Bone War Read online

  “How did you change forty, then?” Karsten asked.

  “I don’t know, Your Highness,” Welk whispered. “I panicked and got strong, but now I’ve got nothing. I’ll be drained for days.”

  “Yesterday evening, you used your power twice, Welk,” Aisa said. “That should have exhausted your magic, but I took a lot more from you to help Danr change his shape. And you turned more than forty people into toads when you panicked. You have more power than you are allowing yourself to use.”

  “What do you mean?” Welk asked in his soft voice while the court looked on with great interest.

  Aisa touched his arm. “A great deal of magic is tied to your personal belief—your belief about what is possible, or your belief about yourself. You see yourself as weak and small, and this belief keeps your power weak and small. But there are times, such as when you fear for your life, that your true strength shows through. You need only find it.”

  “It sounds like a long and painstaking process,” Kalessa said.

  “Perhaps,” Aisa replied. The toads had gone utterly still as little brown stones, watching the conversation in eerie silence. “But there is another way. Welk, there are two main sources of power for a shape mage. One is the shape mage’s own self. This is very expensive and tiring, as you have already felt. Another is to take power from other shape mages from whom you have taken blood. Once a drop of their blood runs through your veins, you can borrow their power. It is easier if you are touching the other mage, and it is easier still if the other mage has changed shape. This is how legends of vampires and familiars began, and this is the best source of power.”

  “I didn’t know this,” Karsten breathed.

  Aisa held out a hand to Kalessa, who used her mystic knife to prick Aisa’s fingertip. Aisa showed Welk the scarlet drop. “We will use this.”

  “Aisa!” Danr stepped between her and Welk. “We spread the first form of shape magic with our own blood.”

  “He has already become a shape mage through contact with someone else’s blood,” Aisa said. “This will not change that.”

  “Is that how it happened?” Welk burst out. “That dog who bit me was a shape mage who gave me this power?”

  “Only because you have shape magic in your blood already,” Kalessa said. “Some distant ancestor who could control shapes before the Sundering. The blood of another shape mage woke it up, and now you have it. You can spread it yourself, if you like.”

  “Why doesn’t anyone tell us these things?” Welk cried.

  “We are telling you now,” Aisa said. “Open.”

  Reluctantly, Welk opened his mouth. Aisa let a single blood droplet fall on his tongue.

  The room exploded with light. Pain lanced through Danr’s head again, and again he threw up a hand to shield his eyes. The prince and the court shouted and shrieked. Danr blinked hard. When his eyesight cleared, he saw Welk, now standing tall and strong. Aisa was next to him, looking surprised. And in the corner huddled a frightened group of more than forty naked men and women, the people who had charged the carriage.

  A silence filled the room. The court stared at the naked folk. The naked folk stared at the court.

  “Wow,” said Talfi.

  Chaos broke through the room. The naked people frantically tried to cover themselves. Some members of the court tried to toss them cloaks or other loose articles of clothing while other courtiers babbled excitedly. At Karsten’s quick command, two servants bustled about the room, herding the men one way and the woman another to find clothing for them and escort them out of the Gold Keep.

  “I believe you now have both your court magician and an invaluable new recruit for your army,” Aisa told the slightly dazed prince.

  The group of them made hasty excuses and fled. Karsten and Lady Hafren didn’t try to stop them.

  Once they were outside and a safe distance from the keep, Ranadar and Kalessa both halted and rounded on Aisa. “What happened?” they demanded in one voice.

  “I am unsure,” Aisa said slowly.

  “I know,” Danr said. “Without even using my true eye, I know.”

  “Then spill it,” Talfi said.

  “She’s becoming a Gardener,” Danr said in a sad voice. “Slowly, but it’s happening, yeah? Her blood is more powerful now than it ever was. Welk tasted it, and boom! His power leaped ahead. He doesn’t need to borrow from Aisa—she gave him a lot of it permanently. And she isn’t even tired.”

  “But I can feel him still,” Aisa said.

  “Can he … feed off you?” Kalessa said, worried.

  Aisa shook her head. “The blood bond is powerful, but not omnipotent. I am still stronger than he, so Welk cannot take power unless I allow it.” She took Danr’s hand. “We will work through this, my Hamzu.”

