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    The Book of Ryba
Canto DL [The Last]
Original Text

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    The second bells still ring as Dorrin steps inside the classroom for the introductory session of the red group. Only Edil is missing, but then Dorrin has just seen the gangly youth hastily putting away his guitar. Lortren stands at the window, her back to the eight students on the pillows.
    Dorrin takes his place on one of the three remaining pillows, the one next to Lisabet. As he does, Edil, a sheepish look on his long thin face, tumbles through the doorway. Edil scrambles for the nearest pillow, nearly throwing himself into place beside Kadara.
    Lortren turns. Her face is composed. “I will begin with a warning.” She smiles wryly. “No…the warning is strictly for your benefit. I would suggest that what you learn here be shared only with others who have a similar background and understanding. This is only a suggestion, but it could make things a little less troublesome.
    “Second, there are no tests. You may learn as you please. If you choose not to learn, at some point you will be exiled. If you work hard and it takes longer for you than others, then you may have that time, at least until it becomes apparent that you have learned what you can.
    “Third, if you have questions, ask them. Otherwise, I and the others will assume that you understand what you have been taught.
    “And last…any violence, except as instructed in physical training, any theft, or any other form of personal, physical, or intellectual dishonesty will result in immediate exile.”
    Dorrin looks at Lortren. “Could you define intellectual dishonesty, magistra? That seems awfully vague.”
    The magistra grins briefly. “It is vague. We do not have time or resources to deal with lying. What that amounts to is a requirement for complete and honest answers to any questions you are asked by staff members. It also means doing the best you can to learn. As a matter of principle, I would also suggest the same honesty between yourselves. There is a difference between honesty and tact.” Her eyes range across the group. “If you look like the demon-dawn, don’t ask someone here how good you look.” A few smiles greet her sardonic comment.
    “Any other questions? No? Then, I will begin with a slightly different version of the history of Recluce, highlighting a few points which bear on why you are here.”
    Dorrin shifts his weight on the heavy brown pillow.
    “…common notion is that the Founders were wise, loving, and gentle people, that Creslin was a gentleman among gentlemen, a wizard who only used his power for good, and totally devoted to Megaera. Likewise, the stories say that Megaera was beautiful, talented, nearly as good with a blade as a Westwind Guard, utterly devoted to and in love with Creslin, and possessed of one of the greatest understandings of order ever seen. In a way, these are all true—but more important, they are all false.”
    A low hum crosses the room.
    “Creslin was perhaps one of the greatest blades of his generation, and his trail from Westwind to Recluce did not drip blood—it gushed blood. At first, every problem he tried to solve with a blade. He even killed a soldier in cold blood because the man threatened Megaera—who was well able to take care of herself. He was strong enough to be able to use order to kill—and he did. More than several thousand died under the storms he called. Of course, after his feats of destruction he was violently ill, often puking all over his own men.”
    The silence of the ten young people is absolute. “As for Megaera, the sweet angel of light—she first was a chaos wielder who threatened her sister’s rule of Sarronnyn and whokilled a good score with the fire of chaos before renouncing chaos for order. She did not renounce chaos willingly, either, but fought it the entire way, submitting to the rule of order only to save her life. She took up the blade with the sole aim of besting Creslin and proving that she