Chapter 9
Physical combat and dueling class was about in line with Az’s expectations. It was decently populated; perhaps thirty students had chosen the elective. The instructor, one Ms. Lare, who perhaps overcompensated for her youth and beauty by being exceptionally stern in class, ran the students through basic hand to hand combat techniques and showed off one of the most common magical weapons in use today.
A simple spellrod was an enchanted rod of metal that when a trickle of mana was fed into a rune inscribed on its surface released a concentrated burst of force from the tip of the weapon. It was a crude, predictable weapon, but it required next to no training to use and as such was a staple of any army in the world. A man or woman recruited off the streets could learn to use any of a multitude of different spellrods within hours.
While such a weak blast of force posed no danger to a true mage who could disperse the attack with their own mana, or even shrug it off with their innate magical defenses, it still packed enough of a punch to injure or even outright kill a normal human.
Of course, the ones used in class were a much weaker version of a standard issue spellrod. The academy tried to avoid maiming or mortal injury among its students.
Every student got their chance to test out the rod, and then it was swiftly taken away by Lare, who explained they would be practising dueling with the rods and personal shield enchantments over the next few classes. The purpose of the mock duels were to train a student’s instincts for combat without putting their life on the line. Additionally, Ms. Lare explained that they would be learning to sense external mana that was not their own; a mage should be able to detect the mana of incoming spells, and the spellrod was no exception.
Az had perhaps felt a tickling of awareness as the students around him had fired a shot from the spellrod, but he would not say he had sensed the mana. It seemed more likely he had only felt the disturbance in the air caused by the projectile. Another thing he would need to practise.
Still, the class was looking like it would be enjoyable and practical. Ms. Lare had promised one particularly eager boy that in a few weeks they would graduate from using to spellrod to dueling using spells the students had to cast themselves. The reason for the delay was twofold; the mandatory “Spellcasting” class had still yet to meet - in fact it was scheduled for after this class - and not every student took Battlemagic with Mr. Zim. Also, each student’s mana sensing abilities were practically non-existent, so it would just devolve into student’s slinging spells at each other with little hope of either student dodging anything.
Presumably, as the semester progressed, the students would take part in more actual sparring as well. Az was looking forward to introducing the use of mana and body enhancement to his combat style. He had trained for years in various hand-to-hand combat styles at his family’s estate, and was reasonably familiar with the use of swords and spears. He could tell the sharp end from the other, but Colin and his father had never been satisfied with his level of skill with weaponry. To be truthful, Az didn’t really see the need for swordfighting when a mage could turn his body itself into a weapon, or end a fight from a distance, as they were learning to do under Mr. Zim.
At the end of the hour, Az left the lesson feeling satisfied with the content and pacing of the class. If it continued as planned, he could learn much from it. Next up was Spellcasting after a short interim for the students to refresh themselves.
He had handed in a request to change electives to Mr. Quark after dinner the day before, so Az hoped to hear from the man before too long, as there was a lesson scheduled for Dorian’s class the next morning. Following the next day’s lessons, classes broke for a three day weekend. Though there were no formal lessons held, students were expected to spend a non-negligible amount of time in the library expanding their knowledge, or practising and honing their skills in one of the numerous training halls available on the grounds of the academy.
Az thought back to what he had read about the next class. It seemed they would be introduced to the theory behind the spellforms of a number of elementary spells and practise casting a few of them for themselves. He looked forward to it.
The book he had checked out of the library on variations of the Force Lance spell was rather more complex than he could handle at the moment. A number of the runes were utterly unintelligible to him in form and function, so he reasoned that his next step was to expand his knowledge of the divine language that comprised spellforms. Hopefully, “Spellcasting” class would aid that endeavour. Time and patience were all Az needed to grow the breadth of his understanding, and to a mage, time was never going to be in short supply.
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The classes for Spellcasting were divided into a number of smaller groups of students, to ensure each of the three hundred first year students would receive some measure of individual tutoring. Az was in a group with that boy who had asked his thoughts after Dorian’s strange first class - Michael - along with several others he recognised but didn’t know. Interestingly, it seemed that the older students actually taught the groups; under the loose supervision of an older member of staff, of course.
Much to Az’s initial dismay, it seemed that Mr. Quark’s apprentice, Kayla, would be taking his group. He wondered if Michael would receive the same cold treatment from the older student as he had; his blood was as noble as Az’s own. Still, Az reflected, at least the class wouldn’t get boring with such an interesting teacher-student dynamic.
Kayla greeted her group of first years rather warmly, her cold demeanour was gone and in its place was a relaxed, if somewhat reserved, instructor. From her introduction, Az got the sense that she truly enjoyed teaching. Surprisingly, she acted as if she had simply never met Az before, instead treating him as if he was just another member of her group. Az was impressed that she had managed to leave her personal feelings regarding those of the noble caste outside the classroom and affect a professional attitude in her capacity as a teacher. At least, he hoped that was the explanation. Surely he was not so forgettable that she actually did not recognise him?
