4:3 A quick study.

It had been a full three weeks since Bahlzair's attack at the court.  By this time, Piettro was the only Purple Dragon being sent to safeguard Eunice.  He had stopped reporting for duty in full armor three days before, although he still brought it along with him, just in case.  He'd also begun bringing some groceries back from the market, in the effort to lessen the strain on Eunice's food supplies- or at least that's what he told her.  Eunice, well-counseled by Druce, had begun to understand that his buying groceries really was just an excuse for him to cook with her.  Both Eunice and Piettro quickly discovered that he was better at cooking than she was, but he made sure to compliment her attempts, or the speed with which she learned new tricks and recipes, when she made self-deprecating jokes about it.  This night, after jointly cooking up a vegetable stew that Eunice claimed she couldn't believe had come out of her kitchen, she'd knelt down on the front room floor and spread her homework scroll out.  Piettro stood silently behind her, as normal, but instead of allowing him to go on passively watching, Eunice stopped to explain the assignment.

Said explanation took nearly a half hour.

Over that course of time, Eunice became sensitized to the fact that concentration rendered Piettro all but mute.  Only grunts escaped him- some that meant he was confused, some that meant he was following, and some that meant he didn't believe what she'd just said.

About fifteen minutes into her impromptu lesson, Eunice figured she would admit that she'd had to use some minor divination to figure out which grunt was which after she'd finished explaining the assignment.

"...and bang- you've got the spell's level classification.  Usually, anyway.  A wizard's total potential magica is different to a warlock's- and both of them are pure arcanists.  Obviously some people are naturally more magically inclined than others, due to being closer bred to something other than the Material Plane, but racial modifiers aren't very high.  One or two units of extra potential, tops.  Clerics and paladins, among others, are 'divine' casters, and- due to the incredible number of modifiers that have absolutely nothing to do with the actual caster- their base potential magica is highly variable.  For example, the actual Divine Favor modifier- first, you've got to find a relic, or the most up-to-date information about a relic, in order to factor the god's power against the Deity Standard- so, to determine whether it's at full, half, partial power, or effectively dead.  And mind you, when they're 'dead,' they're not actually dead; they're just no longer powerful enough to be classified as a god anymore.  If the power is a god, you have to figure out whether or not the practitioner has, and has maintained, proper alignment and communication with that god.  Gods will lend them potential force to strike whatever they want to, but they- like their beneficiaries- are better at some targets than others.  Worse yet, gods listen more closely to some people than to others.  No one's sure why any of that is, but... well... they're gods.  We can't know everything about them."

"Uh huh," Piettro grunted, staring down at the paper that was spread out on the floor between himself and Eunice.

Eunice knew that his present "uh huh" was one of understanding and continued interest, so she pointed his attention to the beginning of the equation again.

"Now, to complicate things, there are various shades of both arcane and divine spell work- life is rarely ever absolute about anything, and honestly, I think that everywhere that there's life, there's some form of raw, potential magica.  It's not just mages walking around with it; we all have something.  It's whether or not you can get to it- tap it, hone it, do what you intend to do with it."

"Mmm."

"We do; really, we do.  I mean, even different types of warriors all have- so, warlords, you know?  They don't all have gods- although most are more effective when they do.  And then there's paladins, who absolutely need an actual god, but rangers can make do with a friendly patch of familiar terrain, you know?  They don't even need a demigod; just a favorite hunting ground will do, to give them a bit of extra magic potential.  You know?  Everything that's alive- me, you, everybody.  We've got power.  And some have more power than others, some are more willing to donate that power than others, and some more able to tap into whatever they have than others.  Okay?"

"Mmmhmm."

Eunice sat back onto her ankles and looked at Piettro, who looked up from the paper to her immediately.  "Did you take Introduction to Mental Sanctity yet?"

"Nope," Piettro replied simply.  "I got pushed through basics pretty quickly, because the Tunland's brass thought the Zhentie scare near Darkhold was going to become and honest-to-gods invasion.  A lot of us got enlisted overnight, then crushed through like noodles through the press.  We skipped some things, or learned 'em as we went."

Eunice stared at him for a few moments before attempting to make sense of what she'd just heard.  "So... you're wandering around the College, and just plain didn't take any basic abjuration classes... at all?  That's... you're walking through a zinging haze of loose magica, and you can't close and defend your mind?  You... you can't just learn that as you go; that's insane."

