The Capital City of Gremelda
Mage's Council
Ed stared at the stack of letters sprawled across his desk like a conquering army. More like a plague of locusts, he thought wryly.
Sighing, he picked up the next and sliced it open with the thin letter opener. One of the few things he hadn’t turned to ash in his purge of the useless junk kept by the room’s previous occupant.
“Another one,” Ed muttered to himself. Tossing it into the ever-growing pile of inquiries asking to discuss Quinten’s marriage prospects. Resisting the urge to set fire to the desk itself, he ran his hands down his face.
“You know it’s only going to get worse, don’t you?” A voice said, from what Ed had thought was the closed door to his office.
Jerking in his seat, Ed conjured a ball of flame on instinct, but froze when he realized who it was standing in his doorway.
“Archmage Highbridge, you surprised me.” He said, letting the flames die out. Rising to his feet, he bowed his head.
With an unamused expression, she said, “Surprised by me coming to see you so soon, maybe. But I bet you aren’t surprised that I would want to speak with you, or am I wrong?”
Ed stared at the woman, and tried to puzzle out her motive for coming to him, instead of forcing the reverse. They had never had a close relationship before he stepped down from the Council and had no reason to speak until rejoining it the previous year. Even his theory surrounding the Mage Plague, as it had become known, was funneled through the Mage Council and not direct communication between the two of them.
The Archmage was an enigma. Though a few years older than Ed's sixty-two years, she appeared to be in her mid-thirties. With long black hair that she had coiled into an elaborate style, she was every bit the stunning woman she’d been the day she became Archmage. Something that still unsettled Ed. As far as he knew, her life before her nomination was still a complete mystery, her past shrouded in shadow. She had been selected by the Council just before Ed’s invitation to join, and not once had he heard her name mentioned prior to her ascension. What little he knew of her came from secondhand accounts: she had married young, had a son, and tragically lost her husband a few years after their child was born.
Choosing to pretend ignorance, Ed replied, “I cannot say that I am surprised, no.” With a wave of his arm encompassing the sea of paper on his desk, he continued, “But I can admit to not expecting this much… interest.”
Taking in the table’s contents herself, the Archmage nodded. “Yes, you have been away from Gremelda for a long time and have not seen the battlefield that finding a husband has become.”
Her tone shifted minutely, and if Ed had not been so on edge, he might have missed it.
“And that leads me back to my reason for coming here. Your grandson is a mage, a powerful one at that, and you did not notify the Council? How am I to take that positively, Councilmen Wycliffe?”
“With all due respect, Archmage. You can take it however you’d like.”
Ed watched her eyes widen at the blunt statement. Well done, you old goat, playing ignorant lasted for all of two sentences. He doubted there were many in the kingdom willing to speak in such a manner to a woman this powerful, and his choosing to do so would not be quickly forgotten.
After only a moment’s hesitation, those same eyes narrowed in irritation, demanding, “Excuse me?”
“I made the decision that I felt was best for my family, Archmage. In this case, it was to keep the knowledge that my grandson was Gifted, quiet.” Waving once more at the letters, “If this is any indication, I was right in doing so. We had the means and ability to teach him the basics of magic, and to prepare him for the Academy without all of—this.” He said, his grand gesture managing to encapsulate the Mages Council, the Capital, and all the politics within, in a single motion. “And it is a choice we would willingly make again.”
The unblinking stare and lack of reaction his outburst brought to the Archmage’s face, made Ed’s skin crawl. Her eyes seemed to dissect him piece by piece, his every word under scrutiny.
The Archmage’s unblinking stare and the absence of any reaction to his outburst, made Ed’s skin crawl. Her eyes, dissecting him piece by piece, scrutinizing every word he spoke.
“Yes… I have heard how well you and your wife taught him the basics.” Her pointed emphasis on the singular, only deepened the prickling sensation under his skin. “Young Quinten has already drawn the attention of the Mage Academy’s Headmistress—I would not be surprised if you saw a letter from her or one of her friends joining that pile.”
