A Practical Guide to Sorcery [Fantasy/Female Protagonist/Adventure]

Chapter 16 - Harmless Blood Magic
Chapter 16 - Harmless Blood Magic

Siobhan

Month 10, Day 29, Thursday 4:00 p.m.​

Siobhan hung another banner on a streetlamp, which was long parted from its light crystal. After four days of this, she was almost finished. As projects tended to do, this one had stretched, taking almost twice as long as she originally hoped. The area under the Stag's banner was only a small chunk of Gilbratha, but a small chunk of the largest city in Lenore actually covered quite a lot of people.

Siobhan had overheard a dozen more conversations from Dryden's---*the Verdant Stag's*---people. She had even participated in a few herself after people had grown used to seeing her with Katerin and the other gang members working on the project.

Her whole body felt slow, her feet hurt, and she was tired of the stench of the Mire's streets, but she was also buzzing with excitement. She would be moving to the University in a couple of days, and she'd improved her dreamless sleep spell.

Artifacts used glyphs to trap a specific cast spell and release it at a later time, according to various rules. She was still *far* from a proficient artificer, but she'd learned enough from studying to make the banners to cobble something together that seemed to work.

She'd modified the structure and intent of the spell to keep the magic trapped within the spell array, which she drew every night in alcohol and herbal oil extract on the bed underneath her pillow. It heated the bedding as the trapped energy circulated around beneath her head, so she'd had to add in a function to shunt the heat outward. Admittedly, this could have been dangerous, *if* she was a powerful enough thaumaturge to worry about starting a fire without specifically attempting to set something alight.

The spell was bigger, took more time to cast, and was very inefficient, but it helped to smooth out the release of the magic over a longer time. Which meant that she could sleep for longer.

It wasn't a long-term solution, but it was something. '*I'll find even better options at the University. That library has to hold all the answers anyone could ever need.*'

Theo came running up to them with his hands in his pockets and Dryden trailing after him.

"Don't run with your hands in your pockets, Theo!" Katerin called out in a long-suffering tone.

The boy looked up at his aunt, startled, and tripped on a jagged edge of cobblestone. With his hands stuck in his pockets, he fell forward with no ability to catch himself.

Dryden lunged to catch him, but missed, and the boy's face smashed into the raised edge of the sidewalk.

Siobhan gasped and ran to Theo without hesitation, only slightly behind Katerin.

Theo managed to get his hands out of his pockets. He climbed to his knees, his hands clamped over his mouth. Blood dribbled between his fingers, his eyes wide and horrified.

Katerin had to force his hands away from his mouth to see the damage.

Two of his top teeth to the right side of his mouth were missing.

"I---I'm sorry. I tried to catch him..." Dryden stammered.

Siobhan looked around on the ground for his teeth. '*If we can put them back in quickly enough, there may still be a chance for them to heal*.' Though there was already plenty of blood splattering the cobblestones, she found no teeth.

She looked closer at Theo, who started to cry now that the shock had worn off. She placed her hand on his forehead, tilting his head back. "Let me see," she said.

The nubs of white peeking out of his bleeding gums confirmed her suspicion. "The teeth are still there. They were simply smashed back up into your gums."

Katerin and Dryden shared an uneasy look. "What does that mean? Will the teeth come out again? Will this damage his adult teeth?" Katerin asked, her voice higher and more frantic than Siobhan had thought the cool, collected woman capable of.

Theo only cried louder, blood and saliva pooling in his mouth and dribbling onto his clothes and the street.

"I can fix it," Siobhan said. She held Theo's head and repeated her words as she stared into his eyes, making her voice as soothing as possible. "Don't worry, child. This will be over soon. Keep your mouth open so I can see what I'm doing, and lean forward so the blood doesn't keep spilling all over you, alright?"

Dryden was watching intently. "You know healing magic?"

Siobhan found a red oil pastel stick in one of her pockets and unwrapped the wax paper from around the tip carefully. "I'm not a healer. However, I can fix simple things like this, because it doesn't require any life force or special components to do so, and the other side of his mouth is undamaged. Now, please be quiet. This may not be a serious wound, but anything involving the human body is delicate, and I need my concentration unhindered."

She reached out to the boy's face and drew two Circles as evenly as she could, one covering Theo's cheek and chin on the damaged side, and one on the intact side. The Circles met in the middle over his good teeth. It wasn't as perfect as she would have liked, but she was trying to draw over and inside a crying child's mouth while they dribbled blood, snot, and tears. It would have been easier to draw the adjacent Circles on the ground, but perfectly aligning it to his face from there seemed a precarious proposition.

She laid his head down in the puddle of blood on the ground, and then drew a Circle around it all. The glyphs for "*blood,*" "*mirror*," and "*tooth*" followed, then a pentagram inside of a pentagon, for the combination of transmutation and transmogrification that this spell entailed.

It was simple. Like many of her more useful spells, it relied more on the Will and the Sacrifice than the clarity or complexity of the written Word. She kept the Word in her mind instead, in the form of a detailed, focused image of what she wanted to happen.

When she began to work the magic, Theo's eyes went wide, and he tried to jerk away.

Dryden's hands clamped down onto his shoulders from behind and kept him still.

Siobhan combined the sympathetic and natural connection of one half of Theo's mouth to the other in order to pull his teeth down again, mirroring the damaged side to the healthy side. She tightened the gums as best she could, and then, when her knowledge of anatomy ran out, she simply poured power into the spell, using Theo's bodily fluids, currently pooled up on the ground beneath him, as the Sacrifice.

The blood of a magical creature was always a good source of power, and humans were, technically, magical creatures, but this was especially efficient, because it was Theo's own blood.

When it ran out, she let the spell go and leaned back. "Those teeth might be loose and tender for a few days, so be careful with them."

Theo felt around the spot with his tongue, then spat a few times to get the blood out of his mouth. He rubbed at his tear and pastel-stained cheeks, his sobs calming to shuddering hiccups.

Siobhan stood, only to find both Dryden and Katerin staring between her and the Sacrifice Circle on the ground, white-faced.

Katerin looked around, seeming worried about observers.

"Keep your mouth closed, Theo," Dryden ordered gravely, looking around as well, though he did so less obviously. He grabbed Siobhan by the arm and dragged her off.

Katerin shoved Theo after them, then worked frantically to scrub out any signs of the spell array from the sidewalk.

"What's wrong?" Siobhan asked, keeping her voice low.

Dryden pulled her into an alley, looking back out into the street suspiciously. Anger and alarm were obvious in the half-snarl on his face and the way his knees bent and his fingers flexed, his body preparing for violence.

Siobhan's back straightened and her shoulders pulled back, her grip tightening around her Conduit. She looked out of the alley into the mostly-dark street, but saw no one. '*No coppers,*' she thought with relief.

When Katerin arrived, she posted herself at the mouth, facing the street like a guard. "Be quiet, Theo," she ordered, though the boy hadn't yet said anything.

"Are you trying to get yourself caught and executed!?" Dryden snapped, standing a little too close to Siobhan.

She pulled her arm out of his grip. "I've been putting up the banners for days. Surely, if someone were going to turn me in for not having a license, they would have done so already? I understand this was more flashy, and there's no deniability in my involvement like with the wards, but surely it's not such a big deal? It's dark, and even if someone saw, there are no coppers around, anyway."

"Performing *blood magic* is very different from placing alarm artifacts on street corners," he hissed.

She shook her head, frowning at him. "Blood magic? It was just a small movement and mirroring spell."

He let out a sharp, scoffing laugh. "You used his blood as a component. As a *Sacrifice*."

She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. She hadn't purposefully bled Theo to power some great and powerful spell, but Dryden was right. Using a human, or any part of a human, was one of the ways they could define a spell as blood magic.

And blood magic was punishable by death.

Which explained their reaction.

Her face grew pale. "But there was no force involved, no removal of free will, no pain caused by the spell. Surely the Crowns would realize the distinction between healing a boy's injury and blood magic? It's no different than using a patient's reserves to accelerate healing, and that's common when an appropriate Sacrifice isn't available. Healers do it all the time. The blood was already out of his body. It's not like I could put it back!"

Dryden rolled his eyes sharply, his fingers curling like he wanted to reach out and grab her again. "You quite literally used his blood as part of the spell. Just because you didn't harm anyone won't make you innocent in the eyes of the Crowns or the citizens who are terrified at the very idea of the Blood Empire." He snapped his mouth shut, breathing hard. After a few moments to calm himself, he spoke again. "A benevolent purpose won't save you if you're caught and arrested. You must be more careful. Where did you even learn such a spell?"

"My grandfather cast it on me when I was a child. I stepped on a nail, and he knitted the flesh of my injured foot back together to match my uninjured foot. Truly, it's harmless. I've used it a handful of times to knit together minor cuts and the like." His scowl was only growing, so she hurried to say, "However, I'll be more cautious in the future. It's easy to forget how different Gilbratha is than what I'm used to."

Neither Dryden nor Katerin were appeased, but he seemed to accept her words, and after a few minutes of stiffness, Katerin said, "Thank you for saving Theo's teeth. Next time, though, perhaps we should just bring him to a healer."

They hurried through the last handful of street corners and returned to the Verdant Stag.

Dryden and Katerin were silent and tense for the rest of the evening, but Theo seemed enthused by the entire ordeal. It was as if the adults' response to her use of blood magic confirmed all the fantastical stories he had heard of her and how dangerously interesting she was.
 
Chapter 17 - A Toast to Forceful Personalities
Chapter 17 - A Toast to Forceful Personalities

Oliver

Month 10, Day 31, Saturday 6:00 p.m.​

"You should ask me to dance before my card fills up. I still have a blank space for you." The woman fluttered her fan at him, showing off the wooden handle with names written in most of the spaces. Each name represented a man who had asked her for a specific dance that evening.

Oliver turned to look at her fully, his eyebrows lifting. He was disappointed to see no mocking self-awareness in her eyes, and not even a hint of real audacity. No, she had opened the conversation with a trite one-liner, probably memorized and used on any man she found attractive---whether in appearance, wealth, or social standing.

She pursed glamoured lips at him in a way that was too unsubtle to be appealing.

A puzzle-banded ring glittered on her fourth finger. Married, too.

He reached for her fan without looking away from her eyes, letting his fingers slide across hers as he drew it from her grasp.

Her eyes widened, her lips losing the artificial pout.

He looked down at the fan, his eyes flicking across the names. He handed it back to her. "Perhaps another night, my lady. I dislike sharing."

Her eyes widened again, her mouth falling open just a little.

He walked past her before she could speak, letting his fingers trail over the back of her hand as he released the fan. It was minor flirting, just enough to throw her off balance and allow him to escape without causing offense, but not so much as to be inappropriate. He had a careful reputation to maintain, after all.

His primary goal tonight was to speak with the host, Lord Gervin, but both he and his wife were still busy mingling and greeting other guests. Instead, Oliver slipped around to the edge of the ballroom, where it was less crowded, and walked up the stairs to look down from the gallery.

He watched the guests, cataloguing who spoke to whom, who smiled to someone else's face and then sneered as soon as they turned away, and who stood at the edges of the room watching, like him. He would return to mingling soon, but even he sometimes needed a break from interacting with people he found unimpressive---or despicable---without letting on his genuine feelings.

Magic was everywhere.

It glittered from the spelled chandelier and wafted through the air in a subtle, pleasing scent meant to put people at ease. Tiny, butterfly-winged sprites fluttered around the creeping vines crawling up the walls. Magic was even in the carpet beneath his feet, an illusion spell mimicking new grass.

It was hard not to consider his own differences in a place like this.

Soft footsteps came from the carpet behind him, and Oliver turned enough to see Titus Westbay, the second Crown Family's heir.

The man raised his liquor glass to Oliver, pale grey eyes flicking over the crowd below. "Judging by the extravagance of this party, the restrictions on magical imports haven't affected the Gervins."

"Lord Westbay." Oliver greeted him with a nod of his own, then turned back to the ballroom. "Well, the Gervins would never let it show. But perhaps they will be more amenable to a business opportunity if they are feeling some hint of discomfort with the current situation."

"Another charitable endeavor, Dryden?" Titus was one of those among the Crown Families who was smart enough to understand Oliver's appeals to reform, but still he never deigned to support them.

"It's not charity if you benefit from it as much as those you are helping. Resistance toward innovation and improvement is just a slower way to stagnate and die." Someday, perhaps when Oliver had more power, he hoped he could sway Titus. He could dearly use the alliance of the Family in charge of domestic law enforcement, and from the hints he'd seen, Titus wasn't *entirely* in support of the way the current regime did things.

"Well, a certain type of person will only look to change once the discomfort reaches their own doorway. We may see more of that in times to come," he said in an ominous tone.

Oliver turned toward the man and raised an eyebrow. "Are the restrictions that bad?"

Titus Westbay grimaced, but turned to look at a group of young people who had just come in from outside.

They were standing below Oliver and Titus, but didn't seem to have noticed them. "I made the top three hundred of the incoming applicants!" one boy murmured to the oldest Gervin daughter. "I told you what Titus promised, right?" He grinned at her with excitement, and Oliver recognized him as second in line to be the Westbay Family head. They shared the Westbay eyes, though the younger boy's were less like an incoming stormfront, unburdened by concern.

"He's off to the University tomorrow. Orientation. I feel myself compelled to say something cliche about how quickly children grow up," Titus murmured.

