Becoming a magician should not be boring, thought Chrysanthemum. If she were in charge of this ceremony, there would be glorious illusions, speakers arriving on galloping sofas, performing anteaters, an orchestra in mid-air. Instead she got to sit on a hard chair and listen to entirely predictable speeches, badly delivered. The Etheric Tower was the third and final step in Chrysanthemum’s schooling in the art magic and, in her opinion, sadly lacking in style.

First the Head gave the standard welcome to students and guests, and then droned on about the bright and prosperous future that awaited the graduates, equipped as they were with great talent and an excellent education. An Old Girl who had risen to Third Deputy of the Flowing Water Circle read the names of those who had come top of the class - no surprises there, and they came out to receive scrolls and medals. The Old Girl then again assured the graduates of a prosperous future, extolled Flowing Water as a career and was embarking on an extended reminiscence of her schooldays when recalled by a nudge from the Head to the main business of the day.

Graduates came forward, exchanged a short bow and a murmur of thanks for a scroll, and retired. The Head droned on some more, reminding them of the high reputation of the school with repeated reference to distinguished alumni and concluded with a few vague flourishes of general well-wishing.

Chrysanthemum filed out, scroll in hand, and left as soon as she decently could. She and her friends were agreed that their favourite drinking establishment was a better place to celebrate. The Overlook Inn had a garden at the back that ran down to a small cliff above the harbour, old trees that gave a pleasant shade and five good beers on tap. The three new magicians found a table with a view over the harbour and the sea beyond, made a careful tripod of their ribboned scrolls on the table and ordered a round of Hanger’s White Ale. Its tart bite suited their mood.

For a while they were content to sip beer, comment adversely but without great heat on the ceremony and speculate idly on the destination of the small barque working its way out of the harbour on the ebbing tide. As Chrysanthemum signalled the barmaid for a second round, the barque gained enough sea-room to drop stay-sails, hoist fore and main and set a course enough east of north to take it up the gulf.

Dark-haired, compact Ido, who had shared first a dorm and then a rented room with Chrysanthemum, made an idle inquiry:

“Going to be on one of those soon, Chrys?”

“Why ever for?”“See your mum? After all, she didn’t come to see you graduate.”

“Pleriano avert! She would drag me off to hair-dressers and clothes-shops, turn up looking superbly elegant and behave so exquisitely that everyone would feel gauche. Mind you,” Chrys warmed to her theme, “Dad would be worse. He’d stomp his boots and whistle when I came up, proposition most of the teachers and half the guests, offer to shoot a cherry off the Head’s nose and go through the canapes like a starving jackal.”

“Sounds like he’d love to be here,” commented Menesk.

“Yeah, but he’s got his tribe to shout at, Wolf-Riders, Bone-Readers and all. Plus it’s coming spring up there on the steppe, when they all start thinking about who to fight this season. Every year someone thinks it would be smart to start early. Mum has her restaurant in Toul, all posh people and intrigues. She thinks I should come there and put my childhood flower-arranging lessons to use. Whereas me…” her gesture took in her stocky form and practical clothes.

Her friends accepted this without comment. Chrysanthemum’s exotic background as the daughter of a Rai nomad chieftain and a high-ranked courtesan of Tsitiev – city of lakes, flowers, intrigues and good manners – was by now familiar to them.

“You still don’t know what you want to do next, do you?” asked Ido.

“Nope. Mum and I don’t get on, I’m not spending winters in a yurt even if I like Dad and, while Dtlag is nice, I’ll never be a local. And I have no feel for any particular Practice. Still, I have to do something; my allowance won’t run forever.”

Ido spoke up for her home town. “What’s wrong with Dtlag? We’re not murderous, like the Merllan, or uptight like the Brahnaks.”

Chrysanthemum spread her hands. “It’s just so, so genteel.”

Menesk moved on to careers. “You have to choose a Practice sometime. I start with the Stone Servants in three weeks, Ido has a berth with the Healing Hands, Jlaya’s going into Tree-Talking,..”

Chrys looked around in hope of diverting Menesk from listing every graduate’s career choice and spotted a familiar face half-way across the garden.

“Aitonala! Aitoni! Over here!” The face brightened and changed course for Chrys’ table. Aitonala was a slim young woman with the olive skin and sharp features common in Dtlag, a dagger at her belt and a brace of darts pocketed at the front of her leather jerkin.

“Menesk, this is Aitonala, Aitonala – Menesk. Men’s like Ido and me – just escaped from the Etheric Tower. Aitoni and I met atWittol’s gym. She shows me how to break bricks with a pony-tail and I show her Rai wrestling moves, like eye-poking and ear-biting.”

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Aitonala greeted Menesk, then dropped onto the bench next to Ido. Her drink arrived moments later, and she raised it in salute to the three. “Congratulations on getting your scrolls” - she nodded to the paper tripod on the table. “When do you get to turn water into beer?”

Menesk took the question seriously. “In about four years, if we succeed in mastering our Practices.”

“If you go into Flowing Water,” Ido added. Before the conversation could veer off in the obvious direction, Chrysanthemum jumped in.

“What brings you out in daylight, Aitoni?” Her gaze focused. “And is that a badge on your collar?”

