The Young Magician

CHAPTER FOUR

They found fewer villages as they plunged deeper into the heart of Turia, and came across more and more cities and towns. Some of these had long-ago burst from their walls and ancient defensive structures, and now sprawled amongst the plains and valleys wherever they could. Broken fortifications and ruined walls scarred the landscape and Tulan explained that Turia had been witness to more than its fair share of warring. Times had been peaceful since the last great expansion of the Empire, but the brightly-uniformed Turian militia, ever-present, were a reminder of wilder days before the Emperor had united the lands of Amandia; warring days when the borders of nations changed almost daily-before the Empire had conquered them all.

On occasion, mighty cities loomed in the distance, but they didn’t enter even one. Tulan warned that it was much quicker to go around them and he gave each one a wide berth. The roads near cities became like rivers of overloaded wagons and animals and travellers. As it was, smaller roads joined with the Great Southern Highway as it coursed ever northwards, filling it with crowds of people and herded livestock. Great lines of soldiers would march past, clanking and stomping by. Sometimes the soldiers would be atop great beasts of horses, which would snort and whinny and throw up thick clouds of dust as they thundered by.

‘Not far now,’ Tulan said with a smile. ‘You’ve missed a few good months of schooling already, but I’m sure, with some hard work, you can catch up. If not, you’ll soon be back to Stable Canthem.’ Samuel nodded and smiled as he once more imagined what sorts of fantastic spells he would be learning.

Finally, they crested a hilltop and the smell of salt was strong on the wind. Suddenly a great city filled the landscape, laid out before an endless blue expanse of water that sparkled like rippling silver.

‘There she is,’ Tulan stated.

Samuel was spellbound by the sight. The city was twenty times larger than the biggest towns he had yet seen, surrounded by an enormous wall and with a spectacular, many-towered palace clearly visible thrusting up at its centre. It was not just a city-it was a city of cities. Smaller towns in the distance, vast-looking by themselves, were joined to it by lengths of road that scarred the fields and paddocks. A wide river ran from the hills in the east and a bridge spanned it where it was narrowest, giving rise to another string of buildings on the far banks. For all these sights, for all the grandeur of what man had created, it was the great, blue ocean that stirred Samuel’s blood most. It ran from as far as he could see from north to south and stretched out westwards to where the world seemed to somehow bend at its edges and vanish.

Horizon, Samuel thought to himself. He had heard tell of such a thing, but having lived all his life amongst the mountains, he could never have imagined how incredible it looked.

Water spat and foamed just out from the city where the rolling sea heaved upon dark, jutting rocks and the tiny shapes of great ships dotted its surface. Seas of cloth were strung from their towering masts to catch the wind. Samuel could not remove his eyes from the sight as the ships crawled slowly around the bay like ants roving idly around one of Master Kelvin’s flowerbeds. He had only heard tales of the sea, and nothing at all could have prepared him for such a sight. He almost had to remind himself to breathe again, startled back to reality as the wagon struck a bump that threatened to launch him from his seat. They started down the last sloping hillside towards the great city, and the ocean began to sink from view as the city continued to grow and grow before them.

As they crossed the open fields, the great walls of Cintar seemed to loom above them, until they blocked the view of everything else beyond. They were mountainous structures, made of some smooth, pale stone, without any hint of joint or mortar.

‘Everyone must live within the walls,’ Tulan explained, noting Samuel’s scrutiny. ‘This city is the heart of the Empire and no precaution is ignored in its defence. They are many other towns nearby, but nothing may exist on the plain unless it is within these walls. The Emperor is very protective of his home.’

More and more people had joined the road beside them and it only became more crowded as they all pushed towards a single great opening in the walls. All the people around them made a deafening throng. When they reached the open city gateway, Samuel craned his neck right back to look up at the wall’s dizzying heights. Passing through the gates was a spectacle in itself. Samuel would not have believed it was possible to even open and close such monstrous constructions. Teams of soldiers kept people moving along and tried to keep general order, barking orders and yelling at the people, while hoards of officials watched on, vigorously scribbling on their piles of papers.

‘You need a pass to enter the city,’ Tulan explained. ‘There are too many beggars and vagrants inside already. Space is precious in the city. You even have to pay just to visit relatives. It’s the greatest city in all the world!’ he added, gesturing splendidly.

‘But I don’t have a pass,’ Samuel stated with some alarm.

‘We don’t need a pass,’ Tulan explained with a knowing smile and tapped his black cloak in way of explanation. ‘You are magician, Samuel, or at least you will be soon. We can go anywhere in the Empire without question.’ And they passed into the entry way unheeded, almost as if they were invisible amongst the throng.

Passing that threshold was almost like stepping into another world. The air became cold and dark and people and animals alike seemed to drop to a hush, as if they all felt something chill and eerie in that boundary between all that lay within the city walls and all that was kept outside. Samuel kept his arms folded tightly across his chest and looked to the heights above him nervously as their wagon carried them on. Great slabs of stone looked down upon him, set firmly in place as if they had guarded the city for time immemorial.

As they emerged from the tunnel mouth and returned to daylight, the world leapt back to normal and the heat and the noise of the city fell upon them like a crushing blow.

It was a scene of apparent mayhem within the city walls. People, livestock, wagons and goods surrounded them in all directions and the noise was incredible. People were pushing and arguing and the crowd seemed to be surging in every direction at once, pressed up against the immovable barrier of the great wall. Was there a riot in progress? Samuel had to put his hands over his ears, but the din was still far too loud.

‘It’s quite busy here, today,’ Tulan yelled over the noise and Samuel nodded quickly in agreement. ‘But it’s not so bad further along. We just have to get away from the gate.’

Then, as if by magic, the crowd opened around them and Tulan urged the wagon forwards through the throngs of people.

‘Being a magician has many privileges,’ Tulan explained. ‘It can take hours to get through that gate on a day like today.’

They had moved a few streets away before the crowds lessened and the noise became more tolerable. Samuel was spellbound by the sights around him, never imagining that a city could be so much bigger than Stable Canthem. The buildings were mostly square and plain, constructed of stone and reaching up three storeys and more all around, and many were lavish, being brightly coloured and decorated. Large, stone slabs paved the streets and were worn smooth with the countless passing of wheel, hoof and foot. Their horse towed them through a maze of streets, through the clamour of shouting vendors, through squares of spice sellers and sugar merchants, exotic animals and markets of fresh and preserved foods. Great swathes of coloured cloth flapped in the breeze and enormous jugs, jars and urns lined the street-sides, along with many things so strange that Samuel had no idea what they were. Everything imaginable could be bought, sold or traded, or so it seemed, and this was all only from his first few minutes within the city.

‘Take a good look, Samuel,’ Tulan told him, ‘because once you enter the School of Magic, they may not let you out for quite a while. The city has far too many dangers and temptations for a new student.’

On the occasional corner, a few armed soldiers milled about; no doubt keeping a presence to maintain law and order, for if this city was anything like Stable Canthem, it would have more than its fair share of thieves and cutpurses and on a much grander scale.

The quietest areas were those where they passed vast, looming warehouses, or where tradesmen were labouring away in their workshops.

‘Try not to get lost,’ Tulan instructed. ‘And, if you do, just ask for the School of Magic. Everyone knows where it is. I recommend that if they do let you out, you don’t travel the streets late or alone. You should be fairly safe, being a magician, but it’s a big city with many strange people, so it pays to use some caution.’

The School of Magic was itself a walled-off region, although these walls were miniature compared to those around the city. The iron gates-more decorative than functional- lay open and unguarded, almost invitingly. Young men, a few years older than Samuel, trotted over to care for the horse and wagon and carry their belongings, their black shirts and trousers marking them as magicians. Samuel and Tulan climbed down from the wagon and they made their way across the grounds.

‘You must study very hard, Samuel,’ Tulan explained as he led them to one of many ornate buildings, ‘but most of all, I recommend you keep your head down. I’m sure if you just do your best and cause no trouble, everything will go smoothly for you here. The Order has many good people, but also many selfish ones. If you do anything to get yourself noticed, it could make your life here more difficult. I’m not trying to scare you. I just remember what it was like when I was here. I hope you can try your best to be one of the good people, Samuel. The Empire has enough of the other kind already.’

They presently came before a large building with a sturdy-looking wooden door. Tulan pushed it open without delay and they entered a long room, a gigantic study of sorts. Many old men were sitting at numerous long tables, talking or reading from great books, and they glanced over momentarily as the pair entered. A good number of them sported dangling, white beards but, in the manner of the Order, each was groomed to the highest standard, looking wizened and sober.

Samuel squeezed his eyes half shut, for with all the magicians in the place, the room seemed full of sizzling lights. Energy burst from them all and filled the air, like furious brilliant insects swarming around them. Obviously, no one else could see it, or surely they would have been swatting madly at themselves. Slowly, as if his thoughts themselves had sparked some reaction, the light faded almost entirely away and Samuel could open his eyes fully once again.

‘I’ll introduce you to the record-keeper and then I must go attend to my business,’ Tulan said. ‘I’ll not be seeing you again-for a time at least-so good luck to you and welcome to the Order of Magicians.’ He smiled and offered his hand to Samuel who shook it firmly.

They wove between the tables and approached a simple door at the rear of the room. Some of the old men watched them as they passed with a mixture of expressions. Some seemed curious, others smirked, while others merely glanced up momentarily before returning to their own affairs. Tulan knocked three times on the door and, after some moments, a voice called to enter.

‘This is Master Salmus Dividian,’ Tulan whispered as they stepped through. ‘He is Custodian of Records and therefore in charge of student admissions.’

They entered into the brightly lit study where within, an aged man wearing spectacles right on the tip of his pointed nose was busily scribbling notes on a parchment. His beard was thick and curly about his chin and his hair was edged with grey. He put his quill aside and turned his attention to the newcomers, coughing to clear his throat and removing his spectacles to peer over his nose at them.

