The Magic of Recluce (8 page)

“Since Recluce is not a police state, the best option is to let you see the rest of the world, or some of it, while you learn and decide.”

Police state? That was an odd way of putting it. Only Hamor had police. For a moment, the room was still.

“So…you just throw us out for Hamor or Candar to murder, and everything stays fine with the sheep who remain?” Wrynn's voice was tight.

“Hardly. The current Emperor of Hamor is the grandson of a dangergelder who preferred the Southern Reaches and who was quite successful in taking over the Province of Merowey. The head assassin for one major power came from Sigil, not all that far from here.” Cassius shook his head. “Believe me, the rest of the world will reward many talents. You're in the greatest danger if you believe in order and reject the Brotherhood.” His eyes flashed toward me. “That's because you become a walking order-source in the realms of chaos and a threat to the chaos-masters.”

“You're saying that because we have talent we have to leave Recluce until we master that talent?” asked Sammel.

“Not until you master it. That could take years. Until you decide within yourself your own course of action.”

I almost bit my tongue. It was even worse than I thought. If I didn't accept the Brotherhood's stiff-necked order and rules, then I'd be thrown to the wolves, and, somehow, I didn't exactly see myself as a chaos-master. Why couldn't an ethical person use both order and chaos? Life consists of both.

“What about…”

The questions went on, but I didn't pay much attention. Everyone was just asking the same things with different words. So I was an uncontrolled order-source? Or worse. And no one still was describing what that meant, except that it was dangerous to Recluce.

My stomach growled, but no one heard as they argued with Cassius.

Krystal and I sat there in a quiet island. She looked at the floor, and I looked at everything and saw nothing.

T
HE SUN HUNG
like a golden platter over the black stone wall that separated the Brotherhood's enclave from the seaport—that wall that seemed so low from the Brotherhood side, and so imposing from the market square below.

Even though it was but a few days past midsummer, the grass remained crisp and green, the air clean, and the nights cool—the result of the Eastern Current, according to Sammel.

I hadn't thought much about it, not until Magistra Trehonna started in with her maps and lectures on geography, and how the placement of mountains and currents affected weather. Then she got into how geography determined where cities and towns were, and why places like Fenard, the capital of Gallos, sat on the edge of the hills leading to Westhorns because the higher elevation made the city more defensible and the two small rivers provided power for the mills. The only interesting bit was how the imposition of order and chaos at what she called critical nodes could change whole weather patterns.

That partly explained why some of the Brotherhood ships patrolled certain segments of the northern waters. But her lectures were like everything else—a piece of knowledge here, another one there, and a whole lot of boring repetition in the middle.

So I sat with my back against a small red oak and watched the puffy clouds in the eastern skies begin to darken from white into a pinkish-gray. Just because, I tried to see if I could discover the patterns behind the clouds, trying to look beyond their surfaces.

Again, I could see the faint heat-shadow-like images I had seen around the strange Brotherhood ships, but the ones in the clouds were natural. How I could tell the difference, I didn't know. But I did. After a while, my eyes began to ache. So I closed them and began to listen.

There were other dangergeld groups around. We met in the quarters and sometimes talked over dinner. They weren't much different, except they looked to be in better shape, and they all seemed distant. Friendly, understanding, but distant.

Two of them were seated on a bench on the other side of the hedge. Their voices carried.

“…Brysta, that's what they say…”

“At least it's not Hamor…”

“Take Hamor over Candar…home of the chaos-masters…Emperor of Hamor likes
some
order…”

Cassius had mentioned that Candar was the most chaotic of the major continents. Tamra said that was because it was closest to Recluce, and there had to be balance. Cassius frowned, but hadn't corrected her. That meant she'd been right.

So what else was new. From Frven in Candar, the chaos-wizards had ruled most of the world—until they'd created a new sun in the sky and melted most of the capital's buildings and people like wax. Although that had been generations ago, the people probably hadn't changed that much.

“Could I join you?”

I almost jumped, opening my eyes with a start.

The musical voice belonged to Krystal.

“Sure…I'm not certain I'm much company.”

“That makes two of us.” She tucked her feet under her and settled down with a cubit of grass between us, shrugging her shoulders as if to loosen her faded blue tunic. The long hair was bound up with silvered cords. When she wasn't giggling or fiddling with her hair I enjoyed watching her. She was as graceful as Tamra, but without the arrogance, and behind the giggles I suspected there was more strength than either of us knew.

Thimmmmm
…The chime from the temple echoed once, calling those of the Brotherhood who wished to join the evening meditation. I wasn't about to, and I'd noticed that Magister Cassius never did either.

Krystal did not move, but the two men on the bench on the far side of the hedge left.

“They're probably going to give thanks for being sent to Brysta, instead of Candar.” The words popped out of my mouth.

“Where do you think we'll be sent?”

