Thread Slivers (Golden Threads Trilogy) (5 page)

With a start Lebuin realized that his master was still talking. “...volunteered to be tester, he lobbied hard to convince the council to choose him; understandable, considering your long standing adversarial relationship.” Magus Andros looked over his shoulder to make solid eye contact. “If he was truly the evil nemesis you claim he is, would he not have simply poked you in a non-fatal but painful spot first?”

He shook his head.
None of you understand it — he is more than evil, he is devious, intelligent, and calculating to a fault.
“You may have a point.” Keeping eye contact with Magus Andros, Lebuin decided to continue planting the alternative seeds he had been working on for the last few cycles. “After this embarrassment he will not be helpful to any of my endeavors. He might even actively attempt to undermine me.” Lebuin couldn’t help showing small smirk, and his master didn’t miss it, either.

Magus Andros smiled himself. “You really have an interesting mind.” Turning back to the silver clasp, he continued his examination. “I must say, this is rather more extravagant than most candidates manage to create. I note a number of formulas which I would venture to guess are completely unique.”

Lebuin puffed up in pride slightly.
Yes, it does have a number of entirely new formulas. I have been developing those for years. I think you are going to be impressed when you notice the twist. A twist that isn’t exactly new, but a variation on a little-known pattern.

Lebuin recalled the day, many years ago, when he had returned to his rooms to find three very old tomes. Attached was a note instructing him to keep them hidden, take care of them faithfully, and to pass them on in turn, with wishes from an anonymous supporter that they’d help with his “challenges”. All three books were copies, and yet they were faded and crumbling with age. They were the research memoires of a Magus Seriel of Eralci, who lived so long ago that no records existed in the Guild libraries of either him or the city he had come from.

Thankfully they had been written in the Magi’s language, or at least an early root of it. It took him nearly two years of intense page-by-page work to copy, cross-reference, and translate them into his own journals in the modern Magi’s usage. After that he had read them again and again, each time writing hundreds of notes and ideas of research to do. Those books had provided the foundation for many of his innovations, most especially the workings of his trial artifact. Not once in his twenty years of study at the Guild had he seen another formula similar to the key of his artifact.

Lebuin again wondered who his anonymous supporters were. There had been times when he had nearly failed, or when Cune had thwarted one of his tests or projects; each time some small trinket or library book had appeared, with a note suggesting it might help with his difficulties. The notes were all in a different hand, using different grammatical patterns. Each time, he had found a way to use that aide to overcome the difficulty, or at least rebalance his course. He often suspected one or two Magi, especially when the anonymous support stopped coming after Magus Gezu died. Of course, he also hadn’t had a near-total defeat or even a serious challenge since the Magus’s death.

A soft grunt of surprise pulled Lebuin back to the present situation. He smiled wider, knowing that Magus Andros had found the key. “This is remarkable work, Lebuin.”

Magus Andros picked up the clasp and fastened it to his tunic, which Lebuin noted was made from wool.
A perfect, if not exactly elegant, conduit. I have a beautiful light samite and ermine cloak ready for this.
Lebuin relaxed his mind and flexed his vision into magical sight. He watched the clasp begin to work, the energies subtly flowing down the tunic. The way it moved was interesting, and he concentrated on areas where the effects pooled moving in an odd path. He noted that the energies moved well through the cloth’s weave, as he expected. However, there were places where it had been mended with a cotton thread, and in those places the incantation had to move around the repair, causing odd anomalies.
I’ve never seen it do that before. But of course I don’t have any clothes with repairs. He has had that tunic a long time. I never noticed it had so many rips and repairs; I wonder that he hasn’t replaced it by now. He certainly has no need to be a spendthrift.
Eventually the entire garment was evenly infused with the energies of the incantation.
Praise the Lords and Ladies; at least it eventually reaches full coverage. I need to not show surprise on the pooling effect initially around the repaired locations
. Lebuin carefully schooled his look to appear interested and slightly worried, as anyone in a testing situation would be.

