Ardyon led us from the harbor through a maze of warehouses that filled the air with exotic perfumes, onto a wide avenue faced on both sides by emporiums offering such a wealth of produce as widened my eyes and set my nostrils to twitching like a questing hound’s. We saw arcades and bazaars, whole squares filled with canopied stalls, grand taverns and eating houses, plazas where fountains played and trees grew, protected by ornate fences. And people-more people than I had thought the whole world could hold, merchants and their customers, folk who did no more than stroll leisurely as if they had no work to call them, but only time in which to wander this cornucopia of wonders.
We hurried after the briskly striding warden down streets overhung with balconies that trailed bright flowers, past walls painted with a kaleidoscope of colors, or tiled; up stairways narrow and wide; across squares where statues stood proud. I saw loaded carts driven by Changed and carriages holding Truemen, horses ridden by men and women both. I gaped and goggled my way to a great white wall where Ardyon halted and gestured with his staff.
“This is the College of the Mnemonikos,” he announced. “Save you are dismissed early, this shall be your home for the next year at least.”
I was too excited to allow his reminder of possible failure to dampen my spirits. I stared, wondering if the wall was to keep us in or the city out. There was a gate, tall and wide, stained a pale blue, standing open. Ardyon led us through into a courtyard paved with great stone slabs, shrubs and fledgling trees growing in stone basins, benches set along the inner face of the wall occupied by men old and young. A few Changed went about menial tasks. Ardyon continued his march without breaking pace, across the courtyard to a high building with windows set like watching eyes and an arch at its center that granted entry to the cloistered quadrangle beyond. We turned off there, following our guide up a stairway to a door of black wood, where he motioned us to halt, tapping three times with his caduceus. A muffled voice bade us enter, and Ardyon swung the door open.
A small man, the light from the window at his back shining on his pate, sat behind a desk. He did not rise, but I could see he was not tall and that his face was unlined and amiable as his welcome.
“The day’s greetings,” he said pleasantly. “Welcome to Durbrecht.”
Pyrdon and I mumbled a response, Cleton replying more firmly. Ardyon named us one by one, tapping us each on the chest with his staff, and handed over our tokens. The bald man glanced at the disks and set them aside. “I am Decius,” he said, “master of the College. Your journey here was comfortable, I trust?”
Pyrdon nodded.
I said, “We saw the skyboats that attacked the city.” Cleton said, “And the wreck of one; along the Treppanek.”
Decius smiled and said, “Do you tell me what you saw?”’
He motioned for me to begin. I know not why, for I was not entirely at ease, whilst Cleton seemed quite confident, as if an interview with so elevated a personage was to him an everyday event.
I swallowed, cleared my throat, and commenced to tell him all I remembered. I was speaking of the elementals I believed I had seen sporting about the Sky Lords’ craft when he raised a hand to halt me and bade Cleton continue. Cleton took up the tale and was in his turn halted, Pyrdon finishing with an account of the wrecked airboat.
“How many bodies did you see?” asked Decius, when Pyrdon fell silent.
Pyrdon frowned and shrugged and said, “I am not sure, master.”
Decius smiled and raised inquiring brows at Cleton, who said, “I think there were thirteen.”
I found those mild eyes fastened on me then, and I closed my own an instant, conjuring the image. I said, “There were fifteen, master.”
“You’re sure?” asked Decius.
I hesitated a moment and then said, “Not absolutely. They were amid the wreckage, like bodies in the belly of a dead beast. But I think there were fifteen.”
Decius nodded, and I wondered if I had done well or badly in what I took to be a test. I was not told, for he turned his face to the warden then and said, “Do you show them to their dormitory, Ardyon? And I’d suppose they’ll want to eat. After, do you bring them to Martus.”
Ardyon offered a brief bow in response and motioned for us to follow him again. We quit the room, trailing after the warden back down the stairs, across the quadrangle to a separate building that he advised us held the dormitories of the Mnemonikos-elect.
Ours was a long, high-windowed room containing twenty beds, each with a cupboard beside that Ardyon explained was for our sole use. There were, he told us in his toneless voice, only fifteen candidates in residence, and no more were expected. He took our daggers into safekeeping, promising their return at the year’s end, waited as we chose our beds and stowed our gear, and then brought us to the dining hall, which lay on the far side of the quadrangle. He was meticulous in the dispensation of his duties, and even though neither Cleton nor I had appetite left, we were settled at a table with Pyrdon, watching as porridge, bread, and tea were brought him by a servant I recognized as Changed. As he ate, Ardyon outlined the timetable of our days.
Cleton caught my eye as we quit the dining hall, and on his face I saw the promise of disobedience to come.
He remained dutifully silent, however, as Ardyon led us through gardens to a walled enclosure, where a man of middle years sat with the fifteen candidates already in residence. We were introduced, and the warden left us. The man studied us a moment, then said, “I am Martus, your tutor for the next year. Do you tell me something of yourselves?”
We each in turn recited our brief histories, and Martus named our fellow candidates. I studied him and them. He seemed a pleasant enough man of no especial distinction. He was of average height and build, shaven clean, with an abundant head of light brown hair and eyes that seemed somewhat sleepy, though I soon learned they missed nothing. He was clad in well-worn breeks and tunic, with a sash of vivid red. The other students were a disparate lot, as might be expected, given they came from all over Dharbek. There were fishermen like me, another tanner’s son, two blacksmiths, several merchants’ offspring, three from taverns; Cleton was the only student of noble descent. Nor, Martus explained, were there female Mnemonikos, our itinerant lives being deemed unsuitable for the supposedly gentler sex.
That first day passed swift, and it seemed not long at all before a gong summoned us to the dining hall for the evening meal. The hall was filled with students of all ages and loud with the buzz of conversation. I was marveling at the richness of our fare when one of the farriers’ sons, a hulking fellow from the west coast whose name was Raede, fixed Cleton with his small eyes and said, “So you’re an aeldor’s son, eh?”
Cleton nodded, smiled amiably, and answered, “That I am. Brython of Madbry is my father.”
Raede snorted. Like one of the horses he helped his father shoe, I thought. Certainly he was built for the work, or the work had built him. I was no weakling-rowing a boat and hauling nets had put muscle on my frame- but next to Raede I was nothing. He was huge, with bulging forearms and a neck thick as a bull’s: I had seen no one bigger save Kerym’s Changed crewmen. He studied Cleton awhile, then said, “I suppose you think yourself better than us.”
A hamhock hand gestured at the others. Cleton, still smiling, said, “No. Why should I?”
Raede paused a moment, frowning, and said, “You’re an aeldor’s son.” It appeared he found that sufficient explanation and cause for resentment.
Cleton nodded again and said, “Here we are all students, equal.”
“I’m stronger,” said Raede.
“I can see that,” said Cleton.
I suppose I had, in a way, led a sheltered life. There had been no bullies in Whitefish village, and it was a while before I recognized that Raede was less concerned with Cleton’s antecedents than with establishing his own authority. I stared at his blunt features and wondered why he sought to provoke this argument, simultaneously realizing that Cleton’s mild responses served only to irritate him the more.
“I could break you,” he said.
“Perhaps,” said Cleton.
I thought there was no
“Some are,” Cleton said.
