Cyador’s Heirs

V

On sixday, Lerial’s leg is indeed bruised, and a bit stiff, but he makes his way along the palace corridors to meet with Saltaryn, trying not to limp. He practiced with a wand for more than half a glass the night before, if in his chambers-where no one could see-but the extra practice hasn’t loosened up his leg, and he certainly doesn’t feel any more accomplished with the wand, although he thinks he has the movements right for what Woelyt had showed him.

Lerial reaches the study before the magus does, but chooses not to sit down. Saltaryn will not be late, and Lerial does not want to seat himself, only to stand when the magus arrives. He waits only a few moments before he sees Saltaryn approaching, carrying the leather case, more like an oblong box with strap handles.

Saltaryn studies Lerial as he nears the youth, then purses his lips and frowns. “You’re still more black, except where you’re bruised on your leg.”

“I got the bruises sparring with Undercaptain Woelyt. He was showing me moves I didn’t know.”

“Are you practicing with order?” Saltaryn sets his case on the table.

“I beg your pardon, ser?” Lerial tries to keep his voice calm. “Practicing with order, ser?”

“Are you trying to gather order or trying to heal people?”

“I went to the Hall of Healing several days ago to see what healers do. That was all.”

“If you want to be a magus, you need to learn to control chaos before you work at all with order. I suggest you stay away from the Hall … that is, if you want to remain among the Magi’i.”

Lerial doubts that, as the son of the Duke of Cigoerne, and the grandson of the last Emperor of Light, he will be denied elthage rights, but … he could be declared unfit to be a magus, and that would certainly bring his father’s wrath down upon him. “I haven’t been to the Hall of Healing except that one time, and I don’t plan to go again any time soon.”

“Good. Now … let us see how you have progressed with the candle exercises.” From his case, Saltaryn produces two candles, so stubby that they are barely three digits long, for all that they are set in ornate and polished brass candleholders. He sets them on the side of the table away from Lerial. “Do you see the candles?”

Of course. “Yes.”

Saltaryn takes out a thin brass frame, perhaps three hands high, from which hangs a black cloth that extends down far enough that its base droops on the table. “Take a chair and seat yourself against the wall so that you face the candles.”

Lerial does so, watching as the magus then places the frame before the candles. The frame is high enough and wide enough that Lerial cannot see the candles.

Saltaryn then does something with his hands. “Where are the candles?”

“Behind the drape.”

“Are they?” Saltaryn lifts the drape.

Lerial sees no candles. Is he using chaos to hide them? He concentrates, trying to feel for the candles with order.

“You’re using an order-probe,” observes the magus. “That will tell many Magi’i exactly where you are.”

“I was trying to see if you had hidden them behind a chaos screen or something.” Lerial refrains from pointing out that many of the stronger Magi’i, those using chaos, often cannot sense order. He understands what Saltaryn means-he cannot trust that other Magi’i will not sense what he does with order … at least, from what Emerya has said, not unless he becomes very skilled, and that doesn’t appear likely any time soon.

“That comes later.” Saltaryn lifts the leather case beside the drape frame. The candleholders with the candles are there, behind where the case had been. He lowers the case. Even without probing, just passively sensing the movements of Saltaryn’s hands, Lerial can tell that the magus is moving the candles, but not exactly where, or whether he has moved one or both.

“I want you to tell me where the candles are-without probing.”

Lerial knows he could do that if he were closer, but he is sitting almost five yards away, and the candles and their holders are small. Still … he concentrates, trying to get a sense. “I think there’s only one behind the drape.”

“Think?”

“There’s one.”

“Good. We’ll try again.”

After several more trials, Saltaryn straightens. “You seem to be able to sense where the candles are without probing. Now … I want you to light whatever candles I put behind the drape, using only the smallest possible amount of chaos, just barely enough to catch the wick on fire.”

“Yes, ser.”

“Why am I asking you to do this with the smallest amount of chaos?”

“To teach me better control of chaos?”

Saltaryn nodded. “There’s another reason that goes with it. Can you think of what that might be?”

“So someone will have a harder time sensing what I’m doing?”

“That’s a good reason, especially for you, but it’s not linked to control.”

Lerial frowns. What does he have in mind?

Saltaryn smiles. “How did you feel after the lesson where you first had to light a candle?”

“Tired. Very tired.”

“That’s because you worked hard. Directing and using chaos takes strength…” The magus lets his words hang, waiting for Lerial to reply.

“Oh … you want me to only use as much chaos as necessary so that I don’t get tired and can do more if I have to.”

