When the gong sounded, Alfie, Will, and most of the other newbies from the dormitory found their way down to dinner by simply following their noses. The only two who didn’t stick with the pack were the arrogant Scottish lad and his bosom friend.
When they walked into the dining room, it was to find the rest of the academy already seated and waiting for them. There was a decent number of students, perhaps a couple of hundred all told. However, there weren’t as many as Alfie might have expected. This lent credence to Will’s hypothesis that some of the first years would not be continuing on, at least not as battle mages trained at the Aetherbright Academy.
The layout was similar to every private school in the UK, although there was a far more relaxed atmosphere here; the teachers—the schoolmen, Alfie reminded himself—sat at circular tables at the far end of the well-appointed room. The rest of the academy’s students sat at several rectangular tables with bench seating.
To Alfie’s private disappointment, there wasn’t a floating candlestick in sight.
Unlike most other boarding or private schools in the UK, the food was an eclectic showcase of dishes from around the globe. Alfie’s gaze swept across a diverse and broad mix of flavors and styles. With the baked treat he had enjoyed on the wyrm feeling like a hundred years ago, his mouth flooded with saliva.
“Would you look at this bloody spread?” Will moaned. “Just looking at it makes my stomach feel like my throat’s been cut. Oh, look over there! Is that tom yum soup?”
It was. Peering around, Alfie saw different dishes on each table. He guessed that this was so that students were forced by their gastronomic cravings to mix and mingle with their fellows.
Amongst plenty of other dishes, he saw garlic mashed potatoes, roasted vegetables, couscous, Chinese Kung Pao chicken, Indian tikka masala, Italian risotto, and Mexican mole. As well as the tom yum, there was a tureen of both minestrone and onion soup. On their table alone, there was a selection of small plates to start the meal, holding such toothsome delights as sushi rolls, samosas, and bruschetta. There was a range of salads, none of which Will went near.
“I’ve embraced the Homer Simpson philosophy when it comes to that sort of thing, mate,” he said when Alfie offered him some.
Alfie grinned. “You don’t make friends with salad?”
“You don’t make friends with salad, you don’t make friends with salad,” Will repeated to a conga beat.
After a dessert made up of tiramisu and baklava for Alfie, Provost Sharpe got to his feet.
He raised his hands for quiet, and the chatter died away as if by magic, though Alfie thought it more likely it was because of an excess of good food.
“Greetings, greetings, and well met, my friends!” Sharpe said in a clear voice. “It is with great pleasure and excitement, not to mention a distended breadbasket”—he patted his tweed-covered stomach—“that I welcome you all to our esteemed magical academy. I know that many of you have traveled far and wide to join us here in the bucolic splendor of the High Weald countryside, and to those of you who are fresh initiates, I assure you, you will not be disappointed.”
A few of the more comfortable-looking and relaxed students whistled and cheered good-naturedly. One wag called out, “Well done, sir! Much snappier start to the welcome speech than last time!”
There was some laughter. Provost Sharpe smiled.
“Yes, well, I made sure to leave that particular vintage of burgundy off the menu this year, Jenkins,” he replied breezily. “Speaking of which, I hope the newcomers, in particular, enjoyed our welcoming banquet. I know that for my stomach, it is one of its favorite times of the year.”
There was some more satiated-sounding laughter.
“A hearty congratulations and thanks to our talented team of chefs,” Sharpe continued, “and our gardeners did a fine job on supplying us with food from the estate.”
More murmurs of agreement.
“Now, there are a few things I wish to touch on before too many of you fall into a food-induced coma,” the provost continued. “A bit of the old housekeeping as you might call it. The first is directed at our new first-year students and concerns the—for lack of a better word—magical interface that accompanies the revelation of thaumaturgical powers.”
“He’s talking about the stuff that springs up into your vision—the messages and stuff—I bet,” Alfie murmured in Will’s ear.
His friend nodded.
“There will be some of you, through certain means, who will have already practiced with the system and be completely accustomed to it by now,” Sharpe continued.
At a table nearby, Alfie saw the Scottish lad, Grant, smirk cockily at his compatriot.
“This system was introduced by the Grand Prism only a short while ago—as an attempt to appeal to the younger generation.” Sharpe gave his head a little shake. “It gives a practitioner a more obvious and instant appraisal of their progress, but codifying magic… it’s something that just shouldn’t be done. Still, that is just one older man’s opinion. The point is, it is here now, and we all must get used to it. Before long, you will be able to take on board the information and dismiss any messages as swiftly as thinking.”
