Tempests and Slaughter

Ozorne grinned at the older boy. ‘Close still counts!’

Arram had thought they might have trouble finding a table, particularly with him in tow, but it seemed that Varice was as confident in the dining hall as Ozorne was in the menagerie. She swept through the lines of serving plates and dishes, not only making sure of her own choices, but seeing to it that the boys took proper foods as well. Then she led the way to a small, shockingly empty table near one of the doors that led to the outdoor tables and a garden. The door was open, but no one took advantage of the tables outside: the air was cooling off. Instead Varice and Ozorne sat at that empty little table and pointed Arram’s new seat out to him. Only when everyone had eaten at least half of their dinners did Varice allow Ozorne to open the subject of water magic.

It was the best evening Arram had enjoyed at the university. Ozorne had some clever ideas on how to harness the power that had gone wrong that morning. Varice gave Arram some spells and charms for the manipulation of water she had learned from cooks and cook mages. If he worked hard he’d have them memorized by the end of the week. The water spells wouldn’t get away from him any more!

They chattered outside one of the school’s many libraries until the end-of-study bells told them it was time to get back to their rooms. The boys escorted Varice to her building, where she was housed with older girls, then ran for their dormitory. Ozorne showed Arram a shortcut by way of the gardens behind the buildings. They were approaching their own place when Ozorne held out his arm to stop Arram. They halted in a grove of lemon trees planted in the edges of the garden. Two figures in the brown shirts and breeches of the university stable and field staff were standing at Ozorne’s window. The shutters were open; Ozorne had told Arram he always left them that way.

‘I’ll get the guards,’ Arram whispered.

Ozorne put a hand on his arm. To Arram’s shock, the older boy was chuckling softly. ‘Just wait,’ he murmured.

One of the would-be thieves boosted himself up and over the ledge. The second followed. There was a yelp.

‘Come on!’ Ozorne said. He raced for the door to the building; Arram followed, wondering if he knew any battle spells. He’d learned Ozorne had fighting lessons after university classes four days a week, but he’d had nothing of the kind.

When they entered their room, Ozorne produced a ball of light, one of the few magics they were allowed to do outside class. Arram gasped. Two ragged men lay on the floor. They looked as if they’d fallen into bronze spiderwebs and been rolled up in them.

Curious, Arram went over and poked at the substance. The man inside it spat at him. The webbing itself was far thicker than spiderweb and not sticky, but these men would not be going anywhere until they were freed by a mage. He looked at his new friend.

‘I thought we weren’t allowed to cast anything but tiny spells in our rooms, and only with permission,’ he said, curious and awed.

Ozorne chuckled. ‘Silly lad, I know that. But the university understands I might be a particular temptation to those who don’t value their positions here.’ He walked over to the other bundled thief. ‘Master Chioké cast this trapping spell for me. Would you let the housekeeper know we’ve caught fish in our net?’ he asked Arram. He nudged the man with a toe.

Arram was at the door when he heard his new friend ask softly, ‘Are you Sirajit? I’ll know if you lie.’

That’s right, Arram thought as he knocked on the housekeeper’s door. Ozorne’s father was killed fighting Sirajit rebels. Arram had only been in Carthak for a year then, but he remembered the student in black, and the memorial celebrations for the hero father. Even though Siraj had been part of the empire for years, its mountain people still resisted imperial rule and frequently tried to fight it off.

When he returned with watchmen, Arram found Ozorne still questioning his captives. As far as Arram could tell, the men were unharmed.

Feeling himself to be in the way, he retreated to his own part of the room as the guards chained the would-be robbers and took them out. Ozorne followed them to the door and slipped a few coins into one guard’s hand. ‘For your trouble,’ he told the man.

After closing the door, Ozorne flung himself into Arram’s chair. ‘Gods save us, why are you reading that dusty old thing?’ the prince demanded, looking at a book on Arram’s desk. ‘You don’t even have any class studies – you could read whatever you want. You could read something fun!’

Arram grinned at his new friend. ‘But this is my idea of fun. Is trapping robbers yours?’

‘I don’t like strangers handling my things,’ Ozorne said with a shrug. ‘And now you needn’t worry about more thieves. Once word gets around that our place is trapped, they’ll think the better of it.’

‘Were they actually servants here?’ Arram asked, concerned. ‘I wouldn’t have thought it.’

