Chapter Eight

Daverrek stared at the iveri. It stared back at him, its ears pinned back. He held his ground. What do you want? He took a deep breath and tried to understand the animal. It was afraid. Its owner was dead, killed in the fight for Puddlerock. Had it been fed? He didn’t know. But the animals definitely grazed, and there was no grass where this one was tied.

He pulled a piece of carrot from his pocket. He had saved it from last night’s stew, and it was rubbery and dirty, but when he held it out to the iveri, it was snatched away instantly. The carrot vanished into a many-toothed maw, and the animal’s ears came forward a little. Daverrek reached out to touch its muzzle, but the iveri pulled back with such force that the rope securing it nearly snapped.

“Whoa, whoa,” Daverrek murmured, trying to calm it down. “Don’t hurt yourself, now.” He took the rope and worked his way up it, toward the animal. He had to leap back when those jaws came snapping at his face.

Think! They’re not like horses, they’re not going to be satisfied just because there’s a person in charge. You’re going to need to…. He sat down in the mud of the makeshift enclosure. The beast was frightened, not because there was no one in control but because there was someone in control, and it didn’t know if it could trust that person. The iveri wanted to know if Daverrek was a threat. It wanted to know if he would take care of it. So Daverrek made himself as small and nonthreatening as he could, and let the iveri come to him.

He sat there for several minutes before a soft nose brushed against his neck. He tensed up involuntarily, and the iveri snorted in alarm. He relaxed quickly and didn’t move. I gave you food. I’m okay. I’m not going to hurt you. The nose snuffled around his neck, and Daverrek remained motionless. He let the iveri sniff him thoroughly before he slowly raised his head to look at it. When the animal ignored him, he carefully reached out and patted its muzzle gently. “Shhh,” he whispered.

Within a few minutes, the iveri was letting him groom it. Its fur was much longer and woollier than horse hair, but Daverrek found a thick brush that worked fairly well. He sensed that his cause was not hurt when he found an itchy spot behind the iveri’s shoulders and gave it a good scratch. He stayed away from the animal’s head for the most part, especially its ears. That was standard procedure for horses. He wasn’t sure if it applied to woolly cat wolf monsters, but with jaws like that, he didn’t want to push too hard.

“Nice. Regular beastmaster.”

Daverrek jumped. He hadn’t heard the scout chief approach. Which was to be expected, really. Ryyk was silent as an inagov. “Sir,” he said.

“Mm. Got a report. Take it down to the general.”

“Me, sir?” Daverrek said in surprise.

“You. I’m busy.” Ryyk handed the scout a rolled-up hide. “Go. Quick. You can get breakfast after.”

Daverrek took the hide and jogged back toward the camp center. He’d come back and get his horse kit later, maybe spend a little more time with the iveri.

It was a pleasant morning, as far as Cuisienne went. Not overcast, for the first time that Daverrek had seen. He had gotten up early to spend time with the iveri, which were tied outside of the camp so as not to upset the horses. He had done so every day since they had landed. He was good with animals. And he was a scout, albeit a junior one, which gave him a more flexible schedule than most of the army, so he could try to prove himself that way. A talent with animals wasn’t as useful as, say, a talent with a sling or bow might be, but it was what he had.

The Song pulsed in the back of his head, reminding him that he had one other talent. No! He shoved it away. It was wildly dangerous to remain a free mage in Vloss, and practically suicide in the army, but it was better than admitting his ability to the authorities. Those who could hear the Song were taken by the state and put through rigorous testing. He would have to prove first that he had perfect control of the Song, which he didn’t, and then he would have to prove that he was a strong caster, which he wasn’t. And failing the tests meant death. No, hiding was the only option. Even if it meant that he was a free mage, not a person.

He arrived at the command tent quickly. It was really a pavilion, with four walls and a peaked roof. Daverrek had never been inside. He rapped on the canvas flap that covered the entrance with his free hand. Undergeneral Paervorenth opened the flap.

Daverrek bowed his head and clasped his fists in a gesture of respect. “Sir. A report—“

“Yes, yes, come in,” the undergeneral said, holding the flap open.

Daverrek blinked and stepped inside. Most of the space in the tent was taken up by a large wooden table, which was covered with a variety of papers and books. Openings in the roof of the tent let in light. There were three more people inside—Duchess Devenkyos, General Adryngar, and oh Emperor it’s him. It was the lone battlemage, the one with the steel helmet. Daverrek could feel his gaze. He couldn’t remember the man’s name. Don’t be stupid, he can’t have any reason to think that you can hear the Song, and even the best battlemages have to focus on you to tell.

“Are you the one who went east?” The general was talking to him. Daverrek snapped to attention.

