The inn only provided basic accommodations. Each room offered a bed with mostly clean sheets and a blanket and pillow, a basic wooden chair and desk for writing, a sturdy wardrobe, and a window overlooking the countryside. No carpet or rug adorned the bare planks of wood of the floor, probably on account of either cost or ease of cleaning. Likewise, the walls remained nondescript as no piece of art or even paint brought much color to the room. On the contrary, the inn remained a refuge of basic necessity. Despite its sparse features, however, the innkeeper found most of its rooms rented on any given night given its proximity to the university. Parents and other relatives of students along with merchants who sold supplies to the school itself sought an adequate bed within its walls.
With Mirus in his dark hood with Syma at his side, the innkeeper asked if the pair were father and daughter. The apprentice answered in the negative without further explanation before renting two rooms next to each other. Without the privileges of the castle, they both hauled their luggage to the second story and found their rooms. Neither chose to unpack their bags, but rather lived out of their chests. They shared a few conversations before they retired for the night, both tired from the journey. When the horizon wore the golden rays of the sunrise, they woke and found an array of breakfast items in the dining room along with a half dozen other guests. The court mage selected a minimalistic meal of toast and preserves and ate quickly beneath his hood while his apprentice took her fill of eggs, bacon, and country ham.
Once they satisfied their appetites, they each packed a rucksack of necessities. Since the inn provided a short, unpaved footpath directly to the university, they declined to take the carriage but elected to walk the rest of the duration. Although the meeting with Professor Cynna didn’t take place until later, Mirus thought it advantageous to make the trip to the campus early. The latter part of the day might invite unwanted traffic and he would rather loiter around the school instead of face delays outside of its premise. The walk took about an hour to complete, although much of that time was spent in idle chatter and enjoying the early crisp air instead expending all their concentration on travel.
Before mid-morning, they found themselves before the gates of the esteemed school. Surrounded by a wall with only one entrance carved in its prodigious stone, a wrought iron gate with delicate metalwork protected the University of Ravenspire. They caught sight of a half dozen spires peaking from above the stonework. About the size of a small town, the entire facility revealed a minor shimmer of magical energies as esteemed mages and scholars within its confines tested the very fabric of existence. Syma saw the university as an enigma caught behind the veil of rumor and myth. Mirus thought of the university through the lens of nostalgia and memory.
“Syma,” Mirus spoke suddenly. “Tell me the three schools of magic.”
“Oh,” she replied, somewhat taken aback. “Telekinetic, alteration, and summoning.”
“And define them for me.”
“Telekinetic is to will what is. Alteration is to change what was. Summoning is to conjure what is not.”
“Excellent. And I have taught you spells in all three schools?”
“Yes, of course.”
“And you understand that all magic and spells are derived from these three basic schools?”
“Naturally.”
“And you feel comfortable using them?”
“I do.”
“Then you are ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“The University of Ravenspire is a haven for all practitioners of the mystic arts. To shield them from the reach of more secular politics, these famous gates employ a particular enchantment. To enter the school, even as a visitor, you must show your magical aptitude. When you walk through the threshold, you will be transported to a chamber which will test your ability to cast spells, to think both creatively and logically, and your capacity for reasoning. The trial is different for each person. When I enter, I must alter the metal of an uncut key to fit the tumblers in a lock. An associate of mine must summon large columns of fire to melt large quantities of ice. If you succeed in your trial, you may enter the university. If you fail or surrender, you will be transported back outside theses gates and must wait for my return.”
“So, a magical test? Why didn’t you warn me about this before we arrived? We had an entire day of traveling by carriage where I could have reviewed some advanced techniques.” Syma replied indignantly.
“I wanted to evaluate your performance as is. If you knew about the trial and prepared accordingly, it would only test your ability to study. Life rarely brings challenges with neat deadlines and well-described criteria. It far more often ushers a surprise you can never know in advance. Administering this test as a surprise will tell us far more than if you properly studied.”
“By the gods, I’ve never done something so academic before!”
“Syma,” the court mage rested a hand on her shoulder. “Do you truly believe I would put you through this ordeal if I didn’t have complete confidence and faith in your ability to overcome it? Your apprenticeship with me has more than adequately prepared you for this. If I thought otherwise, I would have told you to stay in the castle and continue your practice with magic in my absence.”
“I suppose you’ve taught me something in the two years I’ve worked under you.”
“I would hope so.”
“It’s just I’ve never been to a school dedicated to magic before. I’ve only ever learned through books or other mages.”
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“Along with real world experience that those in school rarely encounter.”
“You’re right. You’re right,” the apprentice finally admitted.
“Of course, I am,” the court mage encouraged her. “Shall we go, then? I’ll to see you on the other side.”
Mirus walked through the gate first to foster her confidence. Syma watched him cross the threshold and dissipate into the air, as if the very particles of his being disintegrated. She watched in horror, half-believing the enchantment actually decimated her master, but after a few moments, he reappeared on the other side of the gates and turned back. He beckoned his student to join him. She inaudibly spoke a few words of encouragement to herself intermixed with swears. Wringing her hands together, she made her first uneasy steps to the gate. She held onto the iron for support as her foot began to cross the threshold and before the sight of the university disappeared around her in a blinding array of light and she found herself deep underground.