‘More like family of servants, or acquaintances who overheard who the servants wait on. Word will get around. And I can tell Master Chioké the traps didn’t even leave a mark.’ Ozorne grinned. ‘You now live in the safest room in the dormitories!’

The next morning was their day of worship, for those who chose to do so, and a day of rest for those who chose to relax. Arram heard Ozorne rise early and dress, but he went back to sleep. He had given up religious services not long after his arrival at the university, preferring to take one morning to loll in bed.

It wasn’t long before someone tapped on the door. Ozorne, who had returned, opened it and spoke softly to his guest: Arram recognized Varice’s reply. She asked him something, and Arram heard Ozorne walk closer. He turned over towards the wall and made a grumbling sound, as if he were still asleep. If they were going somewhere, he didn’t want them to feel obligated to ask him along simply because he was Ozorne’s roommate.

Ozorne hesitated, then left, closing the door quietly behind him.

Arram flipped on his back and sighed. He would have liked to go somewhere with them, but his pride got in his way. Pride was a horrible thing, and he wished he didn’t have any, but it was his family’s pride, so he was stuck with it. He didn’t even want to sleep any more.

He had just got dressed when the door swung open.

‘Oh, good,’ Ozorne said. ‘I’m on a mission. I’m not allowed to return to the Northern Gate without you. Varice says you no doubt pretended to be asleep because you thought we were going to invite you because we felt sorry for you, and you are supposed to stop being silly and come along.’

‘But …’ Arram said, knowing he ought to protest.

‘Come on,’ Ozorne insisted. ‘We’re going to lunch in town – my treat – and then there’s a play in the Imperial Theatre. My treat also. She’s right – you are being silly. We wouldn’t invite you if we didn’t like you. I’m much too selfish to do otherwise. You’ll need better shoes than those sandals if you have them.’

Dazed by this whirlwind of information, Arram donned his holiday shoes.

Varice shook a finger at Arram when they joined her. ‘Wicked boy!’ she cried. ‘Never do that again! You’re always invited, until you’re not! That’s our rule! Now, let’s go and have fun.’

Arram did, more than he ever had with his father and grandfather. He made the three-lined Sign against evil when he thought it, and left a copper in a corner shrine to Lady Wavewalker, goddess of the sea and those who sailed on it, but it was still true. It was one thing to walk along the stalls with someone who took interest only in cloth and clothing, being told no every time he asked for something unusual (though they were kind – to a limit – about books and maps). It was another to go with people who looked at the same things he looked at and discussed them; stopped to watch jugglers, fire eaters, acrobats, people who walked rings and balls along their arms and backs, and musicians; pondered over the second- and third-hand volumes at the booksellers; and looked at the animals for sale – only to be forced to leave when Ozorne began to shout at a seller who didn’t clean the dung from the animals’ cages.

‘If I had the power, there would be a law that they would have to keep the animals clean and properly fed,’ Ozorne said, fuming, as Varice and Arram dragged their friend away from the seller. The man shouted obscenities and threats as their party mocked him.

‘Maybe when your cousin is emperor you could ask him for the law,’ Varice suggested.

‘Ha! If he even remembers my name,’ Ozorne retorted. Varice’s face turned sad, and he quickly put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Oh, don’t. I’ll ask, when the day comes. I will.’

They moved on to the theatre and enjoyed themselves thoroughly. That night, when Arram flung himself onto his bed, he was too happy to sleep. They had eaten their supper from the market vendors’ carts, sampling one another’s dishes. He now had a list of new favourites to try in the dining hall. They had watched a puppet show that made them laugh themselves silly, just as they had at the short comedy before the play. The play itself was a heroic one, full of winged horses, a dragon, and a valiant hero. It was thoroughly satisfying, even from the high, cheap seats. Arram was surprised at how carefully his new friend paid out his coin, until Ozorne explained his mother said he must learn to manage his purse.

Arram thought of all of this as he lay in bed and grinned. What a fine day! He had friends!

At breakfast the next morning Varice looked at their bleary eyes and pale faces and smirked.

‘Did you get any sleep?’ she asked as they entered the dining hall.

‘A little,’ Ozorne mumbled. ‘Then he woke me up by scribbling and muttering about immortals. I asked what fascinated him so, and the next we knew it was daybreak.’