Oliver wasn't sure if Titus had purposefully changed the topic to avoid answering his question. "I'm sure he'll make your Family proud." He wondered if Sebastien and the boy would ever interact. It would probably be best if they didn't.

The Gervin girl gave the younger Westbay a droll smile, seeming to humor his excitement. "Did he teach you the spell already?"

"Well, a variation that I'm able to cast." He held his hands up to his ears to mimic a dog, grinning at her.

"I hope you've considered the danger of casting it in such a loud room?"

"We can go outside and I'll try it there. You be the lookout, all right?"

"A stakeout mission, then? What is the goal?"

With amused disinterest, the other youths abandoned the duo to their planning, making their way deeper into the ballroom.

"Someone insulting someone else behind their back?" Damien suggested

"That's entirely too easy."

"Well, Ana, what do you suggest?"

"Something of actual value. An off-the-record business deal or alliance, perhaps?"

"It needs to be something *interesting*, Ana."

"That *is* interesting!"

He gave her a skeptical look. "What about some information on a crime? Or gossip about one of our professors?"

She pursed her lips thoughtfully, then nodded. "The latter."

Titus shot Oliver an amused smile over the rim of his liquor glass. "I hardly remember what it was like to play such games," he said with a hint of wistfulness.

"We still play games," Oliver said. "It's merely that the rewards have little to do with our own simple amusement, and the stakes are much higher."

"Too true," Titus muttered, his eyes narrowing.

Oliver followed his gaze to see that the Westbay Family head, second of the Thirteen Crowns, and Titus and Damien's father, had intercepted the two children before they could leave for the gardens.

Tyron Westbay glowered down at them, and any trace of excitement had left Damien's face. The boy bowed stiffly. "Good evening, Father."

"Damien," the man responded coldly. "Attempting to shirk your social duties?"

The boy seemed to shrink into himself, though his posture was impeccable and his face still expressionless. "No, Father. Ana and I were going to take a stroll through the gardens. Her mother made quite the effort to decorate them."

Tyron was not appeased by that answer. "Clearly, you think I am a fool. I will not allow you to embarrass our Family, boy."

The Gervin heiress had her head bowed demurely, and Oliver couldn't see her face, but the set of her shoulders and the way her fingers twitched as if they wanted to fist in the fabric of her dress showed her feelings.

Beside Oliver, Titus had straightened, his fingers tightening around his glass. He didn't glare, but the weight of his gaze was such that Oliver almost expected Tyron to stumble back from the children.

Damien's voice was strained despite his attempt to sound calm. "I will not embarrass the Family, Father." He hesitated. "I have been accepted to the University. I passed the entrance examinations with distinction."

Tyron's expression didn't change. He looked at his son like one might look at a particularly unpleasant frog. "I am aware of your admission, and the *distinction*. Are *you* aware that Titus was the first place examinee in his year, and entered the University a year younger than you are now?"

Damien didn't respond.

"If I were you, I would rethink any pride you might feel at your conduct. I find myself unsure if you are simply lazy, or if your mother only had enough strength to create one acceptable child in her lifetime."

Titus sucked in a breath and started moving around to the stairwell to intervene between his father and brother.

A perfectly enunciated, clipped voice responded, bringing Titus to a sudden halt. "I assure you, Tyron, your younger son is quite acceptable." Thaddeus Lacer stepped in from the garden, dark cloak fluttering behind him. "Perhaps not as much a prodigy as the elder, but three hundred out of the three thousand who made it is by no means mediocre. I expect he will do well in my class. Perhaps, with dedication, he will even become a passable free-caster---which, if I remember, was a feat which your late wife also accomplished."

"Lacer." Tyron turned toward the famous University professor with an instinctive movement that spoke to keeping a predator within his field of vision. "That would be...a pleasant surprise." His tone indicated anything but.

"Indeed. Well, some people have a talent for the discipline, and others do not. Their minds are too rigid. Or too weak. You yourself never managed it, if I remember?"

Damien looked between his father and Lacer, his eyes wide.

Tyron ground his teeth, but bowed his head under the other man's force of presence. "I have not had the satisfaction," he admitted.

"Well, fear not," Lacer said with a cold, humorless smile. "Your sons may yet reach the heights you failed to, and through them you can gain vicarious success."

Oliver choked on a laugh at the audacity of Lacer's insult.

Titus approached the group with some caution, though Oliver noted he kept any frustration or amusement from his face. "Good evening, Father, Professor Lacer." He dipped his head in greeting to the two of them. "I'm pleased to see you could make it. Thoughtful of the Gervins to hold this gathering for the young men and women about to leave for the University, don't you think?"

Tyron was still bristling from Lacer's words, but he seemed to decide retaliating wasn't worth it and turned toward Titus instead. "Very thoughtful," he agreed, his words clipped.

"I hate to interrupt your conversation, Father, but I crossed paths with Lord Emberlin and thought you might be interested in connecting with him. If you would excuse us, Professor Lacer?"

The man nodded and waved an uncaring hand that made Tyron grit his teeth again. "Feel free. I suspect our conversation was already over."

Titus pretended not to notice the tension with what Oliver thought was impressive boldness, drawing his father into the crowd. Oliver wondered if Tyron would take out his ire on Titus when they were out of earshot, or if he reserved his venom for his younger son.

The Gervin girl glared at Tyron's back, any demureness gone from her posture.

Lacer dismissed the awkwardness, turning to Damien. "I will see you in my class on Monday, will I not?"

Looking up, his inner self seeming to unfurl to fill his body again, the boy grinned. "Of course."

The girl nodded as well. "I look forward to it."

"Good. Your mother would be proud." Lacer gave the young man's shoulder a squeeze, ignoring the glassy eyes and blinking this brought on.

"My father...what you said...you're not worried about him?" Damien asked.

"On the contrary. I may not be from a Crown Family, but that does not leave me without power or influence of my own. Besides, any inconvenience Tyron can cause me is temporary. Titus would feel no need for vengeance, and he is quickly becoming the true force of your Family. I don't suppose you will feel the need to revenge yourself on me over this little episode?"

Damien laughed thickly. "I would never be so stupid."

Lacer smirked. His eyes flicked up to Oliver, who took that as his cue to stop eavesdropping.

On the other side of the ballroom, Oliver fortuitously ran into Margaret Gervin, the wife of the Gervin Family head.

Ever the consummate socialite, she smiled brightly and smoothly tucked her hand into his arm, leading him back toward the trio he was trying to leave behind. "Oh Oliver, have you met my Anastasia? She's off to the University tomorrow," she said proudly.

"I have not had the pleasure," he replied. "Though, to be truthful, I was hoping to speak to you or your husband this evening. I don't wish to intrude on your last hours with your child, but perhaps we could set up a meeting sometime soon? There is a business opportunity I would like to discuss. I have a new shipment of Erythrean horses in, and I know Edward has some interest in riding. Perhaps he could join me for an afternoon and see if any suit his tastes." He found bribery distasteful, more because it spoke to an inherent failing of the system than because of any moral qualms, but if he could get a sub-contract in the textile industry from the Gervin Family, an exorbitantly expensive Erythrean horse would be more than worth it.

"Oh, an Erythrean? Edward mentioned you breed those. Yes, I'm sure he'd be interested in meeting, even if only for the chance to ride one. He's been so jealous of Moncrieffe since last year, you know. It's too bad Anastasia won't be available to join you. I have never quite understood it, but that girl does enjoy equestrianism. Refuses to even wear a skirt while riding, though I don't suppose that would bother you overmuch?" she asked, gazing at him slyly out of the corner of her eye. "You are a man with many avant-garde ideas, I mean."

"That is true," he agreed, wondering what she was getting at. Other nobles liked to gossip about the Gervin Family's particularly backward treatment of their women, but they weren't strong enough outliers for more "enlightened" people to do more than gossip about them behind closed doors. Oliver found it strange that, even with magic, the great equalizer, some people still found a way to believe in inherent inferiority. If anything, it was humans as a whole that were inherently inferior to all the other species.

"She has an interest in business as well, though I keep telling her it's not appropriate for a well-born woman to concern herself with work or money. It's our fault, I suppose. Edward does love to spoil her, and she is the firstborn, with no boys. I'm of the opinion that, once she's married, she might settle a bit and see the sense in turning her efforts toward something more appropriate, like a charity foundation. If her husband were agreeable to something like that."

Oliver cleared his throat to cover his shock at the boldness of the woman's proposal and give himself time to gather his thoughts. Was Margaret Gervin matchmaking? Between him and her own daughter, no less... "I find it quite natural for some women to be interested in more demanding pursuits. Not all people, man or woman, are suited to domesticity." It was as neutral an answer as he could give, with no direct indication of interest in her daughter.

He was surprised that they would consider him a viable match for a young girl from such a prestigious background, as a non-Crown Family member, and a foreigner to boot. He was wealthy, true, but marrying into the Gervin Family would be a huge boost to his social standing.

An inappropriately large boost, in the eyes of many.

Margaret was probably only sounding out his feelings on the matter. It seemed ludicrous that the Gervins would consider him a serious candidate.

That thought was reassuring. The other students entering the University were even younger than Siobhan, and no matter how advantageous it might be, the thought of tying himself to someone he didn't respect, for life, was enough to make his clothes feel too tight and his skin prickle.

"Many would try to crush her spirit," the woman said, her voice a little softer. A few seconds passed in silence as they arrived at the edge of the ballroom where he'd left Lacer and the two young people. It was empty. "Oh, I thought I saw them here earlier! Wherever have they slipped away to?" she complained.

Oliver caught the edge of a dark cloak fluttering in the dimly lit garden, but said nothing. "Well, I'm sure they'll turn up later. In the meantime, perhaps I could settle on a meeting time with Edward?"

As they headed back into the crowd, Oliver turned to look for Lacer again in the gardens, but saw no hint of him. He had understood, today, part of why the man was so famous, not just for his grasp on magic, but for the force of his personality. Tyron had been afraid of him.

Oliver wondered how many of the rumors about Thaddeus Lacer were based in truth.
 
Chapter 18 - Orientation
Chapter 18 - Orientation

Sebastien

Month 11, Day 1, Sunday 2:00 p.m.​

Sebastien stood in front of the mirror in Dryden's foyer, what belongings she owned in the new suitcases behind her, ready to move to the University. Students were required to stay on campus, but Dryden had offered to let her keep any things that might attach her to Siobhan, like her female clothes, in the room she'd been staying in at his house.

She fingered her hair where Katerin had bleached her other body's hair, inspecting a few blonde strands. It was blonde to the point of being almost grey, but she could detect no change from the rest. '*So things like bleaching hair in one form don't transfer to the other*. *I supposed as much from my prior observations, but still, this artifact casts the most complex spellwork I've ever seen.*'

Despite her continued interest in the stolen book and the amulet, she'd learned no more about them, only growing her list of things she didn't understand. The amulet didn't seem to be continuously active while she kept Sebastien's form, at least so far as she could deduce. It didn't seem to be gathering any power from its surroundings, either, which had worrisome implications and sent her imagination running amok.

'*It could be gathering ambient energy constantly, either so slowly I don't notice it, or in a form I don't have a way to measure. Perhaps it is somehow linked to a power-gathering Circle back wherever the University explorers discovered it, or a Circle that is hidden away somewhere.*' Those were the good options. The bad options only made her more desperate to decipher the book.

'*The amulet could have a finite amount of power, which it depletes every time I activate the transformation.*' This was how most artifacts worked. If it was the case here, eventually she would run out of transformations, and either be stuck in her true form, a wanted criminal, or wear the form of a stranger forever. But she'd also never heard of an artifact that could be triggered on Will alone, so she was trying to be optimistic.

The last option for its power source was the most chilling.

'*Perhaps the amulet is using* me *as a Sacrifice, every time it activates.* *I don't feel any different, but how would I know for sure?*' She had heard stories of esoteric, ancient magics that used the very life force of a human as Sacrifice, able to power awe-inspiring effects. Being sucked dry like that could bring a young person close to the brink of an early, unnatural death as the thread of their fate was snipped short. '*I'll switch forms as little as possible till I figure out how the artifact works. Just in case.*'

She would leave the stolen text embedded deeply in the mattress inside the room Dryden had left her. She hadn't even told *him* its location. '*I hope it will be safe there.*' It made her uncomfortable to leave it, but if she took it to the University and someone discovered it, it would be one of the most idiotic ways a criminal had ever been caught.

Dryden walked down one of the twin staircases that led to the second floor, impeccably dressed as always. He smiled at her warmly, and she found her own lips twitching upward in unconscious response. He had that effect on people, drawing them in. "I've grown used to your company in the house," he said. "Perhaps you'll drop by from time to time? I dislike eating alone, and I hear the University cafeteria meals leave much to be desired."

Sebastien grimaced, thinking of her now much-depleted chest of gold. She'd given the University three hundred gold for the basic admission fee, and another fifty for each of her six classes. After the money she'd spent hiring Liza for the messenger spell and paying for books, clothing that would let her fit in among her classmates, and various necessary magical components, she had barely a quarter of the original one thousand gold left. When Katerin had insisted on lending her such an enormous amount, she'd assumed it was simply a way to raise the amount of interest she had to pay. Now, it was obvious Sebastien had miscalculated how expensive things would be.

