Knights Magi (Book 4) (8 page)

Master Indan was impressed.  “I knew Minalan was a thaumaturge, but from what Mistress Selvedine told me about you, I had . . . well, lower expectations,” the old mage admitted.

“My master is enamored of thaumaturgy, Master,” Tyndal pointed out.  “He has often given me lessons framed in terms of a thaumaturgical, as opposed to practical approach.”  Considering that’s precisely what
Bannerbane’s Introduction
recommended, he figured it was the answer Master Indan was looking for.

“Why yes, that is the way it
should
be approached,” he agreed, stroking his gray beard.  “But too often the pragmatic approach is preferred, simply because it is more immediately useful, particularly in an apprenticeship.  An
academic
student, of course, usually comes to a more enlightened understanding of the science of magic.  You are a credit to your master’s instruction.  Let’s go into your knowledge of the theory of systems, then . . .”

At the conclusion of the examination, without revealing his official notes, the venerable Master Indan indicated that he approved of Tyndal’s impressive basic understanding of the discipline, and would report as much to his master.

That pleased the lad so much he skipped the study session in the Manciple’s Library he’d planned for the early afternoon and worked out for a few hours with Galdan in the guard’s yard, practicing footwork and combinations of blows until after lunch, when he went directly to Master Trondel for his next test on Elementary Enchantment.

This one was a little more difficult, as his knowledge of the elements of enchanting physical objects was very limited.  But he had discovered a tightly-written monograph on the subject in the Main Library that covered many common materials, and he was able to rattle them off as if he was reading the scroll.

“More study,” the taciturn old master insisted, “but you seem to know your knot coral from your knuckleweed,” he agreed.  “And your understanding of the role of thaumaturgic glass in placing a permanent enchantment is noteworthy.  I only wish my other students were as canny with that.”

Tyndal was elated.  With only his Thermomantics, Photomantics, Geometry and Symbology exams to get through next, he started to regain some of his confidence.  And since the next two days were feast days (Briga’s Day, specifically) with no regular classes he had some time to study.  The lousy weather helped: Inarion had a wet, cool winter without even the benefit of snow.  That lent to studying, instead of swordplay.  No one liked to spar in the mud.

Tyndal was discovering that despite himself he was beginning to appreciate magic as an academic subject, now that his challenges with reading were abated.  In some ways that made the task harder.  As easy as it was to recall a text with a spell, that didn’t automatically bring understanding of the subject to the apprentice.  He realized that Rondal’s perspective of the value of knowing why a spell works was, indeed, important. 

Being able to recite the five kinds of knot coral, for instance, didn’t give him any true understanding of how it worked.  Or how its properties could be best used.  He could rattle off one symbol after another from the
Symbolography of Master Mires
, but that didn’t tell him how or why they were
useful.
 

Rondal, on the other hand, seemed to be absorbing knowledge like a sponge . . . without the secret benefit of Psychomancy.  Despite his new studying regimen Tyndal found him even more resentful of his fellow’s easy understanding of magic.  Especially when he seemed to prefer it to all other pursuits – feminine companionship, for example.  Tyndal didn’t hesitate to use his ability to easily talk to girls against Rondal when Rondal started showing off his impressive brain.

When Tyndal had returned from his final exam before the festival holiday, Rondal was finishing a book he had started in the morning.  The rain made an almost hypnotic sound on the roof, and that encouraged the exhaustion they were both feeling.  The warm fire in the grate did not help their languor.  Rondal stretched tiredly.

“I
love
this place,” he admitted, after they had both agreed to get some sleep.  “I could
live
in that library.”

“You practically
do
live in the library,” Tyndal grumbled as he slipped off his day clothes.  “Really, you
should
go meet some girls.  You . . . you do
like
girls, don’t you?” Tyndal asked, feigning a sudden unsureness.  “If you
don’t
, I understand, I just—”

“Of
course
I like girls, you idiot,” sighed Rondal.  “I’m not an Adrusine.  But I have my whole life to chase skirts.  I’ve only got a short time here at Inarion to chase parchment.”

“You need to carefully re-evaluate your personal priorities, Sir Rondal,” observed Tyndal, thoughtfully.

“Says the mage who spent
three days
trying to encapsulate his own farts last fall,” remarked Rondal, amusedly.

“It was an interesting personal course of study,” Tyndal defended.  “And if I recall you did want to learn the spell, after I figured it out.”

“Tyndal, you have access to more books on magic than most magi get in a lifetime,” Rondal reminded, “you really
should
take advantage of that.”

“But we’re only here for a few more weeks!” Tyndal protested, as he collapsed into his bed.  “Even if I read constantly, I could only manage a few!”

“Then read
faster
,” Rondal insisted.  “And quit letting a little female tail-wagging distract you.  Yes, there are girls here.  No, they will not make you a better knight mage.”

“But they would make me a happier one.  Perhaps if you aren’t an Andrusine, you should have considered the life of a celibate monk,” Tyndal said, sourly.

“Perhaps you should have considered life as a stableboy, if magic is too cumbersome for you!” Rondal shot back with a bit of venom that surprised Tyndal.

“The gods didn’t really give me much choice in the matter!” snapped Tyndal in return.  “Suddenly, I’m not so tired.  I’m going to the library!”

“That,” Rondal said, “is the single most unlikely thing I think I’ve ever heard you say!”

Tyndal suppressed the urge to throw his fellow apprentice out of a window and escaped, instead.

The Manciple’s Library was usually locked when not in use, but Tyndal had made friends with the Manciple’s assistant by letting him see his witchstone, and now he had open access to the place.  At this time of night it should be deserted, and he could study without distraction.

