by Sharon Green
“One fer each a us,” Holter murmured, and Vallant looked around to see what he meant. Two men were coming toward them from behind the wall beyond the tables and chairs, and Holter’s commenting on their approach probably showed how nervous the small man was. Vallant didn’t blame him, especially since the two approaching were a mismatched set.
They were both dressed rather well, but the smaller and heavier of the two looked as if he were wearing someone else’s clothes. Discomfort over clothing not yet gotten used to often produced that rumpled, ill-fitting look, and the lopsided grin the man wore did nothing to improve the image.
The second, thinner man wore a faint smile as well as showing greater self-confidence, but he also gave the impression of holding himself away from his companion. As if to avoid contamination, Vallant thought, which meant he was too late by years. His smile showed he’d already been contaminated by the assumption that he was better than the crude sort of man ever could be, which made Vallant sigh.
“Copper to gold I know which of those is meant for me,” he murmured, loud enough for no one but Holter to hear him. “I’d also be willin’ to trade him for the one who’s yours. Would you like to trade?”
Holter glanced at him with the first true amusement Vallant had seen him show in days, but a firm headshake accompanied the amusement. Holter wasn’t stupid, which meant Vallant was stuck with the thinner man. Vallant sighed again, which made Holter chuckle, and then the thinner man had reached Vallant while the other drew Holter aside.
“Good morning and welcome,” the man said, his voice deep and melodious and somehow out of place. “I’m Wimand, the Adept assigned to show you around. Your companion will be seen to separately by Podon, as we’ve learned that group introductions to our precincts are most often less than successful. We’ll sit and have the tea I’ve already ordered, and I’ll tell you what we’re all about.”
“My friend doesn’t seem to be havin’ tea,” Vallant observed as he followed Wimand to the table the other man had gestured toward. “He and Podon are goin’ straight to that first cubicle on the left, and Podon is tellin’ him somethin’.”
“He’s telling him about what each of the practice rooms is used for,” Wimand replied as he sat, his smile completely unperturbed. “Those of the common class usually have very little patience, so we routinely let them go through the tour first. I promise you it won’t make any difference, and in a short while you and he will be taking turns using the rooms—for as long as he can keep up, that is.”
“What makes you think he won’t keep up?” Vallant asked as he watched a servant approach with a tea service. “Holter and I were in the same session, and he’s had no trouble keepin’ up until now.”
“It’s rather sad, but it is a fact of life,” Wimand replied, letting the servant pour tea for them and leave before continuing. “Yes, it’s very sad, but lower class applicants never get very far beyond this point. Success depends on strength, and strength very often depends on self-assurance. They know they’re not as good as we are, you see, and that knowledge defeats them every time. But let’s discuss the things you must know, like what Podon is about to demonstrate.”
Vallant turned to look at the other Adept without comment, but not because he had nothing to say. He simply knew how useless it was to argue with a man’s prejudice, especially one that involved self esteem. Those who spent time talking about how inferior others were, were actually saying how afraid they were that they were inferior. Finding something different that couldn’t be denied—like having been born into a lower class—let those people feel superior without their ever having to do anything to prove the contention.
“That first exercise room and the one next to it have the same purpose, but use different methods,” Wimand explained. “Your task will be to create spheres of water around first one group of objects and then two groups, and then more all the way up to six separate groups. The first room has a large vat of water for you to work with, but in the second you’ll need to draw your moisture from the air.”
The man Podon was in the midst of demonstrating the thing to Holter, and Vallant could see that six head-sized globes of water had been created around six round forms of resin standing on movable pedestals. The exercise wasn’t particularly easy, but it would certainly be easier than drawing the necessary water from the air.
“The next set of rooms contains oblong boxes of the sort bread is often kept in,” Wimand went on after sipping at his tea. “In each of the two rooms you’ll be able to see the boxes, and you’ll need to put a globe of water inside each of the boxes. You’ll begin with doing one box at a time, then two at a time, and then move all the way up to six. As with the first set of rooms, one will have a vat of water and one won’t.”
“How will I be able to tell if I’ve positioned the water properly?” Vallant asked, watching Holter and his Adept guide move on to the second set of cubicles. “Seein’ it leak from the bottom of the box won’t tell me if half the globe ended up on the far side, and only seems to be comin’ out from the inside.”
“If you see any leaking before pulling the release cord, you haven’t done it properly,” Wimand explained, gesturing to the two who now stood staring at an oblong box. “The inside of each box is made to funnel the water into a holding dish with a false bottom, and pulling the release cord springs the bottom. But the funneling into the dish will happen only if you position the globe properly, otherwise you’ll get leakage from the sides. Again, only one of the rooms contains a vat of water.”
“Why do you have those duplicate arrangements?” Vallant asked, the oddity finally taking his notice. “Anyone able to do the exercises by taking moisture from the air should be able to do it with a supply of ready water even more easily. I can understand startin’ with the two different methods, but why keep on with them?”
