Convergence (26 page)

Pushing that thought aside, Lorand began to climb his stairway to its top—where he then had to walk the top tread like an Airealist, one foot in front of the other while he maintained his balance. The shield against the falling earth kept him from being knocked off, and when he reached the wall he found that his face now looked directly at that window-door.

Lorand wiped his muddy right palm on his trousers before reaching to the square of wood, his left hand flat on the resin wall to help maintain his balance. If he found the square barred on the other side and unmoving he knew he'd probably cry, but happily he was spared that. The wood pushed in easily, and once opened stayed that way. Now all he had to do was climb through, and then he'd be able to rest for a while.

That last, simple "all" nearly undid him. Lorand had done at least as much climbing as any other child as a boy, but his boyhood was a number of long years behind him. And it had never been resin that he'd tried to climb, which offered nothing at all in the way of toeholds. The inside of the window-door was just as smooth when it came to handholds, and that left only one thing to do: Lorand would have to use another, shorter step of earth to give him a boost up.

But that meant using even more of the power, and Lorand wasn't sure he had the nerve to try it. Every other adult he knew used their talent almost
carelessly,
either not knowing or deliberately ignoring what could happen if they drew in too much power. Lorand often did the same when it came to casual use, but something inside refused to allow that when he had to increase the amount of "usual" power. He knew he was good and could handle a lot more of the power than most people, but . . .

No, no buts. Another spurt of earth in his face, coming through the shield, quickly convinced him of that. He had to banish all doubts and use everything he had, otherwise he would end up dead anyway. Pushing himself to the limit wasn't much of a risk under the circumstances, and all the doubt did was waste time he couldn't afford to lose.

So he turned his attention to the earth which had fallen in the last few minutes, gathered it together between the hands of his talent, and formed it into a single step right up against the wall. He nearly covered his own foot doing that, but now he was seriously in a hurry. He could feel his strength draining out even faster than it had been doing, so there wasn't much time left.

This time he stood one foot on the mound against the wall before trying to climb through the window-door, and that made all the difference. A small jump got him far enough through that he was able to wriggle and squirm the rest of himself in, and then he looked around as he panted air that didn't need much cleaning. The area was narrow and not very long, but it was wide enough for his shoulders and there seemed to be a ladder below the opening on the other side.

Crawling the few feet to the far opening and twisting around to put
himself
feet-first toward the ladder was almost harder than everything else he'd done. But Lorand finally managed it,
then
slowly got himself down the ladder. Only when he finally stood in the narrow hallway below did he let go, sitting down hard on the resin floor and not even feeling it. Exhaustion had that one benefit of dulling the pain of other happenings, and Lorand meant to take full advantage of it.

Simply sitting still and breathing normally was marvelous, but after a moment Lorand's peace and quiet was intruded upon. The man from the front room of the resin building appeared carrying a cup of something, and when he got close enough he crouched beside Lorand.

"Congratulations, young man, on passing your test," the man said with a pleasant smile. "You performed excellently well, but now I think you need
this."

He offered the cup then, and Lorand was tempted to refuse it just to show how disgusted he was. But he needed something to drink too badly to refuse, and once he cleared his mouth and throat he'd be able to put his feelings into words. The contents of the cup was more than just water, and Lorand felt some strength trickling back even before he'd drained the thing. That was great, since he knew exactly how he wanted to use that strength.

"How can you people do something like that?" he demanded as soon as he put the cup down. "I came here intending to do my best, but not to gamble my life! Why don't you give people a
decent
chance?"

"How much more decent a chance is there than winning your life along with passing the test?" the man countered blandly as he took back the cup. "It gives people the best motivation possible for doing their utmost, a level some might not reach without that strongest of drives. And you must also remember that some who come here plan to hide their ability, so they won't need to serve the public good. Don't the people of this empire deserve the best High practitioners it's possible to find?"

Lorand's sense of duty kept him from arguing that point, especially since he knew of someone like that. The boy had been two or three years older than Lorand and had been rated a strong Middle in Air magic, but he hadn't been happy about going to test for High. He'd told all his friends that he would be back as soon as they discovered he didn't quite measure up, and then he'd put his feet up again and let his widowed mother continue to support him the way she'd been doing until then. The boy never had come back, and everyone had assumed he'd found someone else to sponge off. . .

But that wasn't the most important point the man had made. The one that affected Lorand personally was the one about reaching a level he might not have reached if his life hadn't been at stake. He couldn't very well argue the truth of it, not when it had actually happened to him, but he still felt a formless yet definite sense of unhappiness.

"I understand all the reasons you've mentioned, but I still think you're . . . not doing it quite right," Lorand said hesitantly. "There ought to be a way to accomplish the same thing without risking people's lives."

"Well, if you can think of the way, by all means let us know," the man said as he straightened. "Right now your coach ought to be here soon, so let me explain a few things.

Now that you've passed this test, you'll be scheduled for other sessions in the applicant process. The first of the sessions won't be for a few days, so we've arranged for you to stay at a residence along with other applicants."

"How much will that cost?" Lorand asked as he struggled to his feet. "I don't have much left of the silver I was given, so I need to know how far it has to be stretched. And do you have a washbasin handy? Separating the earth out of the mud covering me is a little bit beyond me right now."

