Students of the Order

by Edward W. Robertson

  Bronzino messed it up, of course. She came home to find him crawling on the floor with a tiny saucer. He motioned her to be quiet before she could start to yell at him and beckoned her over. In spite of herself, she walked over and sat next to him.

  Scared, sitting in a corner, was a tiny monkey, about six inches tall, with jet black fur. Unable to help herself, she reached out to touch it, and it retreated further.

  Bronzino was smiling from ear to ear. "It's an inkpot monkey! I've always wondered why we don't see them in the capital."

  He pushed the saucer in front of the monkey and then slowly produced a bottle of ink from a pocket. The monkey snapped to attention, and its red eyes followed the bottle. He pulled the stopper from the bottle and, very carefully, poured a small amount of ink into the saucer. The monkey watched. Bronzino walked away very slowly and placed the bottle of ink on the table in front of the fireplace. Then he got out his books and writing supplies and, without paying attention to the monkey, got to work.

  The monkey looked at the bottle on the table and then slowly turned to the saucer in front of it. It walked forward, almost daintily put a finger in the ink, and then put the finger in its mouth. It hopped onto the rim of the saucer, stuck its face in the ink, and greedily lapped it up. Once it was finished, it strolled over to the table where Bronzino was sitting. It nimbly climbed up one of the legs and then walked over the table, seemingly careful not to disturb any of Bronzino's things. It sat cross-legged next to his dish of ink, watching him peacefully.

  Haniel got out a book of her own and sat across from Bronzino and the monkey. When Bronzino was done with his writing and put away his pen, the monkey picked up his ink dish and drank the ink. It then sat back down with a look of satisfaction and almost seemed to make an audible purring noise.

  Slowly, Bronzino reached out and stroked the creature: it smiled at his touch. Gingerly, he picked it up and carried it over to Haniel. She petted it, and it smiled at her; its fur was as soft as a pillow.

  In bed, in her cell, Haniel wondered if the monkey had been summoned by magic. She was fairly sure that the Order was sustained by the appearance of magic, and by popular belief in their power, as much as it was by the Power itself. In the end, for the Lords of the Alliance to maintain their control over the populations they ruled, something like the Order was necessary. The fact that the "something" ended up being the Order and the fact that the Order operated through magic were probably accidents. During her time in the Order, she had come to see magic as merely another tool to be used by those with power against those without.

  So she could forget that she, and her friends, and the wizards of the Order were in fact magic; that there were unseen forces that they were sensitive to; and that certain unseen things, in turn, were sensitive to them.

  She knew, more from seeing into the minds of older wizards than from her own observations, that Wit and Mantyger were both, in radically different ways, exceptionally powerful— it was unusual to see even one such wizard in a generation. Four of the Gifted living together, and growing into their Gifts together, had created…something. Haniel accessed her power and tried to see it: it was vague to her, and now it was decaying. Unseen bonds were slowly unraveling. She wished she had looked for it when Wit and Mantyger had been there—it probably would have been quite beautiful.

  With Wit and Mantyger gone there was a vacuum, which she was increasingly sure had drawn the inkpot monkey in. She wondered if the creature would get hurt—and she was shocked both that she knew the answer, and by what it was.

  The monkey would thrive. What she and the other Adepts had unknowingly (perhaps knowingly, in Mantyger's case) built was a structure that offered protection. Four orphans had made themselves a home and a family: and that was a good that could not be vanquished by mere physical absence.

  As she drifted to sleep, somewhat resignedly, she realized that she and Bronzino would become friends. While she had helped build the structure, Wit and Mantyger had very clearly been the architects. Their intention had always been for the Adepts to love each other, and Haniel was not strong enough to do anything about it.

  "Both and neither," said Bronzino, the next night. They were writing in front of the fireplace, the inkpot monkey sitting on the table, peacefully, between them, casting an occasional interested glance at their dishes of ink. Haniel had been wondering whether or not Mantyger had known she was casting the spell that watched over them, but had not actually said anything.

