When I arrived to get the details of my next assignment, I found another student waiting outside the office.
I was breathing hard and sweating through my shirt by the time I made it to the ninth floor. The stormy spring had given way to a punishing summer, and the late summer sun was baking the mountainside for eighteen hours a day. Moisture that smoked its way off the swamp with every sunrise found its way even up to the academy’s altitude, turning the air into a thick clinging soup, and the mountain stones continued to radiate heat even after sunset, making for miserable, often sleepless nights.
I paused in the corridor, resting my forehead against the stone wall. The tower was probably the only cold object for a hundred miles, and it had to be at least partly due to magic. If it hadn’t been so packed with Masters, Reeves, and graduate sorcerers, I’d have been tearing up the floors trying to work out how they did it.
I caught sight of the other student just as I was catching my breath.
She was an inch taller than me and looked two or three years older, with a combination of auburn hair and light skin that reminded me of Terese. An Initiate’s robe hung across her back like a cape, more faded and tattered than mine, held at her throat with a bone pin. She wasn’t armed, but held herself with a casual confidence that made her seem dangerous anyway.
She raised an eyebrow at me, and I pulled myself away from the wall.
I straightened up. I counted the doors, checking I was in the right place. There was no sign on the wall, but this was where the clerk at the entrance had directed me. I stepped forward to stand by the door.
“Here for an assignment?” she asked.
She spoke with a northern Cortissian accent similar to Terese’s. North Cortiss was a mountainous region of isolated villages, all sticking close to ancient traditions. I had the impression that the difference in culture between her home and the academy had been as much a shock to her as the violence and punishments.
“Yes,” I said. “If this is Reeve Whitford’s office.”
“It is. It looks like we’ll be combining our efforts.”
She assessed me as she spoke, her eyes going from my face, to the silk cantogram sewed onto the sackcloth scarf around my throat, then down to the reed ring strung on a cord around my wrist. Finally she noted the short sword at my hip.
“They do that?” I asked. “Pair people up for assignments?”
“For some tasks,” she said. “I’m Gail.”
“Dorian.”
She stared at me for a few more seconds. I felt like she wanted to ask about the cantogram around my throat, but she kept her silence.
The cantogrammed scarf was my first and so far only successful embroidered cantogram. I’d spun the spider silk thread myself, layering days’ worth of webs into a long strip, cleaning them of dust and trapped bugs, then twisting that into a roughly consistent thread strong enough to pull through fabric.
I’d decided my first stitched project would be Sky’s Appetite, the maja-absorbing cantogram I’d used to block Mira’s Agony aspect. Not only was it one of the more simple designs, but something that could block the relatively low-energy aspects like Thought and Dream would be immediately useful. While I wore it, I wouldn’t have to worry about other sorcerers trying to infiltrate my thoughts with their own, or being trapped in illusions, or being brought down with illusory pain, at least by sorcerers and spirits around my level.
Beyond the embroidered Sky’s Appetite, I had a scroll scribed with the Spirit Siphon canto, which was weak but still useful against spirits like of Sacrasmodi. I also had my Night’s Welcome lantern, disassembled and stored between the pages of my journal.
I didn’t currently have any cantos drawn on my skin. They used too much ink to apply every day without reason, and in the late summer heat they smeared too quickly to go around with just as a precaution.
I’d stopped wearing the reed ring a week after bartering it from Olner. The spirit scrived inside it was constantly alert and constantly suspicious, and wearing it encouraged me to be the same. According to the spirit’s judgment, Jason was plotting something half the time we were together, and Alexa was a constant threat, for all that she’d given me a steel pen nib as a gift at Spring’s End. It even warned me occasionally of Adrian, giving me visions of the skewered bird late in the evening when we’d spent too long in close quarters. It fluttered in the corners of my vision when I was being watched, but that had only revealed that I was always being watched; the native Antorxian students in the barracks watched me, and the older students outside watched me, and the soldiers, and the Masters. We were all watching each other, all on guard, all suspicious. I’d been naive not to see it before. I didn’t distrust the spirit’s judgment, but just knowing how much danger surrounded me was a threat all on its own. Being constantly on guard was exhausting, and when everything around me was a threat, being warned of threats lost its value. These days I kept it close, but didn’t live under its effects.
