Awakening Arte (The Eldest Throne Book 1) Page 13

  Roun laughed, then jumped when Kamil and Laeshiro joined in. He had forgotten they had been watching and sheepishly rubbed the back of his head as he glanced across the tower’s summit.

  “That was an excellent match,” Yhul told them, his voice filled with the simple honesty and pride they had learned to cherish whenever earned. “You two have come far in a minimal amount of time. Especially you, Roun. I was pleased to see you remain motivated despite your struggles, and now here you are with quite the interesting arte.”

  Laeshiro nodded, a grin on his own face. “Looks a bit feral and vulgar, but seems practical.” He laughed again. “I was worried about you, but I’m glad to see that my concern was pointless.”

  “What chimera is this from?” Kamil asked with unhidden interest.

  Roun saw no point in lying this time, so he shrugged and said, “A hoard aspirant.”

  “I see,” Kamil replied. He adjusted his spectacles, eyes glazing over thoughtfully. “Can you mimic others? Do you need to know of them, or do you need something else? A piece of them? Is that why Zareus is always cutting—”

  “Kamil,” Yhul interjected with a sigh. “I’m being lenient enough, but please ask these things on your own time.”

  The boy shrugged, unabashed and his curiosity equally unabated as far as Roun could tell. It wasn’t as if the nature of his arte was a secret Roun meant to keep, but explaining the rest of the details would only lead to other questions, like how he had managed to go find and slay a hoard aspirant.

  He’d also have to tell them he needed to devour a chimera’s spirit to use his arte, and not even he knew how to feel about that. The usefulness of the arte was unquestionable, sure, but its mechanism still left him uneasy. There was also a lot he didn’t understand yet, like if there would be any side effects from storing chimera spirits inside his vessel. I mean, that doesn’t even sound like a smart thing to do.

  “You know, I don’t think I sensed our élan clashing when my blows landed on your arm,” Sethra said, pulling him from his thoughts. She thwacked her staff against his pincer before he could respond, then did it again. “I was right! That’s so unfair!”

  “As if you’re one to speak,” Kamil muttered.

  Yhul stepped closer and thudded his own lance against the arm. This time Roun did wince and shook the pincer out as pain reverberated through him.

  “It redirects or softens all but the most powerful attacks.” Yhul gave Roun an approving nod. “An axe and shield make for a dependable pair, even if both of yours are unconventional.”

  Roun nodded in agreement; that was what he had been thinking back at the Burrow.

  “Well then, as entertaining as that match was, it’s time the rest of you returned to your own training.” Yhul waited until the others left, then glanced down at Roun and raised his massive targe. “From now on you’ll be learning my personal shield maneuvers and drills, as well as practicing with your bloodhawk axe. We’ll also see if we can’t formalize some techniques for your arm’s other abilities. Back to sparring for now, however.”

  Roun bowed before facing Sethra, who wore a wide grin and was already waiting in stance.

  16

  Several hours later, the six of them returned from a midday meal and sat in the field behind their tower. Today, Zareus was giving them a brief lecture on the Imperial Cantons despite it being the kind of thing most people already knew.

  The scribe began with Hearth, humanity’s ancestral home at the center of the world. It was said that every bloodline originated from there, and that the oldest were those the Empress had herself forged into noble clans.

  Zareus then turned to the Imperial Cantons themselves: the Canton of Unity, the Canton of Dawn, and the Canton of Glory. The three divided their regency over Hearth and the Sea of Serenity at its center, which contained the Eldest Throne, and regulated Empress Sothis’s demesnes through libraries like Avyleir.

  Roun’s father had taught him the rest, but he still gave Zareus his attention and politely followed along; the Canton of Dawn ministered the needs of the people, oversaw most places of learning, and ensured all Imperial Libraries adhered to the tenets set by the Empress. The Canton of Glory maintained the imperial legions and managed their deployment as required by the demesnes or other Cantons. They also enforced the highest laws and were also the caretakers of the equally high courts. The Canton of Unity busied themselves with lawmaking, the founding of new demesnes, the administration of rewards and privileges enjoyed by the clans, and dealt with all concerns regarding commerce, tribute, and taxes.