The head of the Aetherbright Academy then waved his hands at the teachers around him. “I’ll dispense with all the introductions to our staff. No doubt, our current students know who they are. As for our newest arrivals, I’m sure that they will become familiar with our illustrious schoolmen in due time. a new member.”
Any residual noise there might have been in the dining hall simmered right down.
“As you know, we pride ourselves at the Aetherbright Academy on providing the most comprehensive and rigorous specialized magical education in the world,” Provost Sharpe said. “Our faculty is second to none, and I am thrilled to announce that we have a new addition. Please join me in welcoming Schoolman Fraus Cane—an old and trusted friend of mine, and a very accomplished Voltaic Enchanter.”
There was some craning of heads, even scraping of benches, as students tried to get a look at the staff table and spot the academy’s newest pedagogue. There was no need, as a moment later, Fraus Cane got to his feet.
He was a short, unassuming man with a few strands of hair teased over a bald pate. He had a physique that might once have been stocky and muscular but was now running toward chubby. Slightly nervous eyes peered shortsightedly out from behind thick spectacles. He wore beige slacks, a nondescript gray sport coat, and a tie of almost offensively bright orange. This last aspect of his wardrobe was one that Alfie recognized as a new educator foolishly attempting to win over his prospective students through some ill-executed fashion humor.
“Schoolman Cane comes to us with an impressive resume, a wealth of knowledge and experience, and credentials of real-world heroics that I can personally attest to,” Cornelius Sharpe continued, placing one hand gently on the little man’s shoulder.
Alfie, who happened to be watching Cane at that moment, saw him give an almost imperceptible jump at the contact.
“I have known Fraus for many years,” Sharpe continued, his usually wry face softening into an expression of almost pensive seriousness, “and I consider him a dear friend. I have no doubt that he will be an invaluable asset to our academy and will help to guide you all on your magical journey, whether you be in your first year or last.”
With a small smile and a wave, the new teacher took his seat once again.
“After that rather neat segue, if I do say so myself, I would like to also remind you that, as with any journey, there may be obstacles and challenges along the way,” the provost said. “Such is the nature of all things. After all, where would the joy and sense of achievement be when reaching the heights if it wasn’t for occasionally getting kicked in the teeth? It’s important to always keep an open mind and be prepared for the unexpected, even whilst within the walls of the academy. And outside of it…? Well, I must remind you that not everyone is who they appear to be. But I trust in my selection of each and every person here, and soon you will come to trust in your abilities.”
“Hear, hear!” someone called, banging the table.
“Thank you again, Jenkins,” Sharpe said, with a mock bow. “I know that you will rise to any challenge that comes your way. So, let us begin this new academic year with determination and enthusiasm—and, fingers crossed, without too much indigestion later on. I look forward to watching you all grow and excel in your studies. Welcome, and welcome back, to the Aetherbright Academy, everybody, and may your journey be filled with wonder and discovery.”
There was a pause to see if he was done.
“This is the part where you politely applaud your pioneering, eloquent, and intelligent provost,” Sharpe said drily. “Jenkins, where are you when I need you?”
There was laughter and clapping. Once this had died away, Alfie saw that the head of the academy was still standing.
Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
“Now,” Sharpe said, his voice taking on an almost crisply efficient quality, “to business.”
He clapped his hands together so that the lights in the hall dimmed. The provost looked around at the walls and at the ceiling. “Hmm, unexpected but not unappreciated. The school, as much as any of us, enjoys a bit of light theatrics. Now, what was I saying…? Ah yes! It is time for you first years to be divided into your cabals—that is to say into the squads of four that you will remain in for the majority of your stay here. Each squad will consist of a Fortifier, a Conjurer, a Caster, and an Enchanter. There might be some of you who are unfamiliar with the definitions, so allow me to elaborate briefly. The rest of you may stare at the ceiling blankly or wipe the crumbs from your dessert plates.”
While Cornelius Sharpe described what each category of magic user was—more or less telling Alfie what Will had already explained to him in the dorm—Will elbowed Alfie.
“Cabal,” the former thief said. “That was the word. Cabal.”
“Call it what you will,” Alfie said. “I hope we end up in the same group.”
Will’s eyes traveled in the direction of the table the arrogant young man, Grant, was sitting at.
“So long as I’m not in that stuck-up toff’s cabal,” Will said, “I don’t mind who I’m with.”
Alfie nodded in agreement.
After Sharpe had explained the different mage classes to the unfamiliar, his face turned even more serious. He smoothed his neat silver-gray beard a few times, staring at the table.
“Before I separate you into your cabals, I ought to reveal what it is that we do at the Aetherbright Academy—what the point of it is. There’s no real choice of professions or majors in this academy of magical learning. The reason men and women are trained here is a simple one: to produce the most elite battle mages in the world.”
