15

Rykov, do you know much about elemental magic?” asked Sebastian as he and his recently confirmed aide-de-camp stood once again on the banks of the Sestra River.

“Nope.” Rykov’s face was calm and incurious, his arms at his sides, one hand loosely holding a coil of rope.

Sebastian supposed some officers might be irritated by Rykov’s apparent disinterest, but he found it rather soothing. Perhaps after a childhood in which his parents constantly focused their attention and expectation on him, it was a relief to speak and know that the listener would not be intensely scrutinizing every word that left his mouth.

“Not surprising, really.” Sebastian gazed down at the swift gray waters of the Sestra. “Although it is the oldest known form of magic, it is the least understood. I have come across a few books written about the residual magic of Kante, and several about the expressive magic practiced in Raíz—have you ever seen a troupe of Viajero practice expressive magic?”

“Nope,” said Rykov.

“They’re extraordinary,” said Sebastian. “One came to Gogoleth when I was a boy. It was one of the few times my father allowed us to travel to the city. Witnessing their… performance, I suppose you’d call it, although that word seems far too reductive, was easily one of the most impactful moments of my childhood.”

“Okay.”

“My point is, if one wishes to expend a little effort and money, it isn’t terribly difficult to gain knowledge on either residual or expressive magic. There are some who consider apothecary to be a sort of supplemental system to magic, and there is an entire library dedicated to that subject right here in Gogoleth. Yet I have never found more than fleeting mention of my magic. I can only suppose the reason is because it’s so rare.”

“I guess you should write it,” said Rykov.

“What?”

“The book on elemental magic,” said Rykov. “If there isn’t one, and you know about it, then you should write it. That’s why books get written, isn’t it?”

Sebastian’s eyes widened. The idea seemed preposterous. Him? Write a book? “Why, Rykov, that’s…” But was it really so absurd? He frowned thoughtfully. Obviously, there was still a great deal he had yet to learn. But if not him, then who? “Rykov, that’s a wonderful idea. Once I’ve reached a level of mastery that I’m satisfied with, I will write the definitive book on elemental magic.” He grinned, feeling a little giddy because of his bold declaration. “Rykov, it’s such a blessing to have you around.”

“Sure,” Rykov agreed.

“Now, let’s get back to work.”

“Okay.”

Sebastian gripped the diamond in one hand. After a few days’ practice with this gem, he understood better that his intentions needed to be more specific. The more deliberate his forethought, the more effective the result.

Sebastian pictured a narrow bridge of ice that stretched across the Sestra. He constructed the image carefully, methodically, with thick round piers spanning every ten feet, and an elegant handrail that stretched across on either side to compensate for the fact that the deck itself was composed of such a slippery substance.

He designed this image carefully in his mind and focused it on the diamond. This was where the gem showed its superiority. Without any focal point, the result of his magic was only a momentary alteration. A gust of chilling wind, a slight cooling of the temperature, or something else nearly undetectable.

With metal, he could collect his focus on it to some degree, but at best it was a few moments before the material began to decompose, with or without the release of the magic. That was why Sebastian’s intention had always been so rushed, and the results therefore less than ideal.

But with the diamond, Sebastian could take his time to construct exactly what he wanted, down to the last detail, and the gem could bear the magical weight of that sustained focus for as long as necessary.

Sebastian continued to grasp the diamond tightly in his right hand as he gestured toward the rushing Sestra with his left. Slowly, the bridge he had envisioned rose up from the river until it stretched from one side to the other. He felt a moment of dizziness, as one might after spinning around several times, but he quickly steadied himself.

“Now for the real test.”

He held out his hand to Rykov, who gave him one end of a long rope. He had stayed up half the night studying the mechanical principles involved in designing a bridge, so he was fairly certain it would hold his weight. But if it broke beneath him, Rykov would be able to haul him out of the frigid waters with the rope before he was swept downstream.

Sebastian didn’t trust the strength of his grip, so he wrapped the rope several times around his wrist. Then he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and stepped onto the ice bridge.

