The End of Magic - Chapter 8
Oct. 11th, 2019 02:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desastristaThe End of Magic is an original multichaptered fantasy work that I am currently publishing on both AO3 and Dreamwidth. You can find the master post of all chapters here or just click the "end of magic" tag. (AO3 link here)
The next morning, Ozal and Ahmad departed for the Palace. It felt strange for two magicians to venture out alone again, but it could not be helped. Until Ahmad passed the exam it would be wise not to call too much official attention to the Mucevhed in his company and, while Ozal would have preferred to take Kadim, it made him uneasy to leave his sister alone at home.
For her part, Nadide appeared indifferent to this sacrifice. "Do you really intend to accuse the Imperial Magician?" she had asked privately this morning, the thin line of her mouth speaking volumes about her own thoughts on the matter.
"Accuse is a strong word,” Ozal said, his tone reassuring but firm. “But I must learn the truth. Consider everything I have learned --"
She'd only sighed. "I have told you, he has been nothing but helpful to me during these past few months. But whatever you have learned, please just remember that this is the man who you must ask for another post once you have recovered.”
It had never occurred to him that with everything happening, that was the issue that would worry his sister the most. “The truth of who cursed me should matter more than my salary,” he’d responded coldly.
Such a statement had seemed so simple, so self-obviously true in the morning.
But some of Ozal’s convictions faded as he and Ahmad walked in the shadows of the walls of the Imperial Palace, heading towards the inner room where Tolga had told them to meet.
There was one fact about the Imperial Palace that would be impossible for any visitor not to notice: it was massive. While the Stand showcased the power of magic to remake the world, the Imperial Palace stood as a testimony to the power of the Emperor to keep the world the way it was. In size and splendor, it had no rival anywhere in Kadehir -- indeed, nowhere on the entire continent.
Ozal had always known this. He had grown up knowing this. What he had failed to appreciate until just now, however, was that this meant visitors had to walk rather far to get anywhere at all.
After the third time Ozal had to stop for breath, leaning hard against his cane, Ahmad had a suggestion. "Perhaps Tolga bajedi can come see you."
"He's an important man to be at my beck and call." Ozal huffed. He tried to sound more relaxed and in less pain than he felt, even though under his breath he cursed why any architect had thought any hallway needed to be so damn long.
"Then he's an important man to accuse."
Ahmad said it casually enough, but Ozal still cast him a sideways glance. “I didn’t expect to hear my sister’s warning coming from your mouth.”
Ahmad only shrugged. "Not just Nadide janum."
Ozal wasn't sure what that meant, but it didn't matter. His answer was the same. "Whatever title he has now, Tolga bajedi cannot change the truth of who attacked me.”
It had been easier to believe his words in the morning, when his lungs had not been on fire from a walk whose distance he had never had to take note of before. After all, a treacherous voice reminded him, his family depended on him. Kadim and Nadide could not afford for him to be reckless. Particularly not, since -- whatever comforting words he might say around them -- Ozal had started to consider the very real possibility that he would not recover more than he already had.
But Ozal kept those thoughts to himself; Ahmad, on the other hand, wore his skepticism openly. “Is that how things are done here in Kadehir?”
Not too long ago -- or maybe a few months ago, since he had lost time to the curse -- Ozal would have dismissed that question out of hand. The Stand was the oldest body in Kadehir, and while its members were not above a certain level of base politics, it was at its heart an organization comprised of decent men who stood united in the defense of magic and Kadehir.
But one of those very same men had attacked Ozal and killed his mentor. Would the Stand really unite against one of its own?
"I suppose I'll have to talk with the Imperial Magician to find out," Ozal responded grimly, hoping to quiet both Ahmad’s doubts and his own.
Mahir would have preferred not to have been left alone, but he could not be surprised. Kadehir had never been a place where what he wanted made much difference.
Still, though, it made him restless to sit in Ahmad's room and do nothing. It was almost a relief when Nadide knocked on the door.
"A suitor has come to call," she announced, still half-turned towards the entrance, her attention barely directed at him. Mahir hesitated; he could not imagine what that statement had to do with him. Nadide sighed and turned to face him, clearly wishing she did not have to spell out her request so plainly. “Can you prepare tea? I would not normally ask a guest's Mucevhed to do something so simple, but Kadim is otherwise occupied just keeping the man from wandering through the halls."
"A man has come to call?" Mahir asked sharply, before remembering that he was not talking to Ahmad and his commentary was probably best kept to himself.
Nadide's eyebrows arched in surprise only slightly. "Yes," she said, the corner of her mouth raising into something too sharp to be a smile. "A man of good sense would have sent a female relative to inquire about me. A man of good breeding would have left when he discovered no man home to greet him. Our guest appears to be neither. Now, can you make the tea?"
Mahir nodded without saying a word. He watched Nadide turn to walk back down the stairs and, for one brief moment, wondered if her would-be suitor was ready for who he was about to meet.
Tolga bajedi hosted them in one of the inner-mosty rooms of the Palace. It was lavishly but tastefully decorated, the kind of room meant to intimidate a guest into his best behavior. And yet in total defiance of custom, Tolga bajedi stood when they entered as if he were their guest and not the other way around. "Ozal bajedi! I have been waiting to see you." He turned to Ahmad, "Who is this?"
"The man who cured me, a promising magician from the province of Wakamir named Ahmad." Ozal waited half a second for Ahmad to introduce himself further, but the man only stared at the Imperial Magician. He had the slightest frown on his face, as if Tolga bajedi was a puzzle he needed to solve.
The silence dragged on.
It was not the first impression Ozal had hoped Ahmad would make.
