Race You

Brochwel and Tecca broke camp before dawn. Tecca had brought her Rhosairian garb with her: severe gray clothes hidden under a black cloak with a deep hood and silver embroidery all along the hems. When he asked over breakfast about her plan to disguise his face, which she had said he would see today, she grumbled something about inspiration. They set off under a clear sunrise with a stormy look on Tecca's face.

"Is something wrong?"

She handed him the map and grumbled to avoid towns and roads. Tecca sat slouched forward in the saddle, staring at her horse's mane or perhaps the ground beyond. It reminded Brochwel of the way she studied the cobbles when they first met, but that lasted a few seconds. They left the trail immediately. It would not do to be recognized on these roads.

Brochwel aligned himself based on morning sun filtering through the trees. Building a route was something he had been trained to do: dead reckoning checked by landmarks. The map was detailed, but old and yellowed. Canter northish over this ridge, cross the shoulder of that hill (don't crest), long right to avoid a town ...

As Tecca rode alongside, she muttered jargon under her breath. Weft, concatenate, loop, switches, cast on, mosaic case handling—some of it sounded like knitting talk to Brochwel, but then the next word would dash that association to pieces. Brochwel guessed it had to do with disguising him, but only because that would be absolutely necessary, and soon. They could weave between the towns and hurry across the roads in the southern reaches of the empire, but the map showed that as they approached Maurcoret, the towns turned to cities and the roads earned their own names. Tomorrow the chances of Brochwel being recognized, of alarm being raised, would increase with every mile.

Brochwel cursed the Flaxen Order under his breath. They had neglected to teach so many things. How to help someone through a creative block? That knowledge would be more valuable than all the maneuvers and formations right now. Maybe he should keep riding, not interrupt? He was about to give up and tune it out when she asked him a question mid-mutter:

"Why do the Tragaronese not name their horses?"

It took him a second to realize that was for him and not some rhetorical question. Brochwel turned to look at Tecca, still gazing down and ahead as if the stream below their horses hooves wasn't there. He made a mental note to ask her later what their horses, a pack horse and the bay-colored one she rode, were named.

"It's a Flaxen Order practice that the rest of the city adopted. They taught that horses were munitions, to be expended on the enemy. Naming a horse, like naming every arrow, they considered bad luck."

"Sounds stupid."

"Yeah. So was their grand strategy."

Tecca asked more questions as Brochwel spotted the white spires of bone that soared above the trees (one the landmarks, he steered toward it). She inquired about his childhood, Tragaron's glassworks, how common were stray cats ... how any of these related to the challenge ahead, he couldn't fathom. He didn't even know what her options were to cover up such a prominent blemish on his face. Painting over it? Probably wouldn't hold up to close inspection. Wrap his entire face in bandages? Maybe. Then she derailed his train of thought by asking how much linen Tragaron produced per year.

"Do these questions help with your problem solving?"

At last, Tecca met his gaze. "I know what I need to make. It's just ... a mask that adheres to your face, looks and feels like skin while on, but changes the appearance of your embedding to something more normal, that's really hard."

Brochwel stared at Tecca as if she had just said she was one or two unsolved details from visiting the moon.

"Imbuing was the only magic that could give an object magic powers, but there hasn't been a single imbuer in this age, or most of the last age, come to think of it. The practice is lost and that tree of magic is dead. Unless Kirrglos found something, like they found Cambadr ..."

Tecca's wolf ears flicked, her eyes widened, and then she waved frantic hands. "No! No way. I couldn't do human sacrifice. I-we ..."

She fell silent and looked away. The forest they rode through was changing here, the tight-packed trees Brochwel had spent his months of exile with giving way to broad beech trees. Every once in a while, a stub of bone thrust up out of the dirt. For now they stood a few inches, but each a little taller than the last. Tecca gave the reins a gentle tug to stop her horse. A magic circle unfolded in the palm of her hand, from which a small hawk flew out and began flying a broad loop between the trees above them to give early warning if anyone approached. Brochwel also stopped the pack horse, and waited.

"Look. I-I'm sorry I couldn't tell you this when we first met. I suppose I should have told you yesterday, but wasn't sure how to say it." She closed her eyes for a deep breath, then she said it all in a hurry: "I'm the first student of a sorcerer."