The large, subterranean room appeared more as a cave with boulders, sand, and dust littering the floor. A giant chasm in the middle of the room plunged deeply into a black pit which her eyes couldn’t penetrate. Long enough that no reasonable person could leap over it, no ledges or other structures provided any support for crossing. Despite the appearance that mother nature shaped the chamber, brick walls enclosed the entirety of the space. On the other side of the chasm, a single door interrupted the clay brick. After some inspection, Syma concluded the door provided the only exit. She looked for some instruction or set of rules, but no written text introduced itself.
Walking towards one of the boulders, she placed her hand on its cold embrace. The unforgiving surface refused to move. Moving her second hand to the surface, she squared her hips and began to push, small grunts emanating involuntarily from her lips, but the stone defied her efforts. She repeated the process on a few more stones, but each one weighed far more than anything she usually moved with magic. Under Mirus’s tutelage, she only ever manipulated small rocks or vials across a room. On one occasion, she used a telekinetic spell to ring the bell of the belltower of the castle, which required substantially more effort. Regardless, she placed her hand on her grimoire, spoke the incantation, and channeled the magic from her fingertips to the boulder. The stone began to glow a radiant blue as the forces of the arcane energies tested it. With immense concentration, it shifted in the dirt. Encouraged, she expended more effort into the spell and the rock fell over on its side. Syma, meanwhile, ceased the spell, mentally fatigued.
She surveyed her surroundings and attempted to derive an answer to this predicament. Although the boulders themselves proved too large to move, she trusted her ability to manipulate something smaller. Procuring a small length of rope from her rucksack, she tied her spell book around her waist, a common method used to secure a connection between its pages and its caster when magic demands the use of both hands. Placing her fingertips on the massive stone, she uttered another incantation, causing another flow of magic to course through the rock, finding its crevices and weak points, and severing its connectivity. Several glowing cracks formed along the exterior of the boulder and in moments it crumbled into smaller pieces. Not yet experienced enough to control the precise shape, the smaller fragments of rock varied in shape and size from particles of dust to fragments the size of her torso. Another telekinetic spell found these pieces far easier to move. She repeated the process until a considerable pile of rumble lay at her feet.
Unlike the more practiced spell which simply manipulates one item at a time, variants capable of moving a large quantity of items simultaneously exist. Syma quickly huddled over her grimoire and consulted its pages until she found the desired effect. Replacing the book back on her waist, her hands danced in the air as a set of ancient words escaped her lips. Beams of blue light emanated from her body and engulfed a portion of the rocks. Turning towards the chasm, a flick of her wrist commanded the material towards its edge in a neat and orderly line. Once hanging over the blackness, she demanded a more organized shape. The rubble formed a swirling blob of weightless stone moving and mixing as if liquid. With some effort, however, it took the shape of a small bridge, only jutting a few strides over the chasm.
She took a deep breath and approached the edge. As much as this trial tested her creativity, it also tested her confidence as she lifted her foot and made the first uncertain step onto her improvised bridge. Gradually, she pressed her weight into the advance. The stone beneath her moaned but remained steadfast. Once satisfied in its stability, she made her second step and walked to the end of the bridge. While still standing on the structure, she bid the rock near the edge of the chasm to her feet, so that she could make the next step. This process permitted her to walk across the blackness on the moving stones she commanded, the blue light of her spell dimly illuminating the blackness below her. The nature of the exam, however, suddenly changed at the midpoint as the room summoned arrows with dull tips lazily lobbed across the pit. Not strong enough to kill or significantly harm, but they were certainly powerful enough for her lose her balance or concentration.
“Of course,” Syma muttered under her breath.
While her use of alteration and telekinetic spells proved great ability in her craft, the additional hazard tested the third school of magic she had not employed, yet. While even most novices of magic may cast a single spell at a time, practicing concurrent spells across different schools often defined expertise. She thought of how effortlessly her master both summoned flames and controlled their every movement when the bandits attacked. Mirus’s mastery provided some inspiration, but Syma focused on a more obvious solution.
With another incantation spoken aloud, a purple ward surrounded the apprentice and her floating bridge. Like a lavender bubble buoyant atop the darkness, the ward lacked any insignias or geometric shapes in favor of smooth simplicity. The approach sacrificed protection for coverage, but given the slowness of the arrows, she gambled this strategy would prove sufficient. With her attention divided across the ward and stones beneath her feet, she moved carefully. Because any lapse of judgement could cause a failure in either spell, she centered her mind on the ledge on the other side and pushed any other invasive thought aside.
Step by step, she moved the ward into the path of the arrows. To her delight, she found that their dulled tips and wooden shafts easily bounced off the hard light construct. Pleased by its constitution, she continued her path as every second drained her mental stamina. She swore time slowed as she focused her attention to the stones which moved along her thoughts and the ward which repelled the incoming attack. Although the entire path across only took minutes, Syma thought the better part of an hour transpired. As she approached the final few feet, she jumped across the gap between her bridge and the ledge and found her feet alighted harmlessly on the other side.
“Yes!” she squealed before she fell her hands and knees. With her mind exhausted, her brain stuttered to bring any other thought into her head. She tried to summon the emotions of joy and relief and excitement, but she only felt the dull ache of her nerves slowly humming. Once she caught her breath, however, she tilted her head to the doors as an unparalleled expression of determination crossed her face. Standing back on her feet, she approached the exit, turned the knob, and found herself in the famous courtyard of the University of Ravenspire.