In Treachery Forged (The Law of Swords) (31 page)

“The rating a person achieves is important. A Fifth Rate, typically known as a ‘failed mage,’ is someone whose powers are so weak that they are unable to perform most of the tasks required for a job in magic. They usually have the skill, but little or no power. At most, enough to do minor workings of magic but not enough to truly be considered a mage. Typically, they either teach magic – for their problems with magic do not come from a lack of understanding, but rather a lack of innate talent – or they go into the study of alchemy.

“I am a Fourth Rate mage. While I do have the power to perform most of the tasks required of a professional mage, but performing even one task requiring even average magical strength will strain me to the point of being unable to perform any other magic during the day. Some fourth rate mages are slowly able to build up their skill and endurance to the point where, if they regularly exhaust their magic for years and years, they can reach a third rate.”

“Like I did,” Wodtke said, walking up to the table. “Forgive me, but I heard what you were talking about and had to join in on this. I was a Fourth Rate mage when I was first evaluated. After using that limited bit of magic for over a decade in my professional capacity as a doctor, I discovered at a re-evaluation that I had increased my endurance to the point of becoming a Third Rate – basically, what the scale considers your average mage. Most mages who succeed as mages achieve the rank of Third Rate, at least, at some point in their lives. Unfortunately, more than half of mages who do not have some magic in their family background are considered Fifth Rate, or ‘failed mages.’ That is another reason why so few families put their children through magic training.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Gherald said, glancing at the woman. “I’d never met someone who managed to achieve a ratings promotion, before.”

Wodtke laughed. “To be honest, I haven’t found this ‘promotion’ to be all that important. I use my magic as a Third Rate just as much as I did when I was a Fourth Rate, both in my everyday life and my career. I am a doctor first and foremost, and always shall be one.”

Gherald nodded. “Yes. Most Fourth Rate mages typically pick jobs which allow them to use the magic they spent years studying to achieve, but they cannot take jobs where they must rely on it. The medical field is a common one for fourth rates. Teacher is another, but for some reason magic teachers are rarely hired unless they are either Fifth Rate or Third Rate. There’s some social stigma over being a Fourth Rate mage and teaching. If you’re a Fourth Rate who lacks the math skills to be either an alchemist or a doctor, well, it’s unlikely you’ll be able to find a job that uses magecraft. Most become soldiers – for even a Fourth Rate mage has some limited advantage in battle, even if he doesn’t qualify to be part of the mage corps – or we take jobs where magic is rarely if ever used, such as farmhand, or merchant... or even politician.” He grinned ruefully. “Although I’ve yet to figure out how magic can be useful in elections.”

“So, basically,” Maelgyn said, drawing the discussing back on topic. “A Third Rate is a mage of average ability. Here’s where the ratings get tricky, however, because from here on in everyone has the same skill set, more or less. Being more powerful than a Third Rate is mainly useful only in combat situations, although I’m sure a Second or First Rate could easily manage any number of non-combat feats a Third Rate would find stressful. As far as Sir Leno goes, being a Second Rate he’s stronger than nine out of every ten successful mages. As a Second Rate, he’s able to work magic despite the presence of a standard-strength lodestone. So, in combat, he can push through lodestone defenses, although it’s hard for him.

“First Rates, like Euleilla... and apparently myself, although I have never been formally rated, are really rare in the Human race. Only about one out of thirty successful mages have our power – which makes the meeting of two or more a rather rare occurrence. A marriage between two First Rates like us is even more so. We can push magic through lodestones without significant strain on our magical reserves. There is some, yes, but barely enough for us to even notice.”

Yergwain nodded, looking concerned. “I see that we
have
done an injustice to my brother, but our family has always been among the elite. I am still not sure his study of magic is proper in the first place, when it is such a rare occurrence that an elite mage is trained.”

“Lord Yergwain,” Maelgyn stared. “That statement makes no sense. Aren’t you aware that the structure of nobility in Svieda was established to provide for the training and breeding of mages?”

“Surely not!” Yergwain protested. “It would be in our family history – there are no records of a mage in our family before Leno, and our family has been in Sviedan Nobility since the founding!”

“Maelgyn has High Mage potential,” Euleilla’s voice intervened before anyone could respond to Yergwain’s protest.

“There had to have been,” Maelgyn said to Yergwain, initially not taking in what his wife had said. “It was required, unless your barony was established more recently... than... err, Euleilla? What did you just say?”

She just smiled at him. “You. High Mage potential.”

Maelgyn shook his head in denial. “That’s... there hasn’t been a Human High Mage in over a thousand years, if ever. You’re stronger than I am, in most magical respects. I can’t...”

Yergwain frowned, trying to follow the crossed conversations. “My family records would have mentioned mages in the family. And, forgive me, but what is a High Mage?”

Maelgyn was too flustered to answer him, but thankfully Dr. Wodtke was able to explain.

“A High Mage is a rare thing, to put it mildly,” she said. “Nekoji mages are the only ones who we believe have achieved that rating, and some contest even that. Nekoji mages are extremely rare, regardless of rating, and none are alive today as far as we know. Of the few Nekoji mages who succeed in their initial mage training, only one in six have even come close to having the power to be thought of as what we call ‘High Mage potentials,’ or people who might develop into High Mages. Human High Mages are, well, a thing of legend at best. Which makes me wonder how Euleilla – I mean Her Highness, as I probably should call her now – would know.”

“I just know,” was all Maelgyn’s wife would say.

“That’s very interesting, but I’m afraid I still don’t understand.... Just what
is
a High Mage?” Yergwain repeated.