“That’s right. Especially if you have to use chaos in battle, you don’t want to get any more tired than you have to.” Saltaryn moves one candle. “Try to light it that way now.”

Lerial tries to focus the smallest bit of chaos on the candle. From across the study, even that takes some effort … and nothing happens.

“You’ll need a bit more chaos,” offers Saltaryn.

Lerial tries again … and again.

Finally, after close to a quarter glass of effort, he manages to light a candle.

“Good! Now do it again.”

Lerial refrains from groaning or sighing and makes another effort.

Then Saltaryn puts two candles behind the drape, and when Lerial has managed to light those, the magus says, “Light both of them at once, not one at a time.”

Finally, Saltaryn says, “Good. You’re using just the right amount of chaos. When you practice any magely skill, try to determine how to do what you’re doing with the least amount of effort and chaos.”

“Yes, ser.” Lerial blots his forehead with the back of his forearm. He is sweating once more, but not so profusely as if he had been sparring. He is definitely doing better in handling chaos, but he could not have gathered much more free chaos than what he had used … at least, it doesn’t feel that way. Yet once he has mastered the knack of determining just how much chaos he needed, at the end, lighting the candles was almost easy. Is that because you’re using the order to control it more effectively? Emerya had said control of order would help, but that raised another question. Why is Saltaryn so worried about Lerial’s use of order, especially if it helps in handling chaos?

“Now we need to move on to history.” As he talks, the magus collects the items he has set on the study table and replaces them in the leather case.

Lerial notices that the brass of the holders now appears tarnished, yet the metal had been polished when Saltaryn had taken them from the case. Did my use of chaos do that? Or was that caused by what I did at first with too much chaos? He can think of no other reason than chaos being the cause, and, somehow, that bothers him.

“Lerial?”

Lerial stiffens as he realizes he has not heard what Saltaryn asked. “Ser? I’m sorry. I was still thinking about the exercises.”

“I asked you whether you had considered what we discussed yesterday, about the dangers of a ruler who is also a strong magus?”

“I did, ser.”

“And?”

“The greatest danger is to the ruler himself. He’s likely to think he is more powerful than he is.”

“Why? If he’s a powerful mage and knows his power, why would he think he is more powerful than he knows himself to be?”

“Because most of a ruler’s power comes from those who follow him. Just because he’s a strong magus doesn’t increase the strength of his Lancers … or increase the golds in his treasury…”

“Don’t you think, if his Lancers know he is powerful, that they will be more confident and more effective?”

“That could be…” Lerial has his doubts.

More questions follow.

“What did you think about Tafoyan’s Historie of Afrit?”

“What was the most notable accomplishment of Lorn and why?”

Then, after history, comes Saltaryn’s perusal of the essay Lerial has written comparing the trading practices of the factors of Merowey with those of Heldya and of Afrit.

“Your penmanship is adequate, but far from outstanding, and your ‘R’s are too sloppy.” The magus pauses, then asks, “What did you mean by this sentence? ‘The traders of Heldya have no idea of fairness’?”

“They’ll bargain for the cheapest price they can get, no matter what it costs to grow or make something.”

“That’s most likely true, but that doesn’t mean that they have no idea of fairness, does it?”

“No, ser.”

“Then you need to write what you told me, not what you wrote.” Saltaryn adds, “If you desire to be accurate. There are times when honesty should be tempered, as you will learn, but when you temper it, always remember what you are doing.”

More questions follow, almost line by line.

Finally, after Saltaryn has disposed of the essay, he reaches the part of the lessons that Lerial hates-the mental arithmetic problems that Saltaryn recites.

“If you have a company of ninety-seven men, with ten spare mounts, and each mount requires a minimum of a half-basket of grain a day, how much grain will you need for a nine-day patrol?”

“Four hundred eighty one and a half baskets.”

“What about your mount?”

Lerial manages not to sigh. “I’d need another four and a half baskets.”

“What about grain for the horses pulling the supply wagon?”

“Eighteen more baskets for two supply wagons. That’s … five hundred four baskets.”

Saltaryn nods. “You look at the payroll ledger for a company of Mirror Lancers, and the weekly payroll shows payment of two hundred twenty silvers? How many Lancers understrength is the company?”

Lerial blinks. Understrength? Then he remembers that the payroll has to include the captain, an undercaptain, and a senior squad leader in addition to the rankers. “Seventeen rankers, or seven rankers and no undercaptain.” He pauses. “Most likely, seven without an undercaptain.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because my father wouldn’t allow a company to patrol seventeen rankers below complement.” Not when we’re usually outnumbered anyway, for all the companies stationed on the borders.

