“I didn’t make the threat to protect your secret,” he replied. “Although that’s a good side benefit. No, Mathrid doesn’t approve of either of us, I believe. I probably wouldn’t really cut out his tongue, but it’s best to keep him guessing. I don’t want him inciting discontent among the others, and I need him to get used to the idea that a directive from his Duke isn’t just a suggestion.”
“That sounds a bit ruthless,” she noted.
“Well, yes, but it’s also practical. As long as I don’t overdo it and really start removing tongues, I think it’ll be all right.”
“Perhaps,” she answered, not sounding convinced. Then again, Maelgyn wasn’t entirely convinced, himself – he just didn’t know what else to do.
“For good or ill,” he finally said, “That is how I will deal with him. Unless you have of a better plan, perhaps?”
“Perhaps,” she answered again, grinning slyly.
Maelgyn decided he wouldn’t ask too many questions about that grin. “Let’s not worry about him for now. We have a dinner to attend... and I do not believe Mathrid is going to be at our table to concern us.”
Valfarn, who had been standing where he could overhear the whole conversation, cleared his throat. “No, milord, he won’t. However, Baron Yergwain, the current head of the Council of Barons, will be joining the head table instead.”
Maelgyn nodded. “Yes, I met him when I arrived. While his treatment of Count El’Athras was unfairly disparaging prior to my introduction, I liked the look of him – although I have no idea what he thinks of all this. He knows enough to keep his tongue, however.”
The old regent sighed. “I fear, milord, he’s a bit of a traditionalist. He likely disapproves of your marriage, and of the alliance with the Dwarves and Nekoji. However, he’s also a loyal warrior, and will respect you and the Count as he would any Sword of the Realm. That said, I doubt he will be a very... pleasant companion, tonight. Especially after your words to Lord Mathrid, who is a close friend of his.”
“Sir Leno liked us,” Euleilla noted airily.
Valfarn nodded. “That is not unexpected, but Sir Leno is out of favor with his family. They... disapproved of his mother’s decision to let him become a mage, and his own decision to keep up the training after she died. He is only serving under his brother – or rather, his half-brother – because he is such an excellent warrior.”
Maelgyn raised an eyebrow. He was just about to ask why Yergwain’s family disapproved of the mage training when they arrived in the Dining Hall. It could wait.
The head table where Maelgyn sat was smaller than he expected. There was only room for the most important figures in his government – Euleilla, Valfarn, Yergwain, and a Senior Senator from the commoner’s council named Gherald.
Tur’Ba wasn’t at the dinner; upon learning that the young Dwarf’s father had sent him to essentially to be Maelgyn’s personal squire, the Chief Steward of the court – a man named Reltney – immediately corralled him so that he could be taught how to properly perform the duties of servant to a Sword of the realm. Maelgyn wasn’t entirely sure that particular trade was what El’Ba had in mind for his son, but it would give Tur’Ba a sense of the world without dirtying his hands in war. Most of the other guests Maelgyn had brought with him, including the officers leading the small detachments El’Athras and Onayari had escorted him into Sopan with, were seated in various places around the room. There was one exception, however, which puzzled him.
“Where’s Wangdu?” he accidentally said aloud, thinking to himself.
“Who?” Valfarn asked.
“Wangdu. The Elf I had been traveling with,” Maelgyn answered.
“Ah,” the older Duke replied. “Well, my lord, he is an Elf. Surely you’ve noticed he doesn’t eat the same foods you or I eat? He must prepare them a special way or they’re unhealthy for him. Sadly, our kitchen staff was not equipped to serve him properly on such short notice, so he needed to prepare his own food. I fear he will not be joining us this evening, since his dinner won’t be ready until after we all have finished.”
Maelgyn raised an eyebrow. “I don’t like that. I may make one of my first official acts as lord of this castle an order that any dining eventuality be prepared for. It seems prudent given that we’ve already gained the support of the Dwarves and Nekoji, and have an Elf in our midst as well.”