  Now she looked at him questioningly.

  He made a sour face. "I'm not sure, it's hard to explain. She neither knows, nor doesn't know, what she's doing. It's why she's so strong. Her magic comes from a place where 'did I mean to do something?' simply doesn't make sense as a question."

  "Did Wit know?"

  "No. His power isn't like that at all…but the spell isn't just his, it is him. Mantyger saw Wit's wish and made it alive. We helped."

  "Why isn't this what the Order does?"

  "What?"

  "We did something, we made something, that's lasting and good. It's just good: it's good to have friends; it's beautiful to not be alone. We made our selves better and stronger. And even if the other two are prodigies, it's not like any of them, like any of us, knew what we were doing. We just did it. But the Order spends all its time screwing around with gold, and damage and Binding."

  "It's different running the Alliance than just living with three other teenagers." His voice betrayed a lack of conviction.

  "Perhaps. But this," she waved her hand indicating the quarters, "is the only thing that I am proud of that I have done for the Order. And they never showed me how to do it, we did it all on our own."

  "Is it really the only thing that you are proud of?"

  "Have you done anything you feel better about?"

  "Yes. I've been helping Movsessian and Bowen put together a book of basic magic—the dwarves are due to print another book for us in two years, and I really think it might get chosen."

  "You're proud of that?"

  He nodded without reservation. "Yes. The printed texts we have are atrocious, in many respects. They are all preposterously specialized: take Phreer—it's one of the best, but it has more information on Binding than even a Mantyger would need, yet everyone in the Order has to own a copy, at least for a little while, to learn the basics. And it was written years ago: it devotes an insane amount of space to ideas that are out of date, or downright unsound."

  "So? It's not like you learn by reading it cover to cover—someone tells you which are the important bits and you make out just fine."

  "But you pay for other bits even if you don't read them. At the capital, where we have a library, it isn't such a big deal. But if you are traveling, or posted somewhere, you are limited to books you can carry and afford. What we've been working on is one book that has the most current stuff on all the things we do. It will be one book, but it will have most everything you need to learn to go from an Adept to a wizard. And if you are on your own, and the book is all you have, it should allow you to get by, without having to rely too heavily on what someone copied from someone who copied it from someone else."

  Haniel smiled. "They'll just pay the Adepts less."

  "What?"

  "Well, if I had only had to buy one book I'd have, say, an extra 150 or so gold."

  "You might have to buy two books: ours and then the main one on whatever you were really interested in."

  "Well, I'd have an extra 120. But I got that gold from the Order, which decides how much gold to give me, based on my having to buy a large number of books. If I only have to buy one book, or two, they aren't going to let me pocket the difference: they'll pay the Adepts less."

  Bronzino laughed. "I suppose. I think they will still come out slightly ahead, though. And it will make everything more efficient."

  "I don't doubt it. Ha, I'll do the dishes for a month if you can get me a cheap copy when you print it. But efficiency and a little extra gold for everyo
ne—are you truly more proud of that than of friendship?"

  "No."

  "Is how to do this," indicating the quarters with her hand again, "in your book?"

  "No. Well, I don't know. Movsessian and Bowen have been working on it for years—there are parts I haven't been over. I don't think that it is, though." He looked more uncertain than she had ever seen him. "A house and a kingdom are different," he said after a while.

  "That different?"

  "I don't know. I mean, I think this… is the idea behind the Order. We have advantages, there are things that are possible with four people that are not with thousands. With four people, yes, you could bind them with friendship, with love. With an entire kingdom—maybe you must be more crude, you are forced to use damage and gold. The end result, the goal, is the same, perhaps."

  "If this is the goal, then the Order has messed it up, very badly. Have you been in the Alliance lately?"