‘Ah, Master Goodwin,’ he called with a throaty voice. ‘How pleasant to see you again.’ He did not sound at all sincere. ‘And what do you have with you? A new student, perhaps, or a new worker for the kitchens?’ Master Dividian laughed heartily at this and Samuel could tell it was not something he did often.

‘This is Samuel, Master Dividian,’ Tulan introduced and the older man’s eyes flicked briefly to Samuel. ‘Master Kelvin has sent him with his best wishes and proposes to sponsor the boy.’

‘But this boy has no talent at all,’ Master Dividian grumbled. ‘How can Master Kelvin expect me to waste my time? I thought the man would have more sense.’

Tulan spoke again. ‘You will find that he does have some talent, Master Dividian, but of course he needs training and some refinement. I’m assured he has the potential to be a gifted magician with the proper schooling.’

Dividian looked unconvinced and sucked at his cheek. ‘If it is Master Kelvin’s wish, than I shall grant the boy an opportunity to prove himself, although the last thing we need is another outlander. Why can’t you find me more decent Turian apprentices?’ he said with unhindered disdain. ‘I’ll give him a cot with the others in the foreigners’ dormitory. He’ll have to do his best to catch up and if he can’t, I’ll put him out the front of the city to find his own way home.’ With that, the man replaced his spectacles and searched the papers on his desk until he found the sheet he required. ‘Samuel,’ he spoke to himself as he scrawled down the name beneath a host of others. ‘That was my old mule’s name. Good day!’ He then called out and waved at them dismissively, without looking up.

Tulan returned a half-hearted ‘good day’ and they left the room. ‘So that is what you are up against, Samuel,’ he said. ‘Just do your best to ignore him and try to keep out of his way. If you get on his wrong side, it will make your life here much more difficult. Imperials like him will always treat outsiders like you with contempt, so just do your best to avoid them. Having outlanders in the Order is still considered something of an inconvenient necessity and is not looked upon favourably by most. Times are changing,’ he sighed, ‘but ever so slowly.’

Samuel nodded and followed Tulan back across the room. More glances were applied to him, followed by the same mumbling, scowls and sniggers. He was starting to feel that this place was not really as wonderful as he had expected at all. In Stable Canthem, they would talk about the Imperials and laugh about them. Here, he was the one being singled out.

‘I am long late already, Samuel, so best wishes to you,’ Tulan said and gave Samuel directions to his lodgings. ‘Although it has been my pleasure to escort you here, the task has not been kind to my schedule and I must rush. Take care and I look forward to meeting you again in the future and seeing what marvels you have accomplished.’

‘Thank you, Tulan,’ Samuel said with gratitude, and they shook hands again warmly.

‘I’m sorry I must rush, but you will be well taken care of here. Goodbye.’ With that, Tulan walked back towards the school gates, leaving Samuel to fend for himself.

Samuel looked around. This was a strange place, indeed. Old men, young men and boys alike eyed him like a circus spectacle as they passed. They were all wearing black garments, while he still stood in the brown trousers and white shirt that Master Kelvin had given him, so he supposed he must look greatly out of place here. Gathering his wits, Samuel began moving between the various buildings, as per Tulan’s instructions, eventually finding the appropriate one. It had ‘Apprentice Dormitory Three’ ornately carved on a decorative sign by the door, with curling golden letters that almost seemed to burn with fire upon the wood.

Stepping inside, Samuel found himself within a great, two-levelled room. A kitchen and tabled area covered the bottom floor with many chairs and places to study, while a balcony, ringed with many narrow cots, hugged the walls above. A spectacled young man a year or two older than Samuel was the building’s only inhabitant and he sat at a table reading with his arm in a white sling, hanging across his chest. The boy ignored him completely as Samuel climbed up the steep stairs and threw his belongings onto an apparently vacant cot, no possessions by its side. A window nearby revealed another building, a twin to this one, only a few strides away.

Not knowing what else to do, Samuel lay on the cot-it was surprisingly comfortable-and rested, thinking about his strange, new surroundings. He hoped the people were friendlier than they seemed or he was surely in for a miserable time.

Eventually, with nothing else to do or fill his thoughts, he swung his feet back to the floor and went back downstairs to speak with the other boy.

‘Just arrived?’ the boy stated as Samuel approached, not even glancing up from his book.

‘Yes,’ Samuel replied.

‘You could have been from Hammenton,’ the boy continued. ‘They had a small school there, too, until just recently.’ The boy finally looked up to meet Samuel’s gaze. ‘But you’re not from there.’

‘No,’ Samuel replied. ‘I’m from Stable Canthem, in…’

‘Marlen,’ the boy finished for him. ‘I’ve heard of it. I’m Eric Goodfellow.’ He offered his good hand to Samuel and they shook. His sandy hair was cut straight across, just above his glasses, as if edged off with one quick snip of a pair of scissors and the rest of his hair looked like it had been modelled from a bowl. It was not a fashion that Samuel would have chosen for himself, but at least this boy was being polite, although admittedly a little strange.

‘I’m Samuel.’

Eric nodded and returned to his book, reading a few more lines before setting it down upon the table.

‘Do you have some talent already?’ Eric asked.

‘They said I do, but I’m not sure about this whole magic thing.’

‘Well, you’ll find out soon. You won’t be here long if you don’t have at least some skill with magic.’

Samuel nodded in understanding. ‘What happened to your arm?’

‘I broke it a few days ago. I managed to levitate to the ceiling-but then I got nervous and couldn’t hold my spell.’

‘I think I did that once,’ Samuel stated.

Eric adjusted his eyeglasses and examined Samuel more closely. ‘You must have some ability, then. The others are with Master Glim. I’ll introduce you when they return. So, what have you learned so far? What can you do?’

‘They told me I’m not allowed to use any magic until I get taught how.’

‘Of course. It’s very dangerous to practise magic without proper supervision. I heard about one boy who was practising in secret and lost control. He was covered in mage-fire. It’s a terrible kind of fire made of uncontrolled magic. It burns your skin and flesh and damages your mind in dreadful ways. He left soon after-terribly scarred and unable to communicate in any way. I hope that doesn’t happen to you.’

‘So do I!’ Samuel declared.

Eric laughed. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not trying to scare you.’ For the first time, the boy actually looked welcoming.

They talked for a time until, towards mid-afternoon, a collection of tired and limping boys came in and sat at the tables or crawled up the stairs and collapsed onto their cots, each dressed in near-identical sets of black shirts and trousers.

‘This is Samuel, everybody!’ Eric called loudly.

A few boys waved in greeting or gave a welcoming moan. One boy came and sat with them. He was bright and energetic with his short, black hair combed neatly into place.

‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I’m Eric. Eric Pot.’

‘I’m Eric Goodfellow,’ the first Eric explained, noting Samuel’s look of bewilderment.

Samuel then introduced himself and shook the new Eric’s hand.

‘Most people call me Eric and him Goodfellow, just to save from confusion, or else we get full names. You know, like Eric Pot or Eric Goodfellow. Some people call me Pot, but I must admit it sounds a bit awkward.’

‘I understand,’ Samuel said. ‘In my hometown we had two Toms. It was confusing, but sometimes you could tell who they were talking about by the way they said it. You know-Tom and Tom,’ and the other two nodded in understanding.

Just then, a middle-aged man came in and approached them, dressed in the black-robed attire that Samuel had grown accustomed to seeing at the Burning Oak. His face was warm and pleasant, seemingly moulded from years of smiling.

‘Hello?’ the man said, addressing Samuel with a raised eyebrow. ‘I am Master Glim. And you are?’

‘Samuel, Sir.’

Master Glim seemed amused. ‘I’m not a Sir or Lord or anything else, so you don’t have to call me that. My real name is Dannidin Glim, but only my mother still calls me by my first name. Given that you are obviously not my mother, I guess you will have to settle with calling me “Master Glim”. Have you made yourself at home?’

‘I have, Master Glim. I chose a cot up there. Eric says it’s free.’

‘Good. I’m sure the two Erics will set you straight. I’m glad to see you’ve already fallen in with the brightest of the bunch. The next class is with Master Sanctus tonight and then I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Just follow these two and I’m sure they will take good care of you. Oh, I nearly forgot.’ Master Glim went over and retrieved a set of black shirt and trousers from a chest in one corner. They were identical to those Samuel had seen on the other boys here, and he gave them to Samuel.

‘Wear these for now,’ Master Glim explained. ‘Some of the more cantankerous Masters have been known to cast horrific-smelling curses upon poor city folk who blundered into the school. You wouldn’t want that on your first day, I’m sure. Now, the boys can organise some more things for you tomorrow.’

Samuel looked at the clothes with interest. Despite their apparent simplicity, the material was thick and fine and the craftsmanship was detailed. With that, Master Glim bade them farewell and Samuel changed into his new clothes, putting his old ones into the small chest by his cot. Then he ran back downstairs and the two Erics set about showing Samuel the remainder of the school grounds.

Young and old men alike strolled around in their dark clothes, some with black shirt and trousers, others with flowing robes cascading almost to the ground and flowing behind. A long, dark cloak or cape decorated the occasional man and Samuel wondered how it was determined what each magician should wear.

‘Ah! It keeps getting under my feet!’ Samuel declared. His trousers were a little too baggy and the hem kept dragging along the ground.

Eric Pot and Eric Goodfellow laughed themselves hoarse.

‘Don’t worry, Samuel’ Eric Pot chuckled. ‘We’ll get you some better fitting clothes tomorrow.’

‘Is it true-we can’t go into the city?’ Samuel asked them.

‘Yes, it’s true,’ Eric Pot replied, ‘for the time being.’

‘I’ve been here nearly four months and I haven’t been outside yet,’ Goodfellow added.

‘We’re supposed to focus on our studies,’ the other Eric noted sourly. ‘Apparently, the teachers will allow all of the apprentices to leave the school only once we have proved ourselves responsible and diligent-or so Master Dividian says.’

‘Although occasionally, we may be taken out of the city to practise our spells, but it’s not very often,’ Goodfellow said.

