Part 4
Joria stood alone in the hall for a
while herself, considering and reconsidering all that had happened. She knew
Jamus had suffered constantly under Sorra’s stern hand, but she could not
picture him seeking revenge. For all his rashness in Magic, she had never seen
him lose his temper or rage in defiance. His adopted father was far too fiery a
man himself to tolerate a hot-blooded son. Rather Sagari chose meek and
Will-less people to surround him.
Everyone in the Keep had witnessed battles between the Lord and his
quick tempered and headstrong natural daughter. Why would he adopt a son like
her to make himself even more miserable?
Still, Jamus was a quiet boy, and like the River itself, often the
greatest danger lay in the calmest waters. She knew he had an extraordinary
talent for Magic and was quite capable of weaving the kind of Spell that killed
Sorra.
Joria sighed heavily, the burden of
death and its consequences as great as the weight of Magic from a Master’s
Call. She would witness Jamus’
questioning before Sagari and make up her mind then. Idle speculation was
worthless for now.
*****
Jamus was brought before the
assembled Masters by Sovath, Master of Prentices. A kindly old man who had worn
the robes of Mastery for nearly two hundred circles, Sovath had led only seven
other children before the group under similar accusations, and only once before
because a Master had died. That time, the charges proved false when the Council
discovered the spell the child had woven had been under supervision with the
Master at full fault for daring too much with his untrained pupil. With Jamus, though, there was no such
evidence, and Sovath was worried. He had a special fondness for the boy and had
often invited him into his own chambers when some of the other children were
being especially cruel. A hearing like
this, no matter what the outcome, might well ruin what little contentment Jamus
could find.
For his part, Jamus seemed more
confused than anything. He had heard about Sorra’s death and even caught a few
rumors of Prentice weaving, but he acted as if he had no idea at all why he had
been brought before the Council. Still, he remembered his manners, to Sovath’s
relief, bowed appropriately and then greeted the Masters in proper fashion,
“Master Sagari, Lord of Magiskeep, to your judgment I freely come. Masters of
the Arts, I honor your presence. I am ready for the Touch of your Will.”
Sagari straightened a bit in his
chair as the boy spoke, a slight smile curling his lips as if he were proud of
Jamus’ courage. Then he spoke, “Jamus of the Rim, you have been accused of
killing the Mistress of Beginnings. The evidence is small as it often is in
charges of the Magic, but evidence there is.”
Sovath had no doubt now about the
boy, and neither did Joria, for Jamus’ face registered such shock there was no
possible way he could have been pretending. Sovath propped him up under the
elbow when he began to sway as his knees buckled, “Easy, lad,” the old man
whispered, “the Masters are just. The truth will be discovered.”
Unlike Sovath, Sagari seemed to
harden at the boy’s reaction, his voice growing harsher as he continued, “To
use Magic for injury breaks Rule and Vow, dishonoring not only the Keep but the
River itself. To kill the innocent with it defies Turan’s Way and the Hand of
the God. If you are found guilty here, you will be forced to die in payment and
your name will be wiped from the Keep. What have you to say in your defense?”
Jamus shook his head, his body
trembling in Sovath’s grasp.
“Say something, lad,” Sovath
whispered tensely. “You have to speak for yourself.”
“I…I,” Jamus began. Words failed
behind the tears welling in the boy’s eyes. Then he felt the heat of Sagari’s
anger at his failure as tendrils of the Master’s Magic curled about him,
unnoticed by the others. At first, he thought his father was trying to offer
support, but soon he recognized the threat of punishment for being weak and
feminine in the face of the accusation. Sagari had often lashed him with Magic
for some misdeed or another and Jamus knew he would suffer now if he failed to
reply. Biting his lip, the boy stiffened his shoulders and tried again, “I did
not kill Mistress Sorra. I do not even know a spell to make a weaving to trip
her.”
“That’s not quite true,” Master
Jorn remarked from his seat to the left of Sagari. “My lessons on historical
precepts included several examples of Magic’s use for ill. I do recall a
similar spell in the lecture on Sogol’s Defense of Toria.”
Jamus seemed on firmer ground now
as he replied, “Yes, Sur, there was a spell there. I remember the story. Still,
it was more of a net to catch something, rather than make someone fall.”
“Adaptable,” Jorn said
thoughtfully, “by a clever Magician, I think.”
