Chapter 15: Wherein The King Talks In Circles

One grey and wet morning Marning came to look in on the boy, who was sitting by the window, watching the rain. He was so deeply engrossed by the raindrops that he did not seem to notice that anyone had walked into the room. Or perhaps he was still fortified within his own dark inner abyss, still ignoring everyone and everything around him.

The Grand Master felt a wave of disappointment. At this rate, he couldn't help but begin to worry, was this boy too far-gone? Had he been too late finding him? If only he had known of his existence, if only he had known how to look for such a person, maybe he could have gotten to him on time.

"Good morning, boy," he said casually, without expecting any answer.

For the first in several weeks, the boy turned his head and looked directly at Marning. "Good morning, old man," he said with a steady voice. Yesterday's vacant indifference was replaced by a smirk and a mischievous spark in his eyes.

"I see you're back with us." The Grand Master helped himself to a grin.

"Dunno what you mean." He carelessly shrugged one shoulder, peeked at the rain for one last time, as if looking back on the shadowy world he had just exited, and then turned from the window and leaned against the wall. "Anyway, old man, you wanted me to be your student or something, right?"

Marning blinked carefully at him.

"Right, then teach me." One more glance at the rain, "I've decided I'll be staying about for a while."

What was this rascal up to? Unable to keep the suspicion out of his voice, he asked, "Why the sudden change of heart, boy?"

"Have you any idea," he said, "how wet the streets can get?"

Marning's frown deepened, he was certain that this boy had some ulterior motive, something he would not share with the Grand Master. He looked at the boy for a long time before he decided that for now the best thing to do would be to disregard the matter and make the most of what he had. Whatever it was would be known to him sooner or later."I haven't time to spare for you today," he said finally, "but I'll have books sent down here so you can begin on your reading."

"So, I'll get to learn how to read?" the boy asked excitedly, the first time that he looked eager about anything.

Marning winced. "You don't know..." he shook his head. "Never mind, I'll send a reading tutor."

***

Six years before, there had been a particularly harsh winter. In one week, the temperature had dropped so low that Lake Frachior in the Gorwar valley, a deep and wild lake sustained in part by hot springs rising up from the belly of the earth, froze overnight. In recorded history, it was the first time Lake Franchior had ever frozen over, thus it was estimated that that winter was the coldest winter ever to occur in Auranora.

Marning remembered that winter quite well. He remembered the way his breath frosted as he sat by the blazing hearth in his private chamber covered like an onion in layers of robes and fleeces. He also remembered the devastating death-toll of that winter; bodies were driven to the graveyards and cemeteries by the cartload and were left there in rows on the earth that was too hard to dig into. The dead of that winter were interred only after the earth had thawed. All the magicians of the country were busy with weather spells and curing spells, trying their best to keep the terrible cold at bay. The people, on the other hand, worshiped the gods with greater fervour since then, believing that the cold was punishment for having offended some god – no one knew which – and hoping to appease whichever one it was.

Today, King Daphour's audience chamber, as Marning walked in, felt colder than the coldest winter in Auranoran history.

The King had been delighted with Burgen, he had seemed at ease when he first laid eyes on the brightly dressed, brightly grinning, bright-tempered young man. Daphour was expert at recognising the thing he most feared and with one glance he knew that Burgen didn't have it.

Burgen Winterstarch didn't have that unnamed quality that belonged to born leaders, that inner light that made them shine brighter than the rest, that overarching charisma that stole people's hearts and minds, that voice that spoke words powerful enough to draw others to follow.

Marning also knew that Burgen didn't have it, just as he knew that Burgen didn't have many things that were essential to them in such a time.

Burgen was a real magician, but he wasn't going to win a gold medal in any Wielder Tournament. Not when his opponents were Kurnsmidge and Erba-un from Kir-Moot, not in the same year that Gruitfield and Effe of Bordinary chose to compete. Burgen wouldn't win this year, or in four years, or in eight, or most likely ever.

The Tournament was divided into dozens of categories and everyone who wished to, could apply to compete in the category of their expertise. But while Magical Movement was vital and Light Magic was beautiful, artistic and pure, while Scrying could answer questions in the future with the help of the past, and Growth Magic could make a country wealthy, while Mind Magic could connect hearts, and Healing Magic could save lives, only War Magic could keep a Kingdom safe.

Only War Magic connected all fields of magic together, only War Magic used every tool and resource available, putting immense power into the hands of one man.

A man could study all his life to master all the fields of magic and yet never be able to perform War Magic. It was nearly impossible to train into it, nearly impossible to study. Effort was never misplaced, but there could never be a War Magician without inborn talent.

Inborn talent that even Marning never possessed. After Cooper, Marning was known to be the most powerful magician in the Kingdom. Whether or not this was true could not be fully tested, but the Grand Master was indeed the most learned magician in the Kingdom; he had dedicated so much of his life to the study of all fields of magic.