"Yes," Tolga finally gave a small cough. "The foreign magician. I heard about his trial at the Stand -- a rather unconventional candidate, everyone said. Perhaps with more training and guidance, next time will go better."
Ahmad made only the smallest noise of acknowledgement. Ozal wasn't sure why, but he seemed disappointed. Perhaps the other man had solved the puzzle and found the answer unsatisfactory. Whatever the reason, it was fortunate for them both that Tolga bajedi ignored his slight. Instead, he turned to Ozal. "There is much for us to talk about. But if you had been hoping for better news on the pension, I am sorry to report that I can only report to you what I have already told your sister and uncle. But now that you appear recovered, there is much that occupy a man of your rank. And after what the Vaspahanians did to you and Eryadin bajedi, I am sure you cannot wait to do something yourself."
There was a terrible sincerity in his every word. Ozal scanned his features, searching for the slightest tell that might give away the truth.
He saw nothing.
"Thank you, bajediyan. But actually -- I had hoped to speak with you about a different matter at the moment."
"Is that so?"
Ozal considered his next words carefully. "I had heard that your own physician examined me, when I was -- ill."
"When you were poisoned," Tolga bajedi corrected generously.
"He said you were the first one to mention the possibility of poison to him."
Tolga bajedi laughed faintly, as if Ozal had said something amusing. "I was! It was rather an impressive suggestion, was it not?"
Ozal's mouth went dry. He forced himself to say, slowly and carefully, "Impressive in what way, bajediyan?"
"Well, no one could make any sense of it. But if you remember, during the Summer War the army was constantly encountering poisons it had never seen before. Of course, your symptoms weren’t the same -- no one had ever seen anything like what happened to you -- but considering you and Eryadin had been in contact with the Vaspahanians...well, the truth was obvious once pointed out.” He sighed, added wistfully, “I only wish I’d been the one to think of the explanation first.”
"To think of it first?" Ozal repeated, his voice coming out half-strangled. He barely trusted his own ears that he had heard Tolga correctly. With some effort, he regained control of his voice. "You mean it was not your idea?"
Tolga looked surprised. "Oh, not at all. I was talking with Savaner kishah about your case. He was the first one to propose that it might be a Vaspahanian poison."
"Savaner kishah," he echoed in disbelief. Ozal thought he might as well be one of those exotic birds some merchants kept as pets, because right now his mind seemed capable of nothing else except repeating what he heard.
It was only a half second later that he realized Ahmad had also repeated the name, although he did not have the faintest clue why the name would mean anything to the foreign magician. Ozal couldn’t recall ever mentioning the man to him before.
"You seem surprised," Tolga bajedi responded, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
"I had no idea he took an interest in my case," Ozal confessed. "I've never met the man."
He had been willing to believe that Tolga bajedi had schemed to curse Eryadin bajedi and Ozal and cast the blame on the Vaspahanians in order to be named the Imperial Magician. But what gain could there possibly be for Savaner kishah in attacking two other members of the Stand? He was a hero in Kadehir and had been for years; if he’d so desired, he could have easily been named Imperial Magician without resorting to foul play.
"An interest!" Tolga repeated with a laugh. "Of course he took an interest. The whole Stand did. But for Savaner kishah, it was different. It was personal for him, I think. He wanted to know everything about the case -- I even told him that you wrote to me yesterday. I think he suspected Vaspahanian involvement from the beginning."
"It seems a little odd that he suspected foreign influence so early," Ozal hesitated. Was this the time to air his suspicions? Tolga bajedi originally came from the ranks of the military, just like Savaner kishah. And Ozal still was at a loss to explain why Savaner kishah would have struck him and his mentor.
While Ozal wrestled with these concerns, Ahmad appeared untroubled. When no one spoke for a moment, he gave a dismissive huff. "Savaner kishah is a bad man. I do not trust him."
"A bad man?" Tolga sputtered in disbelief as Ozal's heart sank. "What do you know about Savaner kishah?" Ahmad opened his mouth to answer, but Tolga bajedi continued, "The man is a hero! He won one of the most important battles of the Summer War, and in the process became the first adult magician discovered in Stand history. I can't imagine there’s anyone in Kadehir who doesn't admire him."
Ahmad's gaze remained cold throughout the speech. "Of course a man like him is admired here."
It did not sound like a compliment, but Ozal did not need it to be. "Yes, there is no doubt, Kadehir owes him much,” he said quickly, his tone conciliatory. “But still, I am confused. He is no doubt quite the busy man to take such an interest. And to so quickly identify the Vaspahanians --”
Tolga waved his hand dismissively, his annoyance visible. "The ambassador and his secretary are found attacked by unknown means in the heart of the Stand itself. Of course it was only a matter of time before the Vaspahanians were found to be at fault.”
"But if there was some other explanation --"
Tolga's eyebrows raised high enough that they almost met the fabric of his turban. "Some other explanation? What are you suggesting? Do you know something about what happened to you that no one else does?"
Ozal hesitated. It was true that he had Ahmad’s testimony that he had been cursed and not poisoned. But the way that Tolga bajedi still seethed at Ahmad’s remarks, it might not be wise to mention that information right at the moment.
"No, not exactly," he finally admitted. "But I know -- knew Eryadin bajedi. He was a cautious man, and I don't think he would want us to be reckless in our pursuit of his killer. Or killers, as the case may be."
Tolga bajedi sighed. For some reason, he seemed hesitant. And then, "I know he was your mentor, and this may be difficult to hear. But Ozal, you must consider the possibility that it was Eryadin’s caution that got him killed."
