It wasn't spectacular; basically, it was very similar to using the Fetching Gift at a very tiny scale. Although he no longer had to think about how he did this, he vibrated the materials until the heat they generated ignited them. He moved infinitesimal bits of the oil and lint so that they rubbed against each other, creating heat by friction, until the lint burst into flame.
When the lint flamed, he looked up at Lan, and saw the Trainee's eyes narrowed, his brow furrowed with concentration, but his mouth forming a slight "o" of surprise.
"So that's what's happening!" he said, looking up into Pol's eyes.
"Basically, yes; just very, very quickly. And in your case, it's—" he tried to think of an analogy, "—hmm. Like an avalanche instead of a single, aimed stone. You just pour out power, and everything in its path goes up in flames. Things that are very flammable burn immediately, things that are around or near fire have flames jump to them, channeled by the power."
Lan winced, but nodded. Pol was deliberately reminding him of what had happened, because he also wanted these sessions to desensitize Lan to what had happened by accident—
—because one day, he might have to do it on purpose. He couldn't keep wincing away from creating a major fire. He had to be able to create it when and where it was needed, even offensively.
Pol was privy to information known only to the King, the King's Own, and a few other, carefully selected members of the Council. What no other Herald teacher in the Collegium knew was that the situation on the Border with Karse was getting more serious with every passing day. They were taking advantage of the milder southern climate to increase their probes along the Border. If there was a war—ready or not, Lan might be needed.
Trained or not, he may be needed. It was a sobering thought, and one that kept Pol lying wakeful at nights. If—no, when war came, more Trainees than Lavan would be thrown into Whites, all unready, and sent out to the South. More young Healers would follow; and young volunteers to the Guard.
Best to end it quickly, and for that, it might be necessary to unleash Lavan Chitward's power, unchecked, unhindered, in all its ferocity.
"So, do you think that if Kalira controls the amount of energy you get, you can replicate what I just did?" Pol asked.
Lan drummed his fingers restlessly, his eyes looking off at some far distant point while he sorted things through in his own mind. "Not yet," he decided. "Can you show me again, three or four more times, I mean?"
"Certainly." Pol was actually relieved to hear Lan's caution. "Kalira, if you would be so kind? Link and hold the link for four repetitions of the exercise?"
:Certainly, Pol,: Kalira said cheerfully. She insinuated the link with great skill and delicacy; Pol spared a moment to admire her touch.
Four times, he ignited tiny balls of lint, going so slowly that it was possible to see a minute coal form at the heart of the ball before the flame rose. Four times, Lan "watched" with his eyes closed in concentration. The third and fourth time, the furrows in his brow eased, and he nodded slightly when the lint caught fire.
After the fourth iteration, he looked up and smiled.
"I can do it, Herald," he said with confidence. "Let me try again, doing it right."
Pol placed another lint ball on the altar of sacrifice, and Lan stared at it.
In three heartbeats, as Lan's smile increased to a grin, it was nothing but ash.
Pol was flatly astonished. He had never had any pupil with one of the odder Gifts catch on so quickly before.
On the other hand, their problem was usually in accessing their power, not in controlling it.
Only young Malken has had the same problem as Lan, it occurred to him. And Malken is not ready to control it. Poor Malken had been so overwhelmed by his Foresight that Herald Evan had finally decided to shut it down altogether. It was a temporary measure, but until the child was older and stronger, there was no way he could understand what he was seeing and why he was seeing it so he could control it. "I am not risking a child's sanity," Evan had said flatly. "Nothing is worth that."
He'd gotten no argument from anyone on that score.
Pol lined up lint balls, directing Lan to ignite them in a specific sequence; after a bit of fumbling, Lan did just that. He made the piles of lint bigger, then smaller. Finally, he took the bucket of water, extinguished the tack-room fire, and had Lan relight it with the remainder of the lint as kindling. In order to get the now-wet wood going properly, Lan had to concentrate his force on the fire until the water had evaporated and the wood could burn.
"Enough!" Pol ordered when that exercise was over. Lan was pale, but triumphant; he looked eager to keep going, but Pol knew weariness when he saw it. "That's enough for the first day, Lavan. Quite enough. We'll start on real targets and more distant targets tomorrow. How are you feeling?"
"Tired. And my stomach's in knots," Lan said truthfully. "I don't like having to get angry like this, but—but I don't think I have to get quite as angry now as I did when we started."
"That's good." Pol hoped he was right. "Go on back to the Collegium and your classes; I'll clean up, and I'll see you here tomorrow."
Lan turned to go, and Pol called after him, "No practicing on your own, promise me!"
"I promise," Lan called back over his shoulder. "No fear."
:I wish that was the only thing we had to worry about, Chosen,: Satiran said soberly.
Pol sighed. "The sooner we can say he's fully trained, the more likely he is to be sent out—" He shook his head. "Gods. Now I know how the Weaponsmaster feels."
:I always did,: said Satiran, and left it at that.
SEVENTEEN
POL paused for a moment with one hand on the latch of his room, and the other massaging his own shoulder. The hallway was cold, and his room would be warm, but he was very nearly too tired even to open his own door. It had been a long day; a very, very long day. Why he should have been selected to be on the elite committee of Those Who Knew What Was Going On With Karse—
Bother. He knew why. Lavan Chitward—or Firestarter, as the King had begun to call him—was the reason why good old dependable Herald Pol should suddenly be counted among the important minds of this land. The boy was shaping up to be a very important player in the coming war, and Pol was his teacher, his mentor, and his friend. Pol's Companion was the sire to Lavan's Companion, giving him yet another source of insight into Lavan's young mind. If Pol and Satiran knew what was coming, they could prepare the boy to face it.
Pol was dancing on the edge of his energy, though; he was forced to juggle teaching, tutoring Lavan, and meetings with the Select Council, along with whatever incidental tasks came up. He wasn't young anymore, and his body reminded him of that sad fact rather frequently these days.
So, for that matter, did Satiran, who nagged him about slowing down at least once a day. Not that there was anything Pol could do about it. His body, mind, and spirit were not his to command.