However, he was not a War Magician; he did not have what it took to compete with the finest War Magicians of the world. He did not have the young, bright fighting spirit they all possessed.

It was all because Harlock Cooper had been far too great. He had raised the standards, for Auranora and for the world. Some of those who could have grown strong with effort and persistence, simply gave up trying, sinking into the ranks of mediocre magicians.

"How ironic it is that we call it War Magic when it's there to keep the peace." Harlock's words rang in Marning's ears and stabbed his heart. How true those words became, now that the great Peace Magician was gone and they stood on the brink of war. It was as if Harlock had designed the world to make sure that if he could not keep the peace, no one could. But then again, where could Marning find in all of Auranora a man with such a perfect combination of darkness and pure light in his soul?

Were their greedy enemies watching in on them through their smoke, orbs and mirrors? Were they gleefully waiting for the hour of truth, when they could finally avenge their bruised pride and gloatingly thrust it like sand in their enemy's eyes? Small, failing, defenceless Auranora, a thorn in the side of its large neighbours. At least now, with the boy, hope remained.

Finally Daphour wished to speak with Marning about the one subject he had avoided for weeks. The Grand Magic Master was accustomed to this behaviour. If the King found a certain topic particularly irksome, he would try, at first, to charge at it behind Marning's back, only when every one of his dealings proved to be futile would he then reside to placing it upon the table in open daylight.

"What are you doing, Marning?" The King's voice was low, like a wolf's growl. "The Bull" was angry, angry for some weeks already, angry to be reminded, to be cruelly reminded, that he could never be rid of Harlock Cooper and the mess he left behind. "I always knew you were sentimental, but this? Collecting garbage off the street? Giving it a home in my palace when even its presence in my city is intolerable?"

"You wished for another Harlock Cooper, I have found one for you." Treading on dangerous ground was all Marning was doing in the King's presence these past few weeks.

In theory, the King could strip the Grand Master of his title and nominate a different magician in his place. In theory; the Grand Master was obligated to listen to the King. But not all theories worked in practice.

The King needed the Grand Master to be a powerful and prominent figure with the support of the magicians in the Kingdom. For a non-Wielder King could never rule over the magicians and Wielders directly. Magicians only ever answered to other magicians and usually only to magicians more powerful and learned than they were.

And Marning was the only one among them who was both powerful and sufficiently loyal to the monarchy. The King, therefore, could dismiss him, but he would only have chaos in his place.

"You found me a boy so young his lips must still be sweet from his mother's milk."

"This boy's lips are far from sweet," Marning's reply came quickly.

Daphour laughed. "If indeed he is a boy," he said, "or rather a rat, a filthy rat you picked out of the gutter."

"Filthy rat he may be," Marning agreed, "but as long as he wins us a gold, I don't care where I found him."

"You believe you can turn this child into a War Magician in time?"

"He shows immense promise."

The King's fingers drummed on the silk-covered arm of his chair. "In other words," he said, breathing through his nose as he spoke, "you are placing the destiny of my Kingdom on a gamble?"

"It was always a gamble," Marning said. "Magic is always a gamble. Only this time the cards are better hidden than ever before."

"Why can't you put all your efforts into Winterstarch?" the King asked, for the hundredth time.

Talking to the King required patience; he sometimes needed to have the same thing explained to him over and over again until he'd accept defeat. "Winterstarch can Move inside magic beautifully, he has an uncanny knack for Growing Things and can lift a tree from its roots with the power of his Mind, he can become Unsubstantial and sometimes even Invisible, he can change his face and even Whisper in shadows and winds." Marning sighed. "His talent is remarkable, but it does not lie in War Magic. He hasn't got the charisma to rally all of magic together to his benefit; he has not the talent for Destruction, he hasn't grazed the art of Unmaking. Deep within his heart there is fear of everything 'dark.' He can never be a War Magician when he is so afraid of death."

"And your rat boy can?" Daphour dismissed the notion with his hand. "I hear he does not even know how to read."

"He will learn, he will learn everything."

"What makes you so certain?"

"He takes after his father in so many ways."

The King's fist clenched at the mention of Cooper, his knuckles growing white; he blew air out of his nostrils with an uncouth snort. "These past months, Marning, you've grown even more sentimental," he growled. "Your love for your dead pupil has blinded you. You are beyond reason."

"Maybe it is love," the Grand Master mused, "maybe it is desperation. Or maybe it is simply hope."

"May the gods save us from misguided hope." There was one thing Daphour and Cooper had in common: whenever they appealed to the gods, it sounded so distinctly as if they were mocking them instead.

But Marning had won this time, like he won so often with the King. He had so many years of service that pushing his opinions onto Daphour until the King could no longer resist had become a second nature.

Daphour leaned back in his chair and asked wearily, "When will you present this boy to me?"

"Soon."

"And then you will have two apprentices?"

"Yes, sire."

"Then, as for King's Magician, let them compete over the title." He waved his hand. "Let them have an equal chance."

"When the time comes," said Marning, "we shall see who's worthier."