Opening Acts
Page 58
The Spirit Lens
by Carol Berg
Philosophers claimed the Blood Wars had irredeemably corrupted magic. Historians insisted that Sabria's growing sophistication in physics, astronomy, and alchemistry-the almost daily discoveries that exposed another spell as nonsensical and another magical practitioner as a charlatan-was but a grand human evolution, on the order of our discovery of fire, the wheel, or sail. Whoever had the right of the discussion, a sensible man could not but admit that the practice of magic had lost its glamour-and I was an unendingly sensible man.
Of course it was not good sense, but rather my own incapacity that had caused me to relinquish my aspiration to life as a mage of the Camarilla Magica. Sixteen years' residence at the sole remaining school of magic in Sabria and I could not charm a flea to a dog's back.
With encouragement from my mentor, I had faced disappointment squarely, weathered the storm that followed, and accepted what solace was offered me. Yet somewhere, nurtured by the lost dreams of youth and exposed in the ruthless self-examination required to recover from despair, lay a small, intractable conviction. A seed that would not let me spit it out. A stone that would not be shaken from my shoe. I ought to be more than I was. Even if I lacked the blood-born talents of a mage, somewhere, in some capacity, my service would make a difference in this world. Perhaps that's why the summons intrigued me so, though it made no good sense at all.
The odd missive had arrived in the late afternoon. Spring sunlight streamed through the casements of the collegia library, stretching all the way across the scuffed floor to the book cupboard labeled FORMULARY: POTIONS AND HERBALS. Only incidentally did the beams illuminate the fold of fine paper in my hand.
I peered again at the outside of the page. No insignia had manifested itself in the broken wax seal in the past few moments. The handwriting that spelled out my name remained unrecognizable.
Portier de Duplais, Curator of Archives
Collegia Magica de Seravain
Bold and angular-a man's hand, I judged. Seven years of intensive study in this library and nine more as its keeper, with little companionship but five thousand mouldering manuscripts and a transitory stream of increasingly vapid students, had left me unskilled in the discipline most important to me, but knowledgeable in many arcane branches of learning.
I flipped back to the enigmatic message.
*** ***
Portier de Savin-Duplais:
Present yourself at Villa Margeroux on the Ventinna Road no later than 17 Trine on a matter of urgent family business. A mount awaits you at the hostelry in Tigano. We require utmost discretion.
Your kinsman