Convergence Page 2

  Some questions aren’t meant to have satisfying answers, and Lorand knew that was one of them. The question might come back to him again and again on dark and lonely nights, but right now it was early morning and people were waiting for him. He picked up his pace a little, suddenly very anxious to be in Widdertown and really on his way.

  “Morning, Lor,” Hat called as soon as Lorand got close enough. “Looks like we got the nice day we were hoping for.”

  “Sure does, Hat,” Lorand agreed. “Morning, Mr. Riven. I really appreciate your stopping for me like this.”

  “Won’t mince words, Lorand,” Phor Riven answered, his long, thin face cold with disapproval. “No man enjoys seein’ his son go off on his own, not with th’ world bein’ the way it is. But a real man sees that son off with love an’ support, lettin’ him know he’ll be missed. One who don’t ain’t worth thinkin’ about, not by others and not even by his blood. You climb on up here, and we’ll get along t’ town.”

  Lorand nodded and put his case in the wagon, then climbed up to the seat. Hat looked almost as angry as his father, and Lorand felt warmed—but also bleak. Sometimes it helps to think you might be wrong, that there might be reasons for someone doing something painful that you just haven’t seen. Now…

  The ride into Widdertown was silent, and by the time they got there things had already begun to come awake. People stood outside of the shops sweeping their brand new wooden walks, proud that the growth of the town now demanded such big city additions. There was talk of cobblestoning the main streets to make them more passable during the spring rains, but so far it was no more than just talk. Laying the stones would require the hiring of strong Middle practitioners of Earth magic, and probably even the services of a Middle in Spirit magic to smooth it all out. The town wasn’t quite ready for an expense like that, but one day…

  “They could have had us laying the stones for next to nothing,” Hat murmured to Lorand, obviously thinking along the same lines. “By the time they get around to realizing that, we’ll be Highs and beyond menial jobs like that.”

  “And since we’re the only two in the district who even came close to qualifying for Middle, they won’t have local talent when they do make up their minds,” Lorand agreed. “Some of the younger kids might strengthen as they get older, but there’s no way of knowing it now. I wonder how much bigger Gan Garee is than Widdertown?”

  “Probably twice or three times the size,” Hat answered with a dismissive shrug. “Not that I really care. It’s the positions available that I care about, and that’s what I mean to check on first. As soon as I pass the test for High, of course.”

  Lorand nodded and let the subject drop, preferring not to think about Hat’s chances of passing the tests for High. Master Lugal, the district representative of the Guild of Magical Aspects, had let slip that he considered Hat a strong Middle talent, but didn’t believe Hat would qualify for High. He’d certainly told Hat the same thing, but Hat tended to dismiss anything he didn’t care to hear. Lorand ran a hand through his hair against the beginning discomfort of the day’s heat, wondering if Hat might not have the right of it. Make up your mind to do something and then go after it, wasting no time at all on doubts and worries. Being like that would make life a lot more pleasant.

  “Master Lugal ain’t here yet,” Phor Riven observed as he guided his team closer to the Guild building and then pulled them to a halt. “Th’ man tends to keep big city hours, but I ’spose he’ll be along in a little while. Hat, you take care and don’t let ’em fox you none. Lorand, good luck to you, boy. Time for me t’be gettin’ back to th’ farm.”

  Phor solemnly shook hands with his son and Lorand, waited until the two of them had climbed down and gotten their cases from the wagon, then turned the team and headed back the way they’d come. Hat looked ready to wave if his father happened to look around one last time, but Phor never did. The wagon moved along the street until it disappeared, and then Hat sighed.

  “I wish he’d done this because he really wanted to,” he muttered, still staring in the direction the wagon had gone off in. “He told you what he believes, that it’s a man’s duty to see his sons off, so he did his duty. I still don’t know if he’ll really miss me, or just resent the fact that I’m gone.”

  “Well, at least I don’t have to wonder about that,” Lorand said with his own sigh. “I hadn’t thought knowing it would be a benefit, but I guess it is. And I hope Master Lugal shows up soon. The coach to Hemson Crossing will be getting in in less than an hour.”

