CASSIAN AND THE INFINITE THRONE

CASSIAN AND THE INFINITE THRONE

Volume 1: The Frontier Years

Chapter 24: Questions Worth Asking

The morning after Lieutenant Rusk's arrival, Cassian woke before first light thinking about Cedric's questions. He had gone to sleep with six written beside his bed. By the time he sat up, there were eleven, though one might reveal more about his private mana experiments than he intended.

Across the room, Darren shifted beneath his blanket and muttered about wolves stealing boots. Cassian turned as his brother kicked one foot free, apparently defending them from imaginary thieves.

By breakfast, Lena noticed the folded pages tucked into Cassian's shirt. "What are those?"

"Questions for Cedric."

Gareth glanced over from his place at the table. "How many?"

"Not many."

Darren leaned forward. "That means too many."

Cassian narrowed his eyes. "You were talking about wolves stealing your boots in your sleep."

Darren froze. Elara laughed first, Lena covered a smile with her cup, and even Gareth's tired expression shifted. "That is private," Darren said.

"You said it loudly."

"That does not make it less private."

Cassian laughed with the others, though he noticed Gareth struggling to steady a loaf with his left hand. He almost reached for it, then stopped. Offering help every time something became difficult would turn assistance into another reminder of what was gone. On the second attempt, Gareth trapped the loaf against the table edge and managed the cut himself.

After his chores, Cassian went to Mara's house carrying his notes. Cedric sat beside the same table where their first conversation had begun, his injured shoulder still bound but his color improved.

Cedric noticed the papers. "You actually brought questions."

"You told me to bring something to write on."

"That is not the same as arriving with an organized interrogation."

"I thought preparing would save time."

Cedric looked upward. "A reasonable answer. I dislike it already. Sit down."

Cassian smiled and sat opposite him.

"Before you begin asking why every magical tradition in recorded history has failed to satisfy you," Cedric said, "we should establish whether this conversation has practical value."

"You mean whether I can become a mage."

Cedric's eyes narrowed. "Most children your age would ask how you knew that."

"If I cannot use mana properly, spell theory would still be interesting, but it would not be practical in the same way."

Too quick. But quick children exist, and Aldric has been giving this one books that were never intended for him.

"Intelligence helps," Cedric said, "but magic does not reward intelligence alone. I have met brilliant scholars who trained for ten years and still managed little more than a fingertip flame. I have also met people with remarkable reserves who lacked the control or judgment to use them safely."

"Which is worse?"

"For the student or the teacher?"

"The teacher."

"The second. A weak student can disappoint himself. A powerful fool can disappoint an entire building."

Cassian laughed. Cedric remained serious for another moment before adding, "You think I am joking."

"Only partly."

"Good. You may survive education. Hold out your wrist. I am checking whether you possess enough internal mana and responsiveness to justify further instruction. You are not casting anything."

Cedric explained the test and placed two fingers against Cassian's wrist. The problem was not responding; Cassian had spent much of his second childhood observing mana. The problem was deciding how much response looked believable.

Enough to succeed. Not enough to become the question.

A faint pressure touched the outer edge of Cassian's internal flow. He allowed his mana to shift only after a deliberate hesitation. Cedric tried again from another angle, and Cassian responded a second time, still carefully restrained.

Cedric removed his hand. "You have enough mana to become a mage. More than enough to justify proper instruction, at least. Whether you become a good one will depend on what happens over time and whether you learn to listen before doing dangerous things."

Cassian smiled. "I listen."

"You listen very carefully. I am less certain about the second half."

His smile widened as Cedric pointed toward the pages. "Ask your first question."

"What is mana?"

Cedric stared at him. "After yesterday, that is your first question?"

"The book uses the word before properly defining it."

"That is because defining mana in a way that satisfies every serious school of theory is almost impossible."

"Then what definition do you use?"

Cedric was silent for several seconds. Not the official definition. Not what does the book say. What definition do you use.

"The useful one. Mana is a natural force that exists within living beings and throughout the world, responds to certain forms of will and structure, and can alter physical conditions when properly directed. It is imperfect, but useful enough to teach without lying."

Cassian wrote it down.

"You disagree with it," Cedric said.

"I didn't say that."

"You moved your mouth."

"I was thinking."

"Your thinking has facial expressions."

