Vergence (32 page)

Whereas Elouphe struggled with mundane objects like seats and stairways, Ebryn felt constantly crowded-in on all sides when not in his room. The sheer number of people and the constant noise they produced unsettled him nearly as much as the daily challenges faced by Elouphe.

The arena turned out to be a broad circular room built from large blocks of solid dark grey stone. Banks of shallow daises ran around the perimeter, facing in towards the centre. Each lay a third of a yard above the one below, and extended back a couple of yards, seemingly designed to accommodate all kinds of body shapes.

An anaemic light filtered down from dozens of small apertures in the ceiling, and torches sputtered on the end of regularly spaced posts, creating an uneven gloom.

There seemed to be no particular order to the seating. The other students fanned out and sat in small clumps arranged around the side of the chamber nearest the entrance, so Ebryn led the way to a clear space a few rows above the central floor, and settled down to wait.

As the stragglers passed under the entrance arch, a tall woman in dark grey robes walked briskly to the centre of the room. She had dark hair, tied back by a silver ringlet, which fell half-way to her waist, and the sleeves on her robes had been shortened to reveal her arms below the elbow. To Ebryn's eyes, she appeared to be the youthful side of middle age.

She waited with her hands on her hips until the last person had a seat and the chatter had died away, then tipped a black stone orb onto the floor. It rolled a short distance, hissing and sparking, before coming to rest a few yards from the feet of the nearest students.

As it settled, a shape coalesced above it — a complex pattern of glowing lines connecting hundreds of small spheres to each other against a fainter background of a partially transparent red-gold flowing outline in a shape that reminded Ebryn of the trunk, and branches, of a tree.

When she spoke, her voice carried effortlessly to the back of the chamber.

“So, my name is Deme DeLare and I am one of three heads of the Questers chapter in the Genestuer order. Twelve Vergence years ago I sat where you are now, fresh from Cassadia, having just been chosen by Elector Tenlier. In that time I have risen to a position on the Genestuer council. With hard work and skill you might one day achieve the same.”

She paused as a straggler entered the room, and found a seat.

“Let’s start … can anyone tell me what this is?” Deme asked, pointing at the orb.

“It’s a kind of glamour,” someone near the front called out.

“You're partially right, but more specifically, this is a navigation globe. When it’s deployed, it produces a map of the Ultraterea. It’s very beautiful and enormously useful. It's also essential if you want to find your way from sphere to sphere, that is, from world to world. It holds a complex illusory glamour that shapes to the user — so each of you might see or hear, or feel something different, if you were to use it.”

Deme approached the floating pattern and touched it lightly and for the briefest moment Ebryn thought he heard a faint whispering sound in his ears, but it was too far away to make out.

“Some of you may have heard or felt something when I touched one of the points on this map. Each segment is like a small library, holding a complete range of useful details.”

She turned abruptly on her heels, and walked to the other end of the floor space.

“But I’m not here to discuss the secrets of the Hemetuen. Nearly everything a caster does is directly bound to the reality of this you see represented before you. Rarely do you find a caster with a natural talent which allows them to express some power directly. Those few who can are seldom capable of anything more significant than creating a brief light, moving a small object, or performing a minor glamour.

“The true art of casting allows us to do much more than these simple things, which could easily be the work of one skilled in legerdemain. Does anybody here know how we achieve elevations in the power and utility of our art?”

Deme turned and walked back to the navigation globe, ignoring the raised hands around her.

“The Ultraterea, commonly called the between, has this peculiar quality which is that each of these spheres, including the one holding Vergence — this city — stands a mere hair's breadth distance from all the others. And yet, even as this is true we find there is an endless void between each, a space so vast it could easily swallow entirely all the realities and leave a mighty gulf besides. Do any of you have knowledge of the different types of spheres and their properties?”

She paced across the room again, once more ignoring the upraised hands.

“Here we have the core, and the main branches. Inside and close to this core are the realms of the ephemera. Beyond this exists a very narrow region where the spheres are fervent — rich in power and possibilities. Beyond these, along the expanding trunks, are the clement, and brumal spheres. Further again are the barren. As you move outwards from the core, you will find casting becomes increasingly harder, and unpredictable. In barren worlds there is no casting. Likewise, close to the ephemeral realms, you may find casting challenging.

“So, if you are a wayfarer or prospector of the Hemetuen order, you will be trained to recognise the differences between the different natures of the places you travel. I would advise you to pay careful attention to these lessons. Barely a year passes in which we do not lose a student who mistakes an ephemeral sphere for a fervent, or stumbles into a barren — beyond hope of return or rescue.

“For the rest of us, we have another reason to be interested in what the navigation globe shows. Some of you may have heard the term affinity bandied about, referring to a caster with a particular strength or inclination in some aspect of the craft?

“The reality is we each have an affinity. The foundation of what we do, however minimal, which separates us from those who lack the craft, is our ability to form a bond between here and the stuff of the ephemeral planes, twisting threads of ephemera together to do things. It is as simple, and as difficult, as that — an affinity for the ephemera.

“Naturally, most are limited in what they can do, but to get into this academy as an apprentice, a master must have seen in you the potential for development. Our ambition is to add breadth and depth to your skills, refine and hone your talents.

“Good. So before I turn to today’s demonstration I am obliged to caution you. Many of you will already know the rules we follow, but for those who do not: true summoning is strictly forbidden. Likewise any kind of binding to a living vessel. Should you attempt such a foolhardy venture, and survive, you will at best be expelled from your order, and driven from Vergence. Do not attempt either, if you wish to continue here. Naturally, you are bound by all the same laws of Vergence that apply to everybody else. Some of you may come from places with different laws and traditions — those are not relevant here, and ours are enforced with vigour.