“A High Mage,” Senator Gherald intervened, finally finding a way back into the conversation, “Is the highest rate there is. It was not on the original Porosian scale, and some argue they are so rare that the scale shouldn’t have been changed. A High Mage is believed to be strong enough to punch magic through dragon hide, though even among the Nekoji mages that has never been tested. Untested High Mage potentials may have appeared in the Human Race as many as three times, but only in legend.

“Essentially, a mage achieves the rank of High Mage by being magically strong enough to defeat a dragon in single combat,” Maelgyn finally said, regaining his tongue. “Alone. Other tests have been substituted – tests which can be dangerous, but not as dangerous as challenging a dragon singlehandedly – but only a couple of the Nekoji potentials have managed to pass them in the past thousand years. And, Euleilla, you are a stronger mage than I am. If you can’t pass those tests, I wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Not now, no,” Euleilla agreed. “You haven’t been trained to use all your power, however. You’re still just a Potential. Give it a few years of pushing your limits and you’ll be more than capable of handling the standard tests. You’re slightly behind me now, but only because of experience, not power. I’m probably at my limit of magical development, but you still have far to go.”

Maelgyn shook his head. “I’m not nearly that powerful, but I doubt I’ll convince you otherwise. Anyway, back to this whole thing about your family, Yergwain – you say you have family records back to the founding of Svieda?”

Yergwain nodded, slightly startled by the change in topic. “Yes, Your Highness. I can assure you that we do.”

“And your family has been in the Barony the entire time?”

“Indeed. We have an ancient tradition of nobility, I assure you.”

“And this line of nobility is of
Sviedan
nobility, correct?” Maelgyn asked, leaning over to the nobleman intently.

“Correct,” Yergwain replied, his courteous tone nevertheless hinting at the resentment that the implied insult had upon him.

“Then your family records are either wrong, or incomplete,” Maelgyn finally sighed, leaning back. “Because there were no noble families without mages until about three hundred years ago, and Svieda is a lot older than three hundred years.”

“Our records are not wrong!” Yergwain finally spat, finally letting his anger get past his civility. “My family has been Sviedan Nobility since the founding.”

Lord Valfarn, himself, looked disturbed. “Your highness,” he said, swallowing slightly. “I have seen Yergwain’s family records, myself. His family really is a noble line, I am sure of it.”

“Truthfully, I don’t doubt that,” Maelgyn agreed. “Sir Leno’s abilities with magic tend to make me believe there has been a lot of potential in his bloodline, since most higher ranked mages come from families of noble decent. But what I suspect is that someone destroyed any records that might have existed about mages in your family for some unknown reason. His family could
not
have been a noble family without raising
many
mages until around three hundred years ago, because the law required that all noble families train at least one child in the art of magic.”

Yergwain looked disturbed by that. “It did? But the history books don’t say—”

“Whose history books?” Maelgyn asked, raising a curious eyebrow. “I have been reading history books at the Royal Castle of Svieda for the past several years of my life, and I assure you I’m correct.”

The baron flushed. “Milord, while I’m certain that the Royal Castle had a much more extensive library than any I have had access to, none of the histories in the Sopan Province libraries mention anything like that.”

“How odd,” Maelgyn commented. “
Every
history of that period in the Royal Castle library mentions it. Even fairly common books I’m sure the libraries of Sopan should have mention it.”

“Perhaps,” Gherald said, “We could adjourn to the library at some point, and take a look at these books? It might be a better idea than spoiling our dinner arguing the point.”

Maelgyn slowly nodded. “Yes... I believe a stop in the library will be in order.”

The library was small by Maelgyn’s standards, but well filled with books of all kinds. Many of them looked to be well read, but few were of much age. Sopan Province was still young, for Svieda, and nothing in the library was older than the province itself as far as he could tell. Yet it contained many books, both rare and common. He recognized a number of them from his time in the Royal Castle Library, and went to those first.

Maelgyn had left for the library immediately after having finished his dinner while most of the others had retreated to their beds. Only Euleilla, Lord Valfarn, and the curious pair of Senator Gherald and Lord Yergwain had accompanied him. However, he was alone in his search through the texts, as only he knew what he was looking for.

The others glanced through the library as well, however, looking for something to entertain themselves. Valfarn, Gherald, and Yergwain all found something to read on their own. Euleilla, on the other hand, merely took a seat and started magically playing with her metal bracers, dissolving them into geometric oddities with varying degrees of complexity.

Yergwain frowned at her. “Why aren’t you reading?” he asked.

Euleilla shrugged. “I need to practice magic at all times.”

“In a library?” he persisted.

“Why not?”

A deep frown came upon the baron’s face, one which concerned Maelgyn as he noticed it.
What is Yergwain thinking?
he wondered.

“Can you read?” the baron asked disdainfully.

Euleilla twitched, but showed no other outward reaction. Valfarn had stiffened, looking at Yergwain in horror, but the baron took no notice of it. Maelgyn, on the other hand, felt outrage at the accusation. “Excuse me, Lord Yergwain,” he growled. “But that is my wife you are talking to. Show her the proper respect.”

Yergwain spun on him, showing in his face that he shared his friend Mathrid’s biases, even if it was more subtle. “Your highness, I’ve given her the respect due her in public, and will continue to do so, but we are not in public. If Valfarn had decided against you, it would have been my responsibility to determine whether this woman was worthy of being the highest ranking Lady in the province. It is not my decision now, but it might have been... and I deserve to know if there is something which would have made me say no.”

“You deserve nothing of the sort,” Valfarn snapped, recovered. “It was not your choice, it was mine. And it will never be your choice. I—”

“Relax, everyone,” Euleilla commanded, restoring her bracers to her forearms. Everyone immediately shut their mouths and spun on her.

“Euleilla?” Maelgyn said quietly.

“I can read,” she said softly, but with a power in her voice that made them all pay attention. “But not any of these books.”