Magus Andros was also watching the effects. When the energies had stabilized, he nodded. “This is very interesting, very interesting indeed. I am surprised you held the construct together as it was when Magus Cune attacked. The only poor mark from today is that you failed to notice Magus Cune until he purposefully got your attention. Still, this was an excellent test, with a remarkable defense and an extraordinary construction. I presume the council members will be as impressed as I am.” Patting the clasp, he added, “I shall have to take this construct with me to show them. I’ll return it to you, along with their ruling, later tonight. I don’t think it is too far out of line to congratulate you now, Lebuin. You should have your archive token with you, unless you want to use this.”

Lebuin’s thoughts spun fast.
He liked it! I
passed! After today I can choose my own lines of work. After all this time, I am finally a Journeyman.

Turning and walking out through the portal, Magus Andros shook his head, looking back at Lebuin. “Only you would put so much effort into creating a device to keep yourself dry, clean, and at a comfortable temperature. Most would have tried to make a protective shield with this formula, given the tasks ahead.”

Lebuin’s thoughts were so far distracted by the compliments and his likely achievement of Journeyman status that he didn’t even register Magus Andros’ parting comment.
I need to change before anyone sees this mess on my sleeve.
Checking the hall, he hurried out and moved like a ghost towards his rooms. Oddly, the corridors were very empty.
I wonder what time it is. I know construction takes time, but most of the work was already finished. I thought I’d be done before sunset. This feels more like late night.

He reached his room without seeing anyone but servants. Stepping into the small chamber, he moved to the second of his two fine wooden armoires. Pulling a key from his pouch, he unlocked the brass-inlaid lock. The doors swung open on their well-oiled hinges without a sound. Inside were four cabinets, two large drawers on the bottom, and a full-length silver mirror attached to the inside of the left door.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he shook his head. He was marginally above average height at five feet, eleven inches. His dark green eyes looked tired, and his normally pale skin looked a little whiter than usual. Without thinking, he took the brush and worked it through his sandy brown hair, fixing it to fall mostly on the right. His hair fell to just past his shoulders. Putting the brush down, he stripped off his clothes and threw all of them in the trash basket. Looking back at himself, he sighed.
I wish I wasn’t so skinny. Without clothes on, I look like a starved beggar.

He moved over to the water bowl. He warmed the water with magic before taking a hand towel and moistening it. As he scrubbed the wound, he saw it was actually pretty shallow. It still stung. He moved back over to the open armoire, pulling out a small vial of clear fluid. He dripped some on the wound, watching it bubble a pinkish-white. Wiping the foam from his arm with the wet cloth, he then took another vial with an oily pink fluid, which he opened and drank fully, placing the empty vial and cap in a special basket on the desk for just such items. The warmth spread through his system quickly. He watched as the wound on his arm slowly closed, still bubbling slightly. After a minute he wiped it with the cloth again, removing all the foam and blood. The wound was gone, and no scar remained. He finished cleaning up.

Unlocking the other armoire revealed two cross-sections of clothes hanging on bars, with another set of four drawers on the bottom, as well as another full-length silver mirror. He examined the clothes and selected a sea-blue shirt, matching loose trousers, and a fine sleeveless doublet of grey silk, with silver cording that would show off the shirt’s pleated sleeves. To this he added riding boots which had never seen a horse — or a dirty road, for that matter. Pulling down the samite and ermine cloak, he put it on and admired the results in the mirror.

A skeleton with large, tired-looking green eyes, lovely sandy brown hair neatly parted, dressed as fine as any baron, stared back at him.
Why can’t I bulk out like my brother?
he wondered again. His brother was a real bull of a man, standing a full six feet tall and weighing in at two hundred pounds of pure muscle. Practically every girl in town swooned when he walked by. They barely acknowledged Lebuin’s presence, which was why he had started paying attention to fashion. By dressing with clear fashion sense, he had managed to find a means to attract some attention from the ladies. Of course
now
it was more than a means to attract the ladies. He truly loved his clothes, and was immensely proud of his fashion sense. In fact he had broken up with his last girlfriend because, in spite of her amazing beauty, she refused to dress well in private, which drove Lebuin crazy.
I really wished she wouldn’t just wear those frumpy old clothes at home all the time.