“No, sir. I’m just here to deliver a report from Scoutmaster Ryyk, sir.”

The general held out a gauntleted hand. Daverrek handed him the hide. The general unrolled it and read it quickly. “Sorak. He’s the one who brought in the dead iveri. And he’s the only scout who was scheduled to report back by today and hasn’t. I think it’s a fair bet they did go east. Probably skirting settled areas, heading back to Kinnsrest. Strange, I wouldn’t have pegged her as the type to run away. If the pursuit group we sent out last night doesn’t catch her, then there’s nothing more we can do. She’ll escape to Eldden.”

“We’ll have to speed up operations considerably,” the duchess said. “Our hold on Cuisienne needs to be secure before any other barbarians start getting ideas.”

“Agreed,” the undergeneral said. “It’s time we set up a base to the southeast. That river is the best way into this country. Should Eldden, or anyone else, attack before we do, we should be ready to fend them off there.”

“There is a way to block them out.” Daverrek’s blood ran cold at the sound of the battlemage’s voice, deep and flinty. “The advance spy mentioned a formation on the river. A sort of natural bridge, one that stops all foot traffic along the river, and narrows the waterway considerably. Such a thing could be used as a gate.”

The general nodded slowly. “Yes. A fortified position that gives us control of the river. Ideal. But we must not give up our position here. Eldden might very well try to retake Cuisienne by sea. I want garrisons all along the coast before we move into Eldden. When all the scouts return, we’ll have enough information to pick our positions.”

“Shall we recall Uskran from the west?” the undergeneral asked.

“Yes. Judging from the reports we’ve collected from there, we have very little to fear in that quarter. I want him to leave reinforcements in coastal villages, though, just in case. Any word from Tansul?”

“He’s still working on the caves,” the duchess said. “Puddlerock’s section is largely sealed off, and he has people in almost every inland village doing something similar. Soon we should be in control of all cave traffic.”

“Excellent,” the general said. “Let’s start moving southeast in force. I want at least a brigade here, and a battalion in each ardienn’s capital. We are not having any more revolts. And—“ He paused and turned to look at Daverrek. The others did the same. “Why are you still here?”

“I thought you might have a message for Scoutmaster Ryyk, sir.”

“I don’t. Good thought, but in future, when you’re delivering messages, if someone finishes reading it and doesn’t say otherwise, there’s no reply. You’re dismissed.”

Daverrek bowed and backed out of the tent, his heart racing. Emperor, the bloody lone battlemage had been looking right at him. Emperor. Had there been suspicion there? Did he know? Had he guessed?

Daverrek no longer felt any desire to eat. His stomach was knotted with worry. He went back to the iveri and packed up his horse kit, the animal flicking its ears at him, its eyes hopeful. He looked at it for a moment before nodding and heading to the kitchens, which were not far away.

A slave, one of the new ones from Puddlerock’s rebellion, handed him a bowl of some kind of vegetable stew and a heel of bread. Daverrek thanked him and took the stew back out of the camp to the iveri. He offered the animal the bowl. The iveri sniffed the stew suspiciously, snorted, and cautiously licked at its surface. It jerked away, then came close again and tried another lick. Soon it was lapping greedily at the bowl.

Daverrek took advantage of its occupation and patted it gently, trying to get the iveri used to his touch. They were making good progress. He made to offer the bread to the next iveri over, but the first one raised its head from the stew and bared its teeth.

“Sorry,” Daverrek said to both of them. He held the bread up to show the first iveri and tore it in half with his teeth. He passed one half to the other iveri, which snatched it from his hand, nearly taking his forefinger with it. The first iveri narrowed its eyes and pinned its ears back, but continued eating, its eyes fixed on the remaining half of bread.

“Grabby things, aren’t you?” Daverrek said, amused. He worked his fingers through the iveri’s stiff, coarse mane. The beast snorted lightly. “Will you shape up if you start getting regular food, eh?”

“I would not count on it.”

Daverrek felt a huge burst of fear. The battlemage. Emperor, where’d he come from?

The lone battlemage, the high-ranking one with the steel helm, was standing there, a little ways away from the iveri, his gloved hands clasped behind his back as ever. “These beasts make a fine meal. I believe the cooks intend to continue using them for that purpose.”

Daverrek did not answer. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

“Are you disappointed?”

Shit, now he had to answer. “They’re good beasts, sir,” he said in what he hoped was a steady voice. “Useful, I think.”

“More useful than a horse?”

Daverrek considered. Just think about the iveri. Just about the iveri. Focus on the iveri. Immerse yourself in them, don’t think about the Song. “I’m not sure yet, sir. They’re predators, yes, more useful in a fight than a horse, and they’re herd animals, which makes them reasonably compliant, although they’re not nearly as easy as horses and I don’t think they could carry as heavy a load. They’ve got nice big paws though, so they’re probably less prone to foot problems.”

