had a more polished feel. It was strange and new, and in a way it was more disturbing than even this place of shadows and treacherous stones was.

  They had walked in almost-darkness for an hour. She had kept control. Until now. Now, even the mobile light could not distract her any more, although she had never seen a mobile candle before this night. She had not even known that a thing of such possibly great implications existed. Dad had hinted that the mobile might even be different from Ber fire, even though it was not wildfire—but what other fire could there be? Yet, now she could not focus on this. She, who would otherwise tinker even with a stove to see how it worked ...

  "We are not even," she said softly. You did not leave your family tonight, ignorant of whether they would be safe. You know where we are going and what we will find there. I did not kill to save your life.

  The lord let go of her elbow and held her chin, forcing her to look away from the fire and at his face. She blinked, trying to adjust her eyes to the sudden lack of brightness.

  "I do not lik
e being contradicted, my apprentice."

  My apprentice. His voice was soft, but there was a glint in his gaze that made her think about steel, as in both color and hardness, and he was holding her chin a little too firmly. She was alarmed, for a moment, then she stared back at him.

  "And I don't like being manhandled, my master."

  She swiftly raised her hand and grabbed his, her thumb pressing at his wrist. He had done this to her before, so she should be able to do it to him herself. The result was that he squeezed her chin even harder, his other hand shooting up to her face together with the candle. She flinched in expectation of the blow, and trembled in surprise when he did not hit her but seized her fingers and fixed them to his wrist.

  "Then let me teach you how to not be manhandled," he said in the same soft voice and moved her fingers so that she was now holding his wrist at a different angle. "It only works if you put pressure right here." He adjusted her thumb to a spot between his bones. "You are observant, Linde, I like that. Now free yourself."

  Linden carefully moved her thumb away and then back, making sure that she could find the pressure point by herself. She pushed at it and felt the lord's hand tense a little, so she stopped. He tightened his grip on her slightly in response. "Do it again. This is not enough for me to release you."

  Now that the light was in front of his face, Linden looked at him closely. The steely edge was still in his eyes, but there were shadows beneath them, too, and the bandages had dislocated, revealing a part of a whip cut. The purplish tint of dry blood and iodine contrasted sharply with the lightness of his skin, and despite the cold air there were drops of sweat on his temples. Any anger left in her faded.