Partnership, page 2
Sun mages specialized in healing, in counseling, in dispensing justice outside the capital. The Earth-born held no magic potential whatsoever, content with farming and government. What had the Moon-born done? What magic had they wielded? At this point, they were as mysterious and unknowable as the Star-born in their mountain fastnesses.
I cursed the boulder for draining most of my reserves. If I had to face down a rogue Moon mage, I needed every trick at my disposal, every scrap of power. I’d learned, however, that what I couldn’t counter with magic, I could often handle with physical intimidation. I’m tall—one of the tallest of the Sun-born and we’re all taller than the Earth-born—broad across the chest from chopping my own firewood, lean from constantly walking the length and breadth of my circuit for ten months of every fourteen.
Plus the eye-patch made everyone uncomfortable.
“You.” I put an extra growl in my voice.
The Moon mage flinched but didn’t turn. I noticed their hair hung lank and matted, only reaching the base of their neck. Its lack of cleanliness was one thing—the reeves could have at least allowed their alarming prisoner a bath—but its length was another story. Only criminals had their hair shorn. My own dozens of narrow braids hung past my hips. Barkon kept his gathered in a loose-woven snood, not as tidy as Netta’s plaited crown.
Had the villagers cut the mage’s hair because of the alleged spell? If so, they had more to answer for than simple hospitality violations or even choice infringement. Only the Congress or a mage on the circuit, as the Congress’s official proxy, could order a shearing, and then only after clear proof of guilt.
I steeled myself against an unwelcome surge of pity. “You have serious charges laid against you. What do you have to say?”
The Moon mage lowered their arms. Their shoulders rose and fell once, and then their fingers clutched their ragged robe as though they were gathering power for a strike.
I braced for attack. I’d never felt sexual desire before, but what if Moon magic was stronger than my nature, than my will? If I were overcome by the spell—if I broke the vows I made when I took up my Sun Stone—I’d lose more than my reputation.
I’d lose my life.
Torian
The man looming outside the cell was enormous. He was taller than any of the Infomancers or Lab assistants and easily twice my breadth, even accounting for the bulk of his sheepskin vest and heavy, fur-lined cloak. The shivers that had chased across my skin since the moment I’d stepped out of the Lab—woefully underdressed for the climate, despite the meteorological data at my disposal—increased exponentially at the promise of the warmth inherent in those garments.
I recognized the man as what the Infomancers called the J-4 strain, what the planetary subjects referred to as Sun-born: dark skin, dark eyes, black hair braided close to his scalp with dozens of finger-narrow plaits falling to below his waist. Square jaw—smooth, of course. The Originators had engineered all subjects, regardless of their strain, to be beardless.
He held a wooden staff. Oak equivalent, heartwood, twenty-seven point three cycles old, according to the cybertronic sensors threaded along my veins. The huge chunk of amber chrysocite contained in the cradle atop the staff identified him as a solar energy manipulator.
A mage. Higher in status than anyone else in this primitive habitation. None of them had been any use at all. Perhaps this man would be able to help. To get me away from the Laboratory and its chaos before the Infomancers noticed I was gone and mounted a recovery operation.
This helplessness was intolerable. If I had been allowed even an hour to charge my power grid in the sun, this prison would have been laughably inadequate. But I had lost consciousness after fighting free of the icy river. I had awoken after full dark, a captive in this dreadful hole. With no artificial lights to provide even a glimmer of power, I was close to emergency shut-down.
If I didn’t act quickly, I would have insufficient power to drive my body enhancement modules and convince the mage that I could fulfill his needs. Contingent, of course, on release from this cage.
I studied the mage, who glared balefully out of his single eye, but could get no sexual preference signals at all. He registered as null on my sensor array. Why can’t I read this one? Is it because he’s a mage? From my studies of the Lab databanks, I’d reached the conclusion that the Infomancers, in their hubris, had grossly underestimated the subjects’ abilities, particularly those of the mages.
