They had four separate bouts with the Issho-Ni apprentices, winning the first two, and losing the third. Their opponents adapted to their strategy quickly, and by the fourth match, their moves were too quick and complex for Megan and her friends to deal with. They were defeated outright, with only Michael able to inflict a wound before their loss. Master Ehran called a halt to the training then and directed the apprentices to return the weapons to their proper places.

“Definitely not bad,” he said appraisingly as he approached them, collecting Michael and Jordan’s practice weapons. “There’s a lot of improvement you could make, but you have a strong foundation.”

“If only we had time to iron out our weaknesses,” Megan said thoughtfully. “The Exchange is soon. We’re setting out by the end of the week.”

Ehran nodded his agreement of the assessment. “There isn’t much you can do in the area of rapid growth, that is true. But you already have great teamwork. I can only suggest that you keep the practice up until the last minute. Keep your roles in mind.”

Michael bowed once more, with the other three following suit. “Thank you for the lesson, Master Ehran.”

“It was my pleasure,” the Master said, waving a hand diffidently. “But if you can, please come back tomorrow. There are a few skills I think you have time for.”

“Tomorrow is Temple Day,” Rachel commented. “We don’t have any lessons, and we’re ahead in our homework. We can probably make it.”

“I have tributes to pay,” Michael said. Jordan made a quiet noise of agreement. “But after that, perhaps the thirteenth hour, I can be free.”

“Very well,” Ehran said decisively. “Tomorrow, at the thirteenth hour. I will expect you then.”

He gave them a short, perfunctory bow, then retreated, leaving them to discuss the training amongst themselves. Megan didn’t immediately join in the conversation. She kept her eyes locked onto Ehran as he walked away, noting how his shoulders seemed to droop slightly once he stopped discussing the art of fighting. He was clearly one of those who lived for a contest and martial mastery. As she thought about that, she realized that he was easily the youngest Master in attendance. The other members wearing white robes were easily forty or older, while Ehran was somewhere in his late twenties in appearance.

“Did you hear me, Megan?” Michael’s voice broke her out of her deep thoughts. “You could at least try to learn from the lesson.”

“Sorry,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “Was just thinking. I wonder what we’ll learn tomorrow.”

“I have some ideas,” Michael said. “I’ve practiced in this dojo a few times, and I even spent last summer on a few patrols with them.”

“You’ve never mentioned that,” Jordan said. He looked impressed. “That explains the practical experience you have.”

The Spellblade apprentice shrugged. “I didn’t learn too much in my time with them, but there are some skills I’m aware of, even if they weren’t explicitly shared with me.”

He went into a long oration about different fighting tactics and formations he’d learned the previous summer, such as wedges for quick movement, walls for reinforcing a position, and rotations for safe group combat. The term ‘rotation’ piqued their interest, but Michael admitted reluctantly that he didn’t actually know how it worked. He’d seen members of a party changing position quickly for short periods of time, but he didn’t know the advantage gained from it.

They decided, in the spur of the moment, to visit The Heron on their way back. It was a unanimous decision between the four of them the instant the tavern came into view, and they made an immediate beeline for the door. It was unsurprisingly packed, with almost a hundred patrons filling the large taproom. The volume was almost deafening, and Megan couldn’t help but smile. No matter what time you visited The Heron, it always seemed this busy. Mandra never had a quiet night.

They sat down with two other students of the College, who were seated in the center of the room. One wore the green robe of a Journeyman, while the other was a nervous first-year in a baggy brown robe. The article of clothing looked more like a monk’s habit, Megan thought, sitting beside the anxious boy. She gave him a reassuring smile even as Michael leered down at him, clearly amused to see a mud-back outside the walls of the College.

“Welcome back, dears,” Mandra was at their side already. “Let me guess. Coffee for Michael, Megan, and Rachel. Black tea for Jordan?”

The other three nodded, but Megan put up a hand. “Actually, just tea for me today, please, Mandra. Strawberry, if you’ve got some.”

“Of course,” the landlady said with a smile. She turned with a swirl of red hair and green wool dress and disappeared into the kitchen without another word. As soon as she was away, the green-robed apprentice leaned forward, his gaze intent on Megan.

“You’re the Paragon Apprentice,” he said, his eyes unblinking. It wasn’t a question. “What’s it like working for him?”

“Exhausting,” Megan said shortly. She hadn’t counted on discussing her surprise mentor today. Then, feeling that her answer could be considered rude, she was forced to say more. “I’m learning a few things, though. He’s a good teacher.”

“More than a few things,” Rachel said, wrinkling her nose. “You’re too modest, Megan. You two, watch this.”

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Rachel brought one hand up and made flicked a tiny amount of mana across the table. Almost by instinct, Megan hit it with a counterspell, dissolving it into nothing. Then she flushed, frowned at her friend, and stared down at the worn wooden table. The two younger apprentices made gasps of incredulity, and the boy even clapped. “That’s counterspell, isn’t it? I’ve heard of it, but never seen it used in person! It’s a very useful spell!”

His fulsome praise just made it worse, and Megan felt the flush creep a little higher on her cheeks. Then Michael let out a loud guffaw and leaned back in his seat, arms linked behind his head, the picture of casual confidence. “So what if she can use Counterspell? She’s not the only one.”

Megan was still too embarrassed to answer the obvious challenge, so Rachel picked up the gauntlet for her. “Can you use it, Michael?”