His cautious approach with the Vaspahan Empire, no doubt. It had not always been popular when he was alive -- particularly not with the likes of Tolga bajedi or Savaner kishah. Of course. Ozal’s breath rattled in his chest. “Yes, bajediyan," he forced out. It was very possible that the other man was right, although not for the reasons he imagined.
"Is that all you wanted to know?" Tolga said. "Because if you don't have any other questions, I had hoped to discuss the matter of your post."
Ozal forced his mouth to form something that might be called a smile. "Of course," he said. "You've been very helpful."
More helpful than Ozal had expected. But still it was not enough. And Ozal knew that it would not be enough, not until he could gather more evidence than just the testimony of a foreign magician.
It took a few minutes for Mahir to boil water and prepare the tea. He brewed it strong, the way they liked it in Wakamir. He'd never had to brew tea in Kadehir before; his former master had had servants for those kinds of tasks. Somehow, Mahir doubted that even if he explained himself, Nadide would have much sympathy. She’d been accustomed to servants at one point too.
When the tea was ready, Mahir placed the earthen cups on a large wooden tray and carried it out to the main room. Kadim stood near the doorway, surveying the scene with an uncharacteristically visible unease. Nadide sat in the middle of the room, across from a man whose back was to Mahir. By the white cloth of his turban, he was clearly a magician. And yet it was odd, because Mahir could spot no sign of a third Mucevhed in the room. In fact, the more he stared at the man, the more even the broad outlines of his shoulders seemed familiar --
“I assure you, janum, I do not want to impose, so if you would like,” the man started.
He did not get a chance to complete the offer. Instead, he was distracted by the loud noise made by the tray slipping from Mahir’s hand and the tea set crashing against the floor.
Mahir recognized that voice. He knew this man.
The commotion had attracted the attention of everyone in the room. Mahir bent down hurriedly, reaching for the shattered remains of the earthenware around him and trying to keep his face hidden.
“Apologies janum,” he muttered over and over to himself, but it was not Nadide who ultimately responded.
"Stop," the man commanded, and Mahir obeyed.
It had been almost three years since Savaner kishah had sold him to a caravan destined for the edge of the empire, but Mahir still found it hard to disobey his former master.
"You," Savaner said in a different tone, and Mahir was too frightened to look up but he guessed from the inflection that his attention had turned to Kadim. "Pick up this mess."
Mahir saw Kadim bend down in front of him to obey. Fear rooted him to the ground; he wasn't sure he could move if he wanted to.
"Kishah." There was a dangerous tone in Nadide's voice, but Mahir doubted whether her fangs were half as sharp as Savaner's. "Are you usually in the habit of directing other men's Mucevheden?"
She doesn't know, Mahir thought all at once. Of course. He was being stupid. How could Nadide have known that Mahir belonged to Savaner kishah?
Had belonged. He swallowed and tried to force himself to remember that.
“This one did belong to me, once.” Savaner answered offhandedly. And then his attention was back, unfortunately, on Mahir. “And where have you been, little one?”
There was a twisting sweetness to his voice, one Mahir had come to know well. It was a voice that said Mahir might still please him if he acted well, but that his master's patience was being sorely tested.
"Wakamir, bajedi," Mahir answered. It only occurred to him after the words had left his mouth that he could have lied, probably should have. But he had years of experience knowing what happened after Savaner used that tone. His back tensed in expectation of a blow.
"Enough of this," Nadide cried out. There was venom in her voice as she continued, “Savaner kishah, perhaps you have forgotten, but this is my brother’s house, not your own. Now, Mahir. Go back to the kitchen.”
Mahir watched Savaner kishah turn back around to face Nadide. He let out a sigh of relief; that made it easier to obey Nadide’s command. From the floor, he bowed shallowly and then hastily retreated to the kitchen.
Kadim was already there, worrying over the remains he had collected of the tea set. The glance he gave Mahir as he entered was withering. "What was that about? I thought you were better trained than that."
Mahir stopped. Of course, he knew distantly that his action had brought shame upon his master’s hosts. But really, couldn’t the other Mucevheden understand why?
He's spoiled, Mahir thought bitterly. Evidently Kadim had no idea what it was like to fear the man the Stand had bound you to for life.
But he was too tired for jealousy. It occurred to him that for the first time in years, Ahmad was not here to comfort him. He’d gotten used to Ahmad’s presence. Stupid of him, really.
Now all Mahir could do was sit down against the wall and hold his head in his hands. “I just need to rest here until my master returns,” he muttered.
"My apologies, janum. That was not how I wanted this conversation to start." The kishah gave a smile that could be generously described as apologetic as he sat back down.
Nadide regarded him coldly. He was a middle-aged man with a neatly trimmed beard and eyes that glittered with amusement to a joke that only he seemed to know. Savaner had come to call dressed the part of a kishah, down even to the saber he wore at his side. Nadide had not met that many soldiers in her life, and she wondered if the display was meant to impress her, intimidate her, or both.
Nadide kept her head held high. She would be neither.
"What are you here for, kishah?" she asked, letting her frustration bite into every word.
Savaner kishah raised his eyebrows in a silent protest of innocence. "I'm not sure what you mean, janum. I already told you that a friend of mine mentioned he had heard your brother was looking to find you a suitable husband."
"How strange, then, that you do not simply return when Ozal is available to greet you."
Savaner continued as if she had not spoken. "I myself have been too long a bachelor. I have come to believe it is not proper for a man of my rank. After all, think about the goddess to whom I pledged. Do you know that all magicians who wish to join the Stand must ask a blessing from one of the god-trees?”
“Considering that the men in my family can trace their magical lineage back to the very founding of Kadehir, yes, I am aware.” Nadide answered, her eyes watching his features carefully. She saw the way his smile hesitated, if only for a moment.