Sagari interrupted, “And does this
boy meet such criteria, Jorn? Is he
clever enough? I don’t recall his having
a high reputation for the Art among the lot of you.”
“He is willful,” Jorn said.
“And careless,” Mistress Jiala said
abruptly. Mistress of Manipulation, and mistress of a lusty reputation for
taking any many she fancied, she and Jamus had often clashed--especially when
she tried to lure him into her bedroom and he managed to slip away. Boy or not
he was far too attractive, even at this young age.
“He is kind and concerned, though,”
Sarena said. “He has a rare Compassion for those who suffer. I cannot believe
him capable of murder.”
“A defense demands proof, not
opinion,” Sagari replied more harshly than necessary. Like Jiala, he too had a
healthy appetite for the opposite sex and Sarena had often eluded him. Now he
glared challengingly at the gentle Mistress hoping to humiliate her at least a
little. It was a pleasure to be able to attack her publicly in return for all the
frustration she’d caused him in private.
Sarena smiled serenely, “My Art
proves itself, My Lord, and stands in defense of the boy. He is too talented in
Healing to cause harm.”
Sagari snorted disapproval, “Let
the records show your claim, Madame, but I will hold it of no credence. Proof
is more solid than sentiment.”
Joria was frowning and shaking her
head all the while. Then, she spoke, “This accusation is grave, Masters, and we
argue it well. Yet, what evidence has been offered to prove Jamus’ guilt? It seems to me it should be as firm as his
defense.”
“The girl,” Jorn said, “….Jinda.
She heard the boy practicing a chant for weaving the spell. She also knew how
he hated Sorra for tormenting him and had heard him make threats.”
“So, one accuser is enough to
condemn the lad?” Joria asked sharply, “Why?
Because he is an Outworlder?
Because we fear the strength of his Will against our discipline? Because he does not abide by the expectations
we have of children? Do we fear this
child because he defies normal convention and demands a different kind of
teaching than we are comfortable with?
Do you really believe he is guilty, or do you simply wish to be rid of
all his questions?”
“Why such a passionate defense, My
Lady?” Sagari asked casually. “One would
think you had a fondness for the boy.”
Joria had already heard the rumors
in the Keep of her liking Jamus too much. She had always been ready to counsel
him and often welcomed him to her rooms when he needed to escape some cruel
prank or torment from the other children. “I am fond of him, My Lord,” she said
with an ease equaling Sagari’s. “If you had not adopted him, I might well have
myself. He deserves a kind parent’s support from time to time.”
Sagari glared at her, “He has a
father. Why should he need a mother too?
I grew up perfectly well without one myself.”
Joria prudently decided not to
reply to that, “I should like, Master of Magiskeep, for Jamus’ accuser to face
him here and tell her story.”
“A reasonable request,” Jorn said,
nodding. “Unless I am mistaken, another witness has stepped forward as well—a
boy?”
Sovath replied, “Young Sovin has
supported the girl’s statement and added some more testimony of his own. I
expected you to wish to hear from them. My Apprentice has the children waiting
in the hall.”
“Get them,” Sagari ordered, sinking
back into his chair. “Two accusers, Jamus. One voice confirms another. I am
disappointed to hear this.”
With Sovath no longer at his side,
Jamus swayed a little as he stood before the Council, “I am innocent. A hundred
voices can lie as easily as one.”
Sagari laughed, “Jorn is right
about one thing, you have learned lessons here. Is that the moral of
Wizardchase I hear on your lips?”
Jamus remembered well the story of
the Sorcerers’ being driven from the mortal world by the Disbelief of thousands
who had used the denial of Magic as a weapon against the River. Only the few
Magicians whose Will was strong enough to battle the overwhelming power of
massed Disbelief survived, and they had fled to Magiskeep to continue on in the
Art. Sogol had built the enchanted mountains of the Rim as a defense and since
that time, Magic had remained largely isolated in Magiskeep. “Wizardchase’s
lesson does apply, I suppose,” Jamus agreed. “And those whose Magic lived after
the denials of so many could testify for me now. They would agree more voices
do not make something true.”
Sagari nodded approvingly now.
Jamus never failed to please him with his intelligence. The boy was far
advanced for his age in so many ways. It was too bad he was so childish in
others. “May it be so in this case…for your sake,” he said.
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