Samuel nodded in understanding, secretly wishing that he had seen more of the city before coming to the school.

They showed him another bunkhouse where the older, more advanced students lived. It seemed that schooling depended on skill more than age, but in general, both were closely entwined. The Adept, as they were called, looked up from their studies as the boys peered in and returned contemptuous looks. They looked statelier and much more mature than the boys in Samuel’s dormitory.

‘The Adepts are pompous asses,’ Eric Pot whispered. ‘Some are actually not too bad, but it’s generally better if you just keep away from them.’

‘Avoid them whenever possible,’ Goodfellow agreed, ‘or they will give you their chores. You have to obey an Adept, and they are usually far too lazy to do their own work and they pick on all of us in the foreigners’ dormitory the most.’

They backed out of the dormitory doorway and the two Erics continued giving their tour of the school grounds. There were lodgings for teachers, researchers, administrators and visitors, and lodgings for those who just lived on the school grounds. There were, however, no lodgings for common folk. Everyone who lived in the School of Magic was either a magician or learning to be one. There were some cooks and other workers who came each day to serve the Masters, but if there was some generic menial task to be done, the apprentices were called upon to do it.

The Erics explained that some magicians lived in the palace and a few in the city itself, but most lived within the confines of the school.

They showed Samuel the common room that he had first seen, where the older Masters lingered to study and converse, heckling any apprentices who dared to enter. Another large building housed the Great Hall, with enough seating for several hundred students around the curved walls and where the Emperor of Turia would sometimes come to be entertained with displays of magic. Several bathhouses were found in the school, one for the apprentices, one for the Adept and one for the Masters. They had great boilers that the students lit each day to produce copious amounts of hot water for washing. There was a large stable, in which horses and carriages and all manner of conveyances were kept. There was the Great Library, which had shelves and shelves of ancient manuscripts and handwritten books, and Eric Pot said that a cellar underneath held all the most amazing books, books that were reserved for the Masters only. Some of the Adept were allowed to read them, but only once they had proved themselves responsible. Of course, all of the Adept claimed to have free access to the cellar and declared its contents to be most astounding and wondrous. Typically, they were never more detailed than that in their descriptions, so Eric Pot was sure they were making it up.

They had seen just about all the grounds before they noticed that the sun had dropped below the walls and they hurried back to their dormitory to prepare for the evening lesson.

The evening class consisted of all forty-eight apprentices from all three dormitories gathering in the Great Hall, barely even beginning to fill its many curved bench seats, and listening to a lecture by Master Sanctus. He was an old and balding man with a bulbous, red nose and drooping ears, and great white whiskers across his chin. He looked more like a vagrant who’d wandered in off the city streets and stolen into Order clothes, but Samuel supposed the old man must know all sorts of incredible things, despite his appearance.

If he noticed Samuel, however, Master Sanctus showed no sign of it, and spent several hours lecturing on the way of a magician’s life, on how it must be pure and good, helping the rich and poor, nobleman and common folk alike, but serving the Emperor and Empire above all.

There was not one mention of anything magical or mystical and, each time he mentioned some particular point, he would take great pain to explain the reasoning behind it and thus lose the actual purpose of his sentences. From the drowsy expressions of his fellow students, Samuel concluded this was not the first time they had heard such monotony from Master Sanctus and his lecture went long into the night until everyone was nearly asleep in their seats.

Samuel slept soundly that night and awoke at first light as the other students were also slowly rousing themselves. It was his first morning in the School of Magic and he excitedly pulled on his new clothes and hurried down the stairs. The two Erics demonstrated the rules of the kitchen and fried them all some eggs. There was a larder outside, beside the Great Hall, that was brimming with delicious foodstuffs of all manner and everyone could help themselves to it whenever they felt hungry. Samuel thought it was the best news he had ever heard.

Goodfellow explained how the roster of chores worked, with each student doing various tasks each day. No one actually enforced the roster, but it was considered the worst behaviour to deviate from it without a good excuse. Samuel would not be expected to begin any chores until the next week and so he considered himself fortunate, as he could relax and take time to come to terms with his new surroundings.

‘I have to go to stable duty this morning,’ Eric Pot explained, ‘so let me know what happens in class.’

The class with Master Glim was as interesting and exciting as Master Sanctus’ classes were not. They left their notepaper and quills behind and found an open patch of lawn by the tall, stone wall and Master Glim went into the intricacies of magic.

‘It comes from within,’ he explained, striding back and forth before the wall, ‘but that is not the source of magic, merely its channel. Our minds are like veins, with magic being the blood. If you are feeble and shallow-minded, the veins are narrow and magic may only just trickle through, but if you are fit and quick-witted-’ here Master Glim leapt up and clapped his hands with a thunderous slap. When he landed neatly back upon his feet, there was an enormous blue butterfly resting on his finger, gently beating its wings. Everybody, including Samuel, gasped in awe. ‘-then magic roars in your ears and you can channel it with a whim,’ he continued. He closed his eyes and the butterfly grew into a surprised-looking cow, balancing precariously on his hand. It then transformed into Master Sanctus, complete with an enormous cow’s udder and everybody bent over laughing. The illusion then vanished and Master Glim sat cross-legged on the grass once more. ‘Your mind must be keen and your body must be strong. Each supports the other. Magic is energy and energy is life, we are all made of it. There is power in thoughts and words and movements, in shapes and patterns and pictures and music, in places and times and events. If you remember this, your magic will be much stronger.’

Everyone nodded in understanding.

‘You may have heard that the stones of our walls were brought from distant lands, hundreds of years ago. It’s true. Early magicians recognised that stone is a lasting thing, and the ebb of the earth runs through some stones for many ages, before the wind and rain can wear them away. These stones were found in a place of naturally high energy, and this energy had filled the rocks and made them magically powerful. The magic has faded much over recent years, but these walls are still virtually impregnable to axe or pick and no spell can pass directly through them without great effort. The city walls are great in strength, but our school’s perimeter, though tiny in comparison, should long outlast them.

‘It takes a keen eye, of course, to tell a natural place of strong energy, for these areas of magical energy slowly move around the earth over the ages. Our wall is slowly seeping power, but this power is then available for us to use, increasing our magical strength while we are here in the school. The closest natural magic well is far, far away now, but, in a way, we have created our own, here.’

Samuel was impressed. The walls of the school were flawless-as clean and smooth as could be and seemingly made from a single, faultless piece of stone. It made him curious and a question slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it.

‘How did they cut the stone, Master Glim?’ Samuel asked.

‘Well, Samuel, this stone was cut with the aid of powerful magic and moved here in manageable blocks. The sand made from cutting the stone was brought in bags to be used as mortar and more spells were used to bond them all together as one piece again. It would have taken a long time, but it was so long ago that we don’t really know any more than that. But the interesting thing is that the act of moving the stones actually made them stronger-for movement creates power. It is like dragging a flint across stone, and it produces magical energy within us. Of course, we are always producing our own energy, but travelling is a way of energising and stirring ourselves to create even more. This is why we magicians try not to spend too many years in one place, as it lends staleness to the mind and magic. Now, enough talk. Let us go to the hall and practise.’

They left the grassy spot by the wall and filed into the Great Hall, now warm and inviting with sunlight streaming through the windows, compared to the chill of the night before. Master Glim seemed to lend warmth and vibrancy to the place, just as Master Sanctus had radiated chill sterility.

‘Revision!’ Master Glim announced and stood at the front of the room, facing his students with his hands set upon his hips.

They each in turn sat and crossed their legs on the open floor at the centre of the room and let their hands rest lightly upon their knees. They all seemed to know what to do and so Samuel copied them, looking left and right to be sure he was following suit.

‘Close your eyes and concentrate on your breathing,’ Master Glim called softly. ‘Let the air come in your nose and feel the energy course down your spine and into your hands and feet. Hold the breath and then let it out, taking all the corrupted energy out with it.’

The sound of an instrument seemed to emerge out of the silence, and Samuel could not resist opening an eye. Master Glim had tiptoed away and returned with a many-stringed instrument, which he was now strumming lightly and slowly. He made no particular tune, but more an array of harmonic noises, and from time to time he tapped on the wooden body of the instrument to produce strange echoes. He noticed Samuel watching and gave him a stern look that obviously meant close your eyes and concentrate!

Samuel did so at once and soon found the voice of the instrument soothing. He realised that Master Glim was also singing, a soft wordless hum that was barely discernible from the instrument itself.

‘Feel the energy within you,’ Master Glim then whispered, and his voice seemed to come from all around. ‘Let it become part of you, and you of it. Let the sound guide you.’

Samuel felt that the music could guide him as it resonated in his chest and ears. He felt very relaxed and memories of his meditation in the Burning Oak came back to him. A string of strange words was at the verge of remembrance.

‘Keep your eyes closed,’ Master Glim whispered. ‘Relax and forget your breathing, forget your heartbeat, forget your body. Become the energy-and now, concentrate the energy on a space just before your eyes. Open your eyes slowly and continue to feed your power into this spot; feel it burn and glow with energy. Feel the light before your face.’

Samuel opened his eyes and was surprised to find his hands had moved from his knees, where they had begun, to the palm-together position he had learned in the Burning Oak. A tingling ran up his spine, as a boy diagonally in front of him spontaneously created a tiny ball of light. The boy’s aura had flickered and bloomed and then a sizzling spark of light had sprung away from him, hanging in the air and unfolding into the glowing ball. The boy then pushed it up into the air, obviously having done this before. There it hovered and shone. Samuel looked up and saw it being joined by a host of other shining spheres as the students all around cast their spells. He held his palms together firmly and searched for the way to create his own. The feeling he needed bathed his mind, but then he wasn’t sure if it was the right one or not. A moment of fear overtook him as he remembered the awful spirit that he had summoned at the Burning Oak. It took great effort to calm down before he could start to regain a relaxed state of mind.

‘Those who can,’ sounded the voice of Master Glim, ‘move your mage-lights together and feel the energies of your friends. Each is distinct and individual. If you’re having trouble, don’t worry, just relax and feel the magic around you.’

