The Magic Engineer (4 page)

“I suppose I owe this to you.” Kadara does not look at Dorrin as they step onto the uncovered porch.

“Me?”

Kadara steps onto the stone walk to the library. “If you hadn’t been so interested in smithing, then father wouldn’t have gotten to know your father.”

“Maybe…” How can neighbors not come to know each other?

The stiff eastern breeze carries the tang of salt as it whips Kadara’s long red hair almost into Dorrin’s face.

“Do you mind if I join you?” The voice is mellow, deep, and
youthfully enthusiastic.

Dorrin looks over his shoulder and up at the tall blond figure with broad shoulders. “We’re going to a meeting—”

“I know. I’m new, too. That’s why I thought you wouldn’t mind. I’m Brede.” Brede wears gray trousers and a blue, long-sleeved farmer’s shirt.

“Dorrin.” He continues to match strides with Kadara.

“Kadara.”

“I’m from Lydkler, in the hills above the Feyn Valley. It’s so small no one—almost no one, anyway—has ever heard of it. Where are you two from? Are you related?” Brede’s words tumble out and are followed by a broad and open smile. A gust of wind sprays fine blond hair around his face, and a hand twice the size of Dorrin’s absently brushes it back.

“We’re from Extina,” admits Dorrin.

“Brother and sister?”

“Hardly,” snaps Kadara.

“Oh…the red hair…I just thought…”

“It’s just coincidence—the red hair, I mean.”

A long shadow falls across the walk as a high puffy cloud scuds toward the western horizon and blocks the low sun.

“Oh…well…isn’t Extina close to Land’s End? It’s not far from here at all. I saw a road marker just before we got here…”

Kadara’s lips remain closed as she marches up under the covered porch and reaches for the dark steel handle of the black oak door. Sunlight returns to the Academy grounds.

“No,” admits Dorrin. “It’s only about ten kays north.”

Clunk…
The black oak door thuds shut in Dorrin’s face.

“She’s a little unhappy, isn’t she?” observes Brede.

Dorrin opens the door.

“You’re both unhappy,” reflects the young giant.

“Neither one of us is exactly thrilled to be here.” Dorrin pushes through the doorway. Kadara opens the next door—the one to the library.

“She isn’t. That’s for certain,” adds Brede, an amused edge to the deep-toned voice. “It won’t change anything, though.”

Dorrin grins, warming to the big young man in spite of Brede’s forwardness. “Somehow, I don’t think it will.” He pauses to note the two silver-bordered cork boards, one on each
side of the foyer. Both contain grids with times at the left, and boxes filled with a few words each. The grids look similar to the appointment sheets kept by his father. Dorrin crosses the foyer and continues along the short corridor toward the library.

After stepping into the library, Dorrin scans the tables, counting three female and four male figures seated around two tables. No one is seated around the window table. With a deep breath, he edges around the table to the far left and sits next to Kadara. On his immediate left is the wall. Brede settles in the last seat at the other table, grinning briefly as Dorrin looks across the perhaps ten cubits that separate them.

On the other side of Kadara sits a solid young woman, wearing a bright orange-red blouse that does not suit her dark brown hair and pale freckled face. Beside her sits a gangly youth with shoulder-length black hair wearing a one-piece shapeless brown garment.

“Greetings.”

Dorrin’s study of the other students is interrupted by Lortren’s entrance. The white-haired and well-muscled woman stands beside the vacant window table. The black eyes slash across the ten seated youngsters. “I am Lortren. For better or worse, I will be working with you over the next half-year to help you find out who and what you really are.”

A brief smile flashes across her face. “You only think you know who you are. If you really knew, you wouldn’t be here. You all have talent, of one sort or another, although we don’t have any out-and-out chaos wielders here.”

The dark eyes sweep the group again, and Dorrin shifts his weight in the hard and unyielding wooden chair.

“I won’t bother introducing you to each other. You can work that out among yourselves at dinner, or whenever. You are the red group. Your schedule for the eight-day is posted on the board that says, clearly enough, ‘Red Group.’ The board is in the south foyer. That’s at the end of the corridor behind me.

“No one will remind you where you are to be, or when. Getting there is your responsibility. Finding out where rooms and buildings are is also your responsibility. There is a small map in the foyer next to each board.”