  Zareus ended the lecture there, thankfully, and instructed them to resume practicing their artes. This was when Roun normally toyed with Farsight for a while before leaving to continue his research on Grimoires and artes.

  Today would be different, however, and Roun couldn’t help but feel excited.

  Fane was the first to leave their circle. He strode to his usual spot in the tower's shade to continue punching clay bricks. Laeshiro had told Roun that Fane was trying to master smaller, quicker bursts of force to use as a defense against opposing weapons. Fane was apparently having a hard time finding the right amount of élan and getting the timing down, so he had been at this stage for weeks.

  Roun still found himself impressed as he watched the other Grimoire smash the bricks into dust one by one.

  Oyrivia joined Fane, and either watched or offered him a canteen whenever she wasn’t lazily firing arrows at the tower.

  Nearby, at the once grassy field’s center, Sethra struggled to turn mounds of soil into pillars and walls while her bō alternated through its staff, guandao, and war hammer forms at the same time; Zareus now acted as if that had always been a part of her arte and pushed her towards perfecting it.

  Roun watched her for a little while before turning to stare at Kamil, whose legion of red and gold spheres had brightened the entire area. The spectacled Grimoire held at least fifty of them overhead, each orb spaced and aligned with exactness. Zareus stood watching and sounded unimpressed; Roun watched the scribe give him a series of commands, first telling Kamil to reshape the entire formation, then only a single part of it, then the entire array again, but always in unison without ever losing control of a single orb.

  Roun himself was awestruck by the sight—Kamil still couldn’t wield that many spheres without dedicating his entire attention to them, but this was far beyond juggling a few in a circle.

  When Roun at last spun towards Laeshiro’s favorite corner of the field, he found the Grimoire standing in the air and grinning at him.

  Roun frowned. “Laeshiro…”

  The other Grimoire clucked his tongue, but the amused smile never left his lips. “This is good practice for me.”

  Roun sighed, but nodded and peered up around Laeshiro. Closer inspection revealed the thin, shimmering strands of silk he perched on; Laeshiro’s constructs could apparently anchor amber beads wherever they wanted, including the air, and link them together to form spiderwebs.

  Roun had discovered this breakthrough after finding Sethra flailing in the middle of their dormitory’s hallway. Confused, Roun had tried to help her, but in the end had only gotten himself caught too. Laeshiro’s hysterical laughter hadn’t stung as much as Kamil’s quiet disappointment.

  Roun bent down to grab his axe and cautiously moved forward, swinging it ahead of him.

  “I told you that wouldn’t work,” Laeshiro said.

  “It did work. You said you’d find a way around it.”

  “And I have.”

  Roun didn’t believe him until he ended up in a weave of nearly invisible threads five counts later, his axe coated by several dozen cut strands of webbing. They didn’t hold him as securely as Laeshiro’s thicker strands could, but it still took effort to pull free of them, and for a while it seemed like every movement he made just stuck more to him.

  “Thinner strands,” Roun muttered.

  Laeshiro nodded as he descended across his strands as if they were s
tairs.

  “Those aren’t enough to hold my weight, but they cost less élan and my constructs can weave them faster. Fantastic for warning me of an approach, and, if enough catch at once, strong enough to be a hindrance and maybe even an obstacle, as you’re now discovering.” Laeshiro shrugged. “Though the point of a trap is for it to remain unknown, I suppose. It’ll be useful for when I’m focused on my constructs.” He waved a hand and a spider clambered down to free Roun.

  “Doing what?” Roun asked as he stepped back from Laeshiro’s conquered piece of the field.

  “Reconnaissance, of course,” Laeshiro said from his perch. A frown creased his face. “I thought that would have been obvious by now, especially given everything I’ve said before.” He paused, then a voice behind Roun spoke in the same multi-direction way that Yhul’s voice emerged from his body, “I can speak, listen, and even see through them, though it’s like looking through a tube. They’re also easy to keep hidden.”

