The Shadow Stone ta-1 Page 11

  Aeron nodded slowly. "I do."

  Baldon dragged out the chair by the desk and straddled it, resignation on his face. "Well, make yourself comfortable, Aeron. We've got a lot to tell you about the rules of the hall."

  "Before we start, I have a question. Why was he so surprised by the spell I chose?"

  To Aeron's astonishment, all three novices laughed. "Because Dalrioc can't work it himself," Melisanda said. "Illusions are his weakest school. If you already know how to weave a spell as advanced as that, you won't be a novice for long. He'll make your life miserable for a few weeks, but you'll be recognized as a student in no time at all."

  Seven

  Aeron met the rest of his hallmates in the refectory that evening. Besides Melisanda, Baldon, and Eldran, there were eighteen more fish who shared his lowly status. Most were highborn Chessentans from all over the country, even a few from cities that were rivals or enemies of Cimbar, and a handful from other lands. By twos and threes, they drifted into the refectory, joining Aeron and his new friends at the table reserved for the novices of Sword Hall.

  Somehow Melisanda and the two boys had found the time to quietly spread the news among the novices of Aeron's arrival and his moral victory over Dalrioc. From one end of the table to the other, he was greeted with broad smiles and easy jests. Aeron was beginning to understand that adversity builds fellowship; the twenty-one-now twenty-two-fish of Sword Hall were united against the ruthless tyranny imposed by the students.

  "Well, he shouldn't have challenged me to prove myself without knowing a thing about me," Aeron replied to their congratulations. He looked around discreetly; the masters dined at the high table, and long tables just below were reserved for the students of each of the four halls. Dalrioc held court among the Sword Hall students, laughing and conversing without a care in the world. From time to time, other students, and even a master or two, came over to speak with him. Apparently Dalrioc was a student of some importance. "Why does everyone hover around him like that?" Alies asked Melisanda.

  "He's a Corynian," she said with a shrug.

  Aeron frowned, trying to understand the significance of that statement. Then it struck him. The Corynians ruled the wealthy city of Soorenar, one of the principal rivals of Cimbar. Born to one of the highest families in Chessenta, and he's no better than I, Aeron thought. So much for nobility. He allowed himself a moment to revel in his minor victory over Dalrioc Corynian before returning his attention to his surroundings. "I thought Soorenar fought against Cimbar and was defeated," he said slowly. "If he's a prince of a beaten city, why's he so important?"

  His highborn hallmates stared long enough for Aeron's face to flush red. Melisanda eventually took pity on him. "Do you know anything of the alliances of the land, Aeron?" she asked quietly.

  "I've never had cause to concern myself with such matters." In rustic Maerchlin, the great alliances and intrigues had seemed a thousand miles distant. A peasant or lowborn freeholder such as Aeron was so far removed from the affairs of lords and kings that it was useless to waste thought on the matter, but here things were far different.

  "Think on it, Aeron," Melisanda said, lowering her voice. "Which cities lead Chessenta today?"

  "Cimbar and Akanax, of course. Their alliance defeated Soorenar and Luthcheq. They're the only strong cities left."

  "And with no foes to ally against, what is there to bind them together?"

  "Nothing, I suppose. But what does this have to do with Dalrioc of Soorenar? His city was Cimbar's rival before the Time of Troubles, but it's been ruined by Akanax."

  "You forget that Soorenar was always a wealthy city," Baldon interjected. "Its might is in the coffers of its merchants, not its strength of arms. The Corynians have rebuilt the city very quickly."

  "The alliance between Akanax and Cimbar is a thing of the past. And the fragile truce that exists now might be blown away by a strong wind. Now do you understand?" Melisanda said.

  Aeron's head swam. So Cimbar as a city-state teetered precariously between one rival-Akanax-and one enemy-Soorenar-just as the Sceptanar himself faced the opposition of the city's demagogues and the censure of the noble senate. He nodded slowly, his eyes on Dalrioc. "Akanax and Cimbar balance in the scales. A resurgent Soorenar might tip them. And so Dalrioc holds court in Cimbar's College of Mages." Aeron grimaced; he couldn't have picked a more powerful enemy if he had tried.