‘It was wonderful,’ Arram said. ‘Usually I talk to people about things and they just say “Huh?” or “Don’t ask stupid questions.”’

‘But you’re at the university now,’ Varice protested.

‘We were talking about the banishment of the immortals,’ Ozorne explained.

Varice’s face lit. ‘I don’t suppose you know if they used kitchen witches or hedgewitches, people like that to help, do you?’ she asked Arram. ‘I don’t see how they could have kept the little creatures from escaping without mages to work the smaller magics.’

‘I told you she ought to have been there,’ Ozorne said as he disentangled himself to gather a tray, bowl, and spoon.

Arram did the same, frowning in preoccupation. ‘I think I saw a book somewhere on how regular mages worked against the magics of the small immortals. It was very old but interesting, and it’s written in Common.’ He looked at Varice, who was putting melon and a roll on her tray. Embarrassed, he said, ‘I’m sorry – you’ve probably read it.’

‘No, I haven’t!’ she cried. ‘And I’ll die without it! Would you find it for me?’

Arram grinned at her. He really had found two actual friends, who talked about book things, watched exciting theatre shows, and enjoyed their food!

He took a chance with a personal question. ‘You remember we told you about the robbers, don’t you?’

She halted and cast a look at Ozorne. While they chose their meals, he was settling in at an empty table, out of hearing. ‘Of course I do. It’s just like Ozorne to have a trap laid.’

‘Well, he asked one of the thieves if he was from Siraj. Why would he do that? Because of his father?’

Varice nodded. ‘He took his father’s passing very hard. So did his mother. His sisters are a little better. … I suppose it’s different when you’re a boy. You get ideas, like you should have been there, and you could have saved him. Don’t ask him about it, though.’

‘I won’t – it’s why I came to you,’ Arram assured her.

She handed him an orange, then said quietly, ‘Sometimes he … gets angry if he tangles with someone he believes is from Siraj. His friends – his real friends – do their best to keep him out of that kind of trouble.’

‘Of course,’ Arram said, looking at Ozorne. Their day at the market had been tremendously fun, due to him and to Varice. He’d do anything for them. ‘You can count on me,’ he told her.

THE IMPERIAL UNIVERSITY OF CARTHAK

The School for Mages

The Lower Academy for Youthful Mages

SCHEDULE OF STUDY, AUTUMN TERM, SECOND HALF,

435 H.E.–SPRING TERM, 436 H.E.

Student: Arram Draper

Learning Level: Semi-Independent

Breakfast – Third Morning Bell

Morning Classes

History of the Carthaki Empire

Birds and Lizards: Anatomy

Language: Old Thak

Lunch – Noon Bell

Afternoon Classes

Mathematics

Recognition of Sigils – Second Half Autumn Term

Fish and Shellfish: Anatomy – Spring Term

Analysis of the Written Word: The Technique of Common Writing – Second Half Autumn Term

Analysis of the Written Word: The Technique of Writing: Sigils – Spring Term

Meditation

Supper – Seventh Afternoon Bell

Extra Study at Need

CHAPTER 4

October 16, 435–March 436

They were finishing their supper when Ozorne nudged Varice. ‘I think someone is hunting us.’ Both Varice and Arram looked where Ozorne did: a proctor was pointing to their table.

An older student trotted over to them, waving a length of parchment. ‘Arram Draper?’ he asked when he was close enough to be heard. Ozorne and Varice pointed to Arram. ‘With Headmaster Cosmas’s regards,’ the messenger said, handing his parchment to Arram. ‘You poor young cluck.’

‘If you peeked at that you’d know he’s no cluck!’ Varice shouted after him as the messenger hurried off. She took the parchment from Arram, who did not protest. He would never snatch anything away from her. Only when she and Ozorne had got a thorough look at it did they hand it to Arram: it was his new schedule for the remainder of the term.

He winced. The masters had not been jesting when they had said they were going to make him work. Looking at his afternoon’s studies, he squeaked, ‘I’ll be bored to death!’

‘Not unless the masters say you can die,’ Ozorne replied with a chuckle. ‘Cheer up, my lad. Varice and I have this class with you, and this one. I have this one, and I took these two last term, so you can use my notes.’

‘You can use my notes for this one,’ Varice added, pointing. ‘And I have these two with you. It’ll be all right. You’ll see.’