I was tempted to put it on now to test it against Gail, except I already knew that the spirit wouldn’t like her. She’d been here longer than me, and despite also being an Initiate she was probably stronger. That made her a threat all on its own. She’d been tutored in the same sorcerer philosophy that I had, so I couldn’t count on her acting according to any kind of sane morality. And if we were going to be working together, that meant her survival might depend on my performance. I didn’t think she’d hesitate to leave me to die, or even attack me herself, if she thought it would help her.
I looked from her to the door to Reeve Whitford’s office. It was my first time getting an assignment from a Reeve, rather than a Master, and only my second assignment where the details hadn’t been written on the scroll. The first was when Master Antonyx had sent me to find records at Fort Msiesetr. I hoped this one wouldn’t be as dangerous.
“What do you think it will be?” I asked her.
“Couldn’t guess. The last time I was paired with another student, I had to hunt down some Cortissian spies in the swamp.”
“Spies?” I said. “This close to the academy?”
“Yes. Some devouts of Sonnolace. They made it through all the soldiers and checkpoints and got halfway to the academy, unnoticed and unchallenged. Then they encountered me.”
“What were they doing here?”
If Cortiss’s’ forces really could reach the academy, then maybe they could take students away with them. They might not care about me, but Tom, Terese, and Jason had all been Cortissian citizens before they were brought there.
“From what they were carrying, it seems like they were planning a mass poisoning,” she said, seeming to find the idea amusing. “I wonder if they thought something as mundane as poisoning a cistern would hurt the academy. More would have come out of it stronger than dead.”
The brief fantasy I’d been entertaining of courageous Cortissian spies staging a rescue mission turned to ash, leaving a bitter taste on my tongue. If they were planning a poisoning, then it couldn’t have been targeting the actual staff. They were too strong and too protected.
“You think they were going to poison us?” I asked.
She gave me a look like she thought I was stupid. “I’d be surprised if mortal poisons could even affect a Master.”
I swallowed the bitter taste. They probably had been coming for the students. If I actually ran into any Cortissian agents out in the swamp, there was every chance they’d just see me as another Antorxian sorcerer.
The office door opened a minute later. Inside was a messy room, brightly lit by a narrow window on the back wall. A man in Antorxian business attire stood in the doorway, a white shirt laced tightly around his neck beneath a buttoned vest of glossy blue fabric. He had a short graying beard and hair that was receding in a sharp widow’s peak. He stared out at us with his eyes narrowed, his lips parted in an expression of disapproval that had been there before he’d even seen us.
I let my eyes unfocus slightly, feeling for his maja on reflex.
The academy Masters were more powerful than Reeves, ‘Master’ being the highest rank the sorcerers gave out, but they actually gave less of a spiritual impression than this man. His maja swirled with a feeling like dry darkness, a close, closed-in impression that made me think of the inside of a broom cupboard. The strength of the feeling was shocking, many times heavier than the strongest student I’d felt.
He didn’t exactly look like a sorcerer, but I didn’t doubt he’d be as strong as any Reeve on the battlefield.
“What is it?” he asked.
“We’re here for our assignments, Lordship,” Gail said.
The man’s mouth briefly twisted into a sneer.
“Don’t call me that,” he said. “I don’t care for Antorxian titles. I’m Reeve Whitford to you.”
“As you wish, Reeve,” Gail said.
Whitford looked from her to me. His lips closed and he gave me a dismissive grimace.
“Come in and close the door,” he said, turning back and heading for his desk.
I followed him in and Gail stepped through behind me, turning to slam the wooden door shut in its frame.
At the desk, Whitford dug through a pile of papers before pulling out a scroll that’d been squashed flat. He handed it to Gail without even looking at me. She undid the cord and started to unroll it.
“Two students ran last week,” he said, addressing his desk as he returned his attention to a sealed letter. “Both Initiates. Both from last summer’s intake.”
