Knights Magi (Book 4) (13 page)

Much to his own amazement, he was starting to understand it, too.  Even thaumaturgy, his nemesis.  Things began making sense.

How Callidore’s etheric field interacted with sapient thought, allowing willful direction of its energies, for example - that revealed itself with incredible clarity in his mind that night.  How the same magical architecture that allowed elementals to mimic the movements of life could be adapted to influence any inert system, if
properly understood.  How
photoni,
the bricks of light that ricocheted around the universe, acted as both matter
and
energy – all of it started to make sense.  Slowly, sometimes, or in great leaps of understanding, some obscure and darkened area of his education lit-up. 

He found it startling, when it happened.  Sometimes it occurred when something he read in an apparently unrelated topic triggered a thought, and then another, and then whole new areas of understanding would open like a sudden avalanche.

His instructors began to notice a difference, as well.  The next day’s lessons went much easier, and he was able to manifest some far more complicated spells than he’d previously dared, earning some grudging praise from the dour photomantics instructor before lunch.

He was feeling in a generous mood while he ate, and for once he was happy to be discussing academics with his fellow apprentice.  Not about magic -- he was nearly sick of it -- but a subject he was far more conversant with: girls.  Rondal had found the reading he’d recommended and devoured the short treatise in one sitting.

But where Tyndal had seen the beautiful pragmatism of Sire Rose’s discourse, Rondal was troubled about the ethics of the matter.  He tried to answer questions for Rondal, who had brought the elegant scroll containing Sire Rose’s Sixteen Laws with him. Among his difficulties with it was the nature of its very existence.

“It just seems scandalous to take what should rightly be left up to Ishi’s Will and turn it into a base trade,” Rondal complained, not for the first time.

“But why not?  If we study magic, and warfare, and all of the other things we must to master them, why would not a man apply the principles of science and magic to the realm of the heart?  It is no dishonor to Ishi -- on the contrary, by knowing the Laws we pay her homage.  The Laws are as fundamental to Ishi as the Lesser Table is to Yrentia.  Do you think that the maids you court are not preparing themselves against the day they find their love?”

“Well, the very first of the Laws
‘Pray ne’er to a maiden profess thy love lest she hath first declared her heart to thee; to do else is to invite her scorn.’
  Why should a man not tell a woman he holds affections for her?” he demanded.

“Because it shows weakness of the heart, and women cannot abide weakness in a man.  A man who forces her to declare her heart first holds his hand above hers in the affair.  It proves his strength, and therefore vindicates the risk she takes in such a revelation.”

“And the second Law?
‘Seek ye always to inspire jealousy within the castle of her heart by her vision of your flirtations and enjoyments with other maids.’
  Such an action is cruel to her, and dishonorable to the other maids!”

“Is it?” countered Tyndal, breaking a loaf of soft bread.  He was eating naught but bread today so that he would have energy for sparring later.  “Would you not say that maids contest for the attention of men the way men contest amongst themselves for feminine attention?”

“Well . . . yes . . . “

“The world condemns a woman who too freely grants Ishi’s Blessing, does it not?”

“Yes,” blushed Rondal.

“Yet you would encourage a man to not just declare his affections before he knows a maiden’s heart.  Then you would urge him to spend his commitment to her favor so cheaply, without knowing if she shares his feelings or the worthiness of the maid in question.  Should he value his own company so little, so soon will she.  When she sees that other maids are eager to share your affections, she naturally seeks to guard her mate.  Or mate presumptive.”

“The third law is easy enough to understand,” he continued - that was “Forever shall the errant make the mission, not the maid, the target of his desire, and thus shall the maid come to desire him whose eye lights elsewhere.’   It was one of Tyndal’s favorites. “You wouldn’t want a knight throwing a mission over a girl - that would be stupid. But this one,the Sixth Law,
“Certainty in the mind of a maiden about your thoughts is Love’s festering foe.  Instead in conversation challenge her assumptions, evade her inquiries, tease her for her motivations, and obfuscate your mind from her.  Thus she preoccupies herself with your heart as an initiate ponders a mystery.
’”

“What about it?”  It seems clear enough.”

“Well . . . it’s saying don’t tell a girl what you’re thinking.”

“Yes,” Tyndal agreed, flatly.

“Even if she asks,” Rondal continued.

“Yes,” Tyndal agreed, pouring a mug of the weak campus ale for himself from the common pitcher.

“But . . . isn’t that . . . cruel?  Mean-spirited, at least, and certainly unfair.”

“Rondal,” Tyndal said, catching his fellow’s eye, “think back, carefully: have you ever
once
had something
good
happen when you told a girl what she wanted to know?  Or did it somehow turn in your hand like a rusty knife?”

The question hung in the air for a few moments, as Rondal searched his memory. 

Then he sighed.  “The Eighth Law, then, 
‘Apologize unto a Maid only at great need, for such sorrows professed smell of weakness in a Maiden’s nose.  To be strong in word and deed and character draws a maid’s attention even as needless apologies repel it’
.  I can sort of see this one, I guess, but . . . shouldn’t you be sorry for something?  That’s just basic politeness.”

“That took a while for me to understand, too, until I remembered that awful woman at Yule, the one from the new domains?  Before things got . . . crazy,” he said with a grin, “do you remember how her husband kept apologizing to her?  It was
‘I’m sorry we were late, my wife,’
and ‘
you were right, my love, I’m sorry I ever doubted you’
. . . do you remember?”

“Yule is a bit . . . hazy,” Rondal admitted, shooting Tyndal a nasty look.