"Of course," the man answered, gesturing behind him. "We have a washbasin set up just around this curve. And as far as your accommodations are concerned, we'll be paying for that. What you have to pay for is your food and any other necessities, but
don't
despair about making ends meet. After the sessions you should be eligible for the competitions, the winning of which will provide bonuses in gold. That will help you to refill your purse."

Lorand nodded absently as he followed the man around the curve, delighted that he could soon have a source of income. He intended to pass all the tests they gave him anyway, so winning in competitions could be considered the same thing. And being paid in gold for the effort would be a great . . . bonus. Lorand grinned at the thought,
then
extended the grin when he saw the large basin filled with clean water and the towel folded beside it on the stand. He'd be careful not to spend the gold before he had it in his hand, but that water was about to be spent until he was completely mud free.

Washing in the water with mildly scented soap made Lorand feel a good deal better, but even as he dried his face and hands on the towel he knew he'd have to find a bath house as soon as possible. His body felt almost as covered as his hands and face had been, but trying to fit
himself
into the basin wouldn't have worked very well. He put the towel back down to find that his clothes case had been leaned up against the basin stand, so he picked it up and joined the man he'd been speaking to at the door the man had opened in the wall.

The doorway led them outside, where a coach stood waiting as if he were someone really important. Lorand climbed in and the man closed the door behind him,
then
looked up at him with a smile.

"I know you'll understand when I say that discussing the details of your test with anyone at all is strictly forbidden.

Enjoy your rest until the next session, and perhaps we'll meet again."

Lorand came up with something of a smile as he nodded, but he wasn't certain he
wanted
to meet him again. There was something . . . different about the man, an attitude that said he was engaged in an odd but interesting game rather than real life. Of course, it had been Lorand's life at stake rather than his own, which made the attitude more than a little cold-blooded.

The coach began to move when the man outside
gestured ,
and Lorand settled back to enjoy the ride. He'd never been in any vehicle but a farm wagon where he was the only passenger, but the privacy wasn't hard to take. Especially when the coach simply rolled through one of the gates without being required to stop. They hadn't had it that easy on the way in—

They.
Lorand suddenly straightened in his seat, finally remembering about Hat. Shame flooded him at the realization of how easily he'd forgotten about his friend, but then he felt the blood drain from his face. Those who didn't pass the test
died,
and Master Lugal had sent Hat anyway. Did he know? He'd been fairly certain Hat would fail, but did he know the cost of failure?
If he did and had still sent Hat. . .

Lorand leaned back slowly, the urge to ask the driver to turn around and go back draining out of him. Right now he wasn't strong enough to face the reality of Hat's death; the possibility alone was almost more than he could handle. There was always a chance that Hat had survived and had even passed the test, and Lorand would end up seeing him at the residence he was being taken to. He'd wait, and ask discreet questions if necessary, and above all get some rest. After that he'd be able to decide what to do if Hat did turn out to be dead. Continue on as if nothing at all had happened, or turn around and walk away in disgust . . . ?

The rest of the ride wasn't as pleasant as Lorand had expected it to be, not with painful thoughts clanging around in his head. Gan Garee was a giant city completely filled with strangers, and Lorand had never known it was possible to feel so alone. He watched those strangers on the street as his coach passed them, dressed in their odd clothes and going about business he couldn't even imagine. Most ignored the vehicle as if it
were
invisible, but some, not as well-dressed or prosperous-looking as the rest, glared at it and him with a sense of personal insult. As if to say, "How dare you ride like that when we have to walk? Who do you think you are . . . ?"

Closing his eyes and leaning his head against the seat back for a moment let Lorand banish that foolishness. It was the tiredness inside him that caused those thoughts, that and the guilt he felt about Hat. Objectively he knew that Hat would have come alone if Lorand hadn't come with him, but emotionally Lorand was hearing one of his father's lectures on the damage it was possible to do by trying to reach too far above
yourself
. You hurt others even more than
yourself,
the elder Coll had been fond of insisting, knowing better than most how sensitive Lorand was over the well-being of others.

"Yeah, he always knew how to reach me," Lorand murmured, but memory of his father was lessening the feelings of guilt rather than increasing them. Hat had been just as determined as Lorand to escape the life they'd been born into, and the most telling point was the one he'd have to think about: would
he
rather have to go home a failure, or would he prefer to be dead? There were usually other options besides those two, but what if the others didn't count? And what would he have done if he'd known about the risk beforehand? Would he have tried anyway?

There was still too much weariness in him to make any firm decisions, so Lorand let the whole thing go while he looked at the scenery again. They'd reached a really nice neighborhood with big houses on both sides of the street, and Lorand expected the coach to continue on through it. When it turned into one driveway instead he was startled, but then the most obvious answer came to him. The coach was meant to take someone else to that residence, and this was where they'd pick them up.

So Lorand simply enjoyed looking around as the coach drove up to the front door. The lawn to either side of the drive was healthy and well cared for, but he couldn't detect any of the . . . hum of satisfaction, was the best thing to call it, of truly thriving greenery. The beautifully arranged flower beds were also only minimally happy, but that might be because of the soil composition. The earth mixture in this area wasn't—