Forging the Darksword - Margaret Weis [35]
Nodding in satisfaction, the overseer transferred his gaze to the next field, where other magi were trudging through freshly turned soil. A crop had been harvested from that field last week and these magi were gleaning the last vestiges of grain. Then the field would be allowed to rest before the magi returned and, using the magic force within them, parted the soil in neat rows with a gesture of their hands, preparing the soil for planting.
Everything was proceeding well. The overseer would have been surprised if it hadn’t. Walren was a small Field Magi settlement, as most went. Part of the Duke of Nordshire’s holdings, it was a relatively new settlement, having been established about one hundred years ago when a terrible thunderstorm (caused by two warring groups of Sif-Hanar) started a fire that effectively cleared the land and left dead wood enough for homes. The Duke immediately took advantage of the situation, ordering a hundred or so of his peasants to remove to the settlement that was on the border of the Outlands, finish clearing, and then plant the land. They were far from the walls of the city, far from other settlements. Most of the magi working here had been born here and would undoubtedly die here. There was no grumbling or talk of rebellion, as there had been in some villages the overseer had heard about.
Movement caught the overseer’s eye. He immediately quit lounging and assumed a stern, businesslike air when he saw the Field Catalyst slogging through the bean field, coming toward him.
In Field Magi settlements, the catalyst works as hard or harder than the magi themselves. Field Magi are allowed only enough of the catalyst’s transference of magical Life force to work efficiently, the reason for this being that magi have the ability to store this Life force within them and use it whenever they need. Because of certain signs of discontent and restlessness among the Field Magi from time to time, it is considered best to leave them as weak as possible. Therefore, the Field Catalyst is forced to move among the magi and restore their magical energies almost hourly—one reason why the job is abhorred among the catalysts and generally assigned to those of low standing or to those who had committed some infraction of the rules of the Order.
Even as the catalyst walked through the field, his shoes—the sign of his calling—covered with mud, a magus dipped down to the earth and did not rise up again. Seeing the woman’s hand lift into the air, the overseer caught the catalyst’s attention, jerking his thumb in the direction of the spent magus.
“Call a rest,” groaned the catalyst, plopping himself down upon the ground. Yanking off his mud-caked shoes, he began to rub his feet, not without first casting a bitter, envious glance at the bare feet of the overseer. Although brown from the sun, the man’s feet were still smooth, the toes straight and widely separated—the sign of those who travel the world on the wings of magic.
“Rest!” bellowed the overseer, and the magi dropped from the air like dead moths to lie among the shade of the bean plants or drifted prone upon the air currents, closing their eyes against the bright sun.
“Now, what have we here?” the overseer muttered, his attention being drawn away from the field to a figure that had appeared on the roadway leading through the woods to the flat farmland. The catalyst, noting with dismay that he had a blister, lifted his head wearily to follow the overseer’s gaze.
The figure approaching them was a woman. She was obviously a magus, by her clothing, yet she was walking, which meant that she had spent nearly all her magical Life force. Upon her back, she carried a burden—a bundle of some sort, probably clothing, the overseer judged, examining the woman attentively. This was another sign her Life force was weak, for magi rarely carried anything.
The overseer might have assumed the woman was a Field Magus, except that her clothes were a strange, vibrant