  “Will we?” he burst out. “It’s coming. Every day it’s coming closer, and I don’t see any way to solve it.”

  “What are they talking about?” Talfi muttered to Kalessa.

  “They’re worried that if Aisa becomes a Gardener, they will be unable to remain a couple,” Kalessa said, and caught Danr staring at her. “What?”

  “We only talked about it last night for the first time,” he said.

  Kalessa said, “You do know that Aisa tells me everything. Often before she tells herself.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Danr demanded.

  “Vik!” Talfi smacked his forehead. “That’s why you’re worried. Aisa will be immortal, and Danr will be …”

  “Not,” Danr sighed.

  “It does seem unfair,” Ranadar said. “For the two of you to go through all that you have and then lose each other in the end.”

  “Maybe we can ask Death,” Talfi said. “It’s not like she doesn’t like us. Or owe us.”

  “Death has limited power here,” Aisa said. “She can take life but cannot grant it. You and Ranadar, of all people, know that.”

  “What if once you become a Gardener and have infinite days, Death gives you half of them, like she gave me half of Ranadar’s?” Talfi persisted. “Half of infinity is still infinity, right?”

  Danr snorted. “I don’t think it works that way for an immortal.”

  “We are getting nowhere with this,” Ranadar said. “In the meantime, we have other problems to solve. We must find Talfi’s candle wax man, and also fetch the Bone Sword from Queen Vesha.”

  “We can’t do both at the same time,” Talfi objected.

  “Why is it so urgent that you find the candle wax man?” Aisa asked. “He could wait.”

  Talfi violently shook his head. “He looks exactly like me. And I’m the only thousand-year-old person in the world. He might know something about my past, or somehow be … me. I need to find him. Before he leaves town or runs away forever.”

  “And I will aid him,” Ranadar added. “In any case, as a Fae, I would not be welcome in Queen Vesha’s kingdom, so I cannot seek the Bone Sword with you.”

  “Are you saying we should split into groups?” Danr asked.

  “It looks wisest,” Ranadar said.

  Danr thought about that. “We would be dividing our power.”

  “But doubling our speed,” Ranadar replied.

  “The entrance to Vesha’s kingdom is in northern Balsia,” Danr said. “It’ll take weeks to get there.”

  “Perhaps Ranadar could Twist us,” Aisa began hesitantly.

  “That distance is beyond me,” Ranadar said. “You would almost certainly arrive without an arm or a leg. Or a head.”

  Danr shuddered. “Thanks, but no.”

  “We will ride Slynd,” Kalessa said. “He can easily carry three. On wyrm-back, it will take a week, perhaps less.”

  “That decides it, then,” Aisa said. “Ranadar and Talfi will stay here and try to find this candle wax man. Learn where he came from and why he is here. Hamzu and Kalessa and I will take Slynd to see Queen Vesha about the Bone Sword.”

  “Let’s just hope she’s gotten over that whole cursed-by-Death th
ing,” Talfi said.

  “And that we can find one man in a city of more than a million,” Ranadar added.

  Talfi spread his hands. “How hard could it be?”

  Chapter Eight

  “All right, it’s pretty hard,” Talfi admitted.

  Ranadar set down the arrow—bronze-tipped—and picked up another. They were sitting in the walled courtyard beside Mrs. Farley’s boardinghouse, where she kept a small garden and even a struggling rose arbor. Several quivers’ worth of arrows lay spilled across the dirt at the foot of the latter. Ranadar sighted along the second arrow, checking for imperfections.

  “What is hard?” he asked.

  Talfi chewed a thumbnail. Normally, he would have liked sitting in the shade of the arbor, doing nothing truly important, as long as he could do nothing important with Ranadar. The soft afternoon light gave the elf’s scarlet hair a startling luminescence, and his ivy green eyes sighted down the arrow with inhuman concentration. He was handsome and kind and it pierced Talfi’s heart when they were separated. He liked nothing more than to slip into bed at night with him and let their bodies mold together. Sometimes he felt he could stay like that for days. And now, for the first time in his life, he had managed to keep a long string of memories, and many of them in some way involved Ranadar—or Danr. But he wasn’t in love with Danr.