All the spheres in the room began to move to the centre, all hovering together and mingling just below the ceiling. Samuel refused to be embarrassed by his failure and renewed his efforts. Without warning, his head tingled and a surge of energy coursed through him like a river breaking its banks. He was sure he had done it, but when he peered though half-closed eyes, his mage-light had still not appeared.

‘Each effort teaches you how to affect the natural flow of energy,’ Master Glim told them. ‘Each beat of your heart brings you closer to fulfilling the potential locked inside you.’

Samuel pushed harder and harder, growing impatient at his magic for not doing as he willed. He gritted his teeth and redoubled his efforts. I will make a spell, he told himself. I will make a spell!

A strange snap then occurred in Samuel’s mind and an amazing torrent of magic fell through him, making him dizzy and light-headed. It was more energy than he had felt before and it filled him with strange exuberance. He realised he was grinning like a fool before he finally regained his composure. This time, Samuel was not at all disappointed at failing to cast his spell, for the feeling inside him made him giddy.

‘Now, let your magic dissipate and we’ll finish,’ Master Glim finally called.

Samuel released his efforts and opened his eyes again, shaking his sweaty hands. At once, the pleasant feeling vanished and Samuel’s head cleared. He could feel the energy calling to him, pulsing like a river that lay just underneath the ground, its pressure shaking the soil and threatening to break through. It was difficult to put the power to rest, for the feeling had been wonderful and exhilarating. He had to calm himself several times and push his magic back deep within himself. A horrible image of a boy catching on fire came to mind and the thought caused his power to flicker and vanish.

Samuel gave a sigh of relief and looked up as the mage-lights above grew dim and faded one by one as the boys all ceased their spelling.

‘Well done,’ Master Glim said. ‘Those of you who managed and feel confident may practise in your own time. Those of you who did not may practise breathing techniques, but do not try to channel power until we next meet. That is all. Master Sanctus has you all day tomorrow.’

There was a groan at this and all the boys began to file out. Samuel did not leave at once, but instead went to Master Glim’s side; his teacher was replacing his instrument into a small cupboard. Peering past him, Samuel could see all manner of other curious things tucked inside.

‘Master Glim?’ Samuel asked.

‘Well done, Samuel,’ Master Glim said, closing the door and turning to face his student. ‘I felt some magic in you at the end there. Just a touch, but enough to let me know you have good potential. Do not worry that you could not do anything today. It never comes at once. You did well just to breathe properly and relax. Have you practised before?’

‘A little-but I want to ask you-I was wondering about magic. I felt very strange just now and a little sick. I heard about the boy that caught fire and I wondered if that’s what it felt like. Can you let too much power in?’

‘Yes, indeed,’ Master Glim conceded. ‘That can happen to untrained magicians and, unfortunately, seems to be happening more and more of late. If one lets too much magic in and not enough out, the power can be dangerous-overwhelming. If too much magic fills you, burn it out somehow while you temper your connection to the source. Make a knot of power as we have today and throw it away. Cast it out into the sky, for magic must be consumed once summoned or it will consume you. And magic will not return to the ether easily. It is a skill that must be slowly developed. All this is why you are here, to learn the simplest yet most important of lessons: you must master yourself if you are to master your magic.’

Samuel thought he understood some of what Master Glim told him, but his mind was focussed on a terrible image of wild, uncontrolled magic tearing across his skin. He only hoped it never happened to him.

Archmage Ordi hurried out onto his balcony, perched high atop the Mage Tower, where he very often felt like a god looking down upon the earth. Such feelings of grandeur, however, were far from his mind at present, as something powerful and unsettling had disturbed him from his napping and had brought him rushing outside.

It took only a glance over the city to see what was tugging at his senses, for hovering above the School of Magic was an enormous blue sphere of extraordinary power. It paled the sun and the streets below were suddenly still and quiet as every person in view shaded their eyes and gawked at the spectacle. The city folk were used to occasional mystic events from the magicians, but this was a wondrous display and the denizens of Cintar had all stopped in place to observe and marvel.

The Archmage stroked his long, gnarled, wooden staff absentmindedly, with his thumb, and watched on thoughtfully as the spell flashed and glimmered below him.

The fiery sphere then flashed from existence and was gone, leaving the world dull again and pale by comparison. The throngs of people below all at once lowered their gazes and went back to their scurrying and shouting and selling and bargaining, and the spontaneous wonder was quickly forgotten.

If this was meant to be some sort of display from Grand Master Anthem, the Archmage was not impressed. The man had been a thorn in his side for far too long and he had long since stopped believing that the wily old Anthem was as passionate about the Empire as he claimed. No, Anthem had dipped his fingers into too many cookie jars and the time of his comeuppance was quickly approaching. He had been given more than enough time to prove his worth-years and countless resources-but still there was nothing to show except more excuses. Old Anthem was quickly losing all precious favour with the Emperor and all such past gratitude would soon be worthless. Archmage Ordi knew it had been a mistake from the start.

The Archmage slowly scratched his chin and went to adjust his splendid purple-hemmed robes, before realising he was completely naked. In his hurry to get to his balcony, he had leapt straight out of bed without thinking. Chuckling to himself, the bony old magician strolled back inside. He put his staff back in its place beside his great bed, before crawling back onto the mattress and pulling the masses of thick and fluffy blankets back on top of himself and preparing to continue his comfortable nap. There was no need to hurry. He had waited a long time already and events would unfold of their own accord soon enough.

Lessons with Master Sanctus were hideously tedious. He was responsible for teaching the apprentices to speak in the Old Tongue, the language of magicians. The Old Tongue closely followed the lines of power and was, therefore, more useful in magic than the Turian language that was now common about the land. Samuel was well behind in the lessons and realised he would have to spend all his free time studying to catch up, although the two Erics both said they would help. The Old Tongue was strange and alien to him, difficult between his lips. Other students were already forming sentences and starting to converse with it, while Samuel stuttered and baulked on the simplest of words, like talinyi-hello.

He managed to spell a splendid mage-light the next day and Master Glim was very pleased. It actually felt much easier than the time before, and required much less effort. In the following days, however, he found he was far behind in every area of his studies. He had history lessons with Master Kalbak, mathematics lessons with Master Fraser, literature with Master Yule and magic lessons with Master Glim, although the teachers all seemed quite flexible and exchanged roles on occasion.

Samuel spent hours every day in the Great Library, jotting notes and such, trying to get his mind around the perplexing mannerisms of the Old Tongue. To help him improve, Samuel and Eric Goodfellow made a resolution to initially say everything in Old Tongue, and then only in Turian if one of them did not understand. It was ridiculous at first, as Samuel never understood what was being said, but even after a few days, he began to notice some improvement, recognising some of the basic phrases.

Samuel also spent considerable time in the Great Hall when it was empty, practising his mage-lights. Day after day, he practised in every spare moment. He was not happy with just making one or two, and he forced himself to keep trying until he could make up to a dozen. He felt quite proud at this one accomplishment and finally began to feel all his extra study was starting to show results. Soon, he found he could manipulate the shapes of his lights, giving them different tones and colours. Blues spheres became green ovals, yellow squares, and red triangles. By combining the shapes and colours, Samuel could make the semblance of a tree or flower or even a basic man.

Every few months, one teacher would leave or another would come, but Master Glim and Master Sanctus still led the bulk of the lessons. They received new classes from Master Rubrick and Master Jod. Every teacher had a different perspective to share regarding their education and would instruct them on every conceivable aspect of being a magician. Master Dividian even began teaching them the history and philosophy of magic. Most students found these lessons tedious, as Master Dividian was a self-important and pompous old man. Not all the teachers were as popular as Master Glim, but Master Dividian was as far from likeable as any student thought possible.

Master Rubrick would teach them all the ways of positioning the body, so that magical energy could be gathered more efficiently. Samuel recognised some of the strange positions and movements he had seen in the Burning Oak. Some were low, almost squatting positions with arms and hands all curled and bunched up, while others were tall, outstretching, even one-legged stances. Samuel could feel the magic course through him whenever he practised these positions. He remembered the deftness with which Grand Master Anthem and Lomar had performed the movements and vowed to be at least as good as them.

Master Jokkle later arrived to take over all their intermediate schooling, such as grammar, science and mathematics. He was an energetic and dedicated teacher and seemed to enjoy any gains they made, so it made the classes more interesting. Some students objected to such mundane lessons, but Master Jokkle always managed to think of some example where a magician with good schooling was better than a magician with good magic. They did not need to reach the level of the scholars in the Emperor’s university, but many members of the Order did lecture there, such was their considerable knowledge. Samuel could see the point of all this, but somehow, the three-four-five rule for squaring corners just did not compare to the ability to lift and move objects with a magical spell.

They even received lessons in riding and horsemanship, as this was the chief method of transport around the inland regions of the Empire. A magician, especially in his early years, would be expected to travel far and wide performing the various duties of the Order. Samuel’s experiences from his youth actually helped him greatly, and although he had spent much more time under the animals than on them, he quickly found himself becoming a fairly competent rider.

One sunny afternoon, Samuel and many of the apprentices were resting in their bunkhouse-either lying idly in their cots or studying at the tables below. Samuel was leaning on the balcony rail, staring out into space and thinking about some new spells he would like to try, when he noticed an old man come wandering in through the bunkhouse door. The man wore a simple surcoat down to his knees along with some stockings and buckled shoes, and he was peering around the room almost as if he had lost something. If not for the fact that his clothes were all of deepest black, Samuel may have thought the man an old vagrant who had wandered in off the streets. Taking a closer look at the fellow’s wispy, white hair and straggly beard, Samuel was taken by surprise as he realised they had met before. It was the old man from the Burning Oak-the one he had first seen do magic.

‘Grand Master!’ some boys exclaimed and hopped up from their bunks and raced down the short stairs.

The old man laughed as he was quickly surrounded by all the boys in the room. Samuel made down the stairs after them and stood at the edge of the small crowd, waiting expectantly.

