Praulth had her doubts about the text's authenticity, noting some terminology that didn't quite fit the age in question. She wasn't yet ready to point this out to anyone on the councils. The University took a great deal of pride in its store of ancient documents, so much so that they were under special guard in the Archive. She'd had to secure consent to see this text, in fact, a procedural detail she'd always found most annoying. Some on the University's councils had made their names by discovering or reinterpreting or translating those same documents. It wouldn't do to challenge this Ao'mp Dit excerpt before she knew if someone superior to her had a vested interest in it.
She straightened the sheet of parchment that had been flung down in front of her, peering at it in the steady clear lamplight that always burned in the study parlors. Pupils were encouraged to make use of the University's facilities (which made the restrictions to the Archive that much more contrary and exasperating), to explore and research points of personal interest that were outside the curricula. There were few things more tedious than an intelligent student that kept strictly to the straight and narrow and merely succeeded. So said Master Honnis, though Praulth had heard the sentiment echoed by other instructors.
The map on the parchment was quite detailed. Small blocks of neatly printed text marked various sites. Arrows in red ink showed advancements. It was, of course, a map of battle. Felk was the Isthmus's northernmost major city-state, and its military had recently launched successful hostile actions. Word had spread far southward, here to Febretree. Praulth had been eager for more news of the conflict. It might be that this would flourish into large-scale warfare. The Felk were also said to be using magic to aid their campaigns. That was most unusual. And most intriguing.
How different—and more interesting—that would be compared to the modern pedestrian contests that occasionally heated up amongst rival Isthmus states. They rarely developed into anything historically worthy, remaining petty squabbles that resolved little or nothing. Even this new aggression by the Felk might already have played out.
The map that Master Honnis had brought her said otherwise.
Praulth set about studying it, intently, letting her formidable analytical powers take over. Soon she had entered that nearly insensible state where external input barely registered any longer. Her bland, brown eyes still stared down at the parchment, but she had absorbed its information already. Now she was cogitating. Once a fellow pupil had pricked her arm with a pin when she was in this meditative attitude; she hadn't found out about it until afterward.
Sometime later she hurried from the parlor. Now only one of the other desks was occupied, and the student at it was softly snoring. Praulth's robe flew about her as she moved in unaccustomed haste. She wasn't only eager to find Master Honnis before the watch ended, as he'd instructed, she was also full to bursting with what her studies had uncovered. This was significant. It was perhaps momentous. It was at least the sort of oddity she and her kind could appreciate. Honnis, despite being uncounted tenwinters older than her and the least civil individual she could ever recall meeting, was, in a way ... well... her friend.
Master Honnis was also the head of the University's historical war studies.
SHE HAD COME to the small township of Febretree in her mid-adolescence, from her home estate in the nearby southern city of Dral Blidst. Her upbringing was a very comfortable one, at least economically, what with her family's substantial interests in the southern timber trade. However, none in
Praulth's family had objected when she'd made known her desire to pursue an academic life. In truth, they had seemed pleased to be rid of her. She had never shown the least aptitude for business, and there were plenty of siblings and relations to fill all the slots in the familial concern.
Her family didn't value knowledge for knowledge's sake; and Praulth supposed she could understand their view, since the sort of education she was so ardently pursuing wouldn't be of any real service in furthering her clan's timber enterprise. She understood. But she also still resented the slights and ignorant indifference she'd had to suffer before leaving for Febretree, the best—virtually the
Her burgeoning womanhood spent at the University, however, was something quite different from her younger days. Here she was encouraged to submerge herself in study, was rewarded for her scholarly persistence and was even, wonderfully, envied by fellow students who were in awe of her ability to absorb and integrate knowledge so proficiently.
History was her passion. As little as her family had sympathized with her academic desires, they were that much less understanding of her choice of study. History was done. History was past. The future, though unknowable, was at least of abstract interest. Surely only the present, the practical here and now, had any true meaning. Yet she was drawn toward yesterdays, toward events and people she couldn't witness or affect. Why?
Praulth didn't truly have an answer for that. She doubted that an individual who sculpted in stone could satisfactorily explain why he or she didn't instead weave tapestries or compose verse. History was her focus, and within that discipline she was most obsessed by the analysis of war.
It was odd, in its way. She wasn't a violent person by any means. She couldn't recall ever, even in childhood, raising a hand in anger. She imagined that if she found her-self on an actual battlefield, she would merely stand paralyzed in fear and horror until someone came along to cut her down.
Yet the
That was a part of the fascination for her—examining war as a vast cultural modifier.
Praulth studied the annuls of older conflicts, large and small, those of the Isthmus and those of the Southern and Northern Continents (though these were sometimes quite sketchy in nature). She could make connections and associations among the facts she absorbed that some of her fellow students couldn't start to grasp. It wasn't always easy to see how the minor political machinations in some bygone ancient city-state could impact major war campaigns a hundredwinter later.
Through her exhaustive studies she had accrued a solid knowledge of battle strategies and methods. How engrossing it was, comparing those tactics, seeing how maneuvers and ploys were invented, then adopted by an enemy, forgotten, and resurrected years later.
Yes, it was quite interesting how dead things returned to life.
She found Master Honnis among the statuary and manicured shrubs of an atrium. Overhead the sky was black, pierced by stars and hung with the moon.
Praulth hurried out into the open-air area, sandals slapping stones, nose wrinkling at the scents of flowers and rich earth. She preferred the mustiness of paper. Seeing where Master Honnis was just now wandering out of sight behind a row of carefully pruned greenery, she scurried around to intercept him.
She didn't find him where he should be. She stood confused, the map in hand, until something small and hard glanced off her right temple. She yelped, spun, and saw the old man standing in the center of the court.
She rubbed her temple as she hurried over, not even bothering to complain that he'd thrown the pebble too hard. Such things didn't matter to her. Certainly not now, not with the incredible news she had.
Brandishing the map, she babbled breathlessly, 'Here! This! The Felk attack on Callah, the positional maneuvers, see,
see how the cavalry and archers—'
'Stop.'
She did. She couldn't have gone on at such a frantic pace much longer anyway. Running up and down corridors had already rather winded her. She realized she was acting foolishly, sputtering like a child; very unlike her, she who was always so mentally organized and able to concisely express her ideas.
'State your findings first. Support them with particulars later.' Honnis's dark face, set into its habitual glower, was tilted up toward hers. Though she was substantially taller than the small gaunt man, she naturally felt dwarfed in her mentor's presence. She also had the odd feeling that the elder was easily her physical match.
He was waiting. No one in all the generations that had agonized under Master Honnis's stern tutelage had