Cassian looked down to hide a smile. "You said mana exists inside living beings and throughout the world. Is it the same mana?"

"That is one of the arguments."

"Which side are you on?"

"The side that survives practical work."

"That is not an answer."

Cedric sighed. "You are going to be exhausting."

"So I have been told."

The conversation lasted nearly two hours. Cedric explained disputes over internal and ambient mana while Cassian kept returning to mechanism, exhaustion, and whether capacity remained fixed throughout life.

"No. Capacity can grow, but not equally. Some increase their reserves. Others improve efficiency, control, recovery, or tolerance. Two people may train honestly for the same decade and end in very different places."

"That seems unfair."

"It is. Effort matters enormously. It simply does not matter equally for everyone. The same is true of Vital Force. Training can increase both, but time does not promise everyone the same destination."

Over the next two days, an informal routine formed. Cassian helped at home each morning and went to Mara's house whenever Cedric was rested enough to talk. His questions multiplied anyway.

Gareth's days had become a quieter form of training. One North Company veteran made a holding board with pegs and a leather strap so Gareth could secure objects while working one-handed. Gareth stared at it as though it had personally insulted him.

"I don't need a child's training toy."

The veteran shrugged. "My brother said the same after he lost three fingers to an axe."

"Did it help?"

"Not for two weeks. He was too busy complaining about it. After that, yes."

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Darren laughed until Gareth gave him a warning look, which only made Cassian join him. By the following morning Gareth was using the board, though he complained about every part of it while he worked.

Cassian watched closely. Replacing the missing hand was only one answer; braces, hooks, loops, and altered handles could restore parts of a task without pretending the loss had never happened.

Rowan's recovery was slower. Mara allowed him to sit upright briefly, but standing remained impossible. Sensation had returned unevenly along one leg, which Mara called encouraging and Rowan called insufficient.

"Can I walk?" he asked.

"Not today," Mara answered.

"What about tomorrow or later?"

"I am a healer, not a prophet."

"Then guess."

"My guess is that you are becoming annoying enough to recover. Whether your legs cooperate is another matter."

Rowan smiled faintly. "Good. I was worried I had lost my talent."

Cassian listened as Mara explained that survival and restored function were different victories. Magic could slow bleeding, reduce infection, and support repair, but damaged nerves and severe structural injuries were far more difficult.

On the fourth day, Cedric drew several lines across fresh paper. "Remember this first. Across the known world, conventional spellcasting uses the same casting language. Schools may alter phrasing, sequence, emphasis, rhythm, or formula length, but they remain inside the same language."

"Everywhere?"

"Everywhere that follows conventional magical practice, yes. Two schools may teach different versions of a fire lance, with one favoring speed and another stability, but both remain recognizable to an educated mage."

"Who created it?"

Cedric gave him a long look. "There are several answers, and none are reliable enough for me to repeat as fact."

Cassian smiled. "So people know how to use it but not where it came from."

"That describes an uncomfortable amount of civilization."

Cedric explained that words organized memory, stabilized concentration, coordinated breath and mana, and reduced variation. When Cassian asked whether expectation could influence casting before the final phrase, Cedric paused.

"Explain why you asked that."

"If a mage believes the next phrase means release, wouldn't his mana begin preparing to release before he finishes saying it?"

There it is again. He is not waiting for answers. He is using each answer to narrow the next question.

"Yes. In trained casters, expectation can become part of the process. Mind, body, breath, and mana learn patterns together. Change one piece too quickly, and the others may continue following the old sequence."

Cassian wrote while Cedric watched. Five years old. The fact had become less reassuring with each conversation.

By the fifth day, the soldiers no longer felt like visitors. Guard rotations had settled, palisade repairs continued, and children had become nuisances near the training ground.

Darren returned home excited after watching drills. "They said I can stand behind the marker if I don't cross it."

Lena looked at him. "And will you stay behind it?"

"Yes."

Cassian raised an eyebrow.

Darren pointed at him. "You are not involved."

"You crossed it yesterday."

"The soldier shouted at you."

"He could have been shouting at anyone."

Elara laughed into her cup while Lena warned Darren not to test the rule again.

That evening, Marcus called Cedric away to review the battle map. When Cedric returned, he was quieter than before.

"It learned during the battle," Cassian said.

Cedric looked at him sharply. "Who told you that?"