Or perhaps it was nothing more sinister than my lamentable lack of reserves.
Very well, then. As the Infomancers told the Lab assistants, nothing can be verified without experimentation. Frame your question. Test your hypothesis. Reframe the question. Test again.
I could apply their methods here, although as always, I shrank away from the subterfuge of the enhancement modules. Male, female, balanced—all three were intrinsic to my nature without the need of additional programming. But the Infomancers had installed the modules anyway, claiming it was for my benefit, so I wouldn’t slip and adopt an unsuitable aspect for whoever happened to be my current assignment.
In the absence of more complete data, therefore, I would begin with the default. If male, then female.
“Well?” The mage’s voice was deep, as befit his barrel chest.
I activated the female module. The changes were subtle. Attitude, posture, presentation. I looked up from under my lashes as I’d learned to do when servicing the Infomancers who preferred the female in manner. I could manufacture few of the supporting pheromones any longer, not without a recharge, but I’d found that most males seeking a female didn’t require much in the way of enticement.
Not so with the mage. He continued to glare at me, seeming angry as opposed to aroused.
“What are you playing at?”
Not the default then. I reversed the polarity to male, standing straighter, shoulders back, meeting the mage’s eye without any overt subservience. The Infomancers who sought male sexual partners typically preferred stronger, less pliant behavior. It gave them something to subdue and added to their illusion of superiority.
Since the mage looked strong enough to break me in two should he choose, the need to pretend physical inferiority was clearly moot. A tiny frisson of fear sparked my sensors before I damped down my feedback circuits. No Infomancer had ever damaged me beyond the odd bruise or two. I was too valuable a resource. This man, though, had no such restriction.
Nevertheless, if the mage was a means of escape from the Infomancers, I was prepared to take the risk.
I raised my chin and smiled, forcing the last of the pheromone enhancement from my depleted backup stores.
It did no good. The mage still glared.
“I see why the reeves couldn’t agree on your nature. What are you?”
I lowered my gaze. “I can be whatever you like.”
“What I like is for you to be yourself. Or do you know who that is, since you seem determined to play turnabout?”
“I… I suppose I am both.” I deactivated the module and reverted to my preferred balanced state. “Or neither. It depends on circumstance.”
“Such as who you’re trying to seduce into getting your way?”
The warmth of a blush, the one involuntary response the Infomancers hadn’t been able to program away, started at the base of my throat and rose all the way to my forehead. While mortified at being caught out, I was nevertheless grateful for the heat.
The mage blinked. With a single eye, it almost looked like a wink, although the way the rest of his face went slack, I didn’t mistake it for a response to my sexual overtures.
“I apologize,” I said, low-voiced. “But you have me at a disadvantage, you realize. If you… If I… Oh.” My knees buckled, and I reached out, but missed the wall entirely.
Reserves depleted. Shut-down commencing in three… two… one.
Zal
The Moon mage crumpled like a broken doll, landing gracelessly in the cell’s scuffed straw.
“Shite.” I’d been so startled by their impossible presence, mesmerized by the way color rose across their skin like sunrise after a night of rain, that I’d forgotten my duty, just as I’d forgotten the water skin and food still clutched in my hand.
Clearly the Moon mage—fool that I was, I hadn’t bothered to ask for a name yet—was on the edge of starvation. Their face was thin to the point of gaunt, cheekbones sharply prominent, dark circles under eyes the color of storm clouds.
Ah, bugger it. Whatever Moon magic had affected the villagers had had no effect on me. The mage seemed dazed and nearly unconscious in the noisome straw. Not much of a threat.
I unlocked the cell and walked in, propping my staff in the corner and calling forth a low glow from the Sun Stone, just enough to see better in this miserable hole. I lifted the mage, settling the dark head in the crook of my arm. I pulled the cork from the water skin with my teeth and set it to their parched lips.
“Here. Take a sip. Not too fast.”
