The White Werewolf || Season One: Ties That Bind

Chapter Forty-Seven

Caingorn, 1247

"So that's it?" Jaskier wondered through a mouthful of cheese as they sat and ate dinner around the fire in their camp one night. "Your training is done? Is there mage graduation or anything?"

Robin laughed. "No, Jaskier. And I'm hardly done. I've just finished my basic training. Triss believes I'm ready to focus on more advanced skills, which will hone my power even further."

"You've progressed so quickly in such a short time, Robin," Geralt chimed in. "I'm proud of you."

She flushed and swallowed, but didn't respond.

She couldn't bring herself to tell him that she'd actually begun her advanced training already, and that she wasn't doing very well at it. Triss had come to the conclusion that something mental was holding her back, and that only dealing with it would allow her to continue.

Robin knew what it was, of course, and Triss did too, as much as she could without being told all the details. Though the older mage asked her about Geralt from time to time, Robin rarely let anything slip regarding the subject.

So she'd been distracting herself as much as possible until she worked up the courage to speak to him about it. She had to eventually if she wanted to realize her full potential, and she really did want that.

It just wasn't going to be an easy conversation, and she needed some time before she brought it up.

Thankfully, Jaskier was always happy to be a distraction, whether he knew that was what he was doing or not.

"I don't understand," he admitted. "How can you ever be done learning magic? Can't you just get more and more powerful?"

"That's not how it works, Jaskier," Geralt answered, serving himself another helping of stew.

"It's not?"

Robin shook her head. "Geralt's right. A person's ability to use magic is limited by two things. One is magic itself. There's only so much that magic is capable of doing. The other is the person. Strictly speaking, anyone can practice small amounts of magic. A witcher's signs, for example."

Geralt nodded his agreement.

"But only those with true magical ability can do more than that," she finished. "That's why not everyone goes mad if they don't learn magic. Only us lucky few who have a natural talent for it. So, eventually, every mage reaches a point where they cannot harness any further raw energy, though they can still learn and create new spells, of course."

"I have been enjoying the benefits of the new spells you've learned, I admit," Jaskier told her, smiling. "Though I still don't quite understand how the limits work, precisely."

She was good enough at sustained magic now to create tents that were bigger on the outside than they were on the inside, and filled with whatever comforts any of them wanted. She didn't do it every night. She and Geralt still enjoyed sleeping under the stars, but when the terrain or weather didn't make that a particularly pleasant prospect, she provided better accommodations.

"Hand me the flower and rock beside you, Jaskier," Robin instructed.

Jaskier handed over both items, watching intently as Robin placed the rock on her open palm and then clasped the flower in her other hand.

"Whenever you cast a spell, Jaskier, you have to take the energy from somewhere. Strictly speaking, it doesn't come from inside the magic user. Users are only conduits. The energy flows through them, and if they are skilled enough, they can direct it wherever they'd like."

"So where does it come from, then?" he played along, though she would have kept going anyway.

"It comes from the world around us. Like this."