Yonder's book, On the Pre-paration of Magick, stated the following line of reasoning: spells were ideas, the human mind could hold multiple ideas at once, and so therefore, the mind could hold multiple spells at once. One need only to focus.

Holding on to that reasoning, Dwayne closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and said,"Ri."

As magic awakened to his call, Dwayne banished the image of his mentor lying poisoned on the floor of his own study and concentrated on his first idea: anger. "mwe."

Now live, the spell thrashed and writhed, trying to twist free of Dwayne's control, but he wrestled it still and taut. After wiping sweat from his brow, he focused on the next idea happiness and summoned up the day he'd picked up Na'cch off the ground, and it sang to him.

"a-"

But the man who'd given Dwayne that book was comatose in a spare adminstrative office, he might never wake up, and Dwayne would be left a lord, and-

The spell slipped out of Dwayne's control, and the unrestrained magic blasted him out of his chair and onto the stone floor.

He lay there a moment, pain rippling up and down his side, eyes full of bright spots. Then he sat up, his nose wrinkling. The failed spell had left a smoky tang in the air, one that he'd now always associate with failure. After rescuing Yonder's book from the edge of the lake, he righted his chair, sat back down at the table, and laid the book down next to a new burn scar in the wood, which marked his fifth attempt. Dwayne sat back, closed his eyes, and waited. One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. A migraine, a stampede of pain, rampaged through his brain, making him gasp, but he held on with teeth clenched. Yonder had warned that failing at pre-prep magic too many times was dangerous for one's physical and mental health. She recommended students stop after three failures in one day, and, now that his brain felt like it was being beaten to mush, Dwayne was forced to concur.

When the migraine had finally faded, he turned his attention to the other two books on the table, both of which had escaped his failure: the Ri tome Na'cch, and The Responsibilities of a Noble Mage by Eritrea Armsford. The former was unopenable and only occasionally deigned to teach Dwayne one spell at a time, and as usual, it was silent. Dwayne turned to the latter book, which he had opened when Lord Kalan had given it to him, but two pages in, and he knew it described a future he did not want. Instead of facing that future, he focused on the library, wishing he could explore beyond its first few rows of shelves, but every time he tried, something gently pushed him back towards the table, like a parent pushing a child back to safety. As for the books that Dwayne could reach, they all had unintelligible titles in what looked like Yaniti, an ancient form of the trade language sailors and traders used. He only knew a little, mostly picked up from Magdala's reading time with Mei, and considering its current form and the people who spoke it, he had no plans to ever study it more thoroughly.

His stomach growled. He'd lost track of time down here without the sun's passage to tell time, and it had been a long time since breakfast, a long time since... Sighing, Dwayne grabbed Na'cch, strapped it onto his back and used the lift to return to the study.

Galkin was waiting for him. "My lord, you are needed."

Dwayne gave the steward a look. "What time is it?"

"Two hours past noon," answered the steward, admonishment and disapproval clear in his tone. "You have responsibilities to this estate, my lord."

Dwayne flinched. "No, I-" He caught himself. "What are you talking about?"

"Since Lord Gallus is on his way here, we must prepare to receive him, his retinue, and any guests that may be traveling with him."

Dwayne stepped around the steward. "Can't you arrange all of that? I'll just do what you say."

Galkin shook his head. "My lord, I am merely a steward, and my job is simply to take care of the estate, not run it."

"Regardless, you know it far better than I do," said Dwayne, "and I'm sure you already know how to set up parties designed to impress the brother-in-law of the currently comatose estate holder." He shrugged. "It'll be easy for you, right? Get to it."

Galkin's face went blank.

"I can stand around looking stern," Dwayne offered, "if that would help."

"It would not, my lord."

Dwayne slumped. "Why not?"

"My lord." Galkin's hand came up to his forehead, then it dropped as he took a deep breath. "My lord, you are Lord Bartholomew Kalan's heir."

Dwayne stepped back. "No, I'm not. He was just being silly."

Galkin's jaw clenched. "The night he first arrived here at Walcrest, Lord Kalan gathered all of the staff together and informed us of that very fact. Afterwards, he handed me three letters to be sent by post to Lord Gallus, the Magisterium, and the Queen. On his orders, I sealed each letter with his ring, marking them as official correspondence, and each stated the following, 'I name the boy Dwayne, currently my ward, as my apprentice and as my heir to both my estate and my position as Guardian of Walcrest.'"

Dwayne's jaw dropped. "That's... That's..."

