Count Scar - SA (28 page)

"By my faith, Brother Melchior, your Order has placed its earthly seat close enough to heaven, at any rate!"

"Our Master wished it so. When he first took up the deep study of magic for the True Faith nearly sixty years ago, he did so as a hermit, placing himself as far as possible from the dwellings of
other men."

"So, then, he wanted to purify himself by continual solitude and frequent prayer, and to seek isolation for his studies?"

"Yes, certainly that. Also, it is not wise to attempt certain magical works for the first time with other persons close at hand, unless they are also versed in the magic arts. There can be—dangers."

"And he lives still, this Master of yours, or so I have heard. Shall I meet him at the House of the Magians?"

"No, he has withdrawn himself from among us these twenty years." I indicated a narrow side track leading off toward a little light far uphill on the left, while our own route swung sharply to
the right and zig-zagged steeply to a point far above our heads. "He lives and works now in a small cell by a chapel up there, allowing the Order to send only a single novice to look after him. It is
accounted the greatest possible honor to be chosen for the duty of three months' attendance upon the Master, especially a second time."

"You speak with a note of satisfaction," the count said with his quirked smile. "Might I guess that the novice Melchior was one of the twice-chosen in his time, or perhaps even thrice?"

I flushed, hoping it didn't show within my cowl. "I was indeed favored to be called twice, Count. No one goes a third time, however. Our Master's intent in thus withdrawing, having once
established the Order of the Three Kings and set it under a proper rule with officers elected by us canons from among our own number, was to wean us gradually from dependence on his presence
and leadership, well before it should please God to call him away from all earthly things. He hoped in this way to prevent our being thrown into confusion when his end comes, grievous though
the blow will nevertheless be. To allow any of the younger members to become too closely attached to him would defeat his own purpose."

"Your Master sounds wise in more than magic. Many a promising religious house has failed because its founder did not show such foresight. A good commander plans for every possibility,
including how order shall be kept among the troops in the event of his own fall." He peered up our track to the next sharp switchback, which seemed to be growing dimmer with every pace the
horses made through the twilight. "I only wish he had taken a little more thought for those who might wish to visit when he sited his stronghold."

"Ease of access was not his intention, Count. When we make our final profession as novices, we start at dawn and come up from the village on our knees."

We set poor Bruno's rough coffin up on a bier that had been placed in the chapel off the south transept, with tall candles at head and foot and many more blazing before the altar. In the letter I'd
sent ahead, I'd requested that senior canons be assigned to sing the offices for the dead over Bruno from the moment we arrived until the funeral, so two brothers proceeded to the altar and started
chanting as soon as we stepped back. I cast a quick glance at the count and saw that he looked satisfied. "When is the burial?" he asked as we went up the side aisle.

"Tomorrow afternoon, as befits a man who had passed the mid-day of life but not yet reached its evening. Under the Rule of our House, we bury babes at dawn, children in the morning, those in
the flower of young manhood or maidenhood at noon, older but still quite hale persons during the afternoon, and the aged at dusk."

"And your fellow Magian canons?"

"Ah, brothers are always buried at dawn, Count, having become as babes again."

He laughed his short laugh, then went off behind the novice who had been assigned to guide him to the guesthouse. I remained for a while in the chapel, simply trying to recapture my wavering
sense of sureness by being inside those familiar walls once more. Then I sighed and set off to report to Provost Balaam. Stepping from darkness into his candlelit office, I was surprised to discover
not only the Provost, but also Abbot Caspar, Prior Belthesar from the duke's city, and most disquietingly, the grim old figure of Brother Endaris, the Spector General of our Order.

"Don't look so amazed, Brother Melchior, and never mind the genuflections," Prior Belthesar said as I made haste to kneel before these major officers, only to have him seize my arm and set me on
my feet again. "I have been here most of the week; came up with an escort right after the Sabbath. I wanted our lord abbot and these other masters to have plenty of time to examine your two
intriguing finds before you arrived. They had some quite important plans to make, and now that I've had the chance to thoroughly vouch for you, you very much figure in them."

