“Morelike a spyglass.Imagine if you built this machine to study the stars, whichwas one of the few of its kind in existence.Imagine if it was difficult toactually use this machine, because the stars are so vast, and the machineitself is very complex in operation.Now imagine there’s a long list of peoplewho also want to use this machine, enough that the formal appointments can takeyears to arrive.That’s how it is with soul capture, more or less.”
“Right,”she said, not at all mollified.“Still, he’s your father.You never asked?”
“Iasked plenty of times,” he replied.“The answer was always no.”
“Should’veasked harder, then.”
“Zaria,if you were a child, and you were struck every time you spoke withoutpermission, how long would you keep asking questions?”
“Fairpoint.”She looked down at him.“Still, it raises another question.Youruncle’s high ranking in the mage world, isn’t he?Has he spoken to yourfather?”
Isaacgrimaced.“Yes.Twice, actually.When I was first placed in his care, and nottoo long before I left on this journey.”
“Andthat seemed fair to you?You being denied words with your sole parent, all yourlife?The man you’d been conscripted to save?”
“Like Isaid, speaking up was never good for my health.”
Shenodded, glancing down a softly shadowed alley.“Second question, then.Do allmages go through such strict training as you?”
“I wasalways told this journey was my sole purpose in life,” Isaac said.“My trainingneeded to be extremely strict to meet the task.Magic is difficult to learnunder normal circumstances, but I was being trained to face an ancientsorceress who could rival armies.At the risk of sounding arrogant, I am muchmore powerful than another transmutation student would be at my age.”
“I’lltake that as no—what you went through ain’t normal.”
Helooked down at his feet, watching his boots tread across the knuckled road.“You have to understand that I had no reference for much of anything.I neveronce left my uncle’s tower, with the only exception being my training in theyard.My only understanding of the world came from books.As an example, I usedto think horses were blue because a textbook I read had a translation error.When my flame instructor arrived on horseback for a lesson, I asked her if shewouldn’t prefer a turquoise stallion instead.”
Shesnorted.He glared at her.She cleared her throat, gesturing him on.
“I dideventually,” Isaac said, “realize my experience wasn’t normal.My bedroom wasat the top of the tower, and I could see Khador’s elemental college in thedistance.Often, there would be students returning from classes, talking andlaughing.I’d watch from the window and ...make up stories, in my head,about their lives.I’d always wonder why I couldn’t go to the college, likethem.”He cleared his throat.“I was very lonely.”
“Iknow, love.It’s alright.”
He saidnothing.
Zarianodded, like certain pieces were fitting together.“Third question.Sorcerershave specialties, aye?Not everyone can throw a fireball, cast bone-meltinglight, so on, so forth?”
“Yes.You have to specialize if you want to be respected in any one discipline.That’s another reason why I had to train so fiercely—I’m proficient in bothelements and anti-necrotics, which is very rare.I’ve told you this before.”
“What’syour uncle’s discipline, then?”
“Necromancy.”
It tookher a moment to respond.“Like the ancient bitch we’re questing after?Sametype of evil magic?”
“Not exactly,”Isaac said.“Necromancy isn’t all evil.It’s controversial, definitely, but ithas many practical applications, and it’s allowed to be practiced in certainguilds as long as there’s strict Diet oversight.”
“Still—”
“Myuncle’s specialty isanti-necromancy, to be precise.He’s writtentreatises on expunging necrotic traps, subduing undead thralls, things of thatnature.He’s also received no little renown for hunting and arresting roguenecromancers who’ve broken the mandates of the Diet.His colleagues refer tohim as ‘the Bone Hunter’.”
“BoneHunter, huh?That’s a name like a dread pirate, if I ever heard it.”
“If youmet him, you’d say it’s accurate.”
“Ithink I’d just call him a cunt.”
Isaacgave a soft laugh.Zaria clapped him on the back, shaking him as they walked,and Isaac felt his smile stretching wider as the idea took root in his mind.Hecould already imagine the face his uncle would make, seeing Zaria stroll intothe well-ordered foyer of his sorcerer tower.He saw the red in his uncle’scheeks as she disrespected his accomplishments, his titles, his parenthood, andIsaac could well picture the bulging vein on his uncle’s forehead as hescreamed back in rage.The idea of someone disrespecting him so openly seemedalmost sacrilegious.
It wasa fantasy, of course, but it was a good one.
