"Then why can't a Sorcerer do weaves on himself?" he pressed. "All he has to do is resist his own attempt to drain, or feed off of the power he's trying to push into himself."
"Ah, but in both instances, there is a catch," she told him. "If you try to feed off of the power you channel into yourself, then what happens when you stop drawing from the Weave?"
"You--ohh," he said. "You cut off your own power, and then your spell fizzles."
"Precisely. No matter how you try to balance the feeding with the restraining, they will always cancel one another."
"What if you only try to feed off of a little of your energy?"
"What indeed? You should already know the answer, dear one."
He thought about it a long moment. "I guess you can't," he said. "If you try to feed off of only a portion of the energy, you're working harder to feed yourself a little bit of power that you get back. So you have to make it stronger, which makes you have to cut back on drawing power, but you can't do that, because if you do you lose that power to make weaves. You could never put enough power into it to make it work."
"A bit long winded, but essentially correct, Tarrin," she commended. "No matter how you try to balance it, you cannot get back more energy than what you are expending on yourself. To be absolutely technical, you can weave spells on yourself using this technique, but the flow of power would be like a slow drip of water trying to fill up the bathing pool. You would grow a span of hair by the time the weave showed any signs of effect. And since it is a sustained process, you would exhaust yourself and have to stop long before you so much as dampened the pool's bottom."
Tarrin laughed. "I guess that make it a bit inefficient."
"The draining aspect is just a little bit more difficult to understand. When you try to drain from yourself, you are reversing the energy flow through the strand, but you are still expending that energy to enact the drain. Remember when you asked me about trying to overcharge a weave? Where does that energy go?"
"Well," he said, thinking about a moment. Then he thought about it some more. "Doesn't it dissipate back into the Weave?"
"Yes, that is what happens. You do not get that energy back. It disspates into the Weave. Think about it, dear one. You are expending energy to drain energy away from yourself. You lose that energy, and then must replace it with more energy, which is used to try to drain away that same energy. You are pushing and pulling on something at the same time, and when you do that, it does not move. The harder you push, the harder the counter will pull. And all the while, you are drawing more and more energy that is doing nothing but making you draw more energy. It is a feedback cycle that causes you to eventually let go of the Weave to avoid injuring yourself."
"Oh, I see," he said.
"That is not an absolute, Tarrin. There are certain instances when a Sorcerer can weave flows on himself, and that is when he is holding power from all seven Spheres. When he, in effect, becomes a strand rather than a flow. And that can only be done using Ritual Sorcery, because the sphere of Confluence, or green, will only draw out under extreme magical power. To even be able to touch Confluence takes considerable power."
"I take it you don't know why that works that way either?"
"Not yet," she smiled.
"I have a question."
"Go ahead, dear one."
"You said that flows can't affect each other. Well then, how do weaves with more than one flow produce an effect? I mean, they can't affect each other."
She laughed. "You are making me work, dear one," she chided, "but you ask very insightful questions. Each flow cannot affect each other, but they can affect the energies that each one releases. The way a weave is woven together is critical to the working of the weave. The weaving dictates how, when, and at what strengths the energies of individual flows are released, and that very intricate process is what welds those energies together to form a specific effect." She raised her hand again, and he saw two flows, red and yellow, flow out of a strand and merge over her hand. This time, the merging was very slow, unlike the first time, and he saw the specific way that the flows were tied in with each other. Then the flows generated an effect, a small ball of pale white light that hovered over her palm, fed by two separate tendrils that linked it back to the strand. Those two tendrils drifted towards each other, touched, then wrapped around each other to form a twisted cord of sorts, although each tendril was most definitely separate. Just like the strands in a rope were individual cords woven together to form a larger one. "Do you see?"
"Yes," he said, studying it.
"That is a common effect. Separate flows that feed the same weave do that. Again, we do not know exactly why."
"So, you're feeding it energy?"
"Yes. Instead of constantly drawing it in and then releasing it, now I am a gate. The energy flows through me and into the weave. It is feeding itself, but I regulate that power. If I cease concentrating on it, the gate closes--" the little ball vanished--"and the weave dissipates."
"That's what you were talking about when you were saying how a Sorcerer can manipulate energy."
"Yes and no," she said. "The ability to sustain a weave is a learned ability yes, and it is an aspect of that ability to manipulate. Yet it is still dependent on the amount of power you can hold. You cannot sustain a weave that you could not create in the first place. It is easier to sustain a weave than it is to create it, because it does not involve an active use of power, but you had to create it first."
"Can you sustain one weave and then make another?"
"Yes," she told him. "It takes practice, for you have to concentrate to hold the first together while you weave the second. It is a skill you will learn over time. The most skilled of us can work with many weaves at the same time, and some can even create multiple weaves simultaneously, though this is exceptionally difficult. My mentor could build twenty seperate flows and sustain them all. That was quite an accomplishment."
"Huh," he said, looking around. "Why can I see them now, anyway? I could never see them before."