Alfie’s eyes went wide. He looked at Will, who grinned.
“Did you know?” Alfie asked.
“Like I said when we were walking over, you hear some whispers. I thought maybe they were just hot air, though, you know? I mean, no one thinks they’re going to be trained to be government assassins, do they? I never actually thought that we were going to become—”
“Warrior mages!” Alfie said in a hushed voice.
Sharpe tucked his thumbs into the pocket of his waistcoat and looked around the dining hall until the ripple of amazed whispering had subsided.
“Let me elucidate on one thing,” he said, his voice quiet but carrying. “And that thing is this: most of the time, the mages that are trained here do not have to fight other mages.” He glanced over at Cane, who sat fiddling with his spoon. “Those days—the Djinn Wars—it is hoped, are long past. Instead, battle mages usually go on creature-related missions—capturing or slaying troublesome beasts, relocating monsters of differing levels of rarity, or other tasks of that nature. Only very rarely will other mages force our hand, or the hand of the Grand Prism, and make us fight our fellow magic users.”
The silence was total, the lack of noise almost buzzing in Alfie’s ears. Every ear and eye was on Cornelius Sharpe.
“You are all adults,” the provost continued. “You were chosen, amongst other reasons, for your common sense. Still, this is a dangerous life you are about to enter into. Not to put too fine a point on it, the graveyard outside is filled with those who took a blade, bullet, or spell, rather than this warning, to heart. Even in practice and training, accidental fatalities have occurred.”
Alfie heard Will swallow.
“Each year, only the best new students are selected to join our ranks,” Sharpe said. “And even those don’t all go on to train as battle mages. In fact, only a small percentage will elect to pursue that particular calling. Make no mistake, being a battle mage is a life, not an occupation.”
“Like farming,” some smartass called out.
“Except that you won’t be planting seeds,” Sharpe said.
The laughter that greeted this was hard and brittle. No one needed to ask what he meant by that.
“After you have been trained and proved yourself worthy, you will be inducted into a branch of the Joint Extramundane and Mundane Governmental Taskforce. This branch is bureaucratically named the Magical Intelligence Service, but known colloquially as MI7.”
“MI7? He must be pulling our legs, surely?” Alfie whispered to Will.
Will just shrugged. “Like most other things. That’s above my pay grade.”
“However, MI7 is not comprised solely of battle mages,” Sharpe continued, waving a dismissive hand. “It would be a bad day for us all if necessity dealt us that hand. There are many other, less dangerous, positions within our governmental departments that young mages such as yourselves need to train for.”
He looked around at the gathered first years. His amber eyes sparkled as he took in the collection of serious, thoughtful, sometimes fearful expressions. He stroked his silver beard thoughtfully.
“Battle mages are, like soldiers, something that never goes out of fashion,” he said. “When the metal must meet the meat, you must have the meat available to meet it. That has never changed. Not really. The frontline of war might have morphed and flowed, but the basics remain the same. When the negotiations, flattery, bribes, and threats stop, the fighting begins. However, there are places where one might learn to bribe, flatter, negotiate, and threaten in a governmentally acceptable way.”
There was some light laughter at that. Sharpe smiled a thin smile.
“Here you will learn to be ruthless. You must. It is one of the prerequisites for becoming a battle mage. You will, if you graduate and are taken on by MI7, find yourselves in situations in which compassion will prove to be about as much use as a chocolate hairdryer.”
There was more laughter, but Alfie thought that the smile that adorned the bearded lips wasn’t wholly comforting.
“But other skills, other kinds of minds and temperaments, are needed to protect the people of this—occasionally, during July and August—fair isle from those enemies we have without and, more worryingly, within.”
There was, if Alfie had been pressed to describe it, something a little bitter about that smile. Something angry, and a little cynical, if that could be believed in one so thoroughly in command of his surroundings.
“Finally, before the new cabals are formed, I wish to ask all our new recruits one crucial question. To slightly alter the immortal words of The Clash: will you stay or will you go?”
He looked slowly around at the new faces once again. There was a breathless silence.
“Always, always, remember, my friends, that the government—any government at all—does not personify reason. It is a force. Like a forest fire, it is a deadly servant and, more pertinent, a fearful and thoughtless master. When I say choose wisely, I recommend you do so not only with regards to whether you wish to become a battle mage, but also with regards as to whether you wish to become a servant of our land. It is not a calling for the meek of heart.