‘And we can study together,’ Ozorne said cheerfully.

Ozorne also introduced him to the back halls and hidden shortcuts that got them places faster. He showed Arram the university’s many hidden shrines to varied gods, where the friends left small gifts in thanks to the Great Mother; to Mithros, the god of men, boys, and scholars; and to the Black God, who oversaw not only death but also the arts of the mage. In his previous three years Arram had not learned as much about the university as he did with Ozorne and Varice.

One early November night he flung himself onto his bed and went to sleep, leaving the shutters wide open for any bit of cool air that might happen by. As a result, he was roused from his dreams when something dropped onto his face.

His teachers in animal studies all said that animals acted in two ways: fight or flight. Most of the boys boldly proclaimed they were fighters, while they sat at their desks on a bright day. Arram discovered that night that he did neither. Instead he froze as the small creature slapped him repeatedly with a leathery wing.

Slowly, with shaking hands and the greatest of care, he lifted it from his face. It scolded in the softest of squeaks. That and the wings told him that his visitor was a bat. Gently he rose and placed it on his bed, leaving it to flutter there. He’d already noticed that one of the wings wasn’t working. Groping in the dim light of the half moon, he found his candle and flint. Within seconds, he had light enough to see clearly.

His two-inch visitor had broken a wing. This was beyond his skills. He found a basket and placed an old shirt in the bottom, then eased the bat inside as it continued to scold him. It settled somewhat after he took his hands away, quivering as it glared up at him.

‘You’ll be all right,’ Arram assured it as he covered the basket with the shirtsleeves. ‘I’m sure there’s someone who can patch you up. Just be patient.’ Arram dressed quickly and pulled on his sandals.

‘What are you doing over there?’ Ozorne complained sleepily. ‘Don’t tell me you talk in your sleep now.’

‘Oh, good, you’re awake,’ Arram replied. He carried the basket over to Ozorne’s cubicle, nearly tripping on a stack of books. He yelped. ‘Someday you’re going to break a bone this way.’

‘Why? I know where I left them.’ In the dim light from Ozorne’s open window, Arram saw his friend make a twisted hand gesture. The candles on his desk lit.

‘We’re not allowed to do that,’ Arram said wistfully. He in particular was forbidden to do anything of the kind without supervision.

‘Why? Do you think you’ll make your room explode?’ Ozorne looked at Arram, who was tidying the cloth on top of the bat. ‘Mithros save us, you do think you’ll destroy your room.’

‘It was a shed,’ Arram mumbled. ‘And then a pile of old crates. And then they wouldn’t let me work any basic fire spells without a certified mage being present.’ He gulped. ‘They say I’ll grow out of it.’

‘Horse eggs,’ Ozorne retorted. ‘You just need the right teacher.’

‘They say I need to meditate more and control my Gift,’ Arram explained. ‘But never mind me. This little thing is hurt. Can you help?’

‘“Little thing”? What have you got? It had better not be a snake.’ Ozorne carefully raised the shirtsleeves covering Arram’s discovery. ‘A bat!’ He lifted the small animal and inspected her belly. ‘A girl bat, see? You really ought to release her.’

‘No, look – her left wing is broken. It has to be splinted, and she has to be kept quiet. Put her back, please? I’ll get in trouble if she’s in our room—’

Ozorne raised a finger. At last he said, ‘Shoo for a moment. Let me get dressed. We’ll take her to Master Lindhall.’

Arram returned to his mattress, murmuring reassurances to his bat. She had a long muzzle tipped with a pair of nostrils that pointed in different directions. Before he covered her again, he saw that her fur was a dark cinnamon in colour. Her long ears pointed straight up.

She was the first animal who had come his way in a long time. He wanted so badly to keep her! In his first year he had smuggled in a tortoise and several lizards to live under his bed, only to get caught by the proctors. Away went his pets, and he was assigned extra schoolwork for punishment.

‘Won’t we get in trouble?’ he asked his friend softly.

‘Nonsense,’ Ozorne said cheerfully. ‘We’re doing a merciful deed. No one can fault us for rescuing a wounded creature. How did she come to you?’

‘She landed on my face.’

Ozorne was grinning when he joined Arram. ‘I don’t know if your luck is good or bad,’ he whispered as he opened the door. ‘It’s certainly interesting.’ He gestured for quiet, and they tiptoed out of the building.