"Because I am making them visible," she told him. "I have been sustaining that weave this whole time." The strands fluttered, then disappeared from view. "When you are touching the Weave, you can see them. You do not necessarily have to see them to weave flows together, but you can always see the strands while you are in contact with the Weave, and you must be able to see your target to direct them."
"And that's all there is to it?"
"That is all there is to it," she smiled. "It is a very simple concept, and I believe that is why so many have trouble. Often, the simplest things are the hardest to understand."
"I'm not so sure about that," he said.
"Alright then," she smiled, "where does the sun rise every morning?"
"In the east," he said.
"Why?"
He gave her a confused look. "It is a simple thing, Tarrin. The sun rises every morning, and it rises in the east. Why?"
"Because, well, because it does."
"Why?"
"It just does."
"Why?"
She was getting on his nerves. "I have no idea. It just does."
"Yes, it just does," she said a delicate little smile. "A simple thing, yet it the why of it is beyond most of us."
"Do you know?"
"I have no idea, dear one," she laughed. "I simply accept it." She made the Weave visible again, then drew out the six flows for his eyes. "As you know, these are the six spheres. Do you know which is which?"
"Well, fire is red," he said. "I figured that out already."
"Correct. Fire is red. Water is violet. Earth is indigo. Air is yellow. Blue is mind, or the power of thought and will. Orange is divine power, and green is confluence. Each sphere represents a primal force in our world. Four of them are physical, and the other three are not. Earth, air, fire, and water, the four elements. The power of the mind and that of the Goddess, or divine power, are not physical, but are very much still powerful forces that sha
pe our world. The power of Confluence binds these six powers together and gives them a unified purpose. Do you remember the symbol of the katzh-dashi in the upper chamber? How the green circle enclosed the other six?"
Tarrin nodded. "I noticed that they all touched it."
"Yes, that represents the binding power of Confluence. When all seven are joined, they become strands, or white. Which is the white star in the center. When all seven join, they create a whole stronger than the sum of the individual parts. That is a representation of what sets us apart from all other orders of magic, forming circles. Unlike the Wizards, Priests, and Druids, we can directly link our powers together to form a magical force stronger than the sum of the powers of each individual Sorcerer. It takes a circle to manipulate the power of Confluence, of binding, which is the most powerful of the spheres, and as such is the most difficult to control. It is a very resistant sphere, fighting against outside influence at all times."
"I guess that makes sense," he said.
"You will study that in detail once you are raised to the green," she said. "Forming circles is the last stage of your instruction." She glanced at the candles, the ones that replaced the last set at lunchtime, which were very nearly burned down to nothing. "I think we can stop here for today," she said. "You will practice those centering exercises tonight, dear one," she said. "If I feel you are ready, tomorrow I will guide you into touching the Weave yourself. Perhaps even attempt a weave."
"Alright," he said. "Do you think I'm doing alright, Dolanna?"
She laughed sweetly. "Tarrin, my dear one, I think you understand more than Initiates that have been here for a year," she said. "What I told you today was very short," she admitted. "I did not explain a great, great many things, for I wanted to test your natural understanding of the Weave, yet you made the connections on you own. And you passed with flying colors. You seem to understand things that take months for others to comprehend. Most would never have asked the questions you ask, and many more would not understand the answers. Like I told you once before, you are a natural. I have every confidence that you will amaze the Tower with your progression." She reached up and tapped his ear, which flicked involuntarily under her light touch. "And this is the reason I will allow you to progress so quickly."
"How do you mean?"
"Sorcery requires mental concentration and control, but what it requires most is willpower," she told him. "You must exert your will on the Weave in order to make it do what you want it to do. Because of your change, you posses tremendous will, and despite what you believe, you have a great deal of control over your own mind. Most other Initiates would spend rides, months, sometimes even years, building up the basic mental control and will to use the Weave. You already have that. You earned it while learning how to deal with your dual nature. Because you already have a very forceful mind, I think you would be capable of exercising yourself against the Weave."
"I hope so," he sighed. "I just don't want to feel lost, and I don't want to sit in here for a few months."
She patted his arm, her dark eyes warm and reassuring. "Trust me, dear one," she said. "You will do fine." He didn't tell her the other reason, that the faster he learned Sorcery, the faster he could use it to his own ends. To find out who was after him, find out what the Keeper and the Tower wanted of him, and another tool to use against those who were trying to kill him. "You are released. Report back to this room tomorrow at dawn."
"Thank you, Dolanna," he said, standing up.
"Mistress Dolanna," she said with a slight smile.
"Whatever," he winked at her. A little bit of insubordination was perfectly acceptable between friends. At least he felt so.