  Hat glanced up at the sun to confirm that, then shifted his case to his other arm. Hat’s case looked heavier than Lorand’s with more things packed into it, but that was only to be expected. Hat had been given regular wages for the work he did on his father’s farm, while Lorand—

  “What in the name of Chaos is that?” Hat demanded just as Lorand began to feel the tingle that meant magic was being worked. “If this is somebody’s idea of a joke—”

  By then Lorand was staring at the wide ball of flames rolling at them, clearly the work of someone with Fire affinity. Joke or not, that fireball was coming fast, and there was no guarantee it would stop just short of them. Lorand shoved Hat one way and dived the other way himself, preferring to look foolish to standing there and being burned. He hit the ground and rolled, half expecting to hear the laughter of whoever had sent the fireball, but there was no laughter. Nothing but the fireball speeding through the place he and Hat had just been standing—and slowing to come around for another pass.

  Shouts came from all around, but Lorand paid no attention to them. He felt blistered from the heat that had passed so close to him, and now the thing was coming back to try again. Most people with Fire affinity could light a lamp or a stove without much effort, but something like that ball—! Someone with strength had formed and sent it, and only strength would stop it—if he could just manage to do it right.

  Lorand climbed to his feet just as Hat did the same and started to come close, but he waved Hat back and jumped out of the way again. The fireball roared by a second time, almost acting annoyed, and now it was moving even faster. If he didn’t do something just as fast, it would soon be too late to do anything but burn. Blocking out fear as well as the distraction of shouting people, Lorand reached for his Earth magic.

  Touching it was more than effortless now. For the last few years magic had stopped being something he could do and had started to be something that was part of him. Time slowed almost to a stop as he and the magic glowed together, one entity greater than the sum of its two parts. It was right and it was wonderful, but above all it was powerful—especially when under attack.

  The large and hungry fireball roiled toward him, flames eager to consume everything there was. Lorand raised his arms and extended his fingers, fingers made much longer by the magic he had merged with, and thrust into the dirt of the street. Earth, everything of the earth, was his to employ, and the packed earth of the street leaped to comply with his desires. The dirt formed a whirlwind that spun around the fireball, surrounding it more and more until there was more earth than fire.

  And then the earth began to close in on the fireball, merging with the flames while giving them nothing to burn. After a moment or two of that swirling, the fireball was denied air. Earth needed no air to survive but fire did, and that was the beginning of the end. The fire struggled and fought, striving to the end to reach living flesh. It died reluctantly but completely, and Lorand’s “fingers” held the earth around it for another minute just to be certain. Not a single spark could be left, else the fireball would come alive again from that seed alone.

  When it was finally over and Lorand withdrew, the first thing he did was take a deep breath. The air smelled of sifted earth and burning, and was filled with the shouts and exclamations of onlookers. But none of that disturbed Lorand as much as how hard it had been to sever himself from the magic. The stronger he got, the harder it grew, as though he were an adult constantly being force
d to return to the life of a child. No one had ever mentioned that happening to them, but Lorand knew the time approached when he would have to speak about it to someone…

  “Lorand, Hattial, what’s going on here?” a voice shouted, and Lorand looked up to see Master Lugal hurrying toward them. Right behind him came Jeris Womal, the town’s resident Water talent, which finally let everyone relax completely.

  “Somebody has a really bad sense of humor, Master Lugal,” Hat complained to the Guild man, his voice still shaky. “We were standing here waiting for you, and suddenly that thing attacked us! If we hadn’t been able to fight back it would have gotten us, so you’d better find out who’s responsible real fast. If they try it again with those who can’t fight back…”

  Hat suddenly seemed to realize he was babbling and let the words trail off, but no one standing around laughed and pointed at him. Being attacked by magic like that was no laughing matter, but it was highly unusual. And Lorand saw no reason to correct Hat’s use of the word “we.” If Hat had tried to use his own magic Lorand would have felt it, so Hat had just let Lorand take care of them both. It made no real difference what other people thought; only he and Hat had to know the truth, and as long as they did there was no reason to speak of it.

