Chapter Two:

Professor Ward was heading towards his office when the Dean caught up with him.

“Lincoln,” Dean Ambrose addressed him. “Could I talk to you for a moment?”  Classes had yet to start but Professor Ward still had to finish the preparation for his Lowland Traditions Throughout History class. Still, he could stand to spare a few minutes.

“Of course, Ambrose, would you like to talk in my office?” They had arrived at the building which held the teacher’s offices and rooms. They exchanged pleasantries over the few minutes it took to walk to the office marked “Professor Lincoln Ward, Cultural Advisor”.

“What can I do for you today Ambrose?” said the professor, gesturing for the other man to take a seat.

“It’s about that boy I told you about a couple of months back, the Northern one.”

“Ah yes, I remember. Did you end up solving the mystery of the elemental powers?

“Yes, I did in fact. It turns out his father was a Lowlander. He told me this himself when he turned up at my office yesterday afternoon!”

Professor Ward laughed good-naturedly. “Somehow that doesn't surprise me. I’ve heard the People of the Tribes don't have much patience for Lowlander politics. Likely he got tired of jumping through hoops.”

“It was incredibly rude.”

“Maybe to you to seemed rude,” Ward responded, smiling gently. “It’s actually quite an honour he decided to do business with you face to face; he is the son of a teacher after all. Travelling all the way here to meet with you means that he was affording you the same respect he would another teacher or prophet from his country. They are the closest the Genti have to a Noble class, so you should take it as a compliment.”

“What?” said Ambrose, taken aback.

“Oh yes.” Professor Ward leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Now tell me a bit more about the boy, what’s his name? What is he like?”

“His name is Navihm Enfeitar, or enfaytar, enfeitare?” he said, trying to figure out the inflection. He wasn't sure how to pronounce it.

“Enfeitar?” Ward asked, putting less of an emphasis on individual syllables. The Tribes had a lilting language and they tended not stress any one sound. Rather, they let their words run together, more like music.

“Yes, that’s it; Enfeitar,” the dean said, copying Professor Ward’s pronunciation.

“That isn’t a name, it’s a title. One earned, rather than inherited. My, my, that is impressive. He’s only a boy you say?”

“Yes, barely past twenty I would guess.” It was becoming very clear to Ambrose that he'd assumed wrong about the boy's position. He'd made a mistake by insulting him.

“I’ve never heard of an Enfeitar so young. I really would like to meet this boy before classes start," continued Professor Ward, oblivious the dean's distress. "He will be in some of my classes I expect, it would be the best way for him to learn about Lowland customs and the other students would learn so much from him.”

“Actually,” Ambrose interrupted, avoiding eye contact with the professor, “I expect he will be traveling to Hallasholm to receive his education.”

“What?” Ward was dumbfounded. It wasn't like Ambrose to let a prize student like this get out from under his thumb.

“Yes. I’m afraid there was a bit of a misunderstanding during our meeting. He wasn’t willing to follow the proper channels applicants must go through.”

“Ambrose,” Professor Ward was unusually serious. “It isn't my place to tell you how to do your job, but if it was up to me, I would forego the usual channels and make a place for this boy. The Tribes and Lowlands are becoming more involved with each other every year, there is nothing we can do to change that. It is, however, in our best interest to take advantage of this opportunity. This boy is a very important figure in Genti politics, one that would make a good ally to the school and any future business we may have in the North.”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Ambrose nodded, inhaling sharply through his nose. “I see your point. Thank you for your time, Professor.”

Back at his offices, Ambrose penned a letter and made several copies. He sent these letters with several messengers to all the local inns where Navihm may be staying. It wasn't long until he received his reply.

Navihm was packing to leave when he heard the knock at his door. It was a boy of about eleven.

“Are you Enfeitar Navihm of the First?” he asked, struggling valiantly with the pronunciation of his name. Navihm nodded. The boy handed over a letter and disappeared.

                Enfeitar Navihm,

                I have reviewed your application and a place has been found for you, effective immediately. Your room number is 2b, dorm three. You may move in tomorrow morning.

                Regards, Dean Ambrose.

The letter was more than a little abrupt, but Navihm could forgive that. He placed his packed bags on the foot of his bed and sat down at the small desk the inn provided. He began penning a letter to home, explaining what had happened, skimming over the unpleasant visit with the Dean.

He would begin his schooling in the art of magic within a week.

The next morning Navihm arrived at the school with very little hassle. The guards at the gate were familiar with him and let him pass without a word. Navihm had just finished stabling Equus in his new permanent stall when he encountered another boy around his age, perhaps a bit younger.

“Is that your horse?” he asked.

“Yes.” Navihm pointed to his mount. “Equus.” The boy made a face. He didn’t understand what an ‘Equus’ was. Perhaps it meant something in the savage’s language. Not that he particularly cared.

“Bit ugly, isn't it?” Navihm wasn't sure what ‘ugly’ meant, though it didn't sound pleasant. He declined to comment.

“Suppose it’s the best you’ve got where you come from,” the boy continued. Navihm thought that he looked familiar. Had they met? The boy continued to make snarky comments about Equus, Navihm was focused on brushing his mane and tuned him out.

Where did he know the boy from? Perhaps he’d seen him in town.

“It is a good thing they provide a uniform, you won't have to wear those rags anymore.”

It was the boy’s unpleasantness that struck a chord in his memory. He was the boy that had met with the Dean the day before. Now Navihm recalled how he’d spent close to a half hour complaining about having a roommate.

“What is your name anyway, Savage?” Navihm continued to ignore him.

“Strong, silent type, hey? How about I start off the introductions. I’m Karl.” Karl held out a hand. Navihm had seen this gesture before as he passed through town. He knew that he was supposed to shake it. Navihm chose to ignore the hand, not trusting Karl’s sudden gallantry. He could not be bothered dealing with this boy’s childishness. Back home, a man would never show another, especially an Enfeitar, such disrespect. Incivility was considered the ultimate mark of immaturity.

Navihm packed away his grooming equipment, slung the last of his saddlebags over his shoulder and walked right past the boy’s outstretched hand. If the boy was going to act like a child, that was how he would be treated.

Dorm three wasn't hard to find. The boy’s dorms were on the north side of the school, closest to the main gate. They were numbered at each entrance. Each level was also numbered so Navihm proceeded to the second level and entered the second room. Two beds were set up, neither of them occupied. Perhaps his roommate would arrive closer to when classes started. Navihm placed his bags on the bed to the right and packed his belongings into the trunks provided at the foot of the bed.