“Are you sure you want to join my study groups?” Master Astori asked, seeming to accept Otis and Samuel’s reason for interrupting his lunch in stride. “If you think I’m hard on you in your normal studies, then you won’t be able to handle how hard I push you in the study group.”
Samuel hesitated, uncertain, but caught a tiny nod of encouragement from Otis, and nodded as well. “Yes, Master Astori. I’ll work as hard as I can, and I won’t be behind for long.”
Astori looked between Samuel and Otis, and let out a sigh. The sound was halfway between exasperated and commiserating. Samuel wasn’t sure why he reacted in such a manner, until he said, “I see your nasty streak persists, Rainhall. I should have known that was what you were playing at from the start.”
Otis shrugged diffidently, still grinning widely. “You make me sound like a monster, Master. I wouldn’t have told him about the study group if I didn’t think he was up to it.”
“I’m up to it!” Samuel confirmed. Whatever it was, he’d rise to the challenge. He was sure of that much at least. He became less sure when Astori spoke next.
“I have a requirement for those who wish to join my private lessons, Bragg. I don’t just accept anybody.”
“What do I have to do?” Samuel asked eagerly, but Astori held up a hand to stop him.
“Don’t interrupt me.”
“Yes, Master. My apologies.”
“For my private lessons, it is not a matter of memorizing text and practicing the spells I share with you. There is none of that nonsense past the first year. You have to prove that you have the magical mastery required to be a truly unique mage.”
He paused them, looking at him intensely from under those dark eyebrows. Samuel bit his lip uncertainly for a moment, then dared to ask, “What makes someone a truly unique mage?”
Instead of answering, Master Astori gestured to Otis. “Show him.”
Otis nodded, then lifted one hand in the air, clenched into a fist. There was a flash of mana - Otis didn’t bother to utter an incantation - and a long, flexible rope of bright blue light appeared in his hand. It dangled to the floor, about fifty feet long. He then gave the rope a flick, making it fly across the room and wrap itself around a chair. With a light yank, the chair was pulled back to Otis, who covered his other hand in mana and punched it, shattering the chair into a thousand splinters of wood.
Samuel flinched at the sudden wave of bits of wood, and Astori let out another sigh. “Surely it would have been enough to simply pull the chair, Adept Rainhall? Must you insist on destroying my classroom chair by chair?”
Otis laughed, releasing the rope, which vanished into thin air as if it hadn’t existed. Then he made a twirling gesture with his hand, and the chair reformed in mid-air from all its splinters, finally settling on the classroom floor with a gentle thunk.
“What you’ve just seen Rainhall perform is a unique spell,” Astori explained. “Well, two of them, to be exact. No teacher or student at this college taught him those.”
“Like how Archmage Ashara created ‘God’s Eye’,” Otis added. “It’s a rite of passage, in a way. True mages should contribute to the college in some way. Some, the richer members, do it by giving gold. But most do it by creating unique spells. The Masters and Archmages then add those spells to the College’s tomes, and teach them to the other students.”
“So in order to join your study group,” Samuel asked, “I have to come up with a unique spell?”
Both Master Astori and Otis nodded confirmation, and Samuel frowned. He hadn’t wavered in the slightest in his desire to prove himself and join the study group. But to make his own unique spell? Was he even capable of that, knowing so little about magic as he did? Sure, others had achieved the feat, but they’d done it with years of practice. Apparently, the feat was so prestigious that it could elevate your status as a mage. Archmage Ashara was a prime example. Barely any older than Samuel, she was already at the highest rank within the College, responsible for an entire school of magic.
“Am I allowed to seek help from my teachers and other students to make the spell?” He asked.
Astori nodded again, but more slowly. “That is acceptable. I personally won’t help you, as I believe that may seem like favoritism. But you are free to gain knowledge, advice, or even inspiration from others, so long as the spell you create is yours.”
In spite of the size of the challenge facing him, Samuel was starting to feel more eager to tackle it. The mere thought of being the creator of a spell was enticing enough, but to him, it was nothing more than a step he must take to get to what he truly wanted. He would have Astori accept him, and he’d get there as soon as he possibly could. Fighting to keep his face neutral, he gave Master Astori a respectful bow.
“Thank you, Master Astori. I’ll get to work straight away.”
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The teacher gave a lazy wave of acknowledgment, looking slightly perturbed at Samuel’s eagerness. “Yes, yes. Just remember your essay is due tomorrow.”
A measly essay. Samuel almost laughed but restrained the impulse. As if an essay summarizing the school of Transmutation would be anything. He’d whip that paper up before dinner, and get straight to work on creating his unique spell. Would he make an attack spell so powerful that its like hadn’t been seen before? Or perhaps a Restoration spell so powerful that it could belong in a Master’s repertoire?
“You’d think I’d just promised him wealth beyond his imagination,” he managed to hear Astori say as he left the classroom. “Every other student recognized how difficult that task was.”
“I think that just means he’s that special,” Otis replied quietly. “The idea of the challenge excites him.”
“Perhaps he’s just insane. Only time will tell if he is madman or genius.”
