“Yes, but I think the concern was misplaced,” Ulin explained, tapping his finger on a reference. “From what I can understand, though the natural curve was preferred, there are several accounts of magi bending the wood, or even using artificial means of providing the lens space.”
“So you think you can bend it?”
“Oh, my, yes,” he agreed. “I’ve been speaking to Master Olmeg, Master Minnick, and all manner of carpenters while doing research for the project. The magi assure me that weirwood could be trained to this shape while still growing, and the carpenters explained a secret of their craft employed in temples and grand chambers and halls. Steaming the wood, and bending it while it is super-saturated with water.”
“That works?” I asked. We employed similar thermomantic spells to cure wood before splitting it. Steaming would be similarly simple.
“Indeed. Goodman Baris, the carpenter, demonstrated the technique. It is favored by luthiers and other makers of musical instruments, using thin slices of wood. I think using the technique to bend weirwood into the cummock form could be quite effective.”
“And what about the lens space?”
“Ah! That is the best part,” he smiled. “Using a lens of high-grade thaumaturgical glass, with an outer ring of snowsand glass, would be quite adequate to absorb the necessary diagnostic enchantments and have other useful, more active functions. I suggest a slate of common medical spells, to be determined by the Order of Mandros- Master Icorod will no doubt have a goodly list of requested spells.”
“Oh, he would dance a jig to get his hands on such a powerful tool. In fact, presenting him with a prototype would be an excellent event at this year’s Conclave. How quickly can you get one made?”
He stroked his beard. “A prototype? Not long, to prepare the weirwood. The glass will take longer, unless I can persuade the priestesses at the temple to allow me to use the Everfire . . .”
“Consider them persuaded. Can it be made meable?” I asked, curious.
“Well, many of the basic enchantments,” he decided, after a few moment’s pondering. “I could design a lesser model that would be useful, say, in a trauma situation. On the battlefield, for instance, something a monk could use to save a man’s life. Conversely, I could design a lesser cummock specifically for comforting a patient during recuperation, or from an illness. That, too, could be meable.”
“That could be quite important, Ulin,” I agreed. “What about nursing or midwifery?”
“Oh, specialized enchantments suited to care and comfort or obstetrics would be simple variations, with the help of a Talented medic. Nor would they take much longer for our diergents to fashion. Once I constructed prototypes and provided their testamure, each would likely take a week of a dedicated ordinant’s time to construct and desenit. Less, if sufficient materials are available to speed the process. The cost would be three or four hundred ounces of silver, I think. More, if you charge by the enchantment.”
“Prepare Master Icorod’s cummock with as many spells as you can imagine he will need. As he is the head of the order, he should have the very best. Indeed, he will insist upon it.
“But build a second one, nearly as well-equipped, for our friend Lelwen of Tiers, in Megelin. Emphasize battlefield enchantments. But build the general nursing, midwifery and trauma prototypes as well. Can you accomplish that before midsummer?”
“With sufficient coin and resources, Magelord,” he nodded. “I’ll have to bring on a few more specialists. But aye, I can make them by then.”
“Good. When we’ve refined the art, we can start producing them for distribution to the clerical orders who specialize in medicine. I could use such cummucks to bribe the Temple of Trygg, for instance. It’s always good to have the Allmother on your side.”
“And trauma staves for the Warbrothers of Duin,” he agreed, realizing the political advantages of such gifts immediately. “And palliative cummucks for the Silent Sisters.”
We both stared at the drawing for a few moments in silence. I thought of my own baculus, and how useful it was . . . particularly since it had been imbued with an enneagram.
“I wonder . . . could a cummock be more useful if it had an awareness that controlled it? A paracete that could work just the right enchantments, after assessing and diagnosing the patient, to effect healing?”
He looked startled. “I know not, Magelord, but it is a fascinating question. I suppose it would depend largely upon the paraclete in question . . . and the enchantments available to it. I confess I am only beginning to learn such deep enneagrammatic enchantments, since I came to Sevendor.”
