Storm breaking (40 page)

Lyam, now freed to go make more of those exact copies of the documents and notes they had discovered resting on the benches, trotted up the stairs. Karal had been amazed to discover just how much he had in common with the little lizard-creature over the past several days. Lyam was good-natured, patient, uncomplaining, and about the same age as Karal. Like Karal when he had first arrived in Valdemar, Lyam never expected to be anything more than a secretary. Lyam was probably right, but if anything was to happen to Tarrn, it would be Lyam who would apply the things he learned from the historian to complete a given task.

Tarrn, on the other hand, was a little easier to work for than Ulrich had been, largely because what Tarrn wanted and needed were simple things. It was quite possible for Karal to anticipate Tarrn's descriptions just by looking at the bench, although Tarrn often had a more succinct way of describing something than Karal would have come up with. And Tarrn, although he did have an air of quiet authority, was not as intimidating as Ulrich had been. Since he was physically much shorter than Karal, and since he looked like a friendly, shaggy sheep-herding dog, it simply wasn't possible to be intimidated by him, no matter how intelligent and knowledgeable he was. On the other hand, he seemed just a bit wary around Karal, which was not too surprising. The Karsites had a reputation for being extremely insular people, and it would be logical to assume that Karal harbored certain prejudices about fourlegged "people." Tarrn could not have known about the Firecats, of course; very few people outside of Karse even knew such things existed.

The work went slowly but steadily. Tarrn had refused to allow anyone else to carry away anything after Firesong had taken the telesons and their notes. Since there wasn't anything down here that was needed immediately, the others had given in to his demands with good-natured humor. Since then, the meticulous description and drawing had been going on every day. Tarrn permitted people to remove articles from the benches only after he had finished with them, but since it wasn't always obvious when he was done with a bench, so far no one had moved much of anything.

Now they were down to the final bench, and Tarrn seemed very pleased with all that had gone before. This bench was virtually empty except for a few pots of dried-out paint and ink and some brushes and pens.
:A scribe's bench, I would guess,:
Tarrn speculated.
:Look at the height of the stool—how close the inkwell and the pots are to the front of the bench. Urtho never sat here, I'll wager.:

"I doubt that any human did," Karal replied, noting the distances down on the diagram. "This is a backless stool, where all the other seats are tall chairs, and to me, that says that whoever used this bench might have had a tail. The seat tilts slightly forward and has an angled, rounded cut-in toward the back, so, I'd say it was a
hertasi
that sat here. Probably Urtho's personal scribe or secretary."

:Impressive deduction. I suspect you are correct,:
Tarrn replied.
:And this is good, since it means Lyam can use this bench for his copying work instead of taking an awkward position on the floor. Well, that is all we need from here. Do run up and tell the others that they can come loot to their hearts' content, would you please? Then if you would, tell Lyam about all of this, and could you help him move his supplies down here?:

Tarrn gave the order carefully, phrased as a very polite request, as if trying to avoid giving insult. Karal would have obeyed him no matter what his attitude had been, but Tarrn probably wasn't taking any chances about hurting his feelings since they all had to live together in a very crowded environment. Lyam was very happy to transfer his work from the floor upstairs to the bench downstairs, and Karal helped him carry his effects. As Karal had thought, the backless stool was at the perfect height for the little lizard.

"This will be good," Lyam said, hissing his sibilants a trifle as he tested the seat. "The stool is perfect." The brushes proved to have failed to withstand the rigors of time; Lyam examined them, pronounced them useless for scribing, and added that nothing had changed much in the art of brushmaking over the centuries. It did give Karal a sense of awe to hold in his hand something that had last been held so long ago, but Lyam was right; the brush could have been made last week except for the fact that the bristles were crumbling.