"I probably cannot afford anything better," she agreed with a nod. "At least I *look* rich and well-bred." She tilted her head and body to watch herself at different angles in the mirror. '*Like this, I make quite the striking sight, if it's not too bold to say so about myself,*' she thought, smirking slightly. On Sebastien's face, with a nose that was too long and angular and lips that curled up naturally at the edges, the expression looked natural, arrogant in a less aggressive way than it would have on her face as Siobhan. The flip-flopping of identities was still strange, and yet, somehow she had grown accustomed to it.

Dryden chuckled, leaning on the banister to watch her.

She ignored him, inspecting herself critically. The gold coins she'd sewn into the lining of her suit jacket, inserted in new hidden pockets in her vest, and jammed into the double-layered collar of her boots weren't noticeable. She'd done the same to all her sturdier clothes. She was trying to be more prepared for the unexpected, but she'd also always thought secret pockets, compartments, and the like were fascinating. As always, her numerous other pockets were filled with a carefully organized set of spell components and her Conduit. '*Even if I have to escape Gilbratha suddenly, with only the clothes on my back, I won't be totally helpless.*'

She didn't require any help with her luggage, but Dryden sent his male servant to carry it for her anyway. "For appearance's sake. Second first impressions, and all that. You have the ward bracelets?"

Sebastien showed him the two thin wooden bands on her wrist, bound together by a small bead of pewter. In an attempt to be more pessimistic and thus more *prepared* for things that might otherwise make her think back and say, "if only," she had created a few more warded objects---very simple artifacts---based on what she had learned from the larger project. Now she, Dryden, and Katerin could warn each other of danger. To trigger the alarm, they would simply need to break their own bracelet by pulling it apart at the weak pewter bead, which would make the one it was linked to grow startlingly and uncomfortably cold.

Katerin and Oliver shared a more powerful linked artifact that allowed them to send actual messages as long as they didn't travel too far from each other. Items like that were not uncommon, but their expense was prohibitive, and they carried a greater danger of being used against you. They could be used to track the object that they were linked to, and weren't as easy to destroy as the disposable bracelets, which were no longer linked as soon as their magic was triggered.

If Oliver or Katerin triggered Sebastien's bracelet, she would immediately escape the University, and hopefully avoid capture. "I'll drop by next weekend, if I have time. I promised Katerin I would do some alchemy for the Stag, and I don't know if it'll be safe to do so at the University."

"I look forward to it." He smiled as he watched her go. "Good luck. I know you'll do wonderfully!" he called after her.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him as his loud shout drew attention from passersby, but couldn't help the smile of excitement on her face. She lifted her hand above her head and waved at him without looking back.

The bridge over the river closest to the University was packed with traffic. By the time she and the servant made the long winding walk up the white cliffs and stood before the gates at the top, it was late afternoon. She'd arrived early to avoid the anxiety she had felt that day standing in the application line, but still felt overwhelmed by the crowd.

There were thousands of people milling around. Most were a few years on either side of twenty, close to her own age, and human. But not all.

Some of the new students---recognizable from their wooden tokens---were older, one even an old, stooped man. Many of the students had foreign features---evidence that the Thaumaturgic University of Lenore was indeed the best arcanum in the world. People traveled from far and wide to study there.

There were non-humans, too, some more obvious than others, and some that might have been mixed-species. Scales melting into skin, strangely colored or shaped eyes, extra or inhuman appendages. Witches were accompanied by their familiars, and there were a couple of vague-eyed people who might have been shamans or animists.

The occasional paper bird gliding through the air above the crowd caught her attention---enchanted messages, spelled to take flight and deliver themselves to set destinations or recipients.

She grinned. '*With some time to prepare, you could bombard an enemy with a flock of paper birds spelled to deliver themselves to them. If their flight is strong enough to carry even a few grams, they could be quite dangerous.*'

She found her name on the very, very long list of new students, a few thousand names from the top, because it was organized by placement on the entrance exam rather than alphabetically. It told her the name of the student liaisons in charge of her group's orientation and where to gather. She walked to the indicated spot.

A blonde young woman with short hair and a broad face, her features somewhat unfeminine but still striking, waited in the middle of a group of Sebastien's fellow new students. At first, it seemed she was taller than the rest of the crowd by a good two feet, and Sebastian wondered if she might actually be half jentil, or some other giant variant, but a few bodies shifted to reveal the woman was standing atop some kind of barrier spell, which shimmered a dull yellow in pulses like a heartbeat. She had an air of easy confidence that, together with her looks, made her seem approachable.

As soon as the bell finished ringing to mark four o'clock, the student liaison called out, "New students! Please listen for your name to be called! If your name is confirmed on my list, I am your orientation guide and your student liaison. If not, please check the rankings list again or talk to one of the administrators."

When she had finished the roll-call, she said, "My name is Tanya Canelo. If you do not make my life difficult, you can call me Tanya. This," she gestured to a young man who Sebastien couldn't quite see past the crowd, "is my counterpart, Newton Moore."

He waved. "Hello, everyone! You can call me Newt!"

Tanya continued. "We are both University aids in our fourth term. That is the latter half of our second year, for those of you unfamiliar with University workings. As your student liaisons, you can come to us with problems, questions, or to ask for help. I don't tutor people personally, but I can help you request study aids and can interact more directly with the faculty. We also have the power to assign certain punishments." She met their gazes with one eyebrow raised threateningly.

"I do offer tutoring," Newton called, a little awkwardly. "Though my time is limited. I've a sign-up sheet that will be posted in your dorm."

Tanya nodded. "When you are in your fourth term---if you make it that far---you'll have the chance to apply for various University aid positions. They pay, both in gold and in University contribution points. Follow me." She hopped down from her barrier, the spell dissolving as soon as she did.

Sebastien pushed through the crowd to get a look at the spell array scratched into the dirt, but other people's feet scuffed it out before she could.

Tanya and Newton led their group east, past the looming, predominant building of the University, the Citadel, to a large rectangular building with four different sets of double doors set at intervals along its side, rising multiple stories high. "This is the student housing building. For you, the *dorms*." She intoned the last word ominously, which stoked some muttering from the other students.

Halfway down the ground floor hallway, Tanya opened another set of double doors onto a long, proportionately narrow room. A row of small beds was settled against either wall. Brick walls that only came to about five feet high divided the beds from each other, and the room into cubicles, with curtains around the inside of each. Two windows on the far side let in the only natural light, but there were light crystal fixtures hanging from the ceiling.

'*No privacy, no sound or light-proofing, and no door. At least it's not bunk-beds.*'

Tanya stepped aside and waved her arm grandly. "You will *all* share this dorm room. Beds are first-come, first-served. Girls on the left, boys on the right."

There was a brief pause as they all digested what she meant, and then they rushed into the room.

Sebastien led the pack. She didn't hesitate, moving directly for the last bed in the row, next to the two windows. '*The boys' side. I'm not a woman, here,*' she reminded herself. It grew noticeably chillier the farther from the door she went, but that didn't bother her. She knew how to store warmth in a fire-heated rock, and more than anything, she preferred not to be sandwiched between two other beds. The spots nearest the door seemed highly coveted, judging by the scuffle that had immediately broken out between a handful of boys, so the far side was the only other option.

Unconcerned, Tanya strolled along the aisle between the two rows of beds, watching the hierarchic struggle play out between both groups of students. "Curfew is at midnight. While you're not required to sleep at that point, you cannot disturb the rest of your dorm-mates. I would suggest learning some sound-muffling spells, for your own sake as well as others'. If you're found out after curfew, you'll be punished. As student liaisons, we can assign punishments such as demerits and detentions, and act as witnesses for more severe rule breaking. Troublemakers can and will be expelled."

Newton, Sebastien saw now that the crowd had spread out, seemed to have grown upward before the rest of his body could catch up. He had the awareness of his gangly elbows and knees that spoke to a bit of clumsiness, and his clothes, though nice, were faded or worn in spots. In contrast to Tanya, he smiled encouragingly at the students rapidly filling up the dormitory.

To Sebastien's surprise, the boy she had argued with at the admissions queue, the one with the tired bags under striking grey eyes, took a spot just two beds away from her. He was followed by most of his rich cronies.

His pretty female friend, again wearing a suit with trousers instead of a skirt or dress, took the bed directly across the aisle from Sebastien.

As Siobhan, Sebastien had worn a man's suit more often than not, because it was convenient and comfortable. But among the University students and their wealth, such clothing on a woman was rare enough to stand out.

The other girl moved with instinctive grace, from the movement of her limbs to the tilt of her head to the placement of her fingers.

Sebastien had never been one of those girls who focused on beauty. Magic was both more interesting and more useful. She had to admit, though, that the girl's ridiculously smooth skin, big limpid eyes, and shining honey-colored hair drew the eye. She wasn't the only one who found herself staring a little longer than she meant to, but she was the first to realize what she was doing and mind her own business.

The spoiled rich boy met her gaze and gave her a long look, his expression inscrutable.

Conscious of the need to keep a low profile, she didn't stare him down in return, instead turning to make sure all her things fit within the chest at the foot of her bed. It wasn't that hard. She only had a few sets of clothes for Sebastien, and the rest was just various magical components, books, and her grimoire. She would have to ward it against intrusion and tampering later.

When they had finally settled, some looking more dissatisfied than others, Tanya spoke again. "Before any of you think to complain to us about your living situation, let me explain how this works. No amount of money or favors done outside the University itself will get you out of these beds. Only contribution points are worth anything here. As you are below fourth term, your options for earning said points are limited. You might get a handful from your professors, but unless you're an ass-nuzzling genius, that won't be much. If you decide you're competent enough, you can compete in the end of term exhibitions. These take place in front of the whole University, and people from all over Gilbratha and beyond come to watch."

"Sometimes even the High Crown comes to watch the upper-term students," Newton interjected.

"If you manage to perform impressively, you'll gain contribution points, and next term, you and three others who performed similarly might be able to purchase a smaller dorm room. One with just four beds and an attached bathroom." Tanya looked at the girls' side of the room as she said this.

"Perform exceptionally well, and you could find yourself with just *one* roommate, or even a room all to yourself on one of the upper floors. Alternatively, you can use contribution points for other things, like one of the improved meal plans, or any of the prizes on display in the Great Hall, which I encourage you to peruse when you have time. When you've completed three terms of study and gained your Apprentice certification, they consider you competent enough to benefit the University in other ways. These options expand as your level of training increases, and the compensation increases accordingly. Work hard enough, and you might even walk away from the Great Hall with a wand created and charged with spells by Archmage Zard himself. He donates one or two prizes every semester."

At that, the dissatisfaction on most faces melted away, taken over by excitement and avarice.

Tanya stopped at the end of the aisle and looked out one of the windows for a moment. Then she turned to Sebastien. "Siverling, was it?" Her voice had lowered from its "announcement" volume, but not nearly enough for a one-on-one conversation.

Sebastien straightened, her heart pounding as she attempted to show no more than mild surprise. "Yes, Apprentice Canelo," she said, wondering why the woman was singling her out.

"I haven't heard of your family before," she said, watching Sebastien with her arms crossed. She didn't seem exactly hostile, but something about her gaze made Sebastien wary.

"The Siverlings were based in Vale prior to my move to Gilbratha," Sebastien said. She'd visited that city when traveling with Ennis. It was far enough away that most people who lived in Gilbratha would have never been there, and large enough that no one from Vale would be surprised not to recognize her if they met.

"Hmm. I heard a little of what happened during the examination."

Sebastien's heart sank. "That was my own foolishness," she said, her voice low.

"Really?" Tanya raised her eyebrows. "Does your family have a connection to Professor Lacer? Perhaps from the border skirmishes? I heard he made an exception for you, and that's unheard of."

Sebastien shook her head. Her neck and cheeks felt hot, and she wondered if she was blushing noticeably. "The Siverlings have no connection to Professor Lacer," she said, trying to keep from going into any details that could later be used against her. She had already known she behaved stupidly, but she clearly hadn't considered all the ramifications. '*Gossip travels quickly.*' She tried to keep her expression calm. "I can't speak for him. Perhaps he saw what the other professors didn't, or perhaps he acted merely out of the kindness of his heart," she said, adding silently, '*Because he saw I was going to be banned forever.*'

A couple of meters away, the grey-eyed boy snorted incredulously. "I don't believe *that*'s the case." He tilted his head in challenge.

Sebastien blinked at him a couple of times. '*This boy is being antagonistic for no reason now.*' Half the room was eavesdropping unabashedly, and curious whispers had started up between some students. She resisted the urge to glare at him and tell him to mind his own business, as she doubted that would help her avoid more attention.

Tanya clasped her hands behind her back and leaned in closer, a small, conspiratorial smile on her face. "Hmm. Are you just that good, then? I'll have to find out your secret, Mr. Siverling."

Internally, Sebastien groaned and dropped her head into her hands. '*I need to redirect this conversation somehow.*' Outwardly, she shrugged. "I really have no secrets to tell. I'm more interested in learning the secret of that spell you used to raise yourself above the crowd earlier," she said.

Tanya waved her hand dismissively, but the small smile remained on her face, maybe even growing a little. "You'll learn a variation in your second term." She turned back to the rest of the dorm, raising her voice fully again. "That is, *if* you manage to last that long. The University is competitive, you know that. Some of you may not be aware that, for every term before your Apprentice certification---in addition to those of you who fail naturally---the lowest one out of every ten people will not continue on to the next term, regardless of passing grades or test scores."