It was a well-known -- if rarely discussed -- fact in Kadehir that Savaner kishah was the first magician in his family. Nadide could have asked for more information about his lineage; from the dark look in his eyes, he was not eager to discuss the matter.
The corners of her mouth lifted slightly. It took great self-control not to smile too widely.
“Of course, janum,” Savaner said, with a noise like he was clearing something from his throat. “Then, I take it then you know why so many soldiers like myself pledge to the Maiden?”
Nadide did not have the slightest idea. She hesitated. “I suppose the Maiden’s virtue is the truth. And my father always said the truth was a delicate thing that needed to be protected.”
There was something too sharp in the glint in Savaner kishah’s eyes at that response. “Your father was a wise man, then. But no. They tell you in training that a soldier lives to protect his homeland, and who better represents our lands than the Maiden herself, with her youthful bounty and sweet promise? How can I say that I pledge myself to my empire, to our Gods, and then not desire a maiden of my own?”
“You are one of the most eligible bachelors in Kadehir,” Nadide demurred. Savaner dipped his head in acknowledgment. Good; let him think it a compliment. “Which is why I am so surprised about your change of heart on the subject of marriage. After all, not so long ago, I wrote to the sisters and wives of some of your compatriots, and not a one of them had heard you breathe a word of interest in marriage.”
Confusion and annoyance flashed briefly across his face, although he did an admirable job of pretending they had not. “A man can change his opinions --”
“I wrote to them about other subjects too,” Nadide said, a smile still frozen on her face, the edges sharp enough that she wondered if they would cut her cheeks. “As you can imagine, I was also rather interested in the question of why you did not attend Eryadin bajedi’s funeral or come to call on me when my brother lay for months so close to death.”
She waited half a moment. Perhaps she half-hoped he would grovel, beg for forgiveness.
But maybe they both knew it was too late for that.
His expression was, instead, impassive. But there was something cold and calculating behind the black of his eyes. Let him calculate. Nadide had had plenty of time to do the same.
"My apologies, janum,” he said, utterly without emotion. “It must have been a very difficult time for you."
“You can imagine the surprise in the letters I received back when I mentioned this. Each told me of the interest you had taken in my brother’s case -- an interest that seemed to be of common knowledge to everyone but me.”
Her anger had fed on itself, had grown larger and larger. But whatever Savaner kishah felt, he kept well-hidden. When she paused, he only sighed. "Of course. I always meant to call on you -- it seems your brother recovered before I had my chance."
A well-rehearsed answer. Nadide did not believe a word of it. "One of the women I wrote to did say something that caught my attention. She said you must have been quite preoccupied, as it seemed your Mucevhed had fallen ill.”
Nadide had always kept her suspicions to herself. Her brother, she knew, was busy asking questions in the ears of men who were unlikely to ever listen to her. She’d been content to see where that would take him.
But she’d been convinced of the truth the moment Savaner kishah had arrived on the doorstep.
Alone.
“Your Mucevhed -- he’s still too frail to leave the house, isn’t he?” she asked.
For a moment, it was as if a mask had slipped from Savaner kishah's face and the expression underneath was an ugly, hateful thing. But it appeared so briefly she might have imagined it, and then his expression quickly returned to one of indifference. "Your concern is of course appreciated, janum. But Cahit is frail and has been for some time. It is not something you should worry about."
“You might have excused me if I wondered why you would rather play nursemaid to your Mucevhed than attend the funeral of a prominent member of the Stand like Eryadin bajedi. But I suppose it would be rather inconvenient for people to wonder what large, complex spell you did at the time he and my brother were stricken. Whatever it was, it apparently so drained your Mucevhed that even months later he cannot go on social calls with you.”
There was no hiding it now. Anger burned deep in Savaner kishah's eyes and Nadide felt a grim satisfaction at being the reason why.
His hand fell almost idly into his lap, inched closer to the scabbard around his waist. Nadide was aware very suddenly that she was in the presence of a powerful magician, a soldier, and a murderer.
And she didn't even have enough control of magic to knock over a candlestick.
Still, she held her head high. She was a daughter of Kadehir; she would not flinch.
Savaner kishah's hand stopped. His upper lip curled. "I was under the impression that when a suitor would come to call, a woman would try to impress him with her modesty and education. And yet you have only talked and talked. Most unbecoming."
"Am I boring you, kishah? Then let me be direct. I don't believe you ever seriously entertained the thought of marriage. You waited until my brother left to call on me, no doubt hoping that with no man in the house to stop you there would be no one to stop you from looking around for evidence of what caused my brother’s recovery. Well, as I can tell you that as long as I live and breath, you will not see anything in this house beyond the four walls of this room. Now, if you are satisfied, you can take your leave.”
Savaner kishah stood up all at once. Nadide started but remained sitting, forcing her back straight as an arrow.
After a moment's hesitation, the man smiled. It was a thin, cruel smile.
"Perhaps I should go. What a pity. I'll have to let my friends know I won't be courting Ozal's sister after all." Nadide knew those words should be a relief, but she could hear the gloating in Savaner’s voice. “It’s tragic, after all. Even though her brother has miraculously recovered, her mind is still wrecked with grief. She’s gone mad. Lost touch with reality, speaks of strange fantasies.”
With a satisfied air, he gave a small bow and turned towards the door.
“Before you go,” she called out. It was an effort to not let her voice shake, either from disbelief or anger she wasn’t sure. But she was sure of one thing.
She wanted to hurt this man.
Savaner kishah turned back, one eyebrow raised. “Before you go,” she continued. “I want you to know. The man who cured my brother -- his Mucevhed took no time at all to recover from the spell he used. He is the better magician.”
