Knights Magi (Book 4) (12 page)

“Too bad you can’t use warmagic on that pile of books,” he said approvingly – Tyndal had just defeated three of his guards using combat enhancements.  “I expect it would be nice if you could slow down time enough to get through them all.”

“Yeah, it would,” Tyndal said, automatically.  The comment stuck in his brain, however, as he walked back across the campus to the North Tower. 

Well, why couldn’t it?
He finally asked himself.

The combat augmentation spells, he reasoned, were designed to slow your perception of time to allow you the opportunity to choose your options.  The other elements of the enhancement – the increased speed, strength, and agility magic’s power could borrow – weren’t exactly necessary, if one wasn’t going to fight.

In fact, if one was merely going to read, from what Tyndal understood, many of the drawbacks to the spell faded from importance.

Why couldn’t he use warmagic to study?
  There had to be some good reason why people didn’t do it.

He found his feet walking past the great wooden entrance to the North Tower and back into the kitchens and storerooms.  Then he found them bounding up the stairs to the Manciple’s Library, where he immersed himself in answering that question.

It was fascinating – without the physical augmentations, the perception element of the spell was almost purely Psychomantic.  It was a trick of the mind.  A magically-fueled trick, but it didn’t use much power on its own.

The more he read, the more reasons he found to consider the matter.  Psychomantic spells had been around since the earliest days, and some – like the instant-recall spell he’d relied upon so frequently – had become a staple in most adepts’ grimoires.  Eventually.

But warmagic?  At least the perception alteration elements of the spells?  Those, he found, were rarely employed outside of the discipline.  Most magic just didn’t require that kind of fast-paced action.  Most magi were content to stumble around like normal people.

He found the spell eventually, of course.  It was considered a minor curiosity, of dubious value, but one could speed perceptions alone, without the power-consuming enhancements.  And the spell was simple, once you grasped the concept.

He tried it out.  A scroll he was to read – a monograph on sigils – lay before him.  Tyndal summoned power, formed the necessary symbols in his head, and cast the spell . . . but nothing seemed to happen.

He thought he had futzed it, until he noted how slowly a moth flew through his magelight.

Grinning, he began reading the monograph, doing his best to absorb the material as he normally would.  It wasn’t a huge scroll – only eight feet of parchment – but he was done before the moth had finished flying through his magelight.

He let the spell fail, and his perceptions returned to normal.  His retention of the information, he found, was completely intact. 

Delighted, he then cast the memory spell, and began to chew through the stack of scrolls and books with blinding speed.

*
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The next day passed in a daze.  While Tyndal’s discovery had allowed him to read four books in one night, as well as a dozen scrolls, his mind could only understand a limited part of them.  As it was, his dreams were filled with the writings of obscure magi and perturbations in the Otherworld.  But he remembered what he’d read.  He awoke feeling barely refreshed, and followed
his assigned tutoring as best he could. 

After a disappointing morning working on Photmantics theory with Master Honreed, instead of working out in the yard Tyndal went back to the Manciple’s Library, where he wouldn’t be disturbed, and began the process of stuffing his brain anew.  With dedication and devotion, he managed to read another six books before dinner - more than he’d read in his first six months’ apprenticeship.

Even though the spell took little power, the mental energy required was immense.  He ate voraciously that evening, heading back to the serving table for seconds and thirds.  He was so engrossed in his meat that he did not see the lovely alchemist come up behind him.

“I didn’t see you fighting today,” Estasia said, shyly, approaching him as everyone was finishing their meal.  She looked very attractive today.  Her hair was perfectly combed under her wimple, her dress a simple but elegant Remeran style in a dark red velvet.  It suited her complexion.  And her figure.

But he was too wise to note it to her – the remark may have flattered her, but it also might reveal to plainly Tyndal’s interest in her.  He didn’t mind being interested in her, but the moment she knew he was interested in her, according to the Laws of Love, she would actually become
less
interested in him.  While it might be confusing, he could see Sire Rose’s point.

“Too busy studying,” Tyndal said, looking at her with his mouth full. 

She looked like she was about to deliver a witty response to which he could repay a wittier reply, thus escalating into more and more  when they were suddenly interrupted -- by the person he wanted to see the least, at the moment, barring Sheruel the Dead God.  That idiot Rondal.

“I find that
incredibly
difficult to believe,” Rondal said, setting down his trencher next to Tyndal’s and bowing far too low for the occasion.  Moron.  “Hello, milady, I’m Sir Rondal of Sevendor, this brutish thug’s junior apprentice.”  He was trying to sound interesting and important and playful, all at the same time -- which was what Sire Rose and his commentators recommended -- but his delivery was embarassingly bad.

“I’m Estasia,” the pretty student replied to the boy, without visible enthusiasm.  She ignored him and kept talking to Tyndal -- a minor victory. “So why didn’t you
really
fight today?”

“It’s not fighting, it’s sparring,” Tyndal explained, swallowing.  “Whole different thing.  I’m just practicing.  Working up a sweat.”

Estasia wrinkled her nose at the thought, but she didn’t seem to mind the image it invoked.  “Well, if you plan on
sparring
tomorrow, let me know,” she asked. “I find it entertaining to watch.  Like a cockfight.”

“I’ll see if I can oblige,” he said with a shy smile.  Her beautiful brown eyes caught his, and she caught her breath and looked away.

“I’m a knight mage, too,” Rondal said, lamely.

“I know,” Estasia said.  “I heard. I’ll see you anon, Tyndal!”

“So it’s ‘Tyndal’, not ‘Sir Tyndal’,” Rondal groused, as the shapely mage left the hall with grace and a backward glance over her shoulder.  “And she’s
far
more beautiful than you gave her credit for!”