That got me thinking. “I think I know who might know the answer. And I think it’s time that we explored the extent of his Talent.”
*
*
That evening I summoned young Ruderal from Boval Hall to my tower, where Dara was waiting for him. She was near exhausted with hatching and training, and had leapt at the chance to get away from the Mews and do some real magic for a change. She also wanted to get to know her new junior apprentice.
Ruderal seemed a bit anxious, at first, but we soon put him at ease. I explained to him what I wanted him to do.
“Tell me, Ruderal, when you use your Talent, what do you see in this?” I asked, holding out the Grain of Pors.
His eyes got large, and he looked away for a moment, before swallowing and turning back toward me.
“It’s . . . it’s like a whole sky full of stars crammed into a single tiny window,” he decided. His breathing had changed.
“This is a piece of a magical substance called Ghost Rock,” I explained. “Its special property is that it can record enneagrams – the patterns you see so clearly – within its depths. These enneagrams can be transferred, copied like you copy your letters, from this rock and imbued into an object by a skilled enchanter. You’ve seen some of the objects we’ve enchanted thus,” I said, receiving a solemn nod in return.
“Well, I would like to see if you have the capacity to traverse its depths, and perhaps interpret the enneagrams trapped within more clearly than I. You see, most of the patterns inside are of undersea creatures from ages past who encountered the rock long ago. There are thousands within,” I assured him. He looked impressed.
“How do I do it?” he asked, both anxious and intrigued by the prospect.
“It’s perfectly safe,” I promised him. “I’ve done it myself dozens of times, now, with no ill effect. It’s really quite easy. You hold it in your hand, and allow your consciousness to leak into it, until you feel as if you’re sinking into a big pool of mud.” He smirked at that. No eleven year old boy on Callidore could dislike that prospect. “As you sink, you will encounter various enneagrams, the most recent ones absorbed by the Grain first. Keep going within,” I advised. “The deeper you go, the older creatures you’ll encounter.”
“What am I looking for, Master?” he asked, glancing at the Grain.
“Any number of things,” I sighed. “I’m looking for good enneagrams for specific functions. I was discussing a medical enchantment with Master Ulin this afternoon – he’s who prompted me to send for you. So a nurturing, caring enneagram intelligent enough to help perform healing magic would be helpful. Another use would be good enneagrams for combat magic. But what I’d really like you to find,” I said, encouragingly, “is the most intelligent, benevolent, complex pattern in the rock. Something that understands magic and has the wisdom to use it properly. Something . . . something benevolent and powerful.”
He looked skeptical. “I can try, I suppose.”
“I don’t expect you find it your first time,” I said, “The Grain contains tens of thousands of patterns. But if you do find something useful, then remember it. Once you know what it is, you can return to it quickly in the future. And then you can show me, and I can show you how to extract it.”
He nodded, then took the rock gingerly in his hand with a deep breath. He closed his eyes tightly, at first, then quickly relaxed t
hem. In moments his breathing changed and his shoulders relaxed.
“That’s quite a quick induction,” Dara observed, impressed. “It took me ages to get that right, except when I was bilocating.”
“It’s similar,” I agreed. “But you’re right. He is good at this.”
We chatted for an hour while young Ruderal plumbed the depths of the Grain. Finally he opened his eyes and blinked, tiredly.
“That was amazing,” he nodded. “I saw . . . I saw dead things. Things that haven’t lived since . . . well, for a very long time,” he said, philosophically. Like thousands of suits of clothes hanging in an endless cupboard.”
“Did you see anything useful?” Dara asked, intrigued.
“I think so,” he said, hesitantly. “I found something that you could use for healing spells. A creature who performed a similar task for a . . . well, I don’t really have a word for it, do I? But it was a pattern with a lot of compassion, and a lot of understanding of healing. It wants to make sick things well,” he decided.
“Excellent!”
“There was another one that would make a good weapon. A bunch of them, actually. They used to guard their mates and young, day and night, constantly vigilant. Deadly,” he said, nodding. “But not aggressive.”