“There is no shame in hearing of vague and nameless perils, whimsically spoken of, and deciding that you’d rather spend your time elsewhere. If there are any amongst you who would like to walk out of here and return to your lives then now is the time. Our dwarven porter standing at the back of the room will escort you and make sure you are delivered to the nearest mundane train station.”
A ripple of murmuring greeted this pronouncement.
He held up his left hand. “And I swear that once you are ushered out of this hall you will not be asked to step through a door into a corridor with no floor.”
There were a couple of nervous titters from some of the newbies. The older students held their silence, but several smiled in a disquietingly knowing manner.
In the end, after this announcement, and after much diligent thought, all but twelve of the newcomers that had arrived on the wyrm decided to leave. Alfie didn’t much blame them. Several would stay on campus to undergo training of a different kind, albeit not in the same classes as the battle mages.
After the door closed, Sharpe clapped his hands once more and beamed around.
“Quite a few dropouts this year,” Sharpe said cheerfully. “My welcoming speech must have been even less welcoming than it usually is!”
Will gave Alfie a questioning look. The older students chortled and a few of them shoved one another in a good-natured way.
“This means that there are only three groups of four in this year’s intake,” he announced. “Lucky, all in all, as it means that we still have even numbers. Now, let’s get to it.”
The provost cleared his throat, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a tightly furled scroll of parchment. After letting his hands flutter over his various pockets, he extricated a silver fountain pen, made a few scribbled adjustments on the parchment, and then looked up.
“The first cabal will be made up of Fritha Hookway, Jason Bun, Francesca Hirst, and Molly Peery. The second cabal will be…”
It seemed, Alfie thought, as Provost Sharpe read out four more names—Sarah Moore, Bastion Joyce, Charles Grant, and Fang Shuran—that there was to be none of the ceremony that he might have expected. None of the getting up, traipsing to the front of the room, and pulling on some random piece of talking clothing.
He was glad of that. He wanted to get on with learning magic.
He was brought back to the present by a sharp dig in the ribs by Will’s bony elbow.
“What?” Alfie asked.
Will didn’t need to answer.
“The third cabal will be Teo Perotti, Will Savage, James Howie, and Alfie Turner,” Cornelius Sharpe said loudly.
“Nice!” Alfie said, punching Will on the arm.
“I wonder who the other guys are?” Will asked.
“We’ll find out when we head back to the dormitory, I guess.”
Cabal Formed!
Cabal Level 1
Members:
Alfie Turner
Will Sharpe
James Howie
Teo Perotti
Bonuses when in proximity to each other:
+5% Mana Regeneration
+10% Experience Points Gained
+1% Chance for Rare Materials to Drop
Generative Monsters (any creatures summoned at the Academy) Deal 15% more damage and have 15% more Toughness
Can access quests that are 1 level(s) beyond highest level mage in cabal.
Increase your cabal level by undergoing quests and training as a team. Higher levels grant greater bonuses and the option to customize your cabal’s progression.
Provost Sharpe tucked the scroll back into a pocket and pushed his chair away.
“Right, now, bugger off, the lot of you,” he said chummily, waving a hand at the students. “First years, your new cabals will be assigned their porters tomorrow. They will meet you before breakfast at the dormitory. Each of these doughty dwarves will show you to the new accommodations in the grounds of the estate that have been set aside and readied for you. They will explain how the cottages work, how you can improve them, and so on and so forth. After settling in, there will be a demonstration before lunch, and then”—Sharpe’s eyes were kindled with the unmistakable fire of enthusiasm—“we shall see what we are working with when you have your first lessons tomorrow afternoon.”
New Quest!
Cabal’s Beginnings
Meet with your porter at the dormitory before breakfast and have them escort you and your fellow cabal members to your new accommodations.
Quest Rewards:
+50xp (55xp)
Cabal Cottage
“Straight into it!” Alfie said to Will excitedly. “I wonder what becoming a James Bond warrior mage entails?”
Their speculative conversation on which of them would be the wizarding version of 007 was soon cut short, though, by Sharpe’s raised voice.
“As for this evening,” he called over the scraping of bench seats being pushed back and young men and women getting to their feet, “you will find that the dormitories have been stocked with a sufficient amount of faerie blood to lubricate even the rustiest, most tightly wound socialite.”
There were a couple of nervous glances exchanged at this pronouncement amongst the first years.
“Drinking faerie blood?” Alfie heard one of the other lads at his table ask.
“Calm yourselves.” Sharpe laughed, his eyes sparkling with delight. “I assure you that faerie blood is just the name of a particular ale that is brewed down in the village of Stonegate. It’s pale, almost white in color, but I shall warn you that it is stronger than it tastes and leaves a faint tingle in the mouth. Good night. We shall see one another on the morrow.”