De · Novo

Oh, the sheer agony of it! Being back in regular classes, that is to say; my second year at Carillon University, and I fear my interest in obtaining a degree, even one as useless as that of languages, is fading quickly. Perhaps Father is right and I'm good for nothing but gambling and wenching. It seems that every day I drag myself into the lecture hall becomes increasingly torturous. I don't know how Rand, Lyssa, and Jader can attend classes and do their homework so dutifully.

I told Stefano how I felt, and he insists that I need to persevere and complete my four years. I told him that none of this was important to me and that my future would be no better or worse for failing to finish, but he was very stubborn about the whole subject.

Still ... the drudgery of it. Perhaps if the work were difficult, I'd be too busy to be bored, but I find the work far too easy. Friday I found myself sitting on that hard wooden bench listening to the professor conjugating verbs and gazing down at Aralia Black's decolletage -- the young lady has a delightful habit of keeping the front of her university gown open, rather than prudishly closing it to the neck, like so many of her peers. At any rate, I learned absolutely nothing from the lecture, and if I'm going to fritter away the hours daydreaming, I could do so much more comfortably in my own chambers or in a companionable tavern.

Ah, well, I am doing nothing but complaining tonight, and it will make dull reading for whoever picks up this journal after my death. I should record Colte's confrontation with Kincaid; perhaps later.

All the fuss over Myrdd's little ringwar hasn't yet died down, and I still feel some shame over parts of it that I fear may eventually reach my family; but had I known how well it would serve as an entree into society, I confess that I may have sought one out much earlier. Even Jader and Lyssa have received some invitations to accompany the three of us exalts to this dance or that card game, and have been introduced during chance encounters on the street as having been involved in the affair. Myrdd, were he a less retiring man, could turn his notoriety into a small fortune, because although in Arquian a man might be mocked behind his back for going through such efforts for a servant, in Saldon for an aristocrat to protect his Companion is considered quite the thing to do and, I think, his escapade has done its part to perpetuate the odd custom.

Although Myrdd has been reluctant to benefit from his sudden popularity, both Rand and I have enjoyed ourselves immensely, if for different reasons. Rand sees the whims of his peers as a great joke and laughs to think that in another week or two their attention will shift to some new curiosity; he attends the parties and dinners and card games with an ironic smile on his face and a tongue quick with a cutting quip. But instead of giving offense, his sarcasm has made him popular, with the excuse I have overheard whispered behind his back, "But that's the way people jest in Candor." And so it is; but if he isn't careful, I fear that someday he'll insult the wrong man and find himself pursued by assassins during Storm Season. The Saldonians indulge all vices and smile affably at all insults, saving up their grudges for the sharp knives of winter.

My enjoyment has been more honest, because I nurture ambitions. With the support of Rhian Gallimaunes, who has given me the honor of paying her my most intimate respects again since this ringwar, I have been brought into the houses of some of the most powerful men and women on the island.

Cesar Sinistri of House Pendaryn invited me again, and spoke to me briefly about politics. They say he has his eye on wresting the throne from Archon Salane. Cesar and Salane have clashed before, I'm told, but the archon hasn't yet managed to kill Cesar because of the exalt's precautions, which I have heard includes a veritable army of blackmailers, informants, bodyguards, and spies. I will tread carefully there; while he would be a good man to have as an ally should he win the throne, I am wary of his house's motto: Mors tua, vita mea, or, "You must die so that I may live."

I have also visited House Childe and House Beauquier, the latter run by the charming but madcap Exalt Alves Kit, and the latter by the amiable but phlegmatic Nairn Aout. Exalt Jean Gaunt of House Sangreal spent several hours conversing with me about weapons over a game of whist, and I believe I favorably impressed him, as he spent several years in the navy and is one of the few exalts on Saldon who has seen true battle. Our conversation impressed those who overheard us, and for once my realm's bloody habits may stand me in good stead, as if there's one thing a Saldonian admires, it's bravery.

With all of this, however, I have had too little time for Stefano, who has thrown angry words at me regarding what he says is my neglect; and there is some truth to the accusation, as I've been careful to act the complaisant gallant in society and have struck up several understandings among my newfound acquaintances that, while limited so far to amusing games, promise to eventually reach the final goal to which all lovers aspire. So, I must take the time to sweeten my mage's mood; classes begin next week, and once we begin to see each other on campus more often, I'm certain I can make him forget his jealousy.