“I like the sound of that,” I nodded.
“There were other ones who were nasty,” he continued, with a little more enthusiasm. “Some like great wolves, or ferocious cats, or . . . or other things. I don’t know what they were, exactly, But they were mean. Mean like . . . like some people I once knew, only worse. Some wanted to eat everything, that’s all they did. Others wanted to hurt, or to just kill,” he said with a shudder. “I would hate to see something like that with my eyes open.”
“That was excellent, Ruderal,” I praised. “Did you have any difficulty?”
“No, Master, it was easy, once I realized how to do it and I wasn’t in danger. Like swimming,” he explained, thoughtfully. “Once you learn how to hold your breath and move around, it’s easy.”
“Nice metaphor,” Dara approved. “That’s how I feel when I get behind an animal’s eyes. The first few times were scary, but after that it’s the easiest thing in the world.”
“But that’s not all!” he said, brushing away the praise. “I think I found it, Master! I think I found that thing you wanted, the . . . the great intelligence. It’s amazing, huge, bigger than anything I’ve ever seen! More brilliant. Complex. It was . . . it was amazing. And good. And it only wanted everything and everyone to thrive and prosper. And it could do magic, Master, magic so great and powerful that, that . . . I don’t know, but it was amazing!”
“That’s . . . that’s incredible news,” I smiled, my heart beating. I wasn’t certain how much to trust his judgement on such things, but then again I wasn’t certain how much I could trust my own. “Now, can you show me the things you’ve seen? After a short break – you need to pace yourself when you’re ding magic.”
“Go pee,” Dara advised. “It’s easy to forget. I got belly cramps, when I started, because I just forgot.”
“And run down the hall and ask the hall steward to prepare a tray for three,” I called after him. “Including wine.”
“I like him, Master,” Dara assured me when the lad had run off. “He’s a little odd, but he’s very polite. And respectful. Not like some of your previous apprentices,” she said, snidely.
“Yes, he is a bit of a departure from my usual impertinent snots, but the novelty should be refreshing. Master Dranus is quite pleased with his progress. Once he masters reading, he should proceed very quickly into his first year lessons.”
“Are you sure keeping him down at Boval Hall is the best thing?” she asked, grinning at my jibe. “I progressed a lot faster once I was in the castle. It’s already after dark, and he’s got a long way back to Boval.”
“You were thirteen, then,” I pointed out. “And living with your family. Ruderal is only eleven, and is hundreds and hundreds of miles away from his mother. Boval Hall is a good, safe place for him, for now. Rollo and his kids can fatten him up, teach him our customs, and give him the confidence that can only come from a living in security. We’ll get him to the castle soon enough. I want the boy to feel at home, first.”
Ruderal was back shortly, and after a snack and a drink we went up to the top of my tower for the air. In the light of the large magelight that hovered overhead, we spent the next two hours writing down his recollections from the Grain.
He had an admiral memory, and despite his limited vocabulary he was adamant about precise descriptions of his impressions. He used a lot of metaphors, when his words failed. But he spoke with confidence in a way that was lacking in most of his other observations. This, I could tell, was what Ruderal was good at. What he was forced to be good at.
Finally I concluded for the evening, and had Dara escort Ruderal back home, authorizing her to use a horse and pony from the stables. She looked at me scornfully, closed her eyes, and smirked. In a few moments a hawk descended from the sky to light on her wrist. It wasn’t Frightful.
“She’s nesting, sitting on her eggs,as proud as can be” she explained. “This is Faithful. He’s a Minden’s Raptor, one of the second group of giants I’m working with. He’s the best one we’ve got for Skyriding from this batch, so far. Real gentle, and he’s . . . Faithful. Always comes back, always does what he’s supposed to.”
“He’s beautiful!” Ruderal said, his eyes wide with open admiration of the proud hawk.
“He’s huge,” Dara bragged excitedly. “He’s got a forty-five foot wingspan, now, and he can carry up to four hundred pounds!”