“It has never been an issue in my time of service,” Valfarn mused. “Still, I see the wisdom of such a command. A rather mundane first order for a Sword of Svieda in time of war, however.”
Maelgyn shrugged. “We all must start somewhere. Where else would you suggest?”
“Perhaps,” Senator Gherald hesitantly answered, “We could discuss about something relevant to the war. I believe I’m not the only person to wonder if his people will be subjected to a draft or not.”
“Gherald,” Yergwain warned. “Such business is best discussed during an official session of the Council before bringing it to the Duke.”
“Please, milord,” the senator said. “I am not advocating a policy myself, merely asking what sort of policy the Sword prefers.”
“Yergwain and Gherald are rather spirited rivals,” Valfarn whispered quietly to Maelgyn. “As the heads of the Council of Barons and the Council of Commons, respectively, they tend to get into vigorous debates.”
Maelgyn merely nodded to his regent and turned his attention back to the two bickering men. “Milord Yergwain, I believe that there will be no fault if I answer his question. Although I find it rather disconcerting that I cannot even get through the first bite of my first official state dinner without having to deal with so momentous an issue.”
Both of the arguing men flushed. “Sorry, Your Highness,” Gherald said, unable to meet anyone else’s eyes.
“As far as the draft is concerned,” Maelgyn continued. “I do not believe that a general draft is necessary just yet. Perhaps in the future, if other options fall through, but not just yet. I suspect I may need to leave much of the defense of the province to our militia, however, so I am going to order that the militia be expanded and training for it to be increased. I also plan to issue a special draft order for mages – they are always valuable in wartime, and I’m going to want as many as possible in the army. I’d also like to make sure each town has at least one, and hopefully more than one in the larger towns and cities, to aid the militias.”
Gherald hesitated. “Your Highness, I’m a Fourth Rate mage, myself. Is there any chance I could be called for this duty?”
Yergwain smirked. “Why, Senator, are you afraid of serving?”
“Milord,” Gherald snapped. “I am fifty-six years old. I have fought in more wars than you have, and have the wounds to show for it. My knee doesn’t work right, I have trouble breathing in hot weather due to an old chest wound, and after injuring my back I lose feeling in my legs whenever I ride a horse. If I am called upon, I will serve, but I believe I’ve earned the right to want to retire from the battlefield.”
“Relax, Gherald,” Maelgyn intervened, smiling. “I have no plans to call the infirm to war duty, even if it comes to a general draft. Besides, you said you were a Fourth Rate mage?”
Gherald nodded. “Barely that,” he answered. “I’m so weak a mage I considered going into alchemy, but I lack the patience to learn my numbers well enough for a good alchemist. Instead I joined the army to fight the Borden Islanders when the war broke out again some thirty years ago. My magic is of little use on the battlefield in general, but it was enough to help me through some tight squeezes.”
“Well, I don’t think we’re so desperate we’ll be needing Fourth Rate mages who have served honorably in previous wars and have had more than their fair share of wounds to show for it,” Maelgyn replied gently. “The orders will only call for the draft of mages who are young enough and strong enough to be effective in battle.”
“I guess that rules my brother out, then,” Yergwain muttered.
Euleilla, who up until the
n had been quietly and carefully eating her food (without her magic powder, and using the unfamiliar utensils of a knife, fork, and spoon instead of her usual chopsticks, she was having some trouble with it) nearly choked on a bite of her roast hearing that.
“Milord,” she said after a brief coughing fit. Maelgyn looked on at her in concern, but she obviously didn’t notice. “Just why do you think Sir Leno’s magic would fail to be a help in battle?”
“Oh,” Yergwain sighed. “I’m sure it aids him some. But it can’t be as useful a tool as a true mage is. He calls himself a second-rate mage, so he can’t be that good.”
“What?” Maelgyn asked, startled. “Don’t you even know what that means?”
“What what means?”
Even Valfarn seemed disturbed. “Milord Yergwain, I have no knowledge of magic, yet even I am less ignorant than you are if you believe a Second Rate mage isn’t very good.”
“I... I’m afraid I don’t understand, milord,” Yergwain answered.