  He methodically attacked his food for a time, mindful of his common manners. The novices ate at trestle tables at the end of refectory. The students shared smaller tables in the center of the room, and beyond the tables held by the students stood the high table of the hall, where the masters ate. Aeron counted twenty-six seats at the head of the hall, but only about half were occupied. While he watched, a master in a yellow robe paused by the table of the Sword Hall students to speak with Dalrioc. "So if Dalrioc is here to entertain offers of alliance against Akanax," Aeron said, "why isn't he guesting in the palace of the Sceptanar?"

  "Because the Sceptanar wants no part of the Corynians or Soorenar," Eldran replied, a little too loudly. "As soon as Soorenar chooses a side, Akanax will be forced to find other allies like Mordulkin or Airspur, and that means war all across Chessenta. But Cimbar's senators, and even some of the demagogues, disagree with the Sceptanar's stance. There's talk that the Sceptanar won't hold his seat for long." The black looks he received from his neighbors embarrassed the enthusiastic apprentice into a self-conscious silence. Flushing, he shifted in his seat and leaned closer to Aeron, lowering his voice. "Or so it's said, anyway. Some of the masters belong to parties opposed to the Sceptanar," he continued. "If they overthrow Cimbar's king, who knows what might happen?"

  Factions opposed to the Sceptanar? Foreign intrigue? Wizards shifting from party to party like children picking sides for a game of hide-and-seek? Wizardry seemed simple by comparison! Aeron chewed slowly, thinking. "How does anything get done?"

  "In the college, the Sceptanar's men decide the issues. The senators and the demagogues oppose each other, so Lord Telemachon and the other masters who support Cimbar's king throw their weight from one side to the other," said Melisanda. "Most of the students are noble-born, and they choose sides as well."

  "Which masters belong to which factions?"

  Melisanda glanced around and lowered her voice. "You don't want to speculate too openly, but here's where matters stand. The High Masters of Alteration, Conjuration, and Necromancy are from families that support the senate over the Sceptanar. Five of the lesser masters from these schools are in this camp, too. Some favor peace with Akanax, and others a new alliance with Soorenar.

  "The Masters of Illusion, Invocation, and Enchantment are populists who favor the Mob. Seven lesser masters in these schools stand with them. The demagogues agitate for war with Akanax and the overthrow of the Sceptanar.

  "Finally, Telemachon-he's the Master of Divination, you might recall-the Master Librarian, and the Master of Abjuration are the Sceptanar's men. They lean toward honoring our truce with King Gorman tor of Akanax."

  Aeron eyed the mages and archmages Melisanda had pointed out. "Where do we fit in?"

  "Until we're students, we don't matter," Baldon said. "And don't worry about it, Aeron. It's all scheming and double-talk. It's not as if they're going to start slinging spells at any moment. They've been at this for a very long time."

  Eldran looked up from beside him and jabbed an elbow into Baldon's arm. "Whoops! Stop talking about it. Seara's coming to join us."

  The camaraderie of the novices faded as a heavyset young woman in a tabard and cap of green sat down at the head of their table. She eyed the nearby novices with contempt, ignoring Aeron, then turned her attention to her dinner. Slowly the fish resumed their subdued conversations, taking care to ensure that Seara was not disturbed.

  "Are we allowed to speak freely at the table?" Aeron asked Melisanda quietly.

  "Yes, although it's a good idea never to say anything about a student or a master when we're cha
peroned. The students take turns supervising us."

  "Why?"

  "To make sure that we don't disgrace Sword Hall by doing something that draws a master's attention to our table," Melisanda replied with a tight smile. "Students never brace you up when a master's present, since it wouldn't be proper to involve a real wizard in something so insignificant as correcting a novice's behavior. But you can bet that students remember everything you do wrong and take it out on you later."

  After the evening meal, Aeron and his fellows returned to the Students' Hall for a few hours' study. Both novices and students alike had dozens of thick tomes cluttering their rooms and attacked them with desperate energy until late in the evening. Melisanda retired to her studies, but Baldon and Eldran remained in Aeron's room to help him memorize the names of every master, as well as the students of Sword Hall. Afterward they talked late into the night while arranging Aeron's few belongings.