He added a complementary blue ribbon to tie his hair back and nodded to himself in the mirror, satisfied.
It’s silly for journeymen to gift the Guild with a token that is never used. Traditions can be so silly; it is a wonder we continue to uphold them.
Still,
reaching to the top cabinet he took out the crude artifact that he had selected long ago to be his token, when he had learned that all journeymen gift a trinket of their own making to the Guild. He hadn’t given it a second thought since. It was a small silver ship, fused to a piece of dark-blue geode, which reminded him of his family. He had made it as part of his training in artifact creation. It contained a simple incantation so that the crystal glowed slightly, making it very beautiful at night. Putting the glowing ship into his pouch, he closed the doors and carefully relocked them.

He walked to the library slowly and in a slight haze. He could have ordered some food and dined in his room, but he truly lived in the library. Since the age of three when he first entered the Guild, the library had been a place of comfort and enjoyment for him. He spent every spare minute there.

Finding one of his favorite nooks empty, he sat down in the large, comfortable chair. His thoughts roamed over the trials. The tests had been difficult, but now the very last test he would ever have to take was over. From now on he was a Journeyman Magus, able to choose his own work, able to set his own path, under the direction of no one except himself. He wasn’t worried about passing. The construct demonstrated techniques only few Magi had ever mastered, such as the ability to bind and draw the energies necessary from anyone, so long as they were within a few feet. The other incantations were all variations of the minor comfort formulas taught to every candidate, to help them remain healthy, as well as provide safe practice for maintaining continuous incantation and energy-channeling. Of course he had added some nice twists, such as the self-adjusting temperature, which shifted back and forth between warming and cooling as needed; strengthening the dirt repellent to the point that the protected cloth would remain sterile; and causing all the effects to spread out enough that a medium-length cloak would provide the protection to the entire body.

A servant silently placed a glass of wine on the table next to him. As the man started to move away, Lebuin pulled his attention to the present and raised his hand. The servant stopped. “Do you require anything, sir?”

“Yes; bring me some fresh-cooked meat, cheeses, fresh fruit, and a full loaf of bread. Also, bring me bottle of sharre.”

“Hello, mighty Master Magus Lebuin.” As the servant moved away, a sandy-yellow head of hair appeared, leaning into the nook’s entry, accompanied by the very sarcastic greeting.

Lebuin laughed and gestured at the adjacent chair. “Hello, Finnba. Sit down.”

Finnba said mockingly, “Am I now only an apprentice to be ordered around, SIR Magus Lebuin?” He plopped down in the indicated chair, smiling.

Lebuin took in his friend’s appearance, noting that he was still wearing the same leather slippers, old, soft brown pants, patched gray linen shirt, and tired, loose, sleeveless green cotton doublet he always favored. He shook his head, thinking,
The man has no sense of style. I wish I could get him to wear some of those nice outfits I gave him. I can’t believe he dresses like this even when we go out in the city.

“You’ll be taking the examination yourself pretty soon. Then we’ll be able to speak more like equals. But don’t forget I will still have seniority over you.”

“You’ll have seniority over me forever. Of course, a year’s difference won’t mean much after ten years or so. I bet I am promoted to a higher position than you before too long.”

“You can have your bureaucratic office. You always were a quill boy. Also, you might be only a year younger than me, but I entered the Guild a full five years before you did.”

“Ah yes, well, we can’t all come from fabulously rich merchant families with noble-house relations. Besides, you are only one year ahead of me in training. Don’t forget you had to grow up a bit first.”