I didn’t know if they’d make it, but I suspected they’d rather have a chance.
When I returned, everyone seemed to accept I had indeed executed those prisoners. How could it have been otherwise? The soldiers reported back to Kaen, who in turn seemed pleased.
I thought I’d gotten away with it.
At least, I thought so for a little while.
50: WAR RESEARCH
Jorat Dominion, Quuros Empire. Three days since Thurvishar revealed he wasn’t really Gadrith D’Lorus’s son
“What gave it away?” Kihrin asked.
Ninavis and Janel shared a look before the latter waved a hand. “No, no, that would be jumping almost to the end. There’s a few more pieces of this story to tell first or it wouldn’t make sense.”
Qown flipped to a new section of his journal. “We’re almost finished, anyway.”
Qown’s Turn. The Ice Demesne, Yor, Quur.
Brother Qown sat in the library, working on his notes, when Janel came through the door and slid into a seat next to him. She began tapping her foot against the ground in a way that spoke of ill-contained anxiety, like she might break out into a run at any moment. It reminded him of horses, and he winced.
It had been a long time since they’d ridden horses. Surprisingly, he missed Cloud. He hoped whoever now owned the sweet little gelding had treated him well.
“Did you need something?” Qown asked after a long silence. He hadn’t seen nearly as much of Janel as he would have liked, and he found himself upset to realize he didn’t really know what she’d been doing with herself.
Errands for the duke. Training with the Spurned. Presumably passing messages and secrets to the Joratese rebellion. Not that he expected her to tell him about the latter, but he was sad they hardly spoke anymore.
Janel frowned at him. “You sent a message to me, remember?” Her right leg continued its nervous rapping.
“Oh.” He pointed to Janel’s knee. “Please stop.”
She stilled her leg. “I’m sorry. So why did you want to see me?”
“Ah yes. One moment.” Brother Qown stood up and fetched a notebook. He removed the spell making the journal look like a boring treatise on fireblood genealogies of southern Koenis. “I apologize this has taken so long, but it’s been difficult research. I’ve been researching Quuros war magic—I’d have vivid nightmares if I dreamed anymore—but I’ve finally made some progress.”
Janel straightened. “Qown, I asked you to look into that years ago.”
He paused, wondering if he’d done the work unnecessarily. “Have you made any progress on your own?”
Her lips thinned. “No.”
He nodded. “Honestly, I’m not surprised. Now I’ve made some assumptions about why you wanted to know about war curses—” He paused to give her a significant look. Janel intended to win over the duke by curing the Spring Caves. At least, that was his theory.
She motioned for him to continue.
“—and as a result, I think what you’re looking for is a way to protect yourself from the ore called razarras. You already know how to protect yourself from Lysian gas—that’s the blue smoke—with the air glyph, but razarras is different. Quur unleashed this horror without a way to counter its effects. They just didn’t care. Since Quur knew how to cure tissue damage, any accidental exposures on the Quuros side would either be healed or considered an acceptable loss.”
“Please say you’re telling me the bad news, and good news follows right behind.”
“I’ve been able to find several methods of protecting yourself from the effects of the metal. Several reports suggest the risks of exposure to it can be blocked by, well, other metal. Dense metals like gold or lead are the most effective, but rock will also stop the poison. This is why the whole castle isn’t contaminated. Although I worry about our water supply. It’s only a matter of time before this poison leaches into the water reservoirs—”
“Qown,” Janel said, putting her hand on his. “Is there a way to remove it?”
“Yes, but it will require transmutation, which isn’t easy magic to learn or cast. Most mages, even wizards, never learn how. Someone would have to undo the magic Quur used to create the metal in the first place—and we’d need to do the same for the witch-smoke. Unless we plan to permanently tattoo that glyph on the entire Yoran population.” He paused and looked uneasy. “I, uh … it isn’t in my normal skill range. It’s also slow, so I’d be poisoned while doing it. I tend to work better with flesh and—”
“It’s fine,” she said. “I’m not expecting you to do this. I will.”
Qown stared at her. “What? Janel, you’re not that good at magic.”
She raised an eyebrow. “How would you know?”
“I didn’t think Thurvishar had advanced so far in your lessons, that’s all.” He cleared his throat, feeling embarrassed.
She looked vaguely uncomfortable for a second, before changing the subject. “You’re saying if I go down to the affected caverns, clad in dense metal armor, I should be able to gain enough time to transmute the rocks there? And you’ll fix any tissue damage that sneaks through?”
“Janel, you can’t do this.”
“Is that so? And why are you telling me about this, then—so I won’t try?”
“Maybe you could learn, eventually—” Qown swallowed. “I’m not exaggerating the danger. This metal kills. People poisoned by it die in great pain. If there was ever a way to handle it safely, no one knows what it is.”
“Wyrga—?”
He shook his head. “Don’t you think Kaen would have just ordered her to clean up the mess, if she knew how?”
She scowled. “You have a point. He’d have asked her. For that matter, he’d have asked Relos Var.”
“Right. Which means fixing this isn’t something either specializes in.”
“Or just didn’t want to deal with, in Relos Var’s case. Keeping Kaen hungry and vengeful, and reminding the Yoran people why they hate Quur, seems to be in line with Relos Var’s goals. If he just fixed the problem, the Yorans might lose their knife-edge focus.”
That made Qown pause. He knew Kaen’s allies weren’t always trustworthy—he often wondered why Kaen allied with the D’Lorus and D’Mon families. But Qown hadn’t given much thought to the idea Relos Var and Kaen might be considered separate entities, with different goals.
“Janel,” Qown said, “I have always thought you were a magical prodigy, but what you’re suggesting is something people study for years to learn.”
“Ah, but I’m cheating.” Her expression turned bitter.
“You are?” He waited for an explanation.
She stood, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’ll have to take my word for it. Are there any books I should be looking at? Practices that might help put me into the right mental state?”
He nodded. “Yes, I’ve collected all the notes I could find on the subject.” He handed her the journal dedicated to this one project.