Salamander (3 page)

He stopped, looked into the silence, and recalled hearing the same words, in the same lecture hall, when he was a student. He had thought it a striking figure of speech at the time.

“Nobody can knock down a castle wall with his hand. But when walls come down, it is hands that do it. Hands build siege engines, dig mines, bribe traitors. The greatest hero cannot split an oak tree with a blow of his hand. But human hands split the oak to make the benches you sit on.

“You have had hands your whole life long, so they no longer seem wonderful to you. But try to imagine what it would be like if you had to figure out for the first time how five fingers could bring down a tree, or dig a hole, or start a fire, or draw water from a well.

“A mage must learn to use magic as a child might learn to use his hand.”

He again looked down at his notes, let silence build before continuing. “We start with a simple problem. The Forstings have seized Northpass castle and the king is sieging it to get it back. The Forsting defenders have sent a messenger off. He is several miles down the road, too far for pursuit to catch him. If he and his message get safe to the enemy army on the far side of the pass, they will come to the rescue of the defenders and the siege will fail. Perhaps the war will be lost.

“You are a fire mage. You do not have a great deal of power—no mage does—and the greater the distance over which you must work the less the power you can apply. How might you stop the messenger? How use fire to keep the message from reaching its destination? ”

The lecture hall was silent as he looked out over the room. Eventually one of the students raised his hand. “Burn the messenger up?”

The magister shook his head. One student who had not been listening. “That requires a great deal of fire, more than any mage has.”

“Burn just his head or his heart—that would be enough to kill him.”

“Better; if he were standing next to you and you were strong enough it might do. But if he were standing next to you there would be no need of magery. At a distance of some miles, no. You are trying to knock a castle wall down with your hand.”

Another student raised his hand. Magister Bertram recognized him, by his dress and rawboned height, as the farm boy Magister Dag had discovered and recommended to the college—one of the stronger mages among the new students, whatever his other limits.

“Follow after the messenger, quick as you can. First night on the road, set fire to the hay in the stable where his horse is. Hay’s dry, won’t take much to kindle it.”

“Much better. But the messenger might buy another horse.”

The third hand raised was a tall girl, very well dressed. Also strikingly good looking.
“Eight miles past Northpass Keep the road forks at Fire Mountain. The main road goes on to Berio, which is where the enemy army probably is, or at least its commander. The other branch ends at the village of Efkic, fifteen miles away, where the old road to the pass was blocked by lava flows a century or so back. There are wooden sign posts at the fork with the names of the towns burned into them.

“It should take the messenger at least an hour to reach the fork; that gives you plenty of time to burn a few extra lines, changing EFKIC into BERIO, and BERIO into BERTOL. Send a squad of cavalry to the fork to intercept the messenger when he finally discovers he has gone the wrong way and turns back.”

There was silence, half the class looking at the girl, half watching the magister for his response. He had to think a moment; it was not an answer he had heard before. “An adequate solution, provided that the wood of the sign is dry and the messenger does not know the road.”

The magister turned to the class. “Consider the lesson. There is no one problem you will face, and no one answer to be learned. It is up to the mage to find the best way of using his talent to achieve his goal. It does not take much to startle a horse. There might be a bend at some place in the road where a rider who loses control for a few seconds goes over the edge of a cliff. To a mage, knowledge is power. All knowledge.”

He hesitated a moment, then realized that the girl’s answer fitted neatly into his prepared closing. “Even knowledge of how the road signs read in a fork in the road eight miles north of Northpass Keep.”

He gestured to the slate; spoke a Word under his breath. “Knowledge. Always knowledge,” appeared on it.

As the students drifted out of the lecture hall into the corridor, Ellen and Mari were joined by a third girl, named Alys.

“Did you make it up? Is there really a signpost eight miles north of the castle?” Alys asked.

Mari smiled and said nothing, then relented. “As a matter of fact there is. My horse went lame there last year, when we were guesting with the Castellan. I had to walk him back. Eight miles.”

“I was hoping you had made it up. Magister Bertram would never have caught you; he’s an old stick. Coelus and Simon are much cuter.”

The boy who had suggested burning down the stable joined the three girls,
introducing
himself as Jon.
“Very clever of you, my lady–changing the sign. Would never have thought of it.”

“I would never have thought of setting fire to the stable. Mine only worked because I happened to know that place, by accident.”

Ellen shook her head. “Nothing works everywhere. Jon’s solution works more places than yours does. But yours was very clever, because you had to see that one word could be changed to another. It wouldn’t work, because no fire mage could burn lines into the sign from miles away, but it was very clever. Which makes it a good example of Magister Bertram’s point.”

Alys looked puzzled. “What do you mean? What point?”

“That the successful use of magic depends not only on arcane knowledge but on knowledge of everything. Mari happened to know something about the road north of Northpass keep. Jon knew about the risks of fire in a stable. A great mage will figure out how to use what he happens to know.”

Alys interrupted: “I know that messages are usually written on paper, and paper can burn. But that seemed like too easy an answer.”

Mari nodded. “I expect that it is harder to light a bundle of folded paper in the wallet at the messenger’s side than a wisp of straw. And it only works if the messenger doesn’t know what is in the message he is carrying. But if there are guard posts the messenger may need a letter of passage to get through them, and that burns too.”

* * *

Three days later, Mari and Ellen were seated in the small orchard at the south end of the College, sharing a luncheon platter of bread, apples, a sausage, and a chunk of cheese. Edwin passed by, but seemed hesitant to join them.
Mari whispered to Ellen, who turned and waved him over. "Come share with us; Mari brought more than we can eat, and this cheese of hers is really good."