“For the most part it’s a question of flexibility,” Wimand responded smoothly, giving Vallant the strange impression that the explanation was prepared. “We’ve discovered that having applicants practice in only a single way makes them forget there is another way, which I’m sure you’ll agree is rather limiting. The rest of the reason is that taking so much moisture from the air is far from easy, and most applicants do better when they begin with ready water. Ah, see? That’s what the box does when the sphere is properly placed.”
Vallant turned back to see that Podon had pulled on a rope, and water was obediently pouring out of the box and into a bucket. He wondered just how large the proper area inside the box really was, but didn’t ask. Once he began to practice, he’d certainly find out.
“The third set of rooms is naturally the hardest,” Wimand commented with a small chuckle. “If you watch, you’ll notice that Podon will explain to your companion about it, but won’t demonstrate. That’s because he can’t, of course, not without using more power and concentration and effort than he cares to show in front of an applicant. This exercise is the one he never quite got the hang of.”
“What’s so complicated about it?” Vallant asked, making no mention of the fact that Wimand hadn’t yet done any of it. He talked a good game, but sitting back and smirking at someone else’s efforts isn’t the same as bettering those efforts.
“The fact that the boxes are hidden behind curtains makes the exercise harder,” Wimand replied, surreptitiously watching Vallant closely. “You must use your power to locate the things before you can put spheres of water in them, and the box sizes get progressively smaller behind the curtains. Anyone who reaches the point of being able to fill the smallest size using nothing but air moisture deserves to move on to the competitions.”
“Ah, the competitions,” Vallant said, turning his head to look directly at the so-called Adept. “That’s what I’ve been lookin’ forward to hearin’ about, since that’s where the chance to win gold lies. What’s involved there, and how long will I have to starve before I get a chance to try it?”
“Oh, you won’t starve while you’re practicing,�
� Wimand assured him with a chuckle. “You’ll be paid a silver din for each exercise you master using ready water, and two dins for the exercises using air moisture. That should keep you for a short while at least, and then you should be up to the competitions.”
“They’re held out here, where the practicin’ is done?” Vallant asked casually, as if the answer were completely unimportant. “There’s certainly enough room for everyone to watch whatever goes on.”
“What goes on first is a general competition, where applicants show what they’re capable of,” Wimand said after reaching over to pour more tea in his cup. “Strength, use of ability, and amount of time elapsed are the deciding factors in choosing a winner, and those you strive against are your skill-level peers. The winner, however, goes on to face someone from the next level up, and that contest is you against your opponent directly. And there may be enough room out here to hold the competitions, but we prefer to be a bit more formal. They’re all held over there, in that round white building.”
“I thought that was probably what it was for,” Vallant commented as casually as possible while his insides turned over. “But I haven’t even begun the exercises yet, so the buildin’ won’t concern me for some time. And speakin’ about the exercises, when can I get started?”
“As you can see, your companion has returned to the first room,” Wimand said, annoyance in his tone as he gestured. “Podon was to have gotten him to take tea now so that you might begin first, but the man appears to be unusually obstinate. I can speak to him myself if you like, and possibly point out the merits of sitting with his feet up until after lunchtime.”
“No, don’t bother,” Vallant told him with a wave of his hand. “I don’t mind beginnin’ after lunch, and by then Holter should be glad to take a breather. I suppose he and I will just have to take turns for the rest of the time we’re here.”
“Only until the man reaches his limit,” Wimand reminded him with a smirking smile as he stirred in his chair. “I know that won’t take very long at all, so your patience will soon be rewarded. Right now we could use another pot of tea, and perhaps a few sweet cakes to keep it company.”
The Adept rose and went to a nearby post to shake a rope attached to a bell, and by the time he’d returned to his seat a servant was already on his way over to them. The tea and cakes were ordered and then Wimand began to chat about nothing of importance, which let Vallant listen with half an ear while his mind worked on other things.
The most pressing thing was the realization that in order to compete, he would have to enter a building without windows and stay in it for an indeterminate time. On most scales the building was fairly large, but on his own private scale it was tiny and airless and would be suffocatingly confining. He’d want out of it even before he walked inside, so how was he supposed to compete? Compete and win, that is. Competing and losing would be all too simple.
Vallant smiled and nodded to whatever Wimand happened to be saying, privately wishing it were possible for him to hide somewhere. He had to compete and win if he wanted to keep up with Tamrissa, as the girl would find some way to win even if she had to half-kill herself to do it. Vallant had no doubts about that, any more than he doubted his own ability. If the competitions were held outside, nothing would keep him from winning either.
But they weren’t held outside, and he had to sip from his teacup to hide the bleakness that touched him at that thought. First Tamrissa refused to acknowledge him, then he was saddled with a prejudiced fool as a mentor, and now this devastating news about the competitions. On some level he’d known it would probably be that way, but he hadn’t wanted to think about it. No competitions meant no advancement, which would put him in the same class as the fool Wimand.
That thought held only for an instant, and then Vallant had to work to keep himself from stiffening. Wimand and the other Adepts worked with applicants, but after this week’s end there would be no more applicants this year. That would put the current Adepts out of work, so the testing authority wasn’t likely to take on any others. What, then, would happen to those applicants who didn’t advance? The question had been asked before, but suddenly it had become a good deal more imminent.
