Count Scar - SA (22 page)

The masters spent another ten minutes looking over the telesma and conviare. But they found nothing further, so I put the tile and the gold medallion back into the lead casket, and the treasurer
and cellarer took them off to seal them away in the vault where the priory's own telesmae were stored. Once they were gone, I said, "Prior Belthesar, may I ask you something?"

"Of course, Brother Melchior. Just step over here." He led me to facing stone seats in the window that looked out into the priory's modest cloister—and which might conceivably have hidden a
listener crouched beneath its sill, a possibility now eliminated. Reaching into a pouch

at his belt, he removed a small telesma and set it on the window ledge. "That makes us secure against anyone trying to spy with second vision or hearing. Now, what is troubling."

"Did you truly know of my telesma before today?"

"Why, of course, my son!" His usual expression of just-suppressed good humor had returned, "Did you not confess to possessing that object to our revered Master himself while you were still
completing your novitiate? Did you imagine he would not have informed me of this when you were sent here to serve under my authority five years ago? I had to know, just as Abbot Caspar had
to know when you returned to serve under his authority at the Mother House. But that does not make it the business of the brothers in general, or even my esteemed treasurer and cellarer."

"And did he also inform you of how I came to possess it?"

"Certainly. He told me it had been given you by your grandfather, shortly before he was put to death as one of the Perfected." I must have looked stunned, because he laughed out loud. "My dear
son, did you suppose that would upset me? It is the proper business of the head of any religious house to understand all he can about the souls entrusted to his authority. I need to know each
brother's particular capacities and talents so that I may choose those assignments for him that he will best perform to the credit of the True Faith and our Order. I also need to know his weaknesses
and flaws so that I do not put him in the way of things that would most encompass his peculiar temptations and thus endanger his soul. Occasionally, however, a brother may have some aspect
about him that is at once both a possible strength and a potential source of danger. Your family background is such an aspect."

"If my background was a possible source of danger, why did the Order choose to send me forth again into the world rather than keep me at the Mother House?"

"Because it was equally a possible source of strength for your assignment! We have but few younger brothers nowadays who possess a personal history such as yours. But those of us who are older
know how valuable intimate experience of Perfected magic and Perfected persons can be. Did not our revered Founder and Master himself come dangerously close to becoming one of them before
God called him back to put the knowledge of magic he had learned among them at the service of the True Faith instead? Do you not understand that virtually all of us who are senior members of
the Order were drawn at least to the magic of the Perfected when we were young, and that most of us at least briefly studied their doctrines as well? Whence come most of the magic books we have
carefully copied for you youngsters to study, the magic objects that we use in teaching you? From where else but the Perfected! From its foundation, the whole business of our Order has ever been
to salvage magic for the service of the True Faith. You and your grandfather's telesma represent one more victory in that long fight."

"And do you and the elder masters never worry that a telesma like mine—a telesma which was given me by a man who died as one of the Perfected—might not draw me or others into error?"

"My son, your telesma is a magical object, not a demonic one. Magic is but one more high and ancient branch of human knowledge, just like rhetoric or philosophy or history or poetry or art. Do
not the orders who make it their business to study and preserve those branches of learning examine and revere the works of the best ancient authors or artists, though many of them were outright
pagans? Why should we be any more hesitant to take whatever may be good from the best practitioners of our own branch of learning in all times, whether they may have been temple priests of the
ancient Riverland or Master Maguses of the Perfected? All knowledge issues ultimately from God. It will work either for good or evil depending on what lies in the heart and soul of the person
who employs it, whatever proximate source it may have come from."

He smiled. "The Order has great confidence concerning what is in your heart and soul, Melchior my son, confidence that you are fit to deal with any temptations or other hazards to your soul that
may beset you. I certainly do, or I would not have advanced your name so strongly for your present assignment, first with the Order, then with Duke Argave." As I stared at him, stunned by this
news, he paused, as if considering whether to say more, then spoke on. "It is time for you to understand, my son, that our Order often has to give difficult assignments to its most promising
younger members in order to assess what will be the proper roles for each of them in the future. The great elders, the first generation who joined with our Master at the very start, are now old or
gone to their rewards. My generation is still fairly hearty, but though laboring always in their shadows most of us have still never gained quite the mastery of magic you will find in the elders.

We also lack the youthful strength, possessed by you younger men, for the hardest magic. We do, however, know you youngsters as the elders cannot. It is the task of each of us in authority to
bring forward the best we find among our subordinates." He signaled for me to rise. "Now leave me. I know that you are very eager to consult the Liber Telesmarum and other pertinent books in
our library, and also to refresh your spirit by hearing the offices sung by someone besides yourself! We shall talk further before you leave."

It was only later, walking in the cloister after a long and pleasant afternoon among the books as I waited for compline, that it occurred to me to wonder whether Prior Belthesar's statement of
confidence might have been intended not so much to assure me that I was in fact already fit for my task and spiritually armored against every hazard but rather to inspire me to become fit and
armor myself.

2

2

The next few days flew swiftly by. On the fourth morning after Paschal Sunday, I was sitting at a table in one of the incantoria carefully resetting some of the final lines of magic needed to fully
replenish my telesma when the prior suddenly swept in. "No, no, Melchior, my son, don't bother to rise!" he commanded. "I only stopped in for a moment, to inform you that Archbishop Amalric
arrived at the duke's court yesterday. Duke Argave is giving a great banquet and entertainment in his brother-in-law's honor tonight, to which I shall of course be expected to bring a proper
delegation representing our priory. Meet us in the courtyard at the third hour after midday office—wearing your best vestments, of course."