Now it was Michael’s turn to flush slightly, but he was still stubbornly smug. “I don’t have to. My spellblade cand shred mana apart.”

“If you can hit it,” Rachel commented archly. Jordan let out a quiet chuckle, and Michael responded with a snappy retort at once. “You can’t do either, Rachel.”

“I don’t have to,” Rachel said, a victorious smirk curling her lip. She could tell she’d won that exchange, and by a lot. “I’m not obsessed with proving myself better than my friends.”

Mandra returned with four steaming mugs then and told them that the food would be out in about twenty minutes. They thanked her enthusiastically, and each fished out a silver coin to pay for their stay. Mandra squirreled the money away into her apron, gave them another radiant smile, and hurried to another table to collect empty tankards. Megan watched many of the mens’ heads turn to watch as she passed. Mandra was an exceptional beauty, with a curvy figure and casual sort of elegance that you couldn’t ignore.

“I didn’t know you were interested in women, Megan,” Michael said mockingly. “Fancy yourself enough of a match for her?”

“Don’t kid yourself,” Megan said with a laugh. “I’m just amusing myself by watching those poor love-struck fools.”

They all glanced at Rachel then, who was also watching Mandra, though with a quiet sort of longing in her eyes. She noticed them staring, and brought her attention back to the table, shrugging with a coy smile. “What can I say? She’s my type.”

“Finally we learn,” Michael said, waving his hands in a sarcastic cheer. “So you want a wife who’ll feed you, is that it?”

Rachel made an expression of distaste. “I have no interest in marriage. I don’t want to be tied down.”

“The maidens of the world tremble in fear,” Megan said with a snort, which drew a round of laughter. Rachel was well-known among their fellow students for her voracious appetite and the frequency with which she switched partners. She had confided in Megan that she longed to be a Priestess of Bora Bora, but wanted a little more freedom before taking the vow. Her friends had reason to suspect that she was a regular customer at Divine’s Blessing, the brothel where Bora Bora had once worked in his mortal life.

The food wasn’t long in waiting, and they ate in a companionable atmosphere, eagerly discussing the Exchange. The other two apprentices they sat with showed great interest upon learning that they would be taking part. It was the first time participating for each of them, but that news made their tablemates look at them in awe. They fired questions constantly, asking what kind of training they were undertaking to prepare. Megan finally got tired of it and deflected the conversation back on them.

“How’s your first year going so far?” She asked the younger of the two. “Keeping up with the essays and theory papers alright?”

“Oh, the essays are easy,” he said, his eyes gleaming. “I’m afraid I’m just no good at practical magic, though. I’m trying to be an Archivist.”

“An Archivist?” Rachel queried, her eyebrows raised. “You don’t have to attend the College for that, do you?”

“Well, no,” the apprentice admitted. “But it’s required for a High Archivist, and that’s what I want to become.”

They all whistled in surprise, even his friend. High Archivists were those special few who had a close connection to Samuel and the god he served. They were able to communicate with Arcana directly, unlike most, and they conferred their words to the other Archivists and the world at large. It was often said that the High Archivists actually spoke to Arcana more often than Samuel did, despite him being the Champion.

“Why do you want that?” His friend asked. “Are you taking any of Bragg’s classes yet?”

“No,” the apprentice said, his face falling. “That won’t be until next year, unfortunately. But I’m in Kiinor and Ashara’s classes, and they’re his two closest colleagues.”

They nodded their heads in understanding. With the exception of Megan, they’d all been taught by the Archmages of Destruction and Divination for over three years now. Rachel shared some of her experience under the Divination teacher with the boy, whose eyes lit up, and he quizzed her eagerly. Michael got up, saying that he was going outside for some fresh air. To everyone’s surprise, he gave Megan an unmistakable gesture to follow him. A little nonplussed, she got to her feet and they wound their way through the tables, stepping out onto the relatively quiet street.

“Megan,” Michael said at once, “You know that I’m a Marked One, right?”

She nodded. He’d never explicitly told them, but his natural strength and reflexes had always given her the sense that he wasn’t from the Human bloodline. “Of course. What of it?”

“Are you aware of the ability that most Marked Ones have, once they’ve trained their nature a little?”

“No,” she said, her confusion growing. “I think you’re the first Marked One I’ve ever gotten to know personally. What is it?”

“We gain the ability to, with a lot of effort, see through illusions,” Michael said simply. “Simply put, I have Truesight. I don’t always use it, but I know how.”

Immediately, Megan’s heart skipped a beat. Was he saying what she thought he was saying? Had he spotted some sign of her true nature, that told him she wasn’t from Ahya? Would he tell everyone they knew her secret? She forced herself to calm down. Maybe he just noticed her lying about something and wanted to know what she meant by it.

“First, I have to ask. Do you have a license from Bora Bora’s temple to collect souls?”

“No, of course not,” Megan said at once, not sure she’d heard correctly. This wasn’t the question she’d expected. “I’m not a Reaper or Bladesoul. You know this. So why would I need a license?”

Now Michael was frowning, looking very upset. It was the kind of look he got when he was frustrated, but not sure what to do about a problem. He lifted his right hand and pointed at her in accusation. More accurately, she realized, he was pointing at something just over her shoulder. His eyes were glowing with a faint light, which meant that he was clearly using Truesight, as he’d claimed.

“Then tell me, please. Why do you have another soul attached to you?”