  “I should think a Fire talent with that much strength would already be on his or her way to the capitol,” Lorand said just to change the subject, making sure the words could be taken only as an observation, not as a criticism. “Is it possible to hide that kind of strength?”

  “I don’t know exactly how much you’re talking about, but offhand I’d say no,” Master Lugal answered with a frown. He was a tall, spare man with thinning brown hair and very dark eyes that never gave his thoughts away. He always wore the tight breeches and colorful, wide-sleeved shirts popular in the capitol, and had told Lorand he would have to trade in his loose trousers and drab cotton shirts when he got there, else everyone would know him for a hayseed. He also wasn’t quite as large as Lorand, and now looked up at him soberly.

  “There hasn’t been anyone with a strong Fire talent around here in twenty years,” Master Lugal continued, still looking disturbed. “I’ll need a little help to do a proper Search, but as soon as I get you two on that coach I intend to get started with it. Get your cases and we’ll go.”

  That last was directed to Hat as well as to Lorand, and they both lost no time in complying. The coach would be there very soon, and only the suddenly building excitement over where they were actually starting to go kept Lorand from being disappointed over having to miss the coming Search. He had never seen those like Master Lugal—rare individuals who had a touch of all five of the talents, rather than just one—spread their senses out to locate a strong talent they’d somehow overlooked. Master Lugal couldn’t use any of the five aspects, but he was able to locate those who could.

  The coach to Hemson Crossing was coming up the street by the time they reached the depot, but Master Lugal had already bought their tickets.

  “Now, don’t forget,” he told Lorand and Hat as he handed over those tickets. “Your fare is paid all the way to Gan Garee, but if you lose these tickets you’ll have to walk—or dip into the silver in these pouches. If you do dip into the silver for anything but modest meals along the way, you won’t enjoy your time in the capitol. The prices of everything there are sky high, even tiny attic rooms in falling-down hostels. Food is even worse, so don’t forget what I told you to do.”

  Hat nodded dutifully as he put the pouch of silver in his shirt, but Lorand had the feeling his friend had dismissed all warnings of danger. Lorand put away his own pouch, but later he would distribute the silver into little pockets he’d painstakingly sewn into his clothing. It had been hard keeping the stitches from showing, briefly making him wish men wore dresses and petticoats like women. But he’d finally managed to do it right, swearing to himself that he would not get to the capitol penniless.

  “Well, here it is,” Master Lugal said as the coach pulled up, only a single passenger already inside. “Have a good trip, and best of luck with the tests.”

  He shook hands with each of them, watched them climb into the coach, then waved until he was out of sight. Actually having someone wave goodbye made Lorand feel considerably better, but not so much so that he could ignore the jouncing of the coach.

  “By the time we get to Gan Garee our teeth will be loose,” Hat grumbled, shifting around on the hard seat. “I never realized these coaches were worse than farm wagons.”

  “That’s because you’ve never been in one,” Lorand pointed out, then gestured to the third passenger. “But it has to be possible to get used to the bouncing, otherwise he wouldn’t be asleep.”

  “He’s probably just as tired as we’ll be before the week is out,” Hat answered, looking out the window on his side. “But I don’t intend to be tired once we actually get to Gan Garee. I’ve heard you can find willing females on just about every street corner, and that’s the first thing I’ll be looking for.”

  Lorand smiled, but didn’t comment on his own viewpoint. Girls were fine and he’d enjoyed the few private times he’d had with them, but right now he had no interest in women at all. The tests he would face were most important, and after that the position he would find. His father had turned his back on him, and one day he would show that man just how wrong he had been. He would come back to visit Master Lugal and say a proper goodbye to his mother, and then he would turn his back on his father.

