The rest of the day was very busy, as I gave my last lecture, talked afterwards to several of the more promising (or least discouraging) students, then packed up my clothes and books to have them shipped back to Yurt. Those who had known Sengrim were saddened, although the students’ reaction didn’t go much beyond commenting that they were just as glad that modern wizardry had essentially eliminated herbs and chemicals. At the end of the afternoon I went to talk to the Master of the school.
There had been talk of my organizing some workshops after the lecture series was over, but I was just as happy to abandon this project. They had assigned me to the technical wizardry division although as a student I had managed to avoid any courses there. More than once I had felt like a fraud, lecturing away to a group of intensely serious and pale-faced young wizards who, in at least some areas, must know more magic than I did.
I had only found enough to say to fill the lectures by trying to make them think about magic beyond their textbooks. What would they do, I challenged them, if they discovered themselves in a situation where the dry series of spells which modern wizardry does so well failed them and they had to improvise? They had given me puzzled looks and asked me to write out the improvised spells so they could memorize them. Some of the other teachers had started coming to my class, sitting quietly at the back of the room, and I was fairly sure they were collecting stories about my experiences.
The Master was in his study. Years ago I had gotten over my old terror, but I still stood in awe of him. The story was that he had started the wizards’ school a hundred and fifty years ago as a retirement project, but his ice-blue eyes were as sharp as ever.
He was (gratifyingly) sorry I was going, but not (disappointingly) because he wished he could enjoy my company longer. Rather, he was concerned that I was going to help the cathedral dean. “You know wizards try to stay aloof from the Church and their worries about sin-after all, we don’t want priests interfering in magic.”
I had heard all this many times. It is best not to get involved in the Church because the priests think they have the right answers, whereas instead we wizards have the right answers all the time. “He’s not interfering in magic-as soon as he ran into a magical problem, he had the sense to send for a wizard.”
He nodded slowly. “All right, but remember: our responsibility is to help mankind, and mankind would be helped more by technically-trained wizards who also knew how to improvise than by priests talking about the supernatural.”
I thought he was through, but after a moment’s hesitation he spoke again. “While I don’t want to sound as though I’m accusing your friend, there have been rumors, stories, the last month or two, apparently centered in the twin kingdoms of Yurt and Caelrhon … Some members of the aristocracy are starting to talk as though they don’t need wizards, even as though they resent us. Something like this must have been behind the quarrel Sengrim had just before his death. Though I must say he had been acting erratic lately; he even became furious with me because none of us here were interested in some ideas he had about teaching different kinds of magic. But his behavior must have intensified local opposition to wizardry. When I telephoned the royal constable of Caelrhon a short time ago, he was very brusque and unhelpful and said his king had no intention of hiring a new wizard. Our first idea, of course, is that these rumors are being fueled by the priests. So while you’re at the cathedral, keep your eyes open.”
In spite of going to bed late, I awoke before dawn. I rolled over with the feeling that I was being pulled away from something indescribably sweet and realized that I had been dreaming about Yurt. It was little more than a sensation, but I recognized in the dream the kingdom as it had been when I first arrived there, while everyone was still alive, before anyone started to grow old.
I looked out my window toward the eastern sky, where a faint yellow glow presaged the sunrise. In many ways my life as Royal Wizard had grown better and better over the years, as I became more sure of my abilities, as I was able to work out plans and programs and see them take effect. But six years ago, during the terrible winter of bitter cold and raging fever throughout the western kingdoms, the old king of Yurt had died. Starting then, I had begun to feel nostalgic, sometimes even melancholic, as though the best part of my life had already passed by.
It was also that winter that several members of the cathedral chapter of Caelrhon had died, including the dean. Joachim, who a few years earlier had finally yielded to pressure to leave the royal court and join the cathedral, had immediately been elected to replace him. With his new responsibilities as the chapter’s senior officer, I doubted that he had any time to look back nostalgically to what once had been.
I swung my feet out of bed, too awake to go back to sleep. I was much too young to start living in the past-I probably had a good two hundred years to go, barring run-ins with demons or dragons. During these last months at the school there had been hints that I would be welcome if I decided to stay on. I would not of course join the small group of permanent faculty members, all far older than me and much better at magic, but there was plenty of other occupation available here, assisting in advanced courses or aiding in administration, as well as giving the occasional series of lectures.
I had always brushed aside such hints. Being back in the great City with money to spend had somehow not turned out to be as exciting as I had imagined when an impoverished student. But now I found myself considering whether I ought to take the opportunity once I had solved the cathedral’s problems for them. Leaving Yurt for the school would be better than allowing myself to be permanently homesick for a life that no longer existed.
II
Zahlfast came to see me off. We stood on the little plaza in front of the wizards’ school, on the highest point of the City. Clouds whipped miles above us across a pale blue sky.
“I’m glad you were able to give your lecture series,” Zahlfast said. “I’m sure the students benefited.”
“How are the newts today?”
He laughed. “Once they’d sobered up, I think they were thoroughly frightened-now I just hope that none of the other students try something similar.”
“Is it my imagination,” I asked, “or are some of the students even more irresponsible now than they were when I was here?”
Zahlfast shook his head ruefully. “If you’re imagining it, then so am I. You know we used to warn students against summoning, and normally wouldn’t even teach them the spell? Well, now we don’t even mention it exists for fear that the warning would only incite them.”
I had a secret about the summoning spell, but as the secret was now twenty years old it would keep a while longer.
“Elerius has been saying we need to tighten down on the students,” Zahlfast commented, “give them real discipline from the beginning rather than allow them as much room to find their own way.”
“Elerius?” I asked in surprise. Elerius, three years ahead of me, was rumored to have been the best student the school ever produced. He was now Royal Wizard of one of the largest and wealthiest of the western kingdoms. I had always viewed him with a certain suspicion, but I had never been sure how much of that was merely jealousy of his abilities. “I hadn’t realized you were putting him on the faculty.”
“No,” said Zahlfast with a smile. “I doubt we’ll add anyone to the permanent faculty for years, though it’s always worthwhile to hear the thoughts of our former students. The Master and I haven’t felt that wizardry needed a more rigid structure-but if there’s a recurrence of newts I may change my mind. Elerius always has ideas; not long ago he even tried to persuade us to teach the magic of fire here on top of everything else.”