"Don't worry about it," Piettro comforted with a winning smile.  "All our commanders went to the classes.  They gave each of us a personal talking to, then paired us up with battlemage apprentices and made us prove that we understood what they'd said.  I'm on this posting right now because I caught on better and faster than most.  They wouldn't send any idiot to do personal detail, standing between two magic slingers- that would be insane, yes, if they had."

Eunice pursed her lips and looked upward momentarily, then sighed and returned her gaze to him.  "That's... really not fair to you, but it's no wonder you understand what I'm saying, now.  Okay... let's get back to... no, actually, let's do this one.  It's... you can probably actually do it."

She pointed to a theorem halfway down the page, which- for the moment- looked to Piettro like nothing but a mass of numbers, letters, and strange glyphs.  He looked up to Eunice, but the focus on her face drew a resigned sigh from him.

"Okay. Let's have at it, then."

"Good.  Now, this sign lets you know that it's an evocation spell.  This small letter up here means it's naturalist, and the letters in the parenthesis here tell you that the ranger is targeting an orc.  This is important, because since the ranger has selected orcs as their preferred enemy, the spell is going to have a higher negative modifier.  Now, despite the fact that the ranger is calling upon Silvanus to bolster their own natural potential magica, that spell caster class doesn't have, or even believe in, organized worship.  So this negative modifier is termed a "nemesis" modifier, and the god is termed a benefactor instead of a god.  In plain terms, the caster is asking a favor from a close friend instead of begging a blessing from a superior force.  Spells like these used to be called primal, but that was deemed inflammatory terminology a while ago.  Only really old mages still use it- I'm talking old enough that no one wants to even try to break it to them that they're being insulting."

"Mmm."

"Oh, come on, Piettro.  You've never had a conversation with an old person?" Eunice smirked.  "Your O-pa or A-ma, maybe?  A really touchy veteran?  A decrepit little widow at the end of the lane that everyone suspects is a hag?"

Piettro sat back again and hummed to himself for a moment.  "I suppose my a-ma was considered the town hag, but not because she said things that were accidentally offensive.  Everyone considered her a brilliant advisor.  She, however, considered herself a horrible manipulator, and hated to even have anyone in charge of anything in the house.  She refused to run anything in town, despite having been elected unanimously to a town counselor's seat about four or five separate times during her lifetime.  The actual counselors would send messengers to her asking for advice, and most of the time, she would chase them out with her broom, or a poker.  One of them put her in jail for assault because of it, and then told her that answering his question was the condition for her getting back out."

"That's no way to run anything; she'd be right to withhold anything from him.  Taxes included."  Eunice dipped her quill into the inkwell just off to the right side of the paper, then wrote in the answer to the question two numbers higher on the assignment page.  "I wouldn't call her a hag for that," she sighed, laying her quill down on the ink cloth.

"Folks didn't- not for anything.  She called herself an old hag.  Not even when she couldn't remember all of her grandchildren did anyone else even breathe any such thing... hey, why do I subtract the nemesis modifier when Silvanus is giving power to the spell?" Piettro asked, reaching over to pick up Eunice's quill.  "That seems like the opposite of what is going on."

"I know it sounds counter-intuitive, but the nemesis modifier is always negative.  The higher it is, the easier the benefactor will make it for the naturalist to cast the spell- so, the lower the necessary potential force, get it?" Eunice explained.  "Silvanus doesn't make the spell more powerful, or give extra potential magica somehow; he basically warps reality just a bit, so that lower level casters can cast the spell at all.  That's why you have to check the divinity level first, to see how effective he is at doing that."

"Huh."

Eunice watched as Piettro quietly stared at the equation as though he could intimidate it into solving itself.  Within herself, Eunice did her best to quiet the impatience that wanted to tap the Deity Standard cheat sheet that she'd written just a bit closer to him, or to remind him to use the potential force standard for a naturalist instead of for a divine caster, or for an arcanist.

"Seventh," Piettro said suddenly, nodding to himself in satisfaction.

For a moment, Eunice turned her head to look from the paper to him.  "You can't just guess, Piettro.  You have to factor-"

"I did," the Purple Dragon replied with playful indignation as he handed Eunice her quill.  "Full potential energy of a naturalist caster, twenty.  Evocation, second level, add seventeen.  Sylvanus is a full deity, so five units down just for that.  Then his negat- wait, the neme- eh, whatever it's called, it accounts for two more pegs.  So the spell needs thirty units of force- naturalist force, or whatever, since it'd be different if some priest were casting it.  The target's potential defense is twenty three, and the difference between thirty and twenty three is seven.  So, this spell, as written, is a seventh level naturalist spell."