“I didn’t think you were interested in her looks,” taunted Tyndal, feeling cocky.  “I thought you lusted for her mind?”

“Well, if the mind happens to have . . . a couple of
heavy thoughts
like that associated with it, all the better!” Rondal blushed.

“She’s pretty,” conceded Tyndal.  “But I wouldn’t spend any coin on it, in your boots.  She seems to have eyes for me, not you.”

“But
I’m
the smart one!” Rondal protested.  “She’s supposed to
like
the smart ones!”

Tyndal laughed and shook his head.  “You sure don’t know much about girls, do you, Ron?”

“Does anyone?” asked Rondal, miserably.

“If I said ‘yes’, would you believe me?” asked Tyndal, studying his fellow apprentice for once.  Perhaps if he gave him some actual, useful advice about girls he’d quit being so . . . painfully awkward.  Certainly, it made Tyndal look that much better, but he didn’t need the help.

Rondal studied him back, warily.  “Mayhap,” he admitted, grudgingly, just loud enough for Tyndal to hear it.  He looked around nervously.  “I’m . . . kind of bad at it.  So bad Lady Alya and Lady Estret tried to help.”

Tyndal scowled good-naturedly.  “I thought as much. I know not what our mistress told you, but . . . well, they all
say
they like smart ones.  Or
funny
ones.  Or
rich
ones.  Or
good
ones.  But . . . well, Ishi has her own ideas about that.  Girls . . . girls tend to like a certain
kind
of man.  And if you are
not
that kind of man - or can’t portray him effectively - then you will be, at best, a lady’s second choice.  An a lady for whom you are the second choice, well, she is less likely to share your feelings.  Therefore, you need to learn how to be that kind of man . . . or fake it convincingly,” he added, as he saw his fellow’s face grow more ashen.

“Lady Alya told me all I needed was to be true to my pleasant character and treat ladies with courtesy and deference, and I would soon have their attention in
abundance,” he said defensively.  Tyndal could tell that he doubted the words even as he said them.

“And she’s seduced
how
many girls?” snorted Tyndal.  “I may not know a lot about women, Ron, but one thing I do know is that they rarely tell you what you really need to know about courting one.  Indeed, their advice often is
worse
than your own pathetic bumbling.  And you wouldn’t think that possible.” 

Rondal did not contest his assessment.  While Tyndal did not have much familiarity with girls – or at least not as much as he would have preferred – what he had far outweighed the older boy’s experience. 

“So tell me, oh wise master, where lies the key to Estasia’s heart?  Purely as an academic exercise,” he added, dismissively.

“Estasia?  I’d say with that one, for all of her pretensions of academics you would likely catch her attention more by flexing your muscles than showing off your knowledge.”

“A lady of her renowned intellect?” asked Rondal, surprised.

“She might respect intelligence,” Tyndal reasoned, “but it’s not her mind that controls her heart.  She likes big muscles as much as any girl.”

“Gods be praised,” Rondal said, sourly, as he studied his own spare physique.  “Now all I have to do is conjure some muscles.”

“Muscles would be a start, but they wouldn’t be enough,” Tyndal said, sagely, as he considered his courting from an academic perspective.  “Estasia isn’t that dumb.  What attracts her, in my opinion, is confidence and competence.  Not achievement, exactly,” he said, appraisingly, “she’s not the type to be allured by position or title.  Nor, alas for you, pure intellect.  She admires spirit, character and confidence, more than anything else, I’d say. And that’s good news for you,” he added.

“Why?” Rondal asked, suddenly interested.

“Because confidence is easier to conjure than muscles,” he pointed out, stabbing the last bit of meat on his trencher with his knife and flipping it into his mouth with a sigh.  “And far easier to fake.”

“
Pretend
to be confident?” Rondal asked, bitterly amused. 

“Essentially,” agreed Tyndal, finally pushing himself away from his plate.  “It’s actually not that hard.  You just have to practice.  And Estasia is a good girl to practice on.”

“Why?” asked Rondal, surprised and hopeful.  “Do you really think I have an opportunity to catch her eye?”

“Oh, Ishi’s left nip, no!” Tyndal laughed at the prospect.  “Not with me around.  She’s already decided that she likes me.”

“Well, maybe I can get her to change her mind!” Ron said, standing from the table defiantly.

Tyndal studied him.  “Do you really think so?  Really?  Honestly?”
Rondal continued to look defiant, but then doubt stole his attention.  “No, probably not,” he finally admitted through clenched teeth.  “So why are you helping me?  Just to witness the humiliation of my inevitable failure?”

“No,” shrugged Tyndal.  “Not at all.  I said Estasia would be good practice, and I was genuine.It is good practice, and not without design. Because around every girl like Estasia, there’s another girl hiding behind her skirts, coveting what she has and will strive to change the stars in their courses if it would mean she gains the prize.”

“And
you’re
that prize?” Rondal asked, skeptically.

“I didn’t say it was a good prize,” Tyndal smirked.  “But there’s almost always a girl on the lookout for the boy who can’t get the girl he wants, which keeps the boy that girl likes too busy fighting her off to pursue that girl properly, hence she has recourse to that boy as a consolation.  And that boy is
you
,” Tyndal said, confidently.

“It is?  There is?  She is?” he asked, confused.

“I’d stake my life on it,” boasted Tyndal.  “Now, before you go looking for her and making an ass of yourself, there’s a certain scroll you need to read . . . “

^
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^
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Tyndal continued his studies late into the night, long after the campus was silent. With judicious use of his newly-learned spells he was able to make significant progress on his list, doing days worth of reading in hours.  And thanks to Blue Magic, every work he read he could recall at need, word for word.