  Bronzino smiled. "We both have seen hundreds of minds from all over the Alliance. And we have seen minds from the wastes. It's useless for either of us to talk about the other's ignorance. And I would choose the Alliance over the wastes. Yes, it is cold and men turn pain and suffering into gold; and yes, things work out far better for the lords and the wealthy and the Order than they do for the common folk. But no one gets eaten by orcs, and we pay in gold, and years, and not blood. The weak are not totally at the mercy of the strong. Anyone can say that the Alliance and the Order could be better; but it is also painfully obvious that they could easily be worse." He smiled again. "Are you really angry at everyone because you're an idealist?"

  "I don't know." Haniel put her book down, and the monkey snapped its head and locked its red eyes on her ink dish. "Do you want to play cards?"

  "Give me fifteen minutes."

  Haniel put away her pen, and the monkey bounded over to her ink dish, where it drank happily.

  Three days later, they came home to find that a new Adept had arrived. He was thin, oddly attractive, with flecks of gray in his hair despite the fact that he was no older than sixteen. He had already found Mantyger's barrel of wine and helped himself to a glass. They introduced themselves, and he told them that he was called Chattiel.

  "Have they given you anything to do yet?" asked Bronzino.

  He shook his head. "I am to meet with the Grand Wizard Crane the day after tomorrow to discuss what my duties will be. Master Vechtin, who I was under, has arranged that Crane oversee my development: I am fairly far along already, and there are quite a number of things I should skip."

  Haniel was strongly of the opinion that bragging about accomplishments was one of the worst sins an Adept could commit and was thinking of degrading errands to send him on while he thought about how advanced he was.

  Fortunately, Bronzino spoke first. "Excellent: that gives you a little time. We'll take you over to Sanhedrin's for dinner and wine. We can take a nice walk back and show you a bit of the capital."

  "Sanhedrin's? I've never heard of it," he said a little peevishly.

  "It isn't the best known of places, but the griffin steaks are good, and the wine is cheap. It's popular with lesser officers, traveling merchants, and locals. They have music a good bit of the time, and it's almost always jolly. We've been going there, when we have the time and the gold, for as long as I have been in the capital."

  "Vechtin said I could spend some time at Myrink's—whenever I don't have an invitation to dine at the tower."

  Invitations to dine with the wizards in the tower were outrageously coveted by the Adepts and always had been; assuming that one would have them regularly was an extreme act of hubris, and even Bronzino was visibly troubled by it.

  The reference to Myrink's, however, was funny to both of them. The capital boasted about a dozen taverns and eating-houses that an Adept could afford to go to and be welcome at.

  Wit, Mantyger, and the Adepts that had been there before them had originally gone to Tundel's, a tavern that was mostly frequented by various non-wizards associated with the Order. However, by the time Bronzino arrived, the switch to Sanhedrin's was almost complete. Wit explained to Haniel that, while at Tundel's an Adept could reasonably expect to be recognized eventually, and given free wine, Mantyger had actually done the math and realized that, because everything was cheaper at Sanhedrin's, it almost always ended up a less expensive night out. Unspoken was that the Adepts had realized that they would rather spend time with artisans and soldiers who did not know who they were, than with people who would inevitably remind them of the Order.

  Like Tundel's, Myrink's was largely patronized by people associated with the Order; however it had a reputation for being a little risqué. It was somewhat well known as having been the stomping grounds for a very long ago group of Adepts, and whenever the place was mentioned older wizards would smirk. Haniel, Wit, and Bronzino had gone once, to see what the fuss was about—Mantyger, who had already been, declined. They had a good laugh at Bronzino, who was so fixated by a naked dancing girl that he tried to eat his wine with a fork; someone tried to sell Haniel Necromine; and the bill was so high that the three of them were reduced to living on bread for a month.

  "You two can go. I'm broke." She poked Bronzino in the ribs. "Maybe she will still be there."

  "But if she isn't, I'm not sure my heart could take it," he said, laughing.