Gherald smirked. “Indeed. Well, I can explain, if you like.”
Yergwain gritted his teeth, but remained courteous. “If you please, Master Gherald. I fear that my, and perhaps my family’s, lack of knowledge is doing great injustice to my brother. Enlighten me.”
“It’s difficult to become a mage,” Gherald began. “You must be taught from birth, and it’s impossible to tell at that point in a person’s life just how much magical potential they might have. It is rare that parents are willing to expose their children to such a burden. However, once they’ve learned magic and their abilities with it have matured, they can be judged according to a scale established several thousand years ago to ‘rate’ their magical power. An official certificate can be issued, if you want proof of your magical strength, but any mage is advised how to assess their own power properly if they don’t require the paperwork. Most usually they don’t bother, instead using those guidelines for self-assessment. There are five rates, according to the standards set by the Porosian Council of Magic—”
“Six,” Euleilla corrected.
Gherald raised an eyebrow at her. “That has never been proven possible among Humans. Nekoji mages are aberrations, with only a handful known to history, and the number who have reached that mark can be counted on one hand. No human mage has even come close to that level since the rating system has been established.”
“So?” Euleilla asked. The smile Maelgyn remembered her carrying when he met her was on her face – it had disappeared at some point while she was ill, and had only made infrequent reappearances since then. Maelgyn did not know why she had lost it then or why it had returned now, but was glad to see it.
The senator huffed in frustration, but conceded the point. “Very well. While only five rates were established initially by the Porosian Council of Magic, a sixth came into being with the first Nekoji to learn Human magic, for he was well off the scale. But that is not the point.
“The rating a person achieves is important. A Fifth Rate, typically known as a ‘failed mage,’ is someone whose powers are so weak that they are unable to perform most of the tasks required for a job in magic. They usually have the skill, but little or no power. At most, enough to do minor workings of magic but not enough to truly be considered a mage. Typically, they either teach magic – for their problems with magic do not come from a lack of understanding, but rather a lack of innate talent – or they go into the study of alchemy.
“I am a Fourth Rate mage. While I do have the power to perform most of the tasks required of a professional mage, but performing even one task requiring even average magical strength will strain me to the point of being unable to perform any other magic during the day. Some fourth rate mages are slowly able to build up their skill and endurance to the point where, if they regularly exhaust their magic for years and years, they can reach a third rate.”
“Like I did,” Wodtke said, walking up to the table. “Forgive me, but I heard what you were talking about and had to join in on this. I was a Fourth Rate mage when I was first evaluated. After using that limited bit of magic for over a decade in my professional capacity as a doctor, I discovered at a re-evaluation that I had increased my endurance to the point of becoming a Third Rate – basically, what the scale considers your average mage. Most mages who succeed as mages achieve the rank of Third Rate, at least, at some point in their lives. Unfortunately, more than half of mages who do not have some magic in their family background are considered Fifth Rate, or ‘failed mages.’ That is another reason why so few families put their children through magic training.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Gherald said, glancing at the woman. “I’d never met someone who managed to achieve a ratings promotion, before.”
Wodtke laughed. “To be honest, I haven’t found this ‘promotion’ to be all that important. I use my magic as a Third Rate just as much as I did when I was a Fourth Rate, both in my everyday life and my career. I am a doctor first and foremost, and always shall be one.”
Gherald nodded. “Yes. Most Fourth Rate mages typically pick jobs which allow them to use the magic they spent years studying to achieve, but they cannot take jobs where they must rely on it. The medical field is a common one for fourth rates. Teacher is another, but for some reason magic teachers are rarely hired unless they are either Fifth Rate or Third Rate. There’s some social stigma over being a Fourth Rate mage and teaching. If you’re a Fourth Rate who lacks the math skills to be either an alchemist or a doctor, well, it’s unlikely you’ll be able to find a job that uses magecraft. Most become soldiers – for even a Fourth Rate mage has some limited advantage in battle, even if he doesn’t qualify to be part of the mage corps – or we take jobs where magic is rarely if ever used, such as farmhand, or merchant... or even politician.” He grinned ruefully. “Although I’ve yet to figure out how magic can be useful in elections.”