Aitonala waved airily. “Yes, it is. The Guild-Mistress pinned it on three days ago. And I’m here looking for you.” At Menesk’s and Ido’s questioning looks, she amplified,

“I’m in the Guild of Select Services. Just gone from novitiate to probationer. I’m now fully qualified to go out and guard noblewomen, rescue maidens and serve Guild notices upon wrong-doers. Well, fully qualified when I have completed my first contract. Which is what brings me here. Apart from wanting to congratulate you, of course.”

Chrys raised her hands. “Hey, the Guild doesn’t have a notice out on me, does it?”

“No. In fact, we’re a small chapter, and it doesn’t have any notices for me to serve. Or anybody to guard. Not at probationer level anyway. But the Guild-Mistress heard about a contract offering for a group of people at my – and your – level. It involves a trip into the Wild.”

Menesk leaned back. “Don’t look at me. I have a career planned, one that won’t kill me.”

Ido nodded concurrence. “Me, too. My family would never forgive me if I got myself killed in the Wild.”

Chrys was guarded. “Why our level? Why not contract for a couple of experienced Wild-runners?”

Aitonala grinned. “That’s simple. All the experienced runners have skipped town, because of the Brahnak Loot.” Chrys nodded, while Menesk and Ido looked blank.

Chrys explained. “The Brahnaks were getting all geared up for one of their crusades against the Saka. That’s why all those Awa Saka bigwigs were in town a few months back. Anyway, the Brahnaks were negotiating a loan in Mer Ammery, and were collecting the collateral in hard cash and Items. They had it allstored in some seminary in the back country, supposedly super-safe, with all kinds of protections. So someone, probably several someones, broke in, killed the staff and made off with the lot. Now those Brahnaks who are not trading accusations of criminal negligence, irreligious neglect of duty or even treachery are out hunting down the someones. So all the experienced people have left town either to chase the Loot or to avoid hard questions from the Brahnaks. That right, Aitoni?”

Aitonala nodded. “If you’re greedy, the Loot’s the biggest prize around. And if you’re not, you don’t want to be anywhere near. The Brahnaks are vowing death to anyone who was involved, anyone who touches it, anyone who carries it...”

“They’re not looking to do anything here, are they?” worried Ido. “The flat-faces are pretty narrow-minded about what they think is right, and pretty determined that everyone should see things their way. They bang their heads on the floor praying until they’re cross-eyed and then declare anathema on everyone who can see straight.”

“Nah. The League is quite firm that, if they come here, they obey the laws here. There’s a few guys in town stalking around in white armour, but they’re not getting too many answers. Anyway, they can’t afford to go to war now.”

Chrys returned to the original topic. “I’d like to know more. Like who else, how far into the Wild, how much. Just a few details. I may have my scroll, but I can only call on the ether for four spans. I’m going to need some help.”

Menesk tutted. “You can’t be seriously thinking about going on this venture. I mean, it’s the Wild, where the land does not tolerate humans, and there’s no law, and undermen hunt people and eat them, and, well, all sorts of bad things.”

“The Wild does not mind humans in small quantities,” corrected Aitonala. “There are Wild-runners, after all. You just have to mind your manners, or so I’ve been told.”

“I don’t know if I’m serious,” said Chrys. “I do know I don’t want to enter a Practice, and I don’t want to live with either of my parents, and I don’t fancy washing dishes for a living. So I’ll take a look at this. So tell me more, Aitoni.”

“You’ll have me and a few others. The Guild-Mistress told me the sponsor has the word out in a number of directions. I’ll drop by tomorrow evening if I know more by then, but I think the sponsor will be the one to fill in the details. For now, who’d like to share a plate? And I’ll buy the next round of drinks.”

Two beers later Chrys was again arguing with Menesk. Ido and Aitonala, who had both heard Chrys rant on the topic before, leaned back in amused silence.

Menesk was forthright. “Look, I understand that you are not attracted to any of the ordinary Practices. I mean, you studied in Mer Ammery and then here, and would probably have come near the top of the class if you hadn’t pulled that prank with the disappearing clothes. Still, there must be some path you want to follow. You can’t just rush off with a handful of spells.”

“Why must I join a Practice? I don’t want a trade, I want magic. I want the art. I don’t want to spend ten years making pipes or preserving cabinets. I don’t want to spend my access each day readying stone for some other to shape and then some further other to speak over, all to make a hearthstone for an inn.”

“What is magic for, if not for hearthstones and herd-sticks and all the rest? Without we apply magic to our wants, we would be as undermen!” protested Menesk. Chrys waved this away.

“I’ve no objection to a hot bath or clean water, or cold beer for that matter. I just don’t want to use what talent I have in the art that way.”

Menesk persisted. “A Practice is an honourable living. Anyway, if we did not apply magic to our wants, who would pay for it? How would magicians live?”

Chrys sighed. “As I said, I’ve no argument with taking up a Practice. But magic is more than that. The ether runs differently in the Merllan Archipelago, and differently again on the Rai grasslands. A Practice knows the surrounds of its place of practice to the least curl. That’s a strength, but also a limit. The nomad in me is unhappy with that limit. Maybe the courtesan also,” she added reflectively.

“If it’s freedom you want, the Wild is the place,” said Aitonala. “So you’re in?”

Chrys still gave a maybe, but Aitonala knew she would join the venture.