Realms of Magic - Brian Thomsen King [17]
Anton tried to shrug nonchalantly. "So it makes a big bang. Don't we have enough spells we can learn that create a big bang?"
Gerald leapt in, "Yes, but those spells are only for wizards. Smoke powder, like printing, can bring that ability to the masses, eh?"
"Exactly," said Jehan, warming to the subject as the most recent round of ale warmed his belly. "But the Old Hounds in the city, Maskar the Mummy and that skunk-maned Spider among them, don't see it, won't see it until it's too late. Keeping us from knowing too much about the stuff won't keep others from learning. But no, they're caught in the 'Fireballs and Lightning Bolts' mind-set, and nothing can dissuade them."
Anton muttered something about the beer running through him, and he staggered off. Jehan and Gerald barely noticed his disappearance.
Gerald said, "So you don't think we mages would be replaced if there were smoke powder freely lying around?"
Jehan laughed. "No more than we'd be replaced when more people learn how to read. You still need mages to make the stuff. And not to mention that wizards would still be needed to make smoke powder safer, and improve the weapons that use it. The big problem for most arquebuses is that they sometimes explode. A wizard can strengthen the barrel, as well as improve the accuracy and distance. It's a whole new world, but the Old Hounds with all the power don't realize it, and they're keeping us, the next generation, in the dark about it."
By the time Anton returned, Gerald and Jehan had moved onto other ideas, like golem-driven boats and clockwork familiars, which the Old Guard were either ignoring or blatantly quashing. The three apprentices agreed that the problem was that since the old wizards controlled what knowledge was being passed on, they controlled the advance (or lack of advance) of spellcasting.
Gerald excused himself at this point, saying he had to get back to Blackstaff Tower or the Old Spider would send hell hounds out after him. Anton bought one last round, and the conversation switched to other matters, such as the purported easiness of the Fibinochi sisters. Then Anton had to leave as well, since his master mage was cooking up something noxious at dawn and expected the kettles to be spotless.
Jehan swirled the last of his ale in his mug, thinking about how entrenched the old wizards had gotten. And the problem was, since they were all older than the Cold Spine Mountains, they kept anyone else from learning new things. Supposedly, they were fonts of information, but in reality they stood in the way of progress. Jehan resolved that when he attained the ancient and august title of wizard, he would never stand in the way of new ideas like Granduncle Maskar, Khelben, and the rest of the Old Hounds. In the meantime, he would have to sweep the floors, learn what he could, and keep his eyes out for new ideas. After all, there was nothing that kept him from a little independent study.
A merchant intercepted Jehan as the young man was making for the door. "Excuse me?" the merchant said in an odd accent, touching Jehan softly on the shoulder. "Do I understand you are a wizard?"
Jehan blinked back the mild, ale-induced fog around him and looked at the merchant. He couldn't place the accent, and the cut of the man's clothing was strange-the tunic a touch too long to be fashionable, and the seams stitched across the back instead of along the shoulders. "I am a wizard's student," Jehan said. "An apprentice."
"But you know magic?" pressed the man. His inflection rose at the end of every phase, making each sentence sound like a question.
"Some," said Jehan. "A few small spells. If you need magical aid, there are a number of name-level wizards in Waterdeep who can help…"
Tm sorry,"