  "But what if she is? What if, for the last two years, she has been pining for the handsome Adept who was so stricken with her breasts, I mean, beauty, that she has danced there, night after night, yearning to see you again? Turning down dozens of proposals from princes and wealthy merchants, in the vain hope that some day she will be united with you."

  Bronzino turned to the new Adept. "I'm sure I don't know how it was in Vechtin's time, but Myrink's hasn't been popular for a number of years. The patrons are mostly older—and if you are going to be spending much time in the tower you will see more than enough of the elderly. Come, we'll take you to Tundel's—we know lots of the people who go there."

  At Tundel's, Bronzino almost immediately ran into a merchant that he knew, and was quickly being bought drinks and introducing people to the new Adept. The conversation turned to salamander-silk futures. Haniel drank a large flagon of wine, refilled it, and drifted off into the rear of the establishment, vaguely following the sound of a small band.

  The band had a guitar, a pipe of some sort, and several drummers. They were the accompaniment for some regional dance, which about half the patrons seemed to know and they were mostly groping the other half under the pretext of teaching it to them. Everyone seemed to be having a good time, so Haniel finished her wine and joined in.

  Haniel's Gift responded very strongly to music. As a beaming girl led her through the steps, she could hear the music, not only through her own ears, but also in the memories of minds that she had read who had heard a similar tune. Semi-aware of her immediate surroundings, she switched partners, still learning the steps. She taught the dance to her third partner; a little later she was bored and retreated to the side.

  A young man she had danced with appeared in front of her almost immediately, with two glasses of wine. He was short, with a wispy pointed beard, and somewhat silly looking, but the wine was an extremely welcome development, so she took a glass and smiled at him.

  They touched glasses and drank.

  "You're a warrior, from a line of warriors," he said.

  "No."

  He shook his head dismissively. "You're trained in a fighting style that uses a weapon in each hand. From the marks on your fingers and wrists, it seems that the weapons are bound together with a chain. Most techniques like that are perfected over generations. You began in earnest six or seven years ago. I can tell from the muscles on your forearms and shoulders that you have always used the same weapons and that when you began they were far too heavy for you—weapons that have been passed down by your people for generations."

  7

  Under the darkness of the trees, Joti's heart flutter
ed. Magak stepped forward, bare feet squelching in the muck.

  She twirled her staff and stamped its butt in front of her. "Luck saved you last time. Think you can count on it again today?"

  Drez stood her ground. "Go away, Magak. We never did anything to you!"

  "Now you add lying to your list of crimes? First you insulted me, a real warrior. Now you're trying to join our soldiers and make us look weak before all other tribes. If we look weak, the Gru will destroy us." The older girl moved another step closer. "But if I get rid of you? I save us all."

  Drez growled and glanced at Joti from the corners of her eyes. "Don't you dare tell me to run."

  "She's faster," he said. "She'll catch us both."

  "Then we fight?"

  "Or we die."

  Magak bounced on the balls of her feet and dashed toward them. Joti crouched, snatched up a rock, and hurled it at Magak's chest. The older girl twisted to the side, batting down the stone with a wooden clack.

  Drez darted forward to strike while Magak's defenses were down. Magak pivoted her hips. The staff hissed through the air. Drez ducked her head and bunched her shoulders. The staff glanced off her with a dull thud, sending her reeling to the side.

  Magak drew back for a jab. Joti picked up another rock and let fly. It struck Magak in the hip, provoking a grunt, but it didn't throw off her attack. Her thrust caught Drez in the ribs and knocked her into the mud.

  Joti scrambled toward the older girl, who skipped back, stabbing the staff at him with quick jabs. He tried to juke to the side, but the next thrust clipped his shoulder. The one after that took him full in the thigh. His leg went out from under him, spilling him to the damp forest floor.

  Joti kicked himself away from her, trying to get his numbed leg beneath him. Magak had too much reach on them. Even if they came at her at the same time, she was too quick for either of them to get past her guard.