We stayed at Myrdd’s house that night; it was more crowded than staying at ours, but we thought that if anybody were to look for him — a physician’s runner, for example, or a Sword — they’d go there, first. But there was no news, and the next morning we went to work early, rousting out everybody we knew to help look for Sergeant Geoffrey Tobias. Captain Meurer’s Swords had already started the search, checking the sergeant’s flat and posting a patrol along the docks in case he tried to slip out with a ship. While Myrdd was checking on Gavier’s state, Stefano, with the captain’s permission, went into the sergeant’s rooms and prepared a third talisman. I asked him later if the process of creating a talisman is tiring; he told me it isn’t, but I know he was looking drawn after making the second one the evening before, so I don’t believe him.

Gavier had regained consciousness enough to tell Myrdd that the sergeant had, indeed, been involved. It was late morning on the ninth when we followed Stefano and his talisman down to the port. We found the sergeant hiding in a seedy inn that was more of a brothel than anything else; Rand and I held Myrdd back long enough for Jader to serve up the ring challenge. Tobias could have refused it; if he had, he would have been arrested by the captain, who was with us. But he chose to accept it, signing his name as the defendant. He had six hours, by the laws of the challenge, to round up his faction and get them signed up, as well.

Everybody criticizes Arquian for its duels, border skirmishes, and blood feuds, but at least we fight in hot blood. Saldon’s system is peculiarly unsavory, to me, with its cold-blooded paperwork and rules and faction armbands. Where’s the honor? But we checked in again on Gavier — falling into a fever — and then tried to snatch a few more hours of sleep before the challenge would officially begin. This time we stayed in our own apartments, where it was easier to find sleeping room for all of us.

The goal of the ring challenge is, apparently, to keep fights regulated and controlled. Damaging another’s property or causing harm to anybody who isn’t a member of the faction is strictly illegal, and combat is constrained to hand-to-hand weapons, I presume also to minimize the number of incidental casualties ... or perhaps Saldon’s assassin’s guild is simply protecting its monopoly. The armbands warn observers that fighting may break out, and we swiftly found that wherever we went, people sidestepped and avoided us, albeit with the greatest curiosity.

The confrontation came that evening, in the Market Square, just as the day markets were clearing out and the night markets starting to open. The factions were even, as required by the challenge rules: five to a side. Stefano was with us, as he’d been all day, but as soon as we saw Tobias and his swordsmen, all in their armbands, he stood aside along with the rest of the crowd. I had spent considerable time the night before convincing him that he was too valuable to risk his life in a swordfight!

It was a brawl, pure and simple, but one in which we desired nothing more than to kill each other. Our side had the disadvantage; Tobias had picked a crew of rogues accustomed to combat, whereas only Rand and I were truly skilled swordsmen, and I think I was the only one who’d ever seen true battle. But I was right about one thing: when Myrdd is angry, he forgets to fear his opponent’s sword.

Well, the first clash was inconclusive; we badly crippled one of them and injured several others, but we took the same, Lyssa and Jader especially, since they weren’t using swords. As if my mutual agreement, both of our factions broke up and retreated into the dusk to recover. Lyssa was furious when we forbade her to fight anymore, but she’d been cut up too badly, including a nasty slash across her upper leg that would make it difficult for her to fight, anyway. Jader had also taken several wounds, but he was too big to be incapacitated that easily. Myrdd, Rand and I were relatively unscathed; a few nicks and scratches, but we’d held our own. Tobias’ men were trained fighters, but not used to facing the same.

We fought again the next day, the tenth, twice. The first time was ugly; Tobias’ faction tried to attack us in my apartment while we were sleeping, which infuriated me — fortunately, our door was sturdy enough to withstand their first three blows, giving us time to grab our weapons and scramble into the parlor to drive them back when they burst in. I fear my neighbors are even more irritated with me now than when we’d played kickball in the courtyard. We did drive them back, at last; they’d gambled on surprising us and killing us half-asleep, but it seems they’d expected a door as flimsy as those of the tenement in which we’d found Gavier, not one made of solid oak. Still, I hadn’t realized the rules of a ring challenge included such dishonorable tactics; now I know better.

