Cold Steel
Page 208
The youth was so thin he looked as if a breeze might blow him over. “We haven’t the apprentice fee to pay to the guilds, me and my people.”
“If I gave you that fee, would you choose a blacksmith’s forge? For I will make you risk your life, right now, if you wish to join my company.”
The lad stammered. “I wouldn’t mind the blacksmith’s guild. It’s an honorable life. In a few years I could give my parents a cow. Men will pay a bride price to marry my sisters, if I’m a blacksmith. My parents can’t afford to lose me. I’m the only son they have.”
“Very well.” Drake gestured. An attendant counted out coins into the lad’s hand as the boy gaped at this largesse. “Our kind are sorely ill-used here in Europa, the lands of our birth. Go with my blessing. Make a good life for yourself.”
As the lad hurried off into the night, Drake again bent his eye on the stocky young man. “Will you risk your life for a chance to join my company of mages?”
“I’m not afraid!”
“Better if you were. Fire knows no mercy. But very well. To weave fire, you must cast the backlash of the flame into another body. Otherwise it will burn you up from inside. I will raise an unlit candle. Put a spark to it. As you feel the answering burn from that combustion in your own flesh, throw it like a rope into the body of this catch-fire.”
A candle and two lamps burned at Drake’s feet. He blew them out. All sat in darkness lightened only by stars and a rising crescent moon.
“Be cautious,” added Drake. “Even the lighting of one candle can kill a fire mage.”
“I can light a candle!” boasted the young fellow.
With a snap the candle’s wick flared. Then, as in echo, the two lamp wicks began burning with a bright golden flame.
“Throw the thread of fire into the catch-fire,” said Drake. “Think of casting a line from a boat to the shore.”
The youth staggered, clapping a hand to his chest, and dropped to his knees choking. His face got very red. The lamp flames flared with such brilliance that I blinked. Then he toppled over, mouth open, tongue black, and a trickle of blood coming out of his ears.
Men dragged the body away as the others watched in silence.
“You never asked me,” said the third supplicant, a girl about Luce’s age.
Drake pulled off a glove. The skin was red and flaking, mottled with so many burn scars it was a wonder he could use his hands at all. He knelt and pinched out both flames. “I have nothing to ask you. The blacksmiths do not admit women to their guild. They teach them only how to lock away their fire. So either you will go home or you will try your luck.”
“Do you mean us to die?” she asked boldly. Maybe the darkness gave her courage.
“No, not at all. If you have the knack of casting off the backlash, I will train you to hone that skill and nurture your fire. But even the best-trained fire mage can die. And you must be willing to see others die, for if you make one mistake with your catch-fires, as you will, their bodies will be served as this man’s was.”
“My bridges are burned. My home will be here, or in the spirit world.”
She took in a sharp breath. The candle took flame. She sucked in a pained inhalation; I smelled a pinprick of ashy smoke. Light sparked in her eyes. Then a glowing thread spun out from her like an unwinding coil and streamed into the body of the nearest catch-fire. The man stiffened, arms rigid at his side, but the backlash was more trickle than roar.
The girl’s lips parted, and her eyes widened. Her hands raised to press at her mouth. The candle’s light danced along her pale skin. The rest of the world lay in shadow.
“Enough,” said Drake. “You have a light touch, as women often do. If you wish to walk this road, you may enlist.”
She dropped to her knees so abruptly I thought she was falling, but she was just stunned. The catch-fire relaxed as the backlash vanished. The candle burned on.
“Yes, that is my wish,” said the girl through tears.
“Remain here then, and assist with the hospital tomorrow. Under no circumstances attempt even to light a candle, not until we have had time to train you in the preliminaries.”
“Yes, my lord. Yes!” By the way she gazed raptly at him, I saw the cage he wove: He gave the fledgling fire mages a life otherwise denied them.
I fled to the library. It hurt to entertain the idea that Drake might be right about one thing.
Rory still slept. Camjiata sat alone at the desk, studying a map. He did not look up as I crept across the plush rug, for of course I was veiled in shadows.