Ella thought for a moment. "Well, imperial drams are the same as ounces, and as far as I know there’s no difference between a Petryan ounce and an ounce anywhere else in the empire. You would know that, and I’ve never heard of a jeweller’s droplet in all my time working in the market." Her gaze met Master Lodley’s grey eyes. "I think all the measurements are the same." Her mind worked furiously. "But also they are all elements. So I think you’re asking me which element has a greater elemic weight. In order from lightest to heaviest they are phosphorous, sulphur, iron, silver and gold."
Master Lodley sat back in his chair. She couldn’t tell if he was impressed or not. Ella’s heart was racing. She had worked so hard to be here. She could afford to fail, not once.
"How would you measure the weight of a mountain if you only know its height?" Master Lodley said. He may have supported her earlier, but he wasn’t letting her off easy now.
Ella felt a pressure grow behind her temple. "I would measure the circumference of the mountain by walking around it and calculate its volume using the circumference and height. I would weigh a smaller volume of the mountain to estimate the density. Finally I would multiply density by volume to calculate the weight."
Master Lodley nodded. "Master Samson, would you like to go next?"
"Yes, of course," Master Samson said. His eyes regarded her under the heavy eyebrows. "How can you throw a ball as hard as you can and have it come back to you, even if it doesn’t bounce off anything? There is nothing attached to it, and no one else catches or throws it back to you."
Ella thought furiously. "Throw it up in the air?"
"Next question. You are in a room with no metal objects except for two iron rods. Only one of them has been given a magnetic charge. How can you tell which one of them is magnetic?"
Ella’s headache grew in intensity. She tried to work it out in her mind. If she brought the two iron rods close, they would both move together. So how would she know which one of them had the magnetic charge? Master Samson already said there were no other metal objects in the room. What other properties did magnets have? She suddenly remembered reading a book, A Brief Cartographical Analysis of Merralya, which described a mechanical device called a compass. Modern travellers generally used a seeker to help find their way, but in poorer lands an alternative to magic was found.
"I know! Hang them both from a piece of string. Whichever points in a north-south direction is the magnet. Is that it?"
Master Samson simply nodded. "My final question. How do moneylenders create gilden from nothing?"
Ella’s brow furrowed. She felt the headache grow until it was a pulsing pain that increased with each beating of her heart. "If I give one silver deen to a moneylender, and he promises to give me five cendeens every year as interest, then I still think I have one silver deen. But if someone else then comes and borrows my silver deen, then we both believe we have a deen, and there are two deens where before there were one."
Master Samson looked at the timepiece on the wall. "I am finished. Master Goss?"
Master Goss sat up in his chair. He looked at Ella down his nose. She was suddenly very worried about what he was going to ask her. "I am going to test you on your knowledge of lore, young lady. First," he quickly drew something on a sheet of paper, "what is this rune?"
Ella could barely see the symbol. She started to step forward.
"No, don’t come any closer."
Ella’s head pounded. "Asta?"
"You may come closer now."
Ella walked towards Master Goss and looked down at the symbol. She could see her guess was correct, and silently breathed a sigh of relief.
"Now, point to the whorl," Master Goss said. Ella pointed. "The bridge?" Ella circled it with her finger. "Mark out the hollow."
Ella looked up. "There are two hollows." She ran her finger along the dip on the left of the rune, then on the slight curve at the bottom."
"You may step back now. What is it the rune for?" Master Goss said.
"I… I think it’s a rune for colour," Ella said.
"What activation would you ascribe, if you wanted to use this rune in the creation of a nightlamp?" Master Goss asked.
"Tish-suka."
Master Goss looked satisfied.
Ella continued. "But you wouldn’t use asta without a tertiary chain. You’d end up having to darken the lamp by activating a sequence for darkness, which doesn’t make sense. One would instead include a sequence to deactivate the lamp."
Ella saw Master Lodley smile, and then attempt to cover it up.
"My final question," Master Goss said. "When will the Evermen return?"