His voice was as warm and youthful as Samuel remembered. ‘It’s good to see you all again; each taller and more manly than before, as I can see. I’ve been away far too long once again.’

‘We’re happy to see you again, Grand Master,’ Goodfellow declared. ‘What have you been doing?’

‘Oh, I’m always being sent all over on Order business these days,’ the old man replied. ‘Almost too busy to care for my precious school-it’s criminal. But I shall remain here awhile now. Now, what can you show me? What have you learned since I last had time to visit you? I’ve been away far too long.’

‘Look, Grand Master!’ Chadly Doon, a blond-haired boy, exclaimed and immediately created a star-shaped formation of lights above them.

‘Look, Grand Master!’ called another, making a spell of his own and letting a plateful of beans go hopping and jumping across the table.

‘Look! Look!’ they each cried.

‘Calm now, calm now!’ retorted the Grand Master, holding up his hands. ‘Hold your spells for the moment. Go back to your places and I will come and chat with each and every one of you before I leave. Go on!’

The boys all dispelled their magic and slowly dragged themselves away back to their cots and tables. Samuel returned to the second floor and looked down upon the old man as he made his way amongst them all. They would chat a few minutes before each boy summoned his best spell and the Grand Master would nod and exclaim ‘wonderful!’ From time to time, the old man would look around the room, as if looking for something, and the smile on his face would fall away for the briefest moment, showing some dark concern. Then, he would laugh and make some joke with the boys and his face would be free of its fleeting vexation.

Samuel soon became bored of watching on and collapsed onto his cot. It was wearisome watching all the boys fawning over the old man with their tired tricks. Fetching some notes out from his chest, he lay on his back and began practising some Old Tongue.

After some time, a deep smooth voice sounded beside him. ‘Now whom do we have here?’

Samuel dropped his notes and quickly sat up as the Grand Master sat down beside him at the end of bed.

‘Grand Master Anthem,’ Samuel greeted.

‘So you are the boy who liked to spy through the window?’ the old man said, and Samuel immediately felt his cheeks burning. ‘Samuel, isn’t it? I heard you had joined us here in the school. You seem to be fitting in well enough.’

‘Yes, Grand Master. I like it here very much.’

‘And what about your studies? I hear you had some catching up to do?’

‘Yes, but I am studying very hard,’ Samuel explained.

‘Well let me see what you have learned.’

‘I don’t know what to show you, Grand Master,’ Samuel admitted.

‘Now don’t be shy, my boy. Just some small thing is fine. Any trivial spell you care to muster up,’ the Grand Master urged him.

Samuel thought a moment and then created a few coloured mage-lights in the air beside them. They looked somewhat pale in the afternoon light.

‘That’s it?’ the old man quizzed him disappointingly. ‘I’m sure you can do better than that. I can tell that took you no effort at all.’

Samuel dispelled his lights with a gesture and paused again to think. Gathering himself for a moment, he put out his palm and began to spell. A tiny speck could be seen in his hand.

‘Oh?’ said the Grand Master quizzically and bent his head to look closer. ‘What’s this?’

Soft light began to shine from Samuel’s palm and the speck began to grow and became a short green sprout. Samuel poured his magic into the spell and the thing became as tall as his longest finger, then buds and leaves began to form. Slowly, the sprout thickened and the tiny leaves became fuller and the stem wider until Samuel finished and a small shrub sat in his palm.

‘Wonderful!’ Grand Master Anthem exclaimed. ‘Quite a complex spell.’

‘It’s an apple tree,’ Samuel stated. ‘A very small one. I’m still experimenting.’

The old man leaned in even closer to inspect the creation. ‘Why, it even has tiny apples. Samuel, what a marvel!’

Samuel laughed. ‘It’s only simple. I have a lot of work to do to make it better.’

‘Nonsense, boy. It’s a grand illusion. You just need to work on it a little more and make it a bit bigger.’ With that, the Grand Master stood. ‘Well, I have a few more boys to chat with. I will keep an eye on you and talk with you another day, young Samuel.’

The old man then took his turn to sit with Eric Goodfellow and then Eric Pot, who took great relish in showing the Grand Master his favourite trick: making a pebble leap magically between his two clenched fists. After the aged magician had done with them all, he started back down the stairs, grasping firmly onto the rich, hardwood hand-rail as he went to help him descend.

Samuel was somewhat disappointed and placed the plant on the floor beside his chest with a few others he had made previously. He had been secretly hoping to impress the Grand Master, but the man had not even noticed the spell was not an illusion at all. He was the only apprentice in the whole dormitory who could even start to grow a real tree-in the whole school for all he knew. Samuel reached into his pocket and dug out the last few apple seeds he had collected and threw them out the window with disappointment.

After a few more minutes, Samuel heard the Grand Master call out his goodbyes from below and looked down through the balusters as the old man left, almost hurriedly.

‘I’m getting worried,’ came an insistent voice, penetrating Samuel’s dreams.

‘I’m sure there’s no need for alarm,’ came another.

Samuel had been having a pleasant dream about the mountains around Stable Waterford. It had been wonderful playing and running through the woods again, but the voices had started interrupting him and would not go away. It became hard to concentrate on the trees and branches and adventures, and all became grey and foggy until just the troublesome voices remained.

‘He’s just a boy, but he could be the one everyone is searching for-here, with us!’ the first voice stated.

‘Yes, yes. You may be right,’ mused the second-a thin and whiny voice. ‘At the very least, it deserves further investigation. I will begin searching the ancient manuscripts and you keep an eye on him. Tell me of anything you learn-any clue or hint at all.’

‘Of course, but what should we say to him in the meantime?’

‘Nothing. Watch him. It’s too early to be sure. He shows all the signs of great power, but we could be mistaken.’

‘Perhaps I can try to guide him to our cause.’

‘Very well, but take great care. I’m sure he has been noticed already, and others will be seeking to sway him. It is fortunate we found him first. We don’t want to lose another one to their side, at least not until we learn what makes him so special.’

‘It could be nothing-a simple curiosity.’

‘Or it could be something. He plays with the makings of a Great Spell as if it were trivial. Such a spell could prove pivotal-for either side-and at this, such a crucial time. We just cannot afford to take chances.’

A moment’s silence.

‘Yes, I agree,’ the voice sounded almost optimistic.

‘Very well. I will trust you with the task. Do whatever it takes to earn his trust.’ The second speaker finished.

‘I shall,’ the initial speaker finished gruffly and Samuel was sure he had heard this person before, somewhere in the real world beyond such haze-ridden dreams.

Some days, Samuel found it harder to use magic than others. The teachers said this was normal, as a certain frame of mind was needed to use magic, but it frustrated Samuel greatly. At times, casting a spell was as easy as taking a breath, and these times were exhilarating. As more months passed, the bunkhouse became a constant display of various magic feats, with each boy practising the skills that best suited him. Samuel would lean against the balcony banister and watch closely. He had the advantage of being able to see the weaves of magic they made, and quickly learned how to read every flow and turn of power. The weaker boys’ magic was composed of thin and wispy strings of energy, which wavered and shuddered, barely able to hold together long enough to form a spell. Strong spells were rich with tendrils of energy, and the magic flowed smooth and sure.

It was a simple matter for Samuel to copy the simple spells, for he merely had to summon some magic and bend the weaves to match whatever spell he desired. More complex spells, however, were another matter. There were far too many weaves and flows to remember, and by the time he finished placing the final parts of the spell, the first parts had already dissipated. It proved difficult to copy such spells, but Samuel kept trying every day. Each success gave him only a moment’s satisfaction before he began again on something even more difficult-and each failure filled him with frustration and rage.

Whenever Grand Master Anthem returned to visit them, they would all show off their greatest feats, but Samuel was disheartened by the man, and would only show him his simplest effort. The old man seemed to sense Samuel’s mood and soon stopped asking to see his spells. He seemed kind-hearted enough, however, and liked to talk about all manner of things, but Samuel could never shake the feeling the old man was playing with him, asking him questions that seemed innocent enough, but were set to bait and test him-what for, he could not even begin to guess.

Each student had his daily chores to do around the school. Samuel supposed it was to teach them humility or something-he did not care, for he enjoyed the time to himself so he could contemplate his spells. Sometimes, they had to do digging or something very difficult and dirty, but most of the time, it was just a matter of some simple cleaning and sweeping. Samuel, however, enjoyed working in the stable most. He tried to swap his chores with the other boys whenever he could and the other boys generally accepted the trade readily. They could not understand why Samuel liked to work in the dusty stables so much. Samuel, however, felt entirely comfortable there. The smell of the hay and chaff and leather and all the other distinct fragrances somehow made him feel at home.

The long hours attending to the horses and equipment passed quickly and there was only the occasional hurried arrival or departure of one Master or another. It was a perfect place to practise his spells. These days he was experimenting with spells of Moving and Lifting. He had no problem lifting smallish objects and could even spell himself to be as light as a feather-if only for brief moments. Doing so, he could leap quite far and land very lightly, touching the earth with barely a sound. The spell required much exertion and took some time to prepare. Any time he lost concentration the spell would fail and Samuel would drop suddenly out of the air to land on his backside. He kept such spells to himself, for he felt he was progressing much better than any of the other boys and he did not want them to learn his secrets. Any time someone asked to see what he was practising, he would show some mage-lights, or some simple illusion to keep them happy. They would usually nod and say ‘what a fine spell’ and be content with that.

‘What of the boy?’ the thin voice asked. Samuel had not been disturbed for some time, but tonight his dreams were once again interrupted by impatient voices.

‘He goes well. Every day I feel he is stronger, but he keeps much to himself for some reason I cannot guess. He has few friends, but they are well skilled. It is a good sign.’

Again, that gruff voice seemed familiar to him.

‘We should look into his past-his family, everything. Everything about him seems genuine, but it could be another ruse. Tread carefully with your investigations. If we raise our heads now, we could lose them.’

‘I will keep that in mind,’ the gruff speaker noted.

