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Although the large socio-political gatherings of mages had never particularly appealed to him, Lyshev found himself dragged along just the same. It didn't seem to matter anymore that he wasn't really learning anything new, though several people did ask him, almost pityingly, how his studies were going. Lyshev didn't have the heart to tell them the truth, and by now, many of those who asked understood that he had trouble comprehending pure theory and didn't ask for details.
When he'd first been told he was a mage, Lyshev had hope of actually becoming someone important, someone who could do things to help others. He was rapidly finding out that with a highly promiscuous teacher and a mind-mage of only middling power as a lover, combined with his Kresari background... Well, he really didn't have a chance of being anyone worthwhile, and that was starting to weigh on his mind.
To distract himself, he listened to the conversations of others. He never stopped too long to actually take part, but he stored all the gossip he heard away for later use. He'd learned all too long ago that knowing what the state of different matters were could save your life. Here, in a mage's world, it wasn't a life-or-death issue as it was in the slums, but being on top of things did save your reputation.
"You know, if Seishak keeps practicing necromancy as heavily as he has been, he'll be lucky to hit forty."
"Good riddance. We'd be better off without that little..." Lyshev knew the man replying was going to say 'slut,' and in a way he couldn't blame him. But this was the first he'd ever heard of necromancers living drastically shorter lives than other mages, and it was why he'd stepped forward.
"Excuse me, but did I hear you correctly?" he asked the lady who had spoken first.
"Yes... You mean to tell me that Seishak never told you?"
Lyshev was in shock, and clenched his fists in anger towards his teacher. "Told me what?"
The man that he'd interrupted cleared his throat, backing away just a little. He'd heard rumors that Lyshev was a sorcerer, and still being in training, there was no way of knowing how much control he had over his emotions. "It's a basic concept of necromancy, see? Every time you cast a necromantic spell, a little bit of your own life force is drained away. Necromancers who practice frequently are lucky to live to forty or fifty years old... compared to healers like Iares, who live to nearly two hundred years."
Something seemed to click inside Lyshev's mind, bringing his knowledge into clearer focus. "I see. If you'll excuse me, I have some things to do," he said quietly, excusing himself from the conversation.
"That poor boy. He really didn't know," the older woman said, pity coloring her voice.
"He needs a better teacher. I wouldn't be surprised if he requested his apprenticeship transferred. Assuming that Seishak even told him that could be done." Clearly, this man's opinion of Seishak's worth as a person had just went down a notch he didn't think was possible.
Seishak was, as usual, flirting. His unmistakable red hair stood out like a lantern at night, and Lyshev made his way directly over. There was no subtlety in the way he grabbed Seishak's arm and pulled him away to a quieter area. "What the ******** do you think you're doing?"
Seishak's harsh, grating accent only added to Lyshev's frustration, though, and he snapped. "Shut up until I say you can talk," he hissed, deliberately putting magick into the words to act as a compulsion. When the necromancer made a gutteral noise of anger that was quickly cut short, Lyshev felt a sense of cruel satisfaction. "Now, why didn't you ever tell me that necromancers lived short lives?"
The moment Seishak felt the stranglehold on his voice loosen, Lyshev's compulsion made him tell the truth. "I did! It was one of the first things I tried to teach you, but you never understood it," his sharp accent and loud voice were drawing a crowd, but Lyshev didn't seem to notice.
"Then why didn't you tell me again when you learned how to make me understand?"
He tried fighting it, but Lyshev's compulsion - his power as a mage - was just too strong for him to hold out against. When Seishak spoke, he kept his voice low enough so that the growing crowd wouldn't stand a chance of hearing him. "Because I didn't want you to transfer your apprenticeship to someone else. I wanted to start more than a teacher and student relationship with you but I can't, because I can't keep up my end of it." Before Lyshev could use the compulsion again, Seishak jerked his arm away, watching everyone in the room with his eerily dead gray eyes. After a moment, he walked out. No one really wanted to bother going after him, afraid of the violent reaction they were certain would come.
Within a few minutes, however, people broke apart from the crowd to discuss what they thought of the newest choice bit of gossip that had unfolded right in front of them. Lyshev didn't want any part of it, and started to go after Seishak. Surprisingly, it was Iares who stopped him. "Lyshev, please, don't bother. He's not worth it."
Although he wanted to protest, to say that he owed Seishak so much for getting him out of the slums when it seemed like no one else was willing to take an apprentice so old, he knew that in the end it didn't matter. One way or another, he would have learned to control his magick from someone, whether it was Seishak or a hydromancer, or even a mind-mage like Darien. "You're right," he finally said in reply.
"Come with me, why don't you? I've been meaning to ask you a few questions." Iares was willing to help Lyshev think about other things, to be close and intimate, if the subtle flirting in the past was any indication. Lyshev followed, allowing the High Priest's arm to drape comfortably around his waist, and returning the favor.