He urged me toward the provost's table. There I saw the ceramic fire telesma and the conviare lying next to their lead caskets. Raising my eyes, I found my gaze locked with the deepset eyes of
Brother Endaris, half hidden by the dense gray eyebrows that hung down across them.

I'd had only one real experience with this legendary old figure of our Order, a single course of lectures he had given to my group of novices. Even then, I'd been only one of a group and had
managed to be largely successful at keeping his attention off myself. Joke though we might when out of his sight, we'd all been afraid of him then, and I was no less afraid of him now. One of our
Master's early companions, having joined the new little Order when already well into his manhood, he was our Order's greatest scholar of battle magic. His true age was unknown, but it had to
be at least near that of blind Brother Quercus—or my own grandfather, had he lived. But there was no vagueness in either the eyes nor the manner of Brother Endaris.

His official duty as Spector General of the Order was to inspect that our rule was fully kept, both within the Mother House and in all its dependencies, and to do so he had mastered difficult and
ancient branches of magic that allowed him to pass where he wished unseen, and even enter sealed chambers where people supposed their secrets were quite safe—a power which accounted for the
pun of his title. To carry out his duties, he traveled much, still riding out in all weathers. The rest of the time, except when teaching the novices or attending chapter meetings and the offices, he
kept to his own spartan cell, busy with the study and praxis of his special fields of magic. As usual, he went straight to the point.

"Brother Melchior, this conviare you've found is the single most important magic object of the Perfected that's come before us in the last generation."

I stared, first at him, then the conviare. "I can't—that is, I can hardly believe it! I probed it as well as I could several times, and never found a hint that it contained truly deep or special powers."

"Not it: the thing it was made to find, and having found, to work together with. And don't blame yourself for not grasping its true significance. Even your old superior Prior Beltihesar
understood only some of the things importance when he examined it down at the duke's city. I, however, had some prior knowledge of it that the rest of you lack. Let's test how well you've
retained your studies of the novice's quadrivium. Who was the Magus de Cuza?"

"He—wasn't he the great Perfected Magian who was so deadly? The one who almost destroyed the armies of the present duke's father virtually by himself, just when they were threatening to
overtake and destroy the whole host of the Perfected?"

Brother Endaris nodded with a wintery smile. "Full marks. The most terrible battle Magian of that age, perhaps of any. He was always dangerous, but that was his greatest hour. The afternoon of
that battle, he stood on a high rock with only three pupils beside him and hurled back the old duke's armies with sendings of whirlwinds and fire and lightning and wraiths with flaming eyes and
very real fangs and claws. When a band of horsemen attempted to go around him, he called up a host of the dead out of old stone coffins under the fields they were crossing, skeleton warriors who
would kill and kill and never die so long as he continued to channel power into them. The Magus kept these wonders up until his own people had made good their retreat. He consumed himself
doing it, however, burning like the wick of a candle within his aureole of magic. When full night finally arrived and the threat of further pursuit was at last ended, he dropped down, withered
and senseless, and was carried back by his three pupils to join the Perfected armies' retreat. Some portion of the works he did on that day he produced right there, a wrighting of immediate magic
such as had never been seen before or since in this country. But the greater part was accomplished using the stored power of three of his greatest creations, a pair of war telesmas more potent than
virtually any others ever wrought, plus a conviare that he fashioned specifically to be linked to them and to channel and direct their power." The old canon shot me a fiery glance, then bent his
head over the table until his dark eyes seemed to vanish in their deep sockets. "This conviare."

"By Our Lord! But how did it come to be hidden at Peyrefixade?"

