Convergence (25 page)

"It looks like we have somethin' in common after all," the stranger said with grim agreement, standing up in the water. "I also intend goin' back where I belong, so let's talk later. I'm Valiant Ro, Water magic."

"Lord Clarion Mardimil, Air magic," Clarion responded, disliking the need to converse with a commoner as though he were an equal, but finding it easier than he'd thought it would be. In point of fact he was receiving more courtesy from this Ro stranger than he got from his own class brothers, and honor demanded that he respond in kind. "And yes, let us indeed compare notes later. Getting free of this horror would be worth any price. A pity it can't be accomplished with gold."

"What makes you think it can't be?" Ro asked as he actually left the bath, ceding the possession of it without argument. The man was Clarion's own size and must be at least as weary if he'd also passed his test, which he must have done in order to be there. Ro had a look about him that shouted of a familiarity with physical labor as well as being accustomed to command, and yet he'd still given up the bathwater without needing to be forced to it. Clarion was even more impressed than surprised, and both feelings brought him to an attitude of indulgence which he'd never before experienced with an inferior.

"I never thought about offerin' gold, which makes me feel like a fool," Ro continued after banishing the water from his body and hair. "Since I can afford to pay any amount they care to name and everybody knows bribin' is the largest industry here in Gan Garee, I wonder
why
I didn't think of it."

So the man wasn't a copperless peasant after all. Clarion now felt a good deal more comfortable, especially since he'd discovered the perfectly logical reason behind his urge toward indulgence.

"Possibly you didn't think of it because you dislike wasting your time," Clarion answered, remembering his failure with a great deal of distaste. "I, on the other hand, must enjoy it immensely, as I spent much too much time engaged in the useless practice. If there's an answer, it definitely lies elsewhere."

"There has to be an answer," Ro responded, looking as determined as Clarion felt. "High practitioners are all supposed to be willin' to do the job, so those who are unwillin' have to be let go at
some
point. That's the point we need, as long as it isn't one that involves dyin' . . ."

Clarion almost paused in his undressing, suddenly remembering how close
he'd
come to dying. Somehow he hadn't really believed in the possibility at the time, hadn't considered his death something that could actually happen, but now . . . Looking back made him want to shudder with the realization of how close he'd come, and that in turn forced him to drop the last of his clothing and plunge into the water. At least it was as warm as it was supposed to be, and immediately began to warm the chill ice out of his blood.

"We'll speak again later," Ro said after a moment, and Clarion looked around to see that the other man was completely dressed. And rather than stand about gawking like some infantile voyeur, he added, "Enjoy your bath," and simply left. Clarion made a sound of agreement to the suggestion, finding he no longer had the strength for conversation. What he needed was to unwind in the warmth of the water, letting it soothe away all tension and fear.

Choosing a molded area in the bath diagonally opposite the one Ro had used, Clarion submerged for a delicious moment then leaned back into the head brace. He hadn't stopped to look for soap, but that could be done later. Right now he needed to soak the ache out of his bones . . .

Clarion fell asleep for a while, but not a long enough while. He was still tired when the sound of the door opening woke him, and he looked around to see another stranger entering. This one was dressed in what Clarion considered low-class farm fashion, and he apparently had no idea anyone else was in the bath house. He looked around at the cabinets ranged to the left of the door, and actually had to open each of them before he located the one with towels. Then he went back to the one with soap, and carefully withdrew a jar.

Clarion considered ordering the lout to wait outside until his own bath was finished, but memory of his conversation with Ro caused him to hold his tongue. Here was certainly another ally in the war to attain freedom, and Clarion was desperate enough to accept help from whatever source it might originate with.

"Good day to you, friend," Clarion said as he sat up in the water, startling the lout into whirling around despite his carefully pleasant tone. "I'm sure you're in need of this bathwater as badly as I was, so please don't hesitate about coming right in."

"I didn't intend to hesitate," the mudfoot answered, returning to removing the sacks he obviously considered clothing. "You startled me because I thought the bath house was empty, but it isn't as if I've never used a bath house before. Our town has a large one for the use of the public, and week's end night usually had the place filled to capacity."

"You've used a public bath house?"
Clarion blurted, unable to help himself.
"With
crowds
present?
But surely your own home had a bath house?"

"In summer we used the creek's swimming hole, and in winter we used a tub in the kitchen," the mudfoot answered with a shrug as he made for the water. "What's the difference
where
you bathe, as long as you come out clean?"

Clarion couldn't answer that question, not in any words the mudfoot was likely to understand. It made a good deal of difference where one bathed, and anyone capable of questioning that truth would certainly be incapable of comprehending it. Instead of continuing with the subject, Clarion waited until the lout had settled himself in the place Ro had vacated, and then he spoke more to the point.

"I assume you're weary because of what was necessary to pass your test," he said after clearing his throat, then borrowed the rest of Ro's successful opening gambit. "What did they do to force
you
to participate? I'm Lord Clarion Mardimil, by the way.
Air magic."