“What if—” begins a broad young man with white-blond hair.

“If you make an honest effort and have trouble in the beginning, Loric, no one will say anything. If you continue to show a lack of interest, you’ll be asked to leave. Most people who leave here without finishing the course end up somewhere in Nordla or Candar, depending on the available shipping.”

“…that’s exile…” The whispered words are clear in the stillness.

“That’s correct,” affirms Lortren. “For those of you who have not figured it out, the Academy is all that stands between you and exile. In even clearer terms, the Academy prepares you for a controlled exile from which you can return—if you survive and if you choose.”

Dorrin senses the indrawn breaths and slow exhalations.

“What kinds of things will we be doing?” Brede’s overloud voice crashes through the silence.

“Your studies will concentrate on three things—the study of order and chaos; the basic history and cultures of Candor, Nordla, Afrit, and Recluce; and physical training. What is expected of you will be covered in greater detail in your first meeting tomorrow morning.” Lortren smiles grimly. “Most of you will discover how little you really know.” She pauses. “Are there any other questions?”

Dorrin frowns. Lortren will not answer more than she wants to, and she has said all she plans to say.

“Dinner is waiting. This one time, I’ll show you the way. The meal times are also on your schedule board.” The black-clad magistra is leaving by the time Dorrin stands.

“Kadara…?” he begins, but she too has moved out of earshot of his soft inquiry. He hastens after the others, ending up behind the girl in the red-orange shirt, so close that his left boot catches her sandal.

“I’m sorry.”

She turns with her hand on the door, revealing deep blue eyes that twinkle for a moment. “That’s all right. I’m Jyll. Who are you?”

“Ah…Dorrin…”

She steps through the doorway, and Dorrin follows. Kadara is already leaving the foyer. Several others, including Brede, stand by the schedule board and puzzle over the schedule printed there. Jyll and Dorrin join them.

“Is ‘Order’ fundamentals?”

“…how much physical training…”

Looking over the shoulder of the short and broad blond youth whose question was cut short by Lortren, Dorrin scans the schedule, his eyes drifting to a small map in the corner. He finds the dark oblong labeled “Dining,” then steps away. Jyll steps away with him.

Outside he checks the walkways and starts uphill, north of the student quarters, where two other figures are entering. “I think that’s where we’re supposed to go.”

“I’m sure someone will tell us if it’s not.” Jyll tilts her head, and her fine, dark brown hair, cut squarely at chin level, fluffs in the late afternoon breeze, then settles back.

Halfway to the dining building, Dorrin asks, “Where are you from?”

“Land’s End, like most of us.”

“Brede’s from the Feyn area.”

“Brede?”

“The big blond fellow with the deep voice.”

“He looks like a farmer or a Nordlan warrior.”

“He could probably be either, but he’s sharper than he looks.”

Jyll smiles. “Why did they send you here?”

“I kept telling my father that I wanted to build machines.”

“That’s scarcely grounds for exile.” She purses her lips. “Unless you really just wanted to build them for yourself.”

Dorrin flushes, but steps under the overhanging porch roof of the dining building and opens the door for Jyll.

“Thank you.”

Dorrin also holds the second door. The room contains six large circular wooden tables. At the far end of the room are two open doorways through which Dorrin can see the kitchen. A long serving table is set perhaps two cubits from the wall holding the doorways. Several of the other students from the introductory meetings are loading plates from the serving table.

Lortren sits at one of the tables, along with a thin older man, two other older students, Kadara, and the thin and gangly black-haired youth.

“You know her?” asks Jyll, her eyes focused on Kadara.

“Kadara? She is…was…my neighbor.” Dorrin forces a
chuckle. “Right now, she thinks it’s my fault she’s here.”

“Oh?” Jyll steps toward the serving table.

Dorrin follows, his voice low. “I wanted to learn how to be a smith, like her father, but I messed up some of his iron by turning it into black steel. So he got to know my father better. When Hegl had trouble with her, he asked my father what to do.”

“All right.” The dark-haired girl grins. “I just thought I’d ask. Do you like her?”

Dorrin blushes again, caught off-guard by the question.

“Never mind. I think you answered the question.”

