“I’ll be seventeen on threeday after the turn of summer, ser.”
Klerryt almost stops in his tracks, then shakes his head slowly. “Alaynara was indeed right.” His smile is close to bitter. “And so were we.”
“You? The elders?”
Klerryt nods. “Your father leads the Mirror Lancers on many occasions, does he not?”
“He does.”
“Your brother serves as a Mirror Lancer officer, does he not?”
“He’s an undercaptain, too.” Or he was.
“What of your mother … the women of your family?”
“They’re healers.” Lerial thinks he understands what Klerryt needs to know. “My mother and my aunt serve as healers in Cigoerne. My aunt is the head healer at the Hall of Healing.”
Klerryt nods brusquely. “Then you understand why we were right.”
“I think I understand that you believe you made the best choice of those available.”
“You don’t think so?”
Lerial allows himself a wry smile. “I think so, but to say that you made the best choice would sound more self-serving than I’d care to be.”
Klerryt laughs softly. “It is indeed a pity…” Then he breaks off his words and shakes his head. “We need say no more about what happened … at the stream.”
Lerial nods, relieved, but still concerned and wondering what may come next, because Klerryt begins to resume his former pace.
“I saw the battlefield … you were most fortunate.”
“We were. They could easily have overrun us.”
“That is true.” Klerryt smiles sadly. “But that is not what I meant.”
Lerial nods for the elder to continue.
“Pardon me, Lord Lerial, if I sound as though I were a tutor lecturing a pupil, but I know no other way to convey what I must say. It is most important that you understand what you did and what you can do … and what could happen if you do not understand.”
Lerial does indeed think that Klerryt sounds more like Saltaryn than Saltaryn himself, but the almost gentle way in which the elder speaks suggests that Lerial should indeed listen carefully. You don’t have to agree, but after what you did to his daughter, even unintentionally, you need to listen to him … for the rest of your life, if necessary. “Please go on.”
“Order and chaos exist on two levels, if you will. One level is the one on which most of us who have some ability in manipulating order and chaos operate. Most order and chaos manipulation uses, for lack of a better way of saying it, ‘free’ order or chaos. These are bits or concentrations of order or chaos that are comparatively-comparatively, only comparatively, mind you-easy to bend to one’s ability and will. A fire creates a certain amount of free chaos. So does killing someone or something, or destroying something. A well-built structure tends to attract free order. People can attract either. You, by the way, do not. Most great chaos wizards or ordermasters don’t.” The elder offers another almost sad smile before continuing. “The world and all beyond it are composed of entwined order and chaos, but on a tinier level. What you did was to break apart a few of the most minute pieces of the world to release a great amount of order and chaos. Had you continued for even a few instants more, all that would have remained of you-and all the Lancers and all the Meroweyans-would have been a charred bowl in the ground that might have someday filled with water and have been known as one of the cursed lakes.”
Lerial nods slowly, then says, “I could feel an upwelling of immense power, and I stopped and shunted as much as I could away from us.”
“You did well at that, for which all of us, save Duke Casseon’s men, are most grateful. I can only beg of you to be most careful if and when you attempt that kind of order-chaos manipulation, although”-Klerryt smiles more cheerfully-“I think you have already found that you may not need such drastic measures that often in the future.” The smile vanishes. “You had best hope you do not. For most of great power, the more that power is used, the greater the impact on the user, until, at some time, it is used once too often, and it recoils on the user. When that happens…”
Lerial can sense that Klerryt believes what he says. “You’re saying that I must measure what I do … that…” He frowns. “How can that be?”
“Why do you think Essiana died?” asks the elder. “She asked too much of herself and her power. That is how most great ordermages die. That is also why the great ones who survive tend to learn more subtle uses of order.”
“I admit that I have not attempted much since the last battle,” Lerial says cautiously.
“I would suggest that you proceed cautiously, especially at first. I would also suggest you develop some sort of defense … shields or something that will protect you at all times. Not all order or chaos attacks with noisy and powerful firebolts.”
“You’ve sensed much of what I’ve felt, haven’t you?”
“Some. Not all. You hold enough order that it is … tiring … to try to sense everything.”
Left unsaid, Lerial realizes, is the fact that, without shields-or something-he likely seems like a blazing fire on a dark night to other ordermages-or Magi’i-or, especially-white wizards and chaos mages.
“I do need to speak to Majer Altyrn, since you will likely not be remaining in Verdheln long.”
“Then we should walk back.”
Klerryt nods.
Once Lerial has escorted the elder back to Altyrn and slipped back to the small study that is his, for the next day, anyway, Lerial thinks about Klerryt’s last words. What happens if you don’t see or sense a chaos wizard? What can you do about that? Can you make an order diversion pattern that is part of the flow of order and chaos around you all the time? After a moment, he has an additional thought. If you want to survive, how can you not?
Although Lerial feels tired as oneday wears on, he cannot ignore the advice and the warning that Klerryt has delivered. Nor can he ignore what he feels-that somehow he must learn greater control over his abilities so that nothing like what happened to Alaynara will happen to anyone else as a result of his lack of understanding or control.
Isn’t that presumptuous of you-at your age? But the answer to that question is obvious enough. Whether he likes it or not, he has a certain power. Failure to gain greater control and understanding of that power could easily kill him … as he has come close to seeing … and that failure has already killed others.
After begging-requesting, really-some acorn bread and the smelly blue cheese from the cooks, Lerial leaves the mess hall with it and walks slowly down to the open area where he and second company had practiced maneuvers so often-maneuvers that they had so seldom used. Is that always the way of it, that you don’t use what you know and you’re always confronted with what you don’t? He smiles ironically. That’s because those who oppose you will attack where you’re weakest … at least the best of them will, and you can’t count on often encountering the worst.
All that is fine, but how is he going to create shields or defenses of some sort, that is, the kinds that work all the time?
He begins by creating a simple coil pattern. That is easy enough. The next step is to link it to the flow of order around himself … and that is where he runs into trouble.
No matter what he tries, the moment he stops thinking about the pattern, it dissolves back into free order. What he does discover, though, is that there is a great deal more free order around than he recalls. Except that Klerryt had said-and he doesn’t think the elder was deceiving him-that he doesn’t attract free order … or chaos. So why…?