Count Scar - SA (4 page)

"It was the name of his great-grandfather, who was count at Peyrefixade before the time of our Order." The Provost paused to shift one of the innumerable scraps of scribbled parchment that
littered the desk in front of him. It was a standard trick of his when collecting his thoughts—or when preparing to impart some uncomfortable news, for despite his dry manner he was not an
unkind man. "That old Count Caloran had two sons. The elder, who succeeded him, was our own great patron Bernhard. The younger eventually married the heiress to a holding on the northern
marches; he was the grandfather of this Caloran."

I began to relax, thinking perhaps the provost had merely felt like talking of this novelty—though why he should have selected me for a listener seemed a mystery. "I had never even heard our
patron had a brother, let alone that such a brother had given rise to a lineage of his own up in the grim border lands adjoining the Empire."

"Few did. No one in this region has had any cause to think or speak of our late patrons brother for over forty years. But our esteemed duke—" Provost Balaam smiled without mirth "—clearly
knew all about it. He makes it his life's business to know of such things, as one never knows when one of them might be turned to advantage."

My mind was racing now. It was evident that I was expected to understand something from this recitation, but what? I had never enjoyed gossip concerning the maneuverings of the worlds
mighty, even during the three years I had been compelled to spend among them away from our mother house. If I had, why would I have chosen to seek a life of quiet contemplation devoted to
prayer and the study of the magic arts in the cloisters of the Order, over the chance to be named heir to my uncle's modest lands and castle when I was but fourteen? But now it appeared I must
again aspire at competency at this skill for which I felt such scant inclination. Well, I certainly knew something of the duke and his ways. After a moment's consideration, I ventured, "So, our
duke finds something to his advantage in suddenly producing this unknown but quite legitimate heir."

"Good, you are perspicacious. The question for us is whether the arrival of this Count Caloran will also be to the advantage of our Order, or otherwise. It is in this regard that I summoned you."

"Your servant stands ready to serve in whatever way the Order may require," I declared automatically, casting my eyes humbly downward and stretching forth my hands in an effort to retain my
calm and patient expression despite my dawning understanding that all this talk of count and duke actually might have some direct bearing upon me.

"I presume you are aware that our Order has always furnished a capellanus to the castle of Peyrefixade, to serve both as an aide and a spiritual advisor to the reigning count. Our revered father
Abbot Caspar has requested me to ask that you take up this post in the service of this new count."

"I—see." As soon as he'd spoken, I'd realized my foolishness in not having guessed for myself. My heart felt like a stone in my breast while all of my long and carefully cultivated detachment
seemed to leave me in an instant. "The reverend abbot—does me great honor. But is this not an assignment for a more—a more seasoned brother?"

"Some argued so. But the—the abbot thought otherwise, and so do I. You are about the same age as this new count. He will be coming into his situation feeling himself a stranger to everyone, so
this fact may help you in winning his confidence. Moreover, there is reason to believe that the priest of our Order assigned to Peyrefixade should be an expert in the magic of divination, and I
happen to know that subject has been one of your particular studies. It's a taxing branch of magic, one that requires a young healthy Magian like yourself. Moreover, the duke himself specifically
requested you." The Provost gave his mirthless smile once more. "You must have made a surprisingly strong impression upon him during the period you served in his city a few years ago."

Well that's done it, I told myself. Until Provost Balaam's last statement I had hoped I might yet persuade him to return to the abbot and the officers of the Order with my carefully reasoned
arguments as to why I would be so much less suitable for this task than several other brothers whom I could readily name. But that was out of the question now. Our Order of the Three Kings had
attained-whatever small security and prosperity it now enjoyed thanks principally to two great patrons: the late old Count of Peyrefixade and the duke himself.

The good old count had supported us out of a genuine interest and belief in the possibilities of magic as a force for good, so long as its study and practice was conducted by men also sworn to
holiness and living under the well-understood discipline of the cloister. But as for the duke, his reasons for doing anything were seldom either so single or so simple, and our Order had
consequently found it well always to give the most serious consideration to any request from him—and indeed, to comply—unless some highly compelling spiritual objection could be produced.

What conceivable action or virtue of mine the duke might have witnessed during my periodic attendance at his court, in an extremely junior capacity, to make him think of placing me at
Peyrefixade was completely obscure to me. But it made no difference. Bowing my head and folding my hands in the posture proper to an obedient junior canon, I produced the only possible
response, the one I'd so often heard given by many a greater figure than myself: "Then of course it must be as our lord duke wishes."

"Exactly," said old Balaam, and I almost thought I glimpsed the hint of a smile tugging for a moment at the corner of his flat mouth. "Mark well that you take care always to give such politic
answers once you have taken up your new duties."

"And when am I expected to go take up those duties, my father?"

"Why, tomorrow, of course!" Provost Balaam declared, looking as if my question was the most surprising thing he'd heard in the last twelvemonth. "The weather augeries look excellent for the
next three days, so there is nothing to delay you. Moreover, it would be best if you were with this new Count Caloran as quickly as possible."

He turned his head at the sound of the bells announcing nones. "We must be off to the holy office now. As soon as that's over, go pack your belongings and other things and make the preparations
for your journey. Come see me again tomorrow morning before you depart and I shall advise you concerning a few practical matters you will need to know." He rose briskly and stepped over to his
little stand to wash the inevitable ink stains from his long wiry fingers, nodding in dismissal. I started to go out, but the sight of the crucifix that hung above his wash stand, or perhaps a
glimpse he caught of something in my face, caused him to call after me. "Oh, and Brother Melchior—?"