I needn’t have uttered the warning. They ignored the water, focusing instead on my staff.
“Oh.” They reached out a trembling hand, and for an instant, the light from the Stone seemed to flow through their long, thin fingers like honey. “Chrysocite. It emits solar power. I’d forgotten.”
Chryso-which? What in the name of the Sun were they on about? “Listen you—what’s your name, anyway?”
“I’m called Torian.”
“Torian, then. Zal here. Take a drink before I have to force it down you. You’re dehydrated. I can tell.”
Something else was going on with Torian too. Their life energies felt peculiar, jerking along in uneven bursts rather than flowing smoothly. After they took a few sips of water and turned away to stare avidly at the Sun Stone, I set the water skin on the floor, then placed two fingers on the pulse-point in Torian’s wrist.
Shite! I snatched my hand away, fingers tingling. I tried the other pulse point, at the angle of the jaw, and got the same tiny jolt. Oddly, it was the same sensation as when I touched my Sun Stone directly—not that I was fool enough to do that, not unless I was dead certain it was fully depleted.
Did Moon mages carry magic in their very skin? Could Torian hold other secrets, pose other threats? They might seem no more dangerous than a half-drowned catamountain kit right now, but wasn’t the appearance of helplessness the best way to lull an enemy? That ploy had certainly worked for Loriah.
I sighed. So much for getting home before the storms. I’d take Torian to the capital, as the reeves wanted, to let the Congress of Mages and Seigneurs sort it out. That was their job, after all. My job was simply to deliver Torian to the tribunal for judgment.
Sun willing, I’d survive this go-round with a rogue mage without losing any more body parts.
“Can you stand?”
Torian hesitated, turning away from the staff with obvious reluctance. “I think so.”
“Good. We’ve got a long journey ahead of us. You’ve got to face the Congressional tribunal. Explain your magic. Justify using it against citizens with no consideration for their will.”
“I have no magic.”
“Bollocks to that. You cast your seduction spell on everyone who came near.”
Torian studied Zal somberly. “But not on you.”
“No. But wasn’t for lack of trying, was it?”
Remorse flickered across Torian’s face, but was it regret for the spell itself or for its failure? Until I knew for certain, I wasn’t about to let my guard down.
“Will you be the one to take me to this tribunal?”
“Nobody else seems up to the job.”
“Then I will go.”
“You don’t have a choice. I’m sorry about that.”
They blinked those luminous gray eyes, eyes that seemed all the larger because their face was so gaunt. “I see.”
I stood and helped Torian to their feet. At least they didn’t seem to be playing gender guessing games with me anymore.
As I helped them negotiate the stair, I noticed they were barefoot. “Haven’t you any shoes at all? Clogs? Boots? Slippers, even?”
“No. I left in rather a hurry.”
“Even so, who forgets shoes?”
Torian glanced up at me and lifted one dark eyebrow. “Someone who’s never worn them?”
My jaw sagged. “Never? Who never wears shoes? Especially in winter?”
“It wasn’t an issue. The Lab is climate-controlled.” Fear shadowed their eyes. “Or was.”
“That so?” I had no idea what this Lab was, but that was the tribunal’s problem, not mine. “Well, it’s an issue now. Welcome to the edge of winter in the north.”
We stepped out the door into the street. The instant they cleared the roof of the hall, Torian gasped and scrabbled at the neck of their robe as if they were about to strip it off.
I gripped their wrists, bracing myself against the zing of almost-familiar power. “Oi. None of that. You’re already in a world of trouble for that kind of thing.” I squinted at Torian’s soft white hands. Was that a glint of gold under their skin?
“But…” They peered up at the pale winter sun, such longing in their face that I nearly relented. “Very well.” They shrugged their ragged robe back over their shoulders, but surreptitiously kept their hands out, palms up, as if to cup the watery light.
I released their wrists and ran a hand over my head. “Ah, bugger it. You can’t make this trip barefoot and in rags.”