Gail finished unwrapping the scroll, glanced at it, then turned it so I could see. Two faces, sketched in ink. One of them was a thick-bodied man in his thirties, a label under the drawing naming him Gortan Oak. The other was a younger boy of about fifteen, with rounded features and a scarred lip. I recognized him. It was Seil, Mira’s lackey who I’d fought a few months ago. He’d hit me on the back of the head with a club. According to the scroll, his full name was Seil Zolomein.
“They been here most of a year, then,” Gail said.
“Exactly,” Whitford said. He pulled a thin-bladed black dagger seemingly out of nowhere and used it to slice the letter open, drawing the point against the top edge of the envelope like he was performing surgery. “The garrison reported them missing four days ago, so they have a head start.”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Is this a capture, or a kill?” Gail asked.
My stomach flipped at the question. I’d fought the spirits of runaway students before, but I never been asked to hunt people.
I’d wondered about what I’d do if I ever got that assignment.
In the privacy of my mind, I’d promised myself that I’d refuse a request to hunt a runaway outright. I was never going to hunt and hurt people for the Antorxians, and I certainly wasn’t going to drag them back here. I’d fail an assignment before I crossed that line.
As I stared at Reeve Whitford’s stern, demanding expression, that resolve didn’t waver. But I did decide outright declaring my refusal wouldn’t be productive. A silent rebellion wouldn’t be any more damning than a loud one, and would be considerably less likely to get me stabbed, either by the Reeve or by Gail.
“Bring them back alive if you can,” Whitford said. “Bury them in the swamp if not. Obviously the military has their details. They’ll be killed on sight if they actually make it out, and I’d rather some of ours have the chance to learn from the experience than wasting it on idiots with crossbows.”
Gail took the information without emotion. She might as well have been listening to the details of the Reeve’s breakfast order.
“They were last seen heading south off the mountain down the old foot track,” Whitford went on. “That would have them going through the South Wilds Wetlands. The screamers would have stopped them taking the direct route out across the shallows, so it’s likely they’ll be following the old trade track on foot.”
I wasn’t familiar with all the swamp’s geography, but I knew the general area he was talking about. It was a messy, constantly shifting wetland broken up by land banks, like much of the swamp, but in the South Wilds, the land banks joined up, forming a long, meandering path that could be walked without ever setting foot in water. I hadn’t heard of the screamers before, but it was safe to assume they were some kind of local spirit life.
I glanced at Gail. She was only half listening, probably already thinking about how we were going to catch up with them. I wasn’t going to waste any energy on planning. My objective in this was to let them escape. With a four day head start along a restricted path, it seemed a fairly safe bet that they would.
I didn’t want to fail an assignment, but if letting them go meant failing then I was willing to do it. It would take two failures in a row to trigger the failure’s fate, and between my own abilities and help from the group, I felt safe in leaning on that leeway.
Gail was lost in thought and I took advantage of the lull to ask a question.
“What constitutes failure for this assignment?” I said to Whitford.
If there was some wriggle room, I might be able to thread the needle of letting them go without failing.
“If they escape, obviously,” Whitford said.
There didn’t seem to be much wriggle room there.
“What if we kill them?” I asked instead. “Do we need to bring back proof of their deaths?”
His expression turned to cruel amusement. “Why would I need proof? Do you think you could deceive me with a false report?”
I shot a glance at Gail, who was starting to look irritated at me.
“I suppose not,” I said, though I didn’t know exactly what he was talking about.
“Those images are likenesses of the runaways,” Whitford added. “Though I doubt you’ll need them. There aren’t that many sorcerers running around the southern swamp that you’ll have trouble identifying them.”
He looked at Gail, then at me, as if he was anticipating another question.
“What if they’ve already been killed by the wild spirits of the swamp?” I asked.
“So far they haven’t,” he replied. “But if you become convinced of that during the pursuit, then I’ll count it as a neutral result. It won’t count against you as a failure, but I won’t reward your effort.”
That seemed like a possible way out. I’d just need to become convinced that they’d died during their flight through the swamp. It shouldn’t be that hard. In all likelihood they would.
That seemed to burn through the last of his patience for questions.
"Go, now. The runaways may already be four days ahead of you, and you only have seven to find them and report back.
“Reeveship,” Gail said as a farewell, turning away from him.
She headed towards the door, folding the scroll as she went and stuffing it into a sling bag that hung around her shoulder.