Master Lodley coughed and choked. Ella opened her mouth and then closed it again. How was she supposed to answer? Did they want the kind of response a priest might give? Or was it another mental challenge?"
"Your time is up," said Master Goss. He smiled, but it wasn’t a friendly smile. "You may have some knowledge, young lady, but don’t forget that you also need faith."
Master Lodley looked up, evidently aware that the hidden figure in the mezzanine was listening. "You may go now, Ella. You can speak with Madam Foley regarding your tuition."
Ella’s eyes widened. "My tuition?"
"Yes, Ella, your tuition. Classes start on Lordsday."
Ella felt a thrill run through her. "Thank you!" she said to the masters. She beamed up at the mezzanine. One day she would learn who it was who could tell a man like Master Goss what to do. "Thank you," she said to the hidden heights.
Master Lodley gave her a hint of a smile in return. As the timepiece struck the hour, Ella left the room.
4
All this wealth and no use for it. Does it make you frustrated?
— Emperor Xenovere V to Primate Melovar Aspen, 543 Y.E.
THE sun beat down mercilessly. Miro blinked sweat out of his eyes, and then ducked instantly as one of his opponents took advantage of his lapse. The sword was close. Too close. He felt the nick as the razor sharp steel sliced into his temple. A small amount of blood burst out, but the flow was small.
"Fight on," said Blademaster Rogan.
If Miro had a cendeen for every time he had heard those words he would be a rich man, he thought sardonically.
"Concentrate!" his teacher called, though whether to him or to his opponents he wasn’t sure.
Saporo and Rimor gathered themselves. Saporo looked proud for scoring a hit. Still, Miro knew he was the less dangerous of the two, and kept an eye on Rimor. His two opponents spread apart, forcing Miro to take two steps back lest they outflank him.
Ringed around them, fifty novice swordsmen watched closely.
"Notice how Miro watches the eyes and the legs, not the hands or the arms. The eyes tell you what your enemy intends, the legs tell you how he will do it," said Rogan.
Rimor’s eyes flickered but Miro didn’t take the bait. Saporo waited, following his ally’s lead.
Miro didn’t know how, but he suddenly knew Rimor was about to step to the right. He waited for the first signs of Rimor’s movement. Then with reflexes like an adder, Miro was there to meet him. Saporo was behind Rimor for a split second and Miro seized his opportunity, ramming the hilt of his sword savagely into Rimor’s face, breaking his nose. Blood sprayed over the young man’s face, blinding him.
"Always use every part of your body, every part of your weapon. Miro is an adept at this; he uses his blade like an extension of his body."
Faster than the eye, Miro’s sword flashed at Rimor’s neck.
"Hold!" shouted Rogan Jarvish.
The sword touched the young man’s neck with the lightest of kisses, the razor sharp steel leaving a faint line on Rimor’s neck. What did Rogan think — that Miro was going to kill him? No. But Rimor’s mocking words hadn’t been forgotten, and this was Miro’s chance to strike on a level playing field.
"Come on, what if Miro was holding a zenblade? Rimor, you’re out," said the instructor. "Saporo, let’s see you get another hit."
With a grimace and his hands clutched to his face, Rimor left the field, throwing Miro a hateful glare. Miro knew he would pay for that later. He didn’t regret it. Away from supervision, with his friends to back him up, Rimor had left worse scars on Miro’s own tender flesh.
With the better opponent out, Miro grew more confident. He lunged, forcing Saporo back. He feinted right, but instead spun to the left. Saporo caught himself and tried to lift his sword in warding. The steel tip of Miro’s blade lanced at Saporo’s face; the youth fell away from Miro’s onslaught. Miro kicked out with his leg, landing a painful blow to his opponent’s ankle. Saporo stumbled and lost his balance, falling backward onto the dust. Rather than pushing further, Miro waited, allowing his opponent to rise.
"Did you see that coming? Saporo should have. If he’d been watching Miro’s eyes it was clear. Well done, Miro, now finish him."
Miro could have done without the praise. From the sidelines he caught several resentful glances from the watching young men.
