Master of Devils by Dave Gross

Author:Dave Gross
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fantasy
ISBN: 9781601253576
Publisher: Paizo Publishing, LLC
Published: 2011-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Magic Fist

The morning after the night of the assassin, the residents of Dragon Temple rose to assume their duty as if an attack on the royal visitor had never occurred. The masters made no announcement of an intrusion, nor did they deviate from the routine to which we had become accustomed. We disciples trained and meditated as usual, and for three days I assisted the mystic monks Su Chau and Wen Zhao in replenishing the wards against beasts and kami.

Combining arcane and divine magic, the particulars of the ritual often eluded me, although I grasped its basic function. We posted the scrolls I had prepared facing the four winds and their twelve ancestors, linking them with the lesser scrolls prepared by the other students. The ceremony involved more sacrament than arcane crafting, so my part was little more than that of an apprentice observing the work of two masters. By the time Wen Zhao sealed the final link of the expansive ward, I realized I had learned far more than I had contributed.

After the mystic monks departed Dragon Temple, Master Wu woke me at dawn the next morning and led me to an empty room adjoining the armory. Certain I was about to enter a chamber of pain I had not yet visited, I followed with all the stoicism I could muster. Instead, Master Wu relayed Master Li’s instructions that I was to be allotted two candles each evening to continue my studies in the arcane library of the Persimmon Court.

Elation filled my heart. From that moment, my kitchen duty became an exercise in tempering impatience. As when I first began studying with Jade Tiger, the chores I once considered drudgery again became effortless, and my preparations were completed with time to spare. I used the time saved to add a few fresh ingredients to a soup of rice and preserved vegetables. Slivers of salamander peppers and diced green onions would enliven the familiar meal. I left it covered near the fire to remain warm while joining my fellow students for our morning exercise.

By the time we broke our fasts, my thoughts were bent to speculation on what spells I might find in the temple’s arcane library. If only a communication spell—

“Something is wrong with the soup.” Runme scowled at his bowl. He looked around, seeking support for his complaint.

Before anyone could agree, Lu Bai licked his bowl. “It reminds me of my grandmother’s congee.”

“It is good,” said Mon Choi. He raised his bowl to toast me. “Brother Jeggare has cooking skill!”

Runme stuck out his tongue as if sickened, but the others murmured agreement with Mon Choi.

“It must have been an accident,” suggested Karfai. It was a feeble defense, but I admired loyalty to a friend, even when it was misplaced.

“May Brother Jeggare have the same accident again tomorrow,” Kwan said. He stacked his empty bowl on the others before leaving for the shrine.

For nearly a century I had devoted my life to mastering disciplines ranging from botany to the grammar of ancient Thassilonian, but never a chore so mean as cooking.

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