First Apprentice

Chapter 26 Part 3

"The Pundarikam and Huxians?"

"Dev's father raised him to be clan chief. The lessons stopped when he ran away and joined the Border Guard, but he's taught the others what he knows. As for the Huxians"— he shrugged —"they build nice earthen walls, but they don't know any battle magics."

"And you? I only have ten Dracons. You shouldn't need matches to light a candle."

He tapped his chest. "Ice type. I learned the basic exercises, enough to control my magic, but never went beyond them. Even with further training, I'll always need matches. The others are all fire types. Kevin might be an aes type, but I can't get him to even try the exercises."

He couldn't teach them fire exercises anymore than Endellion could teach me ice. The few ice exercises I knew I learned from an old journal Grandfather acquired somehow. "Explains how you survived Daneian winters," I muttered. "Guardian trainers, weapons, armor for the Shedu and anyone who can't shift, a healer, food, housing, clothes that weren't sewn by five-year-olds. Anything else?"

"I understand the temptation, but even with your research funds, we don't have the gold. I have less than two heads in savings. The others are worse off. We have no resources left to pool, and you haven't even been paid yet. The Seven won't just hand you a thousand heads or more because you ask for it. The money's simply not there, and we have no way to get it."

"You don't. I do."

"You appear moderately well-off, but I doubt your parents have the means to bankroll the entire office."

"My parents died before I could crawl. I'm one of two surviving mainline Ivers and the sole heiress. Last year, I earned over sixty-two-thousand heads in interest alone." Before my apprenticeship, I couldn't touch a quarter pip of it without Grandfather's signature. I never planned on touching it either. My salary more than funded basic necessities and my experiments. "Gold is not the issue. Survival is. I'm not asking Second Candidate Tylar. I'm asking the commander who held Daneus for forty-two days straight while Joel was pinned down on Sephim and Terry was locked up in peace talks. Can we hold twenty-nine gates without sentirus weapons, proper winter clothing, and trainers experienced with said gates?"

"No," he said, voice steady and tone as commanding as Grandfather's. "The question is can you hold them without Terry. Technically, Terry is your mentor. He represents our interest. Article fourteen is an anachronism. I didn't even know it existed until I made commander, which begs the question who told you about that bit of insanity."

"My grandfather."

"His name, please. If we're going to put our necks on the chopping block beside yours, I'd like to know who's giving you advice."

"Mitchel."

Head cocked, he studied me for a long moment. He mouthed 'Mitchel' twice, tilted his head the other way, then shook himself like a dog. "How? Mitchel wouldn't know what to do with a woman if you hung an instruction manual around her neck and drew him a map!"

"Chosen grandfather. Mitchel Iver became Mitchel-dae, fifth of the Seven. He raised me."

Laughter exploded from Tylar. His shoulders shook and he wiped tears from his eyes. "He always said the best apprentices start young. Didn't think he meant the cradle." He sobered. "Article fourteen is risky. All I know about it is that it makes the office answerable only to the Border Guard Chief."

"So?"

"We don't have a chief," he said.

I flashed him a fang-filled smile. "Exactly."

"Without a chief, no one will have the authority to undo this, including you." The wariness in his voice didn't match the dandelion colored flames flitting through his aura like butterflies — excitement, perhaps anticipation. "It won't free you from the political games either. If anything, it will make them worse. There are those among the Seven who will look for any excuse to kill you. Right now, they cannot challenge you directly because Terry stands in your stead. Any perceived insult or slight will be answered with his sword, not yours. Article fourteen removes that shield. Right now, Terry speaks for his before the Seven. Without Terry's protection, we will have no voice."

"The healers reported you were all transferred to a hospital on Shedi. They lied. The Tradesmen billed my office for winter kits suitable for a Skeleton Ridge winter. They charged me eleven ens per wool overcoat. I bought a new one last year, custom tailored merino wool, for nine. Not only did they overcharge me, their coats are invisible! You arrived half-dead with wormy hardtack I wouldn't feed to chickens and swords barely fit for training. Before this, you reported directly to Terry. He knew and did nothing. This is despite the Seven's own regulations mandating wool coats, meat rations for all sealers with dae-level magics, which you all possess, and that all candidates wield sentirus.

"I've spent the last week alternately demanding and begging Terry to transfer the guardian administrators he had maintaining my twenty-nine gates. He's promised them a dozen times, but they never show up. Over the last week, Terry's protection has threatened my gates, my candidates, and myself. Right now, I wouldn't trust Terry with a canary. If I want representation, I'll hire a solicitor."

Tiger lily orange flared in his aura. Disappointment, why?

"You'll spend the next five centuries in court!"

"No," I said, voice steadier than it had any right to be, "I will follow the charter." Amused grass green flames overtook the orange ones, and the dandelion flames returned. "To act against my gates' primary maintainers is to threaten my gates themselves. Anyone who threatens my gates will become part of them. The gates always need fresh souls."

Question: Would you like to return to the old Thursday/Friday posting schedule?