“What do you mean, only a half-hour for lessons?”Halithe asked as she hurried to keep up with his long strides.
Rye raised an eyebrow.“Back in Edenrich, how long were our sessions?”
“About an hour,” she said.
“And most of the lesson was?”he asked.
“History,” she said.
“Exactly,” Rye said.“Then about a quarter of an hour with me telling you how to focus—”
“And a quarter of an hour of me staring at a flame,” Halithe finished.
“Exactly.”Rye was staring at the stone walls of the manor, frowning.“I can teach you the concepts, but I can’t learn it for you,” he said absently.“You must assert your will, train your focus.”
“That’s it?”She tried to keep her disbelief out of her voice.“There has to be more to it.”
Ritathan tilted his head as if thinking.“No,” he said with a shake of his head.“I have told you how to do it and now you need to do it.”
Halithe shook her head.“It should be more complicated than that,” she protested.
“It is,” Ritathan lifted an eyebrow.“You thought it would be easy?You thought perhaps a few gestures and a short dance and you would wield awesome power?Not how it works.The hard truth is that power comes from wanting, but also from doing.You would not be the first to want it, but not work for it.”Ritathan looked over her shoulder.“The same is true for many things in life.”
Halithe glanced back to see Aramal crossing from the workshop to the kitchens with the mended chair.Ritathan looked vulnerable, lost for a moment, then his gaze snapped back to her.
“We make sacrifices for our power,” he said.“In truth, everyone does.Magic is everywhere, Leeda, and any can wield it to a degree.They call it a talent or a gift or a ‘way with things.’But for those of us that walk this path, we impose our will on the world, bend it to our call.”
“But what about the rituals, the gestures, the—” Halithe waved her arms in the air.
Ritathan shrugged.“Some use those to focus,” he explained.“Everyone is different.Old Centrix used to burn sweet grasses until it made your eyes water.Quite the stink, to be honest.”Rithathan snorted.“Atula claims her cats are familiars, but Forterran put his foot down when she amassed twelve of the creatures.”
“But what about, I mean, I’ve heard about sacred sands and crushed diamonds and—”
Ritathan nodded, as he stared up at the manor house.“They make a great show, and in truth, they are used in blood magic.Shortcuts, really, a way to control the power.”He shook his head.“Such mages rely on ritual and materials to control and channel the power found in blood.Then, the wrong word in a chant, any fly in the ointment, so to speak, and your ritual is blown or worse, warped, and the power of the blood is dissipated and lost.”He grimaced.“Any power wielded in that fashion is tainted.”He paused.“Well, marked.In certain faiths, blood sacrifice is a normal, approved practice and—
“So it’s all like scrying?”Halithe whined, trying to bring him back to subject.“That will take for-ev-er.”
“And that’s the difference between the wanting and the doing—the work.”Ritathan nodded.“No one ever wants to hear about the effort behind the expertise.”The sound of horses drew both their attentions to the road.
“Ah, Jerrold, and it looks like the healer is with him.”Ritathan took her elbow.“Let’s walk around to the other side of the house.No need to strain his credulity any further.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The Farmstead in the Black Hills
“That’s the new scribe?”Wethe asked Jerrold from her pony cart.She pointed with her chin, drawing Jerrold’s attention to the two figures just as they disappeared behind the manor.
He’d met Wethe on the road a mile or so back, both headed toward the manor.Jerrold had had half a mind to gallop ahead, but he’d slowed his horse to a walk.Wethe’s tongue and opinions were both sharp, and she rarely concealed her thoughts.
“Aye,” Jerrold shifted in his saddle, uneasy at the sight.“That’s him and his daughter.”
“Phish,” Wethe snorted.“Never seen a scribe walk with that kind of arrogance before,” she said, clucking at her pony to keep pace.“Mind, I’ve not seen that kind of arrogance in the Lord High Baron or his Lady.Not so far.”
“So far,” Jerrold muttered.The kids were in the courtyard, doing drills, Cirda among them.Captain Roth raised a hand to acknowledge their arrival.
“What’s got your spleen twisted?”Wethe demanded.“They’re nice enough.You see daggers in every smile.”He couldn’t see her face, but he knew that tone.“Need a woman, you do.Your ma agrees with me.”
Lord of Light preserve him, he’d learned not to argue or even acknowledge that topic.Especially with a woman old and cranky enough to be his mother.
