“What about you?” He nodded toward my sash, “I see you had more luck.”
Luck was the last word I would use, but I didn’t know how to explain everything, so I just said, “Laik Var is dead.”
“Shit.”
“I was thinking about making you my nami,” I added after a moment of uncomfortable silence, feeling a strong need to fill the air with something.
The sorcerer scoffed, “Forget it, man. I’m not good at such things.”
“You were doing pretty well in Sorox.”
“And got enough leadership for a lifetime.”
“I had to settle for Saral Tal.”
Argan Am looked at me inquisitively and I shifted, uneasy.
“You think he’ll be fine?” he asked.
“No idea. I don’t know anyone else I could trust.” Then, not able to keep it inside any longer, I let my frustration out, “I’m not the best person for this position. Someone else should have it.”
“Sorry, man. Can’t help you.”
“I know,” I murmured. I was hoping to hear one of those pointless platitudes you don’t care about until you miss them. I guess, like all Dahlsi, he was too practical for bullshit.
“Did you know Laik Var had a daughter?” I asked after a moment of silence.
“Amma La? Yeah, I studied with her.”
“Did you?”
“Yeah.” He paused. “So, are you gonna ask?”
“What?”
He let out a small chuckle. “Yeah, I studied with Myar Mal too.”
I blinked in surprise. So Myar Mal was a sorcerer. Strange. I couldn’t imagine him working as a sorcerer. He was too… dominating. In ancient times he could have become a warlock commanding an army of golems to conquer some half-forgotten world, but those days were long gone. Now, advanced magic was mostly used in construction or life support. Or in Mespana.
“So… is he any good?” I asked, then realized how ridiculous I sounded.
It was Myar Mal we were talking about. And yet Argan Am hesitated before replying. “His theory is flawless.”
“And his practice?”
“His practice is the reason he’s in Mespana and not at the Academy,” he said in a tone even I understood was meant to end the topic. I recalled Malyn Tol mentioning Argan Am having some conflict with Myar Mal, and I wondered if it stemmed from their time in the Academy. But it was too late to ask.
I didn’t know what to say and he didn’t seem interested in continuing the conversation either, so for a moment, we sat in awkward silence.
“I have to go,” I blurted finally, “take some rest.”
“Yeah,” he nodded, “good luck, vessár.”
Chapter 20
Tayrel Kan’s tent was at the edge of the camp; away from everyone, but too close to the vessár-ai premises for my comfort.
I found the sorcerer sprawled on his cot with empty syringes, bottles, and plastic wraps scattered all over the floor.
“In Tarviss, when we visit the sick, we bring them something good to eat, but I didn’t know what to get you,” I said from the entrance.
He tried to rise but fell back, wincing in pain. He finally settled on turning on his side with a bent hand under his head. He sent me a lazy, hazy smile with no trace of his usual sarcasm. I realized he was high as a kite.
“It’s all right, Aldait Han; I’m glad you’re here. And before you ask, it’s all painkillers.”
I wasn’t going to ask, but now that he brought it up, I felt ridiculous. I wasn’t sure if he read my mind, or if I was just so predictable.
Tayrel Kan gestured to the mark on the floor, and I helped myself to a chair. Only then did I give him a closer look. His scars had changed again: though pale, they were strangely swollen, like they were ready to burst open. Deep shadows surrounded his reddened eyes. He was only wearing pants, his chest wrapped in bandages, and the sight made a wave of guilt roll over me.
“I’m sorry,” I said, waving my hand, “for all of this.”
He made an uncoordinated gesture. “It’s mostly the arrows.”
“Bolts,” I corrected automatically. He arched an eyebrow, and I took it as a cue to explain. “Arrows are for bows, crossbows shoot bolts.”
I wasn’t an expert, but the bolts I saw hit him during the battle seemed deep enough to puncture more than a uniform. Wait, why was I even thinking about it? He got injured and almost died. Who gave a shit about what the weapons that hurt him were called?
“Whatever.” He waved his hand dismissively. “The anaphylaxis was nothing in comparison.”
I winced, as the memories of my fiasco resurfaced.
“How did you even survive?” I asked, striving for a positive note and obviously choosing the worst viable option.
But Tayrel Kan grinned, even though it was a shadow of his usual smile. “Magic keeps me alive. It was nothing compared to some shit I’ve been through. Wounds, spells, lack of air, lack of food, you name it. I’m not even sure I can die…”
There was something strange in his voice, and before I could bite my tongue, I asked, “do you want to?”
He didn’t answer, and I cursed myself.
Change the subject. I realized I still hadn’t said what I came to say.
“Also,” I cleared my throat, more nervous than ever before, “I’m sorry for calling you an imp. I didn’t mean for it to sound like that.”
Tayrel Kan frowned. “You called me an imp?” he asked, sounding as confused as I felt.
Didn’t Adyar Lah bring it up during my interrogation?
“This morning, when you were in the ritual tent,” I explained. “Myar Mal told me to stop you, and you weren’t listening.”
“I didn’t hear you. I wasn’t really aware of anything at the time.”
“Well, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve been called worse. Besides, I’m half your size, so you weren’t exactly wrong.”
“It’s not about the size,” I stammered, then paused, not sure how to explain what I meant. Adyar Lah’s words were echoing through my brain, chasing away all rational thought.
He scoffed. “People these days care so much about words that they never stop
