Chapter 10: Grand Master

Over time, many without the innate connection to the Font learned the art of wizardry and alternative methods of discovering affinities were devised. Eventually half of all practitioners had no sorcerous abilities, but at the top, the sorcerers crowded the ranks. The title of mage became associated with the best, and eventually came to refer to those who practiced both schools of magic.

-Tallen Elmheart, On Mages

—

Kole looked up to see a group of the young test proctors standing around an older man, who sat with a quill in hand and a single sheet of paper before him.

The man’s eyes caught sight of Kole looking at him, and he smiled.

Nervously, Kole gathered his things and his papers, then walked to the front of the room.

The older man rose from his seat to meet him.

“Kole Highridge, I presume?”

Kole nodded, too nervous to speak. Was he in trouble? Was he not supposed to use his spelbook after all?

“Let's go somewhere more private,” the man said, ushering Kole out a door.

The room had grown silent as the constant scratching of quills on paper had died when the professor said Kole’s name.

Kole nodded and allowed himself to be guided through a door, down a hall, and into a small room with a desk.

The man sat behind the desk and gestured for Kole to take a seat.

Kole obliged, and then couldn’t help from asking, “Am I in trouble?

The man laughed, “Gods no! You performed outstandingly!”

Kole relaxed at that, still not sure why he was there.

“I’m Grand Master Lonin, but you can call me ’Professor Lonin’ or ’Master Lonin’ if you prefer. You, my boy, are remarkable.”

“I am?”

“You are. It’s not common that a prospective student of your age can identify up to fourth-tier spells, but it does occur. Never have I seen a first-year student identify all the fourth-tier spells in the standard test. In the end, I threw in some older, lesser-known spells, and you still figured them out. One I’d developed myself, and it didn’t even work properly, but still you deduced its intended purpose!”

The man had been serious, but his excitement was getting to him and his voice had grown more animated.

“And then the components! Who of your age knows that many? Half the proctors couldn’t have done a third as well as you had with those. In the end, I just wanted to see what you could do, and I laid out intent for you to copy.”

“I’m sorry about those,” Kole interrupted. “I didn’t have my scribing tools with me, so it was hard to do free hand.”

Professor Lonin laughed.

“Sorry? You did wonderfully! Yes, they will fade, but that was not the point of the test. Tell me, what drove someone such as you to learn so much about the construction of spellforms?”

The professor leaned forward, eager to hear Kole’s answer.

Is this it? Kole wondered. Was it that easy? Could this professor be interested in mentoring me?

Kole steadied himself and handed him the first sheet he’d filled out upon entering, and pointed to the innate magical talent section.

“I’m a primal, sir,” Kole said, and then hastily added. “And a sorcerer.”

Professor Lonin looked at the sheet, and then back to Kole.

“That’s not possible?” he said, more a question than a statement.

Kole just shrugged, “That’s what people keep telling me.”

“Amazing. But why would a primal know all of this? They can’t cast wizardry.”

“That’s not exactly true,” Kole corrected. “May I?”

He had used too much Will during the test to cast Shield, but he could still cast a cantrip if he used up all he had left.

With a nod of approval from the now fascinated wizard, Kole cast the Air cantrip, creating a well of air in his palm.

Lonin waved his hand through it, amazed.

“This is wizardry! How?!”

“Primals can cast spells. It just costs a lot of Will. That cantrip cost me about thirty. Being a primal and a sorcerer, my Will capacity was enough to just barely do so when I first started out.”

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“Thirty Will...” Lonin whispered. “How so much?”

“I think it has to do with the gates and paths modern wizardry uses. It costs a lot of Will for me to open my bridge to the gates required for spells. Older spells are easier though. Spell’s with offset gates are impossible for me to even attempt and if you go back far enough the complexity is balanced between the spell itself and the gate and path components. I found I could cast the oldest versions of Shield and Magic Missile I could salvage from the libraries back home.”

The older wizard’s eyes lit up as he connected the dots.

“That explains it. You learned all this spellform theory to delve into the depths of obsolete spells, and used your massive Will capacity to work at it longer than even an Apprentice could.”

Kole nodded a confirmation. He was only vaguely familiar with the wizard ranks the Academy had adopted from the tower, but he knew that the rank of Apprentice was for wizards able to cast second-tier spells, usually attained around 18 or later. Kole would be considered a Novice, though he knew if he could actually cast all the spells he was capable of crafting he could be considered at least an Apprentice.

“What would drive a child to such depths?”