He led Arram past the dormitories used by the Upper Academy students, who were studying for their mages’ certificates, and the mastery students, who had certificates and now worked on specializations. Torches lit the way. There were always people in the libraries and workrooms, whatever the hour.

Beyond the student dormitories lay buildings for instructors and those masters who were teachers. One of these lay on the southernmost road within university property. Ozorne led him inside, up to the top floor, and down a softly lit hall.

Arram sniffed. The corridor smelled like … plants. And animals. Like the aviary, or an enclosed wing at the menagerie.

Ozorne knocked on a door. ‘I hope I can wake him,’ he told Arram over his shoulder. ‘If he’s been away he’s hard to rouse. Otherwise we’ll have to try his student, and he’s a pain. …’

The door opened abruptly; Ozorne nearly fell in. A light, breathy voice said, ‘It’s the young fellow who’s good with birds. What is so urgent that you must deny me my sleep, Prince Ozorne?’

Ozorne waved Arram forward. ‘My friend has a hurt bat, Master Lindhall.’

‘A bat, is it?’

Arram looked up at Master Lindhall. He’d really thought they’d find one of the master’s student helpers, not the man himself – the man who had said Arram was much too young to study with him. Lindhall inspected him with bright blue eyes. ‘Come in, come in. Quietly – my assistant is asleep.’ He took Arram’s basket and retreated into his rooms.

‘Come along,’ Ozorne whispered when Arram hesitated. ‘Don’t you want to see where he lives?’

They followed the master through a sitting room that doubled as a library. Shelves heavy with books seemed to lean from the walls, ready to collapse on the thick carpets and cushions at any moment. Arram craned to look at the titles, until Ozorne grabbed his arm and towed him down a corridor, passing closed doors. The scent of animal droppings and urine thickened.

The tall man entered a room and left the door open. He set the basket on a long counter and snapped his fingers. Light filled the lamps hanging overhead. When he lowered his hand they dimmed. Arram guessed that this was so they would be easier on the bat’s eyes. He sighed with envy. Would he ever be as effortless in working magic as Ozorne and Master Lindhall?

Lindhall uncovered the bat. ‘Hello, sweetheart,’ he murmured. ‘You’ve had a bad night. You were lucky to find someone kind … Don’t mind my big old hands.’ Gently he lifted the bat from the basket. ‘You, my love, are a common pippistrelle. Your kindred are found along Carthak’s northern shores, along the Inland Sea, on Tortall’s shores, and inland as far north as the Great Road East. You should be thinking about hibernation, but it’s been a warm autumn.’ He carefully placed the bat on her back on Arram’s cloth, spreading the left wing wide. ‘Lovely, my dear. A perfect wing. You tried to feed as often as you could before the rains. It’s worth the risk of a wetting, isn’t it?’

The pippistrelle, who had struggled at first, calmed and watched Master Lindhall with her large dark eyes as if she understood every word. Arram and Ozorne were quiet as well, observing as those big fingers handled the tiny creature.

‘You broke your left wing, and the strongest part, the radius bone. Now, I have small bamboo splints around here somewhere, in a red clay cup …’

Arram saw a number of such cups on a shelf in front of him. They were different sizes, with bamboo and wooden splints of corresponding lengths, from a foot to three inches. He took down the cup of three-inch splints and showed it to Lindhall, who nodded. Ozorne offered a roll of loosely woven cotton to the master, who said, ‘Would you be so good as to cut eight inches of that off for me?’

The boys watched as the man gently splinted the broken bone. He then bound the folded wing to the bat’s side to keep it from moving. Whether it was due to fright, magic, or fascination with Lindhall’s soft commentary, the bat remained still, her eyes fixed on her caretaker.

Finally Lindhall gathered her up and led the boys to a second room. Here a number of recovering animals, including two other bats, were housed in wood or metal cages. Lindhall placed the pippistrelle in one and filled its water dish. ‘My student will feed you later,’ he assured the bat. He ushered the boys into the hall as he cut off the light and closed the door.

Back in his sitting room, he looked at his guests. ‘Still here?’ he asked, shaking his head. ‘You’ll be useless in class in the morning. Off with you! Oh!’ he added as they turned. ‘You did right bringing her to me.’