  Lately, he had been wondering what it would be like to spend multiple centuries gathering memories. Elves were born ready to live eight hundred years or more. Humans … weren’t. Talfi was the longest-living person on Erda, but he remembered very little of his thousand-plus years, and he supposed that was how he had coped. Now that he didn’t lose his memory every time he died, would he be able to handle living until Ranadar died? And how long would that be, anyway? Ranadar was just under four hundred years old and had—what?—another four hundred left, so with Death dividing time between him and Talfi, the two of them probably had two or two and a half centuries left.

  That didn’t actually seem very long, when Talfi considered it. Not when he considered living over a thousand, or the fact that Aisa would live only the Nine knew how long as a Gardener. Still, two hundred fifty years was more than Talfi had any right to hope for. It was way more than any other human got.

  But none of this found them the candle wax man.

  They’d been looking for three days now. They had hired people to help look, had offered rewards, had personally scoured the streets until Talfi’s legs ached and Ranadar’s lips pursed with frustration. Nothing. Today, Ranadar had decreed they would take a few hours to themselves, though in Ranadar’s case, that seemed to involve checking equipment as well as sitting quietly in the garden. Ranadar seemed to have trouble doing nothing, something Talfi never understood.

  He drew a heart in the earth by his knee, then made a face and stabbed it with one of the arrows.

  “You will ruin the tip,” Ranadar admonished. “And what is hard?”

  Talfi churlishly stabbed the heart one more time, then set the arrow down. “All this searching. I’m getting tired of it.”

  “Patience was never one of your strong suits,” Ranadar said. “Perhaps the Nine are trying to teach you some.”

  “Sure. After a thousand years of being a plaything of the Nine, I’m ready to learn more from them.”

  Ranadar looked nervously about. “You break my heart when you speak that way. We of all people know the Nine have a way of—”

  “Let’s go.” Talfi stood up and dusted his hands.

  Ranadar glanced up at him, then meticulously gathered up the arrows and hung the quiver from his belt. He took up one bow and handed the other to Talfi.

  “What are these for?” Talfi asked.

  “After we search at the market, we can try more target practice.” Ranadar smiled his quiet, woodland smile, the one that always went straight through him. “Perhaps this time you can teach me.”

  The market was its usual bustle and rush. Ranadar wore his hood up to hide his Fae heritage as they moved from stall to stall, pretending to shop but actually watching for anyone with odd features. They saw spice sellers and salt-mongers and bakers’ carts and merchants who sold a dozen kinds of cooking oil. They paused at a man who was trying to sell a rune-encrusted clay golem—“Barely used! Transfer control with just a bit of Stane blood! Take any reasonable offer!”—and moved on. They passed the old slave market, with its stalls and its iron rings driven into the walls and stone floor. No one used the space. Not yet. Slavery had become illegal in the city-state of Balsia just last year, and to everyone’s surprise, the economy had not collapsed. It had instead thrived. The former slaves were now hired workers who earned money, which they spent freely at the markets. This, in turn, made the merchants wealthier and allowed them to expand their businesses and hire more employees. The only people who weren’t happy were the former slave owners, who were forced to pay people they had once given nothing but food and shelter, but Prince Karsten had once pointed out to Talfi that they, too, would feel the positive effects of former slaves who spent money. It would just take a little longer.

  *

  The colors, smells, and sounds of the market square swirled in a cacophony that made Talfi a little dizzy. After an hour of fruitless searching, however, he pulled Ranadar into a space between two stalls for a breather. The quiver of arrows banged at Talfi’s waist.

  “We’ll never find anyone this way,” he said. “We need to narrow it down, even just a little.”

  “How?” Ranadar countered.

  Talfi chewed the inside of his cheek. “When you touched the candle wax man, you felt his mind and knew he was me.”

  “I did,” Ranadar said slowly.

  “Can you find him that way? Feel his mind?”

  “I am … unsure,” Ranadar said. “Touching his mind was a surprise. It was like touching yours, and it caught me off guard.”