It held.

“Stay on the bank,” Sebastian told Rykov. Then he slowly walked farther out until the rope was taut between them, nearly halfway across the river. The bridge continued to hold his weight. He stamped his foot down on the deck several times, each time with increasing force. Still it held.

Sebastian’s heart surged. The potential benefits for this skill were almost limitless. Sure, this bridge would melt in the spring thaw. But this was only the beginning. Water and fire were the elements that came most easily to him. Once he was more confident with earth-working, he could make bridges of hard-packed mud, and eventually stone. And of course not just bridges, but any structure so long as he understood the engineering principles behind it, all within a matter of minutes. He would be able to rebuild an entire city in a day.

“Success!” he declared, and turned toward Rykov with a grin.

Commander Vittorio stood next to Rykov, his hat under his arm.

“Good day, Commander!” he shouted.

“Congratulations, Lieutenant,” Vittorio called back to him.

“Thank you, sir!” Sebastian walked back carefully across the slippery bridge, then saluted to the commander. “Really, it’s thanks to the diamond you gave me. I can say without fear of exaggeration that it has increased my ability to create complex structures a hundredfold!”

“Is that so?”

It was only then that Sebastian noticed that Commander Vittorio did not appear to share his happiness.

“Is… everything okay, sir?”

“I’m glad you have been applying yourself rigorously this past week, Lieutenant,” Vittorio said gravely. “Honing one’s skills is never a bad thing. But I did not go to considerable lengths and great expense to procure that diamond so that you could engage in civic improvement projects.”

“Oh…” The giddy elation Sebastian had been feeling evaporated. “Sorry, sir.”

“Surely you have not forgotten that the barbarous Uaine Empire and their horde of undead paces our western border, held in check only by the impassible wintry tundra?”

“N-no, sir.”

“It looks increasingly likely that they will march with the spring thaw. Though I pray it never becomes so dire, there may come a time when the only thing standing between their hordes of undead and the fair city of Gogoleth is you. On that day, what will you do? Build bridges for them?”

“O-of course not, sir.” A cold shame snaked through Sebastian. He had been so caught up in his own selfish interests that he had lost sight of the bigger picture.

Vittorio grasped his shoulder firmly. “Then by God, my boy, show me something I can use. Magic with military application.”

“Military application. Y-yes of course…” It made perfect sense. Except Sebastian wasn’t certain what that actually entailed.

Vittorio looked at him for a moment, then sighed. “Perhaps I have assumed too much. Did your father impart none of his knowledge of warfare to you?”

Sebastian’s feeling of shame deepened as he wordlessly shook his head.

“I see.” He placed his hat on his head. “Well, there’s nothing else for it then. I’ll need to instruct you on such matters myself. Follow me.”

Half-anxious, half-thrilled, Sebastian followed Vittorio, who walked swiftly across the ice bridge without a moment’s hesitation or any hint of concern. This was a true soldier, fearless and bold. Sebastian looked down at the rope in his hand and his shame deepened further. He quickly handed it back to Rykov, who followed wordlessly behind them.

Once they were across the bridge, Vittorio stopped and gazed out at the Pustoy Plains before them. Beyond the plains, Sebastian could just make out the dark line of trees that marked the beginning of the Stena Forest, and to the north loomed the black, craggy peaks of the Cherny Mountains. But directly before them and stretching several miles to the south, the Pustoy Plains were flat and useless for agriculture because of the rocky soil. It was a great swath of empty space that in the winter now appeared as an endless-seeming blanket of snow interrupted occasionally by a small cluster of fir trees.

Vittorio stretched out his hands. “Imagine a vast army of undead marching across these plains, Lieutenant! What do you do?”

“Well, I suppose—”

“Don’t tell me, boy! Show me how you would wipe such a horde of abominations from our fair lands! Prove to me, here and now, that I did not seek you out and gift you with a priceless treasure in vain!”

Sebastian stared at Vittorio, but the commander’s keen eyes did not waver.

