Chapter 18: Ledas - The Zanderian

Renting a room was way more expensive compared to a place in the stables. Unlike the spacious stables where the troupe could rehearse, the room with two beds, a table, and a wardrobe was barely enough for sleeping and studying. Most importantly it was warm and comfortable.

A small gold coin a month was double what they paid for stables. Nick, the owner of Vishap's Belly, arranged the place with a common kitchen and in-house plumbing for half the price for them.

Despite that, it was not sustainable, considering food, new clothes, and the decision to focus on getting better jobs instead of taking odd jobs.

Olaf was actively training to pass the guard's exams. That mostly included practice in writing on a clay tablet. Knowing how to read and write was a good asset, but writing was important for someone who had to fill in reports.

Physical strength-wise, Olaf was a strongman, but swinging a stick without supervision wouldn't make him a good spearman, so there was no need to bother.

Another gold piece evaporated for access to the library. The magician needed to read a lot to remember the magical theory he was taught by his father. Sadly, public libraries held limited knowledge of magic, most of which was considered either generational knowledge among battlemage families or non-disclosable knowledge of the guild of mages. Everything here was what Ledas had been taught by his father when he just started learning magic. The stolen textbook provided something new, but only some bare-bone basics.

Some books caught his attention though. For example, "Summoned Heroes: How Otherworlder's Technology Affected Industrialization" by Ignacius Cole. That was the imposing court mage of Ashakion's court Ledas had met a few weeks ago. Plumbing at the end of the corridor was a direct result of summoned heroes some eighty years ago.

"Ancient Rituals: Dictionary on Runic to Modern Power Symbols with Illustrations," 3rd edition by Ledas Sunders, printed 20 years ago.

Ledas looked at the name of the author with his brow raised. It was the first time he had seen someone with the same name as him. The author section described him as an Archmagi of Runes of the previous century. The book itself stated the possibility of applying golden runes like tattoos on the body to cast spells, similar to how his father had applied runes on him. Ledas frowned.

Did his father plan to apply runic tattoos to him when he was just born, or was it the name that gave him the idea? Was he named after an Archmagi? Who the hell was his father Zander?

Too many questions, and no way to find answers. Ledas took a deep breath and pushed the intrusive thoughts aside. One question was hard to push away: was his comprehension of magic high, or were the books just for novices?

During the week, Ledas checked Olaf's writing and visited the examination site to register and verify the authenticity of his recommendation letter.

The Mage's Association had taken over the International Mage's Guild building, which the troupe had once helped clean. Now, royal battle mages served as examiners, and the furniture was new, though less extravagant.

"Your name, sir?" the clerk at registration asked.

Ledas hesitated. "It's Ledas. Here's my recommendation letter, but I don’t know the person who gave it me." He passed the letter over, his voice barely above a mumble.

The clerk examined the stamp, eyebrow raised. "Looks genuine, but we'll verify it to avoid possible issues. Please wait in the adjacent room while we confirm."

The next two hours stretched to an eternity for Ledas. He sat in a plush chair, occasionally accepting refreshments from passing servants. To distract himself from his mounting anxiety, he immersed himself in a book from the library. The musty smell of old pages and the quiet rustle of turning leaves helped calm his nerves. It reminded him of sitting near his father during his learning routine when they were not yet separated.

When the receptionist finally called back, Ledas was still lost in his reading. The clerk's voice startled him back to reality.

"Apologies for the wait. The letter is indeed genuine. Let's proceed. Your family name, Sir Ledas?"

"I don't have one," Ledas mumbled, averting his gaze.

A well-dressed man in his mid-twenties behind Ledas laughed. "That's a good joke! A mage without a family name."

Ledas turned, meeting the man's amused smirk. "But I really don't have one."

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The man's smile faded. He leaned in, whispering, "Invent a last name, or you'll be seen as the peasant you are. Use your father's name and add -ian. It's local custom."

The clerk cleared his throat, "Please, let's not hold up the line. Age and date of birth?"

Ledas's mind raced. "Oh, family name Zanderian. Born December twentieth, fifth year."

"So you're 15?" The clerk jotted it down. "Here's your examination number, Mister Zanderian." He handed Ledas an envelope and moved on to the next person.

Outside, Ledas approached the man who'd helped him. "Thank you, sir." He bowed slightly.