“Candar,” I opined.

“You're usually right…I mean, about facts…” She looked down at the grass.

I straightened into a sitting position and stopped leaning against the oak. Both tree and ground were hard. The clouds above the eastern horizon showed gray, and the breeze from the west picked up, ruffling my hair. A hint of trilia tickled my nose, bittersweet orange.

“What will happen to us?”

I shrugged. “I don't know. It seems like we're a strange lot, but I suppose all dangergelders are. Myrten's a thief, but how he lasted so long…Wryten's really a soldier, probably belongs in the border guard. Sammel's a missionary in a land that already has a faith that doesn't place compassion above order. Tamra hates men, and half the world is male. Dorthae…I just don't know…”

“And you?”

“Me?” I shrugged again. I didn't want to talk about me. “Like Cassius says, I'm easily bored. What about you?”

“I think you're bored because you want to know everything and you don't want to admit it.”

Thimmmmm
…The second chime from the temple rang, indicating the evening meditation had begun.

“What about you?” I asked again.

“Me?” Krystal giggled just slightly.

I frowned.

“You don't like it when I giggle.”

“No.” I looked over her shoulder and down the grassy stretch toward the small garden just before the wall. Dorthae and Myrten were seated on opposite ends of the bench, playing some sort of card game. That figured. Myrten would find something with odds in it anywhere.

“I was contracted, you know. He didn't mind the giggling too much.”

“I'm sorry.” I hadn't thought about that. I was young. What if Koldar or Corso had been picked for dangergeld? Krystal was announcing that the Brothers had pulled her away from her husband/lover, just like that. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. It was a good excuse to leave. He'll be happier. I already am.”

“Just leaving?” I couldn't imagine my mother walking away from my father.

“You look at my hair. You see my breasts. So do all the men. Your looks are honest, at least.” Her voice was low, almost whispery, yet still musical.

“True,” I admitted.

She readjusted her position on the grass. Somehow the readjustment got her almost next to me. “Do you think about what I feel?”

Actually, I was wondering how she would feel to hold and touch, but that wasn't what she meant. “Not at first.”

“Oh, Lerris…” her voice died off.

We sat there as the darkness drifted down upon Nylan.

“Would you just hold me?” Her voice was like a child's.

I did, and that was all I did. Not that I didn't think about more, especially later that night, alone in my bed.

A
FTER WE WERE
well into the lectures from Talryn, Magister Cassius, and Magistra Trehonna—the lady with the glare that even quieted me—one morning Talryn marched us down another long but well-lit tunnel and out into a wide room, sunken partly into the ground.

Underground or not, the overhead and upper side windows admitted more than enough light. Unlike the teaching rooms, the stone walls were plastered over with an almond-shaded white finish. The flooring was the strange part, neither wood nor stone, but a greenish and springy substance that gave slightly underfoot.

The same substance was used for flooring in the exercise rooms where Dilton tried to force us all into a better physical condition. I had tried, but hadn't been able to break even the slightest fragment from it, even though I could squeeze it enough to press a thumb's width of it up between my fingers, and the woodworking with Uncle Sardit had left them strong. The muscles in my legs were what suffered under Dilton, especially from the running and stretching.

The best part of the conditioning was watching Tamra and Krystal. I didn't really dare to do more than watch with either one. Sometimes, as with the time on the lawn, Krystal would sit next to me or ask for a hug, but she clearly wanted it as a brotherly gesture, or even as a fatherly one. And that was the way it stayed, no matter what my body said.

Why? Because deep inside the lady, I could feel, not knowing how, something that I wasn't about to tamper with. What? Like a lot of things, I couldn't say what, only recognize its danger. Like Tamra, like Candar. When I even saw maps of Candar, I wanted to shiver.

My musings stopped when I saw Tamra was smiling. She still wore the dark gray, this time with a blue scarf. No one had said a word about her clothing. Then, Talryn hadn't said a word about my dark-brown garments either.

Against the wall opposite the door we had entered were racks of objects, some clearly swords or knives. Half a dozen of each were racked next to each other, and there were five large racks.

“Candidates…” Talryn cleared his throat. He always cleared his throat after he got our attention. “This is Gilberto.”

Gilberto wasn't tall. I'm taller than average, almost four cubits, but not that much taller than average. Gilberto stood nearly a head below me—more like Tamra's size. Wearing black trousers and black leathers over a black shirt and black boots, with his black hair and pale white skin, he looked like an executioner.

“This is Gilberto,” repeated Talryn. “The world outside Recluce boasts an array of weapons. Gilberto will attempt to give you some familiarity with the most common and some minimal ability with one or two, assuming you are willing to learn.”

Gilberto smiled crookedly, as if offering an apology. The expression turned him from a colorless executioner into a sadfaced clown.