Galkin stepped closer, his eyes meeting Dwayne's. "My lord, with all of that entrusted to you, are you still going to run away?"

Dwayne collapsed into a sofa, his mind reeling. Then he jumped to his feet and searched the sofa, certain he'd sat in Lord Kalan's blood. Finding nothing, he relaxed and sat back down. Everything from the sofas to the carpets had been scrubbed clean or replaced.

Galkin noted Dwayne's reaction. "After young Lady Gallus was finished with her investigation this morning, I had the staff do their job. Keeping this estate clean is our responsibility."

Getting the hint, Dwayne turned to the steward, who was dressed in a dark green suit and pale green leggings with a collar pressed flat enough to cut. For his part, Dwayne was wearing a tunic that hadn't been washed in days, breeches that showed more than a little wear and tear, and boots, though comfortable, that definitely clashed with the rich decor of the estate he was now heir to. He didn't look like a lord. He didn't feel like a lord. But if he didn't become a lord, he'd have to run away and hide out in the wilderness, and leave behind his studies on magic, his teacher, and Magdala and Huan and Mei. That was too much to lose.

He stood up. "In the introduction of The Responsibilities of a Noble Mage, Armsford states, 'A noble mage should be fastidious about her looks in order to look her best at all times.' While I get the book from downstairs, draw me up a bath and get me some new clothes. I... I don't want this place, I don't want to be a noble, but I do want to be a mage, so I'll make sure that when Lord Kalan wakes up and when Lord Gallus arrives, neither of them will be embarrassed by the state of this, uh, estate."

A soft tone rang behind Dwayne, and he turned to the library's door, listening for whispers. "What was that?" He turned to Galkin. "Did you hear that?"

Taking his eyes off Na'cch, the steward bowed. "Just a sign of good times I'm sure, my lord. It will be done."

***

Stepping out of the baths clean, refreshed, and smelling of flowers, Dwayne dropped a slightly damp The Responsibilities of a Noble Mage on a nightstand, turned to his bed and, sighed. He'd expected that Galkin would provide clothes that were rich, colorful, and uncomfortably tight, something he'd hate but would have to wear as part of this ridiculous burden, but what was laid out instead was the same outfit he'd been wearing for months now scrubbed to an inch of its life.

"Unfortunately, we do not have more suitable attire available for your use, my lord." Galkin looked pained. "I would lend you something, but as you're more broad in the shoulder and somewhat heftier to boot, you wouldn't fit. I have sent out for a tailor."

Dwayne winced but pulled on the familiar clothes with a strangely light heart.

Galkin turned away politely. "Up until now, I and the staff have been focused on cleaning the rooms in order to bring the estate up to Lady Gallus's standards."

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Dwayne pulled up his breeches. "Judging by how both Lord Kalan and Magdala shudder when I mention her, I'm guessing those standards are quite high."

Galkin nodded. "Quite so. The staff has made significant progress, but I believe that it will be another two or three days before that task is complete, and so there are few hands to help with the stables and the kitchens, which are likely in an... insufficient state."

"The walls are too." Dwayne walked to the mirror and inspected his hair, a fingertip deep mat of tiny black curls. Normally, he'd shaved it before it got to this point, but he hadn't had the time in weeks. Not since fighting that dragon. "We're going to need more security."

Galkin tilted his head. "The garrison is nearby, my lord."

"And that thing slipped right past it." Dwayne turned to the steward. "If Lord Kalan, the Guardian of the Southern Line, is a catch, then Lord Gallus, the commander of Soura's entire army, will be a steal. I don't want Mag- I mean, we should do our due diligence."

Taking no notice of Dwayne's slip, Galkin nodded, his expression grave. "That is an excellent point, my lord. I will add it to the list."

Dwayne grabbed three vials off his desk and slipped them into his pocket. "Let's start on the inside and move outwards. First, the kitchens."

***

Walcrest's kitchens were on the ground floor in the center of the manor, and since he'd had regular meals everyday since he'd arrived, Dwayne expected them to be in good order. "I did like the breakfast they served this morning,"

Galkin kept his eyes ahead as he walked. "It was adequate."

Dwayne's head jerked back. "Adequate?"

The corners of Galkin's lips turned down. "As the head of one of the wealthiest families in Soura, Lord Gallus will be accustomed to much richer fare."

Dwayne stopped, his skin prickling as if he'd just entered a snow bank. So Magdala's family was powerful and rich.

Galkin stopped in front of the kitchen door. "My lord."

Dwayne gave him a weak smile. "He's a soldier too. I'm sure if we have enough beer, it'll be fine..."

