Storm Rising (9 page)

“Oh, glory!” Karal had to laugh at that idea. Firesong’s clothing was never less than flamboyant. “And once he began to talk, he’d have them all so tangled in logic and illogic, and dogma and cant, that they wouldn’t even remember their own creeds!”

“It is entirely likely,” An’desha agreed. “And it is a pity you wouldn’t dare. I believe he would probably have a wicked good time of it if you asked him to.”

“Now
there
is a ‘White Demon,’ for certain,” Karal chuckled. “I think he gets more enjoyment out of twisting people around and playing with them than any other pursuit.”

“I would not say he is
that
manipulative,” An’desha temporized, “But there is a streak in him that makes him want to prod at people simply to get a reaction, and the more dramatic, the better.”

“He certainly has a talent for drama, whether being at the center of it or inducing it,” Karal agreed, and sighed. “Well, Florian seems to have solved the problem of how I am to remember who goes with what title tomorrow, so I shall be able to get a
little
rest tonight.”

“I came here thinking you would go to the Compass Rose with me,” An’desha said, looking hopeful. “Don’t you think that just for once the Court can do
without you at dinner? They were baking sausage rolls at the Rose this afternoon, and I’m told that the new yellow cheese is excellent.”

“Demon! You know I’d do anything for good cheese and sausage rolls!” These were the closest foods Karal could find to the homey fare at the inn where he had grown up, and An’desha knew it. He cast an imploring glance at Florian.
“Could
I be absent, just this once?”

Florian was not proof against what the Companion had called “Karal’s lost-puppy eyes.” With a shake of his head, Florian gave in without a fight.
:I’ll see that it’s arranged,:
he promised,
:even if I have to tell an untruth and claim you’re with me. But you’d better go now, or something else is likely to come up to prevent you from going at all.:

The Compass Rose was a tavern unlike any other in all of Haven, and possibly all of Valdemar. It wasn’t so much the food—which was quite good, but by no means up to the demands of a gourmet—or the drink, which was just about average. It was the clientele.

The Palace grounds actually hosted three Collegia; Herald’s, Bardic, and Healer’s—but there was a fourth unofficial Collegium there as well. If one looked into almost any given classroom, there would be
four
uniform colors in evidence. A gray uniform meant that the student in question was a Herald-trainee, a rust-brown tunic identified a Bardic student, and a pale green robe betokened a fledgling Healer. But a
blue
uniform was an “unaffiliated” student. More often than not, these were merely the offspring of courtiers who preferred to have their families with them rather than back on the estate or holding. Classes at all three Collegia were open to them, and they were required in these days to wear a blue uniform, although that had not always been the case. But there was always a group of students who came from common blood, who were there at the Collegia, receiving the best education possible in Valdemar, because of merit or exceptional intelligence. They usually had a sponsor, either in the Court or one of the three Circles of Heralds, Bards, or Healers.

Most of
these
were divided into two groups; pure scholars and “artificers.”

The latter were the people who would go out into Haven and beyond, to invent and build—bridges, mills, roads, cunning devices which would allow one to navigate or survey the land accurately—the list of possibilities was as endless as the imaginations of those who were doing the inventing.

And most of
these
spent their “leisure” time at the Compass Rose.

So did their Masters, the teachers at the three Collegia, and those artificers who resided in Haven itself. And “leisure” time was relative, for at any given moment in the Compass Rose you could find people working out the difficulties in the gears of a new mill or a student project—planning an irrigation system or arguing over the results of the last exam—

Or finding a way to integrate magic with logic and avert the peril of the mage-storms.

The students and teachers at the Compass Rose had been just as responsible for the creation of the magical breakwater as any of the mages whose talents and powers built it. If it had not been for them, in fact, there probably would never have
been
a “breakwater” at all. The entire concept was a new one, and mages were accustomed to using only the old, tried, and proven ways of doing something.