Torian didn’t respond, simply stood shivering in the muddy street, eyes closed, their face turned up to the wan sun with an expression as if their last, best dream had come true.
I spotted Barkon hovering in the lee of the blacksmith shop, Netta at his side. A gang of village youths, boys and girls old enough for apprenticing, lurked behind the livery stable, watching Torian’s every move. I glared at them until they dropped their gazes. Up to no good, that lot. I beckoned to the reeves, but they wouldn’t come closer than a dozen yards away.
“You’re taking her, then, Magister?”
I glanced down at Torian, who hadn’t reacted to Barkon’s pronoun use. Maybe it didn’t matter to them. Or maybe, as they’d said, they became whoever the other person wanted. Barkon wanted female, so Torian was she.
Not my problem.
“I’m taking them, but not like this. They need a proper kit. Leggings, shirt, tunic, vest, cloak, boots, pack. A hat.”
“But… But… We… The village stores… We can’t afford—”
I glared at him. “Don’t push me, Barkon. I’ve half a mind to report you for hospitality violations on food, water, and shelter. Not to mention you deprived a citizen of choice. You know what that means.”
Barkon clutched his snood. “No. Not a shearing. I didn’t—” He turned to Netta. “It was her, too.”
Netta cast a disgusted glance at Barkon. “Give over, Magister. What were we to do? Seemed like a rogue mage to us.” She peered at me from shrewd dark eyes. “Clearly you don’t know what to do with ’em either.”
“I know enough to feed them and keep them from dying of exposure. For that, they need clothing, and that’s your duty under law.”
“Much as I hate to agree with Barkon, you’ve caught us at a disadvantage. A number of our citizens are decamping, heading south for winter, in case Star Mountain decides to spew on us again. We’ve not got much to spare.”
I sighed. I had no time or heart for bargaining right now. I swung my pack off my back. “How much?”
Netta’s eyes gleamed. “We could do with some extra healing stones. As I said, we’re running low and it never hurts to have spares.”
“And prosperity stones,” Barkon blurted. “For protection. From the mountain.”
I dug in my pack, pulling out two of the leather scraps I kept for dispensing supplies. I wrapped up four healing stones and handed them to Netta. I glanced at Barkon, who fairly danced in place at the notion of four prosperity stones. Not likely. I wrapped a single prosperity stone and handed it over—to Netta.
“Will that do?”
“In a pinch.” She pointed to the gang by the stable. “You, there. Farren. Morvan. I’ve a task for you.” Two of the older apprentices slouched over, cutting a wide berth around me.
While she gave them low-voiced orders, I turned to Torian. “We’ll get you sorted with some essentials. I worry about your feet, though. No boots Netta can scare up will fit you properly. You’ll likely be rubbed raw by the time we make camp every night. I can treat you then, fix them up for the next day, but during the day’s trek?” I shrugged. “I’m afraid it’ll be brutal.”
Torian lowered their chin, turning their face from sun contemplation, but I didn’t miss the half-fearful glance at the mountain. “Will we be going away from here?”
“Aye.”
“Then I’ll make do.”
Zal
I didn’t force the pace the first afternoon—or at least I didn’t think I did. But Torian was a good foot shorter than me, still recovering from near-starvation, and unused to hard tramping, if indeed they’d ever done any at all in this Lab of theirs.
The way they lifted their feet, as if the boots Netta had found were leaden weights, made their claim of having never worn shoes believable.
By the time I found a reasonably protected campsite in a fall of rocks that shielded us from the vicious wind, Torian was limping visibly. But they’d never complained. Not once.
I shed my pack and my cloak and pointed to a fallen tree. “Sit there. I’ll gather wood for a fire, then see to your feet.”
Torian sank down on the log. “Thank you. Can I be of assistance?”
“I don’t know. Can you? Ever made a fire?”
“Of course.” They struggled to their feet. “Where’s the accelerant?”