"I admit to having a special regard for the tools of my trade," Lyam confided. The paint and ink in the pots were useless as well and were consigned to part of another bench to await their fate. Lyam and Karal cleared the top of the scribe's bench and set it up to Lyam's satisfaction. It did not escape Karal's notice that the graphite-sticks, silverpoint sticks, ink, pens, and brushes that Lyam arranged were in nearly the same places as those that had once served that long-dead scribe. Together they swept and cleaned out the corner, so that there would be no dust or dirt to smudge Lyam's new-made copies.

"Ah!" Lyam finally said with satisfaction, stretching his tail out and flexing his stubby hand-talons. "This is good, good light, and a good position! I can be very happy here, I think! Thank you,
gesten
."

"You're very welcome. Really." Karal paused a moment as it struck him again, in a moment of astonishment, that he was chatting amiably with what could be loosely described as an intelligent dog and its lizard secretary, in the ruins of a magic-blasted tower once ruled by a legend. His musings were interrupted as the lizard secretary held up an ancient brush so that the tarnished ferrule shone dully in the workshop's light. "You know, simply by virtue of where this brush has been found, it could be worth enough in trade to feed my family for a season, but its highest value is in what it makes us think of when we see it."

The
kyree
looked over at the
hertasi
with a look of pure pleasure, saying nothing. Lyam held the old brush reverently in both hands and continued. "An artifact of Urtho's own workshop. This is history itself, Karal, as great as any carved monument or temple. History is in the small items as much as the huge ones. When we see an edifice, we see what the ancients wanted us to see, and that is important, but we find out so much more from what was so familiar to them that they thought little of it. And one day, perhaps historians will look back at our clothes, our brushes, and our everyday things, and learn who we were, too!"

:Now you know why I enjoy Lyam's company so much, Karal. He is truly a brother in spirit!:
Tarrn's mind-laugh was joyous.

"Oh! I—well. It is easy to be overcome by all of this. It is wonder itself we are immersed in here," Lyam muttered, embarrassed, as he gingerly set aside the brush that had been the focus of his oratory. Karal and Tarrn exchanged knowing looks with each other. Even across time, species, and cultures, the enjoyment of history's "wonder itself" could be shared.

Karal left Lyam bent over yet another copy of the ancient notes; this batch seemed to be the jewelry designs. He would have offered to help, but although his drafting ability was up to making sketches of benchtops and their contents, it was not up to making copies of intricate jewelry patterns.

When he went back upstairs, Tarrn came with him, and immediately engaged himself in conference with Firesong and An'desha over another copied set of notes. Firesong and An'desha were chattering away, with odd breaks in the conversation as they listened to Tarrn's Mindspoken replies. Master Levy had replaced Sejanes at the teleson, and was talking to someone Karal did not recognize, but who wore Trainee Grays instead of Herald Whites. Sejanes, who was standing behind Master Levy, simply watching the conversation, turned at the sound of Karal's footsteps and waved him over.

"I understand from Firesong that you were the Channel for the last effort here," Sejanes said, when Karal was within earshot. The old mage looked at him expectantly, motioning him to follow as he moved away from the teleson and Master Levy's intensely technical conversation.

Karal nodded, wondering what Sejanes wanted. "Not that I have any idea of what a Channel is or does, sir," he added. "I'm afraid I put my faith in what I was told, that Channeling is instinctive." He felt very diffident, telling such an experienced mage that he had no idea of what he had been doing. He hoped that Sejanes wasn't going to be annoyed at him for mucking about with things he didn't understand.

Sejanes pulled on his lower lip thoughtfully. "That's true in a limited sense," he finally replied. "You could perfectly well go on that way; many Channels prefer not to know anything about what causes what they're doing. But there are things that can be learned that would make the experience easier for you, and perhaps less frightening. I could teach you, if you wanted to learn; that's why I asked about it. It could make an important difference in how you feel afterward."