“So, now I will be demonstrating what can be achieved with a mastery of the finer points of our craft.”

She picked up the navigation globe and the multi-coloured display vanished.

“For this I will need a volunteer,” Deme said, scanning the audience.

This time only a few raised their hands. A nervous silence settled across the chamber.

“A red, I think. We are fortunate to live in peaceful times, so many of you will not have witnessed the power of the Aremetuet military order.”

She stopped in front of Marus Romain. “How about you? You displayed prodigious power at the assessment.”

Marus was on his feet before she’d finished talking. He took the steps two at a time and stood at the far side of the floor, smirking broadly. Under his ruby-coloured cloak he wore heavy studded leather that looked suspiciously like armour. Out of the corner of his eye, Ebryn noticed Paz looking visibly tense. Her hands were so tightly clenched in front of her they'd turned white.

Deme faced him from the opposite side of the floor. “Whenever you are ready.”

Even without the use of far-sensing, Ebryn felt the build-up of the casting. Marus's arms performed a complex pattern of movements, and he intoned an invocation in a rhythm matching his gestures.

By the count of five, Ebryn could feel a barely sensed flow, like some invisible shoreline undertow, dragging towards Marus, and within moments a brilliant arc of crackling white light formed in the space between his hand.

Deme stood facing Marus, without any kind of protective ward or shield. Ebryn caught himself half out of his seat, the words of a ward on his lips.

“Wait, my friend, we must watch,” Addae said in a low voice, placing a restraining hand on his arm.

Deme turned away from Marus and looked up at the rows of apprentices. “So much power. Easily enough to kill a strong man.”

“Twenty men,” Marus said, sneering.

Deme waved a hand, and like a candle flame blown out by a gust of wind, the pulsing energy between Marus's hands fell apart, scattering into an expanding cloud of white glowing embers, each fading rapidly, leaving nothing behind.

“Once more, please,” Deme said, facing back towards him. “And this time with feeling.”

His face colouring, teeth bared, Marus started again. Ebryn could almost feel the rage pouring into the casting — crackling with force, producing stark shadows across the chamber, too brilliant to look at directly.

Deme waited, appearing relaxed. She made no move to stop Marus this time. Marus wore a predatory expression, eyes glinting in the fierce light. The attack came without warning, flashing across the centre of the room with a violent ripping sound. And Deme caught it in the palm of her hand.

For long moments it held, a blinding arc, spitting and crackling, suspended in the air between Deme and Marus.

As abruptly as it had appeared, it was gone, and Marus stepped back, shaking with the strain.

“Good. That's enough,” Deme said. “You may sit down.”

Marus remained where he was, face now almost the colour of his robes, and a snarl forming on his lips. Ebryn felt the flow of force, gathering in towards Marus, the first lightning flickers forming around his hands.

“That's enough — sit down,” Deme said again. This time the words came from her mouth like a lash, raw with power, and Marus rocked backwards as if struck.

The force of her casting washed over the room like a dousing of ice water. Marus returned to his seat like a drunken man, tripping over the feet of fellow students, and lurching from side to side.

“So, who understands what I did there?” Deme asked, moving around the floor again. “No? I used the deeper craft to control another's casting. Once you can do this, the inner nature of what we do is revealed to you, and you have achieved the beginning of mastery.

“Much of what we will explore in these lessons is about improvement of your craft. So we learn what is common to all casting, not methods specific to any of the orders. Do you understand?”

Deme stood in the middle of the room, looking around the chamber, at the rows of faces.

“So, let us begin with a few simple mind exercises.”

The Eirie

E
BRYN FOUND SASH
sitting on the low wall outside the Westerwall tavern. A small crowd of young children gathered around her, watching, a few at the rear looking back to where something splashed in the fountain in the centre of the square.

Half expecting to see Elouphe paddling in the water, he found instead a sleek body covered in silvery blue scales tussling with a monstrous mass of black tentacles, like a fish fighting with some kind of gruesome octopus. The water in the fountain was too shallow for the fight playing out, but it all looked real, and very dramatic.

The children closest to her looked fascinated, all wide eyes over open mouths. Ebryn approached silently to see what she was showing them.

As he neared, Leth swooped down and landed awkwardly on his shoulder, scrabbling briefly for purchase, digging painfully sharp claws into his shoulder, and clamping jaws onto his hair for balance. By the time Leth's wings were out of his face, Sash had finished, and all he could see was a faint silvery trace of something small flying above their heads.

Leth settled, hissing loudly in his ear, slowly turning the colour of molten gold. A dozen pairs of eyes in grubby faces watched him.

“Look, here comes a real caster,” Sash said. “See, he's turning my dragon to gold — quick, run before he turns you all to gold too.”

Children scattered ahead of him, some squealing so loudly he feared the noise might bring drinkers from the tavern.

Sash hopped off the wall, laughing. “Isn't it wonderful here?”

She appeared to be about to take his arm, the way she did with Addae, but at the last moment seemed to change her mind, and held out a hand for Leth instead.

The thrashing in the pool subsided, the combatants vanishing beneath the surface with the barest ripple, leaving a perfectly smooth surface. Drenched patches on the ground, where the fight had splashed great gouts of water over the rim, faded slowly, revealing dry flagstones as the illusion dissolved.