“Of course,” Isaac said.“Surely that’s the way it’ll work.”
He sealed the remains of his poultice in an empty phial andstuffed it in his pack.He doubted that he could assemble his tent on the loosesand, so he leaned back into the slope of the dune, sinking in just enough tobe comfortable, and closed his eyes.For a moment, all he heard was a gentledesert breeze.His aching muscles began to rest.
“Squire.”
His eyes shot open.“I amnotyour squire!”
She grinned around a pull of her waterskin.“You going tolist your titles again?Best fire-blowin’ wizard thisside of the continent?”
“Untie me, and I’ll give you a demonstration.”
“Oh, I bet you would.”She tossed the empty skin over hershoulder.“Tell me about yourself, Isaac.Consider me curious.”
He wished greatly for sleep.“Why?”
“Well, maybe I consider fireballs flying from your hand tobe an interesting topic of discussion.”He heard the folding of her leatherarmor, as if she were shifting position.It sounded as if she had moved closer.“And you like to bluster much, even when tied and helpless, but I know there’sa certain—what’s the word—timidness about you, which belies a lack ofexperience.Like you’ve been shut up in a mage tower all your life, mistakingbook-learning for true knowledge.”
Isaac stared up at the sky, watching the sky grow so red itwas nearly black.
“You certainly peek at me like a shopboy.”
He clenched his jaw.“I suppose you won’t let me sleep if Iremain quiet.”
“Just so.”She shifted again.She was definitely movingcloser.“Please, if you would, enlighten me as to how baby Isaac became a man.”
Isaac spoke wearily.“I was raised by my uncle.I lived inthe tower granted to him by the local college of elements.I was educated inelemental casting and necrotic counteraction, just like my father before me.This is the first time I’ve ever travelled from my home.”
He listened to the whisper of the wind, remembering how itsounded through his high bedroom window.
Zaria snorted.“You’re not gonna make me prompt every word,are you?”
“I just might.”
“Oh, come now, squire.Don’t be a tease.”
“My day always started at dawn,” Isaac said.“If I was notbathed and dressed before then, I was caned.Mornings were dedicated tomnemonic practice.If I forgot a motion in all the complicated sequences, I wascaned.If repeatedly casting the spells left me too weak to stand, I was caned.In the afternoon, I studied by candlelight in the cellar of the tower, readingendless biographies of centuries-old sorcerers and their contribution tomagical knowledge.If I could not name one of these sorcerers and theirtreatises upon demand, I was caned.Evenings were spent doing chores—copyingmanuscripts, preparing lab equipment.I rarely spent any nights not nursingboth welts and fatigue.”
He licked a trace of salt from his lips.
“The only people I ever talked to, beside my uncle, wereexperts he would bring to expand my curriculum.Without fail, they wouldmention my father.They would say they’re sorry.He was a good man, and it’s ashame what happened, and what a proper boy I was growing to be.They’d tell mestories of the sorcerer he was.He had done many favors for all of them.Again,without fail, they would tell me how closely I resembled him.The spittingimage.”Isaac paused.“One time, I told my hex instructor that, if he was sodismayed about my father’s capture, he should aid in his rescue.The second he left, my uncle caned me until I couldn’t walk.”
He watched a cloud grow red at the edges.
“Where was your mother in all this?”Zaria asked.
“She died giving birth to me.”
The wind sprayed sand across his boots.
“Anyway,” Isaac said, “you were right.I never lacked forhot meals.We had multiple servants.I was always warm.I always had a bed.That’s more than many.”
“Is that all normal?The caning and such?”
“It’s not abnormal.Magic is complex.It’s very difficult tolearn.It requires strict discipline and years of practice.”
Zaria blew a raspberry.“There’s a difference between toughlove and mean spirit.Your uncle sounds like the latter.”
“Oh,” Isaac said, “he very much resented being my caretaker.He would often tell me so.According to him, I was ungrateful for all thesacrifices he made for me, all the work put into my lessons, the costs of food,whatever he could name.He’d tell me the only reason my insolence hadn’t gottenme kicked to the gutter was because of his debt to my father.”He was silentfor a moment.“I wouldn’t say he was evil.Sometimes, he would dine with me,and I’d see a different side of him.He would joke.He told me bits of gossipfrom the college and the wider Diet office.After my chores, I could readwhatever books I wished.When I earned my journeyman title, I remember lookinginto the crowd and seeing him smile.”