There were some murmurs of uncertainty. "In *addition* to those who fail?" someone echoed.

"If you were admitted, you were judged adequate. You beat out approximately seventy percent of this year's applicants. To continue, you must not be merely adequate, you must be better than your fellow sorcerers. If you fall into this sub-par category, but have not failed your classes, you must either leave the University or re-take that term's core classes. Due to the competitive nature of your fellow students, you may find people wish to push you down in order to climb higher by walking on your back. Pranks and petty theft are common. However, any truly harmful pranks or attacks on your person will be met with punishment. The University supports adversity. It does not allow damage to the future generations of leaders who are trained here."

Tanya's words made Sebastien's stomach clench. She had continued to study after the examination, but with the alarm ward project for Dryden, she hadn't even had the time to get completely through her reference texts a second time. '*It shouldn't be so dismaying. Just as I couldn't learn enough in the initial two weeks, two more weeks isn't enough to fix that deficiency. It'll likely take me all term to reach an acceptable standard, and perhaps even longer than that. I hope it's enough.*' She'd noticed that Tanya said the University would not allow harm to the future *leaders*. Perhaps the wording wasn't meant to insinuate anything, but she wondered if it would cause as much backlash if the person who came to harm was a poor, unconnected civilian who just happened to score higher than the Crown Family children.

"After the first three terms, there's no limit on who can pass, but the classes will get harder, and the spells more demanding. Not everyone can keep up with the necessary growth of their Will. Don't expect to graduate without reaching at least two hundred fifty thaums instant capacity."

"If you have doubts," Newton said, "I encourage you to take one of the remedial classes in the evening. They're free."

Tanya nodded. "Remedial classes have someone available to supervise your casting and handle emergencies, just like the practice rooms. It's safer than practicing on your own and risking Will-strain or death." The room grew very silent. Tanya cast her gaze over the first-term students. "To be clear, some of you *are* going to die. Statistically, one in fifteen will misstep or catastrophically lose control before reaching Master level." She let the silence hang for a moment after those ominous words.

"We're here to help. Maybe for some of you, we can change those numbers," Newton said. "If you're feeling stressed or worn-down, there are resources available to all students. Please don't take chances with your life or sanity."

"Yes. The University has a lot of protections in place and resources for those who feel they or those around them might be in danger. All the structures are spelled to withstand damage. There are wards drawn into the floor around every desk in the classrooms to contain misfires. There are dozens of practice classrooms where you can do your practical work under supervision of an upper-term student. The professors are trained in crisis management. The University has some of the best healers in the world, as well as a wing in the infirmary dedicated to spell damage. There is a section of every building reinforced and set aside to use as an emergency shelter in case of dangerous rogue magical beings or effects. Those locations are in your on-boarding materials. Make sure you have them memorized."

Tanya sighed, looking suddenly tired. "The mortality rate is this high *despite* these efforts. If you are found to be endangering the life of another student through reckless use of magic, get ready to be expelled." She glared around at them, letting the threat hang in the air.

Tanya turned back to the double doors, motioning for the group to follow her. "Ward your area and belongings, if you know how. Nothing permanent, however. You'll likely be moving dorms by next year, even if you're not one of those who manages to earn the points for a better boarding arrangement."

They exited the north doors of the student housing building, and Tanya pointed out the High Tower to the east, which sat at the edge of the cliffs, looking over the sea. The whole thing belonged to the Archmage, and according to Tanya, held both his living area and heavily warded rooms where he practiced the most powerful magic in the country. "See those chunks cut out of the top level? Those aren't just windows. Someone tries to attack by sea, and Archmage Zard uses the heavy artillery to turn them into kraken food," she said. "The smaller buildings next to it are mostly professors' homes."

They went west from there, passing the servants' quarters, which were in a rectangular building much like their own dorm, and arrived at the cafeteria. "Your schedules should have a free period in the middle of the day to allow you to take meals, but it's not required you do so at those times," Tanya said before leading them through the process of ordering food with their student tokens.

Sebastien was pleasantly surprised by the quality, until Newton explained that normally, any luxurious or expensive foods could only be purchased with contribution points, and this meal was merely a one-time bonus. Their tokens got them into the cafeteria, but students without points could only order more basic items, and had a limit on how many dishes they could add to their plate each meal.

After they finished eating, the student liaisons led them outside again. They pointed out the Flats to the north, where the white cliffs rose higher and lost their covering of dirt, creating a few flat buttes and many wide open spaces.

Another tower rose out of the midst of the trees as they moved further west. This was Eagle Tower, and restricted to professors and high-level student aides, who used it for research and experimentation.

Beyond that was what Tanya ominously called "the Menagerie," warning them not to act like idiots with plants and animals they didn't understand. "Every term, at least one person is sent to the medical wing because they were too stupid to realize you don't touch possibly dangerous things you don't understand. You do not sniff them. You do not *taste* them. And you *definitely* do not decide to be friends with them because they're just *so darn cute.*"

Finally, they swung around to the library, where Newton explained how to navigate the building, reserve private study rooms, and more or less find books on specific topics. There were crystal balls set on podiums around the central atrium, and these operated as index and search artifacts. They were engraved with a sophisticated silver spell array that could retrieve information from a complicated organizational catalogue. Newton demonstrated their use by writing some keywords on a small card of paper and feeding it into the brazier attached to one. He stared into the crystal, then led them to a far corner of the library and pulled out an old book on the care and feeding of under-bed dust bunnies.

Sebastien *couldn't wait* to try it for herself.

The large majority of the library was off-limits to students under Apprentice level---those who'd completed at least three terms. Restricted books were held in archives below ground level, along with a huge emergency shelter that Newton was quick to remind them of. Books that were deemed possibly dangerous to inexperienced casters, but not illegal, resided on the higher floors. After three terms and an Apprentice certification, you could access the second floor as well as the ground floor. A Journeyman, at five terms, could access all the above-ground levels. Getting access to the archives in the basement required Master certification or special dispensation, and sometimes both. They could also use contribution points to access certain restricted areas early.

The ground floor of the library held enough books that Sebastien could have spent years among their pages. Still, she couldn't help but look up through the atrium with envy, chafing at the thought that all that knowledge would be out of her reach for at least three terms.

Finally, Tanya and Newton returned them to their dorms, did another head count to make sure they had lost no students along the way, and left for their own, much more private rooms.

Sebastien placed a basic perimeter alarm ward around her bed with a hard wax crayon. She didn't want anyone sneaking up on her in her sleep. A simple spell she'd learned from one of the books Katerin bought her locked the trunk at the base of her bed.

Some of the other students prepared similarly, while others either watched apprehensively or shrugged off the danger as exaggerated.

'*It'll have to do for now, until I can learn stronger protections.*'

Finally, she cast the dreamless sleep spell on her pillow, set another newly learned alarm spell on her pocket watch to wake her in the morning, and shoved some wax in her ears to drown out the sounds of the other students. '*It's too bad I cannot draw attention to myself in these exhibitions. I would really like to buy my way into a more private room*.' She struggled to fall asleep, the drawn curtains not enough to make her feel safe in a room with a hundred and fifty strangers.
 
Chapter 19 - Introduction to Modern Magics
Chapter 19 - Introduction to Modern Magics

Sebastien

Month 11, Day 2, Monday 4:00 a.m.​

When Sebastien woke on Monday morning, with only the light of the stars filtering in through the window to see by, she didn't know where she was for a moment. She lay still, her Conduit in her hand without having knowingly grabbed it, and waited for the danger to reveal itself. As her brain cleared of dream residue, it caught up with recent events, and she realized she was in a dorm room with over one hundred other students. If something external had woken her, it was likely just a snore.

She grabbed the pocket watch sitting on her bedside table and held it up to the window to read the time in the faint light. Setting the watch back down with a sigh, she got up. With a fresh set of clothes, one of the luxurious towels she had brought from Dryden Manor, and the pouch that held her hygiene materials, she tiptoed off to the bathrooms assigned to their dorm. The bathroom, like the dorm, was all one big room, but at least the thin walls enclosing the showers and self-cleaning chamber pots provided some privacy.

The water was hot, and the feel of it beating down on her shoulders as she washed helped to put her at ease. When she returned to her bed, she felt calm enough to secure at least a few more hours of rest. She knew that she would need it.

When she woke again to the vibration of her spelled pocket watch, she felt ridiculously refreshed. '*Well, that* is *almost twice as much sleep as I normally get. I suppose I've forgotten what it feels like to be rested. Perhaps the library will contain a stronger version of the dreamless sleep spell. It would be wonderful to feel like this every day.*' She dressed in one of her much-too-expensive suits and carefully filled its pockets with her standard gear, then recast the locking spell on her trunk before leaving for the cafeteria.

The comments about the University food had not been in jest. It was...lacking, both in taste and in volume. '*It's funny how quickly you can adapt to hedonism,*' she thought, spooning tasteless oat slop into her mouth. A mouth-watering omelet with cheese and fresh vegetables and a stack of waffles with nuts and drizzled syrup had called tantalizingly to her stomach...but they were only for students with contribution points. The worst thing, though, was that *coffee* required points, which shouldn't have been a surprise, considering its cost. '*Just a couple of months ago, on the road, I was conditioned to campfire food with only the occasional seasoning, and wouldn't have found this meal lacking. Staying at Dryden Manor has spoiled me. Perhaps I can buy some spices in the city and add them to the meals myself.*'

Her first class was Introduction to Modern Magics, in one of the slightly wedge-shaped classrooms on the ground floor of the Citadel. The surface of the students' desks were made of dark slate, like the blackboard at the front of the room, and had a main Circle and a few attached component Circles carved into the surface already, ready to be filled with a written Word array. Sebastien assumed this was for both safety and convenience. '*It's impossible to carelessly smudge a carved line.*'

The teacher was an older woman, but despite her grey hair, her cheeks were rosy, her lips plump, and her eyes bright. All signs of rejuvenating cosmetic magics, or perhaps glamours. "Welcome, students!" she said, her tone both kind and enthusiastic, like some perfect mother from a child's tale. "I am Jan Burberry, Professor of Modern Magics and Master Sorcerer. You can call me Professor Burberry."

"This is Introduction to Modern Magics. The class is an amalgam of many of your other classes, taking bits from all of them, and encouraging you to put those pieces together as we learn to both understand and cast spells. It is not called simply 'Introduction to Magic' because we will be focusing on the contemporary understanding and innovations to our process that have allowed us to make such great strides as a nation. I am talking about sorcery." She looked around at all the students, who were listening raptly with an energy that would no doubt wane later in the term as the novelty wore off and fatigue set in.

"Sorcery is, in fact, inherently no different from other forms of magic. We have simply given a new name to a new, more ordered method of *thinking* about magic, and about the world. Modern magic is quantified and defined---as best we can, anyway. We understand the purpose of the Word, and with transparent methods of notation, a spell can be learned by someone halfway across the country, with no need for a teacher to walk the neophyte through each step. Natural science allows us to understand the world and use its established rules to affect change. A broader comprehension of sympathetic science allows us to devise a way to attain almost any imaginable spell output." She said the words with the gravitas they deserved, a kind of gleeful avarice in her eyes, and suddenly Sebastien saw how a woman such as Professor Burberry had become a Master of sorcery, a shiver of excitement aroused in her own chest.

The professor stopped and looked at a young man in the middle of the classroom. "Do you know the commonly used analogous terms for the effects of natural science and sympathetic science?"

The young man stiffened in surprise and swallowed heavily. "Err, transmutation and transmogrification?"

Professor Burberry nodded. "Correct. As you should know, transmutation is the magical art of transforming something from one form into another, natural form, configuration, or element of itself. A common example is transforming water into ice, or mud into stone. Transmutation takes one thing and turns it into another directly. Transmogrification takes the *intangible qualities* of something and uses them to transform something else or cause some effect. A common example of this is using a feather, preferably a white feather, in a spell to reduce weight. Even if you see the connection between a feather, flight, and the idea of weightlessness, why does the *color* of the feather matter? You will dig deeper into this in your class on sympathetic science.

"All magic consists of the same basic elements. Components, if you will." She paused, and scattered members of the class tittered at the little joke. "It is often said that magic has three necessary elements. This is wrong. It is similar to the misconception that we live in three dimensions. Can anyone explain what I mean by this?"

The classroom was silent. Sebastien frowned, trying to figure out what the woman was getting at. '*Will, Word, and Sacrifice are the elements of magic. What three dimensions do we supposedly live in? Does she mean length, width, and height, like a three-dimensional box?*'

The woman's next words confirmed this suspicion. "There are three spatial dimensions, but the fourth dimension is time, which allows us to experience the other three. Time is not different from space, it is simply that we live inside it, and so we cannot see it. Or at least, that is the latest theory of Archmage Bolton from Silva Erde." She drew some depictions on the board of how the world would be perceived in one, two, three, and four dimensions.

Sebastien drank in the explanation with excitement, her mind swirling as her paradigm of the world shifted. She had never thought of time in that manner before. '*If that's true, then doesn't it mean time can be bent or changed, like the other three?*' She imagined a pocket of invisible time tucked away from the rest of the world, like the amulet she wore under her shirt had been tucked away inside a space-bending spell in the leather of the stolen book. Perhaps one day, she could create such a thing.

Professor Burberry turned from the drawing on the blackboard. "Does anyone know the fourth dimension of magic, now?"