The second time we found them, using those rough-looking friends of Gavier’s to track the sergeant down to a tavern where he and the three other members of his faction were eating. We came in from the front and back, leaving the doors open behind us and shouting “Ring challenge!” to clear out the bystanders as quickly as possible — and clear out they did. This time we approached the combat more intelligently; Rand, Jader and I fought defensively to keep the others away from Myrdd and Tobias so that the two primaries could settle the matter for once and for all. I would have preferred to be the one fighting Tobias, but it wasn’t my challenge, and it would have been wrong to gang up on him with Myrdd. Still, I think we were all expecting the worst. Tobias was a Sword, a hard man trained to subdue drunkards and criminals, whereas Myrdd was a technical swordsman in less than perfect physical shape.

But Myrdd prevailed, partially by luck. Tobias swung too far back on a high strike, and Myrdd thrust in, capitalizing on the only real advantage a dueling rapier has against a heavier military blade. Tobias yanked his weapon back quickly in a cut and managed to slice Myrdd’s upper arm, but Myrdd didn’t flinch; he kept his attack long and clean and pierced Tobias under the left breast. Tobias yanked himself off the steel, howling in pain. His faction faltered then and I took advantage of their hesitation to turn and check Myrdd, whose sleeve was soaked crimson. His eyes were dark and flat as he stepped forward again, batting aside Tobias’ awkward defense, and ran the sergeant through.

That was the end of it; the rest of the faction conceded the victory, as was only natural, and we waited for the Swords to come and officially close the challenge. A physician was called for Myrdd’s wound, which was deep and long, but Myrdd seemed almost oblivious to the pain. I was to learn a day or two later from Rand that Myrdd had taken a large dose of lethe after the morning attack to calm his nerves, and then kethen to counteract the lethe’s soporific effects; no wonder he was able to ignore such a painful slash! And perhaps those drugs were to blame for the ease with which he killed a man who had already, clearly, lost the fight.

Of course, the matter didn’t end with Tobias’ death. It seems that ring challenges are rare enough to be newsworthy, and the Saldon Herald covered this one for several days. Although none of our faction would talk to any of the grubby journalists pestering us, Tobias’ faction was less reticent. “Graf Lede,” that good-looking but gossipy writer whom I’d met several months ago, especially pestered me for quotes, but I refused to say anything about what was, really, meant to be a private matter, and I fear he was piqued by my reticence, as he managed to dig up and print information on my last two unofficial (and illegal) fights from “anonymous sources” — Damand, Chart, or Mark, I’m certain. The whole thing was, and still is, an embarrassment, and confirms my opinion that duels were not meant to be public spectacles.

Moreover, as a result of the publicity, several of the locals from the tenement in which we’d found Gavier swore out complaints against Myrdd, Rand, and I, for injuries and one death in our hallway assault. That took several days to settle; it would have taken much longer had we let it go to court (I think we could have reasonably argued self-defense, as they had attacked first), but the three of us decided it would be faster to pay the complainants off, and they were greedily eager to allow us to do so. But in all of the furor I forgot about my examinations, and indeed I would have been sadly unprepared for them even had I remembered. So, I failed to pass my class on nalseku, which only grieves me insofar as it means I will need to take it again ... and that I wasted too many weeks of my summer in a lecture hall when they would have been more profitably spent on more entertaining past-times.

Gavier is still weak but much recovered, though he was feverish and ill for five days while the physicians fought back an infection caused by, I’m told, fabric carried into his wound when he was stabbed. Apparently Tobias and the other two men had beaten him soundly after they’d taken him to the tenement room, Tobias ranting about being left and swearing he’d make Myrdd pay dearly for Gavier’s use. But he and one of the men had left to buy liquor when we burst in; I can only imagine what would have happened had we come any later. As it is, Gavier has the stab wound, several cracked ribs, a number of broken fingers, and scrapes and bruises all over from being kicked and punched. Myrdd, of course, has been brooding over whether his Companion’s miserable state is his fault. I don’t know Gavier’s feelings on the matter; I don’t know him well enough to talk to him about any but the most superficial matters when I visit his sickbed. I suppose it’s possible he blames Myrdd, too, for causing the event which set all of this off — he may blame me, for that matter. But I know better than to blame myself for another man’s actions, and I have done my best to convince Myrdd of the same fact.

In the meantime, we have all received several invitations; apparently the Herald’s coverage has made us temporarily fashionable, or at least pleasantly scandalous. I have turned down those from strangers and people I can safely refuse, but Rhian Gallimaunes has asked Rand and I to lunch again, and I expect she will want to hear everything.