When Karal had first arrived in Haven, he had been introduced to the daughter of the Herald who had been their guide through Valdemar to the capital, a young lady named Natoli who was one of those “student-artificers.” She had taken him to the Compass Rose, for she had known that among people who are accustomed to questioning everything, a “hated Karsite” was likely to be given the benefit of the doubt until he proved himself. That had been a lucky chance, for when the mage-storms first began wreaking havoc upon Valdemar, it occurred to Karal that the inquisitive and analytical minds of those same people were the ones best suited to taking the problem apart and perhaps coming up with a new answer.

Sometimes the most vital part of solving a problem was simply getting people to think about it.

For the first time, mages and artificers spoke to one another, and a new synthesis resulted.

Unfortunately for Karal, he hadn’t gotten to see the aftermath of that synthesis since his duties had kept him away from the Rose, his friends there, and from Natoli. He was afraid now that she would be angry with him for deserting her for so long. Matters had been tending in the direction of something more than mere friendship, and now she might be thinking that he was getting cold feet over the idea.

A crowded tavern was not the best place to explain himself to someone who was possibly hurt and angry—but it was better than not seeing her at all.

It was that, and not the sausage rolls and cheese, that really took him to the tavern tonight.

He couldn’t tell if An’desha was aware of that or not. The Shin’a’ in was very good at keeping his thoughts to himself when he chose, and the subtle differences in his eyes made his expressions a little harder to read than most people’s. On the other hand, An’desha was Natoli’s friend, too, and she might have confided in him.

If nothing else
, he thought, as the two of them wound their way through the streets of Haven to where the tavern lay, wedged in between a warehouse and a clockmaker’s shop,
it will be good to be just myself for one evening, and not His Excellency, the Karsite Envoy
. It had gotten dark early, in part due to the heavy overcast, and the chill, damp air, though windless, had gotten colder yet. The darkness seemed very thick, as if it were swallowing up all the light. He was glad both of his heavy coat and the light from the streetlamps.

They turned a corner and were finally on the cobblestone street in the merchant district. The Compass Rose stood in the middle of the block. As usual, the Rose identified itself by the hum of conversation long before they reached the doorstep. Rumor had it that the clockmaker who shared a wall with the tavern was
deaf; Karal certainly hoped so, or the poor man would never get any sleep at night.

From the sound, the Rose was full, which was the usual case on sausage roll night. The tavern boasted both a carved door and a carved sign bearing the compass rose of its name, both illuminated by torches. Karal hung back, feeling suddenly shy, as An’desha reached for the brass handle and opened the carved wooden door.

Cacophony assaulted them the moment the door swung wide, and Karal felt a twinge of nostalgia. It was as if nothing had changed—the room was exactly as it had been the first time Natoli had brought him here.

Table after table was full of students—eating and talking at the same time, gesturing with rolls or a piece of cheese, making mechanical arrangements out of the cups and plates, much to the disgust of those who were trying to use those cups and plates. The tables themselves were covered with rough brown paper, because the students tended to draw on them to illustrate some point or other, whether or not the surface was suitable for drawing. There were one or two of the Masters out here, usually with a tableful of their own students, prodding them through an assignment. The rest of the Masters were in the back room, a room reserved for them alone. A student “graduated” when he (or she) was invited to take his meal back in that hallowed sanctuary; there was no other special ceremony marking the ending of his life as a student and the beginning of his life as a professional. Here there were Masters, but no apprentices or journeymen.

The roar continued for a moment as the door closed behind them with a thud, and Karal let his ears get used to the noise and his eyes to the light. The Rose was one of the few taverns where the light was as important as the drink, since so many here were working on projects as they ate. In fact, the lighting in the Throne Room at the Palace was dim by comparison. After coming in from the thick darkness outside, the glare of light took some getting used to.

But as they stood there, and Karal tried to see if Natoli and her cronies were at their usual table, the uproar began to subside, as people saw who was standing in the doorway, and turned to poke neighbors who hadn’t yet noticed. As Karal shifted his weight uneasily, the roar faded into absolute silence.

