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for this?” the
Theldara
asked.
    “I’m a mathematical genius,” Saryon answered in the same nonchalant tone he might have used in saying “I am tall,” or “I am male.”
    “Indeed?” The Druid stroked his long, gray beard. That would easily account for the young man’s early admittance to the Font. The transference of Life from the elements to the magi who will use it is a fine science, relying almost completely upon the principles of mathematics. Because the force of magic thus drawn from the surrounding world is concentrated within the catalyst, who will then focus that concentration of Life upon his chosen subject, the mathematical calculations for the amount of energy transferred must beprecise indeed, since the transference of magic weakens the catalyst. Only in the most dire emergencies, or in times of war, is a catalyst permitted to suffuse a magus with Life.
    “Yes,” said Saryon, relaxing under the influence of the tea, his tall, awkward body sinking back into the cushion. “I learned all the routine calculations as a child. At the age of twelve, I could give you the figures that would lift a building from its foundations and send it flying through the air and, in the same breath, provide calculations that would conjure up a royal gown for the Empress.”
    “This is remarkable,” murmured the Druid, staring at Saryon intently through half-closed lids.
    The catalyst shrugged. “So my mother thought. To me, it wasn’t anything special. It was like a game, the only real enjoyment I ever had as a child,” he added, beginning to pick at the fabric of the cushion.
    “You studied with your mother? You didn’t go to the schools?”
    “No. She is a Priestess. In line for Cardinal, but then she married my father.”
    “Political arrangement?”
    Saryon shook his head with a wry smile. “No. Because of me.
    “Ah, yes. I see.” The Druid took another small sip of tea. Marriages are always arranged in Thimhallan and are, in general, controlled by the catalysts. This is due to the gift of the Vision. The only remnant left of the once flourishing art of divination, the Vision allows the catalysts to foresee if a union will produce issue and will therefore be a wise match. If no issue is foreseen as forthcoming, the marriage is forbidden.
    Since catalysts can only breed catalysts, their marriages are even more strictly governed than those of the magi and are arranged by the Church itself. Catalysts being so rare, having one in the household is considered a privilege. In addition, the expense of a catalyst’s education and training is borne by the Church. His place in the world is established, insuring both the catalyst and his family of a better-than-average livelihood.
    “Your mother is high in the Order. Your father must be a powerful noble—”
    “No.” Saryon shook his head. “The marriage was beneath my mother, a fact she never let my father forget. She is a cousin of the Empress of Merilon and he was only a duke.”
    “Your father? You speak of him in the past …”
    “He’s dead,” Saryon answered without emotion. “Died about ten years ago, when I was fifteen. A wasting illness. My mother did what she could. She called in the Healers, but she didn’t try very hard to save him and he didn’t try very hard to live.”
    “Did this upset you?”
    “Not that much,” Saryon muttered, poking his finger through a hole he had worked in the cushion. He shrugged. “I hadn’t seen him for a long time. When I was six, I began my studies with my mother and … my father began spending more and more time away from home. He enjoyed the court life of Merilon. Besides”—frowning, Saryon concentrated on widening the hole in the cushion, his fingers working busily—“I … had other things … to think about.”
    “At fifteen, one generally does,” the
Theldara
said gently. “Tell me these thoughts. They must be dark ones, they lie like a cloud over the sun of your being.”
    “I—I