  Roun raised his eyebrows as he spun a slow circle. “Well, I was going to disagree considering they look like brightly painted decorations, but now I feel a little stupid… How are you hiding it from me?”

  Sethra giggled from a short distance away. When he turned to her, she pointed at her head. After seeing his evident confusion, she rolled her eyes. “It’s on your head.”

  Roun frowned, but jumped when the spider-construct crawled down from his forehead and into view. Roun stared dumbly as it waved its little arms and danced on his face. “But—how—I don’t even feel it!”

  “I’ve figured out how to hide them from Farsight too,” Laeshiro said through the construct. “I got the idea from the way my webbing works. Try it.”

  Roun did so and was surprised to find he couldn’t even detect a shred of the spider-construct, just like he couldn’t sense any of the strands of silk despite picking up Laeshiro and the others.

  “There won’t be any battle glory for this Rhalgr,” Laeshiro in a gentle voice, “but I can think of many ways to help others using my arte. I’ll make a good support Grimoire.”

  Roun frowned. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “I never said there was, but thank you anyway, Roun.” Laeshiro gave him an honest smile. “Shouldn’t you be practicing your own arte?”

  “Yes, he should,” Zareus said from beside him, startling Roun.

  Roun sheepishly faced the scribe. “How do you think I should begin?”

  Zareus raised an eyebrow. “What’s the clamping strength of your pincer? How much weight can your tendril pull and carry? Your body weight? A clay cup? Can you bend it on itself or will it snap like a finger? How easily and quickly can you fire and retract it, or close and open the pincer, or conjure and dismiss the entire arm, and how does it affect your movement and sense of balance? Can you still move your arm while it’s transforming? What if it’s already wounded? Would a strike mid-shift cause the arm to erupt in a torrent of ichor?” Zareus shook his head again. “Begin with the basics and understand your arte as best you are able, then challenge that understanding with the hope of first surpassing it and then ultimately mastering it. You will tell me everything you think you’ve learned at the end of all our sessions, no matter how trivial, just like the others, and together we’ll push your arte as far as you’ll allow it to go.”

  Roun nodded, eyes wide.

  Zareus shrugged. “As a scribe, I give you the same promise I give all Grimoires I serve, which is that I will ruthlessly push you towards the heights of your potential.”

  The scribe then left Roun to experiment. Roun removed his outer robes, conjured his augmentation, and began testing the things Zareus had advised.

  He couldn’t help the grin on his face as he did so.

  17

  The day’s training left Roun a husk by the time night fell; his muscles ached and wounds that élan had healed throbbed. That same élan was a stagnant pool within him, offering power, but not comfort. Despite that, Roun couldn’t help but feel some contentment.

  His life was finally normal, or at least as normal as the life of a Grimoire allowed. Roun glanced at himself in the small glass set against the wall of his dormitory room. A few childhood scars stood out against his light-brown skin. He still kept his hair a little below his ears like a lowborn clansman, but he had washed it and, after a bit of fussing and combing fingers over his scalp, didn’t think it looked all that terrible.

  Sporadic patches of fuzz covered his chin and cheeks, but he decided to wait a bit longer before once again braving a straight razor; Roun’s beard was as slow to grow as it had been for his father, so other than tidying his face and painstakingly shaving the patches around his lips, he had left it be. It was a better look than what the countless cuts would have given him.

  Crisp, clean raiments completed his appearance; Roun nodded in satisfaction. He had never met a librarian exarch before, but he wanted to make a good impression; they weren’t just Avyleir Library’s rulers, but also rulers of the sovereign city and the broader Rozarian Demesne itself. There probably wasn’t anyone more highly positioned outside of Hearth other than other exarchs and the grand patriarchs and matriarchs of a select few clans.

  He turned from the glass, made a few final adjustments to his sash, and opened his door to find Sethra waiting for him. He paused, confused, and saw her thoughtful gaze fade as she lifted her eyes to him.