Dorrin follows Jyll’s example and picks up one of the heavy gray plates. From the serving platters, he takes two slices of heavy dark bread, some white cheese, a mostly ripe pearapple, and a large helping of a stew that probably has too much pepper in it. He passes by the platter of mixed greens, and pours himself a glass of redberry.

Jyll, on the other hand, takes only the smallest helping of stew and piles on the greens, sprinkling them with an apple vinegar. She sits at one of the two empty tables, and Dorrin, after glancing at Lortren’s table, where the gangly youth is leaning toward Kadara, sits beside Jyll.

He takes a sip of the redberry, warmer than he prefers. “If it’s not intruding…what’s your family like?”

She finishes crunching a mixture of celery and sliced fennel before answering. “My father is a trader in wools. My mother was a singer from Suthya. I don’t have any brothers or sisters, yet.”

Dorrin frowns. The words imply that her mother is dead, and that her father has another wife who may yet have children. “I take it that was a little difficult.”

“It was fun growing up, even if I only had a nurse. Father took me on his trips to Freetown. I had my own horses, and he even let me learn blades from one of the retired Guards. What about you?”

“My life was much less adventuresome. My father is an air wizard, and my mother is a healer. I’ve never been much farther from home than here, at least in person.” Dorrin takes a spoonful of the hot stew, followed by a mouthful of the black bread.

“In person?”

“…mmmhhh…” He waves a hand and swallows. “When
you follow the winds, you send your mind out. Not that I’m very good at it. That’s the problem. Father wants me to work at being an air wizard, when I’m probably a better healer or a smith than an air wizard.” Dorrin sees Kadara’s eyes flicker from him to Jyll. The redhead’s face is impassive. Why should Kadara should be upset? She was the one who marched off and left him.

“Do you mind if we join you?” asks a petite strawberry-blond girl with pale green eyes. With her stand two others, plates in hand—a brown-haired youth as tall as Brede and a slender black-haired girl taller than Kadara.

“No…please do…” offers Dorrin.

“We should get to know each other. I’m Jyll.”

“Dorrin.”

“I’m Alys,” responds the strawberry blond.

“Shendr,” adds the brown-haired big youth.

“Lisabet.” The tall girl looks away from Dorrin’s direct appraisal and sets down her plate with a
clunk
.

“This isn’t much better than peasant fare.” Alys slides her chair up to the table.

“But there’s plenty,” mumbles Shendr with a full mouth.

Lisabet eats slowly from a plate filled, like Jyll’s, mainly with greens, cheese, and fruits. Her big hazel-green eyes seem unfocused.

Dorrin looks away from the tall girl and takes another spoonful of stew.

“…really can’t belief that they can get away with this…You think a thought of your own, and they want to throw you off the island…” Alys continues talking to Shendr as Shendr continues shoveling in his meal.

Dorrin munches on the not-quite-ripe pearapple.

“You never finished telling why your father sent you here,” prompts Jyll.

“I guess because he feels that all machines are linked to chaos. I think that you can blend order and machines, but everyone thinks that will lead to chaos. I know it won’t, but they don’t listen.”

Dorrin wonders what part her father’s new wife played in Jyll’s departure. “I take it your father found another woman?”

“Father? Let’s say that she found him. She’s also a singer, of
sorts, and very devoted to him.” Jyll takes the last bite of greens.

Dorrin munches through the last of the black bread.

“Where are you from?” asks Shendr, from above a plate that is so clean the gray glaze of the earthenware almost glistens. “I’ve met Jyll before.”

“Extina,” offers Dorrin.

“I haven’t met her,” says Alys, adding quickly, “I’m from Alaren.”

“I’ve spent most of my time on Recluce in Land’s End,” answers Jyll.

“That’s a strange way of putting it. Have you traveled a lot?”

“I’ve been to Freetown and Hydolar and Tyrhavven,” explains Jyll.

Lisabet continues to chew slowly on the remaining greens before her.

Dorrin wonders at the odd grouping of the so-called students. Alys and Jyll both seem from a somewhat indulged background, yet Brede and Shendr seem almost common in background. Not dull, but common. And Kadara is bright and willful, but neither indulged nor privileged. Finally, he speaks. “Lisabet, why do you think you are here?”

The tall girl finishes her mouthful of greens, then takes a sip of redberry from her mug. “I would suspect that all of us are present because in our inner selves we do not accept the way things are on Recluce.”