"What kind of questions? I've already told you everything I know about the cult." Nice as Iares was, he did always seem to have a single-minded focus whenever he talked to Lyshev, and had already pumped the poor boy for all the information he had.
"No, no, my dear. I was wondering if you would be willing to become one of my acolytes. You're not suited for necromancy, and if that fool Rydal had been willing to give you a choice, I'm sure you wouldn't have chosen it, either." He was right, of course, but that didn't make Lyshev any less indignant.
"How can you be so sure of what I would or wouldn't have chosen?"
Iares' smile was quick, warm, and somewhat devious. "Dear, I've been around for nearly a century now. I've seen many people that were suited to necromancy, or even pyromancy, but you aren't one of them. Now, what do you think of becoming one of my acolytes?"
For all that his peers had teased him as a child, Lyshev was not stupid, merely unable to comprehend complex trains of thought until he could piece them together. There was no way he was going to go out and say 'yes' to Iares until he understood what an acolyte did, and told the older man as much.
Iares smiled, glad to see the caution Lyshev displayed. "In short, an acolyte is trained by me in the art of healing. I choose a handful of boys to become my acolytes throughout the years, and when I am ready to retire as High Priest, the most qualified becomes the next one. Even if you're not chosen, you still retain high standing among the clergy and will easily be one of the most powerful and respected healers in Direnla."
Those words hit Lyshev like a blow, and his eyes widened. Here was the opportunity he needed to gain more power, more influence... to be someone. He knew that healing would not have been his first choice, but necromancy hadn't been, either. At the very least, he felt that healing others would be more rewarding. He stumbled over his words several times, searching for the right ones to say and only able to come up, lamely, with "I would like that very much."
"I had thought you would. Anything must be better than having Seishak Rydal as a teacher. Now, there is one more matter I would like to discuss. It's never exactly been uncommon for a teacher and their apprentice to be romantically involved, and if you are willing, I should like to see how well it might turn out for the two of us."
Gods-be-damned. Lyshev was trembling, unable to truly believe what he was hearing. None of this could really be true, it was all just an elaborate dream - a fantasy he was coming up with to solve the problems that plagued him. The High Priest of Solcan here in Direnla couldn't possibly be so interested in a lowborn Kresari that had grown up in the slums.
A hand on his shoulder, and Iares' worried look snapped Lyshev back into the reality of it all. "Dear, I know it's a lot to think about. I can understand your willingness to change your apprenticeship, but I also know how attached some people can get with a lover. By all means, take your time to think on it."
When he'd first been told he was a mage, Lyshev had hope of actually becoming someone important, someone who could do things to help others. He was rapidly finding out that with a highly promiscuous teacher and a mind-mage of only middling power as a lover, combined with his Kresari background... Well, he really didn't have a chance of being anyone worthwhile, and that was starting to weigh on his mind.
To distract himself, he listened to the conversations of others. He never stopped too long to actually take part, but he stored all the gossip he heard away for later use. He'd learned all too long ago that knowing what the state of different matters were could save your life. Here, in a mage's world, it wasn't a life-or-death issue as it was in the slums, but being on top of things did save your reputation.
"You know, if Seishak keeps practicing necromancy as heavily as he has been, he'll be lucky to hit forty."
"Good riddance. We'd be better off without that little..." Lyshev knew the man replying was going to say 'slut,' and in a way he couldn't blame him. But this was the first he'd ever heard of necromancers living drastically shorter lives than other mages, and it was why he'd stepped forward.
"Excuse me, but did I hear you correctly?" he asked the lady who had spoken first.
"Yes... You mean to tell me that Seishak never told you?"
Lyshev was in shock, and clenched his fists in anger towards his teacher. "Told me what?"
The man that he'd interrupted cleared his throat, backing away just a little. He'd heard rumors that Lyshev was a sorcerer, and still being in training, there was no way of knowing how much control he had over his emotions. "It's a basic concept of necromancy, see? Every time you cast a necromantic spell, a little bit of your own life force is drained away. Necromancers who practice frequently are lucky to live to forty or fifty years old... compared to healers like Iares, who live to nearly two hundred years."
Something seemed to click inside Lyshev's mind, bringing his knowledge into clearer focus. "I see. If you'll excuse me, I have some things to do," he said quietly, excusing himself from the conversation.
"That poor boy. He really didn't know," the older woman said, pity coloring her voice.
"He needs a better teacher. I wouldn't be surprised if he requested his apprenticeship transferred. Assuming that Seishak even told him that could be done." Clearly, this man's opinion of Seishak's worth as a person had just went down a notch he didn't think was possible.
Seishak was, as usual, flirting. His unmistakable red hair stood out like a lantern at night, and Lyshev made his way directly over. There was no subtlety in the way he grabbed Seishak's arm and pulled him away to a quieter area. "What the ******** do you think you're doing?"