  “You’re looking sharp,” she quipped with raised eyebrows. “Can I talk to you for a moment, or is this important?”

  There was still time until his meeting with the exarch, so Roun nodded and stepped aside. She moved past him and sat on the edge of his bed, then waited while he shut the door. It was already past dusk, but the room’s élanic lantern gave off plenty of light. Roun moved over to his desk and watched as she seemingly gathered her thoughts.

  “Look,” Sethra began, “I’m not the smartest person around, but I’m not a complete idiot either. You don’t show up progressively better each day and then figure out your arte like it’s nothing without something going on in between. I was hoping you’d talk about it on your own, but you haven’t, so…”

  Oh. Roun hesitated.

  “It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it,” Sethra hastily added while eying him.

  “They asked me to keep it to myself,” he replied after some thinking. “Though I admit I didn’t really question it despite being surprised the library was having me do what I was doing alone.”

  “So you weren’t secretly upset with us for being useless?” Sethra shook her head. “Or worse, thought we didn’t want to help?”

  “The only person I was upset with was myself and only because I felt useless,” Roun answered with a snort.

  She passed a hand through her hair. “Alright, so I’m going to make this more awkward than it already is. You, Kamil, and Laeshiro are pretty much my only friends now. More importantly, we’re a team, and I’d like to include Fane and Oyrivia in that someday. Sure, we’ve only known each other for a few months, but we’re Grimoires. We might live for centuries, and as my mother likes saying, ‘It’s the foundation that tells you how well the rest might stand against the tests of both hardship and time.’” Her face twisted into a frown. “I… know how hard it is to depend on someone else without feeling like you’re being a burden, so I was hoping to at least get you used to it. Not just for your sake, but for mine as well.” She gave him a sheepish look. “Honestly, it hurt a bit that you didn’t ask me to help with whatever it was you were doing…”

  Roun remained silent, unsure of what he should say, but then awkwardly admitted, “I’m not used to having the choice. Asking for help is the same as begging when you live on the streets and I’ve always had enough pride stuck in me to be ashamed whenever I did it. After a while you get used to the idea that no one is comfortable with acknowledging you.” He shrugged. “I never thought about it, but I probably did feel like I was being a burden.”

  She nodded without judgment. “Well, you
’re not, and I’d never think less of you for asking for help. Maybe it’s because we’re both from warrior clans, but Laeshiro’s the only other person who seems to understand what camaraderie really means. Anyway, I still don’t have any right to ask you to think like I do, so if I’m annoying you or getting in the way, don’t be afraid to say so. I’m not a child.”

  “You’re doing neither,” Roun said. “In fact, you’re making me feel guilty about not asking sooner. Things would have definitely gone better for me if I had.” He scowled. “But I promise I’ll ask the exarch to allow you to join me from now on—well, if you still want to come along after learning what you’re getting into. It’s not very fun.”

  “All the more reason to share the trouble,” she replied. After a moment, she tilted her head. “Wait, did you say ‘exarch?’ Are you going to see Librarian Exarch Kuro? Now?”

  Too late to deny it now. He nodded.

  “Let me come with you!” she said, suddenly standing. “I’ll ask permission myself so you don’t have to, and I can explain I figured it out on my own so you don’t get in trouble either. Not that it wasn’t obvious.”

  The fierce look on her face suggested she intended to do a little more than that, but it only made him smile. He nodded in agreement; the exarch could dismiss her himself if he wanted.

  With that awkward mess over, they glanced at each other with lingering embarrassment and made small talk until it was time to meet with the exarch. They both stepped through the halls of the dormitory without a word, stepped out into the cold air, and made their way up the central tower. Élanic lamps set into the walls lit their way up the narrow stone stairway.

  The exarch’s floor was near the summit, but had always remained close behind sturdy double doors. They were open tonight, granting them entrance to a lavish waiting room of sorts. Roun was a little early, so he walked towards one of the deeply cushioned seats. Sethra followed, lips parting to ask a question judging by her expression, but she never got the chance.