Karal's mouth went dry, and he swallowed as a tremor of fear passed through him. How could he tell this old mage that the very last thing he wanted was to have anything to do with more magic? On the other hand, Sejanes seemed to understand how horrible it had been for him, and if there was a "next time," wouldn't it he better to undertake it fully prepared?" Well, sir, if I had a choice—I've done it twice, and I'd really rather not ever do it again. But if I have to, anything that would make things easier would probably be a good idea. So I guess I ought to take you up on your offer."

The old man chuckled at his lack of enthusiasm and patted his shoulder, as if to reassure him. "There's no shame in that reaction," he told Karal. "I've never Channeled, myself, but I've spoken to those who have and they would probably agree with you on both counts. I can't blame you a bit. Yet if we're going to start, I suspect we ought to do so before you lose your nerve about it. If you have some time to spare, we could begin now."

Karal shrugged with a nonchalance he in no way felt. "I'd rather not put it off and take a chance that I might need to channel power in the next few hours. The way my luck runs, I would need what you
might
have taught me if I hadn't delayed because—"

He stopped himself before he admitted how frightened he was, but Sejanes saw it anyway. He left his hand on Karal's shoulder a moment longer. "I told you, it is no shame to be afraid, young one," he said in a low, reassuring voice. "Channels hold power as great as any Adept, and sometimes greater; the only difference between them is that Channels don't actually use what they carry. And perhaps that is what makes it harder for them. They are used by the power, rather than using it. What sane creature ever gives up control if he does not have to?"

Karal shuddered; he wouldn't ever
want
to use all that power. It would be more responsibility than he ever cared to handle under any circumstances, no matter how dire. "That's—that's quite a thought, sir. We—we of the Sunlord give up control to Him as a matter of faith. But we are still afraid sometimes, and He only helps those who try hard to deal with difficulties themselves. And I'm afraid I don't know much about magic at all, if it comes right down to it."

"Good. Then you have little or nothing to unlearn. And, yes, your faith will help you." Sejanes led the way to the chamber they were using for storage, purloined a couple of empty buckets and a pair of folded blankets for cushions to sit on, and took Karal over to a quiet corner. When they had made rough stools out of the upturned buckets and rested the cushions upon them, he began. Karal experienced a disconcerting sense of familiarity and an equally disconcerting sense of disconnection; Sejanes sounded like every good teacher he had ever studied under, but the surroundings were nothing like the classrooms of the Sun-priests where he had done all that study. And if he closed his eyes, Sejanes sounded so much like Ulrich except for the accent that it was uncanny.

"Mage-power, as we know and understand it, is an energy that is given off by living things in the same way that fire gives off heat and light in the act of consuming wood," he said, his manner easy and casual, his tone exactly the same as if he were describing the weather and not a power that could wreck kingdoms. "It tends to want to gather together, and tends to follow well-worn paths. In that, it is more like rainwater than fire."

"And mages can see this power?" Karal asked, though his mouth was dry with nervousness.

"That's what makes someone a mage," Sejanes replied. "I can see that power any time I make the effort to—and someone like Firesong has to make an effort
not
to see it."

Karal glanced over at Firesong, who looked no different from any other absurdly handsome Hawkbrother, and shook his head. Seeing power all the time... was it like seeing things with an extra color added? Was it like seeing particles and waves swirling all around you like swimming underwater? And when the power got too strong, did it blind you, like looking into the sun?

"Now, the power itself obeys rules," Sejanes continued. "When the threadlike paths, or tiny streams, merge together enough to make them of a different magnitude of strength, we call them 'ley-lines.' These
tend
to be straight, at least in the short term, and that, besides strength of power, is what makes ley-lines different from the trickles that feed them."

"Is it the strength that makes them straight?" Karal hazarded.

Sejanes looked pleased. "We don't know for certain, but that is the theory," he said. "It makes sense; a trickle of water will meander more than a powerful river. We think that after a certain point, the power can cut through the world taking the shortest distance which, as Master Levy will tell you, is always a straight line."

Karal nodded; no wonder Sejanes and Master Levy got on so well!