----------------------------------------
By the end of the day, Samuel had finished all the assignments that his teachers had set him. As expected, they were complete before Arthur called him down to the kitchen for dinner. Alas, he’d had no such luck when it came to researching unique types of magic. One of the attendants at the library had directed him to a thick tome named Milagre College Spell Glossary, which listed every spell currently taught at the College. Sadly, they were only named, and no incantations were written; presumably to prevent younger students harming themselves.
“I remember when I used to read during dinner,” Mari said, grinning down the table at Samuel, who was still poring through the spell glossary. “Remember those days, Torrand?”
The old warrior let out a snort of laughter. “Took me ages to break you of that.”
Samuel looked up, nonplussed, as Mari shot back, “I bet you wish you could exert that authority over Samuel.”
Several others at the table chuckled quietly. To Samuel’s chagrin, he noticed that even Shigeru had smirked slightly. “Sorry. That was rude of me.”
He closed the book and focused on the plate of food in front of him. Nobody commented on his apparent poor manners, but Seamus did add in jokingly, “I was starting to worry another chef had captured your palate.”
“Oh, it’s only a matter of time,” Torrand said with a slight smile. “You’re a fantastic chef, Seamus. But once he meets Mandra, you’ll lose him.”
The fat chef nodded sadly, his face sinking. “I’d ask that woman to teach me if I wasn’t certain she’d refuse.”
More laughter this time. Samuel, lost in the proceedings, asked, “Who is this Mandra person?”
“She owns a tavern and inn near the edge of town,” Arthur explained. “It’s called the Heron.”
“Famous place,” Mari said. “I heard even old King Gorteau tried to hire her as his personal chef.”
Samuel found his interest rising higher but didn’t want to seem too eager for fear of hurting Seamus’ feelings. The chef seemed to notice his curiosity, however, and let out a laugh. “I won’t be too hurt if you try her food, young master. But be warned; it’s a very busy place. I know you like a peaceful atmosphere, and you won’t find it there.”
“It’s not so bad when she’s got music in the house,” Mari said fairly. “She told me a famous bard would be performing there after Temple Day.”
Temple Day. The fifth and final day of the week, it was always dedicated to the gods. Followers flocked to the nearest place of worship for the god they followed - and even those they weren’t close to - and offered worship, tribute, and appreciation. Even Harlest participated in the practice. Barely anyone worked before mid-day on Temple Day. Only after the lunch hour had come and gone did they return to what needed to be done.
“So, Samuel,” Mari asked, turning to face him again. “How are you enjoying the College so far?”
“Quite a bit,” Samuel said honestly. “I finally got the hang of casting spells without talking.”
Mari’s eyes widened at the prospect, a reaction he was used to within the school already. “You can silent cast so soon?”
He glanced quickly toward Shigeru and the black cat that napped lazily beside his plate. He was sure that Grimr knew he was looking, but those violet eyes remained close. “Yes. It was hard, but a friend told me I should try to silent cast from the beginning, to get better control of my mana.”
“It’s a good idea,” she said, nodding slowly and picking up her glass. After a long sip, she added, “But I can only cast a few spells silently. It’s very difficult. Good on you for starting early.”
“I’ve been told I can join Master Astori’s study groups,” he added.
At that, Mari nearly dropped her glass. “What? In your first year! That’s unheard of!”
Samuel shrugged lightly, trying not to look too pleased with himself. “Well, I haven’t joined yet. I have to create a unique spell first.”
Mari gave a very obvious sigh of relief. “Thank the Mother. I would have been petrified if you’d passed me up in just a week.”
Arthur let out a quiet chuckle at that, as did Torrand. “You’ve created your own spell, haven’t you Mari?”
Her face twisted in a face of displeasure. “If you can call it a spell.”
Sensing Samuel’s curiosity aimed at her, she hurried to clarify. “I just modified a basic spell. Have you learned how to create a spout of water yet?”
Samuel nodded. Master Moran had taught them the spell just a few days prior. Mari smiled and explained, “I came up with a way to twist the spout, making it much faster.”
“And a whole lot more powerful,” Torrand grumbled darkly. “Nearly collapsed the guard's house on us.”
A bright red flush crept over Mari’s face, and she looked down at her plate. “I wish you’d stop bringing that up.”
“It’s the joy of any father to remind their children of early mistakes,” Torrand said with a laugh, lifting his mug in a mock toast to her. “Your father would be furious with me if I didn’t take over that responsibility.”
Just then, the door to the dining hall opened, and Clara stepped in. Her apron and simple clothing were covered in flour, but her arms and hands were spotless, and she was holding several sealed envelopes. “Apologies for the interruption, Lord Bragg.”
“It’s fine, Clara,” Samuel said, “And it’s Samuel, remember?”
“Err, right, sorry.” She quickly walked over to him and held out the envelopes. “Some letters arrived for you from Harlest, S-Samuel.”
He took them eagerly, looking down at the different handwriting. There were three; one each from Thomas, James, and Sera. “Excellent. I’ll open them after dinner. Thank you, Clara.”