Knights Magi (Book 4) (9 page)

“You know,” he added, “if you smiled once in a while then folks might get the
idea
that you were friendly.”  With that he got up and jaunted off.  She had her lips pursed out hard in a pout.

“I don’t
want
to be friendly!” she insisted.

“I didn’t say you
were,
” he shot back.  “But you might want to
fool
someone, sometime.  You’d have to smile to do that.”

He only glanced back over his shoulder for a moment – but she was smiling.

Now that’s how you do
real
magic,
he thought to himself with a smirk as he headed for the library. 

As helpful as Pentandra’s coaching had been, he had to credit his recent interest in Psychomancy for the idea.  Once he realized that the discipline could be used in love as well as war, he found it even more alluring.  He knew from his studies that to let her assume that she was not all
that
terribly interesting to him would flatter her sense of self while at the same time challenging the value of her heart.  It was a maddeningly sophisticated and subtle approach, but it was also (apparently) highly effective.

There were entire treatises on persuasion, argument, discussion and seduction in the Blue Magic archives.  A few had been quite revealing on the subject, and he had committed them to memory for later study.  Seduction was an art, and there were many masters in antiquity.  And every maiden aunt and tipsy priestess had hours of advice about how a young man should pay court to a lady.   He had listened to all of them with a healthy dose of skeptism. 

Tyndal was wise enough to know when he did not have mastery of a subject, and astute enough to enlist the aid of those that did, so when it came to learning how to court and woo a woman, he had appealed to his best living authority on the subject: Lady Pentandra Benuvrial, one of the few living masters – mistresses – of sex magic.

Pentandra, of course, had given him far more useful instruction than he’d received from the other women who had offered their counsel.  Lady Alya and Lady Estret, for instance, had been
replete
with advice about women.  But their counsel relied heavily on flattery and proper treatment, and that was easily learned.  What Tyndal had needed help with was navigating the dangerous territory of introduction and seduction – preferably without involving jealous husbands or irate fathers.

He felt a little deceitful applying base science to what, according to poets and minstrels and the priestesses of Ishi, should properly be a matter of fate, fortune or divine will, depending upon which theory one favored.  But in matters of the heart, he had learned, one could not go into conflict unprepared any more than one could go into battle unarmed. 

So he had solicited Pentandra’s advice.  Amused, she took the challenge and pointed him toward the proper texts.  Among the scrolls on the nature of seduction, one was known to be short but highly informative for a young man.  She’d even told him where he might find it in the library.

Penned by some obscure courtier or rogue in the Later Magocracy, under the ridiculous pseudonym of Sire
Rose, Master of Castle Heart, the
Meditations on the Sixteen Laws of Love
purported to be a divine revelation from Tharis, Ishi’s illegitimate son with the god Luin.  Tharis was known for his lusty and capricious nature.  He was a divinity after Tyndal’s own heart.

Tyndal had read the scroll eagerly, with great humor, and found the Meditations to be wonderfully applicable in such matters. 

The Tenth Law, for instance
: If she be truly fair, ignore thee her beauty and treat her as a common-looking woman; treat her not as a great beauty, or she will despise you for it.
 

If he’d told Estasia she was the prettiest girl he’d seen, it was unlikely she would be as interested.  Pretty girls hear how pretty they are often, said the Sage of Castle Heart.  Appearing as if they are not challenges their sense of self.

Of course, that was difficult.  Estasia was, indeed, gorgeous.  And while Estasia might be fuming and fussing about the slightly rude remark all night . . . she’d be fuming and fussing about
Tyndal’s
slightly rude remark all night. 

And interest, as Pentandra would say, is
far
more valuable than apathy in the arena of love.

Perhaps he had been too aggressive, too forward; but then the Thirteenth Law stated
Boldness, not timidity, clears the path to a maiden’s heart
.  He was confident that she’d remember him, now, and remember him with some interest for his boldness. 

He didn’t know why, but his interaction with her had somehow relaxed him. By the time he got to the darkened Manciple’s Library, he was actually whistling.  It might have been a bit irrational of him to feel so confident about Estasia, but that was recommended, too: Law Eleven said
Stride the Path of Love boldly and without apology, acting as confident as a king though you be but the lowliest villein.
 

And Tyndal had irrational confidence in wainloads.

*
                            *                            *

Even with two feast days to study, his appearance for his Symbology examination was problematic.  Not because he hadn’t read the texts – thanks to the memory spell, he now knew the technical descriptions and invocations for
hundreds
of common arcane symbols – but because he hadn’t actually used a tithe of them in his short career.  Symbology was one area in which the masters expected a practical knowledge, no matter how erudite the student.

Still, Tyndal struggled through, and when asked he was able to produce eight basic glyphs to his examiner’s satisfaction.  And six that were utter failures.

“You have a good knowledge of the academics,” admitted Master Donrain, after the final failure, “but you need to work on the practical side.”

“If you’d like to quiz me on warmagic symbols,” Tyndal offered, “I could show you a few . . .”

“No, no, not what we’re here for,” the man dismissed.  “You have demonstrated your abilities, young man.  I have a proper appreciation for your level of knowledge.  You are dismissed.”

The even tone told Tyndal nothing of how well or poorly he’d done, but he’d given as complete answers as he could.  Indeed, he had rattled of dozens of symbols.  So many that he was feeling unusually cocky when he got to his afternoon examination, the one on Thermomantics and Photomantics. 

He was prepared for that one – the ability to manipulate matter with energy to produce heat and light were pretty basic fundamentals.  And just to be sure, he had read Alstod’s short but thorough treatise on the subject, as close to a reference manual as one could ask.