Back in his room, he considered Dolanna's words, and privately rejoiced in the fact that she was the one teaching him. Because she already knew him so well, that allowed her to do exactly what she did. And it seemed that would allow him to not spend day after day sitting there doing stupid mental exercises. Thinking of exercises, Tarrin changed into his leathers and picked up his staff, feeling its comfortable weight. Allia had been itching to get back onto the training field, and he was too. At that moment, Sorcery was the last thing on his mind. After two months without a workout, he felt rusty. He knew that Allia would think of that first thing after being released from her class, just as he had. He opened the adjoining door and went into her room, but found it empty, and the fading scent told him he had not been there since the morning. He wrote her a short note telling her where he would be, then he left through his own room and hurried out towards the sand-floored exercise grounds where the cadets of the Knights spent their days in training.
The day was cool and sunny, with a ridge of flat clouds standing to the west. The Skybands were wearing their customary day colors, the faint dull white, and Dommammon, the White Moon, was showing in the blue sky as a thin crescent. Although it was well into fall, coming on winter, the air was still quite comfortable. Back in Aldreth, he had no doubt that they'd already had their first snow. The village, being in the foothills of the Skydancer Mountains, tended to get snow earlier than Torrian, which was only 3 days to the southwest. His father had told him that Suld, being on the coast, had a much milder climate than the inlands of Sulasia. It did get cold, and snow and even having the harbor ice up were not uncommon, but the icebound time was not very long. Snow only piled up for about a month during winter, and then the first stages of early spring would melt it. It was the winter that was unusual, for it took winter more time to settle around Suld than it did most of the rest of Sulasia, even those areas to the south. Eron Kael suspected that the Tower had something to do about that.
The training area was populated, which was normal for this time in the afternoon, full of young men wearing leather jerkins and holding wooden swords, practicing forms, sparring with each other, or thrusting or chopping at the numerous wooden posts that were staked into the sandy ground. Surrounding and interspersed with these cadets were the Knights in their mail shirts, giving instruction, correcting mistakes, or punishing cadets for bad errors. Some of the faces, Tarrin recognized. Most he did not.
One cadet stood out, literally, among those on the field. He was a young man, that was obvious from his face, but the young man towered over the other cadets and Knights as if they were children, and he was almost a head taller than Tarrin. Tarrin was amazed at that, for few humans could look him in the eye. The young man had chocolate brown skin, even darker than Dar's swarthy complexion, was more than an axe handle wide across the shoulder, and had arms that looked like gnarled tree trunks. As Tarrin walked up to the edge of the grounds, the young man just kept getting bigger and bigger. He wasn't just tall. He was awesomely developed, and Tarrin had no doubt that the young man was monstrously strong. He swung his practice sword with a calm, calculated efficiency that came with long hours of practice.
A mop of dark curly hair sprouted from a rank of cadets, and Faalken appeared at the edge of them. Wearing a battered mail shirt and a pair of undyed leather breeches, the burly, jovial Knight recognized him and rushed over, his wide, cheeky face beaming. Tarrin smiled warmly and took Faalken's hand when he reached him. "By Karas, it's good to see you again, Tarrin!" he said in a joyful voice. "We heard you'd come back, but they didn't tell us you'd be returning to the grounds."
"They didn't tell me I could," he replied, "but they didn't say that I couldn't, either."
Faalken laughed. "You may get in trouble. You're supposed to be devoting yourself to your magical training."
"They can get as mad as they want," he shrugged. "Besides, I was told that my time outside of class is my own. They didn't put any kind of restriction on it." He glanced at the monster of a man. "Who is that?"
"His name is Azakar," Faalken replied. "He came from Arak."
"Arak!" Tarrin gasped.
Faalken nodded. "He's an escaped slave. He was one of their gladiators, and somehow managed to get free while he was being moved from one Arakite city to Dala Yar Arak. From what we know, he
managed to get passage on a Wikuni clipper, and wound up here. Someone that speaks Araki helped get him into the service on the docks as a laborer. He learned our language out on the docks. Not long after you left, he showed up at the gates and asked for the chance to become a Knight. He's good, Tarrin. He was still in training when he escaped, but he learns fast. We have trouble training him," Faalken chuckled. "I use the troll-skin gloves when I work with him. I'm not used to my students being stronger than me."
"Cheater," Tarrin teased. The cadets, those who did not know him, were now only half paying attention to their work, for they were staring at him as much as they could get away with. "How have things been for you?"
"Oh, the same," he smiled. "Dolanna hasn't been out, so I've been amusing myself on the training grounds." He chuckled. "More like getting my backside tanned. Allia has been teaching us some of her technique. We've decided to integrate some of it into our training."
"Not a bad idea."
"Our armor keeps us from getting exotic, but it's always good to know some unarmed combat. Just in case you lose your sword. Allia helped us come up with some moves and forms that work with our armor. I've gotten pretty good at parrying with my forearm guards," he said. "That wouldn't help me against someone using a broadsword, but it works pretty well against Allia and her shortswords."
"Why not?"
"Broadsword? It'd break my arm," he replied.
"Oh, yes. I forgot, you humans are fragile things."
"You just keep talking," he warned with a grin. "I've got the gloves right now."
Tarrin grinned back, nudging him with his elbow. "I know. I can smell them."
The Tower of Sorcery Page 56