‘What from the library?’

‘Nothing more than we already know. Perhaps the arrival of the boy is a good sign. With him, we may not need any more of the books. Perhaps he has a role to play.’

The thin-voiced speaker was not so sure. ‘Perhaps, but we will continue on our current course nonetheless. I’m sure the Council also know about him by now, but they have said nothing. They will be watching him closely and I will need to divert their enquiries as best I can. I feel many threads focussing on this one boy.’ Then the voice took on hushed tones. ‘Quiet! I feel a spell!’

With that, the voices ended.

One warm yet cloudy day, it was announced that the apprentices had been working hard and performing well, so from now on they would be permitted to enter the city during daylight hours. They were reminded to be on their best behaviour at all times. The Adept were always venturing outside the school walls and many apprentices saw it as a chance to catch up with the older students and see what interesting things waited in the city.

Many boys went out into the city every afternoon from that time on, but Samuel preferred to stay at school and practise his spells. Each day the two Erics would come looking for him and urge him to go out with them. He would refuse, saying that he had too much study to do and they would laugh and leave him be. It was obvious to Samuel that when anyone began to wander the city, their studies suffered and he had no wish to slow down his learning by any amount at all. Eventually, however, the Erics convinced him that such experience was a necessity for good magic and then his curiosity got the better of him and the lure of the city drew Samuel out through the school gates with a childish grin.

The streets of Cintar were like a rabbit’s warren-all twisting and turning, so that Samuel would have become hopelessly lost if not for the aid of his friends.

‘Aren’t you glad you finally came with us?’ Eric Pot asked and Samuel laughed and nodded.

‘Yes, yes. The city is indeed as wonderful as you said,’ he had to admit. There was always a sense of some undiscovered excitement around every corner, for there were so many people and things to see, the likes of which Samuel could never have imagined. Although he was away from his studies, Samuel had to confess that there was also much to learn in the city.

They explored the markets, bazaars and stores and talked with the merchants and people they met. The city folk always spoke with them respectfully and always offered to give them some goods without charge. If it was food, they gratefully accepted and the three of them often feasted on strange foreign fruits and edible things they had never before seen or tasted. Some were strange and unpalatable, while other things were delicious and exquisite.

One morning, all the classes were cancelled due to a sudden important meeting of the Masters, and so Samuel, Eric Pot and Eric Goodfellow took the chance to explore the tent markets in the city’s eastern district. Here, a vast square had once been, but now the sky was hidden by tents and pavilions that pushed up tightly against each other. Poles, from which all colours and manner of cloths hung to form tents and covers, towered into the sky. Pegs were hammered into the ground and ropes stretched from them in every direction to hold the great poles in place. Every rope was adorned with flags, banners and streamers, giving the place a fantastic air. Delicious smells collected within the tents, steaming out of all the simmering and bubbling pots as people cooked all manner of exotic meals. Leathers and bowls and endless assortments of decorative items were being touted all around, each one cheaper and more useful than the last. It was such a marvellous place that Samuel could stay lost there for hours on end every day and still find new things and corners to explore.

He was examining a collection of carved figurines, depicting monsters and heroes with swords held high in victory, when a voice sounded immediately beside him.

‘Excuse me, young man.’

Samuel turned and looked up at the curious figure beside him. It was a rather tall man, pale of skin and pointed of nose. Most striking of all were the spotlessly clean white robes he wore, for they were quite out of place in such a city. The magical aura around him proclaimed him to be a magician of some description, yet, in such white clothing, he was clearly not of the Order.

‘You are relatively new to the Order, I presume,’ the man asked with an arched eyebrow.

‘Why, yes,’ Samuel replied, quite unsure of this strange man.

‘Please, allow me to introduce myself. I am Balthazar, First of the Union of Modern Magicians.’

Samuel was still equally unsure. ‘I’m pleased to meet you,’ he said and offered the man his hand. It was not something that magicians often did, being aloof as they were, but Samuel thought manners were manners, after all. The man looked at Samuel’s hand quizzically and then shook it tightly with both of his own.

‘Ah,’ he began. ‘I thought I would welcome you to Cintar, young Master. It’s the first time I’ve seen you in the city. So tell me, are you enjoying your time with the Order of Magicians?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Samuel informed him, ‘but I’m not a Master. I’m only an apprentice.’

‘No matter, no matter,’ said the man, flapping one hand dismissively. ‘Titles are a thing of mere formality. In the Union of Modern Magicians, all men are equal!’ Samuel eyed the man squarely. He had the feeling he was about to be sold something. ‘Have you ever thought about joining another institution of magic?’

‘No,’ Samuel replied, now doubting the man’s intentions entirely. ‘Not really.’

‘Tell me. What is your name?’ He now had a beaming smile, baring teeth.

‘Samuel,’ he said. ‘But I’m not really interested in leaving the School of Magic.’

Balthazar smiled even more. ‘Fine! Fine! But take your time to think it over. Any time you are even interested in dropping in for a chat, you can find us just near the library on Dovetail Street.’

Balthazar then seemed to notice something over Samuel’s shoulder. ‘I will speak with you again some day,’ he said with some urgency and rushed away into the crowd with a flurry of white cloth.

‘Who was that?’ Eric asked as he and Goodfellow returned.

‘He said his name was Balthazar,’ Samuel explained. ‘He said he wants me to join the Union of Modern Magicians.’

Eric laughed. ‘They’re a bunch of lunatics, Samuel.’

‘Yes,’ Goodfellow agreed. ‘I’d stay well away from them, if I were you. Perhaps you should tell Master Glim.’

Samuel shrugged. ‘He seems harmless enough. A little quirky, perhaps. What have you there?’ Samuel asked, noticing the bundle in Eric’s arms.

‘It’s a delicacy from my home. I was surprised to find it here. There’s a merchant here from Reve who is actually a second cousin of mine.’

‘So what is it?’ Samuel asked, peering into the wrapping.

‘Pigs’ ears,’ Eric announced and Samuel stepped back. ‘They’re delicious. You soak them in oils and spice and then fry them up in a nice hot pan.’ He smacked his lips with his tongue.

‘That’s disgusting!’ Samuel proclaimed.

‘Don’t criticise it until you’ve tried it, Samuel.’

‘I’ve tried it, Samuel,’ Goodfellow informed him. ‘And you’re right. It’s disgusting. I’d rather chew off the soles of my shoes.’

Eric shook his head at them with disappointment and they made their way back to the school. ‘You two just don’t know what’s good for you!’ he declared with a cheeky grin.

Days always passed quickly in the School of Magic. Samuel lost all track of time and measured it instead by his spells and accomplishments. The seasons turned and days became cold, then warm and cold once again. Occasionally, he outgrew or outwore one set of clothes or shoes or another, but apart from that, his days were consumed by his complete passion for magic. Very little changed in the school; each day was defined by a typical routine that Samuel regarded as just perfect. Whenever he overheard his classmates complaining of the repetitiveness or boredom, he would quietly shake his head. He gained few friends by not agreeing, but he didn’t care.

Tulan Goodwin visited the school occasionally and he was always astounded by Samuel’s progress. He had been to the Burning Oak on occasion and passed on Master Kelvin’s best wishes to Samuel. Samuel learned how a new stablehand had been found at the inn. His name was Fennian, and Samuel chuckled when he heard this, for it was the quiet boy that had been working for Mr Joshua. It seemed Mr Joshua had managed to insert a new spy into the Burning Oak after all. Samuel had no idea how Mr Joshua benefited from knowing the goings-on of the Order, but he guessed the man must have some way to turn a profit from all the information he gathered in Stable Canthem.

As Samuel was chatting with Tulan, he began to notice something curious about the man’s magical aura and, as he nodded and followed along in idle conversation, he squinted his eyes and peered more closely at the fine shroud of weaves that curled around Tulan. They were particular to the man-unique, Samuel realised, but Tulan’s aura also had some similarities with other magicians with skills of divination. With a little practice, Samuel guessed he would be able to tell the capabilities of a magician just by looking at him. He could already tell the purpose of simple spells just by observing them and could even tell who the caster was if he knew them well enough. His sight was a great advantage to him in this way, as he only had to look at magic to know its properties. Others had to rely on the feeling of the spell and it took them much longer to do anything. At first, he had thought perhaps he would meet others in the School of Magic with the same curious ability as he, but so far, no one else seemed to be gifted with his magician’s sight. He kept the secret tightly to himself.

When Samuel was not practising or studying and had no chores to perform, he would lean against the balcony by his cot on the upper floor and watch the other apprentices practise their spells below. He would open himself to the source and let his magic fill him. It was a thrilling sensation and he would try to hold onto such feelings for as long as he could. Then he felt truly alive, as if every sense in his body was multiplied and excited. Best of all, it seemed that nobody was any the wiser and he felt satisfaction in the fact that he could manipulate such power right beneath all their noses.

Eventually, though, he would tire and have to separate himself from the source once more. Each time, he could channel a little more than before. Every day, he felt he was getting stronger and stronger. It only disappointed him that he could not hold his power indefinitely. There just seemed to be no way around the limitations of the body and it frustrated him no end, for he felt that there was more and more magic within him just waiting to be released. Somehow, he would find a way…

Occasionally, Master Glim would organise a few hours of sport for the boys, stating how, despite the fact that they were apprentice magicians, they were still just boys and needed to play boys’ games. They played football-it was a little different to the way they played kick-ball in Marlen. The school grounds were not so large that they could run without constraint, but they could always manage to have a decent game without breaking too many of the large, ornate vases that decorated many of the walkways or colliding with any of the passing old Masters. The Adept played little, but occasionally one or two would join the game and seemed to enjoy it as much as anyone when they did. It was a refreshing break from study, but Samuel had not played such games since he had left Stable Canthem and he quickly ran out of breath while the others were just getting started. Goodfellow, too, had little patience for games, not being very good at them, and spent most of the time strolling about, adjusting his spectacles and watching the others race past him.