But when he had quietly called it into memory to answer a question about thermodynamics, Master Yndrain gave a casual wave with a wand . . . and the spell failed.

“Let’s try it
without
the memory charm, shall we?” he asked, amused.  “Young man, do you think this is the first time someone has tried to evade a fair and proper examination of their abilities?  Perhaps some of the other instructors are willing to let you depend upon that sort of thing, but I am not that lenient.  Pray, tell me again, what is the Second Sacred Law Of Thermodynamics?”

Tyndal paled, swallowed hard, but he answered the question from memory.  After that, his sessions with the masters got a lot more difficult again.

“Serves you right for trying to cheat,” Rondal chuckled, when Tyndal confessed his discovery that night after dinner. 

“I wasn’t cheating!  I was just . . . using a resource!”

“Well, now you won’t be able to use it.  Still, that wasn’t a bad idea.  I’d love to learn the spell,” he said, almost grudgingly.

“It is handy,” agreed Tyndal.  “In fact, there’s a lot of interesting things in Blue Magic I never thought of.  Most of the theory is way beyond me, but the some of the spells are quite practical.”

“Like what?” Rondal asked, absently.

Tyndal enjoyed being an authority for once.  “Well, did you know you can compel someone to tell the truth?  Or to forget a day of their lives?  Or forget they ever even knew you?”

“Sounds dangerous,” Rondal said, after considering it a moment.

“The Censorate thought so,” Tyndal agreed.  “They almost banned it.  Except for their use. 
Immoral Use of Psychomancy
is a serious crime.  Or it used to be.”

“It should still be,” Rondal said, quickly.  “Spells of forgetfulness are one thing.  What about a spell of compulsion?”

Tyndal thought about the possibilities.  “Ethically?  I don’t know . . . that
could
be a lot of fun . . .”

“. . . until someone used it on
you
.  Like that innkeeper’s daughter who wants to get married so badly?” Tyndal blushed, despite himself.  Before he was even knighted, back in Master Minalan’s home village of Talry-on-Burine, he had been nearly stalked and captured by a husband-hungry innkeeper’s daughter.  While he still had fond memories of the girl, she was not the sort Tyndal found truly appealing.  Still, he felt a bit defensive about her – she’d helped him out, she’d been very sweet, and she’d been one of the first girls to kiss him properly.

“She’s not a mage,” Tyndal said, quickly.  “And she wasn’t so bad.”  He had a fond spot for the girl, and had decided to pay a call on her again one day, should he have the chance.

“Just an example.  Besides, I’ve always heard that Psychomancy was highly unpredictable.  The human mind just isn’t as neat and tidy as the Holy Periodic Table.”

“I’m just saying it could be useful.  Hells, a third of the warmagic combat spells are psychomantic.”

“You saw what Lady Pentandra did to those two Censors at Master Min’s wedding,” Rondal recalled.  “That was Pscyhomancy.  Had to be.  Those Imperials all have all sorts of forbidden magic,” he said, a little suspiciously.

“Lady Pentandra was acting to protect Master Min,” Tyndal said, defensively. 

“Sure, sure,” Rondal dismissed.  “I’m not criticizing.  But about that spell . . .”

Tyndal looked at Rondal questioningly.  After all the acrimony the two had been through, all of the rivalry, to have his better-educated junior apprentice ask for him to teach him a spell touched Tyndal’s pride. 

“All right,” he sighed.  “It’s actually not that hard . . . “

*                            *                            *

*
                            *                            *

Eventually, after the holiday, the two apprentices were called into the presence of the highest ranking faculty for a report on their findings – thus far.  Tyndal found himself anxiously biting his lip while he stood in front of the long table in the
faculty hall and listened.

“My lords,” Head Master Alwyn of Terone began in his creaky old voice, “it gives me a certain degree of pleasure to be able to inform your master that your skills are . . .
adequate
for your age and experience.” He made the pronouncement almost reluctantly.  Or it could just be his great age, Tyndal reasoned.  He tried not to take it personally.  Master Alwyn continued.

“We were asked to evaluate your areas of weakness, identify your strengths, give what remedial instruction it was felt was necessary, and prepare a course of individual study for each of you, in preparation for eventually taking the traditional Journeyman examinations.  Here, then, are our specific findings.

“Sir Rondal of Sevendor,” he continued, glancing at a scroll – and obviously using magesight to correct his vision to read it.  “You have demonstrated an admirable grasp of Philosophy of Magic, Thaumaturgy, a decided competence in Greater Elemental practice, an understanding of Lesser Elemental theory and Alchemy, an impressive knowledge of magical history, and a talent for mathematics, natural science, pyromancy and enchantment.  Well done, young man,” the old wizard said.  “If you had been enrolled here, no doubt you would have been ready for your exams a year ago.  Or advanced study.”

“Thank you, Head Master,” Rondal said, humbly.  Tyndal’s face burned.  At least he could have the good grace to gloat a little.

“Sir Tyndal of Sevendor,” Master Alwyn continued, as a second scroll was brought to his attention by an aide, “your scores were . . .
less
impressive, but in consideration of your unique circumstances, it is felt that your wit is sufficient to absorb some remedial education in certain subjects to bring you up to level. 

“You do have an excellent grasp of basic cantrips,” he said, almost apologetically, “and a talent for woodbending – I saw the chair you put together, that was quite striking – a good basic knowledge of Greater Elemental practice, and a bit of a knack for sigils and runes.  But there are many, many gaps in your education, gaps that I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to leave here unfilled.  Not if we are to fulfill your master’s request.”

“Thank you, Head Master,” Tyndal said, almost choking on the words.