“So, basically,” Maelgyn said, drawing the discussing back on topic. “A Third Rate is a mage of average ability. Here’s where the ratings get tricky, however, because from here on in everyone has the same skill set, more or less. Being more powerful than a Third Rate is mainly useful only in combat situations, although I’m sure a Second or First Rate could easily manage any number of non-combat feats a Third Rate would find stressful. As far as Sir Leno goes, being a Second Rate he’s stronger than nine out of every ten successful mages. As a Second Rate, he’s able to work magic despite the presence of a standard-strength lodestone. So, in combat, he can push through lodestone defenses, although it’s hard for him.
“First Rates, like Euleilla... and apparently myself, although I have never been formally rated, are really rare in the Human race. Only about one out of thirty successful mages have our power – which makes the meeting of two or more a rather rare occurrence. A marriage between two First Rates like us is even more so. We can push magic through lodestones without significant strain on our magical reserves. There is some, yes, but barely enough for us to even notice.”
Yergwain nodded, looking concerned. “I see that we have done an injustice to my brother, but our family has always been among the elite. I am still not sure his study of magic is proper in the first place, when it is such a rare occurrence that an elite mage is trained.”
“Lord Yergwain,” Maelgyn stared. “That statement makes no sense. Aren’t you aware that the structure of nobility in Svieda was established to provide for the training and breeding of mages?”
“Surely not!” Yergwain protested. “It would be in our family history – there are no records of a mage in our family before Leno, and our family has been in Sviedan Nobility since the founding!”
“Maelgyn has High Mage potential,” Euleilla’s voice intervened before anyone could respond to Yergwain’s protest.
“There had to have been,” Maelgyn said to Yergwain, initially not taking in what his wife had said. “It was required, unless your barony was established more recently... than... err, Euleilla? What did you just say?”
She ju
st smiled at him. “You. High Mage potential.”
Maelgyn shook his head in denial. “That’s... there hasn’t been a Human High Mage in over a thousand years, if ever. You’re stronger than I am, in most magical respects. I can’t...”
Yergwain frowned, trying to follow the crossed conversations. “My family records would have mentioned mages in the family. And, forgive me, but what is a High Mage?”
Maelgyn was too flustered to answer him, but thankfully Dr. Wodtke was able to explain.
“A High Mage is a rare thing, to put it mildly,” she said. “Nekoji mages are the only ones who we believe have achieved that rating, and some contest even that. Nekoji mages are extremely rare, regardless of rating, and none are alive today as far as we know. Of the few Nekoji mages who succeed in their initial mage training, only one in six have even come close to having the power to be thought of as what we call ‘High Mage potentials,’ or people who might develop into High Mages. Human High Mages are, well, a thing of legend at best. Which makes me wonder how Euleilla – I mean Her Highness, as I probably should call her now – would know.”
“I just know,” was all Maelgyn’s wife would say.
“That’s very interesting, but I’m afraid I still don’t understand.... Just what is a High Mage?” Yergwain repeated.
“A High Mage,” Senator Gherald intervened, finally finding a way back into the conversation, “Is the highest rate there is. It was not on the original Porosian scale, and some argue they are so rare that the scale shouldn’t have been changed. A High Mage is believed to be strong enough to punch magic through dragon hide, though even among the Nekoji mages that has never been tested. Untested High Mage potentials may have appeared in the Human Race as many as three times, but only in legend.
“Essentially, a mage achieves the rank of High Mage by being magically strong enough to defeat a dragon in single combat,” Maelgyn finally said, regaining his tongue. “Alone. Other tests have been substituted – tests which can be dangerous, but not as dangerous as challenging a dragon singlehandedly – but only a couple of the Nekoji potentials have managed to pass them in the past thousand years. And, Euleilla, you are a stronger mage than I am. If you can’t pass those tests, I wouldn’t stand a chance.”
In Treachery Forged (The Law of Swords) Page 23