Eric Pot was just the opposite. He danced around the ball and the other players as if they did not exist and could kick the ball as far as he wanted and exactly where he wanted it-without even a hint of magic. Samuel had tried spelling the ball, but the others had immediately caught on when the ball had started zooming along on its own. They chastised him with a friendly wrestle-but when some fifteen or so growing lads are all leaping on top of you for a ‘friendly wrestle’, it can be pretty uncomfortable, and Samuel quickly learned his lesson.

Master Glim would run up and down beside them, supporting one team or another-usually whoever had the ball at the time. Samuel watched him running along all afternoon, calling out and cheering without a hint of tiring. Samuel hoped that, one day, he could be as well-regarded as Master Glim. No student had a harsh word to say towards the man, for he was ever patient and thoughtful. Samuel knew that not all the Masters agreed with Master Glim’s kindly attitude towards the students, for most of the old teachers were very harsh and strict, punishing even the slightest whisper in class. These Masters, happening past the games, would shake their heads and scowl at the unsightly behaviour, no doubt thinking that the boys should be indoors being more constructive with their time. Samuel frowned at them, and then noticed the ball come flying towards him. He ducked just in time and felt the air whistle past his head. A knot of apprentices came charging in the same direction, so he spelled himself fresh with the tiniest trickle of magic and, hooting out loud, charged off after the ball before they could reach him.

Samuel found himself in the Great Library one afternoon, as he often was, searching the many high-tiered shelves for any interesting snippets of information about the Old Tongue. He found the history of the world fascinating. For instance, he had learned that in the days of old, the entire continent of Amandia was one nation with one tongue-the Old Tongue. For some reason, that old society had collapsed and many nations were formed through ages of war. Time had passed and the people had diversified in culture and habit. Further from Turia, the local dialects had become more and more diverse until eventually, in the lands at the edge of the Empire, they became entirely different languages altogether. Now, the Empire spanned most of the known world and Turian was the dominant tongue.

Garteny, in the frigid north, was the only civilised nation that still dared to challenge the Empire. Its remote location had made it difficult to conquer and its lands were vast stretches of plains and flatlands that turned frigid in winter. Those not used to such conditions had little chance of surviving there and the northern defenders could be summoned in enormous numbers whenever the need arose.

There were a few other lands still free of occupation, such as the sprawling marshes of Kabush in the southeast, where Lomar was from, and the massive deserts of Paatin even further eastwards, but, populated only by primitive nomads and wanderers, they offered little in the way of benefit to the Empire. Tiny island nations dotted the western oceans, but again, the sum of them all was not worth the effort to invade. Occasionally, some of these people would come into contact with the civilised world via some of the merchants in the markets, but mostly they kept to themselves.

Samuel considered some of the books he had found and gathered them into his arms, making for the study table where he had been making notes. He sat down and began reading, planning to pass the rest of the afternoon in that manner. He wet his thumb and began turning the pages, scanning each one for anything that might tweak his interest.

He came upon a passage devoted to the history of the Old World and found a section of particular interest. The Lick of the Ancients, the author stated, was the language of the first civilisation. There was little other mention of the language, apart from the name, and Samuel dug through the volume from front to back in an effort to find more facts, for he had never even heard of such a thing in all his studies at the school. The book was already several hundred years old, and a copy of a copy of the original piece, so Samuel was not even sure it could be regarded as accurate. He flicked to the last page and found the author’s signature: Garrum. It meant ‘traveller’ in the Old Tongue.

Going back through the book once more, Samuel was astounded to realise that some of the pictures and scrawlings he had passed over, thinking them just doodling and scribbles, could in fact be notes made by the author. If that proved to be so, they could actually be examples of this extinct tongue, far too few to be of any use in translation, but it would be something fascinating to show his friends and teachers. Samuel could not bring himself to leave the library and continued well into the evening, studying the book at length. He read in depth some of the references to the wondrous artefacts of the Ancients that could harness and direct magic for their operation. Many elaborate sketches were reproduced, depicting amazing and intricate creations, some the size of mountains, some minute in size. Samuel doubted such machines had ever existed, for they seemed preposterous and far-fetched. Nevertheless, it proved fascinating reading and Samuel finished by copying every possible example of the Ancient Lick he could find, as well as a short selection of the magical machines and artefacts that interested him.

It was then that Samuel became aware of someone standing behind him. The sudden presence of magic had alerted him, as if the person had spontaneously appeared out of thin air. Samuel kept his head angled down towards the book he was reading, doing his best to peer back over his shoulder.

‘You are very perceptive, Samuel.’

Samuel turned his head to see a figure standing there, arms folded. The man was middle-aged, stocky and quite muscular. He was surrounded by a magical aura like a storm of fire and Samuel had to squint his eyes while he dulled his sense of sight. He wore common clothes-trousers, shirt and a waistcoat-and so Samuel was at once on guard, for he was obviously not of the Order.

‘Garrum,’ the man said.

‘What’s that?’ Samuel said and then remembered the book in his hands. ‘Oh, yes. It’s very interesting.’ Samuel looked around for anyone else to call to, but he was completely alone with the stranger.

‘A legend among magicians. Quite a find, that book. It is said he lives still, travelling the earth in his eternal quest to be the ultimate magician-but I doubt it very much. It’s more likely he died in the battle of Warrenkeep long ago, when his fortress was plundered by marauding savages from the south.’

‘Who are you?’ Samuel asked, putting down his book and standing to face the man.

‘Please excuse me,’ the man said, pressing his palms together and bowing slightly. ‘I sometimes forget the most common of courtesies. I will not tell you my name, for it is in your best interest not to know-yet. But I must confess that I have been curious to meet you for some time-since I first learned you had arrived in Cintar. When someone of your nature is found, it attracts many of the curious.’

‘My nature?’

‘Come now, Samuel. Don’t be coy.’ The man stepped up to the shelves and fingered a few books. ‘We both know that you are no ordinary apprentice. Time is short and my presence here has probably already been noticed. I am sure that you have had many offers already, but you should know that of all the magicians in Cintar, only I can teach you what you need to know. The Order has many good men to instruct you, but they are in no way as gifted as you are. I’m sure you have already felt their limits, their weaknesses. It must be frustrating for you to be among them, having them treat you like an inferior.’

‘I have only just begun to learn.’

‘Exactly! How tiresome it must be.’

‘It doesn’t bother me. I am quite happy here so far,’ Samuel professed.

The man stepped away from the shelves, disappointment painted on his face. ‘Perhaps you are not ready for me yet, but that comes as no surprise. The black-cloaks enshroud you with their arms like worried mothers, then tell you their lies and use you as a pawn for their Emperor-and themselves. Very well, I shall leave you for now, Samuel, but remember, I shall return soon and I hope you are more receptive to my offer then. All the strongest come to me eventually, Samuel, and you will be no exception. Remember that.’

Samuel swallowed. He could feel his heart thudding against his chest.

The man seemed to sense his nervousness. ‘You have some gains to make yet, Samuel. Study hard and I will visit you again soon. Tell no one. It will only make matters more difficult for us both if you do.’

With that, the man vanished before Samuel’s eyes. Samuel’s jaw almost dropped open with surprise. Quickly, however, curiosity took over as he wondered what manner of spell the man could have possibly used to disappear like that. He enhanced his sight again and examined the area for any remnants of magic. A glint in the corner of his eye caught Samuel’s attention and he turned in time to catch sight of faint sparks of magic flickering towards the library doors. The doors then quietly opened, just enough for a man to slip through, then closed softly behind. Samuel smiled. This man was certainly a very powerful magician, yet his vanishing act was not nearly as impressive as it first seemed. Still, Samuel admitted, the man had somehow learned to render himself invisible to the eye and almost invisible to magical detection, which was no trivial feat. Yet something about the man was certainly worrying. Samuel was intrigued. He sack back down and continued pawing over the book by Garrum, but his thoughts were on the man and his fabulous aura. He had never imagined a person could emit such incredible power. Samuel would keep this to himself, as he had been warned, for he hoped they would meet again and the next time, Samuel would be prepared to study the man and learn some of his wonderful spells.

Samuel and Eric were out in the city, walking through the deafening din of the markets. Some of the busy vendors and passers-by let their eyes linger on the boys, showing a mix of curiosity and concern. Some cheered and laughed as the two passed. Some ignored them altogether. They had both become used to the many and varied reactions and had long stopped noticing any stares and whispers directed towards them.

‘Let’s see what they have in here,’ Eric called as they wandered down another jostling market street. The air in that direction was filled with the spicy odours of grilling meats.

Just then, Samuel heard his name being called out from afar. Balthazar, of the Union of Modern Magicians, was hurrying towards them with his white robes billowing, almost tripping him over. He was calling out, ‘Master Samuel!’ at the top of his lungs. Samuel groaned. The man had been dogging him at every opportunity since their first meeting, ever insistent that he leave the Order and join his group. Samuel was growing sick of him. Some of the other magical societies had approached Samuel on occasion, as they did most apprentices, but none had proved so persistent or annoying.

Samuel quickly looked for Eric, who had vanished into the nearest doorway, and pushed after him, hoping Balthazar had not noticed his route of escape.

Inside, it seemed to be the business place of a tailor or cloth merchant. Enormous bolts of various colours and fabrics crowded the walls, leaning against each other, some at dangerous angles-Samuel suspected that if one fell on him, it would probably crush him to death. The small shop was dark and confining, smelling of camphor and other pungent odours. It could definitely do with another window or two.

The merchant emerged from a back room, his smile faltering on sight of the boy’s dark clothes.

‘How may I help you, Young Lords?’ he asked with his hands pressed together lightly in the manner of someone from the Spice Islands. His eyes said that he was of Sammalan descent, yet his skin bore the paleness of Amandia, declaring his mixed heritage. Such men were scorned in their homeland, but were not uncommon in Cintar.

‘You have some fine cloth here, merchant,’ Eric said with a regal demeanour.

‘You have a keen eye, Young Lord,’ the tailor returned. ‘I keep some of the best linens in the city.’

