The Magic of Recluce (10 page)

A
S THE SUMMER
drew to a close, some things improved.

As far as weapons practice went, Demorsal had been right. So long as I concentrated just on defense with the staff, nothing happened and I got better—so much better that even Gilberto couldn't break through. Then he taught me how to use the staff against blades, and that was interesting. Why a swordsman would ever want to take on someone trained with a long staff was beyond me, but Gilberto assured me that some would. So I listened. Even there, I could barely make one move toward him.

I was almost disappointed that he didn't pair me against Tamra, but he just grunted and said, “You're as good as you'll ever need to be with the staff and truncheons. Now you need to learn about blades.”

That was worse than the staff had been. Every inch of my body seemed to have welts from the wooden blades. I must have used more hot water in two eight-days than in my whole life.

This time I improved faster, though, because I decided my whole use of any blade was to weave an impenetrable defense. I'd never hold out against a really skilled blade-master, but the idea was to learn enough to defend against the common ruffian types.

Gilberto insisted I learn attacks.

I was terrible. “Why bother?”

He insisted. “There are times when an attack is a defense, and your body will recognize those times. You need to learn these automatically.”

Occasionally, as a respite, he let me spar with the staff against Krystal and Myrten and Dorthae. That was more for their benefit, in case they were faced with a staff, but it was still interesting. Only Krystal ever came close to touching me. Of course, I couldn't attack much, but occasionally I found I could tap them lightly in embarrassing places.

Krystal laughed.

Myrten looked more like an angry buffalo. “Think it's funny, do you…?”

I couldn't help grinning, and, strangely, he grinned back. “Young-old magister, you're still a good kid…”

A good kid? Not sure I ever would have called myself that. Or a magister. Me? But…

Outside of the physical training, things got worse…or didn't improve.

Magistra Trehonna left, and was replaced by a smiling man named Lennett, who immediately launched into discussions on the theory of order. The theory of order? Who cared about the theory of order?

Magister Lennett did, it turned out. And he insisted that we did, especially Tamra and me. Tamra smiled sweetly and asked polite questions.

“Does that mean that a chaos-magician must employ order?” Her voice was almost dipped in honey as she leaned toward him. She eased forward on the gray pillow where she sat.

How she had found a gray pillow, I didn't know. The rest of us used brown.

“Exactly!” bubbled Lennett. His eyes danced.

My stomach turned at the sickly-sweet tone.

“Even to manipulate chaos requires the use of order. In essence, a chaos-magician sets up a fundamental conflict by his very existence—”

“They are at war within themselves?” asked Tamra.

That was obvious, but why did Tamra keep playing up to him?

“…why chaos-magicians have short life-spans unless they use other methods to artificially prolong their existence; and few have the talent. Fewer still can master the order-chaos conflict on that plane.”

I thought about reading the book my father had tucked away, but I never got around to it. Besides, in traveling, I suspected, I would have more than enough time to read.

“…and—Lerris!”

“Yes?”

“Can you explain the magic-reality strength theorem?”

I repressed a sigh. “That's the idea that the greater the magical composition of a construct, the less strength it has compared to something made out of natural materials by hand, rather than by magic.”

“And what does that mean?” Lennett smiled and looked around the room.

Myrten was running his hand through his unruly black hair, while Dorthae looked at Myrten, and Krystal looked toward the afternoon clouds. Sammel tried to stifle a yawn.

Tamra smiled brightly. “It means that magic can diffuse strength or material over a greater area, but cannot build things that last.”

So…what else was new? Chaos-magic was great for destroying things, but you still had to hire stonecutters and masons to build anything.

“That is not precisely correct, as you”—he glanced from Tamra to me—“will discover.”

Myrten snickered.

“Order magic can be used to enhance natural strength, both by providing a defense against chaos and by strengthening the internal order of substances.” Magister Lennett shook his head. “But that is really a subject of advanced study. The important point, as Tamra has noted, is that an equivalently-armed individual can prevail against a number of magical constructs, provided…
provided
you are adequately trained and weaponed.”

“Magister?” asked Sammel. “What about cases like the power of the ancient wizards of Frven? Or the White Knights?”

Lennett shook his head. “You are confusing two aspects of chaos. In pure destruction or chaos magic—that is, loosening the bonds of order which hold all materials together—chaos cannot be successfully opposed except by three factors. First is will. Your will to survive prevents any direct magical attack on your person except by the strongest of the chaos-magicians. You are still subject to temptation, and that is another issue entirely. Second is the natural strength of materials. A young person generally has greater resistance to magic, as does a building built of the strongest stone and best-braced timbers. Third is order magic itself, which can suffuse all things with a strengthening of internal bonds…”

What Lennet said was probably true enough, but it was also generally meaningless. Only a strong magician would ever try a personal attack. Anyone using magical constructs would not employ them unless they were equipped with superior weapons. The White Knights had swords that would have made most great warriors damned near invincible. I remembered that from my lessons with Magister Kerwin.