Saporo threw himself at Miro, his sword twisting and thrusting. It came straight at the centre of Miro’s chest. Miro went to turn, too late! The steel was going to skewer him. At the last moment he arched himself backward. Confident of a hit, Saporo overextended. Miro pirouetted, resting the point of his sword over Saporo’s collar.
"Excellent, Miro," Blademaster Rogan called. "Now bow." The two standing fighters did so; Rimor had been taken to the infirmary. "All gather."
Saporo joined his fellows. Blademaster Rogan came to stand beside Miro. Slightly taller than the lanky youth, he casually placed his hand on Miro’s shoulder. The gesture wasn’t lost on many. Miro heard snickers and groaned inwardly. Why did he have to get so much attention?
"You use steel swords. You hone them until they are sharp enough to cut a falling leaf. You wear no armour. You fight daily, in deadly combat. Someone, tell me why this is so?"
A student answered, "To make us better fighters."
"Correct, but there is more to it. Miro?"
Miro knew the answer Rogan was looking for. "Because combat without real fear teaches nothing."
"That’s right. There is more to being a bladesinger than carrying a zenblade, just as there is more to being an enchanter than possessing a vial of essence. A zenblade is to a normal sword what an ocean is to a gentle stream. The lightest touch from a zenblade will cut through anything. Anything!" he growled. "It will cut through armoursilk, and armoursilk is among the strongest armour our enchanters know how to make. And if we can’t make it — then who can?"
"No one!" the young men said in unison.
"So do yourselves a favour. Sharpen your steel sword, cut down your opponents, and keep your eyes sharp, for one day you might be facing someone with an enchanted blade." He gazed around him. "I see close to fifty of you here. No more than three of you will become bladesingers. Some will become soldiers in our army. Some are here to learn the military arts and prepare for a political career. But some will become cripples, here in the Pens, and some will die. That is all."
Blademaster Rogan strode away, leaving the young men standing pensively, uncertain for a moment.
Saporo came over with two of his friends. "That was a dirty piece of work. Rimor was going to a pageant tonight and you broke his nose. I know you, Miro. I know you’re good enough that you didn’t have to."
Miro frowned. Saporo wasn’t that close to Rimor and he didn’t need another enemy. Saporo probably didn’t know about the ambush on the Tenbridge two nights ago.
"Leave him," said another of the youths. "He’s got no father so he never learned any manners."
Some of the regular trouble-makers gathered. Miro knew he could never take them all. And if he drew his sword, outside of the arena and unsupervised, he would get kicked out of the Pens altogether. It was the first rule they were taught, and rigidly enforced.
"Maybe his father was a pig, and his mother was a goat, and he’s what you get when you breed the two," one of the youths, a lord’s son, said. It was a feeble joke but it still raised a few laughs.
Miro had nothing to say. He’d never had the courage to ask Brandon about his parents. They were dead; he knew that much. What if there was some dirty secret? Perhaps he’d be better off not knowing.
"Maybe his mother couldn’t bear the thought of looking at Miro all day so she left. I know I would!"
"Maybe she was a whore!" said the lord’s son.
Flushing, Miro turned away. If he provoked them he’d get more than bruises. He could sense that after the thrashing he gave Rimor they were looking for vengeance.
Miro walked away with his head down, his eyes burning.
The taunting stopped. "Who’s that?" one of the youths said.
Miro looked up and saw Ella. She stood transfixed, staring at him with a strange expression on her face. He realised she must have been there for some time, long enough to hear at least. His sister looked clean and sweet in her green woollen dress, the garb of a student at the Academy. Ella was already a year into her studies, but Miro still felt proud every time he saw her in green.
"That’s Miro’s sister. Lord of the Sky, how did such an ugly sod end up with a sister like that!"
The youths laughed.
"I wouldn’t mind slicing off that dress and seeing what’s underneath."
"Let another part of your body do the talking," said the lord’s son. "You’d probably slip and cut something off."
