"What do you know of magic, Martris Drayke?" he heard a distant voice ask. Bava K'aa continued her work, as if the voice spoke to him alone. Here within the warding, he did not fear the voice.
"I have completed the first level of wardings, and the second level of workings," he replied, his voice thinner and cracking on some words, in the way of a youth on the verge of manhood. "I'm not permitted an athame yet. I can summon the spirits and dispel them. I have watched grandmother bless their passing over, joined her in the spirit plains, to feel how it is done. We practice many hours each day."
"Good, very good," the voice soothed. Now close your eyes. A year has passed. You are eleven. What do you know now, Martris Drayke?"
The boy looked around himself at the familiar workroom, at the goblets and half-burnt candles, at the worn mortar and pestle, at the vials and boxes. "Grandmother says we must hurry," he replied. "Sometimes, Carroway helps us. I have set wardings, and used her scrying ball. We have gone to the crypts and summoned the spirits of my fathers, and once, we turned a demon." The boy shuddered. "It came in the guise of a spirit, begging a favor. It asked for harm to fall on the living, which is not permitted. I refused, and it showed its true nature. I fought it and turned it without her help, but only barely. I was sick for three days and mother was afraid I'd taken a fever." He paused. "We are at the third level of wardings and the fourth level of workings."
"You are a clever boy," the voice responded. "Now, close your eyes once more. It is the summer before your fostering. You are fourteen. What of your mage studies now?"
The boy's voice was deeper, no longer a child's. "I have walked among the vayash moru and I can work fifth-level pathworkings. I have helped grandmother with battle scryings, and I have called spirits. I have intervened between the living and the dead, and made the passing for those who wish to seek the Lady. Grandmother is worried." "Why?"
"Because I go to my fostering, and she has not finished my training. We work dawn to dusk. I am tired. She has gotten mother to postpone the fostering twice, and without explaining the true reason—she cannot sway father again. She says I must not show my powers, not even to mother. But she is also anxious to send me away."
"Why?"
The boy paused. "She is afraid for me. She fears Jared will harm me."
"Tris," a voice called. "Come back. Breathe."
Just as quickly, the scene left him. This time, the memories remained—of Bava K'aa and of the workings.
Maire and Taru were watching him with concern. Maire fetched Tris a warm cup of tea, which he accepted with shaking hands.
"If I knew how to work magic then," Tris asked, his voice unsteady but once again his own, "why didn't I use it against Jared? Lady and Whore, if I could have used magic, why didn't I?"
Taru considered for a moment while he struggled to steady his nerves. "I believe your grandmother knew of your situation, and did what she could to arrange the 'fortuitous accidents' that intervened on your behalf. But Bricen would not hear her about Jared. To protect you, your grandmother buried the memories of your training deeply. Tell me, what specifics did you remember, of all the time you spent with her, before this working?"
Tris thought hard. "Just that she wanted me around, and I was happy to be there." He frowned. "I know that it kept me busy, but before this, I couldn't have told you how."
Maire nodded. "I suspect that even before Jared brought Arontala to Shekerishet, he was coming under Arontala's influence. Bava K'aa would have sensed that. She must have known that if Jared—and Arontala—suspected that you bore any magepower, they would have killed you." She paused. "Perhaps, she also knew that her own time was growing short. She could not protect you for much longer—at least, not as a living mage. Hiding your training was her best hope of preparing you to protect Margolan someday."
"Then why did I begin to use my power after the murders?"
"Sometimes, those with magegift do not know their power until there is a great shock, a fear so deep and so complete that it opens all channels and frees whatever blocked the flow of power," Taru said slowly. "I do not know what trigger your grandmother intended," she added. "Perhaps your power would have come at a certain age or in a certain place. But the grief and fear and anger you felt the night of the murders were strong enough for you to use the most primal instinct to survive." She paused. "For you, that meant triggering your gift."
She sat back and looked at Tris. "What do you remember now?"
Tris thought for a moment, and stared at the tea in his cup. "A lot," he said quietly. "It's like someone opened a door to a room in my mind that I never knew was there before."
Taru nodded. "Your grandmother pushed you hard. By your account, you reached the level of a fifth-year student. It is a solid beginning."
"But Arontala is a full sorcerer!" Tris protested. "And the Obsidian King the greatest mage of his time. How can I hope to defeat them?"
Taru considered carefully. "With mastery comes arrogance. It is in your favor if they underestimate the strength of your power. Your gift is very great," she said, "but I am not yet sure you can control it. Which means that it might be wrested from you and used against you, or—"
"Or?" Tris countered. "That's not bad enough?"
"Or it may take over, as it did in the forest, blasting through a channel that cannot contain it, destroying both you and everything around you." She paused. "First, we must prepare you to win back the sword of your grandmother from the spirit of King Argus who guards it, here in the catacombs below the Library. For good reason have you come to Westmarch."
"I don't understand," Tris said. Who is King Argus? And why must I win his sword to defeat the Obsidian King?"
Taru and Maire exchanged glances. "King Argus was the king of Principality during the Mage Wars. He fought beside your grandmother against the Obsidian King."
"He was a friend of my grandmother's?"
Taru frowned. "An ally, it might be more truthful to say. Argus's first and only allegiance was to Principality. He could be a ruthless enemy. He kept his own counsel, and fully trusted no one, except perhaps Bava K'aa. But one thing was unquestionable—Argus was the sworn enemy of the Obsidian King. Truly sworn, because in the last, darkest days of the Mage Wars, when all seemed lost, Argus swore Istra's Bargain to offer his life for that of the Obsidian King. The Lady granted his oath. And it was the sword Mageslayer, ensorcelled at its forging with great power, that Argus and Bava K'aa wielded to strike the deathblow to the Obsidian King." She paused.
"Even were you a fully trained mage, there are some among the Council who do not think you could succeed without Mageslayer. Therefore, we must risk retrieving it."
"Risk?"
Taru met his eyes levelly. "So great was Mageslayer's reputation—and perhaps, its power—that Bava K'aa and Argus determined it must be guarded. Some argued that it should be destroyed, but perhaps Bava K'aa feared that we might one day face another threat. So Argus, who was himself a Summoner—though lesser in power than Bava K'aa—agreed to stand watch over Mageslayer, in a crypt below this building." She took a deep breath. "None may retrieve the sword, except it be won in combat. Many have tried. None have returned. To fail means joining Argus on his watch. Argus's spirit is bound here by strong magic, because he fell not a day's ride from these walls, at the foot of Gibbet Bridge."