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Chapter Twenty-Eight: A Bar
Kilvic gave his attention to his surroundings from his place at their table. Ariadne had done well to be useful as he had required. However, she had done so to prove a point he didn’t need proving. An apology was in order as agreed but she would not be getting it any time soon. Right now he needed to play the part she had allotted him. The part she had allotted them. Across the table she fidgeted, her eyes darting around curiously. How had she known the guard at the door would take pity on two young ones saddened by a disagreement between their parents to allow their courtship, he wondered. He had never been deluded by how much he was capable of. He’d always known he had more to learn, especially in the art of human communication, and now she’d shown him it was far greater than he’d thought. To manipulate people needed a far grander scope. The controlled environment he’d been given had come nowhere close to preparing him. It is why you are here,
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Kilvic’s hand moved with a practiced ease as he worked the piece of rope into a knot, stiff fingers, however, delaying record time achieved from his time spent learning knots in preparation for his departure to the academy in castle Grey. It had seemed imperative that if he was to board a ship he was to learn a thing or two of what sailors knew. He had taken to knots quite quickly, and he still wasn’t certain if the absence of need for his skills on the ship had been disappointing.He finished quickly, slower than he knew he once could but fast enough not to have performed a disgraceful show. When he was done he placed on of the most complex knots he knew down on the table and waited in silence, as his audience had waited while he’d tied his knot.“And who in the name of Zeldric’s bottom feeders is you?” one of the four sailors asked. He was a big man with a barrel of a chest and at least two broken teeth Kilvic could note. His hair
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“You know it’s not the same, right?”Moss let out a soft chuckle. “And you are pointing this out because…?” he replied.A startled Stratin quirked an unsubtle brow. His hands were held out before him, the littlest flicker of air swirling between them. This, as had been a good number of times over the semester, was another one of their attempts at bound magecraft.“This isn’t true, as it should be,” Stratin pointed out. “This isn’t bound. It’s a mixture, not a compound.”Moss shrugged. “I’m not sure what you mean, but to that I’d say let’s create mixtures till we can create a compound.”Stratin pouted but it seemed that was the end of his opposition to it.All the while Kilvic stood at a safe enough distance, watching his roommates attempt something less deadly than what they’d been doing for a good while. He wasn’t certain
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Stratin’s cry ebbed like a dying siren. It did not cut off abruptly as most do on the onset of unconsciousness. No. It drained gently, dissipating as the light in Kilvic’s hand. It would dim to nothing more than a sob, then there will be silence, then there will be nothing but simple breaths. Kilvic saw himself looking forward to it. At least, if anything, it would bring silence. And silence was always the best state to work with; it enhanced concentration. Surprisingly Moss was as quiet as the evening breeze. The boy almost seemed accepting of some kind of twisted fate, though Kilvic spared him no attention. His curiosity of Stratin’s ability to come back from this lurked at the back of his mind, like shadows at the edge of a dying light. It was something they would find out once the boy woke. Ariadne... Kilvic looked up at an unconscious Stratin seated back against the hostel’s wall… will not like this.Kilvic returned his at
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Stratin had begun sweating sometime in the last five minutes so much so that he was beginning to soak his bed. Five minutes and Kilvic had still been unable to come to a conclusion. He had pondered on as many possibilities as he could. All the while Moss sat with his head in his hands. His shirt was now as dry as could be and some vestige of himself was returning. But the guilt still remained in him, evident in the constant slump in his shoulders and refusal to make eye contact. If only he was more useful. Kilvic found himself missing Jarax’s company. If he’d been here an answer would’ve been born a while ago.He didn’t need to touch Stratin to know he was running a temperature. A fever had long since conquered the boy, if not, then its conquest was long on the way. It was only a matter of time before they would need to take him to the infirmary to save his life, and put themselves in trouble. It would be a blight on the academic record Kilvic was dete
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A few days later Stratin regained full control of his faculties. He awoke a few minutes after Kilvic had broken the link with his light. For the sake of secrecy, Kilvic kept his silence when he woke. He asked Stratin nothing of the pure light. He asked him nothing of what he’d done or why he’d done it. He told him nothing of what had been done to keep his life here, fixed in his body. He said nothing on the subject.In the early days after his recovery, classes were a special kind of ordeal. Stratin’s way with the sword delved head first into the realm of sloppiness. His moves contained all the determination but lacked all the precision. His body, it proved, no longer listened to him as it should. He suffered for it. Grunald had never seemed more displeased at anyone before, and he voiced it in as many harsh and disappointed words as he knew.Haru’s class was were Stratin’s suffering grew. He failed at executing every form. Each blow direc
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What the magecrafters had done was quite clever. The word they had inscribed, Hirot ne inshi, was truly ancient. It was so ancient that its language was so old it was one of the very few the outworlders shared with the human history. Both, at some point in history, had spoken it. It was a word that trailed its way to the eastern parts of the world. The word itself was older than the continent upon which the kingdom stood. The bird, long extinct form this world was very much like its name. If the books were to be believed, it was a truly large bird, its size rivaling that of a whale. Rare as it was to see even in its predominant era, it was said an army was required to end the life of one. Like its name, it was known for its characteristic of refusing to die. Simply explained, it was a creature that required death be visited upon it twice. A lesson learned only after the extinction of a kingdom.After death, the Hirot ne inshi was known to regress to a state
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“What brings you here, Master Rudric?”For the third time in a space of two seconds Kilvic wondered at how much he wished to offer in this negotiation without Deidrich’s presence. It was not that he doubted the headmaster capable of understanding the severity of the situation, he simply doubted the man knew how to appreciate it. The man was the brains, at one time he might have also been the muscle, considering his history. But he was the brains now, and the brain only saw in statistics, numbers, and secondary information. The curse of growth, Kilvic thought. He wondered if his mother’s subjects thought of his grandfather in the same way. It made his thought stumble. For a moment he thought to discard his assumption of the headmaster, but logic knew it for what it was: bias. And logic has always, if not most often, been the best guide in the absence of his instructors.“Master Rudric?”Kilvic realized he’d remai
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It was late into the evening, well past Grunald’s training with the sword, well past dinner, when Kilvic stumbled his way through the hostel door. It was a testament to how often the headmaster had visitors. It was also a testament to how long the headmaster stayed in his office. While it had been well in the early hours of the evening before he’d gained enough control over his body to drag himself away from the headmaster’s door and out of the administrative building, it was still quite late. And not once had a single person walked by.The day had been darkened considerably when he’d come into view of open space where he could be seen by any, stumbling and staggering like a child intoxicated by the wrong type of wine stolen from his parent’s cellar. The door received him passively. The living room he stumbled into received him warmly. The testy heat from the fire blazing in the fire place was a kind contrast to the cold outside. Winter was near.
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