Eunice looked back down at the paper, used her separate piece of scratching paper to do her own factoring, then looked back at Piettro with astonishment.

"No classes?"

"Unless you count the fact that you're teaching right now," Piettro replied with a shrug.  "Maybe you'd call me a quick study, but I'd call you a good teacher.  Clear explanations.  Good support.  Know how to wait for folks to connect the concepts- I'd say your village made a good choice."

Eunice sat back on her heels.  "I never told you that."

"Hmm," the Purple Dragon responded as he looked down at another question.

"Piettro.  I said I never told you that," Eunice repeated, leaning forward and trying to catch Piettro's gaze.

Piettro smirked with a touch of embarrassment, refusing to look up at her.  "Perhaps a little bird told me.  This one's a tenth level... bardic spell?  Bards have their own arcane caster class?  And here I thought they were just half-baked know-it-alls..."

"A little bird," Eunice spat derisively, sitting straight.  "Ha-ha.  You'd have to be a naturalist yourself, for that."

Piettro finally looked up, his mouth curled into a strangely self-satisfied smirk.  "Why don't you check if I'm a naturalist, then?"

"What?" Eunice shrieked, stranded between terror and scorn.  "No!  I- I mean, I can, but I'm not qualified to-"

"They're never going to do it," Piettro cut in, lifting a hand toward the door to indicate the mages and commanding officers beyond it.  "According to them, they know everything they need to know about what I can and can't do, apart from those damned quarterly physicals.  Aren't you going to have to test the students you take on, too?"

Eunice suddenly leaned forward and began rolling her parchment.  "Well, yes, but that doesn't mean I can do it now.  It's- that's next semester.  I have to start the year with- okay, look.  Next year, I have to complete a practicum course with Battlemage Ranclyffe in divination, and Battlemage Persipanni in evocation."  When she finally finished stoppering her ink pot and rested it on her apron-covered lap, she sighed with a trace of annoyance.  "I was supposed to work with the mage commander for specialization work in naturalist spellwork and archaic transcription, but I failed my practical transmutation exam."

"How?" Piettro asked, genuinely confused.  "Your transmutation calculations are always right.  More often than your divination, evocation, and abjuration results put together- I... uh... counted."

Eunice gave a puff that tried to be a chuckle, with a strange half smirk tugging at the side of her mouth.  "You're definitely pretty quick, I'll give you that.  But just because you factor the spell's properties correctly doesn't mean you can cast it.  It means you understand how much effort it takes to try to cast it, but sometimes-"

"No," Piettro inserted, sharply and quickly enough to make Eunice jump.  "I just- I mean that- look, the spell fails.  Not you.  Okay?  Not.  You."

For a few daring moments, there was silence.  Eunice's eyes misted up as suddenly as a summer rain might blow in from a harbor.  Quietly, she laid her homework and her closed ink pot behind her, then scooted toward Piettro and took his hands in her own.  She closed her eyes, and the tears that had been standing in her eyes beaded up on her lower lashes.

"I think your variant of arcana is called... demagogic," she said quietly, trying to sound professional- or at least composed.  "That's on first read, mind you.  For a comprehensive testing, I... would need to perform a lot more... invasive procedures.  You might really not like them."

"What does demagogic mean?" Piettro asked gently, trying to urge Eunice to focus on things with which she felt more comfortable.

"It means- sorry-" Eunice took one hand back to wipe at her eyes, and was surprised when Piettro picked up the hand that she had released to wipe at her other cheek.  "It means that your wellspring of magica, or mana, comes from, and is most influential over, other people.  Like your a-ma, maybe."

"You know what?" Piettro asked smilingly.  "I think we have enough warm water left to make another two cups of tea- let's see if I remember your Delphic assignment, huh?  If you ask me, old man Ranclyffe left you upstream on that one.  Instructions were downright dodgy."

"Ah ha!" Eunice burst out in spite of herself.  " 'Old man' Ranclyffe would kill you if he heard you call him that!"

"I'll be sure not to think it anywhere near him, then," Piettro smirked, getting half way up from the floor.  "C'mon, before I have to intimidate a wood cutter into selling at this hour of the night."

And Eunice, who finally noticed that Piettro had never let go of her other hand, got up to follow him back toward the kitchen, which seemed, these days, to have plenty of room for both of them to fit comfortably.