“…the greatest strength of chaos is its ability to thwart complexity…”

“Is that why most nations don't use much steam machinery?” Tamra smiled brightly once again.

Wrynn snorted audibly.

I tried to relax. Theory was fine, but I for one was getting very tired both of Tamra's phoniness, and of Magister Lennett's enthusiasm for explaining the obvious and avoiding the explanations behind the obvious. What was order magic? How did it strengthen internal bonds? Why did no one admit to practicing it? For that matter, how did chaos-magic work?

Magister Lennett kept asking questions, and I began to think about Candar, about what I would have to do, and what I might face there.

F
ROM THE BEGINNING
—or at least it had seemed that way to me—we had been destined for Candar. But understanding that, and finding out that we would actually be leaving Recluce, were two entirely different things.

We all waited in the same room where we had first gathered after entering Nylan. This time, each of us went in to see Talryn separately.

The dark oak-paneled walls seemed even gloomier the second time around, and the pictures of the two masters on the wall seemed to have a more knowing look to them, almost as if they had a secret they weren't about to share.

I knew that was nonsense, but when I looked at the man in black I wanted to shiver. I didn't look at the woman. She reminded me of Tamra, for all that there was no physical resemblance.

Sammel went in, and he didn't come out. I presumed that he left through the other doorway. Then Talryn called for Dorthae, followed by Wrynn and Myrten. Krystal and Tamra each sat on a bench. Krystal sat on the edge, ready to stand up in an instant. I understood.

I wasn't about to sit anywhere. I still didn't know much more than when I had arrived early in the summer, although I was in better shape and knew enough about half-a-dozen weapons to get myself into real trouble.

What I didn't know was why I was being sent from Recluce. Oh, they'd all explained how I was a danger to the order of our wonderful island nation. But not one had explained exactly why.

“Krystal…” Talryn waited by the half-open black oak door.

Krystal stood up slowly.

“Good luck,” I said softly.

She gave me a faint smile, then a shrug.

Talryn's face remained professionally cheerful, like that of a dedicated executioner.

Click
.

Tamra glanced up at me from the bench. Unlike Krystal, she was almost casual, half-draped along the dark wood. The sharp blue of her scarf and the brightness of her hair made her seem somehow out of place in the somber setting of the anteroom. “Fond of older women?”

“No. Just like women.” I was so damned tired of her edges. She didn't want to understand anything, just to use it. “Particularly women who don't mind admitting that they're women.”

“Oh…the submissive kind.”

I shook my head, not bothering to look at her. “Good as you are, Tamra, Krystal could cut you into little pieces. That's not submissive, not by chaos or by order. Krystal is my friend. That was the way she wanted it.”

“So you're the submissive one, then.” She half-smiled, stretching out on the bench, cat-like.

I didn't bother answering. Tamra would twist…use…anything I said. Instead I studied the stone underfoot, trying to touch the patterns of its existence, trying to trace out the hidden breaks in the stone. According to Magister Lennett, all materials had patterns. The wood I understood, and, were I ever to work it again, that understanding would allow me to craft more finely than most journeymen. The heavier materials—like slate, marble, granite, iron—were tougher.

The stone floors in Nylan were different. All the stone used by the Brotherhood was different. The hidden breaks weren't there, and each paving stone seemed complete by itself, yet fitted into a larger pattern. Worked metal felt that way, but not most stone.

“Tamra.” Talryn merely announced her name.

As she sat up, rather abruptly, I thought about looking up to see her leave, but kept my head down. She'd just turn my concern against me.

Click
.

Alone in the anteroom, I finally sat down under the picture of the woman master. Why did I even care about Tamra? Krystal needed me more than Tamra, didn't she? Tamra didn't need anyone, except to insult them in order to feel superior. She was good at that, because she was better than anyone else, both in brains and physical skills. So why did she have to keep proving it?

“Lerris.” Talryn's voice was calm, and this time he wasn't smiling.

I took a deep breath and rose, wishing I had my staff with me. Everything was packed, but waiting, in the room that had been home for the late spring and long summer.

He held the door open for me, then closed it. I stood by the table where we had eaten so many eight-days earlier.

“Sit down, Lerris.” Talryn took the same chair, the one at the head of the long table.

I pulled out the heavy black-oak chair. This time it moved easily. I said nothing, waiting for Talryn to say whatever he had to say, since whatever I thought clearly didn't matter.

