The Witch & the Cathedral - Wizard of Yurt - 4 by C. Dale Brittain
Authors: C. Dale Brittain
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mean that?"
He looked at me with surprise. "Is there a reason why I shouldn't?"
"No, but— Usually members of the aristocracy don't become wizards. The training is too long and too hard and the rewards too negligible in comparison to aristocratic rule."
"But aristocrats become priests sometimes.**
"Well, yes, but I've never heard of a king doing so. And there are a lot more priests than there are wizards. I assume a lot of men have a religious calling or something."
"So would I be the only king at the wizards' school?"
"That's right," I said, hoping desperately he was just casting around in his mind for an alternative to living with Vincent.
"What is it, an eight-year program?" he asked, positioning a blade of grass between his thumbs. He blew on it and seemed pleased to produce a high, blatting tone. "Maybe you could just teach me a little magic here."
"I could certainly teach you a few simple spells," I said, trying to hide my relief. I liked Paul tremendously, but I could not imagine him in the wizards' school— nor imagine Yurt abandoned by its new king. "Real wizardry training," I went on, "has almost all taken place at the school for the last century and a half. There are thousands of aristocratic courts in the western kingdoms and probably hundreds of seminaries, but only one wizards' school. Since the old apprentice system died out, everyone's been trained the same, and most of us know each other. But there are still a number of people, not wizards, who know the odd spell or two. Your father tried to learn to fly once though he never got very far. And your Great-aunt Maria wanted me to teach her wizardry; her problem was that she got bored with the first-grammar of the Hidden Language."
"I never knew she was interested in magic," said Paul in surprise. "The last couple of months, while you've been gone, she claims to have gotten very interested in theology." It was my turn to be surprised. The Lady Maria had a lively mind and had made early chapel service every morning for years, but she had always become quickly bored by anything intellectual. "Your father was interested enough in religion to go on pilgrimage," I said.
"But Father was different. Besides, that was when the old chaplain was still here," meaning Joachim. "He wasn't too bad, and I also liked that priest whom the old chaplain had take over for him. But last winter, when he got a chance to go be a chaplain in the City, we ended up stuck with the chaplain we've got now.
"If you ask me," he added in tones of disgust, "it isn't religion she’s interested in at all, but that young chaplain. She acts moonstruck when he's around. I decided I had to speak to her firmly. 'Aunt Maria,' I said, 'I hope you remember that priests have to swear a vow of chastity. And you know what she said? She told me I had an 'impure mind. All I can say, there are too many people in this castle who ought to know enough to act their age."
Since I didn't like the young chaplain either, I didn't say anything. The problem with being mature was that I was always feeling that I ought to tell young people things for their own good when they were things I wouldn't have wanted to hear myself.
"I'll tell you who has an 'impure mind': it's that chaplain."
"Have there been any particular incidents of impurity?" I asked in some alarm.
"Of course not. Everybody but me thinks he's fine." I relaxed again. "But I can tell from his laugh and his handshake that he's really a goat."
Since these had never conveyed anything of the sort to me, I attributed this statement to Paul’s dislike of any change of personnel in Yurt. But an uneasy thought sent cold fingers walking down my spine. I had assumed that Zahlfast, in warning me against priests who would estroy me, was warning me against the cathedral. He might instead have been warning me against the young chaplain of Yurt.
Paul jumped to his feet, looking as satisfied and resolute as though we had decided something, which as far as I
He looked at me with surprise. "Is there a reason why I shouldn't?"
"No, but— Usually members of the aristocracy don't become wizards. The training is too long and too hard and the rewards too negligible in comparison to aristocratic rule."
"But aristocrats become priests sometimes.**
"Well, yes, but I've never heard of a king doing so. And there are a lot more priests than there are wizards. I assume a lot of men have a religious calling or something."
"So would I be the only king at the wizards' school?"
"That's right," I said, hoping desperately he was just casting around in his mind for an alternative to living with Vincent.
"What is it, an eight-year program?" he asked, positioning a blade of grass between his thumbs. He blew on it and seemed pleased to produce a high, blatting tone. "Maybe you could just teach me a little magic here."
"I could certainly teach you a few simple spells," I said, trying to hide my relief. I liked Paul tremendously, but I could not imagine him in the wizards' school— nor imagine Yurt abandoned by its new king. "Real wizardry training," I went on, "has almost all taken place at the school for the last century and a half. There are thousands of aristocratic courts in the western kingdoms and probably hundreds of seminaries, but only one wizards' school. Since the old apprentice system died out, everyone's been trained the same, and most of us know each other. But there are still a number of people, not wizards, who know the odd spell or two. Your father tried to learn to fly once though he never got very far. And your Great-aunt Maria wanted me to teach her wizardry; her problem was that she got bored with the first-grammar of the Hidden Language."
"I never knew she was interested in magic," said Paul in surprise. "The last couple of months, while you've been gone, she claims to have gotten very interested in theology." It was my turn to be surprised. The Lady Maria had a lively mind and had made early chapel service every morning for years, but she had always become quickly bored by anything intellectual. "Your father was interested enough in religion to go on pilgrimage," I said.
"But Father was different. Besides, that was when the old chaplain was still here," meaning Joachim. "He wasn't too bad, and I also liked that priest whom the old chaplain had take over for him. But last winter, when he got a chance to go be a chaplain in the City, we ended up stuck with the chaplain we've got now.
"If you ask me," he added in tones of disgust, "it isn't religion she’s interested in at all, but that young chaplain. She acts moonstruck when he's around. I decided I had to speak to her firmly. 'Aunt Maria,' I said, 'I hope you remember that priests have to swear a vow of chastity. And you know what she said? She told me I had an 'impure mind. All I can say, there are too many people in this castle who ought to know enough to act their age."
Since I didn't like the young chaplain either, I didn't say anything. The problem with being mature was that I was always feeling that I ought to tell young people things for their own good when they were things I wouldn't have wanted to hear myself.
"I'll tell you who has an 'impure mind': it's that chaplain."
"Have there been any particular incidents of impurity?" I asked in some alarm.
"Of course not. Everybody but me thinks he's fine." I relaxed again. "But I can tell from his laugh and his handshake that he's really a goat."
Since these had never conveyed anything of the sort to me, I attributed this statement to Paul’s dislike of any change of personnel in Yurt. But an uneasy thought sent cold fingers walking down my spine. I had assumed that Zahlfast, in warning me against priests who would estroy me, was warning me against the cathedral. He might instead have been warning me against the young chaplain of Yurt.
Paul jumped to his feet, looking as satisfied and resolute as though we had decided something, which as far as I
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