And he wrestled with the mystery of the road; why did each of them see something else?
Were they seeing the road at different times-J'role's view from the past, Garlthik's from the present? But the present view was that there was no road at all. Could it be that each saw what he wanted to find? Garlthik would be pleased to find a ruined city, empty, with treasure waiting. J'role wanted a living city, filled with; wizards who could remove the thing from his thoughts.
He did not know. It all made no sense.
As he had promised, Garlthik began J'role's apprenticeship as a thief adept. At first the ork's words confused J'role, for he expected Garlthik to speak of weaving magic spells or the careful ways one could sneak about, and insted the lessons consisted only of the ork rattling on about what an adept's talents were not. J'role thought that Garlthik was simply stalling, not wanting to teach him true magic at all. But he had no means to protest, and did not know what he would say if he could, so he listened. And slowly, because he could not express his impatience, he began to learn.
"A magician weaves spells. An adept does not," said Garlthik, his attention caught for a moment by a flock of birds, no more than dots, cutting across the blue sky. J'role thought he could hear their contented cries as they moved together in elegant flight. "Magicians write down their intricate, arcane works in grimoires. We do not. Magicians are trapped by their pasts as they create elaborate preparations for the future. We are not. We," he said as the flesh of his cheeks rolled back, revealing his astounding smile, “ find the magic, right where it is, at that moment, and letting ourselves go in that moment, float upon the magic."
J'role looked up at Garlthik, startled. He lifted his hand, palm down and fingers spread, and let it move up and down, like a bird floating on the wind.
"Yes. Strange, isn't it? Or so it seemed to me too, when I was a lad your age." Garlthik paused, just a half-beat, looking down at J'role with a sudden, tiny flash of sadness. Then he smiled. "But it's true. The magic is all around us. But most folks don't think in terms of the moment. They don't know how to let themselves respond to what's happening to them-right then and right there. And that's the adept's secret. Not much of a secret, actually. Most of them will flap their lips about it to anyone who will listen-a bad idea, I think. But there it is."
They walked on in silence for a few minutes as Garlthik searched for the right words.
"Now don't get me wrong. Magic doesn't just happen. Paying attention to the world is work, and every so often it makes sense to study something in detail. Like the rope Slinsk and Phlaren tied me up with. That was a mistake on their part. I knew that rope well-I studied all the rope we had when we were working together, just in case something like that should come up. I knew my hands, I knew the rope, so in that moment, even though I couldn't see my hands, could feel barely anything but pain from the broken arm tied around my back, I was able to know exactly what to do to free myself. I knew how the rope met my hands, knew just how-to tug it, knew just how much pressure was needed at each moment, all because I knew that rope so well.
"Anyway, that's why a metalsmith is so good. He gets to know the metal before he works it. Or the archer who floats on the magic. He knows his bow inside and out. Knows every nick and exactly how it's balanced. When he draws an arrow into it, he's got something a regular archer doesn't have: the feel of the world binding his hands to the wood of the bow, the bow against the air, and the air against his hands. It's all connected. There are good archers, but none are so good as those who know the magical side of whatever they're in contact with. That is, archer adepts. And we, lad, will be a pair of thief adepts."
And so it went. At first Garlthik spoke little of thieving itself. He tossed out ideas about the world and magic over and over again, all strange at first, but easier to understand upon each hearing.
One morning J'role woke before Garlthik. Rather than wake the ork, he stood and turned slowly around. A breeze touched him. He looked down and saw how many shapes and sizes of grains of dirt-made up the ground on which he stood. All rested against each other, an impossibly enormous number of them, on and on forming the land that stretched out forever and ever, wrapping itself around the world, all flowing beyond his vision, but all connected, oddly, to the very spot where he stood. "So," he thought to himself, "this is magic."
Toward evening they saw a village ahead. Like J'role's village, it was surrounded by farmland-patches of green that radiated out in wider and wider arcs, forcing their way into the brown and dry lands beyond. A small river ran beside the village, and a large mill rested on it, its water wheel turning steadily and slowly.
"We'll be staying there tonight."
J'role held up a palm, empty.
"Not to worry, lad. I've still got this." The ork leaned down and slid a wad of thick black clay off the edge of his boot sole, revealing a small compartment. J'role caught a glimpse of silver. Then Garlthik sent one of his fingers into the hole and fished out a small stone, no bigger than a fingertip. It was cut with several facets that caught the sunlight and turned the light silver and blue. The sight transfixed J'role; never had he seen anything so beautiful.
"My first haul," said Garlthik wistfully. "A diamond … You've never seen one before, have you? Beautiful stones. Stole it from a merchant in a citadel far south of here. The old man who taught me to steal, he told me to get it. It marked me. We'll use it to get lodging and food tonight."
He started down the slope leading to the village, but J'role caught the ork's arm and stopped him. The boy shook his head. He didn't want Garlthik selling his beautiful stone for the comfort of lodging and food. He patted his stomach and shook his head again, then pointed further along the route they had been traveling.
Garlthik laughed. "Don't worry about it, lad. It's something I want to do." He looked down at the stone. "It was ridiculous for me to keep it all these years. Not like me at all.
An adept's got to be true to himself, J'role. If you don't behave as you truly are, the magic will know. It'll turn you out. This … This has been a bit of vanity. I'd never hold on to something like this. It's as if I was waiting for something to go wrong, keeping a little extra hidden away just in case. Well, my boy, I’m not a 'just in case' ork. I either make it or I don't. So let's go spend it now and get it over with. We'll have a roof over our heads, some good food in our bellies and supplies for the rest of the trip. If they've any pack animals to spare, they'll be ours as well."
They went down to the village, meeting a few stares from farmers along the way, and even more when they reached the village proper. It occurred to J'role that almost everyone they'd seen in the villages they passed had been human. Remembering how strange Garlthik's appearance had seemed to him at first, J'role wondered what it was like to be Garlthik, alone in a world of staring eyes. And then he realized with a start that outcast and alone was exactly the way he'd lived his own life. Until now.
8
In one of his nightmares, J'role wakes from his sleep.
He is six or so. From the central room his mother has just let out a cry so loud it woke him. He is startled for a moment but then hears a soothing whisper. He thinks at first it is his father. But the voice is too deep. It is strange. Not the voice of anyone in the kaer.
Then J'role realizes that it is the voice of the thing in the corner.
In the center of the village they found the local tavern, a big inn very much like Brandson's, the tavern in J'role's village. When Garlthik first presented the diamond to the tavern keeper, a thick-bodied woman with red cheeks and clever eyes, she looked slightly left and right, knowing instinctively that the ork had gained the treasure in some underhanded manner.