CHAPTER 30 – Defining Boundaries

Once the demonstration had concluded, and the doused braziers had been returned inside with the other implements, Almon instructed the three apprentices to sit on the grass and take notes while he lectured them at length on the discipline of Abjuration. But before he began, he informed them that they would not be covering all the principles that governed its practice, just as they had not governed all the principles concerning Conjuration and Invocation.

“Each of these early days is intended to introduce a different, important lesson concerning the general practice of magic,” he confessed. “From your lesson in Conjuration, you have learned that discernible laws govern the presence of magic in the world. From your lesson in Invocation, you have been shown the extreme danger of magic to the unwise.”

There, the wizard paused, one hand on his lectern. “Celaena, Iolas: can either of you tell me what today’s lesson has introduced?”

Iolas glanced to Saphienne as he answered. “I wouldn’t have been able to, without Saphienne… but you’re teaching the importance of understanding, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Almon turned to Saphienne. “Saphienne: extrapolate from this.”

Her anger toward him had cooled since their exchange after the demonstration, hardened into resentment that matched his own — but for a different reason. “How a wizard understands the world limits her ability to affect the world with her Abjuration spells,” she said, keeping herself formal and detached from her contempt, “which is why wizards must study broadly and deeply. Since a wizard cannot fully abjure what she does not understand, are spells of the other disciplines of magic also limited by the extent of her comprehension?”

“Correct.” He gestured to the spell that hung overhead, shielding the garden from the now diminishing rain. “The ward above us functions against wind, rain, hail, and snow, but only because the wizard who developed its sigil fully understood and accounted for each, working that comprehension into their formulation of the spell. So too, a wizard who wished to conjure lightning would first have to understand it.”

Like an unabjured thunderbolt piercing through the orange veil, insight struck Saphienne. “…Spells below the First Degree don’t require any comprehension to cast, do they?”

Irritated, yet obliged to acknowledge she was right, Almon inclined his head. “Just so. Since you have leapt ahead in the syllabus… impress me, Saphienne: what distinguishes craft magic from spells below the First Degree?”

Contesting his challenge suited her mood. Saphienne closed her eyes, thinking back to what she had learned in her time with Eletha and Gaeleath. She remembered the first day she experienced the Second Sight… the way the metal Eletha worked looked under magical scrutiny, how the green of Transmutation appeared and shifted in response to her singing. “…Craft magic doesn’t take the form of a spell. Each song has a magical effect, but it’s not that the song creates a spell — the singing itself is magical, like sunlight is magical.”

“Well reasoned. And what does a spell require, that craft magic does not?”

There, she reached the limit of her conjecture. “…I would be guessing.” Her eyes opened, and she shook her head. “I know that magical talent is required to cast spells, and that the talent is distinct from skill with craft magic. I don’t know what that talent really is… only that there is no way to divine it.”

Celaena had been struggling to listen, but Saphienne’s last remark woke her up. “There isn’t?” She sought confirmation from Almon. “But it runs in families… is there really no spell that can detect it?”

Her master permitted himself a teasing smile. “Unfortunately not. My lesser art – the mere teaching of the Great Art – would be much simpler, were such a divination known. I’m afraid, Celaena, that it’s possible you lack magical talent…”

She grew pale.

“…Except, as you said, the talent runs in families. It is highly unlikely that the daughter of an accomplished wizard and a capable priest has no talent.” He swept his hands across the three of them. “Most elves have at least some talent with magic, and all talent can be nurtured. You all show promising signs. Take Iolas, for example: he has a distant blood relative, on his mother’s side, who proved to be a sorcerer.”

That was apparently news to Iolas, who took a moment to find his voice. “…You know my family?”

“I review the genealogical records of every potential student…” He paused; Saphienne felt him regard her from the corner of his vision. “…Where such records are available. Regardless, we have drifted far from the pertinent topic.”

Performatively, the wizard gestured to each girl with his open hands as he spoke their names. “Saphienne is correct — magical talent is required, and cannot be detected. So too, Celaena is correct — magical talent runs in bloodlines.” He brought both palms together with a smile. “This leads us, rather neatly, to the subject of sorcerers.”

* * *

Coming around his lectern, Almon loomed over where Saphienne sat on the grass. “Since you’re racing away from us, Saphienne: care to educate your fellow apprentices, on the difference between a sorcerer and a wizard?”

He was mocking her. “Other than supposing that the distinction has something to do with understanding and comprehension, no.”

“Hang on,” Iolas interjected. “I can see how you get there from knowing the focus of the lesson… but that doesn’t seem like enough for you to propose that, given the way you think. What am I missing?”

The completely earnest way he asked the question, together with how accurately he read her, made Saphienne blush. “Our master has told us that wizards are distinct from sorcerers, though both have magical talent that runs in bloodlines; he suggested that a spell to tell whether someone has magical talent would make his life easier as a teacher; and just now, he related such a spell to sorcerers. Together, along with understanding being necessary for significant spellcasting, it suggests that sorcerers and wizards have to be taught differently.”

Frowning, Iolas turned to Almon. “Is she–”

“She is, yes.” Almon sighed as he paced along before them. “Sorcerers approach magic intuitively. They do not need to be taught the practice of magic, because the talent of their blood manifests through an unconscious understanding of the world — usually in situations of extreme emotion. Because their magic is intuitive, it requires far less effort for a sorcerer to cast a spell than a wizard, which means that a typical sorcerer can cast more than an equivalently learned wizard.”

