Chapter 2. The Student

anguage study did not come easily to Pendaran.  It was possibly one reason why he had not been accepted into the diplomatic corps of Ascalon.  Of course, the primary reason would have been lack of motivation.  His mind wandered to his misspent youth as he perched uncomfortably on the stool in Zhou’s study, the workbench before him cluttered with papers, instructional scrolls, an ink tablet, a clay bowl of water and a calligraphy brush.   He glanced at the high windows, noting the first gray light of dawn seeping through the heavy clouds. 

“Focus!” he grumbled at himself.  He had inadvertently worried an untidy forelock of chestnut hair free of the short tail gathered against his nape and it dangled annoyingly between his eyes.  He perched his brow against his left hand and tried once more to make a decent copy of the Canthan character mèng, swearing when the overloaded brush delivered a large bleeding dot of ink to the middle of the frail rice paper and successfully blotted out an hour’s worth of work.  He stared forlornly at the three candles whose fluttering light had been his only companion for the past two hours.  Perhaps it was good enough to just learn the words for please, thank you, and the location of the nearest latrine.

“Whiner,” he chided himself, angrily wadding up the besmirched paper and tossing it aside.  He was going to conquer this blasted language and that was the end of it.

Not that he was entirely alone in his endeavor.  He and Lemony shared a tutor for an hour each afternoon, a gentle elderly woman named Mao Mu Ling.  The foolish monk got along famously with Mistress Mao and much of his time was spent listening to them chatter and laugh in Canthan while he occasionally uttered single stilted syllables.  Though it was against his nature to rise early, it was only during the hours before breakfast that he had time to do his language work.  Pendaran laboriously wrote out each of the new characters that had been assigned to him until he knew both their shape, sound and meanings by rote.

Two hours had passed since he left the warmth of his bed and Teleri.  Snow fluttered darkly against the gravid sky.  He wished Zhou allowed the use of a brazier in the study.  Three layers of dour gray and black robes and fingerless gloves did little to ease the pervasive chill of the big room.  Heavy brass spectacles were perched on the bridge of his nose and he had to remove them once more to clear the condensation from the lenses.

He rubbed his eyes wearily, despairing of ever becoming proficient in his master’s tongue.  The merriment and fun of Wintersday seemed a distant memory even though it was less than a three weeks ago.  Since then, his time belonged to Zhou and, as it turned out, Zhou was a very busy man.  Pendaran hastily returned the spectacles to his nose as the door creaked open.  It would not do to be found slouching.

“Master Kai would like tea?” asked Tian Mo.  The young man held a tray with a steaming tea pot and two small cups.  He beamed nervously, speaking his native tongue with deliberate slowness so that the foreigner could comprehend.  Pendaran was eternally grateful for that.

“Yes, thank you,” he said awkwardly, awaiting the telltale expression of bemusement that followed if he got the inflection or words wrong.  Tian Mo set the tray down on the table beside Pendaran’s papers and bowed before filling both cups with the sweet smelling tea.  Zhou would be arriving shortly.  Pendaran absently took a cup and continued his work, glad of the warmth.  Tian Mo emptied a pile of scrolls on the end of the bench from the sack slung over his shoulder and departed.

“Good morning, Peng Ren,” came Zhou’s voice some moments later.  Pendaran replied in turn and tensed, hating what was about to follow.  Whether through some sadistic quirk or because he actually thought it was helpful, Zhou would not speak Tyrian until after breakfast.  It was painful not having a clue what was being said and infuriating that no matter how he protested and begged for clarification, Zhou would not relent.

“---- ---- today?”

“I do not understand, Master,” replied Pendaran.  They were the Canthan words he repeated more than any other.

“---- water ---- ---- ---- four ----  ----.”

Zhou picked up his cup of tea, grabbed the bundle of scrolls and roamed toward the couch where he settled down gracefully to read.  Pendaran was relieved and resolved to finish his exercises without further awkward conversation.

“---- happy ---- ---- ---- ---- Tyria.”

Pendaran looked up at the mention of his homeland.  Zhou was apparently commenting on something he was reading for his dark eyes were focused on the contents of a scroll.  Judging by his freshly trimmed hair and the faint odor of incense that clung to his flowing black robes, Zhou had been up for some hours already and had possibly enjoyed a bath.  He looked distinctly relaxed and well rested.  Pendaran envied him.