  “When did you touch my mind?” Talfi said in surprise.

  Now Ranadar looked surprised. “I always touch your mind. Whenever I touch you, I touch your mind.”

  “You read my thoughts?” Talfi spluttered. “You—”

  “No.” Ranadar shook his head. “That is, I could, if I pushed, but I would not without your permission, and you would probably know I was there. Anyway, touching is not reading. My mind recognizes you when you are near me just like my eyes see you coming and my ears hear your approach. Iron and other barriers can stop this, but I cannot shut it off any more than I can stop my ears.”

  “Oh.” Talfi touched his arm. “So you know this is me?”

  “Of course.” Ranadar blinked at him. “How do you Kin go through life half-blind? I cannot imagine not being able to sense the people I know this way.”

  A little excitement grew in Talfi’s chest. “Does this only work with people you know, then?”

  “Yes.”

  “What if you pushed?” Talfi persisted. “What if you pushed hard and looked for … me? Could you find me? Other versions of me?”

  “Oh! I could try, though there is a great deal of iron about, and that makes it difficult.”

  “Try!”

  Ranadar closed his eyes. The shouts and cries and rumbles of the market square continued past the stalls. The merchant to their left got into a heated debate with a customer over the price of a bottle of scented oil.

  “Can I do anything to help?” Talfi asked.

  “Just be silent,” Ranadar replied with a look of intense concentration hardening his face. After a moment, he held out his hand. Talfi took it without hesitation.

  The world Twisted. Everything, including Ranadar, vanished, and Talfi was floating in cool velvet darkness. For a dreadful moment, nothing happened. Lights flickered and flared all about him. Human-shaped lights. Hundreds of them. Thousands! Talfi could see through them like ghosts, and he couldn’t recognize their features, or even tell if they were male or female. A few beneath his feet flared dark blue—Stane. Wonder washed over him. Was this how Ranadar saw the world when
his eyes were closed?

  One light flickered in the distance, drawing Talfi’s attention. He stared at it, and all at once Talfi knew it was … himself, in the same way he knew his own reflection. That flicker must be the man they were—

  Another light flared to life, this one closer and off to the right. Talfi spun. That light was also Talfi. Another flared. And another. And another. They popped into existence like flowers bursting open across a spring meadow. Talfi stared in a mixture of fear and disbelief. Were all these lights versions of him?

  He felt a vague tug on his hand. The darkness twisted again, and Talfi was standing next to Ranadar between the market stalls. Ranadar’s green eyes were wide and wild.

  “How many of you are there?” he said.

  “That was my question.” Talfi twisted around, as if he might see one of … them. “Where—?”

  “There’s one—two—this way.” Ranadar grabbed Talfi’s arm and towed him through the market. They threaded their way through the crowd—all human, since the sun was still up—until they came to a dark alley so smelly with garbage and urine it made Talfi’s eyes water.

  “The trolls can’t dig those new sewers fast enough,” he muttered, trying to peer into the gloom. “And have you heard the rumors? That they’re digging all the way to Glumenhame?”

  “Just go,” Ranadar said, and pushed him forward.

  Talfi stepped in something that squished. His heart fluttered fast in his chest, and tension knotted his stomach. The bricks slipped beneath his feet, and the still air hung heavy around him. This was stupid. What was he afraid of? He knew how to fight, and anyway, he couldn’t die. Not yet.

  But he could be in for a hell of a lot of pain. A broken leg or a dislocated jaw wouldn’t kill him, but it would knock him flat for weeks of agony.

  Two ragged figures loomed in the shadows. Curiosity overpowered dread. Talfi moved toward them. “Hey!” he called.

  The figures spun, tense. Then they caught sight of Talfi’s face and instantly relaxed. One of them moved closer, into a ray of sunlight that illuminated half his face. Talfi’s heart skipped and he heard Ranadar gasp behind him. It was like looking in a mirror. The man looked like—was—him. The brown hair that curled over his forehead was Talfi’s. The sky blue eye was also his. The firm chin, the long jaw—all Talfi’s. They were exactly the same height and build. Even his ears were shaped the same. Or the ear that Talfi could see was the same.