I had been in Myrdd’s house only one other time, when I called on him to ask his advice about last winter’s political intrigue; he has never thrown a party or held a dinner, to my knowledge, but I had remembered correctly that while modest in size and humble in location, his house was well-appointed with graceful antiques and faded but warm rugs and tapestries: no doubt the remnants of his family’s former glory. Myrdd showed us to Gavier’s room (thus answering a rather base question I’d often entertained), which was, not surprisingly, equivalent to the rest of the house in furnishing; no mere servant’s quarters for a Companion, it seems.

Stefano found the items of Gavier’s that he needed and brought them to the dining room table, where he began to consult with Jader on the various other materials he would need to create the talisman. Although Myrdd stayed with them to assist, Rand and I had nothing to contribute, so we both casually strolled around the house, taking the opportunity to learn more about our taciturn friend. Yet despite this chance to satiate my curiosity, I regularly returned to watch as Stefano worked, bent over the table, long black hair spilling over his shoulders, scarred hands carefully marking sigils on parchment and painstakingly folding it into a sort of small envelope. I had never seen him pursuing his profession before, and it was simultaneously delightful and disturbing. Delightful, because he is so lovely when he’s intent on his work, whether in bed, a fish stall, or leaning over a talisman in the process of being shaped. Disturbing, because it was a reminder that he is ahead of me in his studies; that he will graduate in two more years, truly Magister Montresor. I have sworn to assist him to that point, but it will be strange to see him reach it.

At last the talisman was finished, a small box of parchment folded many times over, so that the sigils Stefano had written all over both sides now seemed to criss-cross each other and form brand new arcane patterns. Inside the paper box were several unpleasant items: strands of Gavier’s hair, a used handkerchief bearing his initials, a note in his handwriting, and other odds and ends I hadn’t marked carefully when Myrdd had provided them. All, however, were linked to him in some material way; I finally understood the reference to “contagion” that Jader had made.

“How will it work?” Myrdd asked, standing close to Stefano, hands clenched at his sides. Stefano took a deep breath. “I can’t guarantee —” “I know. But you have to try.” Stefano nodded, and I moved closer, to sit across the table from him and lend him my silent support. He squared his shoulders. “I’ll use it to try to call him,” he said. “If the call takes, there’ll be a link between us that will guide me to him, unless he’s ... shielded by avertiis, or more powerful sorcery.” Or dead, I thought, and I saw my thoughts reflected in everyone else’s eyes, but none of us said the words aloud. “But the talisman is fragile; it’s going to start to consume itself, and when it’s gone, I’ll lose the link. So we’ll need to hurry.” “How long will it last?” Lyssa asked, breathlessly, staring at Stefano with wide eyes. He shrugged awkwardly. “I used as much material as I could, in short time,” he said. “But it’s all so ... maybe half an hour, at best.” Jader nodded. “Could you make more than one talisman?” Myrdd asked. Stefano nodded. “Yes, but ... how long do you want to wait, Exalt Arvais?” Myrdd ran a hand over his mouth, then shook his head. “We’ve already waited too long,” he said, harshly. “Let’s go.”

“We should do it outside, by one of the Great Stairs,” I said, as Stefano picked up the box. “The Sword may have hidden him on d’Avenent, but if not, we want fast access to the other terraces.” Everyone nodded, and we hurried back outside to Whisper Stair. There, in the twilight and glowing lamplight, Stefano fixed all of his attention on the box and whispered a phrase that meant nothing to me, except for the words “Gavier Palistern.”

The result was, I fear, anticlimactic. Nothing visible changed — magic really ought to make a noise, or cause a flash of bright light, oughtn’t it? — but Stefano winced. “Down,” he said, cradling the parchment box close to his chest with one hand while he hurried down the wide marble steps. I took a place on his right, and Myrdd flanked him on the left. Rand, Lyssa, and Jader followed.

We went only one terrace down, to Lucerne, and Stefano nearly jumped down the side steps into Feather Street and took off at a run. We all hurried after him, easterly, into one of those poor neighborhoods so haphazardly scattered about the closely packed island. We dodged piles of garbage not yet hauled to the trash courtyards and shoved past staring locals until Stefano stopped at a series of crooked, plaster-peeling buildings built along the terrace edge near Rising Stars Stair. I caught his arm and steadied him as he swayed. Perhaps fifteen minutes had passed since he’d activated the talisman. The people who lived in the neighborhood stared at us from their perches on stoops, open doorways, open windows, and the street itself. Some children were playing kickball, not far away, but otherwise conversations had all died down.

