'Why not?' Jarim interrupted. 'Why haven't you made any progress?'
'We have made plenty of progress! It is only magic we use, were you expecting miracles?' Firesong shot back testily. 'If you want miracles, speak directly to a God. Or a Goddess.' That last was a shrewd hit on Firesong's part, since Jarim, unlike Querna, was not Sworn to the Star- Eyed. He could pretend to no special communication with his deity, no more than any other Shin'a'in had.
Karal closed his eyes and just let the words wash over him, as Darkwind and Elspeth tried to put into nonmagical terms the things that they had learned, and Firesong added acidic rejoinders whenever someone questioned their progress. He was not a mage, and very little of what they said made sense to him. He could ask An'desha later, when he needed to write up a summation for Solaris.
Solaris. What was she doing, back home in Karse? Was she holding onto her leadership with the same firmness as before? Surely Vkandis Sunlord will keep Karse safe, no matter what, he told himself, and felt a twinge of guilt for such an unworthy thought. He was supposed to be thinking on a wider stage than just Karse; it was the welfare of the Alliance that was as important as Karse's welfare.
But Karse was where his interests lay, and it was Karse's interests he was representing. So was it so bad that he took comfort in the fact that Vkandis held His hand over His chosen land?
As a priest, he must believe that, anyway. To doubt was to doubt the word and the promises of Vkandis....
Except that He has said in His Writ that we must rely on the intelligence and wit that He gave us, that He protects us only in extremis. What if there is a solution here and we simply fail to reach it because we do not try hard enough? Would He still protect us then?
He felt his face grow cold and pale.
The uncertainty of it all was terrifying.
Oh, glory—what was happening to him? Now was he beginning to doubt even his own God?
What could he do, anyway? He was no mage; he knew next to nothing about magic or mathematics. He could only place his trust in others, in the hands and minds of those who did understand all of this. Elspeth and Darkwind, the gryphons, Firesong and An'desha, the mages of Rethwellan recruited by Kerowyn, the fledgling Herald-Mages of Valdemar trained by all of the others, the Priest- Mages of Karse; these were the folk that needed the help and guidance of Vkandis in their endeavor—and any other deity who happened to be interested. Perhaps the best thing he could do now was to pray. At least he understood how to do that.
Right now, he was just very, very tired... and very homesick. I would much rather be the secretary to anyone, even one of those rigid old sticks who disliked Ulrich and Solaris, than be the envoy myself. It's not that I don't want the responsibility—it's that I can't get the authority to take care of the responsibility.
So today, rather than try to make anyone listen to him, he just took notes whenever he caught something he understood. If I have a point I want raised, I'll write it down give it to Elspeth or Darkwind later, he decided. That's doing my duty by the Alliance as a whole, even if it isn't accomplishing anything for Karse.
Right now, that was the only solution he could think of.
Three
An'desha dropped another pebble into the water-table, and watched the resulting waves break up and disperse on the model. The elegant concentric rings quickly turned into a chaos of wavelets and counter wavelets amid the barriers placed there, and he shook his head in despair. He'd been told about this, but he hadn't believed it until this moment. 'This is too complicated even to see, much less measure and analyze,' he said bitterly. 'And this is only a model. The reality is a hundred times worse!'
Master Levy gave him a sidelong, sardonic glance of approval. 'For an unlettered barbarian who believes in curses and spell casting you show a surprising grasp of logic,' he said dryly. 'And a remarkable understanding of the difficulties of measurement and analysis in a moving system.'
An'desha was not about to be goaded. 'For a hard-headed statue who only believes in what he can see, weigh, and measure, you show a surprising flexibility,' he countered. 'And besides, you know very well that I read, speak, and write more languages than you, so although I am a barbarian, I am hardly unlettered. Now, shall we dispense with the insulting small talk and get on with this?'
But Master Levy only sighed with frustration. 'At the moment,' he admitted, 'small talk is all I have to offer. I am venting my frustration in sarcasm. You are correct, the reality is too complex to calculate. I haven't been able to derive any kind of formula, and if I cannot, I doubt that anyone else would be able to.'
Unconscious or conscious arrogance that last might be; nevertheless, Master Levy was right.
