King's Dragon
Whether he believed this excuse or not, he accepted it. He turned his left hand palm up, the back of the hand still lying on the stone, fingers curled up slightly as if he was about to cup a sphere. “Sorcery is a mental discipline, not a physical one. It is the manipulation of the unseen forces that surround us, that are always active, though they are invisible to our five senses. There are those who profess knowledge of the forbidden arts who use physical means, incantations, chants, and objects, to focus their minds and reveal knowledge beyond what is common. These we know by many names, depending on what elements they seek to manipulate. The tempestari try to control the weather; the haroli seek to call down the daimones of the upper air, who are almost as knowledgeable as the angels. The sortelegi cast lots and make predictions, and old wisemen and women who may yet remember the old gods and have not yet turned their hearts entirely to Our Lady and Lord make predictions by means of the flights and cries of birds. These we call augures. Even unlearned folk have among them those who by diverse means and complicated misunderstandings have some simple skill in magic.”
He paused and seemed to be waiting for her to comment.
The marble tomb at her left hand was engraved with the likeness of a woman wearing a biscop’s mitre and robes: Caesaria, deacon and biscop. In the carving, the biscop held a shield depicting a saint, a woman with arms outstretched holding a knife in each hand; she also wore, as the sign of her martyrdom, a knife buried hilt-deep in her breast—St. Kristine.
“But the church condemns some magi,” said Liath, “and watches with suspicion over any who are not sworn to its service.”
And what of those who can speak a name and have it resonate across a great distance? This was not the first time she had heard that voice, calling her name, but obviously it must be the voice either of a magus or of some creature not of human birth, an angel or a daimone. Or a devil in service to the Enemy. She shuddered.
She said nothing. She did not believe him. He regarded her silently. Suddenly calm, she examined him: his grave expression; the stern light in his eyes which was, nevertheless, touched with kindness; the marks of age on his skin; and in his hair and beard, where only a trace of the younger man remained, a few strands of brown hair nestled among the silver.
Wolfhere laid his hand back on the stone. “But if the mind is properly trained, none of these other ways are necessary or even preferable. By what means do the magi focus and train their minds?”
“The ladder.”
He nodded. “‘The ladder by which the magi ascend.’ Can you recite it?”
Wolfhere nodded. “These are the tools the magi use. Follow with me, in your mind’s eye. Through the ring of fire we may see a vision of another place.” He drew his hands farther apart and stared fixedly at the black stone.
Liath felt his silence reach a new and deeper level, as if he were drawing away from her, although of course he did not actually move. But she had never learned to build the ring of fire in her own mind; Da hadn’t taught her the mental exercises beyond the sword of strength. She stared at the expanse of stone that lay between Wolfhere’s hands, one palm down, the other palm up. Her grip tightened on the torch. The air itself seemed to grow taut. Wolfhere sucked breath in between his teeth. His pupils widened, then shrank to pinpricks as at a sudden bright light.