Seishak's harsh, grating accent only added to Lyshev's frustration, though, and he snapped. "Shut up until I say you can talk," he hissed, deliberately putting magick into the words to act as a compulsion. When the necromancer made a gutteral noise of anger that was quickly cut short, Lyshev felt a sense of cruel satisfaction. "Now, why didn't you ever tell me that necromancers lived short lives?"
The moment Seishak felt the stranglehold on his voice loosen, Lyshev's compulsion made him tell the truth. "I did! It was one of the first things I tried to teach you, but you never understood it," his sharp accent and loud voice were drawing a crowd, but Lyshev didn't seem to notice.
"Then why didn't you tell me again when you learned how to make me understand?"
He tried fighting it, but Lyshev's compulsion - his power as a mage - was just too strong for him to hold out against. When Seishak spoke, he kept his voice low enough so that the growing crowd wouldn't stand a chance of hearing him. "Because I didn't want you to transfer your apprenticeship to someone else. I wanted to start more than a teacher and student relationship with you but I can't, because I can't keep up my end of it." Before Lyshev could use the compulsion again, Seishak jerked his arm away, watching everyone in the room with his eerily dead gray eyes. After a moment, he walked out. No one really wanted to bother going after him, afraid of the violent reaction they were certain would come.
Within a few minutes, however, people broke apart from the crowd to discuss what they thought of the newest choice bit of gossip that had unfolded right in front of them. Lyshev didn't want any part of it, and started to go after Seishak. Surprisingly, it was Iares who stopped him. "Lyshev, please, don't bother. He's not worth it."
Although he wanted to protest, to say that he owed Seishak so much for getting him out of the slums when it seemed like no one else was willing to take an apprentice so old, he knew that in the end it didn't matter. One way or another, he would have learned to control his magick from someone, whether it was Seishak or a hydromancer, or even a mind-mage like Darien. "You're right," he finally said in reply.
"Come with me, why don't you? I've been meaning to ask you a few questions." Iares was willing to help Lyshev think about other things, to be close and intimate, if the subtle flirting in the past was any indication. Lyshev followed, allowing the High Priest's arm to drape comfortably around his waist, and returning the favor.
"What kind of questions? I've already told you everything I know about the cult." Nice as Iares was, he did always seem to have a single-minded focus whenever he talked to Lyshev, and had already pumped the poor boy for all the information he had.
"No, no, my dear. I was wondering if you would be willing to become one of my acolytes. You're not suited for necromancy, and if that fool Rydal had been willing to give you a choice, I'm sure you wouldn't have chosen it, either." He was right, of course, but that didn't make Lyshev any less indignant.
"How can you be so sure of what I would or wouldn't have chosen?"
Iares' smile was quick, warm, and somewhat devious. "Dear, I've been around for nearly a century now. I've seen many people that were suited to necromancy, or even pyromancy, but you aren't one of them. Now, what do you think of becoming one of my acolytes?"
For all that his peers had teased him as a child, Lyshev was not stupid, merely unable to comprehend complex trains of thought until he could piece them together. There was no way he was going to go out and say 'yes' to Iares until he understood what an acolyte did, and told the older man as much.
Iares smiled, glad to see the caution Lyshev displayed. "In short, an acolyte is trained by me in the art of healing. I choose a handful of boys to become my acolytes throughout the years, and when I am ready to retire as High Priest, the most qualified becomes the next one. Even if you're not chosen, you still retain high standing among the clergy and will easily be one of the most powerful and respected healers in Direnla."
Those words hit Lyshev like a blow, and his eyes widened. Here was the opportunity he needed to gain more power, more influence... to be someone. He knew that healing would not have been his first choice, but necromancy hadn't been, either. At the very least, he felt that healing others would be more rewarding. He stumbled over his words several times, searching for the right ones to say and only able to come up, lamely, with "I would like that very much."
"I had thought you would. Anything must be better than having Seishak Rydal as a teacher. Now, there is one more matter I would like to discuss. It's never exactly been uncommon for a teacher and their apprentice to be romantically involved, and if you are willing, I should like to see how well it might turn out for the two of us."
Gods-be-damned. Lyshev was trembling, unable to truly believe what he was hearing. None of this could really be true, it was all just an elaborate dream - a fantasy he was coming up with to solve the problems that plagued him. The High Priest of Solcan here in Direnla couldn't possibly be so interested in a lowborn Kresari that had grown up in the slums.
A hand on his shoulder, and Iares' worried look snapped Lyshev back into the reality of it all. "Dear, I know it's a lot to think about. I can understand your willingness to change your apprenticeship, but I also know how attached some people can get with a lover. By all means, take your time to think on it."
EDIT: Typed up a crapload more! biggrin