Edwin smiled a little shyly, hesitating. "Yes, do come,” Mari chimed in, “it's much nicer here than back in the refectory and we do have plenty." Doubly invited he gave in, walked over, and sat down. The southern boundary of the orchard was a low brick wall, just beyond it the inner surface of the containment dome. Ellen, turning back to Mari, pointed to it, as Edwin cut himself a slice of apple. "What do you see when you look at it?"

Mari thought a moment. "A wall of bright mist. How can the apple trees grow so well?
Doesn't it keep them from getting enough sunlight?"

Ellen shook her head. "It doesn't stop the light, just the seeing. The dome is a barrier against magic. Some theorists think seeing is magical, for how else can we know what is happening far away just from the light that reaches our eyes? That's one of the arguments for the theory that even animals have a tiny bit of magic, since they can see too. If the light gets through and the magic doesn't, the trees are fine."

"So if something sucked all of the magic out of you, you would be blind?" That was Edwin, talking through a mouthful of bread and apple. Ellen hesitated a moment before responding:

"Maybe. There isn't any easy way of sucking magic out of a person, or any way of getting all of it. If seeing is magical, it must be a very deep kind. I'm not sure it is magic, anyway. Mother says the dome just scrambles the light and magic has nothing to do with why we see it that way."

"How do you see it?" That was Mari.

Ellen hesitated a moment, closed her eyes, opened them, squinted. "Mostly, as a wall of woven fire, but if I try hard to block my perception and just use my eyes, it's a wall of mist, just as you said."

Edwin finished chewing his current mouthful, spoke. "I like your explanations, Ellen. They’re very clear. Tell me, do you think Magister Coelus believes in elementals, or not. From what he says, I can't tell."

Ellen considered the matter briefly. "The first question is what you mean by elementals. There are three answers. One of them Magister Coelus doesn't believe in, one he isn't sure, and one he believes in absolutely."

"You are talking in riddles, just as he does." Mari lifted a reproachful finger at Ellen. "Explain."

"The first kind of elementals are the ones in stories, magical beings associated with the four elements, sometimes friendly, sometimes not.
Little creatures the clever mage tricks into helping him, and the stupid or evil mage gets tricked by, or angers. Salamanders are supposed to live in fires, and every hearth has a little one that the clever child learns to talk to. Sylphs in the air, gnomes in the earth, undines in the water. Coelus would regard these as stories. So do I.
Anyway, no mage has ever provided a reliable report of one, even though the stories say they are everywhere."

"What of the elementals that do exist?" That was Mari.

"The third category exists, but only on paper. For the sort of material covered in Coelus’s advanced theory course, it is useful to have a symbol for pure fire, pure earth, or whatever. It’s cleaner and makes the calculations easier, and all modern theorists do it."

"So there aren't really any salamanders, any more than there is really a minus three, they’re just useful in doing accounts?" Edwin sounded disappointed.

Ellen shook her head. "There is a theorist, Olver—not at the college, but supposed to be very good—who has been working for decades on an overarching theory of magic, the sort of theory that would explain why there are four elements and four natures and why the whole pattern of magic works the way it does, and maybe the pattern of other things as well, all other things. His idea is to start with very simple basics and build everything else up from that. He hasn't quite managed to do it, but some smart people think he may have something. I expect if you asked Coelus, he would say so. A lot of what Coelus teaches comes from Olver's early work.

"Olver believes the elementals are real, and part of the structure of the world. But his are of the mathematical kind rather than the storybook kind. There is only one of each, of unlimited, if narrow, power. All the air magic in the world is based on the sylph; all the earth on the gnome. They may be beings, or perhaps more like forces of nature. And whatever they are, they are probably very dangerous."

Edwin motioned to speak, and Ellen paused to let him.
"When the Founder, Durilil, went looking for a salamander, what kind did he seek?"

"Durilil and Feremund were followers of Olver. Durilil went in search of the Salamander, Feremund in search of the Undine. They found Feremund's body—drowned, on high, dry ground, or so they say. Durilil they never found at all, not even a pile of ashes, and after that, no one else went looking."

They were all three quiet for a while after that, Mari and Edwin looking thoughtful, all three absorbed in finishing their lunch. When they had, Edwin thanked the two girls and excused himself to prepare for the fifth period lecture. After he had gone, Ellen turned to Mari. "He seems nice."

Mari nodded. "Not clever enough for you, or high born enough for me, but a nice boy, and pleasant company."

"You mean to marry? Is that what you think about when you meet boys?"

"One of the things. College is pleasant, but life is out there waiting for me."

There was another long silence; Ellen broke it. "Why are you here?"

Mari gave her a curious glance. "You think I shouldn't be?"

"You aren't really interested in magic, except that you find it as interesting as you find everything else. You aren't at all interested in the mathematics you need to properly understand it. You don't need it to make a living—you don't have to make a living. And this is not the best place to meet the kind of husband you want. I am glad you are here; you are the nicest person I have met here so far and one of the two most interesting. But I do not understand why you came."

"You remember,” Mari asked, “the first time we talked, I asked you about witches and mages?"

Ellen nodded.

"Well, father is very up to date, and witches are useful, especially healers. My brother would probably have died two years ago, or, had he lived, been a cripple, were it not for ours. But they are not entirely respectable. I don't mean it as an insult to you or to your mother, but if a noble admitted his daughter to be a witch he would be daring others to make something of it.

"Mages are different. The kingdom was founded by a mage king. His Majesty’s younger brother trained at the College and is supposed to have helped the King with all sorts of things. So when word spread that the College was training women as mages … ."