“So you would recommend that we learn to use them as the Runers do?”

“I can’t say for certain, sir. I’d need to see one in action with a good rider first.”

“The scoutmaster tells me that you are skilled with animals. Do you have any… shall we say, instincts on this matter? A gut feeling, perhaps?”

Oh, Emperor. He knows. He knows. He has to know. “No, sir. Just not enough information yet.” Oh, Emperor, he had spoken too quickly, the battlemage had to know, he’d be checking Daverrek for the Song any moment now, and then it would be over, free mages were too dangerous to be left alive….

“You are afraid.” The voice was almost a hiss, like there was a serpent coiled up inside that helm, a great black-clad snake ready to strike. “Why are you afraid?”

Daverrek struggled to find his voice. It seemed to have died within him. He’s going to kill me. He’s going to feed me to the inagovs like he did to that other free mage. “Sorry, sir. Mages frighten me, sir.”

“Do not lie to me,” the voice said, and now it was a croon, soft and gentle, the serpent soothing its prey. “Why are you afraid, little free mage?” The battlemage stepped closer, the voice growing ever softer, the words slow and measured. “Are you afraid of what we do to your kind? Are you afraid of the inagovs?”

Daverrek was shaking and sweating now. He couldn’t speak. He tried to. He tried. But his tongue wouldn’t do what he asked. He felt the iveri shift nervously next to him.

“We do, in fact, feed free mages to the inagovs,” the voice murmured. “We most certainly do. Your kind is too dangerous for the rest of us to suffer your presence in this world. It was free mages that nearly destroyed the Emperor. It is because of free mages that we require an Imperial Regent. So we let the inagovs destroy all trace of you. We let them freeze your flesh and consume it. This is how we keep Vloss safe from your treachery.”

A cold—too cold, why is he so cold—black-gloved hand gripped his shoulder. It hurt. The battlemage’s fingers were as strong as a steel trap. “Unfortunately,” that voice whispered in his ear, “I will not let the inagovs have you just yet. There is something strange here, and I do not have the time to investigate it myself. Can you feel it?” The voice dropped even lower. “Can you feel something, free mage? Can you hear the whisper at the edge of the Song? Listen.”

Daverrek listened. For the first time in years, he opened himself fully to the Song. He let its warm, comforting light envelop his mind, shielding him, telling him everything there was to know about his surroundings. He could feel the rate of the iveri’s breathing. He could hear people talking in the camp. He knew that there were four kinds of seeds in the mud under his feet. He could feel a storm coming in the air, though the clouds above were white and fluffy, the sky between them sweet and blue. He could feel his heart hammering away in his chest.

He did not dare listen to anything the Song told him about the battlemage.

“Listen past yourself. Ignore your environment. Listen to the Song itself. Reach for it.”

He did. He tuned out the things around him and listened. For a time he heard only the Song, soothing him, its golden light pouring through him.

Then he felt something. Only for an instant, but it was there. Beyond the light of the Song, beyond magic, beyond the elements, beyond life, there was other. For one terrifying instant, there was something so else in the Song that Daverrek jerked away from it.

Then it was gone. He released the Song, and fear came rushing back to him so strongly that he nearly vomited.

The hand on his shoulder had grown colder. The voice had lost its croon. The serpent was coiling. “You sensed it. You felt the shadow at the edge of hearing. Then it has grown stronger. Strong enough for use, perhaps. You will be my servant in this. Continue with your duties. I will give you further instructions later.” The trap on his arm released him, and the battlemage left, striding purposefully back to camp.

Daverrek sank down to the mud, his back against the post the iveri was tied to. He was shivering violently. He knows. Emperor, if I do anything wrong, he can kill me whenever he wants. And what had the thing been in the Song? He had never felt anything like that before. He briefly considered that the battlemage might have been toying with his senses, but he discarded that possibility almost at once. He hadn’t felt the thing with his senses, and anyway he had been wrapped in the Song, he would have noticed if the battlemage—Djamer, that’s his name, his name is Djamer—had been casting.

It was too much. His worst fear had been realized. He could no longer simply be a slave earning his freedom. Djamer could reveal him as a free mage and have him executed at any time. He belonged to the other mage now, and he always would. Even once he had served his allotted time, he doubted that the battlemage would allow him to leave the army. He would remain Djamer’s servant.

He put his head in his hands. Emperor.

A whiskery nose brushed up against his neck. The iveri wanted its bread. Daverrek fed it to the beast and picked up the bowl from where it had fallen in the mud. He scratched the iveri’s neck absentmindedly, wishing fervently that the rest of his life was as simple as taking care of animals.