The class started with Kayla outlining the syllabus and goals for the subject. The students would be introduced to a number of useful or interesting spells of increasing complexity and learn how to cast them. It was, she explained, more important at this stage of a mage’s education to broaden their inventory of spells rather than focus on one particular spellform or type of spellform. By building a broad foundation in the theory of spellform construction and spell casting it was much easier going forward to understand and recreate more complex spells.
It seemed logical to Az; studying a wide variety of simple spells would give them an idea of what was possible with magic and what wasn’t. The first few spellforms they looked at produced rather simple, but undeniably useful effects. There was a single rune spell that emitted a soft white light from the mage’s skin, a more complex three rune spellform that heated the space between a mage’s hands, and even a more difficult spellform that combined five runes to suspend a targeted object in the air, in this case, a pen.
Az would have thought that levitation, of all things, would have been significantly more complicated, but it didn’t take any of the students more than a few tries to perform the spell. Actually understanding the function of each rune in the spellform was a lot more difficult. He had the feeling that there were layers of understanding to the combination of runes, subtle interplays between the effects produced by each rune that worked in tandem to levitate the object.
The targeting function of the spell was puzzling. Kayla instructed the students to channel mana into the last rune of the five, all while focusing their will on the object they wished to cast the spell on. It was a strange process; Az felt as if he had to make the pen he wished to levitate the singular focus of his attention, filling his mind until nothing else existed but the pen, his mana, and the rune.
It was the first spellform he had studied where regular logic seemed to break down. He could not just provide mana and allow the spellform to do the work, now he had to introduce the element of his will, his desire. There was still a certain logic imposed by the runes of the spell; logic that controlled how the mana flowed and was shaped, how it changed reality, but there was now a metaphysical aspect introduced by that final rune. Az felt that he was touching on some truth regarding the nature of magic, but he could not say what it was. Perhaps there had been some merit to what Dorian had said, that the will of a mage was paramount.
Kayla had to draw an end to the class a few minutes earlier than scheduled; the students simply did not have enough mana to continue casting spells. Az looked inwards, seeking his nexus. It was significantly dimmed, sure, but he could continue for quite some time more. Looking around, he saw that Michael and the others were visibly exhausted, breathing heavy and sweat beading on their brows as their bodies ran on empty. He was starting to believe that the spirit fruits his family had raised him on had had a larger effect on his nexus than he had ever thought or hoped. His mana reserves must be quite a bit larger than was normal for his age and training. The other students had all begun eating the same type of food now that they were at the academy, so their reserves would increase in time, but perhaps Az could manage to stay enough ahead as to maintain an advantage over his peers. The value of his regimented upbringing was starting to show, Az had to begrudgingly admit.
After the class was dismissed, Az was trudging back to his dorm when he felt a tickling sensation at the back of his mind, one he was beginning to associate with magic performed nearby, and a familiar voice called out, “Asmodeas! Come here for a moment, if you would.”
Az turned in search of the voice, and found Mr. Quark smiling out at him from a man- sized portal in the air. He stared in fascination at the wavering portal, the edges shimmering as if the air contained great heat.
Pillard coughed, “This is taking rather a lot of mana to maintain, so if you wouldn’t mind stepping through…”
“Forgive me,” Az replied as he walked through the doorway, eyeing the edges rather warily; everyone had heard stories of portals closing prematurely, liberating a mage from a leg or an arm.
Pillard waved his apologies away, “Yes, yes. No matter. Anyways, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you today, Asmodeas. Your class change request has been, ah, rejected.”
Az frowned, “What? Why?”
Mr. Quark rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, “It is rather non-standard. Someone higher up than me in the administrative ladder denied your request. It seems you are desired to remain in the class by the powers that be.
“Look, look, I’m sure it's not that bad. I rather like Dorian myself, actually. He’s a very amiable person. And he is quite accomplished, you know; he’s here teaching at the Chancellor’s personal request.”
Brow creased, Az opened his mouth to speak, but Pillard cut him off, “Ah, I’m afraid I’m running rather late today. If you’re really set on leaving that class you’re going to have to plead your case to a higher power than me. You have my apologies, Asmodeas, but there’s really nothing more I can do.”
Az just nodded, thoughts racing, and said his goodbyes, assuring Mr. Quark he appreciated his efforts on his behalf. What was going on? Was Dorian really so petty as to seek to deny his request to leave the class? He shook his head, confused. Perhaps he could speak to his father. It didn’t really matter; he would suffer through the class if he had to, and perhaps he would even learn something useful. Now that he thought about it, Az had enjoyed Dorian’s monologues and dramatics, he just wasn’t convinced it was the best use of his time. If he were to be forced to stay in the class, he just wished he knew who desired it and for what purpose.