  Aeron found himself yawning continuously. It had been a long day, and he finally turned in after midnight. After Baldon and Eldran left, he extinguished the lamp and dropped onto the simple mattress. Although his limbs trembled with physical and nervous exhaustion, Aeron could not sleep; his mind raced as he grappled with everything that he'd seen and learned during the day. But eventually fatigue won, and he drifted off to sleep.

  Over the next few days, Aeron attended his first lessons at the College of Mages. The novices of Sword Hall divided their day into a morning and an afternoon class and had formal classes and lectures eight days out of the ten-day week. Each of the disciplines of magic was discussed at least once per week by a master garbed in the colors of the school he represented. Other lectures touched on history, ancient languages, the natural world, and other arcane topics. As promised, Lord Telemachon lectured on divinations the second day of Aeron's schooling. The old master ignored Aeron throughout the entire lecture.

  Aeron was surprised to see no sign of the students in these lectures, but he soon found out that students did not study alongside novices. They met with the masters in smaller groups at infrequent intervals; for the most part, they pursued their own courses of study. And now that he knew what to look for, he began to spot signs of the partisanship dividing the college. More than a few masters and students went out of their way to associate with their fellows and snub colleagues belonging to a rival party. Tension and distrust were a way of life within the ivy-covered walls.

  On the afternoon of the third day of lessons, Aeron and his fellows gathered in the cold Chamber of Conjuration. Like the other halls in which they attended the masters, the chamber was lined with plain stone benches for the novices. Its walls were marked with arcane designs and intricate relief work, and the room was illuminated by anchored spheres of wizard light. Aeron gazed around in curiosity while his hallmates conversed in low whispers.

  At half past the hour, Master Oriseus swept into the room with a springy stride. He grinned and waved his arms expansively. "Why, if it isn't the hungry little fish of Sword Hall!" he announced, feigning surprise. "What little piece of wisdom shall I allow them to devour today? How can I assuage their ravenous greed for knowledge?" Without waiting for an answer, he tugged on his beard and smiled. "Today, I think we shall attempt the conjuration of ordinary animals. The techniques we practice today are indispensable components of greater and more powerful conjurations you may learn as students."

  Aeron straightened and leaned forward. After days of drudgery at Dalrioc's command and dry hours of esoteric lecturing in the halls of instruction, a master was finally going to show him how to work a spell! The other novices buzzed with eagerness. On average, only three or four lectures each week actually involved the working of magic. He listened attentively.

  Oriseus spent an hour describing the arcane formula that locked the spell's power in the mind, the materials that energized the summoning, the gestures and phrases that bound the conjured creature to the wizard's will. While Aeron tried to absorb Oriseus's lecture without comparison to the elven magic he already knew, he couldn't help but observe that the approach was different. Human magic was ritualized. Instead of images or symbols, spells were memorized by long, complicated phrases in ancient tongues. Elven magic was more fluid, shaped by the circumstance of location and need; human magic, on the other hand, seemed swifter and more mechanical.

  Oriseus concluded his monologue by causing a string of magical writing to appear in the air before the novices with a simple turn of his hands. "Record these words in your books, my dear little fish," he announced. "They are an element common to many of the easier conjurations, a single stone in the tower of your spell, if you will. Then commit them to your memory."

  While the novices busily scratched away with pen and ink to copy the magical phrase, Oriseus paced the room, observing their work. "Baldon, you clod! You've miscopied calgius as colvius! You'd conjure nothing but a head cold with that! Bram, since you seem to have mastered the spell already, you shall be the first to cast. Hurry up. I'm growing tired of keeping these letters in the air!"

  Eventually the last of the novices looked up with a sheepish grin, realizing that everyone else had readied himself to work Oriseus's simple spell. Aeron had taken longer than anyone else to copy and understand the phrasing, but the actual process of memorization had been easy for him. He was ready not long after Melisanda, the fastest of the novices, had finished.