“Oh.  Right.  Sorry. Uh . . . any way, first you felt sorry for that man, but then you realized that he was doing it to himself.  She had grown so used to his little apologies, like a cat to milk in the morning, that she stopped hearing him altogether.  She . . . despised him.  And everyone
else
despised him for allowing it to happen.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Rondal said, without expression. 

“Sorry,” Tyndal repeated.  “A legitimate apology for a specific wrong is one thing, but to have one fall from your lips with every breath . . . well, it’s just damn annoying.  To a man or woman.  But particularly to a woman.  If the man she’s with admits he’s wrong over and over again, she’ll quickly start to wonder why she’s with him.”

“I . . . can see that point,” Rondal conceded.

“The key is strength,” Tyndal summed up, as he gathered his belongs together before his next session.  “You have to appear strong, even if you aren’t.  Confident even if you’re scared.  Bold, not timid.”

“You’re not really helping my case,” Rondal said, dejectedly.

“It’s not a mountain you can climb in a day,” Tyndal said, standing.  “It’s like magic.  You have to understand the theory, then practice the drills until you reach mastery.”

“Seems an awful lot of trouble  to go through for love.”

Tyndal grinned.  “The best horses are usually also the hardest to break. Besides,” he said, nodding towards the table where a knot of female students still lingered, “you never cast a net to catch just one kind of fish.”  Rondal turned his head just long enough to catch their attention. They giggled and looked away predictably.

One young student in particular - Lindra, he thought her name was, one of the pullets in Estasia’s circle - seemed quite intent on them.  Far less comely than the Wenshari alchemist, Lindra had a thirsty look about her when she gazed at them.  At him, in particular, he realized, but she seemed the type of girl to be more than willing to accept second prize . . . but make her rival work like nine hells for first.

Just the sort of girl to throw at Rondal t keep him busy . . . and away from Estasia. He had served his purpose there - providing an excellent poor alternative to Tyndal in Estasia’s eyes. Now he just had to keep him out of the way.  And Lindra might be an easier answer than finding someplace to hide his body.

Ron looked at him thoughtfully.  “You might be right,” Rondal conceded.  “But leave the pronouncements of wisdom to the scholars.  The way you mix metaphors makes me weep inside.”

*                            *                            *

He flew through his afternoon session, thanks to his new-found perfect recall of formulas mathematical, magical, and alchemical.  It was amazing how easy things became you could always see the Periodic Table with perfect accuracy. 

Since he completed the assessment so quickly, most of his day was free, so afterward he celebrated with a double-length workout.  He was eager to push himself in the cold, dreary day, using muscles that felt cramped after what had seemed like weeks of reading.

Much to his pleasure, Estasia came out to watch him and flirt with him as he sparred, along with a half-dozen other students.

Much to his annoyance, so did Rondal.  He stuck to Estasia’s side while Tyndal and the guardsmen went thrugh drills and sparred together. Much to his annoyance, Rondal seemed to have understood enough of the Laws of Love so that Esatasia was giggling at his jokes by the time rain called an end to the practice.  And he had called out criticisms of his style during the entire bout.  The small crowd broke up.  Estasia did not stay to speak to him.

“
Ishi’s tits! 
Why did you have to linger like that?” Tyndal asked his fellow apprentice, crossly, as he tossed his wooden sword carelessly in the direction of the rack after the robust session.  He had waited until after the pretty alchemy student had left to attend her afternoon lecture in the company of two other girls - one of them Lindra.  One of the boys brought him a tankard of water from the well while he stripped off his practice armor.

“What do you mean?” Rondal asked, innocently from behind the fence.  “I
thought you’d appreciate the support!”

“
What
support?  You criticized virtually everything I did!” Tyndal said, angrily.  “You kept talking about my sloppy footwork – which was flawless, by the way – when meanwhile
you
can’t draw a blade without tripping over your feet!”

“
I’m
not the one trying to  show off for the girls,” Rondal pointed out.  “Besides, I had to find something to talk about . . . you were handy,” he reasoned. 

It was a bullshit answer.  They both knew it.  Still, Rondal looked at him stubbornly.

“You were supposed to be focusing on Lindra,” Tyndal reminded, through clenched teeth.

“I’m not interested in Lindra,” Rondal said, flatly. “I’m interested in Estasia. And you told me to practice on Estasia.  So I did.”  He folded his arms defiantly.

“And what was all that giggling about?  What did you say to her?” he demanded.

“Why?” Rondal challenged. “Afraid I’d mention your predilection for maiden goats?  Or just worried about your sloppy footwork?”

“She’s an alchemist,” Tyndal said, his nostrils flaring.  “You couldn’t find any
matter or energy
sitting around to discuss?”

“I just wanted to
talk
to her!” Rondal said, defensively.

“She doesn’t
like
you like that!” Tyndal shot back, angrily.  Wasn’t it clear?  It was clear to him – Estasia didn’t notice the junior apprentice romantically, despite what Rondal desired.  He was just making a fool of himself by continuing to try.  Why could a boy so smart be so stupid about something so basic?

“Maybe she
would
, if you didn’t eclipse everything I do!” Rondal shouted back, and changed direction before Tyndal could think of a witty retort.  “I’m going to the library to study,” he snapped.  “Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”  He stomped off.

Feeling angry, irritated, and almost as tired as he’d been when he’d started, Tyndal decided against another night in the Manciple’s Library, feeding his brain on arcane matters.  He considered going to find something to eat - it was a few hours until dinner but you could always scrounge something if you knew which drudges to speak to - but his stomach was upset after the fight. 

In fact, he was exhausted.  He didn’t know if it was Rondal’s asinine behavior, the long hours of study, or the accumulated effects of using magic so frequently, but instead of feeling refreshed after his sparring he felt lethargic. He could barely drag himself across the campus back to the North Tower, and the seven flights of stairs to his room were brutal.