The Ranger of Marzanna (The Goddess War #1) - Jon Skovron Page 0,38

large yawn.

“I should probably let you sleep.” Jorge stood and bowed. “I’m very happy to see you again, Sonya.”

Then he left the room.

After a moment, Sonya tentatively brushed her dark hair back from her temples and felt for her ears. They were no longer empty stumps. Nor were they the ears she’d had before. Instead they were perhaps a bit larger than human ears, and came to a delicate point at the top. Her first visible mark of the Lady, the true sign of a Ranger of Marzanna. She felt pride, but also a sense of loss. It was said that with each “gift” of the Lady, a Ranger became less human, both in body and in mind.

Lady Marzanna had reprimanded her for getting sidetracked. Family or not, the empire had massacred the Rangers and banned her worship. That simply could not be allowed to continue.

But Jorge had a valid point. How could one person hope to make an impact on such a monolith as the Aureumian Empire? For more than a year she had been trying to strike out against them, hitting supply lines, stealing back tithes, and killing high-ranking officers whenever possible. But the empire didn’t seem to even notice. Somehow, she needed to make a bigger impact. She needed to challenge them in a way they couldn’t ignore. Surely even an empire feared… something…

She tried to turn the problem over in her mind some more, but the medicine continued to work its soothing magic and after only a short time, she slipped into a deep and dreamless sleep.

15

Rykov, do you know much about elemental magic?” asked Sebastian as he and his recently confirmed aide-de-camp stood once again on the banks of the Sestra River.

“Nope.” Rykov’s face was calm and incurious, his arms at his sides, one hand loosely holding a coil of rope.

Sebastian supposed some officers might be irritated by Rykov’s apparent disinterest, but he found it rather soothing. Perhaps after a childhood in which his parents constantly focused their attention and expectation on him, it was a relief to speak and know that the listener would not be intensely scrutinizing every word that left his mouth.

“Not surprising, really.” Sebastian gazed down at the swift gray waters of the Sestra. “Although it is the oldest known form of magic, it is the least understood. I have come across a few books written about the residual magic of Kante, and several about the expressive magic practiced in Raíz—have you ever seen a troupe of Viajero practice expressive magic?”

“Nope,” said Rykov.

“They’re extraordinary,” said Sebastian. “One came to Gogoleth when I was a boy. It was one of the few times my father allowed us to travel to the city. Witnessing their… performance, I suppose you’d call it, although that word seems far too reductive, was easily one of the most impactful moments of my childhood.”

“Okay.”

“My point is, if one wishes to expend a little effort and money, it isn’t terribly difficult to gain knowledge on either residual or expressive magic. There are some who consider apothecary to be a sort of supplemental system to magic, and there is an entire library dedicated to that subject right here in Gogoleth. Yet I have never found more than fleeting mention of my magic. I can only suppose the reason is because it’s so rare.”

“I guess you should write it,” said Rykov.

“What?”

“The book on elemental magic,” said Rykov. “If there isn’t one, and you know about it, then you should write it. That’s why books get written, isn’t it?”

Sebastian’s eyes widened. The idea seemed preposterous. Him? Write a book? “Why, Rykov, that’s…” But was it really so absurd? He frowned thoughtfully. Obviously, there was still a great deal he had yet to learn. But if not him, then who? “Rykov, that’s a wonderful idea. Once I’ve reached a level of mastery that I’m satisfied with, I will write the definitive book on elemental magic.” He grinned, feeling a little giddy because of his bold declaration. “Rykov, it’s such a blessing to have you around.”

“Sure,” Rykov agreed.

“Now, let’s get back to work.”

“Okay.”

Sebastian gripped the diamond in one hand. After a few days’ practice with this gem, he understood better that his intentions needed to be more specific. The more deliberate his forethought, the more effective the result.

Sebastian pictured a narrow bridge of ice that stretched across the Sestra. He constructed the image carefully, methodically, with thick round piers spanning every ten feet, and an elegant handrail that stretched across on either side to