  "Excellent!" Oriseus announced. "Now, watch closely while I work the cantrip." He spoke the magical phrase loudly and clearly, holding his hands in front of his chest, palms turned inward. Aeron felt the light caress of the Weave at work. To his senses, it seemed cropped or truncated, squared off by the rigorous and unyielding framework of the conjuror's words. . but it worked. There was an odd sizzling sound, and a scrawny squirrel appeared in the center of the room. "As you can see, I chose to conjure a squirrel," Oriseus explained. "I did so by concentrating on everything I would expect of a squirrel while working this spell. Now, since this is a mere fragment of a conjuration, the effect is quite temporary, and our magical phrase included no means to control or direct the animal upon its appearance."

  Alarmed by the situation, the gray rodent chittered and ran in a circle, seeking escape. Oriseus watched with a crooked smile. "My hospitality does not appeal to you, Master Rodent? Very well, then. Remove yourself from my presence at once!" He raised one hand, spoke a single sharp word, and with a flash of light, the squirrel vanished. "As you can see, my little fish, the last word of the conjuration serves as a dismissal. I advise you not to forget it, in the event you conjure up something you'd rather not spend a lot of time with."

  "Master Oriseus? Where did the squirrel come from?" Aeron asked.

  The master conjuror beamed and bobbed his head. "Why, I have no earthly idea, young Aeron!"

  "Did your magic actually create a living squirrel?"

  "Oh, that would be a powerful spell indeed, to create life out of nothingness! No, Aeron, a conjuration simply borrows what you seek from somewhere else. Sometimes it is magical energy itself that you borrow, with an advanced spell of this sort. . but to answer your first question, somewhere in this wide world there is a rather confused squirrel wondering what just happened."

  "It almost seems unethical," Melisanda mused aloud. "What right do we have to wrench a creature from its native surroundings?"

  Oriseus hopped up and down in delight. "Ah, wonderful! Master conjurors have debated this very topic for years beyond counting! Truly, my little fish, you astound me this morning. But let's set aside this thorny issue for the moment, promise ourselves that we shall not injure or misuse any creature that joins us today, and proceed with the practice of this spell. For the summoning itself is not sinister, my lords and ladies. Only the purpose to which the summoner sets his guest is for good or ill!"

  One by one, the Sword Hall novices worked their way through the fragmentary conjuration. Most of the students recited the words and performed the gestures correctly, but the effort to seize and wield t
he magic around them brought beads of sweat to their brows and grimaces of pain. Aeron felt as if he were watching tone-deaf musicians blindly plucking at an instrument's strings, hoping by dint of repetition to find the note they sought. Even Melisanda, the most skillful of the novices, frowned and seized the power necessary for her spell with a catlike lunge.

  "Novice Aeron? Show us how it is done," Oriseus directed. He wore an expression of beatific patience.

  "Yes, Master Oriseus." Aeron stood and advanced to the center of the room. He carefully pronounced the unfamiliar words while imitating Oriseus's posture and gestures. He could sense the ethereal currents of the Weave that swirled in the chilly air, the dense power that waited within the stones of the room, the fiery sparks burning in every living heart. With ease, he wove the elements together, heart racing with the brilliant clarity of magic in his mind and hands. He pictured a sea gull in his mind-there were plenty in and around the harbor-and through the magic of the spell, he felt the image in his mind spring into existence before him.

  Aeron opened his eyes. In the room's center a gull stood, regarding him patiently. Unlike the creatures conjured by the other novices, it didn't waver or fade; Aeron had woven well enough to hold it effortlessly.

  "Well done, Aeron," Oriseus breathed. "I see now why you were sent to study with us."

  Aeron accepted the praise with a scant nod. "The spell's simple enough, but the words aren't familiar to me."

  "The words are paint and canvas, lad. You'll need to know how to use them sooner or later. But the way you make them work, that is the essence of the art!" Oriseus stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I shall have to keep an eye on you, Aeron Morieth. Do you recall the dismissal?"

  He nodded and repeated the last word of the conjuration. With a tiny portion of his mind, he released the currents of magic that held the gull in the chamber. It ghosted out of view, taking wing as it returned to nothingness. He glanced around and realized that the other novices were looking at him with open astonishment on their faces. They don't feel the Weave as I do, Aeron realized. I may not have their learning, but I can wield magic as easily as they.