Unsure of how to respond, Ed remained silent, simply returning her gaze. But a cold sweat began to form at the direction the conversation was heading.
“I will be watching him as well, and look forward to meeting him at the Academy’s Mid-year Ball. If he continues to impress, I may have a few candidates of my own for you to consider.”
With that, she turned and strode out of Ed’s office. He watched her go, holding his breath until he was sure she was gone. All but falling into his chair, he unceremoniously lifted his feet up on the desk, crushing parchment and scuffing the unmarred white. He thought it was fitting. He felt just like the tarnished paper after that conversation.
Pushing his chair back on to its rear legs, staring up at the ceiling in concern. He hoped for a simple answer to the situation. He remained fixated on the white stone with accented timbers for a long, long time.
*****
Mage Academy
Quinten ducked the punch as it came in too slowly to be anything but a trap. Stepping back and to the side, he pivoted. Boots crunching in the dirt as he shifted his footing. His hard toe cap connecting with the inside of his opponent’s thigh, earning a grunt. The man’s breath fogging in the chilly Spring air. His next step nearly making the leg buckle.
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Refusing to capitalize on the opening, Quinten spun. Just in time to see the second guard back on his feet and charging.
Unable to keep the exhilaration off his face, Quinten grinned, the early morning light giving his face the healthy glow of youth and new growth.
Bracing himself to meet the man, Quinten sprawled on top. Splaying his legs and keeping his balance. The elbow crashing into the guard's head, dropped him face first into the dirt, making up the training yard. Turning back to the man with the bum leg, Q raised both fists and beckoned him forward.
Guard Captain Reece took one step forward and winced, waving Q off in surrender.
“That’s enough for me, my lord. You’re too good to fight alone, and I’ll need to walk if I want to complete my duties for the day. I would appreciate Healer Hastings taking a look at Sergeant Nichols if he wouldn’t mind. We can’t afford to have him out, not today at least.”
Ronan, already striding over to the groaning man who was slowly working his way to his hands and knees, called, “Not a Healer, at least not yet.”
“You heal, you’re a Healer—Mage Hastings.” Reece said, deferentially.
Reaching the captain, Quinten traded grips with the man. “Thank you for the spar. Garrick, the man who oversaw my training, would never forgive me if I let it go to waste.”
Wiping the sweat from his brow, he said, “The pleasure is mine. It’s not often we get shown such respect, getting asked to train with a member of the nobility.”
“What’s going on today? If you don’t mind sharing.”
Reece looked at him askance before shrugging and saying, “We have some important guests coming through today. It’s not altogether uncommon. But—every aspect of the Academy must present with its best foot forward.” The last spoken as if having heard it said enough to become memory.
Frowning, Quinten asked, “Do you have to escort the guests while they are here? I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of your guards away from the gate or walls.”
“Stars above,” the captain snorted. “The headmistress would never allow the likes of us to sully her Academy. No offense, my lord.”
“None taken.”
“We are here to protect you from anyone trying to breach the gates or slip over the wall. We have no authority within them, not when nine-in-ten of the residents are mages or nobles in their own right.”
It made a certain kind of sense, even if it did make Quinten feel for the older man. He assumed the captain was well paid for a relatively easy position. He clearly didn’t do it for the love of its hallowed halls.
*****
“We really shouldn’t be doing this,” muttered Ronan as the three shuffled down the hallway. Quinten’s wind screen keeping the sound of their passage contained within.
“Come off it, Ronan. You know these two deserve it. How many times has he done something like this to you?” Asked Cedric, gently pushing him forward.
Quinten, using a combination of air elemental and mind magic, he’d discovered in the library a couple of weeks earlier, created a reflective surface in his cupped hand, allowing him to see around the corner
“Fine, fine. You are sure they have gone to dinner though?”
“Cedric and I watched them leave with the other first-year boys a little while ago. We’re doing this. If you want to wait in my room, you’re more than welcome to.”
Ronan didn’t answer, but chose to stay with them. It was Cedric who filled the silence. “Did you two know that bird wings are shaped differently depending on how they are used for flight?”
