might cut her day of exploration short, she thought. Go back to Heskalifos, to the Mages’ Hall library, and see what books they had on the subject of glass magic. In the past she’d never thought about it much, but now that she had, she wanted to find out how it was worked, and what could be done with it. If she had a motto, it was “New learning never hurt anybody.” She wouldn’t know what insights she could or could not get from glass magic until she learned more.
Rather than wander the Street of Mages, Kethlun went straight to the source, Mages’ Hall at Heskalifos. He presented himself to the clerks at the third hour of the morning, when he was informed that few mages were available. It seemed most of them were at some kind of conference in Philosophers’ Hall, and would not return to their offices until midday. In the meantime, a clerk sat with him to ask a number of questions, writing Keth’s answers down as he gave them. The clerk made it plain that he was not surprised to find a northerner who hadn’t recognized his power until he was twenty. His attitude was that it was a wonder that northerners, unschooled in logic, reason and discipline, discovered their magical skills at all. Keth tried to explain his near-lack of power before his encounter with lightning, then gave up. Perhaps the mages would be more understanding.
After the questions, Keth was interviewed and tested by three student mages. One of them gave Keth a glass ball to hold as the student gazed into it. One used a glass wand to perform the same exercise. The third used a mirror made of glass and backed in silver. Each young mage reacted to his testing in the same way: they inspected their devices, then summoned the waiting clerk. After a few words from the student, the clerk made a note on the paper of information about Keth, then led Keth to the next student. After the third student, the clerk sent Keth off to eat his midday meal, with instructions to return in the afternoon.
Several hours passed after he came back. He spent them in the mages’ museum, marvelling at the many objects they had created, and briefly in the library, flipping through books. For a moment he thought he’d glimpsed braided red hair and the gleam of light along a long, curved glass edge passing by a stack of shelves on his right. Rather than see if it was the lightning girl or not, he went back to the museum.
At mid-afternoon his clerk-escort brought him to one of the university’s mages, Vishaneh Amberglass. Keth felt better the moment he was ushered into her ground floor offices. Amberglass’s office was a glassmaker’s workshop, stifling hot from the fire in the furnace.
The mage herself was a tiny creature in her sixties, perched on a high stool. She had icy grey-green eyes, olive skin and black hair worn in a coil ruthlessly pinned to her scalp. Instead of the Tharian kyten and stole, she dressed in the long tunic coat and leggings of a Trader or Bihanese. “I am told that you are a journeyman glassmaker,” she said, eyeing him through round spectacles.
“Yes, dhasku,” replied Kethlun.
“There is a crucible in the oven. Blowpipes over there.” Amberglass pointed them out. “Have you studied breath control through meditation?”
“Of course,” he replied, startled by the question. “You don’t get past your ’prenticeship without it.”
“Do you know that meditation is a form that mages use to get at their power?” Her voice was crisp.
“Yes, dhasku. I learned from my uncles, who are glass mages.”
“Then blow me a round glass ball, meditating as you do so,” the mage instructed. “Don’t take for ever about it.”
He didn’t take for ever. He did take his time, inspecting several blowpipes before he chose one that suited him, then eyeing the crucible in the glory hole of the oven. “Dhasku Amberglass, you do understand that it’s blowing glass where I get into trouble. It’s why I’m here at all.”
She inspected a thumbnail. “Either you are a journeyman, or you are not,” she said tartly. “Which is it?”
Kethlun sighed. Closing his eyes, he fell into the breathing rhythms he had learned years ago. Meditation and breath control were as much a part of his family life as meals. Slowly he counted to seven as he inhaled, then held his breath to a count of seven, let it go for a