A frown passed over Galkin's face. "Perhaps, my lord." He opened the door to the kitchens.

Dwayne blinked. The kitchens were huge, more than large enough to house a battalion of cooks at the same time. Each of the fifteen cooking stations had a clean gray stone counter, a collection of pots and pans, and a dizzying array of unfamiliar cooking utensils hanging from racks. With a stove at each station, the kitchen could prepare enough meals to feed the entire town of Walton. That wasn't the shocking thing though.

Dwayne looked around. "Where is everyone?"

"Oh, is someone there?" A short round woman stood up, her white capped head just barely visible above the counters. After placing a half peeled tuber on the counter next to a wooden bowl filled with skins, she smiled at Galkin then gasped at Dwayne. "By the cup! Galkin, is this the young apprentice that Lord Bart brought back from his travels?" She tried to fix her greying hair, but strands kept escaping her hat.

Galkin gave a brief bow. "Yes. This is Dwayne."

The woman trotted up to them and curtsied. "Miss Naomi Doyle at your service, milord."

Dwayne groaned. He'd hoped only Galkin would insist on the formalities. "You don't have to call me-"

"The young master wonders where everyone else is," said Galkin.

Miss Doyle shrugged. "Ain't no one here but me and the new scullery maid. She comes in after to help me clean up. It's a shame too. I could do some wonders with a staff. And food. And some idea of what everyone would like to eat."

Back in the bath, Dwayne had only reached chapter three in Armsford's book. If the text had any guidance on how to run a party with only two people on the cooking staff, he hadn't gotten there yet. He went for the obvious solution. "We hire more people."

Miss Doyle grimaced. "But there's hardly anyone in town worth bringing here. Galkin here tried, the dear boy, but most of them in town could barely wash a dish, let alone make a meal for nobility such as yourself. What's this for by the way? More people coming?" Her hands twisted her apron.

Dwayne felt the same knot of apprehension. "Lord Gallus is coming to the estate."

Miss Doyle perked up. "The red-haired general himself? I would like to catch a glimpse of him if you know what I mean." She fluttered her eyebrows.

Dwayne flushed.

Galkin gave a soft cough. "That's the state of that, my lord."

Dwayne cleared his throat. "What about the cleaning staff? Are any of them of use?"

Miss Doyle and Galkin shared a look.

"What?" asked Dwayne.

The steward answered. "As I stated before, we are still cleaning the rest of the estate. Aside from the study, and the three rooms we've selected for your, Lord Kalan, and young Lady Gallus's use, the rest of the estate is ah..."

"It's frightful." Doyle patted Galkin on the arm. "Though it does look a lot better now."

An ache like a nail being hammered into his skull edged into Dwayne's brain. "How many people are we expecting? I'm guessing Lord Gallus and a few of his people, right?"

Galkin's eyes slid away. "That group includes his most loyal lieutenants and their aides, some of whom have family in town and will want to bring them along. In addition, Colonel Harvey will want to bring her lieutenants and their families, and for the sake of propriety, you'll also need to invite the Mayor of Walton too as well as select nobility from the area."

"That may not be so-"

"I wasn't finished, my lord. We also need to invite the local clergy, and if there are any prominent merchants in the area, we'll need to invite them to."

The nail went all the way in. Dwayne closed his eyes and massaged his temples.

"Are you all right, milord?" asked Doyle.

Dwayne nodded and opened his eyes. "I'm going to need to think about this." Hopefully, the answer was somewhere in Armsford's book. "Let's see the stables first."

Galkin bowed. "As you wish, my lord."

"Good luck." Miss Doyle returned to her tubers.

***

A few minutes later, mage and steward stood staring at the stables, Dwayne holding his nose while Galkin bore the stink of neglected hay, rotting wood, and long dried horse feces with wide eyes and a clenched jaw. Walcrest's stables were tucked behind the eastern wing, and since he'd been staying in the western wing, Dwayne had had no idea they were this bad.

Judging by the fury building on the steward's face, Galkin also had been unaware of the state of the stables. He stomped forward. "This is unacceptable. Where is the stable master?"

"You didn't know they were like this?" asked Dwayne.

Galkin's face settled into a scowl. "I was assured that the stables were ready to receive their master. If Lord Kalan and yourself had arrived on horses, there would have been hell to pay."

Dwayne shrugged. "Ah, maybe-"

"Oi, who are you lot?" A one legged man with one crutch hobbled past them and stood between them and the stables, wielding his crutch like a club. "I'll not abide a savage and a heathen gawking at the estate. Get out before I knock you out!"