Stopping, Quinten turned to look at his friend in confusion. “What?” Ronan’s equally perplexed expression conveying his own.
“Nothing, just something I read in the library.”
Quinten turned back to their mission, but could hear Ronan ask, “Why are you reading about birds?”
Taking a quick peek behind him. He saw Cedric shrug, saying, “They can fly,” as if it were answer enough.
Reaching their target, Quinten pulled out a ball of mud from within his robe. Holding it up to the keyhole, he manipulated it with his Gift. He pushed the mud into the lock, shaping it to fit the inner tumblers. When he had the fit just right, he transmuted the mud and created a stone key. Turning it, he heard as much as felt the satisfying click of the door unlocking, allowing the trio access to the quarters of one, Lord Taylor Hastings.
*****
Quinten felt it the moment his orb of compressed air was disrupted, but it was the loud bang that told them when their prank was discovered. The gagging noise that accompanied the sound of pounding feet running down the hallway had them all grinning.
Opening the door, they followed the stream of boys as they ran to see what’d caused the commotion. Stopping a few feet from what Quinten knew to be Taylor’s room, the group of first-year boys fanned out with several covering their noses.
The smell of horse dung was just strong enough to reach Quinten, Ronan, and Cedric in the back.
“Stars above, it’s like a horse pat exploded in there.” The closest boy called. “It’s covering everything, even the bed on the ceiling.”
“You mean the bed and the ceiling?” Said Reginald, his voice coming out nasally through his plugged nose. Pushing his way to the front. He froze, looking up.
One-by-one, the line of young men had their chance to see into the room as if it were some kind of roadside attraction. When it was their turn, Quinten and Cedric looked on in appreciation of their work, while Ronan surveyed those around them anxiously.
The desk and chair had been easy. The legs on each were attached with nails, and therefore, not a continuous piece. Making it simple for Quinten to transmute and affix to the room’s stone ceiling. The bed had been a trickier matter to pull off. Actually getting the frame to stay inverted wasn’t the problem, it was the mattress, pillows, and blanket that’d made the task difficult. Through a creative use of string and a delicate application of transmutation, suggested by Ronan, they’d made do and figured out a solution.
“For the love of stars, that is ripe.” Said Cedric with a muffled laugh, almost managing to turn it into a believable coughing fit.
“It was you!” Said a voice from behind them, cracking on the last vowel.
Everyone turned to see Taylor, soaking wet and still smelling like a horse stall, pointing at Ronan. His shoulders rising and falling as he took great gulps of air.
“You think I did this?” Ronan asked his brother, incredulous.
“Yes!”
The watching boys kept looking back and forth between the two brothers like it was a game of fire-toss.
“Taylor, how could I have? You know where my Mental gifts lie.”
Pointing an accusing finger at Quinten and Cedrick, he said, “They helped you.”
“It wasn’t us. We just returned from dinner,” objected Cedric, to which a few of the surrounding boys nodded their head in agreement, having seen them return.
“That is a pretty good way to leave a message.” Remarked Quinten in a mild tone, clasping his hands behind his back as he gave the room another once over.
Frowning, Taylor took a second look at his room. His pallor going slightly green at the sight and smell. “How could this be someone leaving a message?”
Quinten didn’t think the question was meant for him, but he answered anyway. “That if your manners are horseshit, then horseshit is what you get.”
Taylor met his eyes before quickly looking away.
*****
Reginald, hearing the cold statement from the traitor’s son, recognized it for what it was.
Wanting no part in whatever came next, he crept backward through the boys crowding the hallway. Reaching his door, he pushed it open, not noticing the attached string as it passed through the bubble of compressed air.
The explosion made him piss himself.
Thankfully, his robes were able to hide that fact. Once he’d picked himself up off the floor and managed to get his heartbeat back under control. He would soon realize he was far luckier than his friend.
Even if he’d need help getting his furniture off the ceiling, at least his room was only coated in shaving lather.