Slightly behind Sebastien and to her right, a familiar voice called out, "You are speaking of the Conduit, Professor."

She turned to see the rude, grey-eyed boy, a small smirk playing about his mouth.

The professor tipped her head to him in acknowledgment. "That is correct, Mr. Westbay. The Conduit is the fourth element, which allows the expression of the initial three. All students should have one, and you will need one for this class. Conduits for sorcerers are a mineral called celerium. Celerium, in its purest and most conductive form, is a clear crystal. In addition to being the only suitable Conduit for a sorcerer, it is useful in a number of artifacts and other delicate and powerful spells, and with the limited amount that can be mined each year, it is understandably a valuable resource." She stopped, her eyes on Sebastien. "Do you disagree, young man?"

Sebastien belatedly realized that she had been frowning, her head tilted to the side quizzically. She may have even given a small shake of her head, before Professor Burberry reminded her that she was visible to the other people in the classroom, and, beyond that, that the person teaching her was not her grandfather, the man that relished dissension as a sign of actual thought from his pupil. '*I must stop forgetting that*.' Aloud, she said, "Oh, no, Professor. I apologize."

Burberry gave her a raised eyebrow and a challenging quirk of her plump lips. "No need to back down now, young man. Are you a witch, perhaps? You have your own familiar and feel it is just as good as a celerium Conduit?" Her words were---ever so slightly---mocking. "Tell us what is on your mind. Do not be shy."

Sebastien could feel herself straightening in response, but resisted the urge to stand. "I just thought that it seemed you were leaving out other possible Conduits besides celerium. I have a celerium Conduit myself, and I agree that they are superior for sorcerers, but as I understand it, one can use anything at all as a Conduit. It's just that most things don't work very well for the purpose, or have other downsides or requirements, like using your own body as a Conduit, or needing to make a contract with a being from another plane."

Burberry had lost her faint smile and was now staring at Sebastien grimly. She let the silence drag on for too long, until it became uncomfortable. "I see I should have allowed you to remain silent." Finally, she turned to the rest of the class. "Using your own body as a Conduit is not just 'bad.' I do not consider it a viable option at all. I would sooner try to use the very air within my lungs to channel magic than such a ridiculously dangerous and suicidal method. Strike the possibility, the very idea, from your minds. Never consider it, even in the direst of circumstances. If you have no Conduit available to you, it would be better to die than to cast with your own flesh and blood." Again, she let the silence drag on, meeting their eyes with a hard gaze.

'*Knowledge is* always *better than ignorance. How could it be better to have no idea about the possibility than to understand and be wary of the dangers? Burberry doesn't believe this, it seems. If today is any indication, she will teach us what she thinks is good for us to know, not everything there is. But who is she to decide what we should know? Who is she to limit me at all?'* Sebastien found her heart pumping faster with indignation and tried to relax. *'She and I are philosophically incompatible. Still,*' she consoled herself, '*she is a Master of sorcery. There is much for me to learn from her.*' Sebastien had lost some of her enjoyment in Burberry's lecture, but she continued to pay attention.

"It is my duty to impress upon you, as I attempt with all my students, the danger of this path you have chosen to walk. Perhaps you have heard the statistics." Her voice was strained as she continued. "I have seen too many young lives snuffed out in the most gruesome of manners. Let us talk about the main ways we, as thaumaturges, put ourselves in danger. We will have this discussion once. If I see anyone carelessly putting themselves or others at risk, be assured I will punish you to the fullest extent of my authority."

She glared out at them until she was sure everyone was paying complete attention, then moved to write on the chalkboard. "Energy imbalance. Circle placement and disturbance. Will-strain. Conduit failure. Blood magic and corrupted Will."

She tapped her chalk on the first item on the list. "Objects have an energy coefficient that is based partially, but not completely, on their density. This affects both necessary input and output of a spell, as well as the strength of Will required to cast it. Let me give you some examples. If you are attempting a simple shape-change transmutation, say molding a twig into the shape of a block, with a one-gram twig and an output of a two-gram block, the extra mass has to come from somewhere. Somewhere you *didn't plan on*, which means you don't have the proper Word setup for it. The magic will become unstable, and if your Will is strong enough, the remaining wood might be carved out of somewhere else within the bounds of the Circle, and avoid the whole spell failing outright. What if your input and output volumes match, but you are molding a metal rod instead of a twig?" She turned expectantly toward her students.

"It takes more energy," someone supplied.

"Exactly. You will require a sufficient energy source to mold a material with a higher energy coefficient, as well as a stronger Will. What if you have not supplied enough energy?"

"It must come from somewhere," Sebastien muttered.

Burberry pointed at her. "Yes. But where?"

"From somewhere inside your Circle, hopefully. If your Will is strong enough, as you mentioned, you might be able to turn the spell to eating at the warmth of whatever matter lies within the spherical boundaries. Then, at the matter itself. Dirt, air, whatever there is. Will is a glue that can fill in the gaps, but there has to be something there to work with. You'd be risking the magic escaping your control and causing either physical or mental backlash."

"Let us ponder the situation in the other direction. You have a small flask of water. You attempt to put all the energy from a bonfire into it. What happens?" she asked, still staring at Sebastien.

"If the flask is sealed, it explodes. I suppose the nature of the damage would depend on how quickly you were transferring the energy. If your Will has a high enough capacity to push the contents of the flask from water to gas instantly, it could be very dangerous."

The woman nodded, humming thoughtfully. "Alright. Let's talk about the Circle itself, then. Let us say you are casting a spell on a piece of leather. Creating a purse that wards against thieves, perhaps. You stick your hand into the Circle. What happens?"

Sebastien's stomach twisted. That was not a random question. '*Professor Burberry must have heard about my idiocy during the verbal entrance exam.*' She hesitated before answering. "Any number of things could go wrong. Perhaps the spell doesn't distinguish between leather and living skin, and your hand is flayed and made into a purse."

Burberry's tone was cold. "And perhaps you lose control of the spell when that happens. Perhaps everything within the Circle explodes, and you die. Perhaps the loose magic rips your mind apart and you are left a mumbling idiot screaming at invisible terrors and wetting the bed for the rest of your life."

Sebastien swallowed. "Yes," she said, her voice little more than a shamed whisper, though her chin did not bow and her shoulders did not hunch.

Burberry turned to face the rest of the class again. "You can also cause damage by disturbing the boundary of the Circle. If it is drawn in chalk or scratched in the dirt, and something breaks the enclosure of the Circle, your control over the Sacrifice and the magic moving through the spell will be severely compromised. You will be lucky to escape with just Will-strain, *if* you are able to release the magic 'safely' and end the spell-casting prematurely. I recommend only casting spells with fully carved or engraved Circles, such as the ones the University provides." She motioned to their slate desks.

"Who can tell me the causes, signs, and side effects of Will-strain?"

The grey-eyed boy to Sebastien's right raised his hand immediately, and the professor nodded to him. "Your Will can be strained from losing control of a spell's magic, or simply from channeling too much at once, or for too long," he said, reciting the answer with the cadence of something memorized. "It starts with headaches, dizziness, and inability to concentrate. At this point, a few days of rest from spellcasting or mental strain will heal you. With more moderate strain, judgment is impaired. Sometimes thaumaturges display difficulty modulating emotions, with rapid swings from one to the other. At this point, one to two weeks of rest is recommended, along with a visit to a healer to ensure there is no lasting damage. Then hallucinations, with the more severe ones resulting in paranoia and even accidental harm to oneself or others. The strain is very serious at this point. You should ignore the hallucinations. Avoid focusing on them and forcefully relax yourself, even if that requires sedatives. There is still a possibility of recovery at this point. Beyond it, the Will-strain damage is irreversible, and results in complete insanity and at times, the loss of higher brain functions."

"A good answer," Burberry said.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sebastien could see the boy trying to shoot her a superior look. She didn't turn toward or acknowledge him in any way.

He humphed and deflated a bit.

'*Childish*.'

"Let me impress upon you all that even mild Will-strain is nothing to shrug off," Burberry continued. "You will be excused from in-class exercises and casting homework if you bring a note confirming Will-strain from our infirmary, and the medics there are well-versed in treating it."

She turned back to the next item on the board. "Now, Conduit failure. This danger can come as a sudden surprise to a thaumaturge, and, indeed, there is little warning. Most commonly, a Conduit fails because it is not rated for the volume of energy being channeled through it. This can happen as a sorcerer outgrows their crystal. This is also why we attempt to quantify the energy needed for modern spells, and note it. If your Conduit is not rated, get it tested, and *do not* cast spells above its limit. We will be testing your Will's capacity on the Henrik-Thompson scale today. Your Conduit should always be more powerful than you are. If it is not, replace it immediately. For non-sorcerers, such as witches, who channel their magic through a contracted being, failure due to simple lack of channeling capacity is much rarer. Deliberate sabotage by an improperly bound being is more common, but beyond the purview of this class."

She turned back to the board, tapping her chalk on the last item on the list. "Finally---and I hope none of you ever have to deal with this particular risk factor---extreme mishaps are common with those who cast blood magics and other depraved spells. You can corrupt your Will, which has consequences greater than any Will-strain or spell gone wrong." Burberry paused and looked at the ground for a few long seconds, her rosy cheeks pale. "Those who cast magic with a corrupted Will have a chance to become an Aberrant. A grotesque, mindless monster bent on evil." She didn't elaborate further.

The class broke into murmurs. '*Aberrants are like a scary story used to frighten children, to them,*' Sebastien mused. '*They hear about them, but one has never touched their lives.*'

"Some Aberrants still have enough of their higher brain function to cast magic." Burberry looked to Sebastien. "They channel it through their own bodies. Which, incidentally, is another way to corrupt your Will, even with the most innocent of spells."

Sebastien looked back at her, trying to show that she understood the woman's point, though she still didn't feel a simple mention of what was possible deserved such an overreaction. Also, that was a huge oversimplification of what Aberrants were, or could do.

The lecture turned to the other topics they would cover that term, and ended halfway through the ninety-minute period to allow time for the testing of their Wills.

Burberry brought out a crystal ball embedded in the surface of a complicated spell array etched in copper. This was the Henrik-Thompson measurement artifact, named after its creators. She dimmed the light crystals illuminating the room and lit a small brazier burning some kind of oil.

The students were to channel light through the crystal ball using the flame in the brazier as an energy source. Sebastien had tested herself in one of the larger cities she and Ennis had traveled through over a year prior. The Henrik-Thompson scale only measured the amount of energy someone could channel, not any of the other facets of Will power, but it was the most widely used metric, probably because it was easiest to test, and often showed correlation to the overall caliber of a thaumaturge's Will. The brighter the light, the more power they were channeling per second.

Burberry placed a Conduit on the copper plate. "Everyone will cast with this today. It is rated to Master level, so have no fear of exceeding its capacity. Remember, if you test above your Conduit's thaum rating, replace it as soon as possible." She paused, then said firmly, "There will be no disturbances or distractions while another student is casting."

Some students struggled to conduct even the barest flicker of light, even in the dimness of the room. Those were the people who didn't come from rich families that only abided by the laws restricting learning or teaching magic when they saw fit. For some, it might even have been the first spell they ever cast, strange as that seemed to Sebastien. Many commoners never cast any real magic in their lifetimes.

The rich boy who seemed intent on quarreling with her didn't hesitate in front of the spell array. He caused the crystal to glow brightly and held the light steady, clear evidence that he had long practice in spell casting. He glared down at it as he pushed his Will to its limits.

It was also obvious when Burberry showed neither surprise nor concern that the University didn't expect these laws to be universally enforced. "One hundred sixty-six thaums."

It was an impressive number, judging by the average of ten among true novices, and seventy from those who had prior experience casting. He shot Sebastien a smug look.

When it was her own turn, Sebastien was surprised by her performance. Under the steely force of her Will, the crystal glowed bright and brighter, and Burberry's eyebrows rose slightly as it illuminated an area a few feet in diameter.

Sebastien felt like she might be able to push a little harder, but she was aware of the gazes of sudden interest or surprise. She was also aware of her lack of any real background. Sebastien was an illegitimate heir of the nonexistent Siverling family. With mild disappointment, she held the spell at its current power, and then released it. She wouldn't be able to show them her prowess or superiority, but that was probably for the best. '*Sebastien Siverling shouldn't stand out, so once he's gained his eventual certification, he can melt away without anyone being particularly interested.*'

"Two hundred three thaums," Burberry announced.

It was higher than Sebastien had thought it would be. '*I've improved,*' she thought, keeping the pleased smile from her face.

The pretty girl who slept in the bed across from Sebastien's gave her an assessing look, not even trying to be subtle about it, then raised an eyebrow toward her friend.

He scowled.

Sebastien gave him a bland look, then returned to her seat, the edges of her lips twitching.

Once everyone had finished, Burberry recommended the same remedial casting classes and supervised practice rooms Tanya and Newton had mentioned the day before. "Practice is extremely critical to improving your Will's capacity. The more you practice, the faster you grow. For those of you on the lower end, you will find, with some variation due to talent and the effort you place into your practice, that your capacity improves by about one thaum for every fourteen hours of spellcasting. If you were to practice for an hour every day for the next ten years, you might find it only takes five hours to gain a thaum. Archmage Zard can gain a thaum in half that. Of course, he has to train with much more powerful magic to do so. The improvement from practice might be negligible in the short term, but over time, with dedication, it can be the difference between cooling your house to a comfortable temperature during the summer and saving an entire village from a forest fire. Your potential is limited only by your lifespan---which will be lengthened with consistent magic use---and your dedication to continually stretching your limits."