"Yes, my father?" I said, turning back.

"The Order asks that you assume this service for its welfare, but also because it truly believes it will aid your own, your spiritual welfare. And also your progress as a member of the Order. You
know, younger Brother, one may master the technical knowledge necessary to do powerful magic far younger than one can acquire the wisdom needed to decide when and how to use that power.

The latter comes with time and experience, experience that can only be gained by taking what you have learned out into the world of the men and women we serve. And remember, though you
leave our walls and our company, you are never alone while you have the disciplines of self-examination and prayer you have learned among us to guide you. I suggest that once you've collected
your things, you go pray in one of the chapels. Or better yet, take a walk in the cloister until it's time for vespers. Listen to the stones, let them remind you what is the purpose of our Order and
why you became one of us. It will do you good, believe me. Even today, our Revered and Glorious Master never fails to go and walk there whenever he comes on one of his visits."

It might have been only illusion, but his expression looked almost kindly as I shut the door behind me.

By the time I'd stood through the singing of nones, then gone to my cell and packed up my few personal items and the books and tools of such magic arts as I had managed to master in some
fifteen years of diligent study, the brief February afternoon was already moving swiftly on towards nightfall. Feeling low and also obstinant, I slipped away for a walk outside the walls instead of
going to the cloister. The air was still and warm for the season, with even a trace of the scent of spring. I walked from the gates as far as the little porter's lodge and stood for a while, looking
down the steep, narrow road up which I and everything else that had ever come to our Order's house—including its very stones—had traveled. And down which I'd be going come morning. The
lodge and the road itself, at least as far as my vision reached along its winding course down the mountain, were deserted and still.

I turned and looked back toward the spire, walls and buildings of the Order's house outlined against the fading sky, and a sense of deep woe swept over me. Within the House's calm daily round of
prayer and magical studies, I had felt I was making real progress at last. Despite the provost's words, I didn't see how I could continue to move ahead amid all the distractions and demands that
would come in serving as spiritual counsellor and Magian in a great castle under a steel-hearted northern count—for such the man must be, or our hard Duke Argave would never have decided to
set him there.

And yet, it suddenly struck me, these very thoughts might themselves be temptations, born of hidden pride. After all, how much better this was than the true banishment I had so often dreaded!

What good was my oath of faithfulness and obedience to the Order if it brought only an outward concurrence that concealed a rebellious heart? I bowed my head and prayed earnestly, trying to
bring myself to accept and embrace this new charge.

After a while a chill wind began to rise out of the deep valley. I shivered and turned back inside the walls. As I passed the corridor leading to the cloister, my footsteps lagged, then turned. A
moment later I had covered the dozen paces to the low archway and stepped through, fully obedient now.

I walked slowly along, gazing out between the columns of the arcade to where the central fountain of the cloister sent its peaceful sound echoing through the little garden. The air was calm and
almost warm in this sheltered place, and I began to feel its peace stealing into my heart.

At the southwest corner of the arcade, I paused to study our finest carved capital, which depicted Simon the Magician slinking shamefacedly away after having been denied in his attempt to
augment his own magical powers by purchasing a share of the immeasurably greater spiritual powers of Our Lord. The magician had been carved with a face in which lines indicating considerable
wisdom had become coarsened, with keen eyes that now appeared bitter. He clutched a sack of money in one clawlike hand, and was surrounded by sculpted street urchins who pointed at him,
jeering and laughing. Around on the opposite face of the capital a crowd of rapt listeners was ignoring him entirely as they gazed up toward a high place where the unseen Master had resumed his
preaching. A cautionary tale for any in our Order who might chance to fall into the error of supposing even briefly that his modest command of mere earthly magical capacities could make him in
any way close to being the equal of those whose powers came from a far higher source.

As I stepped away from the carved scene a faint sound filtered to my ears through the rush of the fountain: a low tapping, which came in short bursts interrupted by periods of silence. It seemed to
be coming from the opposite corner of the cloister. I walked quickly up the west arcade, past columns whose capitals mostly bore only symbols of the planets and the zodiac, or else twined acanthus
leaves or simple faces, then along the north side of the cloister.

Reaching the northeast corner of the arcade, the only unfinished section, I came upon old Brother Quercus chiseling away in the shadows, finishing the capital that one day soon would crown this
corner of the cloister. He was seated with his back almost against the wall, working in nearly complete darkness, but that was unlikely to bother him: he was blind.

Or at least blind as most of us account such things. Brother Quercus had been one of the first to join our dear and glorious Father back in the earliest days of the Order. Time had long since
stripped his wavering old eyes of the power to detect light, just as it had stripped the untonsured parts of his head of every hair except for the dense eyebrows that hung down over his sightless eyes
like old thatching on a ruined cottage. He had to be assisted in the morning to his carving bench by two novices these days, but his old arms and hands were still strong as oak when he deftly plied
his hammer and chisels. He had carved every column and every capital in the main church building well before I'd joined the Order, then turned to the work of decorating this cloister at an age
when most canons were content merely to sit in the sun by summer or near the fire by winter, until someone comes to lead them off for meals or prayers or bed. For Brother Quercus had turned his
magical studies to mastering the second vision as his own sight had departed, and the undiminished vigor and power of his carving attested to his success. Indeed, it was he who taught the basics
of second vision and hearing to the novices. Rumor among them whispered that he had now gone even beyond the second vision in his own studies, delving deep into the third vision that can see
across time and space. As I drew close, he lay down his heavy hammer and turned his ancient head in my direction. "Good evening, Brother Melchior," he croaked with complete assurance as to
who was before him.