“I apologize, Master. I do not understand.”

“Yes. ---- ---- --- ---- ----.”

Pendaran sighed and redoubled his efforts to focus on his work and ignore Zhou’s random incomprehensible commentary.  It was maddening for he had learned to listen carefully to what his master had to say and ignoring his voice ran counter to that instinct.

“I do not understand,” Pendaran repeated, peevishly.  He fervently wished he knew how to tell Zhou to shut up and leave him alone.

“--- foreigner,” Zhou retorted and Pendaran blushed, realizing his master could detect his feelings of resentment.

“Why are you doing this?” he demanded, lapsing into Tyrian, “I’m trying to concentrate on this… this gibberish and now I suppose you’re insulting me on top of that.”

“---- fool ---- ---- Peng Ren.”

Zhou’s handsome face was inscrutable, betraying only calm and perhaps the slightest bit of amusement.  Of course he was blocking any attempt Pendaran might make to read his thoughts and it was rude to force the issue.  Not that Pendaran dared to match wills with Zhou.

“---- ----- ---- worthy -----.”

“Fine, I’m unworthy, you’ve made your point,” he thought angrily, carefully shielding himself from Zhou’s prying.  Two could play that game. 

Zhou rolled up a scroll and set it aside, then picked up a second sealed with a blob of red wax.  His narrow brows converged as he gazed upon the mark and Pendaran remarked it odd that his master sniffed it cautiously.  He rose from the couch and carried it across the room to his desk where he picked up a jeweler’s loop and scanned the mark carefully.

“Pendaran, come here,” Zhou said, his voice laced with tension and curiosity.  Relieved that Zhou had dropped his daily torment, Pendaran rose from his stool and moved to his master’s side, receiving the jeweler’s loop and setting aside his spectacles to prop it in his right eye.

“Describe what you see.”

“It is a hardened lump of red sealing wax that has been placed over the union of a black silk ribbon.  The seal is from a stamp as opposed to a ring given its size. I would say the signet used was metal given the crispness of the impression.  There are eight points over what looks like a sun burst or perhaps an elaborate shield bossing.  Two spears are crossed over the center.”

“Have you seen this emblem before?”

“No,” Pendaran replied, hesitating, “There is something wrong with it.”

“Explain.”

Pendaran gingerly picked it up while Zhou opened his mouth to protest.  The two of them hesitated and Pendaran followed Zhou’s eyes to the thing.  When nothing happened Zhou nodded for him to continue.  The scroll was wrapped around an inscribed cylinder of a dense wood that had been lacquered to a gleaming blackness.  Each end flared out into a rounded cap and beneath the thick lacquer there was a strange fluid rune in an unfamiliar script.  He turned it slightly, realizing that for its size, the item was much too heavy.  He ran his fingers over the ends, tracing the shape of the mysterious marks so that they flared a faint magenta color.

“What did you just do?” Zhou demanded, his voice pitching upward with anxiety, “Could you see those runes?”

“I just touched them...”

“Put it down, please,” said Zhou softly, “I will take care of it.”

He lowered the scroll to the desk, aware that it was becoming warm beneath his palm.  His knuckles seized with pain when he tried to release it.  Panic welled up within him when it started to burn and he could not release his clenched fingers.  Then, to his horror, Zhou struck his arm sharply and the thing went rolling across the carpet as Pendaran clapped his hand over the stinging wound and swore.

“It was not meant for you,” Zhou said angrily and Pendaran blushed, thinking he was being accused of trying to open it or keep it. 

“I didn’t want it!”

“Of course not, I’m talking about the trap.”

Zhou uttered a long string of Canthan syllables that was so obviously swearing, Pendaran had to bite his lip to prevent himself from smiling.  His master was pale with rage and fear.
 
“Another attempt on my life,” Zhou snarled, “Albeit, more creative than the prior two, but clumsy.  They assumed I would be the only one it could harm.”

“They?”

Zhou shrugged angrily, glaring at the scroll lying innocuously at his feet.  It was clear he was trying to decide how to handle it now that whatever it contained had been triggered by Pendaran’s touch.