'*Even the most powerful thaumaturges die eventually, though,*' Sebastien thought, thinking of her grandfather. '*And if it were truly so easy to become an Archmage, there would be more of them.*'

Burberry gave the class a handful of simple variations on a rudimentary spark-shooting spell meant to teach the students how to mold their mindset and their Will toward various effects and get comfortable writing spell arrays. She explained how the spell array worked in detail.

Sebastien had learned the spell as a child, to ward off animals. She hadn't used all the spell array variations Burberry wanted them to practice, but as with most of the simple spells she'd learned that young, she had practiced creating sparks to exhaustion, perpetually entertained by the wonder of casting magic. She would have no trouble with any of the variations, even if she didn't have the specific spell array meant to send the sparks shooting up, or change their color.

Burberry handed out little pouches with one lava berry, a dried fire salamander, and a small piece of flint, to be used as sympathetic components instead of the natural component of the heat within the Circle. She said nothing about returning these components after using them to practice, but none of the spell variations should actually *consume* them, so Sebastien hoped she would get to keep them. Growing her stock of components had been a never-ending struggle throughout her life, and for these, she figured she was paying the University more than enough.

It became more obvious which students had never really cast before as Burberry walked them through using tools to draw an even Circle and measuring the placement of the internal triangle used to cast this spell.

"For those of you with higher capacities, remember that growth comes from effort. If you can cast this spell easily with only a couple of sparks, push yourself. Go to one of the supervised practice rooms and see how many sparks you can create at once, or how far you can get them to fly. Control the specific shade of the sparks as you change their color. If you are lazy, you will find that other students soon surpass you, and by the end of term it might be too late to put in effort. The University has no need for the lazy."

Burberry let them practice for the last few minutes of class under her supervision, answering questions and correcting mistakes, and then told them to practice all the little variations on shooting sparks till they had a firm grasp on it before class on Wednesday.

After class, the boy who'd been doing his best to irritate her since they met brushed by her in the hallway. "Don't get complacent, Siverling. Professor Lacer might see through you just as easily as Burberry did, and he doesn't abide fools in his presence."

She lost her patience, no longer finding his childish frustration with her superiority amusing. Sebastien rounded on him. "Listen, Westchester, Westerfield, whatever your name is, I'd appreciate it if you drop this little one-sided feud you've built up in your own mind and let me learn in peace. Do you have nothing important in your own life to tend to, that you must constantly stick your nose into mine?"

His eyes widened, then narrowed. "You don't remember my name?" he asked suspiciously.

She sighed, looking toward the ceiling for patience. "We're not friends. I wouldn't even consider us acquaintances. And you're *certainly* not my arch-nemesis, if that's the impression you got from someone having the guts to call you out on your lack of manners. I can assure you, all the other 'commoners' in line were thinking it, too. Everyone else was simply too resigned to say it aloud."

"I introduced myself to you when we met," he said, still hung up on the surprise of not being the most memorable person in her life.

She stared at him flatly.

"The professor *called my name in class.*"

She threw up her hands and turned on her heel, striding off down the hallway. "I don't have the time or patience for this," she muttered. "I have to get to class."

After a few seconds, he caught up to her, getting in front and then blocking her way. "My name is Westbay. Damien Westbay!" He jabbed a thumb at his chest, glaring at her. "Don't forget it."

"Oh, my mistake. Please continue while I take notes." She twirled her hand dramatically, stepping around him and pulling out her map of the University to find her next class.
 
Chapter 20 - Practical Will-based Casting
Chapter 20 - Practical Will-based Casting

Sebastien

Month 11, Day 2, Monday 2:15 p.m.​

Sebastien's next class was Natural Science, which she found more fascinating than she had thought she would, mostly due to the enthusiasm of the professor. The classroom was large, and divided into two sections. One part was desks and seats for students to listen to lectures and take notes, while the other section was lined with sturdy slate tables and various pieces of equipment for them to do practical experiments.

Professor Gnorrish was a big, tall man---not the image one had of a person who spent all his time in the laboratory or library---and he had a big, tall personality and a passion for his field to match. His excited grin was infectious. He waved his arms about and let his voice boom while he spoke, and at one point Sebastien even thought he might jump up and down to better impress his enthusiasm upon them.

"Natural science is the new wave of magic, powerful because of the nature of reality, rather than in spite of it. It relies on the strength of the ties that bind reality together, rather than the strength of the caster alone. One day, I believe we will discover how to replicate all of transmogrification's abilities with transmutation as our understanding of natural science grows."

Some students seemed to find this ludicrous, a few rude snorts coming from a couple of boys in expensive clothes.

Sebastien turned around to throw them a disdainful glare, and was surprised to find Westbay doing the same across from her. He had walked into the classroom a minute after her, and had studiously ignored her since then, which she found perfectly acceptable.

Professor Gnorrish didn't seem to mind the obvious disagreement, though. He nodded to the boys who had snorted. "You think me naively optimistic, I assume. Yet, let me ask you this. Have we not accomplished things in the last one hundred years that the humans of aeons past would have considered impossible to achieve without transmogrification by a powerful thaumaturge?" He reeled off a list of achievements and names, and when he finished, all the students were silent. "What more might we accomplish in one hundred more years?"

At the end of class, he instructed them to borrow and read certain books from the library, which held multiple copies of his specified texts, and then released them.

It was her free period next. Despite the pangs of hunger from her stomach, Sebastien went to the library rather than the cafeteria. She wanted to get there before all the other students picked the shelves bare of the assigned books.

Sebastien borrowed them with her student token, then sat at a table and flipped through each to gauge how long they would take her to read. She doubted the dorm room would be the best place to get work done, at least not while the other students were awake. After a few minutes, she put the books in her leather satchel and went to browse the shelves. '*If I ever do anything to jeopardize my status as a student here, I will lose access to all these books. More books than I could read in a lifetime. I would rather cut off my own toes with a sharpened spoon.*'

Thinking of the encrypted book in her room at Dryden Manor, she searched for guides on decryption. Most of them were on one of the floors still unavailable to her. The subject was large and complex, and a quick perusal showed that many of the books were beyond her comprehension. She found a couple of primers meant for children, as well as a book on unlocking, nullifying, and revealing spells. She checked all three out, then browsed some more. The sheer number of books was astounding. They even had books on Aberrants, though none on the first floor had any deeper information than what could be pieced together from rumors and newspaper articles.

Even the lure of the books all around her couldn't distract her from making it to her next class on time. She'd been looking forward to and dreading it in equal parts since being accepted to the University. She stopped by the cafeteria to eat and quickly found her way to her next class.

Professor Lacer's classroom was the largest she'd been in so far. Introduction to Practical Will-based Casting was her first elective, and probably popular enough to need all the desks stretching out and upward toward the back of the room.

Sebastien sat close to the front of the already filling room, trying not to fiddle from a combination of impatience and nervousness. '*Professor Lacer may have saved me, but he also knows what an idiot I can be. He cannot have been impressed by my tantrum during the examination.*' She stilled, the remembered shame calming her. '*But he must have seen potential in me, too. I just have to make sure he doesn't regret his decision.*'

"I heard Professor Lacer is the youngest free-caster in the last three centuries," a man said.

"I heard he should be an Archmage already, but the council of Grandmasters just doesn't want to recognize him because he's too young and not from any noble bloodline," someone else said.

"Archmage? That's impossible," a girl interjected, shaking her head. "I don't care how talented he is, you need decades of practice to get that powerful. Archmage Zard wasn't given the title until he was eighty-three. Professor Lacer can't even be fifty yet."

"He could be older. Heavy magic use keeps you revitalized, you know..." another girl said doubtfully. "I'm hoping learning how to free-cast will keep me wrinkle-free until I'm at least older than my mother."

Another girl snorted derisively at that, and Sebastien suppressed the urge to nod in agreement.

"Well, *I* heard he was part of the Red Guard after the war," yet another young man said, his voice hushed as if sharing a secret.

"Oh, that's definitely true. My uncle told me the coat he wears all the time is actually an artifact spelled against blood magic curses," the first man said. "It's made of the skin of a half-troll, half-giant that Lacer killed during the Haze War."

The girl who'd snorted earlier laughed. "Your uncle is either telling you tall tales, or he's as gullible as you apparently are."

Drawn by the conversation, another boy walked over and sat with the group of gossipers. "Did you guys hear what he did to that girl who tried to break into his house and seduce him a couple years back?"

"*What*?" the girl who was worried about wrinkles gasped, one hand covering her open mouth. "Who? What did she---I mean..."

The newest addition to their group nodded sagely. "My sister was a student when it happened. The girl was an upper-term research assistant, and apparently she thought Lacer was just *shy* when he kept rejecting her. So she tried to break through the wards to his house wearing only a cloak---nothing underneath at all! Of course, things didn't go like she expected." He paused dramatically as the others leaned in and urged him to continue. "His wards triggered around her and left her tied up, half naked, and *green-skinned*. When he found her he cursed her to never feel physical desire again, and gave her a huge, hairy wart on the end of her nose so no one else would be tempted, either."

"No," another boy said, leaning back and crossing his arms. He shook his head. "A professor wouldn't do that. I mean, he probably expelled her, but they can't just get away with cursing students whenever they feel like it."

"Yeah, Professor Lacer's not *evil*," the girl said with a "humph."

"But he is really strict," the first man said. "I heard he expelled a student for coughing on him in the cafeteria."

There were nods all around, and the conversation turned to free-casting, each student taking it in turns to brag about all the cool things they planned to do once they were able to free-cast.

Only after all the seats were filled---Sebastien was sure half the first term students had signed up for the class---did Professor Lacer stalk in, a long trench coat flapping behind him as the fabric tried to keep up with his long stride. His hair was again tied back simply at the nape of his neck. His eyebrows were bushy and winged, adding to the piercing nature of his dark eyes. He kept a beard short enough that its attempts to grow wild were restrained. Overall, his appearance matched his reputation: impatient, dangerous, and extremely competent.

He stopped in the middle of the room, staring out and up at them. It took merely seconds for the room to quiet. "Welcome to Practical Will-based Casting, or as my upper-term students like to call it, Practical Casting. In it, I will teach those of you who are willing to learn how to do what I can do." His words were heavy with importance, though he did not shout. He turned and pointed his finger to the far side of the lecture stage.

Sebastien's hair fluttered, though there had been no wind, and suddenly, a person appeared where before there had been nothing, standing near the wall.

She jumped in surprise, as did most of the other students, but calmed herself when she saw it was just a practice dummy. Why it had been invisible, she did not know, but she assumed it had been for dramatic effect.

Thaddeus Lacer kept pointing. His Conduit, large and clear, peeked out from the curled fingers of his pointing hand.

His other hand, held at his side, was gripping a beast core just the right size to fit within his grasp and allow his middle finger and thumb to touch.

'*Is he forming the Sacrifice Circle out of his own hand?*' Most modern magic used physical, external Circles, though older, more esoteric spells didn't always. Sometimes a spell could be bounded by your own body, or even something intrinsically attached and belonging to you, like your shadow.

The simple shadow-familiar spell she'd shown off to Katerin, letting it writhe and seem to come to life, used the heat of her breath going through a Circle made of her hands along with the light that touched her shadow. But even with a low-powered spell like that, the air between her hands would ripple visibly with the energy being channeled.

At the tip of his outstretched finger, a spark of orange light appeared. It swirled around his fingertip and was quickly joined by others. They multiplied and coalesced in front of his finger until they formed a pulsing, bright orange ball.

Sebastien could see no shimmer, glow, or any other sign that he was channeling energy, except for the fireball hovering beyond the tip of his finger. The efficiency was superb.

Without warning, that ball shot across the room toward the dummy, expanding a little as it went. On impact, it exploded.

Sebastien felt the warm wind blow past her face.

On the far side of the classroom, the practice dummy rocked back and forth on its stand, smoking and half ripped apart.

Professor Lacer turned back to the students. "It is not necessary to contain the *target* of your spell within a Circle before you cast. This should be obvious. A battle wand can cast a stunning spell at a distance, but have you ever heard of someone casting a transmogrification spell to turn a distant frog into a bird?" He paused, scanning the class. "No? Why is this?"

He turned, taking a few steps to make his coat flare out dramatically again. "Is it because transmogrification does not work unless you have the target within your domain of influence?" He paused as if waiting for someone to speak up, but no one did. "I can assure you that is not the case. Is it because a being's skin and inherent magic act as a barrier against invasive magics?" Another expectant pause. "Inherent magic is a barrier, but I can overcome it within a drawn Circle, and I can also overcome it with the fireball I just cast. Is the seeming limitation because the stunning spell, or the fireball, is much less complicated than whatever spell could turn a frog into a bird? Perhaps people simply do not have the *skill* to cast such magics at a distance. What do you think?"

No one answered him.