“… and you really must try the fish here for lunch one day,” Wimand was saying while he examined the sweet cakes which had been brought. “It’s absolutely marvelous, but that’s only to be expected. Successful applicants will certainly become very important men, and no one would wish to get on the bad side of a very important man.”
Vallant agreed with a smirk to match Wimand’s, but privately he seethed. The applicants would not all become very important men, some would become very important women. Wimand’s prejudices weren’t just class oriented, obviously, and Vallant felt as though the fool had deliberately insulted his Tamrissa. She would reach the exact place she wanted to be, and anyone who tried to get in her way would have him to deal with!
It took something of an effort for Vallant to calm himself and in some odd way it didn’t work completely. A small part of him had become fired up by the anger, and that part had made a decision. Somehow, some way, he was going to qualify for those competitions, enter them, and win. And after that he would have a talk with Tamrissa, one she would not be able to ignore. And maybe that talk ought to come first, while he was in the midst of accomplishing the rest. He didn’t need the distraction of their not getting along; what he needed was her.
Having made that decision caused Vallant to sit a bit straighter, and even to smile to himself. The prospect of forcing a potential High in Fire magic to listen to him wasn’t one he should be looking forward to, but insanity had obviously claimed him. He couldn’t wait to get Tamrissa alone to try his best, and if he ended up singed … or even turned to ashes … wouldn’t that be better than having to live his life without her?
Vallant smiled again, knowing there was no question about it.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Lady Eltrina Razas walked into the room beside Lord Ollon Kapmar, enjoying the way the others jumped to their feet at sight of him. Ollon was one of the most powerful men in the entire empire, and he was never handicapped by sentiment. He always did what was necessary without hesitation, no matter who it was he had to do it to. It was said he’d once had the woman he was sleeping with removed, simply because she hadn’t handled some matter as well as she should have. That made sleeping with the man even more deliciously exciting for Eltrina, although there was really no risk at all for her. She had always handled matters perfectly, and also always would.
“You may be seated,” Ollon said to the others once he and Eltrina were in their chairs, hers the first one to his right. There were still more than a dozen liaisons present, although by meeting’s end that number would be lessened as more files were closed out. Looking at Ollon’s strong handsomeness, the man still broad-shouldered and vital despite the gray in his blond hair to match the gray in his eyes, Eltrina wondered how most of the others could be eager about no longer needing to report to him.
“It always pleases me to reach the final week of categorization,” Ollon told them after leaning back in his chair, letting his cold gray gaze touch each of them in turn. “There will be no further applicants arriving until after the beginning of the new year, and then this process will start all over again. Some of you will find it possible to pursue other interests until then, and I do believe I’m beginning to envy you. Twenty-six years of seeing this through to its ever-surprising end has grown rather nerve-wracking in my old age.”
Eltrina joined the others in giving him the polite laughter his joke had called for, a variation of the same joke they said he made every year. This was the first time she’d heard it personally, but she’d certainly chuckled over it secondhand before. An ever-surprising ending to the sorting out indeed.
“We’ll begin with those of you who have closed out the residences you’ve been responsible for,” Ollon said once the laughter had ended. “You may submit your final reports and then leav
e.”
Four people, three men and a woman, rose to come forward clutching their reports. One by one they handed over the paperwork, told Ollon it had been a pleasure working with him, and then they’d made good their escape. For supposed members of noble families, their craven behavior annoyed Eltrina no end. But at least the girl was gone, which was quite a relief. Among the remaining ten there were only three women, and Eltrina was now the most attractive of them.
“This year our efforts have a double purpose,” Ollon said once the four had left and closed the door behind them. “In most respects it will be business as usual, but I caution you again to keep in mind that this is a twenty-fifth year. There must be an absolute minimum of five challenging common Blendings to match the five put forward by our noble brothers, so you mustn’t waste anyone capable of being put into one. Begin thinking now about which of your charges will be saved, and which will be fed to our Seated Highs.”
“Sir,” one of the younger men said, raising a questioning hand. Eltrina recognized him from parties and such, but couldn’t remember his name. “I still have three residences filled with advanced applicants, but I’m told that most of them won’t even make the competitions, much less win in them. Two or three of them have the proper temperament to make adequate Adepts, but the rest I’d expected to send to my father. I happened to see him last week’s end when he came home for a brief visit, and he mentioned that he needs them.”
“I’m aware of your father’s needs, Lord Kogrin,” Ollon replied, frowning at the situation rather than at the man he spoke to. “He took the opportunity to visit me as well, but there’s only so much I’m able to do for him. A twenty-fifth year finds us short in many areas, and we can do nothing other than cope. For instance, we have more than enough Adepts right now. Use the best you have as members of a Blending and substitute the ones you would have used as Adepts to challenge the Seated Highs. The Highs have been cautioned to destroy only the very strongest of their challengers, leaving the rest alive to help fill our other needs. Does that sound workable to you?”