“He’s in there,” Stefano said, pointing with his free hand. Myrdd drew his sword and I followed suit. “Remember,” I said, “we haven’t filed a formal challenge yet — if we kill anyone, it’s murder.” “I don’t care,” Myrdd whispered, moving forward. I glanced behind me at Rand, who shrugged expressively and stepped up beside me. “Stefano, stay here,” I ordered. “Lyssa, Jader, will you watch the exits?” “I don’t need to be kept out of danger,” Lyssa snapped, glaring at me. What could I do? Myrdd was already across the street and at the door, so I ran up to him and hoped we could effect this rescue without bloodshed.

Of course, my hope was in vain.

Myrdd threw the door open and stepped in first, as was his right, but Rand and I crowded close behind. The building was some kind of tenement, as low as all Saldonian buildings but filthy and run down to an extent I’d never seen before on this island. Stefano, ignoring my orders as everyone else had, was trying to shout directions from the crowded doorstep, but inside, a group of young toughs was challenging our right to barge in with bare blades, and an assortment of knives and clubs and broken bottles were appearing around us. We were shouting back our desire to rescue a kidnapped friend, but to no avail; a bottle was thrown, the mob surged, and we were pressed against the walls in quarters too close for decent swordfighting. The onlookers outside took heart from the resistance inside and began to push from the other side; I heard Stefano cry out with alarm but couldn’t do a thing. Jader was shouting and Lyssa making some sort of warlike whooping sound, while Rand was swearing under his breath and Myrdd fighting in grim silence, his technical but uninspired swordsmanship sufficient in this fight.

I can’t say how long the fight went; probably not so long at all, based on my past experiences. At last we broke through to the stairs and were better able to hold our ground. Standing on a step, I was able to glance outside, where I saw that the mob had fallen back some. At last the final few combatants in the hallway turned and fled, stepping on the bodies of the fallen. We didn’t hesitate, but ran upstairs, throwing open doors right and left, and breaking down those that had been blocked shut with cheap locks or chairs under the handles. I was the one who found Gavier, in the third room I checked, although at first I could only guess it was him. He was huddled in a corner covered with blood, and I shouted for Myrdd and Rand as I hurred to check whether he was alive. He’d been bound and gagged and beaten very badly, and it seemed that one of his captors had tried to kill him before, apparently, escaping through the open window — he’d been stabbed in the side and his shirt was covered with blood.

After we’d done what we could to bind the wound, Jader lifted him up and he, Lyssa, and Myrdd hurried off to take Gavier to a physician. Stefano, whom I was relieved to see was unharmed except for a few bruises from clubs he’d been unable to dodge quickly enough, volunteered to go to d’Avenent to tell Captain Meurer what had happened, but I dissuaded him, certain that we must have killed a few of our enemies below and in no hurry to be publicly scourged, tortured, or killed under Saldon’s laws. Instead, we looted the room and found a scratched-out draft of a ransom note that bore no signature but was addressed to Myrdd, and various articles of clothing and possessions that suggested this was somebody’s dwelling place. “Can you make a talisman to trace this person?” I asked, holding up the clothes and the note. Stefano flinched. “I can try. They may not belong to the same person, and it’s harder without a name.” “Try,” I ordered, so we bundled up everything we could find, including Stefano wiping off the windowsill and outer wall in the hope of picking up dirt from the captor’s shoes, and then we hurried away. Some people gave us sullen looks as we left, but none offered further challenge.

We headed back to Myrdd’s house, the appointed meeting-spot, where we were surprised to find the door open and Captain Meurer waiting there, along with a number of ragged and unsavory-looking characters. The captain seemed equally as surprised to see us, and for a moment we faced off, hands on weapons. Then Rand quickly reported that Gavier had been found, which seemed to mobilize the rag-tag group of strangers. They rushed out, leaving Captain Meurer and ourselves alone. “I haven’t found Sergeant Tobias,” he reported, without providing any explanation for his presence or the others. “I’ve issued a warrant for his arrest.” He drew a leather wallet from his coat pocket and handed it to us. “I’ve taken the liberty of drawing up these papers.”

Stefano was already spreading out the things we’d found and was pulling paper and parchment toward him. Rand and I read the papers and found them to be a license to challenge under the RiError running style: Style code didn't finish running in a timely fashion. Possible causes:

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