Nadide only caught the briefest flash of anger and surprise before Savaner turned back towards the door. But it was enough.
The next morning, Ozal and Ahmad departed for the Palace. It felt strange for two magicians to venture out alone again, but it could not be helped. Until Ahmad passed the exam it would be wise not to call too much official attention to the Mucevhed in his company and, while Ozal would have preferred to take Kadim, it made him uneasy to leave his sister alone at home.
For her part, Nadide appeared indifferent to this sacrifice. "Do you really intend to accuse the Imperial Magician?" she had asked privately this morning, the thin line of her mouth speaking volumes about her own thoughts on the matter.
"Accuse is a strong word,” Ozal said, his tone reassuring but firm. “But I must learn the truth. Consider everything I have learned --"
She'd only sighed. "I have told you, he has been nothing but helpful to me during these past few months. But whatever you have learned, please just remember that this is the man who you must ask for another post once you have recovered.”
It had never occurred to him that with everything happening, that was the issue that would worry his sister the most. “The truth of who cursed me should matter more than my salary,” he’d responded coldly.
Such a statement had seemed so simple, so self-obviously true in the morning.
But some of Ozal’s convictions faded as he and Ahmad walked in the shadows of the walls of the Imperial Palace, heading towards the inner room where Tolga had told them to meet.
There was one fact about the Imperial Palace that would be impossible for any visitor not to notice: it was massive. While the Stand showcased the power of magic to remake the world, the Imperial Palace stood as a testimony to the power of the Emperor to keep the world the way it was. In size and splendor, it had no rival anywhere in Kadehir -- indeed, nowhere on the entire continent.
Ozal had always known this. He had grown up knowing this. What he had failed to appreciate until just now, however, was that this meant visitors had to walk rather far to get anywhere at all.
After the third time Ozal had to stop for breath, leaning hard against his cane, Ahmad had a suggestion. "Perhaps Tolga bajedi can come see you."
"He's an important man to be at my beck and call." Ozal huffed. He tried to sound more relaxed and in less pain than he felt, even though under his breath he cursed why any architect had thought any hallway needed to be so damn long.
"Then he's an important man to accuse."
Ahmad said it casually enough, but Ozal still cast him a sideways glance. “I didn’t expect to hear my sister’s warning coming from your mouth.”
Ahmad only shrugged. "Not just Nadide janum."
Ozal wasn't sure what that meant, but it didn't matter. His answer was the same. "Whatever title he has now, Tolga bajedi cannot change the truth of who attacked me.”
It had been easier to believe his words in the morning, when his lungs had not been on fire from a walk whose distance he had never had to take note of before. After all, a treacherous voice reminded him, his family depended on him. Kadim and Nadide could not afford for him to be reckless. Particularly not, since -- whatever comforting words he might say around them -- Ozal had started to consider the very real possibility that he would not recover more than he already had.
But Ozal kept those thoughts to himself; Ahmad, on the other hand, wore his skepticism openly. “Is that how things are done here in Kadehir?”
Not too long ago -- or maybe a few months ago, since he had lost time to the curse -- Ozal would have dismissed that question out of hand. The Stand was the oldest body in Kadehir, and while its members were not above a certain level of base politics, it was at its heart an organization comprised of decent men who stood united in the defense of magic and Kadehir.
But one of those very same men had attacked Ozal and killed his mentor. Would the Stand really unite against one of its own?
"I suppose I'll have to talk with the Imperial Magician to find out," Ozal responded grimly, hoping to quiet both Ahmad’s doubts and his own.
Mahir would have preferred not to have been left alone, but he could not be surprised. Kadehir had never been a place where what he wanted made much difference.
Still, though, it made him restless to sit in Ahmad's room and do nothing. It was almost a relief when Nadide knocked on the door.
"A suitor has come to call," she announced, still half-turned towards the entrance, her attention barely directed at him. Mahir hesitated; he could not imagine what that statement had to do with him. Nadide sighed and turned to face him, clearly wishing she did not have to spell out her request so plainly. “Can you prepare tea? I would not normally ask a guest's Mucevhed to do something so simple, but Kadim is otherwise occupied just keeping the man from wandering through the halls."
"A man has come to call?" Mahir asked sharply, before remembering that he was not talking to Ahmad and his commentary was probably best kept to himself.
Nadide's eyebrows arched in surprise only slightly. "Yes," she said, the corner of her mouth raising into something too sharp to be a smile. "A man of good sense would have sent a female relative to inquire about me. A man of good breeding would have left when he discovered no man home to greet him. Our guest appears to be neither. Now, can you make the tea?"
Mahir nodded without saying a word. He watched Nadide turn to walk back down the stairs and, for one brief moment, wondered if her would-be suitor was ready for who he was about to meet.
Tolga bajedi hosted them in one of the inner-mosty rooms of the Palace. It was lavishly but tastefully decorated, the kind of room meant to intimidate a guest into his best behavior. And yet in total defiance of custom, Tolga bajedi stood when they entered as if he were their guest and not the other way around. "Ozal bajedi! I have been waiting to see you." He turned to Ahmad, "Who is this?"
"The man who cured me, a promising magician from the province of Wakamir named Ahmad." Ozal waited half a second for Ahmad to introduce himself further, but the man only stared at the Imperial Magician. He had the slightest frown on his face, as if Tolga bajedi was a puzzle he needed to solve.
The silence dragged on.
It was not the first impression Ozal had hoped Ahmad would make.
"Yes," Tolga finally gave a small cough. "The foreign magician. I heard about his trial at the Stand -- a rather unconventional candidate, everyone said. Perhaps with more training and guidance, next time will go better."