Only along the way he spied a distraction: one of the female students.

The Bovali boys had not mixed much with the regular students at the Academy, since they were there under special provision, so other than meal times or the occasional lecture they were directed to attend they had not gotten to know very many of the two-hundred or so nascent professional magi enrolled at the prestigious Inarion Academy. 

While the students were overwhelmingly male, there were a number of bright young women whose position, Talent or the whims of fate had brought to the institution.  Some chose to spend their afternoons and their evenings outdoors, studying among the many scattered benches that littered the campus.  The benches weren’t quite reserved for the girls, but they seemed to flock to them like crows to a fencepost.

This one, if Tyndal was any judge, was at least sixteen or seventeen.  She had the longest,
darkest
hair he had ever seen, and when she looked up from the book she was reading, her brown eyes glistened like well-polished jewels.  An Imperial girl.  Like Lady Pentandra.

And she was absolutely gorgeous.  He didn’t care who she was, he suddenly had an inclination to start a conversation with this girl.

“Why, hello,” he said, automatically.  “Is it interesting?”

“What?” the girl asked, taken off-guard and alarmed at the interruption. 

“The book.  Is it interesting?”

She glanced at the book and then back at him – big,
gorgeous
brown eyes.  “It’s advanced biological alchemy, so
no
.”

“I
hate
alchemy,” Tyndal agreed.  In truth he had barely studied it, not much more than the parts of it that led from lesser elemental theory.  But he did not mind the deception: it wasn’t untrue.  He did hate alchemy, what little he knew of it.  But he had to give her something to respond to.  “Although I’m getting better at it here,” he admitted.

“I just seem to get worse.  Your name, my lord?  I haven’t seen you in class . . .”

“I happen to be a special student,” Tyndal said, shrugging nonchalantly.  “My master sent me . . . and another fellow . . . here for
special
evaluation.”

“Oh. That explains it then.”  She went back to her book.

Tyndal blinked.  He wasn’t used to being so casually dismissed by girls.  He
knew
he was handsome and charming, because dozens of girls had told him so.  Hells, plenty of grown and
married women
had told him so.  Add in his title, position, and who he was apprenticed to, and he realized that the girl might just not realize who he was.

Of course, he didn’t know who
she
was, either.  That didn’t deter him.

“I’m Tyndal,” he said, making her look up again.  “Sir Tyndal of Sevendor.  Knight Mage of the Realm,” he added, with a bit of relish.

“I’m Estasia,” she said, and went back to her book without further comment.

Tyndal wasn’t about to be rebuffed.  “Hello, Estasia. So what do you want to specialize in when you graduate?” he asked, taking a seat next to her on the bench.

“
Silence
spells,” she said, sourly, looking at him pointedly.

“I’m partial to love spells, myself.”

She looked him up and down.  “No doubt you’d
need
to be.”

“Hey!” he objected.  “What do you mean by
that?
”

“I
mean
that it is my intention to become a professional mage in my own right,” she answered, matter-of-factly, “and that does
not
include becoming the doting wife and brood mare of some puffed-up magelord.”

“Hey!  I’m
not
puffed-up!” He flexed his bicep.  “That’s all solid!” he teased, knocking on it with his other hand like it was made of wood. 

“And
I’m
not going to be your wife.  So we’ve reached an understanding.”  She bent back to her book.

Despite her objection, Tyndal could tell that she wasn’t
entirely
un-interested . . . otherwise she would not have insulted him.  Quite the contrary.  The opposite of attraction isn’t disgust, Lady Pentandra had told him one time, it is
disinterest.
  And the way she kept cutting her eyes toward him indicated that she was, at least at some level, intrigued by him.

It wasn’t rejection.  It was riposte.

He considered what to do while he stared at those pretty eyes darting across the page.  He could have pressed the issue and forced her to make a decision on the matter – and if she had been a peasant girl, he might have considered doing just that.  Plenty of village girls developed round heels and generous natures with just a hint of potential in a man. 

But an educated woman pursuing her own career was a different type of girl altogether, and called for a different approach, he reasoned.  Lady Pentandra had been coaching him in such things, mind-to-mind, as a kind of unofficial project of hers.  They were lessons he did not discuss with anyone, but the wisdom she’d led him to regarding affairs of the heart had been invaluable.

“Just as well,” he said.  “I would prefer a far, far friendlier woman to be my bride.  And I would have to carefully consider the value of pursuing a mere sporting relationship,” He dismissed.  Lady Pentandra had been clear about that: beautiful women get told they are beautiful all the time.  They only take notice of a man if he voices a flaw in their beauty.  As soon as a woman feels a man has rejected her, Pentandra had repeatedly told him, she finds him more attractive.  It seemed counterintuitive to Tyndal, but – once again – Pentandra’s instruction bore fruit.

She looked up sharply.  “Oh,
really?
” she asked, her nostrils flaring a bit.  “And why is
that?
  Am I so ugly to your sight, Sir?”

“You are, without a doubt,” he said, slowly and solemnly, “possibly the third or fourth prettiest girl I’ve seen today,” he said, sincerely.  He considered a moment.  “
Fourth
,” he said, decisively. 

She gave him a startled and not terribly charitable look.

“But pretty face is no assurance of a warm disposition, and in affairs of the heart I prize such a thing beyond mere transitory comeliness.  Well, I’ll let you get back to your studies, then,” he said with an exaggerated yawn. 

“I would be happy if you would!” Estasia said, her eyes flashing angrily at him.