“I want to be a wizard,” Kole explained. “I’ve wanted it my whole life. When my mother was lost, it gave my desire a purpose. When I first exhibited a sorcerous ability, I thought I’d been cleared of the possibility of being a primal like my mother. I didn’t have the innate sense for the Font other primals did, and I carried on with my studies. When I built my vault, the Font’s presence was absent, further relieving my worries about any latent primal abilities. But... when I opened my bridge, It was beside the Font of Illusions, essentially attached to the outside of the Font. Making my bridge open anywhere else costs more Will than a normal primal could muster at the age one decides to be a wizard. I kept this a secret though, and worked at it until my Will capacity grew enough to allow it.”

“Simply fascinating,” Lonin said and then began to leaf through the copies of Kole’s test papers before him.

One page caught his eye, and he pulled to the top, brow furrowing as he read.

“Why did you choose these courses?” he asked with suspicion.

Kole peaked over the edge of the seat and saw he was referring to the combat prerequisites for adventuring track.

“They are the standard classes required for wizard in adventuring track,” Kole answered uncertainly.

Was I wrong? Are they not?

“Oh,” Lonin said, dropping the sheets as if they were dirty. “I see.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Yes—well, no. I’m simply disappointed in wasted potential. I thought I might offer you an apprenticeship, but I see now that you are not the pure wizard I’d taken you to be. Your desire to be a wizard is not for the sake of knowledge but for the sake of fame, glory, and adventure.”

Kole was crushed by the dual realization that the very thing he needed to reach his dream was barred from him by that same dream. With a master to guide him, especially one with Lonin’s expertise, he’d finally become a wizard. He just had to give up on his parents.

“You won’t take me as an apprentice because I want to be an adventurer?” Kole knew the answer but had to ask on the off chance he’d misunderstood.

“Yes. I will not invest my time into a student who will squander their talent fighting trolls to find some lost trinket and gain the renown of some villagers. To be a wizard is to wield the tools of the gods, the very building blocks of reality. It’s our responsibility to use that power to improve the world and usher the Illusian races into a brighter future.”

“That’s not fair!” Kole couldn’t help but blurt out. “I only want to be an adventurer so I can gain the skills to save my parents. But even still, there would be no world left for wizards to improve if not for the adventurers of the past who saved us from doom. The Last Dragon War was won by adventurers, not armies. A wizard chief among them.”

Lonin let out a sigh and rubbed his forehead.

“I’m sorry, I may have judged too harshly. Not all adventurers are as I described. Many are true heroes and that wizard adventurer you speak of was a co-founder of this very school. Admission season always makes me bitter. I see so much potential all pursuing the wrong goals. Brilliant young minds striving to master simple spells of destruction, when they could be learned to bend reality to their will.”

“Does that mean you will take me on as an apprentice?” Kole asked, not daring to hope.

“No, I’m sorry, but I won’t reconsider that. I’m very demanding of the curriculum my apprentices take. I put much of my time and focus into my apprentices, and I expect they meet my efforts with equal focus.”

“I think you will be—”

“No,” Lonin interrupted. “I won’t reconsider, but I will leave my offer standing. If you come to your senses, come to me and I will take you as an apprentice.”

Crestfallen, Kole didn’t know what to say. He’d been so close.

After a moment of silence, Lonin continued. “If, however, you don’t change your mind, I recommend you find your way to my classes on spell crafting. I won’t take you as an apprentice, but I think you will excel at the art.”

“What do I need to take that?” Kole asked, hopefully.

Lonin handed Kole a piece of paper.

“You scored incredibly well on your placement.”

Kole examined the page, and it showed all the classes his test had tested him out of. His alchemy grades were poor, but he’d skipped some of the introductory history classes. He’d tested out of all the undergraduate math and spellform theory. His applied spellcraft scores were another matter and he only qualified for applied magics classes of the first tier, something his ability to cast Magic Missile and Shield should have tested him out of.

“You have tested out of all of the theoretical classes required for spell crafting, but you must be able to cast tier-two magic to take them. Also, to enter the class as an undergraduate, you require a sponsor of some sort.”

“A sponsor?” Kole asked.

“Yes. To take classes outside your major or level you need a faculty member or respected alumni to vouch for you. Generally, this is through formal apprenticeships of some sort.”

“Oh,” Kole said, disappointed.

Lonin was probably the only person in the school likely to be impressed with his particular brand of knowledge, and he’d already rejected him.

“Don’t be so disappointed. If you get a mentor for the adventuring track—as you seem so set on—they will sponsor you. And,” he added, mischievously. “If you don’t, my offer still stands.”

Kole shook Lonin’s hand before leaving with the record of his scores. He traveled out of the office and back through the lecture hall where the eyes of the entire room bore into him.

Don’t turn invisible.

Don’t turn invisible.

Don’t turn invisible.

He fought the urge until he got to the main hall, where the pressure lessened, and followed signs to the bursar's office.