“I’ll accept that.”

Lerial waits for the next problem, understanding the necessity for being able to handle figures in his head, but not particularly caring for the exercises.

After another half glass of exercises, Saltaryn smiles. “You’re showing much more discipline in studying. Your father will be pleased to hear that.”

Lerial nods politely, thinking, Not pleased. That’s what he expects.

When Saltaryn and Lerial leave the study, Lerial wonders if he should seek out Woelyt for another round of sparring.

How will you get better and be able to best Lephi if you don’t keep trying? Especially after Woelyt told you that you needed to practice more. He takes a deep slow breath, then walks along the main floor corridor that leads toward the outer courtyard and the Lancers’ practice area.

Unsurprisingly, Woelyt is available, as if the undercaptain has expected Lerial to appear, and Lerial suspects that the officer just may have … or that Saltaryn has informed him when Lerial would likely be finished with his lessons.

Although the soreness in his leg turns out not to hamper him as much as he had feared, he still has difficulty in responding to anything new or different that the undercaptain brings to bear. After the second round of sparring, while he is catching his breath and trying to cool down somewhat, he turns to Woelyt and asks, “How long do you think it will take before I can defend against something I’ve never seen before?”

“When you’re first sparring it seems to take forever,” replies Woelyt with a smile. “The longer and harder you practice, especially with those who are better than you are, the sooner you’ll recognize and be able to defend against moves you haven’t seen. It’s mostly recognition in time to use defenses you already know.”

That doesn’t give Lerial much cheer, true as he suspects the officer’s words are. Still, he perseveres until Woelyt has to leave on his rounds. Then he trudges back into the palace and makes his way to the north fountain court, which he finds empty. He isn’t certain whether he’s relieved or unhappy to find no one else there, although he wonders where his mother and sister might be … or Amaira, for that matter.

After he feels cool enough that he won’t start sweating heavily after he washes up, he heads for the bath chamber. He needs to write another essay for Saltaryn, who was less than pleased with his last effort, and that is likely to take much of what is left of the afternoon.

That night, after dinner, he makes his way to his aunt’s chambers.

Emerya does not invite him in, but steps into the corridor. “Amaira’s fighting a little flux.”

“What about tomorrow?”

She smiles and shakes her head. “For now, Lerial, I think you’ve learned enough.”

“Has Father or Mother-or Saltaryn-said anything? Is that why you don’t want to teach me more?”

“Saltaryn has expressed some concerns,” Emerya admits. “But I have taught you all you should know about order right now.”

“I don’t know that much.”

“You know enough … for now. We’ll see how you do with what I’ve showed you.”

Lerial can tell that there will be no changing her mind. After a moment, he ventures, “I understand, I think, but there is one thing…”

“Oh?”

“Saltaryn had me practicing lighting candles I couldn’t see from a distance…”

Emerya raises her eyebrows, so white that they are almost invisible.

“Just across the study. Even that isn’t easy. The candleholders were bright and polished when we started, but when we ended, they were tarnished.”

“Did Saltaryn handle them?”

“He did, but they were tarnished all over, not just where he touched them.”

Emerya nods. “Saltaryn doesn’t have the most precise personal control over his use of chaos. The best of the Magi’i handle chaos with order in a way that the chaos stays outside their bodies. They’re the ones who live the longest. I’ve told you about that, remember?”

“But they aren’t the strongest.”

“They don’t seem the strongest,” replies his aunt. “There’s a difference. That’s another reason why you need to follow the rules and techniques I’ve showed you. They’re harder, but they’ll serve you well.”

“I’ll never be a healer or an ordermage.”

“You can’t say that.” She pauses. “You can’t ever be known as a healer or an ordermage, especially not if you end up leading Mirror Lancers.”

“Because ordermages and healers aren’t supposed to kill people?”

“They’re not thought to be capable of it. That’s not quite the same thing … if you think about it. If I were you, I would think about it … a great deal.” She stops for a moment, then says, “You could be a healer, Lerial, but that wouldn’t be good for you, or for Cigoerne. For now, you’ve learned all you need to know.”

“I’m still having problems with my sparring.”

“It’s only been an eightday or so. Everything takes time.”

“But…”

“I need to see to Amaira, Lerial.”

“Oh … I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right. Just keep working on what I showed you.” She smiles, then slips back into her chambers.

For a long moment, Lerial just stands there. Then, he turns and begins to walk back toward his own quarters, thinking.

… You can’t ever be known to be a healer or ordermage.… not if you end up leading Mirror Lancers … His aunt’s words keep running through his thoughts.