No one moved. Then, off to the right, a single person stood up, a person who had been sitting with her back to the door. She turned and peered across the sea of faces to the doorway.

It was Natoli. And for a moment, Karal considered bolting back outside.
She’s upset with me, and everyone knows it … I’ve hurt her feelings, and now they all hate me. Oh, glory, what am I going to do?

“Karal?” she said clearly, and her strong, handsome face lit up with a welcoming smile. Natoli was not “pretty”—but her face had such character written in every line that you never noticed. “Havens, they finally let you take a night off! It’s about time! Get
over
here! Look, everybody, it’s Karal!”

The place erupted again, this time with cheers of welcome, a few playful catcalls, and offers of beer, food, or both. As Karal and An’desha waded through the crowd on their way to Natoli’s table, he was staggered often by the hearty back slaps and playful punches his friends aimed at him. It occurred to him then that sometimes being Natoli’s friend could be as hazardous as being her enemy!

He didn’t manage to get across the room without being loaded down with food and an overfilled mug that slopped every time someone slapped his back. He kept apologizing, but it didn’t seem that anyone noticed. Or perhaps they were just used to stray beer going everywhere.

Natoli’s table was crowded, as usual, but also as usual there was always room for one or two more. People edged over and places were made for him and An’desha, one on either side of Natoli. As he sat down, Natoli helped herself to one of the many sausage rolls that had been thrust at him and offered him a plate of cheese in return.

He shared his bounty with anyone who didn’t have food in front of him, and in the course of getting everyone settled again, he lost all of the apprehension he’d felt.

“You looked like a Bardic student in front of a hostile audience when you came in,” she said, quite matter-of-factly. “Problems?”

“I suppose I was afraid that you would all be upset with me for not coming here before this,” he said, a little shyly. “You might think
I
thought I was too good for you, now that I’m the Ambassador. Or—something.”

She raised a hand and mimed a cuff at his ear. “Be sensible. Father’s a Herald, remember? Just because I don’t stick my nose into Court, that doesn’t mean I don’t know what’s going on. They’ve had you tied up with more meetings and business than any one person has a right to be burdened with, and we all knew it.
I made sure
everyone knew that.”

He relaxed at that. “I didn’t want you to think that I’d forgotten who my friends are.”

“Ha.” She applied herself to her meal with a grin. “You’ve been working, and we haven’t exactly been idle. Even if everyone else in Valdemar thinks that the crisis was solved,
we
know we only put it off for a while. We’re still trying to work out a solution. Master Levy thinks there won’t be
a
solution; he thinks we’re going to have to come up with one make-do after another, because he thinks that the problem is getting too complicated to actually solve in the time we have.”

“Do the mages know that?” he asked, feeling a chill.
More temporary solutions? Doesn’t that leave us open to mistakes and the results of mistakes?

“The mages know,” An’desha confirmed. “At the moment they’re trying to let their minds lie fallow while they track the current patterns of mage-energy for Master Levy’s crew to analyze. I think some of them are hoping that if they don’t
try
to think about a solution, one will spring forth from the back of their heads, fully formed.”

Natoli snorted but didn’t comment otherwise.

“Well, that’s not necessarily bad thinking,” one of the others pointed out. “I’m not talking about wishful thinking—it’s just that if you try too hard to put all the facts together, sometimes they won’t fall into place. Come on, Natoli,
you
know that even happens to us!”

“I suppose you’re right,” Natoli admitted grudgingly. “There
is
Cletius and the bathtub, for instance. It’s just that some of these mages are just
so
certain that they can vibrate their way to answers that it makes me want to drown them all.”

“Let’s talk about something else,” Karal urged. “Something that has
nothing
to do with mages or mage-storms or the Empire. What’s exciting?”

A red head at the end of the table popped up. “Steam!” he exclaimed.
“That’s
what’s exciting! There’s no end to what we can do with it! Who needs magic? Steam will save the world!”