Brochwel would have fallen off his horse in shock, had his embedding allowed it. A sorcerer! That title was given only to those who invented entirely new types of magic. It had only happened a few times, with Sirigin being the last confirmed one, centuries ago.

"Their name is a state secret," Tecca continued. "We call this new tree 'enchanting' and I can show you something I made by it. That pendant I gave you."

"I still have it."

"I know you do. I made it so that I always know where it is. The general direction, anyways. But there's no one's soul or mind trapped in it. You can ask Cambadr, if you like."

The idea that she was one of the first students of a sorcerer, that would be ... unlikely as Tragaron honey winning an award for flavor. Alright, not that unlikely, but close. If true it would explain why she had given a false last name. Abduction and imprisonment of the practitioners of new magics filled the old tales. While no one could still perform an imbuing, some of the old items thus created persisted. And from those artifacts, a few things about the art were known. Like the fact that imbued items recognized each other.

Brochwel fished the pendant out from under his shirt. Then, with reluctance, he unsheathed Cambadr.

"I am Cambadr!" the voice boomed in Brochwel's head again. "Sword of ... hasn't it been a while since you drew me?"

"Only a day or two. Would you—"

"I'm a legendary sword! Stuff of legends, right in your hand! You could at least practice with me instead of that slutty falchion now and then."

"How can a sword be slu ... nevermind, just tell me if this is imbued." Brochwel wrapped the pendant's chain around the base of the blade till the brass rectangle with its storm motif rested flat against Cambadr.

The hilt hummed under Brochwel's fingers. Tecca's ears flicked, reacting to something beyond the range of his hearing. All Brochwel could see was the ornament's chain shake and chatter while the pendant itself sat still as the grave.

"That's a weird thingy you've got there." Cambadr said in Brochwel's head. "It's magic, but no mind in there to drive it. I hate it. This magic item could have been a letter with return address."

"I'll be sure to pass along your feedback to the craftsperson, Cambadr. Now, uh ..." Brochwel grimaced at the thought of listening to this sword all day.

"Now, I can sense I haven't won you over yet, but I'll prove I'm not like all those other swords. Check this out: ahem ... I declare this exercise over."

Brochwel felt his stone deactivate. He slid Cambadr into its scabbard and let go. A smile, made a little crooked where the chert stopped its progress, spread on Brochwel's face.

"So?" Tecca asked.

"Cambadr backs you up, and it's very impressed by your handiwork."

They persuaded the horses into a walk again. The summoned hawk returned and perched on Tecca's shoulder. Brochwel still had a few questions for her, but they could wait.

As they went between the bones that now reached as high as Brochwel's head, he put the pendant's chain around his neck again but let the brass rectangle dwell in the palm of his hand for a moment. A few days ago when she found him, she had passed by at first, then came back to the boulder where he was hiding. If she could share her hawk's sight, she would have known his position at once and exact.

"A new tree of magic. I guess we are at the turning of an age."

Tecca's smile radiated smug. The little hawk held its head high and proud. "You sound impressed."

"I am. An item small enough to wear that you can always find your way to again." He felt a new path opening before him. Where would it take him? Only way to find out was to say, "I take it that it wasn't easy to make?"

"More difficult than you can imagine."

Bait: taken. "What a fabulous bit of magic. I couldn't imagine giving it to someone you didn't really, really want to see again."

Tecca's face started to go red. She and the hawk looked away.

"Someone special, perhaps?" Brochwel added.

Tecca threw her hood up and and the hawk hid its head under a wing. When Brochwel leaned to see past the hood, she spurred her horse ahead a bit. "We should practice for when we get to town. I'm dressed as a minor noble, and you will look like my servant. We will be expected to ride single file, the attendant behind."

"No need to practice riding single file." Brochwel brought his pack horse alongside again. "Can do it in my sleep."

"But we should start now, just in case." She urged the bay into a trot. "Wouldn't want to draw attention to ourselves."

"No one's around to see."

As Brochwel tried to match her speed, they both spurred their horses into a gallop. The pack horse lacked the pace to keep up with the bay, but Brochwel had the map and more experience, so while Tecca weaved all over the forest he took a nearly straight line. They raced between bones a yard wide that stood eighty feet and taller. In his head, Brochwel checked Sirigin's Gatebreaker off their route.