"No one. You look angry."

"I often look angry."

"Not the same way."

Cedric exhaled. "It adjusted to repeated attacks. That alone is not extraordinary. Animals learn. Monsters learn. What concerns Marcus is the speed and purpose of those changes."

"Did it make mistakes?"

"Yes."

"Did it repeat them?"

Cedric's eyes narrowed. "No."

For one unpleasant moment, Cedric thought of the boy before him and the creature in the reports. Both observed, adjusted, and refined. The comparison was unfair to Cassian, but dismissing it did not make the pattern disappear.

On the sixth day, their conversation shifted from internal mana toward the world around them.

"If mana exists everywhere," Cassian asked, "why do mages mostly use what is inside them?"

"Because internal mana already responds to the caster. Ambient mana varies by location and resists rapid personal control. Ritual arrays gather it, prepared formations guide it, and certain artifacts use it. Active casting, especially in combat, still relies mainly on internal mana because it is faster and more reliable."

"Has anyone tried controlling ambient mana directly?"

Cedric gave him a dry look. "Of course. Scholars are not lazy merely because your books disappoint you."

"I didn't say they were lazy."

"Your face did."

Cassian smiled. "What happened?"

"Many methods work slowly or require preparation. Direct, immediate control without a prepared structure is much less reliable, which is why ordinary combat systems are not built around it."

Cassian wrote the answer down without pursuing the subject further. Cedric noticed the sudden restraint. That one mattered to him. He did not know why.

By the seventh day, Cedric had begun preparing diagrams before Cassian arrived. Cassian noticed immediately.

"You prepared those."

"I was correcting my own notes."

"There are three copies."

"My handwriting becomes unreliable when injured."

Cassian examined them. "They are in different ink."

"Cassian."

"Yes?"

"Ask the question before I recover enough strength to throw you outside."

Cassian laughed and sat.

The morning lesson concerned stabilization. Cedric spent nearly half an hour explaining why beginners obsessed over visible results when their real weakness was control.

"Before elemental conversion and every impressive effect that makes young students act like idiots, there is control," Cedric said. "A mage who cannot stabilize his own mana has no business demanding that it become fire, lightning, or anything else destructive."

"Do all mages begin with stabilization?"

"Responsible teachers begin with theory and safe internal exercises. They certainly do not ask five-year-olds to externalize mana."

Cassian looked at him.

Cedric raised one finger. "That was not permission."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking with your face again."

Cedric lifted his right hand. Mana gathered above his palm as he released a measured amount, maintained inward balancing pressure, corrected leakage along the boundary, and shaped it into a faint, nearly colorless sphere no larger than a plum.

"This is not a spell," Cedric said. "There is no elemental conversion and no complete casting structure. It is stabilized raw mana maintained outside the body through continuous control."

"What happens if stabilization fails?"

"Usually discomfort or exhaustion if the amount is small and the student is properly supervised. In worse cases, the structure can collapse inward and damage the caster's mana pathways."

"Permanently?"

"Yes. A rupture can also burn a hand, destroy a room, or kill the person responsible if enough unstable mana is involved."

Cassian became serious. "Then why show me?"

"Because understanding why something is dangerous is part of learning not to do it. Your body and mana system are still years from the age when most responsible teachers would permit serious external manipulation."

Cedric maintained the sphere before dispersing it gradually. Cassian watched the release rate, compression, boundary pressure, leakage correction, and controlled collapse. The process fit patterns he had explored since first sensing mana, but Cedric's demonstration revealed relationships Cassian had only approached imperfectly.

So that is how the pressure is balanced.

Cedric reached for one of the diagrams, and Cassian raised his hand before thinking long enough to stop himself.

Mana moved above his palm.

Cedric saw it from the corner of his eye and went still. A smaller sphere had formed above Cassian's hand, but its stabilization was flawless: release rate, compression balance, boundary pressure, and leakage correction matched Cedric's demonstration.

Cedric's chair struck the floor behind him as he stood. "Cassian, do not move."

Cassian's pleased smile disappeared. "I wasn't going to."

"Good. For the next few moments, do nothing clever. Reduce the pressure slowly, keep the structure unchanged, and let the outer boundary collapse evenly."

"I know how."

"No, you absolutely do not. You watched me once. Do exactly as I say."

