Read Online Darwath 2 - The Walls Of The Air by Barbara Hambly - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Barbara Hambly
Ads: Link
a moment's consideration of how much of what he loved and valued was, objectively, pretty useless. “But I didn't know jack about anything when I started magic. I called fire because I had to.”
“No,” the wizard contradicted. “You called fire because you knew it could be done.”
“But I didn't know that.”
“Then why did you try? I think you knew in your heart that you could do it. I think you might even have done it as a child.”
Rudy was silent for some time, sitting on the bleached bones of the rock. The wind moaned faintly along the banks above them, and Che flicked his long ears at the sound. There was no wind in the gullies. It was so still he could hear the water clucking softly at the ice. “I don't know,” he said finally, his voice small and a little frightened. “I dreamed about it, I think. I used to dream about a lot of stuff like that when I was a real little kid, like three or four years old, I remember dreaming—I think it was a dream—I picked up a dry branch in our back yard and, holding it in my hand, I knew I could make it flower. And I did. These white flowers budded out all over it, just from my holding it, just from my knowing they would. Then I ran and told my mother about it, and she hit me upside the head and told me not to imagine stuff.” The memory came back to him now, as clear as vision, but distant, as if it had happened to someone else. There was no sorrow in his voice, no anger, only wonderment at the memory itself.
Ingold shook his head. “What a thing to tell a child.”
Rudy shrugged it away. “But I was always interested in how stuff was put together. Like cars—or anyway, I think that's why I was good with cars. How they work, and the sound and feel of whether they're right or wrong. The human body's the same way, I guess. And I think that's why I drew. Just to know what it was and how it all fits.”
The wizard sighed and laid the dead plant stem among the rocks. “Perhaps it's just as well,” he said finally. “You could never have gotten the proper teaching, you know. And there are few more dangerous things in the world than an untaught mage.” New winds threaded down the gully. Ingold stood up, shivering, and pulled his hood over his face once more, wrapping his long muffler over it so that all that showed of his face was the end of his nose and the deep-set glitter of bright azure eyes. Rudy got up also, hung the water bottles over the various projections of the pack-saddle, and led Che up the narrow trail that had taken them down into the draw. Ingold moved nimbly ahead of him.
“Ingold?”
They scrambled up the last few feet to level ground and made their way back toward the road. A covey of prairie hens went skittering away almost under their feet Che flung up his head in panic. The skies had darkened perceptibly, and in the distance Rudy could see the rain sheeting down.
“Why is an untaught mage so dangerous?”
The wizard glanced back at him. “A mage will have magic,” he said quietly. “It's like love, Rudy. You need it and you will find it. You will be driven to find it. And if you can't find good love, you will have bad, or what passes in some circles for love. And it can hurt you and destroy everyone you touch. That is why there is a school at Quo,” he went on, "and a Council.
The wizardry at Quo is the mainstream, the centerpoint of teaching. Since Forn the Old retired there and began to gather all the lore of wizardry in his black tower by the sea, the Archmage and the Council of Quo have been the teachers of all those who were capable of understanding what was taught. Its principles are the principles handed down from the old wizardry, the legacy of the empires that existed before the first coming of the Dark, three thousand years ago. They are older than any kingdom of the earth, older than the Church."
“Is that why the Church has it in for us?”
Wind had begun to blow down rain upon them, mixed with hard, tiny spits of
“No,” the wizard contradicted. “You called fire because you knew it could be done.”
“But I didn't know that.”
“Then why did you try? I think you knew in your heart that you could do it. I think you might even have done it as a child.”
Rudy was silent for some time, sitting on the bleached bones of the rock. The wind moaned faintly along the banks above them, and Che flicked his long ears at the sound. There was no wind in the gullies. It was so still he could hear the water clucking softly at the ice. “I don't know,” he said finally, his voice small and a little frightened. “I dreamed about it, I think. I used to dream about a lot of stuff like that when I was a real little kid, like three or four years old, I remember dreaming—I think it was a dream—I picked up a dry branch in our back yard and, holding it in my hand, I knew I could make it flower. And I did. These white flowers budded out all over it, just from my holding it, just from my knowing they would. Then I ran and told my mother about it, and she hit me upside the head and told me not to imagine stuff.” The memory came back to him now, as clear as vision, but distant, as if it had happened to someone else. There was no sorrow in his voice, no anger, only wonderment at the memory itself.
Ingold shook his head. “What a thing to tell a child.”
Rudy shrugged it away. “But I was always interested in how stuff was put together. Like cars—or anyway, I think that's why I was good with cars. How they work, and the sound and feel of whether they're right or wrong. The human body's the same way, I guess. And I think that's why I drew. Just to know what it was and how it all fits.”
The wizard sighed and laid the dead plant stem among the rocks. “Perhaps it's just as well,” he said finally. “You could never have gotten the proper teaching, you know. And there are few more dangerous things in the world than an untaught mage.” New winds threaded down the gully. Ingold stood up, shivering, and pulled his hood over his face once more, wrapping his long muffler over it so that all that showed of his face was the end of his nose and the deep-set glitter of bright azure eyes. Rudy got up also, hung the water bottles over the various projections of the pack-saddle, and led Che up the narrow trail that had taken them down into the draw. Ingold moved nimbly ahead of him.
“Ingold?”
They scrambled up the last few feet to level ground and made their way back toward the road. A covey of prairie hens went skittering away almost under their feet Che flung up his head in panic. The skies had darkened perceptibly, and in the distance Rudy could see the rain sheeting down.
“Why is an untaught mage so dangerous?”
The wizard glanced back at him. “A mage will have magic,” he said quietly. “It's like love, Rudy. You need it and you will find it. You will be driven to find it. And if you can't find good love, you will have bad, or what passes in some circles for love. And it can hurt you and destroy everyone you touch. That is why there is a school at Quo,” he went on, "and a Council.
The wizardry at Quo is the mainstream, the centerpoint of teaching. Since Forn the Old retired there and began to gather all the lore of wizardry in his black tower by the sea, the Archmage and the Council of Quo have been the teachers of all those who were capable of understanding what was taught. Its principles are the principles handed down from the old wizardry, the legacy of the empires that existed before the first coming of the Dark, three thousand years ago. They are older than any kingdom of the earth, older than the Church."
“Is that why the Church has it in for us?”
Wind had begun to blow down rain upon them, mixed with hard, tiny spits of
Similar Books