Ahmad made only the smallest noise of acknowledgement. Ozal wasn't sure why, but he seemed disappointed. Perhaps the other man had solved the puzzle and found the answer unsatisfactory. Whatever the reason, it was fortunate for them both that Tolga bajedi ignored his slight. Instead, he turned to Ozal. "There is much for us to talk about. But if you had been hoping for better news on the pension, I am sorry to report that I can only report to you what I have already told your sister and uncle. But now that you appear recovered, there is much that occupy a man of your rank. And after what the Vaspahanians did to you and Eryadin bajedi, I am sure you cannot wait to do something yourself."
There was a terrible sincerity in his every word. Ozal scanned his features, searching for the slightest tell that might give away the truth.
He saw nothing.
"Thank you, bajediyan. But actually -- I had hoped to speak with you about a different matter at the moment."
"Is that so?"
Ozal considered his next words carefully. "I had heard that your own physician examined me, when I was -- ill."
"When you were poisoned," Tolga bajedi corrected generously.
"He said you were the first one to mention the possibility of poison to him."
Tolga bajedi laughed faintly, as if Ozal had said something amusing. "I was! It was rather an impressive suggestion, was it not?"
Ozal's mouth went dry. He forced himself to say, slowly and carefully, "Impressive in what way, bajediyan?"
"Well, no one could make any sense of it. But if you remember, during the Summer War the army was constantly encountering poisons it had never seen before. Of course, your symptoms weren’t the same -- no one had ever seen anything like what happened to you -- but considering you and Eryadin had been in contact with the Vaspahanians...well, the truth was obvious once pointed out.” He sighed, added wistfully, “I only wish I’d been the one to think of the explanation first.”
"To think of it first?" Ozal repeated, his voice coming out half-strangled. He barely trusted his own ears that he had heard Tolga correctly. With some effort, he regained control of his voice. "You mean it was not your idea?"
Tolga looked surprised. "Oh, not at all. I was talking with Savaner kishah about your case. He was the first one to propose that it might be a Vaspahanian poison."
"Savaner kishah," he echoed in disbelief. Ozal thought he might as well be one of those exotic birds some merchants kept as pets, because right now his mind seemed capable of nothing else except repeating what he heard.
It was only a half second later that he realized Ahmad had also repeated the name, although he did not have the faintest clue why the name would mean anything to the foreign magician. Ozal couldn’t recall ever mentioning the man to him before.
"You seem surprised," Tolga bajedi responded, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
"I had no idea he took an interest in my case," Ozal confessed. "I've never met the man."
He had been willing to believe that Tolga bajedi had schemed to curse Eryadin bajedi and Ozal and cast the blame on the Vaspahanians in order to be named the Imperial Magician. But what gain could there possibly be for Savaner kishah in attacking two other members of the Stand? He was a hero in Kadehir and had been for years; if he’d so desired, he could have easily been named Imperial Magician without resorting to foul play.
"An interest!" Tolga repeated with a laugh. "Of course he took an interest. The whole Stand did. But for Savaner kishah, it was different. It was personal for him, I think. He wanted to know everything about the case -- I even told him that you wrote to me yesterday. I think he suspected Vaspahanian involvement from the beginning."
"It seems a little odd that he suspected foreign influence so early," Ozal hesitated. Was this the time to air his suspicions? Tolga bajedi originally came from the ranks of the military, just like Savaner kishah. And Ozal still was at a loss to explain why Savaner kishah would have struck him and his mentor.
While Ozal wrestled with these concerns, Ahmad appeared untroubled. When no one spoke for a moment, he gave a dismissive huff. "Savaner kishah is a bad man. I do not trust him."
"A bad man?" Tolga sputtered in disbelief as Ozal's heart sank. "What do you know about Savaner kishah?" Ahmad opened his mouth to answer, but Tolga bajedi continued, "The man is a hero! He won one of the most important battles of the Summer War, and in the process became the first adult magician discovered in Stand history. I can't imagine there’s anyone in Kadehir who doesn't admire him."
Ahmad's gaze remained cold throughout the speech. "Of course a man like him is admired here."
It did not sound like a compliment, but Ozal did not need it to be. "Yes, there is no doubt, Kadehir owes him much,” he said quickly, his tone conciliatory. “But still, I am confused. He is no doubt quite the busy man to take such an interest. And to so quickly identify the Vaspahanians --”
Tolga waved his hand dismissively, his annoyance visible. "The ambassador and his secretary are found attacked by unknown means in the heart of the Stand itself. Of course it was only a matter of time before the Vaspahanians were found to be at fault.”
"But if there was some other explanation --"
Tolga's eyebrows raised high enough that they almost met the fabric of his turban. "Some other explanation? What are you suggesting? Do you know something about what happened to you that no one else does?"
Ozal hesitated. It was true that he had Ahmad’s testimony that he had been cursed and not poisoned. But the way that Tolga bajedi still seethed at Ahmad’s remarks, it might not be wise to mention that information right at the moment.
"No, not exactly," he finally admitted. "But I know -- knew Eryadin bajedi. He was a cautious man, and I don't think he would want us to be reckless in our pursuit of his killer. Or killers, as the case may be."
Tolga bajedi sighed. For some reason, he seemed hesitant. And then, "I know he was your mentor, and this may be difficult to hear. But Ozal, you must consider the possibility that it was Eryadin’s caution that got him killed."
His cautious approach with the Vaspahan Empire, no doubt. It had not always been popular when he was alive -- particularly not with the likes of Tolga bajedi or Savaner kishah. Of course. Ozal’s breath rattled in his chest. “Yes, bajediyan," he forced out. It was very possible that the other man was right, although not for the reasons he imagined.