Galkin stepped forward, his scowl now replaced with a placid expression. "I am Rodion Galkin, steward of this estate." His voice was low, and he enunciated each word carefully. "This is the heir to Walcrest, Dwayne."

The man raised an eyebrow and looked Dwayne up and down, a ghost of a sneer on his face.

Dwayne's fists tightened. "I see you need a demonstration."

The man's eyes widened. "No, I don't need nothing demon like, that's for sure."

Dwayne knocked away the crutch, pushed past the man, and approached the closest stable. There, he pulled out one of the three vials he'd prepared yesterday. Of course, he could just burn the place down, but he wanted to impress the man, not scare him. Armsford wrote that awe, not fear, was the best emotion to invoke, and besides, he needed the stables intact.

The vial he'd selected was the result of Mei's hunts, Magdala's knowledge, and his own experiments. Mei had found a snake that pulled its prey into its mouth with magic, Magdala had created an ambersoul suspension, and Dwayne had figured out the right balance of ambersoul to snake tissue. This would work. He held the vial in his fist and imagined a wind blowing towards him. "Qemimaem."

A blast of wind blew out of the stable, throwing its contents into Dwayne's face. When the spell was finished, the stable was clean, but the yard and the mage were not. Dwayne felt light headed. He'd failed.

"Oh, wow." The one legged man worked his way over to Dwayne, his mouth opened wide. He performed a hasty bow. "Lord mage. I assumed-"

Galkin joined them. "This is Lord Kalan's apprentice. What did you expect?"

Dwayne glanced at the steward, who was definitely hiding a smile, but at least his anger was gone. Breathing through his nose, Dwayne said, "Now that that's clear. Who are you?"

The man stood up straight, his hands trembling. "Lucas Forster, milord. My family has run this stable for generations."

Dwayne's heart fell. He'd scared Forster into believing that his livelihood would be taken away from him. Dwayne was not going to enjoy being a lord, and if things kept going like this, he was going to end up exhausted. Still, he pressed on. The Responsibilities of a Noble Mage mentioned three steps to take in scenarios like this. "So, it's your responsibility to keep these facilities ready at all times, yes?"

Forster nodded.

Galkin coughed.

Forster got the hint. "Yes, milord!"

Step one, remind them what their role was. Now, step two. After slipping the vial back into his pocket, Dwayne faced the stable master. "Mr. Forster. Lord Gallus, the commander of the Southern Line Garrison, is coming here to Walcrest. I'm told that he's a great horseman. Of course, we could rely on the garrison to house his horses but..."

Forster's lips curled. "Those children hardly know which end of the horse leads the beast." His eyes slid to Galkin. "Milord."

Good, he understood what was at stake, though Dwayne could do without the surliness. Now, the last step.

He gestured to the stables. "Quite, but I don't think these are up to snuff. What do you suggest we do?"

Forster froze, his eyes darting around, searching for a trick. Galkin frowned, but Dwayne just waited. There was only one person here who knew what the stables needed.

Forster did not disappoint. He started to count on his fingers. "I need two carpenters, five boys for mucking this out out, 400 douns of hay, and as much of the best oats you can get." His eyes turned inwards. "Lord Gallus probably wants his horses to be ready at a moment's notice, and that's the least we'll need to keep them that way."

"And that'll be a enough?" asked Galkin.

Forster sneered. "Yes, that should do it."

Dwayne patted the stable master on the shoulder. "I'll hold you to that. Prove that your family deserves its place here at Walcrest, and you'll have what you need shortly. Come, Galkin." Dwayne turned on his heel and walked away, aware that hay and other less bearable things were dripping off him as he walked.

The steward hurried after him. "That was impressive, my lord. Though your magical demonstration was... messy."

Dwayne grimaced. "I didn't think that part through."

"Clearly, my lord."

"Where am I going to get all these people? What happened to everyone?"

"Lord Kalan was gone for a long time, and people don't like to be idle. So they moved on."

Dwayne nodded. "Then we'll need to get them back or replace them. First, let's check on the wall though. I think-"

Bells filled the air.

Galkin caught Dwayne's sleeve, keeping him from running off.

"I have to go!" said Dwayne.

"It's not Lord Kalan," said the steward. "Listen."

The bells that had sounded for Lord Kalan's attack had been higher pitched and more urgent.

"There's been an attack on the town," Galkin said.

"Then we should go anyway." Dwayne pulled his sleeve free. "I'm going to help." It was his responsibilty after all.