Miro didn’t consciously move. In the blink of an eye his sword had slipped out of the leather scabbard at his side and he had lunged forward. Fast. The point of his sword was suddenly pressed up against the youth’s throat. The lord’s son gulped. A thin rivulet of blood trickled down from the tip of the razor sharp steel. Miro’s muscles bulged, tensed to breaking point with the effort of restraining himself.
"Miro, please. Don’t kill me."
"Miro?" It was Ella’s voice. "Stop it, please."
Ever so slowly Miro removed the sword, his eyes never leaving the youth’s. Finally he turned. The shame he felt at seeing Ella’s desolate expression was painful. He wished she never saw this side of him. They had goaded him, he realised suddenly, they knew the rules as well as he did, and as soon as he left they would be speaking with the Blademaster.
Miro threw his sword on the ground and walked away from the crowd, leaving Ella staring after her brother and the marks his boots left in the dust.
~
"EXCUSE me. I’m sorry to bother you," Ella said.
"Yes?" the Blademaster turned, and instantly Ella realised that Miro’s teacher and her benefactor were one and the same. His eyes went wide with surprise. "What are you doing here?"
Tall and lithe, Blademaster Rogan cut an imposing figure. Ella wondered how old he really was; it was hard to tell.
Ella was nervous. Rogan Jarvish definitely did not seem pleased to see her. "When I met you I didn’t realise you were one of my brother’s teachers. I’m sorry. I don’t want to trouble you."
"Something tells me that’s exactly what you’re going to do," Rogan said. "I heard about what Miro did."
"They made him do it. The other boys. He drew his sword, but it wasn’t his fault. It was mine. I wanted to tell you…."
Rogan stood up from his desk, towering over her. "He’s just lucky no one was hurt. Just exactly what happened?"
Ella looked down at the floor, uncertain what to say. She blushed. "I came to see Miro fight. The other boys saw me. They said some things."
Rogan drew back. "Ah. I see." He surprised her by looking uncomfortable. "What did Miro do?"
"I… I think he threatened one of the boys with his sword. He… he touched it to his throat. There may have been blood. Lord of the Sky, I know it sounds terrible. No one’s hurt."
Rogan shook his head, "I won’t be able to protect your brother, Ella. Word of this is going to get out. Those boys talk, and many of them have powerful parents."
"It was my fault. There must be something you
can do," Ella pleaded.
Blademaster Rogan sat down heavily and shook his head from side to side. "I’m sorry. He shows a great deal of promise, and for me it is a shame to lose him. But they are going to want to see him punished."
"Isn’t there some other kind of punishment? Anything other than throwing him out?"
Rogan’s brow furrowed, before he looked up. "Three months in the salt mines. It’s the only punishment strong enough."
Ella blanched. She had heard about the salt mines. The workers lived completely underground, huddled in caves and passages half a man’s height. The salt was rough enough to cause cuts and abrasions from mistakes made in the constant darkness, and when the salt got into the wounds, which it always did, it burned like a scorching flame.
"Bring him here," said Rogan Jarvish. "I’ll tell him about his punishment, and let’s see what he says."
~
ELLA walked with her brother, taking a longer route than was necessary. She stayed quiet, giving Miro time to calm down. She supposed that what he had done was only beginning to sink in. She had decided not to say anything to him besides that the Blademaster wanted to see him. She had the feeling he wouldn’t appreciate her speaking up on his behalf. Still, she felt responsible and prayed things would work out.
Miro had settled by the time they reached the Pens. "I’m sorry you had to see that," he finally said. "Lord of the Sky, what have I done?"
He frightened her sometimes. He had such pain in him, and also such strength. It was times like these that she forgave him his absences and the way she bore most of the burden taking care of Uncle Brandon. He had always protected her and cared for her. She wasn’t the only one who struggled.
"I saw you fight in the arena, you know," she said. "Lord of the Sky, you’re getting good! I was frightened though — do you really have to use real swords? You could have been killed." She touched the thin line of dried blood on his forehead.
Enchantress (The Evermen Saga, Book One) Page 5