Eric rubbed the hem of a shirt, picking it out from a dozen others that were hanging from the ceiling on long lines of string. ‘This looks quite interesting.’

The tailor immediately drew a long measuring tape from his pocket and put his arms around Eric to measure his girth. ‘That could not possibly do, Young Lord. It is but a simple rag. Let me prepare something befitting of your worth.’

‘No, no,’ Eric stated firmly. Samuel’s cheeks ached from suppressing his laughter. ‘We have no time for that. We need something at once. Something not black.’

The tailor then stood back and rubbed his chin. ‘Ah, I see, Young Lords. Not black. Then I only hope there is something here that may fit you. That one is three sizes too small at least. Just give me time to find something a tad more suitable.’ And he began strolling between the rows of garments thoughtfully. ‘Ah, I believe there may be something in here.’

With that, he began rummaging through one tight rack of clothing, pulling out first one, then another of the purest white shirts with frilled collars and billowing sleeves. The two boys immediately pulled their drab black shirts over their heads and laughed as they buttoned themselves into their elaborate new raiments.

‘You look like lords of the palace,’ the tailor proclaimed.

Samuel ran his hands over the smooth cloth. It was a welcome change from their normal wear. Eric looked like a different person, appearing very strange in such a decorative garment.

‘Are they to your liking?’ the tailor asked.

‘Wonderful!’ Samuel replied.

‘Perfect!’ Eric echoed. ‘How much are they worth?’

The tailor seemed taken aback. ‘I thought you were jesting, my Lord. These clothes have been measured for someone else entirely. They are far from suitable.’

‘No, I insist,’ Eric replied.

The tailor sighed and continued, with a shrug of his shoulders. ‘They are five and a half crowns each. I am sure you will not find as fine quality at such a price anywhere. I would normally not expect Lords of the Order to pay for anything, but my dear wife would not forgive me for giving away two pieces of such fine cloth.’

Eric scooped some coins from his pocket and handed them to the tailor.

‘Thank you very much, Young Lords,’ the tailor returned with a contented smile, quickly sorting the coins in his palm.

Samuel did not know how much Eric had given him-it did not really matter. They received a regular purse from the Order and, with nothing to spend it on, money held little value for them. Samuel had long ago given up counting his own collection of coins-something he could never have imagined himself doing once upon a time.

‘What shall I do with these?’ the tailor asked, plucking up their black shirts with his fingertips.

‘Keep them, burn them-as you wish,’ Eric said. Then to Samuel he turned. ‘Let’s have some fun.’

Samuel nodded and could not keep from leaping and laughing as they re-entered the bright and bustling street, with the tailor shaking his head behind them.

‘What shall we do first?’ Eric asked. ‘Nobody knows who we are. We could do anything!’

‘We could go to a wrestling match,’ Samuel replied, squeezing between a farmer and a goat. ‘I hear they have them over in the south quarter. Or the races in Northbank?’

Just then, a stream of children flew through the crowd shortly ahead. The two boys grinned and looked to each other. As one, they leapt into flight and followed the weaving children. Men and women alike swore as they pushed through them to keep up with the street-wise youths, men and women who would never swear at members of the Order. At last, out of breath, they emerged from the body-filled streets and out into a quieter square, lined with apartments and the occasional inn. For the first time, a trickle of fear touched Samuel as he realised the trouble they would be in if anyone from the Order recognised them. They would be polishing floors for a week. His anxiety was short-lived, however, as he found they had reached their destination.

A circle of children had formed in the square and were kicking a ball.

‘Football!’ Eric gasped, bearing a great grin.

They hung at the edge of the game with great expectant grins until one boy, perhaps the youngest of the lot, came over to them.

‘You can play if you like,’ he said, complete with dirty face and running nose. Samuel and Eric were quite a bit older than them, but the two young magicians were eager for some fun.

‘Which team can we join?’ Samuel asked.

The boy turned and examined the game a moment. ‘One on each, I suppose.’

Samuel walked to the boys on his team, who were now in a huddle, talking tactics.

‘Are you new in town or just passing through?’ one of the older boys asked as Samuel joined them.

‘New in town,’ Samuel replied with a grin.

‘Are you any good?’ another asked him.

Samuel bobbed his shoulders. ‘Not really.’

‘Why are you dressed like that?’ the first boy asked. Samuel did suppose his new shirt was quite lavish. ‘Been to a funeral?’

‘Ah, yes,’ Samuel lied with a grin and the boys just shrugged back.

The game began again and a cheer went up at once as Eric intercepted the kick off and was across the square in a flash, sending the ball like an arrow into the goal.

‘You didn’t tell us he was that good!’ another of Samuel’s team mates declared. ‘I wish we’d picked him!’

‘Sorry,’ was all Samuel could reply. Eric seemed even better than when they played in the school. The air of excitement had obviously empowered him.

The next kick-off saw two of Samuel’s teammates attempting to guard the energetic Eric. Each time he tried to dart away from them, they were only a step behind and kicking at his ankles. Samuel laughed as he saw Eric’s patience starting to wear thin.

‘Here!’ someone cried and Samuel lurched into life as the ball sailed towards him. Instinctively, he kicked it, but it went high and wide, bouncing off the wall of a neighbouring building, then back down into the square. Eric laughed and Samuel scowled back at his friend.

The game went on. Samuel tried his hardest to intercept the ball wherever he could, but these boys were all very good despite their age and he had not played for some time. His fitness and enthusiasm could only carry him so far before he began to tire. Spying his chance, Samuel leapt for the ball as it careered free from the opposition and he kicked it with all his might. He winced as he bruised the end of his toes within his soft sandals. The ball arced towards the goal area with too much force and not enough accuracy. It would have sailed far too wide, but Samuel would not have it. At the last instant, the ball curved sharply, bounced before the wide-eyed goalkeeper and ricocheted between his legs into the goal.

All Samuel’s team gave a great hoot, but the opposition were left aghast. Eric was shaking his head slowly, but smiling.

Samuel limped over to him. ‘I think it’s time to go. I’m stuffed.’

‘I agree. And another shot like that and we’ll be lynched,’ Eric replied.

They called farewell to the two teams of boys and trotted from the cobbled square.

‘How are we going to explain our clothes?’ Samuel asked.

‘Oh,’ Eric replied. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. We’ll throw these shirts away and say we lost ours by the river. Or perhaps we can try climbing over the wall behind the larder?’

Samuel smiled and shook his head. Some of the best ideas were always short lived.

Master Glim looked on as Samuel and Eric left the square. He had been amusing himself by watching them for some time, since he had spied them sneaking through the markets, obviously up to mischief. They would never catch him following them, of course. He remembered his own youth, when he had done such things time and time again, more often than not receiving a clip on his ear from one of the niggly old Masters when they heard of his adventures. He had hoped for the lads to continue cheating, so he could cancel their spells and chuckle at their confusion, but they had proved wiser and had left of their own volition. Let boys be boys, he thought to himself with a laugh and turned back towards the school after them.

‘Hello, Samuel,’ Eric said, using the Old Tongue as he entered the dormitory.

Samuel, in the Old Tongue sounded more like Summuly, but Eric, being a more modern name, was still pronounced as Eric.

‘Hello, Eric,’ Samuel returned, using the same language. ‘Where have you been?’

‘A few of us with Moving and Lifting spells were unblocking some of the sewers.’

‘That must have been pleasant!’ Samuel finally replied. ‘It smells like you did well.’

‘What are you studying?’ Eric asked and leaned over Samuel’s shoulder, causing Samuel to screw up his nose.

‘Some works by Zencoshia Xykoquotu, an ancient philosopher who seemed to think that women could use magic nearly as well as men.’

‘Sounds ridiculous-and not just his name.’

‘It is. I’ve found several volumes of works discussing women who actually did manage to spell, but it seems that they rarely progressed past making love potions and wart creams.’

‘Oh?’ Eric remarked curiously. ‘I’ve always wondered why that was.’

‘Yes,’ Samuel continued. ‘This philosopher dabbled in the area and after losing thirty or forty of his concubines he decided that there was something innate about them that made their spelling…unstable.’ The last word was in Turian, as he could not remember the correct Old Tongue equivalent. ‘It turns out he went on to research the ability of animals to use magic, but that’s the last anyone saw of him.’

‘I’m not surprised. He’d be a madman for sure. The whole thing sounds like rubbish.’

Samuel closed the book and pushed it aside. ‘I spent all day yesterday reading another article that dealt with the possibility of women spelling, until I finally realised it was actually about spelling, the alphabetical kind, and whoever had wasted their time translating it had not bothered to check the correct interpretation. Apparently, there was a time in the south when they were testing to see if women were actually human or animal.’

‘I sometimes wonder myself,’ Eric said with a smile.

‘Two opposing aristocrats had bet each other a generous sum as to the status of women and neither was prepared to lose. One man kept a farm, raising women with no human contact so they were devoid of language or intellect, while the other raised them with a keen wit, teaching them appreciation of poetry and music. Neither would give in for many years.’

‘So what happened?’

‘Eventually, the intelligently raised women became so enraged with the argument that they rebelled and freed the caged women and killed both the aristocrats and then they put all the men to work for them.’

‘So everybody gets what they deserve in the end. Is that the moral?’

‘Possibly-although it’s probably just a tale construed by wives to teach their husbands to watch their behaviour. Who knows? Where’s Goodfellow?’

‘Gone into the city to buy something,’ Eric answered vaguely. ‘I had a look for that book you mentioned-the one about the language of Ancients, but I couldn’t find it.’

‘Oh? Perhaps Master Dividian has it. I mentioned it to him and he seemed interested.’

‘Well,’ Eric said. ‘That’s all very interesting, but I want to see Janina before tonight’s lesson, so I have to hurry. I’ll see you there.’

‘Farewell,’ Samuel bade, as Eric left to see his latest girlfriend and Samuel returned to his studies.

Eric Pot was not the least impressed by interesting facts. Eric Goodfellow would prove more attentive and so Samuel set out to find him.