The man waved him off. “Keep it to yourself. If you somehow pass, it'd be a disgrace to be listed alongside a peasant. We nobles must save face, so make up a legend - like coming from Elsomere or Mirage.” With that, he climbed into a waiting carriage and departed.

Despite the man's harsh words, Ledas felt grateful. He returned to the library, throwing himself into preparations and studying various books.

By week's end, Olaf had easily passed his guard examination. His literacy, strength, and sociability put him on track for a low-ranking officer position from the start, provided he distinguished himself.

Before Ledas knew it, the day of the mage's association examination arrived. He found himself in a massive auditorium with about thirty other candidates of varying ages and social standings. The scratch of quills on parchment filled the air as they tackled questions on magical theory, rituals, and spellcraft. Ledas wrote meticulously, detailing each step and possible complications.

The questions seemed surprisingly simple to Ledas. He wondered if the bar had been set low to quickly fill Tigranakert's need for mages. Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that some were trick questions. Upon closer inspection, he realized his instincts were correct.

The only difficult part was the ritual magic, he finished the other two in fifteen minutes, but for the remaining 45 he was trying to figure out how to reduce magic consumption in a small piece of a looping effect that had to work for more than a week.

There was not enough information to figure out the best approach based on what ritual was for and what its other parts meant so he wrote a few ways things could work, and based on them where he would try to cut the number of unnecessary calculations by the ritual.

As he left the examination hall, Ledas felt confident he'd advance to the practical phase. But he'd have to wait until tomorrow for the results.

The next morning, Olaf, already at work, couldn't accompany him to see the results. Anxiety gnawed at Ledas as he approached the mage's association. Two other examinees were already there, their nervousness palpable.

"If they'd been certain of passing, they wouldn't be here so early," Ledas mused.

The receptionist noticed Ledas. "Sir Ledas, please proceed to the waiting room."

Confused, Ledas glanced at the other candidates as the receptionist led him not to the waiting room, but upstairs to the Guild Mage's former office.

Inside, a formidable man in black clothes sat at the edge of the desk, a sword at his side. His lean frame and the slashed scars across his face spoke of a life of combat.

"As requested, sir," the receptionist said, closing the door behind Ledas.

"Please, sit, Mister Zanderian," the man said, his voice smooth but commanding.

Ledas lowered himself into the indicated chair. "Is there a problem?"

The man's lips curved into a slight smile. "No problem. You passed. But how you did so is most interesting. So, tell me: who are you?"

The man's deliberate lack of introduction and the room's oppressive atmosphere left no doubt in Ledas's mind. This was an interrogation.

"My name is Ledas. I'm 15. Until recently, I was a magician with a troupe of performers," Ledas answered, striving for honesty.

"And a thief, right?" The man's smile widened. "Didn't you jump from the window downstairs with some of the guildsman's belongings?"

Ledas's throat went dry. He swallowed hard. "Yes, sir. I... I ask you to hear my case."

"Proceed," the man said, waving his hand.

Ledas recounted the events at the guild in detail, only to be cut off as he began explaining his motivations.

"Enough," the man interrupted. "So you're saying you're no one, from nowhere, yet you placed second in magical theory? I'd think you were a spy if not for your obvious incompetence. Who taught you magic?"

"My father, sir," Ledas said quickly. "I haven't seen him in over three years."

"Your father's name?"

"Zander, sir. But I know little about him, including whether I'm truly his child or adopted. We lived on the road as long as I can remember."

The man leaned forward, his eyes boring into Ledas. "So, you're a nobody from nowhere, raised by a wandering mage skilled in high-grade golden tattoos. You've attained near-master-level ritual comprehension by age twelve or thirteen. The only person who knows you is a strongman you've performed with for three years. All this time, you've chosen a vagrant's life in cold stables over the luxury of a mage's apprentice or journeyman. Don't you find that suspicious?"

Ledas's heart raced - cold sweat beaded on his forehead. "I-it is suspicious, sir. But I haven't mentioned most of what you're saying."

The man's smile softened. "Relax, Zanderian. This is a friendly chat. We're just getting the facts straight."

Ledas took a deep breath, trying to slow his pounding heart. The man seemed genuine, which helped Ledas regain some composure.

"Do you do such checks with everyone?" Ledas asked.

"No," the man replied. "It's just coincidence that I was looking for a nobody from nowhere, skilled in ritual circles and with few worldly connections. And here you are." His eyes glinted. "I don't believe in coincidences. So, Ledas, tell me your life story. If you do, your life might take turns you've never dreamed possible."