I went quickly after her.
“Are you ready to go now?” she asked as we walked away down the corridor.
“I need to stop at the barracks first,” I said. “I have something to take care of.”
“I’m glad. I was worried you’d be leaving unprepared.”
We walked a dozen feet in silence before I decided Gail probably wasn’t one of the students who’d skewer me for asking a question.
“What did he mean about us not being able to deceive him?” I asked.
Gail was quiet at first, answering after what felt like a calculated pause.
“They can feel a lie in your maja,” she said. “And so can I, in case you were tempted.”
“How can they feel it?”
She looked away from me to face in the direction we were walking. “Your maja twists depending on what you’re thinking and planning. It can betray your thoughts as easily as your face and eyes, and most mages have less experience in schooling their maja than their expression.”
I followed her in silence for a minute. I’d read something similar, but in a context where it was used as a technique to anticipate an enemy mage’s moves in combat.
I let my eyes unfocus as we walked, feeling for her maja, looking for any sign of what she was talking about.
She was a ball of crackling energy next to me. Her maja gave a sharp, prickling impression, like straw husks on bare skin. I could feel movement in it, making me think of mice moving in straw, but it was constant, with no clear change from one moment to the next. Would it change if she lied?
“You’re Cortissian aren’t you?” I asked.
“I was,” she said easily.
Her maja continued its steady, rustling motion.
“Didn’t you feel guilty about killing those Cortissian spies?” I asked.
I’d intended the question to provoke her, so that I’d feel any change in her maja. The sharp look she gave me made me regret it.
“Why are you bringing that up now?” she asked.
“I was just curious,” I said. “We have to work with each other.”
“No I didn’t,” she said. “They were stupid to come here, and stupid to try and stand against me. Death was the best possible end they could expect to find this side of the swamp. Giving it to them was my kindness.”
The feeling of motion in her maja did change as she spoke, stilling at her admission, becoming more active as she spoke about death. The prickling feeling of her maja became more intense towards the end. Unfortunately, it was all noise to me. I didn’t have the ear for it. It was like hearing a new language for the first time.
“I have to stop by my dormitory on the way out, as well,” Gail said as we reached the tower’s main stairway.
“You’re in a dormitory?” I asked.
The students of higher ranks were given their own small stone houses to live in, but I didn’t know where the older students who still hadn’t made it past Initiate were staying. I’d seen them around the academy, people in robes the same shade of gray as mine, but I hadn’t seen where they were coming from.
“We used to be in the barracks by the wash house. We all start there. Those of us who failed to reach Potentiate moved out to a building the garrison wasn’t using,” she answered.
“You’re allowed to do that?” I asked.
“We weren’t allowed, we simply did it. That’s what having power means,” she said.
This time I felt another fluctuation in her maja, a rustling like someone had just upended an entire bin of straw, and the entire pile was moving and rustling, threatening to spill out.
We started heading down the stairs. My thoughts were already rushing ahead to when we left the tower and headed back to the cells. I didn’t want to bring Gail to the barracks. She’d terrify Tom, apart from anything else.
“Shall we split up and meet at the gate?” I said.
“Fine. Meet me there in an hour.”
We were only halfway down the stairway to the ground level of the tower, but it seemed like she was done letting me slow her down. She leaped the remaining steps on our current flight, throwing herself down the staircase, pivoting on the landing below, then darting out of sight back in the other direction.
I paused on the stairs, watching her go. I hadn’t even felt her maja flare. She must have done that entirely through body reinforcement techniques.
I didn’t think I’d be able to do that, even with the speed-enhancement technique I’d learned from the notes on the Behr’s body.
I walked the rest of the way to the ground floor at my purely mortal speed. It gave me time to think. I wasn’t going to actively hunt the runaways, and they had enough of a head start that I didn’t feel like I’d need to drag my feet much, but I couldn’t ignore the possibility that Gail did have the skill, speed, and magic needed to catch up with them, potentially dragging me along with her.
If we did catch up with them, I didn’t know what I’d do. Just stand aside? Run away? Neither option sat well with me. The alternative was even less palatable — that I’d find myself taking the insane path of trying to fight Gail.