The Magic of Recluce - L. E. Modesitt [212]
“Recluce has no fear of you, or of me.” As I said the words, the chill I felt from their truth, from my stomach not turning, almost had me shivering.
“Indeed? Then it must be true, if you say so. Yet you hesitate in joining us in the search for the answers that Recluce hides from all the world?”
“I’m not sure that a wizard’s seeking answers entitles him to receive them, any more than a ruler’s starting a war entitles him to victory.” My words were a stupid response, tumbling out almost thoughtlessly.
Antonin frowned. He had moved a step or so closer as we had spoken.
“He seems somewhat reluctant to pledge his service to you.” Sephya’s laugh was hard, and the sound tore at my chest. “Or even to carry out his own quest for answers.”
I nodded toward her, trying not to take my eyes from the white wizard.
“Do you wish to enter the white fellowship?”
“Hardly.” I laughed, except the sound resembled choking because my heart was pounding and my mouth dry.
“He is brave, Sephya,” the white wizard announced. “Brave, but not terribly bright.”
I agreed with his assessment—completely.
“So…” Antonin raised his arms. “Let me show you some answers.”
Whssstttt…
A cascade of fire streamed from Antonin toward me.
Instinctively, my staff blocked the torrent of flames that cascaded around me, blazed blackly.
Antonin smiled. “A good staff there. But a staff cannot answer your questions.”
WWWWWHHHHHSSSTTTTTTTT!
Fire flowed everywhere, and my ears whistled and rang from the blaze that surrounded me.
“A very good staff.” He raised his arms once more.
The theatricality of the gesture irked me. He scarcely needed to raise his arms. Chaos and order are molded by the mind, not the hands.
WWWWWWWWWHHHHHHHHHHHHHHSSSSSSSSSSTTTTTTTTT!
The force of the fire nearly knocked me off my feet, driving me back away from the table, leaving me tottering above the stone flooring.
“Are you sure about your decision?” Antonin asked, his voice once more reasonable, as if he had not just attempted to incinerate me. His hands remained poised. “Knowledge belongs to those who seek it, not those who deny it or flee it.”
At that point, I acted on faith, not quite sure why I did what I did. Straightening up and taking my staff in both hands, I brought it down across my knee. It bent, but did not break, and a sharp pain ran up my leg.
“That’s hardly the way,” said Antonin mildly. “Just set it down.” He pointed to the stone tiles by my feet. Fire surrounded him, an unseen white blistering flame, and cold red hatred, even as he stepped toward me yet another pace.
Casting the staff aside wouldn’t be enough—that would just divide what order I possessed. But I had not been able to break it and my leg throbbed from my failed attempt. The lorken was tough. And it was finely crafted—Uncle Sardit’s best. Yet I knew that the best of tools could be a crutch, even if a finely-crafted crutch.
“Just set it down. The staff hinders your search for answers.” Antonin’s voice was friendly, persuasive.
I gripped the lorken more firmly. Mind over matter? Was that the answer? Whatever it might be, that seemed the only hope.
BREAK—that was what I willed as the hard black wood came down across my knee again. BREAK…BREAK…BREAK!
Crackkkkk…
That black lorken that had turned swords, resisted stone, and stopped iron bars—that iron-bound and indestructible staff—cracked as easily as though it had been a softwood stake. Coolness—a black coolness that quenched the burning with which Antonin’s flames tried to bathe me—flowed from the broken ends of the wood, settling in and around me.
Without a word, I cast both pieces of iron-bound black wood at his feet.
Even Antonin’s mouth dropped open momentarily, before he danced back from the cold iron on the black wood.
As he gaped and dodged, I stepped forward, drawing a reflective shield around us, except this one was inside out, directing outside energies away from us.
His mouth continued to sag as I turned toward him.
“You…”
WWWHHHHHHsssss