"A fireball spell shoots an actual ball of fire at the target. A revealing spell shoots vibrations and magic waves, which penetrate and then bounce back to the wand for interpretation. A stunning spell shoots a specific, low-current variation of lightning, along with the powdered saliva of a Kuthian frog, contained within a field of force. Upon release from the spell, the treated saliva rapidly degrades and becomes inert. The stunning spell is the most difficult of the three, and still only possible because the saliva needs no augmentation or other spellwork to do what it does. The common point of all these spells is that they are shooting something that exists in nature, not simply magic bound to an idea. However, with a complex enough, powerful enough spell, there is no reason that one could not shoot a spherical ranged attack that turns a frog into a bird, overcoming the creature's resistance to magic and maintaining the complex magical instructions and power to do so over distance. The Archmage can do it. The theory is that you are literally shooting the Circle and its Word at the target. It is so hard, and requires so much power, that most sorcerers will never succeed at it in their lives, and indeed, most do not truly attempt to do so."

'*Can* you *do it, Thaddeus Lacer?*' Sebastien wondered.

He turned, pointing at the wrecked practice dummy. "That is your eventual goal. At the end of nine terms, when you achieve your Mastery, one in twenty of you might have reached the level of competence that allows you to free-cast the simplest spells at range. However, unless you attempt Grandmastery, it is a more realistic goal for the *majority* of you to be able to free-cast normal spells, contained within an actual, physical Circle, rather than at range. Much less glamorous, but still versatile and incredibly useful. If any of you manage to free-cast a spell that requires complex magical instruction, at range, within your time at the University, I will be *stunned*."

He palmed a stick of chalk, seemingly from nowhere, and drew a Circle on the ground around him. He added no glyphs, no attached component Circles or instructions. The wind was already pulling at Sebastien's hair by the time Lacer had stood up. The man raised his arms, and the wind turned into a gale, pulling at her body and the very air in her lungs.

She gripped the edge of her desk for balance and kept her eyes greedily trained on him.

Professor Lacer began to levitate, the air under his feet shimmering like a mirage in the distance as he compressed it.

Casting spells on your own body was dangerous. This kind of levitation required him to stand within the Circle, as Professor Burberry had just warned so stridently against. Of course, Professor Lacer had proved his competence and control many times over.

'*Why doesn't he simply use the platform spell Tanya cast at orientation?*' Sebastien thought. '*I suppose there are any number of ways a powerful sorcerer can lift themselves from the ground. This method is certainly impressive.*' Even though she knew it was meant to motivate her, Sebastien found herself no less inspired*.*

"I can teach you all to do this. I can teach you to be both versatile and powerful," he announced, settling back to the ground as the air pressure returned to normal. "Yet somehow, the statistics show that four out of ten students will drop this class in the first three weeks. Seven out of ten either stop attending voluntarily, or cannot pass this class by the end of term. Failure in my class will not stop you from continuing on to the next term in the remainder of your classes, but why do so few students succeed?"

He paused to stare them down. "Because," he said, and suddenly his voice was louder, "this is the hardest class the University offers. It requires both intelligence and dogged determination. You will spend an hour and a half with me, three days per week, not two. If you wish to succeed, you must spend an additional two hours practicing on your own. Every. Single. *Day*. And *that* is if you already have some experience with sorcery. If your capacity hasn't reached at least fifty thaums, you will struggle to keep up, and I recommend you return to the class next term. If you are not prepared or not willing to spend that much time, feel free to go to Administration after the end of this class and remove yourself. In the meantime, let us get to work. As I have established, there is no time to waste."

A student raised their hand, and when Lacer called on them, asked, "Is it true you killed a dragon in the Haze Wars?"

Lacer scowled. "I am not here for gossip and dramatic stories. If that is the only reason *you* are here, get out."

The student shrank back, but didn't leave.

Professor Lacer motioned them up to the front of the class, where a pallet filled with squat cylindrical containers and small oil braziers appeared against the wall the same way the practice dummy had. "They are marked by difficulty. If your Will capacity is over one hundred fifty thaums, see me." He glanced briefly at Sebastien.

Curious, Sebastien eyed the cylinders, which were shaped like six-inch cross-sections of a tree trunk. Or a wide wheel of cheese. They were glass-topped and seemed to be filled with water and a metal ball. When she approached, Lacer pulled out a similar squat cylinder from under his desk. It was filled with transparent sand instead of water, and the metal ball nestled within was jagged, and bigger than the ones in the water containers.

She wasn't the only one to get sand, which was a bit of a relief after the other students' showing in Intro to Modern Magics. '*I suppose it makes sense that the smartest, most hardworking students would be the ones to take Lacer's class. Among the larger student population, I don't really stand out at all.*' The thought disappointed her a little, even though she knew it was best that no one had a reason to look at her too closely.

Suppressing a grunt of effort, she picked up the heavy glass wheel and returned it to her desk.

Professor Lacer then instructed them to place the wheel inside the Circle carved into their desks, drawing the Word over the glass top. With only three glyphs and a single numerological symbol, they were to send the iron ball rolling around the cylinder, reversing direction at random. For extra difficulty---and again he looked at Sebastien---they were to keep the ball from touching the outer edge of the wheel as it spun around.

"In this class, we will attempt to move away from the reliance on a complicated written Word. To become a free-caster, you must be able to hold the entirety of the Word within your own mind. I am going to improve not just your Will's overall capacity, but also the other facets---explosiveness, endurance, clarity, force, and soundness. However, you will start with casting spells of moderate difficulty for long periods of time, till you are able to hold them almost without conscious effort. It has to become instinct. It will take years of effort to become proficient. The difficulty of this first exercise depends largely on how quickly you move the ball through the medium. Attempt to reach a stable output no more than seventy percent of your maximum capacity. Do not stop casting."

With that, he turned away and plopped down at the desk at the front corner of the room.

Sebastien drew a triangle, since this was transmutation---heat energy into kinetic energy. A pentagon was more versatile, but she didn't think she needed it, here, and a tighter fit to the purpose of the spell could improve her efficiency. For the glyphs, she chose "*fire*," "*movement*," and "*circle*" the last of which she had learned recently.

After only a few minutes of forcing her ball through the sand, Sebastien began to feel the fatigue.

When a couple of other students stopped casting, Professor Lacer looked up, his lazy expression contrasted against the snap in his voice. "If you are not approaching Will-strain, I expect you to continue casting. If you *are* approaching Will-strain already, I suggest you drop this class and return to it in a term or two when you have built up your stamina." He didn't look at Sebastien this time, but she took the words to heart.

She settled back in her seat, relaxing tense muscles and taking her eye off the circling ball. It continued moving, and she settled into deep, slow breaths, watching with an unfocused gaze. She had always been one to practice casting almost obsessively, even if not so *deliberately* as Lacer had instructed. She had often played with whatever small new spell she'd learned until Ennis grew irritated with her. It served her well, here. Sebastien didn't know how long it had been when her mind started to burn. Not a real sensation, like the burn of overworked muscles, but a feeling, a strain. She breathed deeper and sank into it.

Fingers snapping in front of her face brought her back to reality.

She looked up to find Professor Lacer standing in front of her. "Class is over."

The rest of the students were standing up from their desks, some of them moving toward the door with their practice equipment, more of them looking at her and Lacer.

She cleared her throat and let the ball slow to a stop.

"Passably well done," he said. "Are you ready for our meeting?"

"Y---" Her voice broke, and she had to try again. "Yes."

"Homework!" he announced sharply, raising his voice so everyone could hear, but still looking at her. "Write down every possible glyph that could be used to cast this spell, as well as ten different, fully detailed spell arrays that could do the job. Due at the beginning of next class. Dismissed."

One of the students grumbled, "I thought this was practical casting, not practical essay-writing."

"Understanding the processes is the first step to being able to take over those processes from an external Word," Professor Lacer snapped back much louder, not even looking at the student. In a softer voice he said to Sebastien, "To my office, then. Keep up." He turned and strode away, barely acknowledging the students who either stared or scrambled to move out of his path.

Sebastien grabbed her satchel and the wheel of sand, and stumbled after him, limping slightly on legs that had fallen asleep while she cast.

The hallway had curved far enough to cut off their view of the classroom door when footsteps ran up behind them. Sebastien was exasperated to find it was Damien Westbay. Again.

"Professor Lacer, would you mind if I accompany you both? I have some questions for you." He glanced at Sebastien out of the corner of his eye, just a little too intently.

Sebastien resisted the urge to snort. '*Obviously, he wants to spy on my conversation with Professor Lacer.*'

Lacer let the silence stretch on just long enough to become uncomfortable, but when he spoke, his voice held a faint hint of amusement. "I am sure your questions can wait, Damien. You may drop by my office in half an hour."

"I could just wait outside your door. I---" Westbay cut off when Professor Lacer raised his eyebrows.

"Half an hour, Mr. Westbay." His words were enunciated and precise, not unkind, but still intimidating. He turned to stalk away, assured that his instructions would be followed.

Westbay pursed his lips in a way that looked unflatteringly close to a pout, but didn't follow as Sebastien hurried after their professor.

When they got to Lacer's office, which was done in dark woods and bright lights, with all four walls covered in bookcases and shelves holding interesting magical components and artifacts, he motioned for her to sit at the chair in front of his desk. He spoke while walking around the room, taking things from shelves and cabinets and placing them in a box. "I hope you understand that, due to the unusual nature of your attendance here, you must perform to my expectations if you wish to remain a student, Mr. Siverling."

Sebastien nodded. "I do."

"Your performance today was not as pitiful as many of the other students in my class, but still far from the standards I expect. To remedy this, you will practice additional casting exercises." He set the box on the desk in front of her and then handed her a sheet of paper filled with instructions. "You must be able to perform each exercise for two hours without stop, at an acceptable level of control."

"What is an acceptable level?" she asked, scanning over the exercises on the sheet.

He sat behind his desk. "Are you asking me so that you can achieve the absolute minimum standard of competence?" He didn't wait for her to respond. "It will be up to you to decide what is acceptable. Do not disappoint me."

She felt she could not possibly sit any straighter, or hold her stomach muscles any tighter. "I understand. When do you wish me to complete this by?"

"As quickly as possible. I am testing you, Mr. Siverling. I hope that is obvious. I wish to be sure I did not make a mistake." It was not a subtle threat.

'*Two hours a day of practice will not be enough, then,*' she thought. She had no intention of disappointing him. "I understand," she said again. "Is there anything else?"

He stared at her over the desk, his elbows resting on it and his fingers pressed together. Then he leaned back in his chair. "No. You may go."

She stood and bowed politely. "Thank you, Professor Lacer. You are the reason I am here, and I know it. I will not disappoint you."

"See that you do not."

She paused in the doorway and turned back. "Why did you keep me from being expelled and banned?" She'd decided not to ask, but her curiosity had overridden her good sense.

"You are an idiot. But I try to remind myself periodically how foolish I too was at your age. It is easy to forget. Perhaps you will be able to learn better, as I did."

She nodded silently, feeling a strange combination of shame and hope.

His dark gaze followed her as she left the room, and she took a couple of deep breaths to compose herself before hurrying toward the library with the heavy box in one arm and the wheel of sand in the other. She had work to do, and a plan to create.
 
Chapter 21 - No Greatness Without Adversity
Chapter 21 - No Greatness Without Adversity

Thaddeus

Month 11, Day 2, Monday 3:15 p.m.​

Thaddeus watched as the Siverling boy left the room with a stride so supremely self-assured it bordered on arrogant. The contrast of such dark eyes against pale hair made Siverling seem both perceptive and secretive, as if perhaps he had already divined all your inner thoughts, and was only keeping them to himself because he wished to. That composure would serve him well, *if* he managed to keep from killing himself over the next few years before achieving a basic level of competence.

A knock on his door frame brought his head up to see Damien, his old friend's son, standing in the doorway.

"Come in."

"Who is he?" Damien said impatiently, dropping his satchel and sitting in the chair before Thaddeus's desk.

"Hello to you too, Damien."

The boy sighed and rolled his eyes. "Hello, Professor, how do you do, etcetera, etcetera. Do we really need to trade such mundane greetings every time we meet? Was it not you who said needless pleasantries were the conversational defense of the unimaginative and boring?"

Thaddeus allowed the boy a small smile. "Indeed. 'He' is Sebastien Siverling."

"That's not what I meant at all. *I* know *his* name," Damien said bitterly, adding, "even if he can't remember mine," under his breath. Louder, he continued, "What's so special about him? I've been hearing all kinds of rumors."

"I have taken him as my provisional apprentice."

"So it is true!" Damien crowed. "I knew it. But you've never taken an apprentice before! Not even the heir of the High Crown was able to sway you, I heard. Were you planning to make him your apprentice from the beginning? Is that why you got so angry that I argued with him?"

"Reprimanding you for your foolishness had nothing to do with this. But no, I had not planned to take an apprentice this year. There were...extenuating circumstances."

"Is the Siverling family so influential, then? I've never heard of them."

Thaddeus resisted the urge to rub his temples to ease the headache building there. "Let me remind you, he is only a *provisional* apprentice. The Siverling family's influence, or lack thereof, has nothing to do with it."

Damien nodded. "So it was his display in the examination. No components? A darkness sphere and a blue flame?" The boy had lost his air of immature curiosity and was staring at Thaddeus with total seriousness. "I admit it looked impressive, but was that really all it took?"

Thaddeus leaned back in his seat, almost impressed despite himself. "Snooping, were you?"

"I was waiting my own turn, and happened to see when the door was opened. I cannot help it if my eyes work."

Thaddeus snorted. "Well, that was a part of it. Suffice it to say, I was intrigued." The Siverling boy's written test scores may have merely reached deep green, but Thaddeus had looked through the answers he felt were most relevant to determining mental acuity and intelligence.