Tamra studied him from one side. I just smiled back at the man. He looked funny. Boring or strange as some of the Brotherhood could be, I never doubted their abilities. Krystal pursed her too-red lips, trying not to giggle. Wrynn scowled. Myrten licked his lips. Dorthae looked at Talryn, then at Gilberto, without saying a word.

Gilberto acknowledged us, bending forward at the waist. The gesture was formal. “There are weapons on the racks. Please look them over. Pick them up. Handle them—touch at least one of each kind. Whichever one of them feels most comfortable to you, please take that one and sit down on one of the pillows at the end of the room.”

The weapons-master's eyes turned cold. “Do not pick a weapon with your head. Do not pick whatever seems the easiest, or the most destructive. The weapons you use must reflect you.” He paused. “Later, I will teach you about other weapons.” He bowed again and gestured toward the racks.

Gilberto was serious. I knew that. So I edged toward the nearest rack, on which I could see swords—long ones, short ones, and some no bigger than long daggers. I looked at a narrow-bladed sword with a business-like handle, finally nerved myself to pick it up—and damned near dropped it. The chill and almost forbidding feel of the weapon nauseated me. As quickly as possible I set it down, wiping my forehead.

“Heee…”

Krystal and her damned giggles. “Go ahead. You pick one up.”

She twisted her hair back over her shoulder and reached past me for the sword, easily holding it, turning it in her hands. “It feels fine, but not quite right.” She set it down and reached for a slighter, shorter sword, although it had the same narrow blade.

I reached for the sword she had tried, the one I had let go of so quickly. The jolt and chill weren't quite as strong, but my stomach still twisted.

Looking for Talryn, I wondered what trickery he and Gilberto were up to. But Talryn had disappeared so silently no one noticed his departure, and Gilberto stood at the end of one of the racks, a thoroughly impassive, even bored, look on his face.

Tamra came up beside me, grinning, and reached for the sword that I had tried twice. Her mouth opened as her hand grasped the hilt. Then she tightened her lips, finally setting the sword down. “Not for me.” A faint sheen of perspiration had popped out on her forehead.

I repressed a smile and walked down the first rack, looking at the daggers, many of which were finely crafted, even while displaying workmanlike effectiveness. Even running my hands over their hilts told me that the daggers were equally repugnant. I had handled knives before, and I had never felt so repelled. Clearly a spell had been placed on the weapons. But why?

From the corner of my eye, I could see that Tamra was as vexed as I, and her grin had long since disappeared.

The spears were only mildly uncomfortable. Next to them were a row of halberds, their axe-blades polished, glittering. But when I lowered my hand to one of the heavy brass halberds, I thought my stomach would empty on the spot.

Clunk
. I pulled away so suddenly that one of the lower and shorter halberds rolled out of its resting place and struck the floor.

Even Gilberto turned toward me, his eyebrows raised.

Despite the look, I left the halberd on the floor. Damned if I was about to risk disgracing myself on the spot by losing what remained of my breakfast.

I waved him off, moving from the edged weapons toward the pistols. I'd never seen one up close, but Magister Kerwin had mentioned them in history, noting their limited effectiveness in warfare because of their unreliability at any distance and the problems created by their complexity, especially their susceptibility to chaos-magic.

I didn't even have to touch them. They were just as unfriendly, although I watched Myrten fondling one almost lovingly. So I admired their carved handles and blued steel and barely let my fingers pass over them, walking down that weapons rack toward the next.

On the next were various clubs. I tried several, relieved that I could at least pick them up. Not one felt comfortable, but my stomach didn't do flip-flops, either. The metal ones, like the mace and the morningstar, screamed at me to leave well enough alone. After the experience with the halberd, Gilberto's instructions or not, I left them alone.

Next to the clubs were some coiled ropes. They felt all right, only faintly repugnant—but what could you do with a rope? How was it even a weapon? Then there were some sort of polished handles connected by heavy cords. Same thing there—I could handle them, but couldn't imagine how they worked.

Finally, I came to the staves. Surprisingly, there were two dark ones, of a polished dark brown wood—darkened white oak, rather than black oak or black lorken, like my staff. Also unlike my own staff, which Talryn had suggested most strongly that I leave in my room during instruction periods, none of the staves were bound in metal, although their finish was almost as fine as that which Uncle Sardit had imparted to my staff. One staff, which I took, nearly matched my own in length. The other was somewhat shorter. Both were the first weapons, if a staff were a weapon, that hadn't made me uncomfortable.

With the longer staff in hand, I looked at the remaining section of the last rack, which contained truncheons. One, more like a short staff, although it was pitch-black, beckoned almost as much as the full-length staff. I held it for a while, then returned it.

Tamra walked toward the staves. Her feet dragged, as if she wanted no part of them. Her lips were pressed tightly together, and she carried no weapon.