  But first he had to make something of himself, and he would

  … he would…

  Well, that didn’t go too badly. I think I showed you most of Lorand, at least as he was before he met the rest of us. It was hard to stay out of the story, but I did it because it isn’t my turn yet. I expect my turn will turn out to be the best, so to speak, but that’s only to be –expected. Hah! I do enjoy playing with words, but it’s time to move on. Now you have to meet Jovvi Hafford.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Jovvi Hafford—Spirit Magic

  “Do you promise, Jovvi?” Eldra Sappin begged while Jovvi checked her appearance in the mirror. “Will you really send for me once you’ve established yourself in the capitol?”

  “Of course I will, Eldra,” Jovvi answered smoothly, having her reflection send a reassuring smile. Her voice was usually like a warm caress and her smile was said to light up entire buildings, but those things were normally saved for the men. As the most celebrated courtesan in Rincammon and perhaps all the North, Jovvi had a certain image to maintain. And it never paid to make enemies where it was possible to make friends instead. “But don’t forget it will take some time before I’m established,” she added.

  “Nonsense,” Eldra came immediately to her defense, bristling with indignation. “Even those people in the capitol will have heard of you, and they may be rich but they aren’t entirely stupid. They’ll come calling as soon as you’ve opened your residence, and a week later you’ll be everyone’s darling, just as you are here.”

  “You may be overestimating my ability just the least little bit,” Jovvi replied with the part of her laugh she couldn’t manage to swallow. “Or at least my capacity, to have me known by everyone in just one week. And don’t forget I have those wretched tests to take first, but hopefully I’ll fail. And you can be certain I’ll be more careful in choosing my patrons from now on.”

  “An excellent decision,” another voice said before Eldra could comment. “A pity it wasn’t made soon enough to be of real value. Eldra, dear, will you excuse us, please? I’d like to say my own goodbye to Jovvi.”

  “Of course, Allestine,” Eldra said with a small curtsey, then wiggled her fingers at Jovvi before leaving. She would certainly be there to see Jovvi off, so final goodbyes were still ahead.

  Jovvi turned from the mirror, and briefly examined Allestine while Eldra crossed the large room to close the door behind herself. Allestine was no longer young, but neither was she old. Her face was unlined beneath the tasteful touch of ma
keup she customarily wore, her figure was almost as good as it had ever been, and her dark brown hair was elegantly put up without a single lock or wisp out of place. And yet it was somehow perfectly clear that Allestine was no longer an active courtesan.

  For a moment Jovvi thought it might be the demure day gown Allestine wore, a lovely fawn with tiny black embroideries, but that wasn’t it. Jovvi herself wore a modest traveling suit of burnt orange with a snow-white blouse under the jacket and no full petticoats to waste limited coach space, but to her own eye there wasn’t the least doubt of her station in life. Her golden-blond hair was also put up for traveling, but her blue-green eyes sent the same message they always did. It should be interesting to see what did happen in the capitol.

  “Possibly I should have known rather than you, but that’s no excuse for what happened,” Allestine continued stiffly once the door had been closed and they were alone. “If you had warned me, I would have been able to take steps to avoid the situation entirely.”

  “How could I have warned you when I didn’t know myself?” Jovvi countered, unimpressed with Allestine’s sharp annoyance. “What do I know about talents and aspects and such? I still don’t really understand what happened, or why I’m suddenly being sent to Gan Garee.”

  “There happens to be a law that says all Middle practitioners of magic—in any of the five aspects—have to go to Gan Garee to test for the position of High practitioner.” Allestine’s annoyance had grown rather than lessened, so she took a chair in an obvious effort to calm herself. “You happen to qualify as a Middle in the aspect of Spirit, something that Guild man discovered not long after he joined you in your suite. If I’d had any idea, I never would have given him that appointment with you.”

  “But how can I qualify as anything at all when I never tried to qualify?” Jovvi pressed as she took a chair of her own, needing the answer. The last few years had gone exactly according to her plans, but now it was clearly time for new plans. “And that man never did anything every other man doesn’t do, so how did he know when no one else did?”