Cassian obeyed. He reduced the pressure gradually and let the sphere fade without recoil. Cedric crossed the distance immediately, caught his wrist, and pressed two fingers against it while extending a careful diagnostic sense through Cassian's internal flow.

"Did I do something wrong?" Cassian asked.

"You are five years old and just reproduced a mana stabilization technique I did not teach you to perform. Yes, something has gone very wrong, although I have not yet decided what. Be quiet for a moment."

Cedric examined the flow twice and found no tearing, recoil damage, or disruption. Cassian is five. His mana system should still be years from normal stabilization, and he just externalized and balanced raw mana on his first observed attempt without recoil. Cedric checked again because disbelief was not a diagnosis, but the result did not change.

"Have you done that before?"

"Not exactly like that."

"When you say not exactly, what have you done?"

Cassian hesitated. "I've moved mana before."

"Inside your body?"

Another hesitation made Cedric's expression harden. "Cassian."

"Not only inside."

Cedric said nothing for several seconds. That explains familiarity, not imitation. Prior experiments might explain calmness, but not copying the balance after one observation.

"Who taught you?"

"No one."

"How long have you been experimenting?"

"Since I started noticing mana properly."

"And how did you decide what was safe?"

"I used very small amounts."

Cedric stared at him. "You experimented on yourself."

"Carefully."

"Stop using that word as though it absolves you of everything that follows it."

Despite the tension, Cassian smiled slightly. Cedric did not.

"Listen carefully. You succeeded today, which is the only reason this conversation is calm. Do not mistake a correct result for proof that the decision was safe. You did not know every way the structure could fail, whether it might collapse inward, or whether your body could tolerate the strain."

"I understood what you were doing."

"You understood what you thought I was doing. Those are not the same thing."

Cassian looked at him. "But I was right."

Cedric closed his eyes for one long second. "That is currently the most irritating part of this conversation."

Cassian laughed before stopping himself.

Cedric pointed at him. "Do not laugh. I am attempting to be furious."

"You're doing well."

"I regret teaching you anything."

"You haven't taught me to cast yet."

Cedric stared at him until Cassian's smile became cautious. "Too soon?"

"Considerably."

Cedric sat again, but his thoughts were no longer on the diagrams. He watched once. Prior experimentation explained Cassian's familiarity with externalized mana, but not how he had reproduced the balance and dispersal sequence after one observation.

What have you been teaching yourself when no one is watching?

The boy studied the empty space above his palm with satisfaction he barely hid. That expression worried Cedric more than fear would have.

"For the rest of today, you are doing nothing practical," Cedric said.

Cassian looked disappointed. "Nothing?"

"Nothing involving externalized mana, spell structure, elemental conversion, or anything else that might make Mara blame me for your death. You may ask questions."

Cassian brightened immediately. "Any questions?"

Cedric realized the mistake. "Within reason."

"Who decides what is reasonable?"

"I do."

"Can I ask why?"

Cedric leaned back and stared at the ceiling. "We are already off to a terrible start."

By the end of the afternoon, Cassian had asked nineteen questions, though Cedric counted only twelve because several were disguised continuations of earlier arguments.

That evening, while Frostwood's second watch took position and Gareth practiced with the leather strap, Cassian reviewed seven days of notes beside the hearth. Darren imitated Cedric's stern voice badly enough that Elara laughed first, and Lena warned him that any chair thrown for effect would be repaired by him. Cassian laughed with the others before returning to his notes with a warmth that had nothing to do with the fire.

Across the village, Cedric remained awake longer than his shoulder appreciated. Most students had to be pushed through fear and failure. Cassian presented the opposite problem: he had seen a dangerous technique once, reproduced it flawlessly, and lacked the experience that should have stopped him.

Talent can kill children too. Sometimes faster than incompetence, because talented children succeed often enough to believe the next risk will forgive them as well.

Seven days earlier, Cedric had wondered whether Cassian possessed enough mana to become a mage. Now he wondered how carefully he would have to choose what the boy was allowed to see, and how much Cassian had already discovered before anyone knew to stop him.

Far beyond Frostwood, the sealed dispatch from Stagwatch continued south through Caldran's vast interior. By the twelfve evening of the royal courier’s journey, he had crossed another Crown station and changed horses again, still moving toward Caeldor and people who had not yet read what the Ironclaw had said.

End of Chapter 24