Beyond her, I could see Krystal standing by a brown leather sitting pillow, almost fondling the deadly sword. Myrten sat, examining the pistol which he had taken from the racks.

Sammel carried a pair of matched truncheons, and Wrynn was still poking around the blades.

My eyes shifted back to Tamra. Her forehead glistened with a layer of perspiration as she picked up a steel mace with iron spikes. The mace head was nearly the size of hers. Her lips tightened until I could see the whiteness in them even from five cubits away. Slowly, she set the mace back in the rack.

I had to admire her strength, even if she were far more stubborn than I. But why did she put herself through that kind of torture? It was torture; that was certain. Her hands were almost shaking by the time she finally reached the staves.

“Think it's amusing, do you?” Tamra's voice was like molten lead.

I shook my head. She didn't have to prove anything to me, and she certainly didn't owe any sort of proof to the Brotherhood.

She looked right through me as she picked up the other dark staff. The tension in her body eased, but the frown remained, like a line chiseled above the ice-blue eyes. Unlike some redheads, or Dorthae, Tamra didn't darken her eyebrows, and she seemed to scorn any kind of adornment except the colored scarves she wore.

“Tamra…Lerris…are you finished admiring your weapons?” Gilberto's voice was dry.

“Admiring is not the word I would have chosen,” observed Tamra, her voice cold enough now to chill warm fruit juice—instantly.

Gilberto ignored her comments, stood there waiting, holding a short black baton in his hand, the length of a truncheon, as I scrambled to a pillow next to Krystal.

Tamra sauntered toward a pillow at the other side of the group, each step slow and deliberate. Gilberto waited. I would have clobbered her…with something. He just gave a slow and lazy smile, and I shivered.

Tamra smiled back sweetly.

Krystal giggled.

Gilberto turned to the group even before Tamra seated herself. “The weapons you have in your hands are the weapons most suited to your temperament.” Gilberto's voice was dry. “That does not mean they are the best weapons for your defense—right now. If you choose to learn them, they will become the best weapons for your defense.” The weapons-master surveyed the group, as if asking for questions.

“You keep talking about defense,” asked Tamra. “Is your purpose only to teach us self-defense?”

Gilberto hesitated, glancing toward the open doorway to the tunnel through which we had entered, as if looking for Talryn. Finally, he answered. “Anything used as a defense can be a weapon. Violence is not the way of Recluce, or of the Brotherhood. You may use what we are able to teach you in any way you wish.” He smiled faintly. “Those who find more joy in using weapons than in avoiding their use will appreciate Hamor or Candar.”

Once again, one of the Brothers really hadn't answered the question. I was finding the lack of direct answers tiresome. I might conceivably be a child, but certainly none of the others were. Yet Gilberto treated all of us as if we couldn't be trusted to understand a complete answer.

“What do you mean by that?” snapped Dorthae. “You're not talking to children.”

Gilberto shrugged, lifting his shoulders with an exaggerated care. “Very few people in Recluce enjoy weapons. The opposite is true in Hamor and Candar. If you enjoy using weapons for more than exercise, you probably belong in Candar or Hamor.”

Krystal giggled…again. Her hair was up, this time in golden cords, and instead of playing with it, her fingers ran along the sword blade. For some reason, I remembered how surgically she used a knife at meals.

Wrynn frowned. She carried a brace of throwing knives.

Gilberto paused while he looked us over again. “Here…you will get exercise, and you will learn weapons, beginning with the ones you have picked out. Not those exact ones, but the same type.”

“Why not these?” asked Myrten, grasping his pistol tightly.

“They're enchanted to seek affinities…which reduces their effectiveness. Now, please put them back where you found them, and I'll take you to the student armory, where you will be issued a set of weapons based around the one you chose.”

The whole business seemed odd. Why have us choose weapons at all? Certainly the Brotherhood could have told who was suited for what weapons. Why did they bother? And what was the basis for deciding who was “suited” for what?

“What is the basis for these ‘affinities'?” I asked, as Gilberto started to turn toward the other doorway—the one across from where we had entered.

“Your underlying character is the most important thing. If you have training with a weapon that is not suited to your character, that can confuse the issue, but Talryn indicated that was not the case for any of you.”

“How would he know?” asked Wrynn.

Gilberto shrugged. “I just teach weapons. The masters know what they know.”

He wasn't telling all he knew, but what else was new? That didn't exactly surprise me. Gilberto walked toward the doorway, then turned to wait for us to put back the charmed weapons.

I got up to return the staff. I liked mine better.

Tamra didn't look at anyone as she walked across the springy greenish floor toward the racks. Krystal took a long time to let go of the sword.

Staying more than a respectful distance behind Tamra, I followed.

The practice weapons were scarred, but sound. The cutting weapons had rounded edges, from what I could see, since I received a club, a truncheon, and a staff. As far as I could tell, only Tamra, Sammel and I received no edged weapons at all.