Which explained both why Max had shown up nearly every day, and why he headed straight off for parts unknown after class, Tavi thought sourly. "How many is some?"
"All of them," Max said. "Except that day I was hungover."
"What? How did you manage to write a passing paper?"
"Well. You remember Igenia? That blonde from Placida? She was good enough to-"
"Oh, shut up, Max," Tavi growled. "That was a three-month course. How in the crows am I supposed to give you all of that in the next fifteen minutes?"
"Cheerfully and without complaint," Max replied, grinning. "Like a true and resourceful member of the Realm and servant of the Crown."
Tavi sighed as they made sure they weren't being observed, then slipped into an unlocked toolshed and down through the hidden trapdoor in its floor to the stairs that led into the Deeps. Max lit a furylamp and handed it to Tavi, then took one for himself.
"You ready to listen?" Tavi asked him.
"Sure, sure."
"Anthropomorphic Theorem," Tavi said. "Okay, you know that furies are the beings that inhabit the elements."
"Yes, Tavi," Max said drily. "Thanks to my extensive education, I did know that one."
Tavi ignored the remark. "There's been debate among furycrafters since the dawn of Aleran history as to the nature of those beings. That's what the various theories try to describe. There are a number of different ideas about how much of the furies are truly intrinsic to their nature, and how much is something that we cause them to become."
"Eh?" Max said.
Tavi shrugged. "We command furies with our thoughts." He went ahead using the inclusive plural. We. Though he was arguably the only Aleran alive who could have said you instead. "That's what Imposed Anthropomorphic Theory states. Maybe part of our thoughts also shape how our furies appear to us. Maybe a wind fury on its own doesn't look like anything much at all. But when a crafter meets it and uses it, maybe that crafter, somewhere in his head, believes that it should look like a horse, or an eagle or whatever. So when that fury manifests in a visible form, that's what it looks like."
"Oh, oh, right," Max said. "We might give them form without realizing, right?"
"Right," Tavi said. "And that's the predominant view in the cities and among most Citizens. But other scholars support the Natural Anthropomorphic Theory. They insist that since the furies are each associated with some specific portion of their element-a mountain, a stream, a forest, whatever-that each has its own unique identity, talents, and personality."
"Which is why a lot of folks in the country name their furies?" Max guessed.
"Right. And why the city folk tend to sneer at the idea, because they regard it as paganus superstition. But everyone in the Calderon Valley named their furies. They all looked different. Were good at different things. They're also apparently a lot stronger than most city furies. Certainly the Alerans living in the most primitive areas of the Realm tend to command much more powerful furies than in other areas."
"Then why would anyone think that the Imposed Theory was correct?"
Tavi shrugged. "They claim that because the crafter is imagining a separate creature with a form and personality and range of abilities, even if he won't admit to himself that he is, that he is capable of doing more because so much less of it relies totally upon his own thought."
"So the crafter with a named fury can do more because he's too stupid to know he can't?" Max asked.
"That's the view of those in favor of Imposed Anthropomorphic Theory."
"That's stupid," Max said.
"Maybe," Tavi said. "But they may be right, too."
"Well. How do the Natural theorists explain why so many people have furies without a specific identity?"
Tavi nodded at the question. It was a good one. Max might not have had an ounce of self-discipline, but there wasn't a thing wrong with his wits. "Natural theorists say that the furies of increasingly domesticated lands tend to break down. They lose their specific identities as they get passed down from generation to generation and as the natural landscape becomes more and more settled and tamed. They're still present, but instead of being there in their natural form, the furies have been broken down into countless tiny bits that a crafter calls together when he wants to get something done. They aren't as strong, but they don't have the quirks and foibles, either, so they're more reliable."
Max grunted. "Might make some sense," he said. "My old man had some things to say when I named one of my furies." Max's voice took on a hard, bitter edge that Tavi could only barely hear. "Insisted that it was childish nonsense. That he had to break me of the habit before it ruined me. It was harder to do things, his way, but he wouldn't hear of anything else."
Tavi saw the pain in his friend's eyes and thought of all the scars on his back. Maybe Max had his reasons not to pay attention in that particular class that had nothing to do with his carousing. Tavi had thought himself alone in his painful sense of isolation when listening to the basic theory and history of furycrafting. But perhaps it dredged up as many painful memories for Max as it had for him.
"So"-Max sighed after a moment-"which is it?"
"No clue," Tavi said. "No one knows for sure."
"Yeah, yeah," Max said impatiently. "But which one does Gaius think it is? The Board of Speakers is going to be having some kind of debate."
"They do that every year," Tavi said. "I was there last year. Gaius doesn't take sides. They all get together to try to convince him with whatever they think they've learned, and he always listens and nods and doesn't make anyone angry and doesn't take sides. I think that the Board of Speakers really just wants the excuse to drink the First Lord's best wine and to try to one-up their opponents and rivals in front of him."
Max grimaced. "Crows. I'm glad I'm not the First Lord. This stuff would drive me insane in about a day and a half." He shook his head. "What do I do if someone tries to pin me down for an answer?"
"Evade," Tavi suggested, enjoying the heartlessly vague answer.
"What if they start talking about some kind of theory I have no clue about?"
"Just do what you do when the Maestros ask you a question during lecture and you don't know the answer." Max blinked. "Belch?"
Tavi sighed. "No. No, Max. Divert the attention. Stall for time. Only try not to use any kind of bodily function to accomplish it."
Max sighed. "Diplomacy is more complicated than I thought it would be."
It's just a dinner party," Tavi said. "You'll do fine."
"I always do," Max said, but his voice lacked some of its usual arrogance.
"How is he?" Tavi said.
"He hasn't moved," Max replied. "Hasn't woken up. But Killian says his heartbeat is stronger."
"That's good," Tavi said. He chewed at his lip. "What happens if…"
"If he doesn't wake up," Max said grimly.
"Yeah."
Max inhaled slowly. "Legions fight for the crown. A lot of people die."
Tavi shook his head. "But there is law and precedent for the death of a lord without an heir. The Council of Lords and the Senate would put forward candidates and determine the most fit to take the lordship. Wouldn't they?"
"Officially, sure. But whatever they decided, it wouldn't stick. The High Lords who want the throne might play nice for a little while, but sooner or later one of them would lose the political game and take it to a military venue."
"Civil war."
"Yeah," Max said. He grimaced. "And while we waited for it all, the southern cities would just love to cut the Shield cities loose. And without that support…" Max shook his head. "I served two tours on the Shieldwall. We hold it against the Icemen, but we aren't as invincible as everyone down in the rest of the Realm seems to believe. I've seen more than one near breach of the Shieldwall with my own eyes. Without Crown support, it would fall within three years. Four, at the most."