"Is that all you wanted to know?" Tolga said. "Because if you don't have any other questions, I had hoped to discuss the matter of your post."
Ozal forced his mouth to form something that might be called a smile. "Of course," he said. "You've been very helpful."
More helpful than Ozal had expected. But still it was not enough. And Ozal knew that it would not be enough, not until he could gather more evidence than just the testimony of a foreign magician.
It took a few minutes for Mahir to boil water and prepare the tea. He brewed it strong, the way they liked it in Wakamir. He'd never had to brew tea in Kadehir before; his former master had had servants for those kinds of tasks. Somehow, Mahir doubted that even if he explained himself, Nadide would have much sympathy. She’d been accustomed to servants at one point too.
When the tea was ready, Mahir placed the earthen cups on a large wooden tray and carried it out to the main room. Kadim stood near the doorway, surveying the scene with an uncharacteristically visible unease. Nadide sat in the middle of the room, across from a man whose back was to Mahir. By the white cloth of his turban, he was clearly a magician. And yet it was odd, because Mahir could spot no sign of a third Mucevhed in the room. In fact, the more he stared at the man, the more even the broad outlines of his shoulders seemed familiar --
“I assure you, janum, I do not want to impose, so if you would like,” the man started.
He did not get a chance to complete the offer. Instead, he was distracted by the loud noise made by the tray slipping from Mahir’s hand and the tea set crashing against the floor.
Mahir recognized that voice. He knew this man.
The commotion had attracted the attention of everyone in the room. Mahir bent down hurriedly, reaching for the shattered remains of the earthenware around him and trying to keep his face hidden.
“Apologies janum,” he muttered over and over to himself, but it was not Nadide who ultimately responded.
"Stop," the man commanded, and Mahir obeyed.
It had been almost three years since Savaner kishah had sold him to a caravan destined for the edge of the empire, but Mahir still found it hard to disobey his former master.
"You," Savaner said in a different tone, and Mahir was too frightened to look up but he guessed from the inflection that his attention had turned to Kadim. "Pick up this mess."
Mahir saw Kadim bend down in front of him to obey. Fear rooted him to the ground; he wasn't sure he could move if he wanted to.
"Kishah." There was a dangerous tone in Nadide's voice, but Mahir doubted whether her fangs were half as sharp as Savaner's. "Are you usually in the habit of directing other men's Mucevheden?"
She doesn't know, Mahir thought all at once. Of course. He was being stupid. How could Nadide have known that Mahir belonged to Savaner kishah?
Had belonged. He swallowed and tried to force himself to remember that.
“This one did belong to me, once.” Savaner answered offhandedly. And then his attention was back, unfortunately, on Mahir. “And where have you been, little one?”
There was a twisting sweetness to his voice, one Mahir had come to know well. It was a voice that said Mahir might still please him if he acted well, but that his master's patience was being sorely tested.
"Wakamir, bajedi," Mahir answered. It only occurred to him after the words had left his mouth that he could have lied, probably should have. But he had years of experience knowing what happened after Savaner used that tone. His back tensed in expectation of a blow.
"Enough of this," Nadide cried out. There was venom in her voice as she continued, “Savaner kishah, perhaps you have forgotten, but this is my brother’s house, not your own. Now, Mahir. Go back to the kitchen.”
Mahir watched Savaner kishah turn back around to face Nadide. He let out a sigh of relief; that made it easier to obey Nadide’s command. From the floor, he bowed shallowly and then hastily retreated to the kitchen.
Kadim was already there, worrying over the remains he had collected of the tea set. The glance he gave Mahir as he entered was withering. "What was that about? I thought you were better trained than that."
Mahir stopped. Of course, he knew distantly that his action had brought shame upon his master’s hosts. But really, couldn’t the other Mucevheden understand why?
He's spoiled, Mahir thought bitterly. Evidently Kadim had no idea what it was like to fear the man the Stand had bound you to for life.
But he was too tired for jealousy. It occurred to him that for the first time in years, Ahmad was not here to comfort him. He’d gotten used to Ahmad’s presence. Stupid of him, really.
Now all Mahir could do was sit down against the wall and hold his head in his hands. “I just need to rest here until my master returns,” he muttered.
"My apologies, janum. That was not how I wanted this conversation to start." The kishah gave a smile that could be generously described as apologetic as he sat back down.
Nadide regarded him coldly. He was a middle-aged man with a neatly trimmed beard and eyes that glittered with amusement to a joke that only he seemed to know. Savaner had come to call dressed the part of a kishah, down even to the saber he wore at his side. Nadide had not met that many soldiers in her life, and she wondered if the display was meant to impress her, intimidate her, or both.
Nadide kept her head held high. She would be neither.
"What are you here for, kishah?" she asked, letting her frustration bite into every word.
Savaner kishah raised his eyebrows in a silent protest of innocence. "I'm not sure what you mean, janum. I already told you that a friend of mine mentioned he had heard your brother was looking to find you a suitable husband."
"How strange, then, that you do not simply return when Ozal is available to greet you."
Savaner continued as if she had not spoken. "I myself have been too long a bachelor. I have come to believe it is not proper for a man of my rank. After all, think about the goddess to whom I pledged. Do you know that all magicians who wish to join the Stand must ask a blessing from one of the god-trees?”
“Considering that the men in my family can trace their magical lineage back to the very founding of Kadehir, yes, I am aware.” Nadide answered, her eyes watching his features carefully. She saw the way his smile hesitated, if only for a moment.
It was a well-known -- if rarely discussed -- fact in Kadehir that Savaner kishah was the first magician in his family. Nadide could have asked for more information about his lineage; from the dark look in his eyes, he was not eager to discuss the matter.