Ruderal looked confused and skeptical, but was too polite to call his seniorapprentice a liar. “He doesn’t look that strong.”
Dara grinned, threw the bird into the air, and then closed her eyes again. In a moment, the hawk descended again in its larger form, its wingtips wider than the edge of the tower it landed upon. Ruderal’s eyes got even wider, and he took a step back. I suppose he suddenly felt like a very small mouse.
Dara clutched her hawk amulet and muttered a command, and a thick leather harness appeared. “I won’t put on his full kit – we’re just going across the valley – but this will give you something to hold on to.”
Ruderal looked at her, shocked. “You mean . . . we’re going to fly?”
Dara laughed. “Ruderal, you’re a wizard, now. You need to get used to the unlikely and the impossible three times a day.”
I had other concerns. “Dara, it’s dark – hawks are diurnal.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Master,” she dismissed as she quickly strapped the harness onto the giant bird, who waited with supreme patience as she did so. “I had Master Andalnam include a Cat’s Eye on the harness. If I stay in rapport with Faithful he can see the vale as well as if it was morning. We’ll be there before those lazy drudges in the stable could get horses saddled, and I can be back at the Mews before we’d be in town. I’m tired,” she declared. “I’ve been training and watching nests and keeping the Skyriders from killing each other every day, and I’m just exhausted,” she said, as she mounted her bird effortlessly.
“Then get him home and get to sleep,” I agreed, sympathetically. “And try not to drop him on the way.”
“Master!” she protested, as Ruderal gave me a quick, frightened stare.
I watched them take to the sky, Dara launching Faithful into the darkness with barely a whisper of wings. The waxing moon rising over the eastern ridge glinted off of his wings as they soared over the town and towards the spire of Laesgathal. Dara circled the magnificent structure as she slowly descended, giving Ruderal a bird’s-eye perspective on his home.
That, at least, was part of my professional life I could be proud of. My apprentices were loyal, engaging, and spirited, and if Rondal and Tyndal were any indication, I could actually train another mage from start to finish and get good results. That’s the kind of magic you just can’t study.
<
br /> ^
*
I had been putting off a quick trip to Wilderhall for a few days because I wanted to hear if Lorcus had any difficulties controlling Rolone, before I officially filed his full Writ of Conquest. There was always the possibility of rebellion and revolt, insurgency and rioting challenging his rule, but the town of Rolone had accepted his conquest without more than a token protest.
From what he reported to me, mind-to-mind, he had blackmailed most of Sire Cullien’s partisans among the burghers by keeping their valuables against their good behavior; those who were less favorable to the former lord he bribed, sometimes with confiscated goods from the loyalists. That had kept any insurgency from developing.
So had his militia. He hired a hundred peasants who had originally been supposed to be marching off to deploy against Sendaria to augment the city watch, paying them thrice what they would have made for active duty on the front lines to be guards and sentries. They and their families were decidedly in favor of the change in administration, and he had silver to burn right now. His men were recruiting in the surrounding villages beyond RoloneTown, and he had further promised a relief from mowing and gleaning in autumn for any villein who served sixty days service. Enthusiastic recruits were pouring in.
Nor was he entirely without noble support. No less than six knights at the prisoner-of-war camp at Gwyliad were willing to foreswear their loyalties and give their unconditional parole to Lorcus. They were men who had been left behind the war with Sendaria as punishment, or because their loyalty was suspect. Some had long grudges with the regime. But all six were willing to swear fealty in service to Lorcus. He was using them sparingly to command the militias in conjunction with his warmagi. So far the experiment was working.
Lorcus posted his new levies at all of the points of entry across his frontiers with copies of his edicts, and he had sealed his borders to any military traffic. The final two strongholds of the domain had fallen the day after I’d left to Master Cormoran and Lanse of Bune. The prisoner of war camp at Gwyliad Castle was stuffed with Cullien’s defenders, and the domain was, for the moment, entirely in Lorcus’ hands.
Enchanter (Book 7) Page 49