Celaena hesitated before she spoke up. “…Father once told me that wizards were almost all superior to sorcerers in mastery of the Great Art.”

Naturally, the wizard nodded. “Quite a common view. Did he tell you any more?”

“Both use sigils…” She shifted, uncomfortable. “…But, he never explained how, or really what sigils actually are.”

“You may relax, Celaena: your father wouldn’t dream of sharing anything with you against the rules.” He tilted his head as he paused next to her. “Tell me, though: have you ever seen a sigil?”

She started to shake her head…

…Almon raised his eyebrows…

…And Celaena sagged. “I have — but, father didn’t show it to me.”

Her master laughed. “If you were able to steal a glimpse inside his spellbook, Celaena, then although he technically never showed you, that terrible transgression of yours was very much intended by him. No wizard of your father’s ability would leave his spellbook unwarded.” Running a hand across his jaw, he smoothed away his smile, though his eyes still faintly glimmered. “As long as nothing was explained, he broke no rule. Many wizards test their younger relatives that way, to see if they have the requisite curiosity for wizardry.”

Though interested to learn more about Celaena’s father, Saphienne had been holding back her next question for too long. “If sorcerers can cast spells more easily, how are wizards considered superior in the Great Art?”

“Flexibility.” Almon clasped his hands behind his back. “Deciphering sigils will follow after you have received your first spell. For now, know that each sigil is magically-imbued notation, formed into a glyph that contains and embodies the understanding required to cast a spell. A wizard prepares his spells by studying the associated sigil, fixing it in his mind through intense concentration, then later enacting it upon the world as a spell, which depletes or exhausts his grasp of that sigil.”

Iolas smiled broadly. “I’m guessing the calligraphy for sigils is very elaborate?”

Almon returned his smile as he resumed walking. “Correct. There are no wizards with bad handwriting.”

Saphienne remained focused on sorcerers. “Which implies that… sorcerers don’t study sigils the same way? How do they–”

There, her master abruptly paused. “I don’t know,” he shrugged.

That caught them all by surprise, Saphienne most of all — especially at how readily he admitted it.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Her voice faltered. “You… don’t?”

“I’m not a sorcerer.” His disinterest was clear. “For our purposes, it is enough to know that sorcerers are born with magical talent that causes sigil-like symbols to develop in their mind as they reach maturity. The specific form of these symbols usually relates to the ultimate source of their magical lineage — which may be a particularly potent wizard, or perhaps an ancestor who was frequently spirit-ridden. Eventually, a sorcerer will cast a spell, without training, without understanding, and without control.”

The pattering rain overhead filled the silence.

Almon nodded, and began pacing back toward Saphienne from near Iolas. “Good: you all understand the severity. Sorcerers can be trained by other sorcerers, and while I don’t know the particulars, they learn to incorporate sigils into their sorcery. I understand that doing so takes a great amount of time and effort, and usually involves replacing whichever symbols first developed, within themselves.”

Saphienne was perplexed. “But, if sigils are the understanding of the spell–”

Iolas cut in. “They learn sigils intuitively, don’t they?”

“So I have heard,” the wizard replied, studying the ground. “The process is a complete mystery to anyone but sorcerers. They are, to an elf, uniformly and frustratingly inarticulate about their approach to the Great Art. But once fixed in mind, their sigils remain steady, making the only limit of their spellcasting their mental and physical endurance.”

Celaena softly smiled. “So father is right. Wizards are superior, because wizards can adapt to any situation.”

“While sorcerers are highly capable in areas of narrow focus, yes.”

Iolas was thoughtful. “Can a sorcerer learn wizardry?”

“No.” Almon dismissed the thought as he about-faced. “They simply lack the temperament. While many eventually learn other forms of discipline, they are given over to daydreaming and seeking novelty. They are also – speaking frankly, and on the understanding you will exercise tact – seldom of more than average intelligence.”

“And the ones who are?”

“Those very few who have become a wizard’s apprentice before their sorcery revealed itself have always failed. The means by which a wizard prepares and casts spells fundamentally conflicts with how a sorcerer accomplishes the same…” Anticipating her question, he headed off Saphienne. “…And the conflict cannot be articulated, not until you have cast your first spells.”

Saphienne smirked. “Can’t be articulated, or won’t be?”

“Ah, see now: Saphienne prepares to imply that wizards are just as inarticulate as sorcerers.” Almon rolled his eyes. “The distinction being, I can and I will explain more to you all — if you can attain the necessary point of reference. Until you have cast a spell, however, putting the process into words would inhibit your ability to accomplish it.”

“So we’re just meant to feel our way through it?” She smiled. “Perhaps, intuitively?”

“Yes, Saphienne — how very droll.” He shot her what he intended as a withering look, more in hope than expectation that he would cow her. “Remember this exchange, and should you ever have cause to try to discuss the Great Art with a sorcerer, do recollect it.”

“I’m sure it’ll be an interesting conversation.” Knowing Almon as she did, Saphienne imagined that sorcerers simply didn’t want to share with him — not with someone who looked down on them.