“You shocked me.” The big man rubbed his knuckles.
“Yeah, well, don’t worry, I’ll warn you next time.”
“No, I mean you actually shocked me. With electricity.”
“Huh.” His mouth twitched into a smirk. “Are you saying—”
“No.”
“—that there’s a spark between us?”
Coll groaned. “Shut up.”
Benin clapped him on his mailed shoulder. This time he saw the blue-white spark jolt between his fingertips and the metal. Practicing air magic will do that.
Though air was a pyromancer’s secondary element, he was still surprised at how easy it had been to master the basics. What Bekkit was teaching him was far more complex than at the Guild, but somehow it made much more sense. His instructors had had it wrong; the world’s fabric was not simply “divided” into the four elements. Or rather, those elements were not so diametrically opposed as they’d been led to believe.
All those times he’d envied his peers for their abilities; how long he’d wished to have been born with a different affinity. The other elemental schools were permitted to use their magic freely past a certain point in their education; after the age of sixteen, those he’d grown up with flaunted their new skills before him, teasing each other with personal rainclouds or sending misty butterfly messengers to one another in the hallways. Benin was strictly banned from any such activity.
Even the chemspheres that lit the hallways had supposedly been established to replace torches and braziers. According to the Guildmaster, the fewer opportunities there were for a pyromancer to lose control, the better, though Benin didn’t really understand how removing sources of fire from the reach of someone who could simply conjure it from thin air was meant to help. But it was the intention that had always grated. That he alone could not be trusted.
Benin had been stifled, never explicitly told but always reminded that his fire affinity was a source of shame. The few occasions he’d gotten to practice practical skills rather than the dull theory that was the majority of his existence, it had taken place in a stone room deep underground. And his instructors—Knox and Holloway, who’d undoubtedly undergone the same stifling program during their own time under Varnell’s tyranny—had little to teach him that he hadn’t already taught himself.
Their freedom hadn’t been the only thing for which he’d resented his peers. He’d also been painfully envious of their ever-present familiars—another thing he’d remedied on his own.
Sort of.
He glanced habitually at Pyra, then started in surprise. She’d followed him into the tent and was right behind him. She met his gaze and twitched her tail, as if to say, “Don’t get too excited.” Then she licked her lips.
Every day since rescuing the emberfox, he’d offered her a piece of jerky from his own rations. She liked to find her own fresh meat, and could easily fend for herself, but he’d intended the gesture as a peace offering—anything to bridge the gap between them. Every day, she’d turned her face away and ignored him, only eating the jerky when he left it on the ground and moved away.
Now, though, when he unwrapped the food in his pocket, her nose twitched. Hardly daring to hope, he crouched and extended a hand.
He had to stop himself jumping up and down when she crept warily closer. She glanced constantly between his face, his feet, and the dried meat in his hand, also throwing glances at Coll. Her nervousness re-stoked the rage he’d felt at seeing her confined to a cage. Whoever had been in charge of the Menagerie had clearly made the little creature’s life a misery.
Varnell has a LOT to answer for.
Nose still twitching, she edged closer. Stretching out her snout, she bared her teeth and reached delicately for the jerky in his open palm.
A spark of static leapt from his fingers. The emberfox flinched and backed away, eyes wide and startled.
Damn it!
To his utter amazement, she began to creep forward once more.
When she neared his hand, the same thing happened again. This time when his skin sparked she retreated into a corner, where she let out a little sneeze and then stared at him balefully until he gave in and tossed the jerky at her feet.
He cursed himself and the elements, but at the same time he also rejoiced. This was definitely progress.
Fingers crossed it doesn’t deter her from trying again.
Oblivious to everything that had just occurred, Coll continued rummaging noisily in his satchel.
“Hah!” He finally pulled his hand from the bag. “Knew you were still in there somewhere.”
In his meaty fist was clutched a bottle, spherical, with a cork in its thin neck. “Borrowed some sword sharpener from my roommate months ago,” he explained. “Never got around to using it.”
“You don’t have a sword,” Benin pointed out.
Coll paused in the middle of pulling out the cork. “No. But I think it’s just oil, same as any other kind. Better’n nothing.”
With a grunt, Coll pulled out the cork. Several small, cobalt-blue objects fell from the bottle and pattered onto his bedroll.
Benin raised his eyebrow. He took the bottle from Coll and examined the label.
“Mr. Stiff’s Sword Sharpener,” he read out loud. “Guarantees the firmest sword in the kingdom. Stay sharp for hours!” He grinned. “Er… you know this isn’t meant for actual swords, right?”
The curly letters were accompanied by a rather unrealistic sketch of a buxom woman swooning on the arm of a heavily muscled man. Smaller words at the bottom read, “New blueberry flavor!”
“What?” Coll snatched the bottle back and stared at the label.
Benin rolled his eyes at the man’s idiocy, though his grin remained.
Coll was still staring at the bottle, understanding eventually dawning. “That’s a real shame.”
“Why? You don’t use a sword,” he said again.
“I’ve got a little knife.”
“Oh, then in that case—”
Coll pulled a dagger from his belt and waved it around.
“Ah. You’re right. That is quite little.”
Benin had a whole host of quips about Coll’s tiny blade, but the pair of them were distracted by the arrival of two gnomes. Like most
