Forest Mage (The Soldier Son Trilogy #2)

Forest Mage (The Soldier Son Trilogy #2) Page 57

I thought that over. “The Fat Man in the freak show claimed he got so fat because he’d had Speck plague. And the doctor at the academy, Dr. Amicas, said that putting on weight like this is a very rare side effect from the plague, but not completely unknown. So how could that have anything to do with magic?”

Sergeant Duril shrugged. “What is magic anyway? Do you understand it? I don’t. I know I’ve seen a few things that I can’t explain in any way that makes sense or can be proved. And maybe that’s why I say that they were magic. Look at the ‘keep fast’ charm. I don’t know how it works or why it should work. All I know is that for a lot of years, it worked and it worked well. And lately it doesn’t seem to work as well. So, maybe that magic is broken now. Maybe. Or maybe I’m not as strong as I used to be when I tighten a cinch, or maybe my cinch strap is getting old and worn. You could explain it away a thousand ways, Nevare. Or maybe you can just say, ‘it was magic and it doesn’t work anymore.’ Or maybe you could go to someone who believes in magic and thinks he knows how it works and ask him.”

That last seemed a real proposal from him. “Who?” I asked him.

He crossed his arms on the table. “It all started with Dewara, didn’t it?”

“Ah, well.” I leaned back in his chair; it creaked a warning at me. I sat up straight. “It’s useless to try and find him. My father tried for months, right after he sent me home in shreds. Either none of his people knew where he was, or they weren’t telling. My father offered rewards and made threats. No one told him anything.”

“Maybe I know a different way of asking,” Duril suggested. “Sometimes coin isn’t the best way to buy something. Sometimes you have to offer more.”

“Such as what?” I demanded, but he shook his head and grinned, enjoying that he knew more than I did. Looking back on it, I suspect the old soldier had enjoyed being my teacher. Supervising men clearing a field of rocks was no task for an old trooper like him. “Let me try a few things, Nevare. I’ll let you know if I have any success.”

I nodded, refusing to hope. “Thanks for listening to me, Sergeant Duril. I don’t think anyone else would have believed me.”

“Well, sometimes it’s flattering to have someone want to tell you something. And you know, Nevare, I haven’t said I believed a word of any of this. You have to admit it’s pretty far-fetched.”

“But—”

“And I haven’t said I disbelieve any of it, either.” He shook his head, smiling at my confusion. “Nevare, I’ll tell you something. There’s more than one way to look at the world. That’s what I was getting at, about the magic. To us, it’s magic. Maybe to someone else, it’s as natural as rain falling from clouds. And maybe to them, some of what we do is magic because it doesn’t make reasonable sense in their world. Do you get what I’m trying to tell you?”

“Not really. But I’m trying.” I attempted a smile. “I’m ready to try anything. My only other idea was to run away east on Sirlofty. To the mountains.”

He snorted a laugh. “Run away to the mountains. And then what? Don’t be a fool, Nevare. You stay here and you keep on trying. And let me try a few things, too. Meanwhile, I suggest you do things your da’s way. Get out and move. Show him you’re still Nevare, if you can. Don’t make him angrier than he already is. In his own way, he’s a fair man. Try it his way, and if it doesn’t work, maybe he’ll concede it’s not your fault.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“You know I am.”

I looked at him and nodded slowly. A spark had come back into his eyes. Purpose burned there. Perhaps I had done as much for him by coming to him as he had done for me by simply listening.

I thanked him, and there we left it for that night.

CHAPTER SEVEN

DEWARA

I knew when my father decided to inform everyone of my utter failure. When I descended the stairs the next morning and went to the kitchen for a quick bite of food, the servants already knew of my disgrace. Previously they had treated me with a puzzled deference. I was a son of the household, and if I chose to eat in the kitchen instead of with my family, it was my own business. Now I sensed my diminished status, as if they had been given permission to disdain me. I felt like a stray dog that had crept in and was hoping to snare a few bites of stolen food. No one offered to serve my meal to me; I was reduced to helping myself to whatever was there and ready, and all the while stepping back and out of the way of servants who suddenly found me invisible.