“Has no one ever spoken to you like that?” asked Vittorio in a quieter but no less firm voice. “Has no one ever demanded more of you than you were easily able to give? Has no one ever challenged you as you deserve to be challenged?”

He waited, motionless, for a response.

Sebastian had never been allowed to use his magic in such a massive and sweeping way. “N-no, sir.”

“Then it is well past time. How can you expect to achieve your full potential if you do not push yourself to the fullest expression of your gifts? I promise you that the great apothecary Stephano Defilippo did not cling to such safety. If you wish to follow in his footsteps and change the world, you must move beyond what you perceive to be your limits. Indeed, you must accept no limits at all. Only then will you know your true capabilities.”

“I understand, sir. And… thank you.”

Vittorio nodded, then turned to face the Pustoy Plains. “Picture it, Sebastian. A mass of slavering, shambling corpses coming toward us, intent on consuming the tender flesh of your mother and everyone you hold dear.” He looked back at Sebastian with wide, haunted eyes, as if he was already picturing such a horror in his mind. “What will you do?”

Sebastian gripped the diamond tightly in his fist and stared out at the empty plains. No, not empty. Full of monstrous creatures that were an affront to nature and God. An endless wave of evil descending on the innocent of Gogoleth. He would wipe them from the face of the earth. He would cleanse the ground of their foul existence.

First he melted the snow, making it disappear like a blanket being yanked away. The liquid soaked into the thawing ground beneath until it was a sea of mud. But that was surely not enough to stop the undead.

Slowly the mud began to seethe and bubble. The grass and trees turned brown and shriveled with the heat, but he did not stop there. He renewed his focus on the gem and increased the heat until the liquid boiled away, and the ground was nothing but a hard, barren mass of brown.

Even then he knew that wasn’t enough. The undead could surely survive such a thing. He must try harder, push further.

He reached deeper, below the earth’s crust to the bedrock. The weight of it pressed against his mind, the heaviness so palpable it became difficult for him to breathe. But he squared his shoulders, gritted his teeth, and pressed his focus further into the gem.

Sweat glistened on his brow as he heated the bedrock. It built up so much pressure that the ground beneath his feet began to tremble. He steadied himself and continued to make the ground before them hotter and hotter.

Suddenly, a font of bright orange magma burst through the ground and splashed across the plains, hissing spitefully as it scorched away any remaining life. Within minutes, there was only a mass of black, steaming sludge.

Exhaustion swept over Sebastian and he might have fallen if Rykov hadn’t been there to steady him. He took a moment to catch his breath, his face and collar now drenched with sweat. When he finally assessed his work, he saw that there would be no life of any kind on those plains next summer. No grass, and therefore no elk to graze. No wildflowers or trees, therefore no birds or insects. Sebastian had made the Pustoy Plains truly dead.

He felt sick to his stomach.

“Wow,” said Rykov.

“Indeed.” Commander Vittorio turned to Sebastian with a triumphant smile beneath his mustache. His eyes glistened with unshed tears as he put his hands on Sebastian’s shoulders. “That, by God, had military applications. And it was beautiful.”

“Thank you, sir.” Sebastian forced himself to smile, though he would have preferred to vomit. He understood that what he had done could be seen as useful to the military. He felt powerful, proud even, but he did not understand how such wanton destruction could be seen as beautiful.

“Oh, I almost forgot to mention,” said Vittorio in a more casual tone as he went back to surveying the blighted plains with a satisfied expression. “The Lady Prozorova is hosting a party this evening at Roskosh Manor and your mother has requested your presence for the event.” He gave Sebastian an amused smile. “And she made it clear that this time she would accept no apologies. So I suggest you go tidy up for supper with all due haste.”

“Yes, sir.”

The last thing Sebastian felt like doing right then was attending a formal social event, but it was clear he could not decline his mother’s invitation yet again. So he saluted the commander, then headed back across his ice bridge to his quarters, the silent Rykov following behind.