When I arrived at the appointed time, I discovered that this delegation comprised only Prior Belthesar, the cellarer, the treasurer, and myself. Despite what the prior had said and the clear-cut
status lent me as the count's capellanus, it still felt strange to be ranked as an equal with these long-time superiors. Arriving at the duke's gates, we were immediately ushered through the
elegant gardens and into the reception hall. The big room was already filling up with courtiers, ladies, canons from the city church, wealthy townsmen and their wives, who were dressed more
richly, if less tastefully, than many of the ladies. There were also the members of the duke and the bishop's retinues of knights, who seemed to be vying as to who could appear more numerous and
warlike despite the handicap of bearing only velvet gloves. We presented ourselves before the duke and the archbishop immediately, and were as immediately dismissed except for Prior Belthesar
and the treasurer, whom Bishop Amalric led off into a side chamber for a private talk. The cellarer quickly located friends of comparable station among the city canons, and I found myself left on
my own.

I looked about the hall for Count Caloran, but he didn't seem to be in sight. Seeing more finely dressed people out on the terrace, I walked out there but had no better luck. As I stood by a tall urn
filled with flowers brought to bloom a month ahead of their time by the duke's skillful and costly gardeners, a musical voice suddenly spoke beside me. I turned to find myself facing the Lady
Arsendis.

"Greetings, Brother Melchior," she said with a mischievous smile. "It has been long indeed since you have graced my father's court with your presence on a festive occasion such as this."

Long enough to be extremely rusty about my courtly manners when conversing with beautiful highborn ladies, I thought, feeling far from ready for one of those conversations where every phrase
must be a studied turn in elegance and every reply of the lady must be carefully scrutinized for possible multiple meanings. But I managed a passable bow as I answered, "The loss has been
entirely my own, my lady."

"You seemed to be searching diligently for someone; may I flatter myself it was I?"

"I would not so presume, my lady. I am seeking my master, Count Caloran."

"I am afraid you shall most likely have to wait until dinner time, Brother Melchior—and you may have to look quickly even then. The unfortunate count injured his ankle when we were out
hawking the other day, and he has nursed the wounds to both his leg and dignity in his chamber as much as possible ever since, just as a hurt hound keeps to its kennel." She glanced into the hall,
then stepped around the urn with a graceful swirl of silken skirts. I turned my head just in time to see an older lord whose name I could not recall appear in the archway. He passed his eyes
vaguely over the elegant people scattered about on the terrace, then turned and walked back among the throng inside, peering from side to side. "That poor gentleman really is becoming rather
nearsighted; I fear he did not see me," Lady Arsendis laughed as she stepped away from the urn. "He provides me excellent protection from the unwanted attentions of others, but can grow
tiresome himself at times. Now come, Brother Melchior. I wish to take a walk in my father's gardens while the light lasts, and should be very glad of your company."

The marble paths had been freshly swept, but few other than ourselves seemed to be enjoying them at the moment. It was too bad, for the duke's gardeners had performed extraordinary feats, of
which the urn of flowers had been only a foretaste. Whole beds of spring blooms spread alongside the paths, where they had been forced in cold frames that had doubtless just been removed today.

At one point we came upon a tree which actually appeared to be bearing fruit! But when the lady bit into one and then handed me another, they proved to be cunning confections.

"You are bold, Brother Melchior." She laughed. "The very first man to accept fruit from a lady's hand brought much trouble upon himself and all of us who have followed."

"If this fruit truly were forbidden, your father would have taken care that fact should be known to all, my lady." Now that I was into it, I found I was actually enjoying this chance to exchange
well-turned phrases in good Auccitan with the lady; I had begun to feel quite stupid having to use the Royal Tongue week after week in the count's castle. "And I do not feel either much wiser or
more sinful than before I ate of it."

"Yet there may be a serpent or two in this garden nevertheless, Brother Melchior." I followed her look and saw Lord Thierri lounging a little way back along the path, apparently examining a
statue. "Let us go this way," she said, turning down a walkway that led to a small stone

belvedere holding just two seats and overlooking a little pond.

Once we were seated, she smiled and declared, "There, now no one can approach near enough to hear us without obviously and rudely intruding. This is the only sort of private conversation
possible for a woman in my situation on a public occasion, when gentlemen press about offering her their finest compliments and vying to prevent all the others from having the same chance:
conducted in full view of everyone with a man of unquestionable virtue who is no possible competitor in matters of love. So, then, tell me your opinion of Count Caloran. He seems an interesting
man."

"He is, my lady. I first thought him uncomplicated, but I now begin to see that he is a complex man bent on simple goals. He has been set as count at Peyrefixade, and he means to acquit himself
well."

"Yet he is not always politic. He does such audacious things as publicly defy the Inquisition. How am I to understand him?"

"He is his own man. Do not misconstrue; I have no reason to suppose he would prove other than loyal to his lord your father in a crisis. But I believe Count Caloran decides what his conduct as
count should be in important situations based on what he thinks himself, not what he believes the world expects."

"Goodness: 'His own man'—you are quite right to catch yourself up and add at once that he should nonetheless prove a loyal vassal! Though in truth I think Father was not unhappy to find
Count Caloran capable of acting forcefully according to his own ideas of what is right. He certainly was not a bit sorry to hear that the count had checked the Inquisition in performing immediate
and arbitrary executions of accused heretics."