"Lorand Coll, Earth magic," the man responded, raising his head to frown at Clarion. "What do you mean, how was I
forced?
I didn't have to be forced to
participate,
I wanted very much to try."

"You
want
to be here?" Clarion demanded incredulously, finding it impossible to keep from rising to his feet. "Well, I don't know why I'm surprised. Of course someone like you would be eager to fight for that
nonsense,
it's worlds above anything you're likely to get under any other circumstance. A pity they don't believe in taking
all
their applicants from the lowest segment of our society."

"At least I'm not from the
useless
segment of our society," the lout had the nerve to rejoinder, his face darkened with anger as Clarion stalked past him on the way out of the water. "If
I
end up without a High position, I'll still be able to contribute more than I use up. If
you
end up without one, all you'll be able to do is go back to being a worthless sponge. If you suddenly lost all your mountains of gold, you'd starve to death in a week. Since I'd survive no matter what, I'd say you need to rethink your conclusion about which of us is really the lowest."
       

Clarion was out of the water by then, and he refused to dignify the lout's moronic claims by commenting. Instead he used air to force all the water from his body, finding that even so small an effort as that was nearly beyond him. He quickly used the towel on the bottoms of his feet and then dressed, still maintaining his silence. Of all the mindless, idiotic things to say, calling
him
low class and worthless! If he weren't so tired, he'd show that lout
exactly
how worthless he was!

Fury took Clarion out of the bath house once he was fully dressed and had gathered up his soiled clothing. He also slammed the door behind him to punctuate his exit, and quickly strode back to the tiny accommodations he'd been forced to accept. He slammed that door as well,
then
hurled his soiled clothing away with every ounce of strength he had left. Calling
him
useless and worthless! Daring to question his ability to survive! Low class indeed!

Clarion stalked back and forth across the room countless times, fighting in vain to control his anger. It wasn't true that he was useless, the lout simply didn't understand. Those of his class had no need to justify their existence with crude manual labor, they were above such foolishness! And if the unthinkable happened and he and Mother did lose all their gold, he'd simply—why, he would just—

When the proper ending to his argument refused to come, Clarion discovered that he'd also stopped pacing. He didn't know
what
he would do if he no longer had Mother's gold behind him, but he'd do
something.
He was a gentleman of quality, and that lout had had no right to question his worth. Why, he'd passed that first test, hadn't he? That proved clearly enough what he was capable of, even though he'd had to use his talent to do it. The talent
was
his, after all, and no one had given it to him . . .

But the mudfoot had come far too close to thoughts of doubt that Clarion himself had had from time to time. When Mother had occasionally gone away without him, leaving him with a few of the male servants to see to his needs, he'd sometimes wondered what would become of him if she never returned. He had no idea where her funds came from, or how much was actually there. All he knew how to do was draw his allowance from the bank, that and how to spend it. . . . If Mother had failed to return he would have been completely on his own, without support and companionship, without funds, and without the ability to care for himself.
Useless.
...

Clarion threw himself into a chair and covered his eyes with his palms, struggling with all his might to force those horrid thoughts away. He didn't
want
to be where he was, bowing to the demands of others and risking his life at their whim, but perhaps this was the answer to his dilemma. If he did qualify as a High practitioner, he would have a career if he needed or wanted it, one that no one without greater talent could deny him.

Yes . . . that might be the best way to handle the matter. Clarion lowered his arms to the chair's armrests, but didn't open his eyes. He was too tired, and now felt a good deal more at peace. He would continue to search for a way out of the trap of
having
to compete, but in the interim would make a point of showing what he could do. That way the choice of direction in his life would be
his
rather than everyone else's . . . Yes, that was the way. . . .

As he drifted off to sleep again, he was only distantly surprised that his glimpses of the future included women who were definitely not Mother. . . .

Fourteen

Lorand stared at his still-incomplete stairway of earth, trying to figure out how to handle the increased flow of soil that now poured down. Pulling in more power was out of the question, not when he was so tired. But he'd have to do
something.
The stronger flow of earth threatened to knock down the steps he'd already built, not to mention trying to bury him where he stood. He'd have to protect both himself and the steps, but his strength was failing almost by the minute.

He stewed mentally for another long moment,
then
could have kicked himself when the obvious answer came. If he stood
on
the stairway, he could protect both the stairs and himself with the same effort. Cursing himself under his breath, Lorand carefully mounted the first step then put his left foot on the second step. The treads were too narrow to hold both of his feet and he wobbled a moment getting his balance, but then he had it.

Combining the two shields against the falling earth was easier, and after clearing the air immediately around him of dust, Lorand took a minute to rest. He'd pictured building his stairway all the way up to that small wooden window-door, but by now he knew it wasn't going to happen. The strain of holding the stairs together—along with everything else—was getting to be too much, so as soon as he could actually reach the window-door he'd try to get through it.

The rapidly falling earth was now coming through in enough quantity to let Lorand hurry his building job a little. He formed another three steps of the same size as the first five, and then decided to try his luck. Every minute of delay meant a little less strength, and it would be stupid to wait until he was reduced to crawling.
Not that he didn't feel like crawling right now . . .