“You could be a problem, Lerris. You keep expecting someone to hand you the answers. Life isn't like that. Neither is the dangergeld. Because you demand answers and reasons, no one wants to give them to you.”

I tried not to sigh. Another lecture I didn't need.

“So I will. We've discussed it. You may not believe me now, but try at least to remember what I'm about to say. It
might
save your life.”

I almost smiled at the melodramatic touch, but decided to listen. It couldn't hurt.

Talryn waited.

Finally, I nodded.

“First, you are a potential order-master. You have the talents to be a chaos-master, but not the disposition. You aren't contemptuous enough, and you never will be. Trying the chaos path will leave you dying young in Candar, if it doesn't kill you outright.

“Second, you're strong enough to tempt most chaos-masters into trying to corrupt you. Third, you refuse to understand that each master must find his or her own meaning in life.” Talryn sighed. The master in silver actually sighed. “Finally, what we're doing is unfair to you.”

“You admit that?” I couldn't help asking.

“We admit it.”

“Then why are you doing it? I don't understand.”

“Because your doubts and your open skepticism are enough to disrupt anyone who spends much time with you. Normally, two masters work with each dangergeld group. Sometimes only one.”

Talryn, Trehonna, Gilberto, Cassius, and Lennett—not to mention the occasional appearances by others—that totaled five, plus apprentices like Demorsal.

“Four…five perhaps. It took that many to keep your efforts damped, and we'll all have to work that much harder for another year to catch up.”

“Why?”

Talryn sighed again. “You have great potential, Lerris—for order or chaos. How you use it is your choice. That choice is not simple. Not at all.”

I opened my mouth.

Talryn raised his hand. “Let me explain. The reason
why
you call upon order or chaos is meaningless. If you destroy a tree for firewood to warm a freezing child, you have still given yourself to chaos. Likewise, if you heal a murderer, you give yourself to order.”

“What?” I couldn't believe what Talryn was saying.

“That's why handling order is so difficult. You have to have good intent, and using chaos for a good purpose leads to greater disorder.”

I still couldn't believe him. “I couldn't even fell a tree to save a child?”

Talryn smiled sadly. “I didn't say that. I said you could not use chaos forces. You could use an ax or a sword to cut branches. Where physical force doesn't affect human life, it doesn't affect order or chaos either.”

I shook my head.

“Oh…it's worse than that, Lerris. Far worse.” His tone was almost mocking. “What I said is not
quite
true. You can occasionally use chaos in service of order—but only when balanced by higher-order considerations. Indeed…if you choose to serve order, you may have to. If you wish to be an order-master, every use of order must be calculated. You may be lucky. You may intuitively understand those balances, but without being able to check such intuition logically, how will you be able to tell the differences between what is intuitively correct and your underlying desires—and we all have them—to take the easier path?”

“You're asking for…a man…a woman…someone who is perfect…”

“Didn't I tell you we were being unfair?” asked Talryn softly. His tone was not mocking now, just soft.

I looked down at the polished surface of the table. “Are you done?”

“Not yet. I have to lay our charge upon you. It seems simple. It is not. You must travel Candar beyond the Easthorns to the Westhorns, and you must not return until you feel you are ready. You must also travel alone; that is, not in company of anyone else from Recluce.”

“What the hell does that mean?” I think I glared at Talryn.

He met my glare. “You will know what it means. Do you have any more questions?”

I had lots of them, but they were the kind I couldn't ask. Why me? What did I ever do? Why didn't anyone ever try to explain things? Why was everything either on faith or through experience I didn't have? Why did they train us together and then say not to travel together? “No. None that make any difference.”

“All right.” He stood up, tired-looking, the first time I had seen him show any really human feelings. “I will not see you until you return. We wish you well, Lerris. The rest of your group is waiting. Your ship leaves shortly.”

“Now what?”

“You pick up your things and walk to the pier where the
Eidolon
waits.” He gestured toward the other door, also of black oak, but did not move.

I nodded. “Thank you for your frankness. I hope I can use it.”

The gray man said nothing, just watched me. So I took the hint, inclined my head, and walked away from Talryn.

Would we be traveling in the strange black Brotherhood ships that everyone ignored? Or in the hull of some Candarian duchy's freighter? From what Talryn had said, I still didn't know.

There was so much I didn't know. Even Talryn had behaved as though he were bending some great rule or tradition to say what he had said. He believed it—that was for sure, and that made it a little scary. Never to use a destructive power…even in the service of good?

I shivered. My feet carried me down the long underground hallway, well enough lit by the late afternoon sun, and the green of the gardens beckoned through the overhead glass. But I still shivered.