The corners of her mouth lifted slightly. It took great self-control not to smile too widely.
“Of course, janum,” Savaner said, with a noise like he was clearing something from his throat. “Then, I take it then you know why so many soldiers like myself pledge to the Maiden?”
Nadide did not have the slightest idea. She hesitated. “I suppose the Maiden’s virtue is the truth. And my father always said the truth was a delicate thing that needed to be protected.”
There was something too sharp in the glint in Savaner kishah’s eyes at that response. “Your father was a wise man, then. But no. They tell you in training that a soldier lives to protect his homeland, and who better represents our lands than the Maiden herself, with her youthful bounty and sweet promise? How can I say that I pledge myself to my empire, to our Gods, and then not desire a maiden of my own?”
“You are one of the most eligible bachelors in Kadehir,” Nadide demurred. Savaner dipped his head in acknowledgment. Good; let him think it a compliment. “Which is why I am so surprised about your change of heart on the subject of marriage. After all, not so long ago, I wrote to the sisters and wives of some of your compatriots, and not a one of them had heard you breathe a word of interest in marriage.”
Confusion and annoyance flashed briefly across his face, although he did an admirable job of pretending they had not. “A man can change his opinions --”
“I wrote to them about other subjects too,” Nadide said, a smile still frozen on her face, the edges sharp enough that she wondered if they would cut her cheeks. “As you can imagine, I was also rather interested in the question of why you did not attend Eryadin bajedi’s funeral or come to call on me when my brother lay for months so close to death.”
She waited half a moment. Perhaps she half-hoped he would grovel, beg for forgiveness.
But maybe they both knew it was too late for that.
His expression was, instead, impassive. But there was something cold and calculating behind the black of his eyes. Let him calculate. Nadide had had plenty of time to do the same.
"My apologies, janum,” he said, utterly without emotion. “It must have been a very difficult time for you."
“You can imagine the surprise in the letters I received back when I mentioned this. Each told me of the interest you had taken in my brother’s case -- an interest that seemed to be of common knowledge to everyone but me.”
Her anger had fed on itself, had grown larger and larger. But whatever Savaner kishah felt, he kept well-hidden. When she paused, he only sighed. "Of course. I always meant to call on you -- it seems your brother recovered before I had my chance."
A well-rehearsed answer. Nadide did not believe a word of it. "One of the women I wrote to did say something that caught my attention. She said you must have been quite preoccupied, as it seemed your Mucevhed had fallen ill.”
Nadide had always kept her suspicions to herself. Her brother, she knew, was busy asking questions in the ears of men who were unlikely to ever listen to her. She’d been content to see where that would take him.
But she’d been convinced of the truth the moment Savaner kishah had arrived on the doorstep.
Alone.
“Your Mucevhed -- he’s still too frail to leave the house, isn’t he?” she asked.
For a moment, it was as if a mask had slipped from Savaner kishah's face and the expression underneath was an ugly, hateful thing. But it appeared so briefly she might have imagined it, and then his expression quickly returned to one of indifference. "Your concern is of course appreciated, janum. But Cahit is frail and has been for some time. It is not something you should worry about."
“You might have excused me if I wondered why you would rather play nursemaid to your Mucevhed than attend the funeral of a prominent member of the Stand like Eryadin bajedi. But I suppose it would be rather inconvenient for people to wonder what large, complex spell you did at the time he and my brother were stricken. Whatever it was, it apparently so drained your Mucevhed that even months later he cannot go on social calls with you.”
There was no hiding it now. Anger burned deep in Savaner kishah's eyes and Nadide felt a grim satisfaction at being the reason why.
His hand fell almost idly into his lap, inched closer to the scabbard around his waist. Nadide was aware very suddenly that she was in the presence of a powerful magician, a soldier, and a murderer.
And she didn't even have enough control of magic to knock over a candlestick.
Still, she held her head high. She was a daughter of Kadehir; she would not flinch.
Savaner kishah's hand stopped. His upper lip curled. "I was under the impression that when a suitor would come to call, a woman would try to impress him with her modesty and education. And yet you have only talked and talked. Most unbecoming."
"Am I boring you, kishah? Then let me be direct. I don't believe you ever seriously entertained the thought of marriage. You waited until my brother left to call on me, no doubt hoping that with no man in the house to stop you there would be no one to stop you from looking around for evidence of what caused my brother’s recovery. Well, as I can tell you that as long as I live and breath, you will not see anything in this house beyond the four walls of this room. Now, if you are satisfied, you can take your leave.”
Savaner kishah stood up all at once. Nadide started but remained sitting, forcing her back straight as an arrow.
After a moment's hesitation, the man smiled. It was a thin, cruel smile.
"Perhaps I should go. What a pity. I'll have to let my friends know I won't be courting Ozal's sister after all." Nadide knew those words should be a relief, but she could hear the gloating in Savaner’s voice. “It’s tragic, after all. Even though her brother has miraculously recovered, her mind is still wrecked with grief. She’s gone mad. Lost touch with reality, speaks of strange fantasies.”
With a satisfied air, he gave a small bow and turned towards the door.
“Before you go,” she called out. It was an effort to not let her voice shake, either from disbelief or anger she wasn’t sure. But she was sure of one thing.
She wanted to hurt this man.
Savaner kishah turned back, one eyebrow raised. “Before you go,” she continued. “I want you to know. The man who cured my brother -- his Mucevhed took no time at all to recover from the spell he used. He is the better magician.”
Nadide only caught the briefest flash of anger and surprise before Savaner turned back towards the door. But it was enough.