"Ah, well, Peyrefixade was a heretic castle then, and the Magus de Cuza's own seat. He knew that he'd done for himself. He'd long since attained what the heretics call the 'perfected' state in
spirit as well as in the art of war magic, and had been eating essentially nothing but bread and a few lentils a day for a very long time. Consider how our Order relaxes all dietary restrictions for a
brother when he's actively practicing intensive magic, or think how it spends you just to work divinations for a few hours. Then imagine how it would drain an aged and starved man to do the
dread wonders I've described. De Cuza knew he hadn't long, but he had one more great work in him. He directed his pupils and an escort of soldiers to convey him to Peyrefixade as quickly as they
could and place him on his high seat in the great hall with the two war telesmas and the conviare before him. Then he ordered them and everyone else out of the castle. No sooner were all of them
outside than the gate shut without any hand touching it, and the castle became wrapped in a fog dark as smoke. Huddling before the walls, they heard a sound as of great winds, then creakings
and shifting stones, while flames and lightnings leaped between the towers and the very rocks seemed to quake and shift."

"When all this at last ceased and the gate swung wide, they rushed back inside to find the Magus de Cuza stretched on his bed, his flesh so white and bloodless it seemed the bones shone through;
with only his eyes alive. Only one war telesma, the less powerful of the pair, lay beside him, and it had been completely emptied of magic. He whispered for his pupils to come forward
unaccompanied, swore them to secrecy by the Perfected's strongest oaths, and bade them take it up. Then he explained to them alone that he had hidden the more powerful telesma and the conviare
in separate places somewhere within the castle walls. The greater telesma itself lay where even a Magian with skill comparable to theirs would in all likelihood find it only if aided by the
conviare. This was both to safeguard the great telesma from their foes and also to safeguard them from it, for he believed that only a Magian who had finally made himself completely perfect
according to their heretic understanding could possibly wield either of the battle telesmas linked with the conviare, without bringing destruction upon himself and all near him. The lesser
telesma, however, he reckoned any of his three pupils could use if they worked with care, though none had yet attained full perfection. Once any of the three, or if not them then in good time one of
their own pupils, had attained a state of sufficient worthiness, that man would be able to use the remaining telesma's linkage with the conviare to recover it, and through it, the great telesma.

Each of the three was therefore to keep the secret, with this exception: each of them could communicate it whenever he found among his own pupils one whom he knew would eventually equal or
surpass himself, so that the secret would never be lost to the Perfected."

"Having told the three these things, the Magus called for all his servants and people to approach and ordered his great coffin to be brought in and set up beside his bed. He recited the Perfecteds
heretical confession of faith in full with a strong voice, looked around at them all, and pronounced a heretic blessing upon them. Then he folded his arms, whispered, 'You may bring the lid now,'

and died."

"What pride and arrogance!" whispered Abbot Caspar. "To decide the disposition of such important things, and even the moment of his own death, using only his unaided human judgment!"

"So the first of the three pupils thought also. It shocked him that his master, having used those mighty objects to save their people from destruction, should then put them out of reach of anyone
else when deadly peril was still at hand, simply because he had decided that none but he was currently worthy to wield them. This one act destroyed that student's faith in the Perfecteds greatest
man, and it did not take long before his faith in other Perfected doctrines became undermined as well. In the end, he returned from their ranks to the True Faith carrying this account with him,
for he no longer felt the least bound by an oath sworn under a false doctrine. When the old duke and his captains raised fresh armies two years later and drove the Perfected out of that region and
far to the south, the second pupil also stayed behind. He was by then in love with a local girl from the lesser gentry whose family followed the True Faith, and hoped like many of the Perfected to
submerge himself and live peacefully among his neighbors while still cleaving secretly to his own doctrine. It served for a good many years, but the Inquisition took him in the end. Only the last
pupil remained faithful both to the Magus de Cuza and his teachings, which he soon began to impart to pupils of his own. When the Perfected were driven from Peyrefixade and the lands round
about, he took the lesser battle telesma and fled with his pupils, first down into Nabarra, later to the Perfected's final refuge in the western mountains."