“I am not certain who is currently trying to kill me, but a working of this nature is not done alone.  I have been corresponding with an old friend in Istan and it would seem my enemies have intercepted a message and bent it to their own design.”

“Why did I trigger it?”

“You have been possessed by at least one demon,” Zhou replied quietly, “I should have realized.”

“Threnody was not a demon,” Pendaran replied, the hair of his nape rising at the thought, “I have already explained that.”

“The only thing that distinguishes Threnody from Ashekoroth is intent and power.  She is of the same source as Ashekoroth.  I would not be so quick to trust her.”

“You were possessed?” Pendaran asked, realizing what Zhou had inadvertently revealed about himself.

“Different circumstances, but like you, I did so willingly,” Zhou replied quietly, clearly not wishing to speak of it, “And whoever made this trap knows about it.”

“How many people could that be?”

Zhou snorted.

“As many people as that demon chooses to tell.  How many do you suppose currently know about you and Threnody?”

“I have told no one but you.”

“Demons don’t die when they are destroyed, Pendaran, their essence is dispersed and either absorbed by others or reformed.  They are not truly alive, how can they die?  They are not beings, they are more clearly defined as wantings.  They are the manifestation of desire.  They long for what they can never be by seeking to ensnare it.  Threnody used you to experience the pleasures of the flesh.  That is what demons do.”

“But she let me go.  We had an agreement.”

“You had an agreement,” Zhou replied distractedly, “We need to destroy this before someone is hurt.  Go don your work clothes and return here at once.  Wear nothing flammable.”

Pendaran hurried toward his rooms, nearly dashing into a servant as he took the stairs two at a time.  He prayed Teleri was still asleep and that his actions would not disturb her.  In her current stage of pregnancy she was highly protective of him and would surely disapprove of what he was about to do.  He had not yet told her the nature of Zhou’s work or it’s implications for his course of study.  He did not have the heart.

He paused for a moment at the door to their suite, steadying his breathing and expression.  He opened it quietly and slipped past the door to Mabane’s little room, glancing within it to find the boy curled in a peaceful ball at the center of his feather bed.  Now he stalked toward the bedroom he shared with Teleri, smiling fondly at her for she had taken over his side of the bed and was clutching his pillow, her golden hair obscuring her face.  He worked quickly, opening the wardrobe to retrieve his worn woolen trousers and quilted jacket with its leather apron.  He struggled silently into his knee length leather boots and donned heavy gloves.  Instinctively he retrieved the battered rapier that had saved him in the battle against Ashekoroth and attached its scabbard to his belt.  It was the nearest thing to a good luck talisman that he allowed himself.

Zhou, of course, looked askance at the weapon when he returned to the study.  In the short time he had been gone, his master had enlisted the help of Kazuma and Chen Li to roll up the carpet and move furniture.  Zhou was carefully drawing a circle of protection around the scroll, having moved it closer to the center of the room.  He dismissed the necromancer and the burly servant and Pendaran bolted the door behind them, invoking the wards that Zhou had placed upon the door.

“What kind of demon today?” Pendaran asked, mildly excited by the prospect of learning something new.  So far, all that he knew of Zhou’s work were basic symbols and a few protective chants.  Their current efforts were centered upon building a specially warded summoning chamber on the grounds of the new academy.  Pendaran had not seen his master in action.

“I often do not know until they manifest,” Zhou replied, “My sense is that this one is little more than an animal.  Likely it will have been given a simple instruction and it will attempt to carry it out.  Most demons are alarmingly stupid.”

Pendaran watched him finish the last spoke of the eight-point wheel of containment.  He helped Zhou lay down the brass censers and light them in the correct order following the movement of the sun from east to west.

“I am going to release the trap now.  If it attacks you, shield yourself from hexes and stand your ground within this circle for it cannot leave it unless one of us breaks it by stepping outside of its boundary.  We will battle it here where it is contained.”

Suddenly Pendaran was no longer so excited.  He thought of Ashekoroth and imagined being trapped within a circle with that horrible thing.  At his height, the demon had rendered even the most stalwart mantra or charm useless.  Zhou sensed his anxiety and smiled wanly.

“Demons of Ashekoroth’s might do not come bound to a scroll, my friend.  I will protect you, just fight it as well as you are able.  The first time is always the most difficult.”

“I’m sorry, Master,” Pendaran murmured, feeling ashamed of his fear.

“Apologize less and trust more.  I know the events of this autumn wounded that trust and I am working to repair it.  Now please, my friend, do not let fear rule you.  Not now.”

Pendaran nodded, watching with an increasing knot of dread in his gut as Zhou placed his boot heel over the scroll and stepped down hard upon it.  There was a loud snap followed by a sound like shattering glass, brittle and cold.  Actinic light burst before them, pulsing and blinding as a sweltering line of power formed a gaping maw that opened into another realm.  From the rip in the fabric of reality stepped a being of such gruesome proportions Pendaran staggered back in fear and disgust.  Its misshapen jaws were riddled with crusty teeth festooned with rotting slivers of flesh.  It was bipedal, a mockery of the human form as it towered over Zhou and roared down at him. A pair of scything arms curled scorpion-like over its back.

“Kill it,” Zhou shouted, “It is a collector.”

Pendaran had no clue what that meant but he dared not ask, not when his master was in danger.  The hideous creature immediately lunged toward Zhou, seeking to ensnare him in a fetid net formed of damp sinew and weighted with skulls.  Leaping deftly aside, Zhou paused long enough to utter a swift curse, his magenta energies enshrouding the creature’s six-eyed insectoid visage as it charged toward him.  Too late it recoiled in pain, reeling blindly away as the hex stung it.  Pendaran drew his battered blade and uttered a brief incantation, pausing only to harden himself for the coming battle with a protective mantra.  He rushed it, swinging wildly, gratified when each failed strike caused the creature to scream in pain as unleashed chaotic energies tore into its repulsive flesh.

It rushed Pendaran now, scuttling toward him with an enraged roar.  Instinctively he stepped back, feeling the crunch of the strange crystalline sand beneath his heel as he drew dangerously close to the border of the circle.  Zhou glistened under a shimmering pall of chaotic power, focusing it upon the creature’s retreating back.  It lunged viciously toward Pendaran with a rapid series of scything blows, staggering suddenly as a roar of agony erupted from its throat and a shower of rancid drool coated his leather apron.  He remembered himself and dashed aside, slashing toward the creature’s blinded visage and observing that the vile thing now staggered and listed, its jagged knee giving out as it slumped to the floor.

The wind was knocked out of him as Zhou bore him to the ground.

“Close your eyes!”

A burst of searing heat flowed over him, his face protected by Zhou’s breast as they lay curled upon the floor together.  It was suddenly quiet except for the harsh gasping of their breaths.  Zhou staggered to his feet, his own crafting gear singed black and his short-cropped hair curled and brittle from the blast.  His almond eyes narrowed with disgust as he surveyed the shattered jars that lined the shelves beside the window.  The pressure of the blast had proved too much for the delicate glass.

“They have inadvertently set us back several months,” Zhou grumbled, “I know of only one source for many of those extracts and replacing them is going to be nearly impossible at this time of year.”

“What was that thing... what in the five god’s name is a collector?”

“It was sent to fetch, not to kill.  If it had succeeded in ensnaring one of us, it would have stepped back through the opening and sealed it.”

Pendaran shuddered at that thought, perversely grateful he had not known the full extent of the danger before the battle had started.

“If it wanted you alive, why then did it explode when we killed it?”

“Demons can’t abide defeat.  If they can’t possess something, they destroy it.”

Pendaran gazed upon the wreckage of the brief battle.  The walls and bookshelves were now showered in a foul patina of shredded demon flesh and black ichor.  The room smelled of charnel and raw sewage.  His stomach clenched in disgust.

“Go bathe,” Zhou said pointedly and Pendaran realized his back and thighs were sprayed with the disgusting stuff, “I will do the same after I enlist the aid of the servants.  I will see you at breakfast.”

Pendaran hesitated, bemused by how calmly Zhou carried himself now that the battle was over.  It was as if he battled demons on a daily basis and had considered this event barely worthy of his attention.