Siverling was lacking in knowledge, and had obviously written his answers as if he expected a human to read and grade them, but he also knew how to think about an unconventional problem and try to solve it. Perhaps with guidance, he could learn how to think properly about more than test questions. Also, of course, there was the fact that Thaddeus did not believe for an instant the boy's clumsy evasion when asked about his previous experience as a sorcerer.

He had been impressed by the boy's use of light. Controlling light as a component or energy source required both clarity and force of Will. He knew there was no way the boy had encircled enough heat, or had the ability to channel enough even if it had existed, to create a flame so hot it turned blue. The boy had repurposed the light to create the flame, with only a moderate amount of heat radiating off it.

Thaddeus had also been impressed that Siverling was able to speak coherently after dropping the spell, rather than simply passing out.

But what most impressed him was that the boy was able to set the spell's output---the flame---outside of the sphere bounded by the chalk Circle. Not just at a static distance, but freely. This ability was one of the main hallmarks of true free-casting. He didn't teach it in his class until the later terms, and most students had a mental block that simply didn't allow them to make the leap in control. After seeing that, none of the other professors should have been willing to let him slip through their fingers. If Thaddeus had had to, he would have sponsored the boy's tuition fees himself.

No matter what Siverling said, he had definitely practiced sorcery for years already. Either that, or he was some kind of monstrous genius.

But Thaddeus was a monstrous genius, and even he would have struggled to channel that many thaums when he first began to cast.

Thaddeus imagined most of the other incoming students could not control that spell longer than a second or two without it slipping their control and causing serious backlash. When the boy had started casting it despite the half-finished, inefficient spell array, Thaddeus had thought they would have to scrape Siverling's remains off the floor before calling in the next student. Instead, Siverling and the room both remained entirely intact.

Of course, the boy was a moron for even attempting it, but Thaddeus knew that if he required all his students to be thoughtful, intelligent, and talented, he would end up leaving the University in a rage after never teaching anyone that met his standards.

"What did you meet with him about? Are you giving him special training?" Damien didn't wait for Thaddeus to respond. "*I* have been asking for special training since I was six!"

"I gave him a list of additional exercises to complete, on top of the normal work other students will be doing. He received no special instruction."

"I want to do the extra exercises too," Damien said immediately.

"Do you not think you will be busy enough with the regular assignments? I heard you're taking Divination on top of my own class, and Fekten's."

"If Siverling can do it, I can do it, too. Also, it's not as if this requires any extra work on your part. You've already compiled the assignments for him. What does it matter if I learn as well? As you said, you gave him no special instruction that would require you to actually make an effort." The boy crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his head to the side provocatively.

"Watch your words, Mr. Westbay." The warning was mild, and held no true offense. Thaddeus thought for a moment, then stood and began collecting another set of the same devices and supplies he had given to Siverling. They were all from future exercises his classes performed, so he had many duplicates. "If your grades drop in any of your other classes..." He did not even need to complete the threat.

"They won't! I promise."

Thaddeus wrote down the instructions for each exercise. "The goal is to master these by the end of term. I imagine this will take three to four hours of practice every day."

Damien's eyes widened, but he didn't back down.

As Thaddeus shooed the boy out of his office and returned to his own work, he shook his head ruefully. He thought of the little altercation between the two boys at the application center the month before. Perhaps a little rivalry would push both of them to greater heights. It would be good for Damien to interact with someone who did not care about his status and would challenge him on the basis of merit alone. It might even give the two of them a boost for what he had planned once the chaff had been culled from his class in a few weeks.

Greatness did not come without adversity.
 
Chapter 22 - Sympathy & Defense
Chapter 22 - Sympathy & Defense

Sebastien

Month 11, Day 2, Monday 3:25 p.m.​

Sebastien changed her mind halfway to the library and instead took the box of magical exercise supplies Lacer had given her to her room and locked them in the trunk at the base of her bed. '*It wouldn't do to have someone sabotage my ability to meet Professor Lacer's expectations.*' Then, she went to the library and got to work.

She had an astounding amount to accomplish, and not very much time to do it in. Even a mind like hers couldn't coast through what lay ahead. '*Five days of classes per week. Six classes, four of which meet two times, and two which meet three times, for a total of twenty-one hours sitting in class per week. Say I study six hours per week for every class but Practical Casting, which I must spend more than two hours per day on if I wish to catch up. Another four hours per day for meals, hygiene, walking between classes, and other unavoidable transition time. It might be possible to keep working at a lower efficiency during those times, but I also need time for my mind to relax, or I might start having Will problems. Additionally, if I want to repay my debt before the interest drowns me, I need to get started with the alchemy Katerin and the Verdant Stag need. I can do that on the weekends.*'

She looked down at the number she had scribbled on the edge of her new leather notebook. '*That's almost as many hours as most people are* awake *every week. Speaking of, I will probably need to increase my total hours of sleep. Perhaps I can take naps in the late afternoon.*' She was thankful that Professor Lacer had warned her not to take on more than six classes. If she had taken Artificery as well, she would probably collapse under the workload.

She read from the list of books recommended by Professor Gnorrish for a couple of hours, then started Professor Lacer's homework. It took her longer than she had expected, and the dinner hour was almost over by the time she finished creating ten different fully realized spell arrays that could move the ball around the Circle. She rushed off to eat, then returned to her dorm, where most of the other students were already gathered. Many of them were chatting or working on schoolwork, creating a dull murmur of undistinguishable sound.

Sebastien pulled the pillow off her bed and sat on it cross-legged on the floor, drawing a simple spell array in front of her. She lit her small oil lamp to act as the source of heat energy. By the time she had pushed the steel ball around for thirty minutes, her head was aching and she had trouble concentrating---early signs of Will-strain. If she continued, she wouldn't be able to cast her dreamless sleep and alarm spells, so she pulled her curtains and went to bed early.

The familiar feel of her heart pounding brought her from sleep into wakefulness. She stood with carefully controlled movements and drew back the curtain to press herself against the cool glass of the window beside her bed. The condensation of her breath fogged up the glass, and she drew a little sad face on it.

The sad face faded away, and she found herself looking at her own faint reflection. Dark eyes, sharp jaw, and shockingly pale hair framing it all. The only things she recognized were the eyes. '*Those are still mine. My eyes staring out of this mask.*'

As silently as possible, she returned to her locked chest and removed the sand wheel. This time, she used a different set of glyphs than the day before, and mentally redesigned the method of movement. While researching the different spell arrays the evening before, she had come up with some more innovative ways to accomplish the goal. Before, she had been directly controlling the ball as it moved around, guiding it with a mental hand. There were other ways to approach the problem, though, a couple of which she found particularly interesting.

She practiced for almost an hour by the light and power of the oil lamp, finding that the magic calmed her faster than she had expected. The steady, soothing whisper of disturbed sand was audible in the stillness.

Shifting from the bed across from her drew Sebastien's attention, as the girl threw off her covers and stood up.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I wake y---"

The girl waved her arm at Sebastien clumsily and stumbled off toward the bathrooms, her eyes still unfocused with sleep. When she returned a few minutes later, she seemed a little more awake. "Practicing for Professor Lacer?" she asked.

Sebastien nodded. "I apologize if I disturbed your rest, Miss...?"

"Anastasia Gervin," the girl said, sitting at the foot of her own bed with her legs crossed, her long, loose hair catching the light of the lamp's flame artlessly.

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Gervin." Sebastien bowed slightly from her seated position.

"Please, call me Ana. There are a few too many Gervins enrolled here to be so formal. It causes confusion. And I know your name already. We met a while ago, when my cousin Alec was being such a braying ass."

Sebastien couldn't help the twitch of a smile at the description, though she didn't allow it to disarm her. '*She might commiserate with me in private and then do the same with others behind my back*.' Aloud, she said, "I remember. I wasn't sure you would."

The girl gave her that same crooked smile she had the day of the entrance application. "You may be more memorable than you think." Before Sebastien could try to figure out what she meant by that, she continued. "You have quite the dedication, to wake up in the middle of the night just to practice. No wonder Professor Lacer picked you."

Sebastien knew the girl was mistaken, but didn't want to say so. "I find it best to be prepared."

Ana gave a little smirk. "It is a good policy, but do you not need to sleep?"

"I have trouble sleeping," Sebastien admitted. "I'll lie down again in a while, when I've grown tired."

Ana hummed noncommittally, returning to her bed and closing her eyes.

Drawing her curtains again to help shield the light of the lamp, Sebastien did the same. Thicker curtains would be useful to keep from disturbing the other dorm residents, if she wanted to continue practicing magic at her bed while they slept.

With two sessions of sleep, Sebastien again woke feeling more refreshed than she normally did, despite the strain she had been putting on her mind.

Sebastien's first class of the day was History of Magic. For once, Damien Westbay did not seem to be there. Nor were any of the other people she recognized from her student group.

Professor Ilma, a woman with faintly blue skin evincing a partially inhuman heritage, got right into the meat of the class, wasting no time easing them into things.

She started at the beginning. "When was magic first discovered by humans? Historical research and archeology suggest the earliest thinking humans had rudimentary magic. Fires started without tools, animals charmed to do their bidding, structures molded beyond the capabilities of concurrent technology. It is not known whether humans discovered magic organically, or whether those who walked the earth before us had some hand in our uplifting. Theories in favor of both arguments are plentiful among historians. You'll be writing an essay that considers the most valid arguments for both sides, due next week."

She waited while the class hurried to scribble that down, then continued. "However, some say the ability to do magic is not the thing that led us to our current civilization. Magic is merely a tool, and it is our ability to cooperate and work together for the betterment of all that has led to our current greatness. And yet!" She raised one blue finger higher. "And yet, it has taken us thousands of years to reach this point. Part of this may simply be the nature of civilization---incremental growth based on our forefathers' accomplishments. Part of this may be that the ancient world after the Cataclysm was too dangerous for real human society to thrive. It was hard to build a city at a time when a Titan might walk by and crush half of it, like a child kicking at an anthill...and then eat all the ants that lay scattered about for good measure. Let us speculate for a moment about the cause of the downfall of the Titans, the Fey, the Brillig. So powerful, with magics even our most distinguished cannot match, and yet, they are gone, and we are still here. Why? Is it simply the natural state of things that all powerful beings must one day fall, that all empires must crumble?"

Sebastien was enraptured.

Professor Ilma gave them a list of books she recommended reading and shooed them out of her classroom.

Her second class was Sympathetic Science. Sebastien almost jumped when Anastasia Gervin slammed her hand down on the desk beside her, but looked up to find the other girl glaring in the opposite direction.

Ana turned to Sebastien, assuming a bright smile. "Sebastien. You don't mind if I sit here, do you?"

'*Who was she glaring at?*' Sebastien shook her head mutely, keeping the consternation from her expression. "Not at all. Please feel free."

Anastasia's cousin, the one with the bushy dark eyebrows, shot Sebastien a glare that she ignored, while Westbay plopped himself down on Sebastien's other side.

She felt herself stiffening and hoped it wasn't noticeable. '*This feels remarkably like a pincer attack*.' However, other than a shrewd look from Westbay, no one did anything to justify her apprehension.

An old man wearing a jacket he had probably bought in his teenage years, when it would have been stylish, walked in and introduced himself as Professor Pecanty. He had a lilting cadence and a slow rhythm to his words that made everything he said sound like poetry. "Let us talk about metaphor. 'Silken lies fell from her lips.' 'Her hair was spun gold.' 'I swam through an ocean of uncertainty.' These are a few examples. Consider, that three strings of silk are used in Rimple's minor truth-telling spell. A sprinkle of gold glitter is a component in Curoe's fairness potion, to make the complexion and hair bright. Sea spray gathered on a moonless night is used in a couple of forgetfulness hexes."

As Professor Pecanty delved deeper into the connection between ephemeral concepts and magic, part of Sebastien's mind began to spin a thread of curiosity.

Dryden had told her various stories about his travels through the surrounding countries, and even a couple of forays into the lands held by other species. He'd had more than one amusing or embarrassing incident stemming from cultural difference.

Like the time everyone at the table except him had burped, and then his host had been offended that he didn't, which was a vulgar indication that Dryden didn't like the meal.

Or the story about how he'd almost been killed by the town guard when he offered his hand to help a limping woman wearing a red sash, which denoted her status as a revered giver of blessings, and thus untouchable.

Or the time he accidentally proposed to a woman old enough to be his grandmother by hauling water from the well for her. That one had been particularly hilarious, as everyone had been too embarrassed to tell him why they were acting so awkwardly, but no one thought to ask him if he knew what he'd done. The misunderstanding had lasted for several days of increasing confusion as everyone kept working at cross-purposes and misconstruing his later actions based on that first innocuous favor.

'*But we don't hold those customs or belief here in Lenore. So what about the sympathetic connections he's talking about? Here, red is associated with passion, blood, and death, not divine blessings, isolation, or being "set apart." Could I use a red sash for those qualities? Does magic somehow choose which meanings an item can be used for? Or could I use any of them?*'

She frowned, scribbling notes and questions in her grimoire. She felt like some larger understanding was revolving just out of reach, revealing only a part of itself to her through the darkness. '*Different people will have languages with different structures, tell different stories, use different metaphors. To them, it's us who would seem strange for connecting silk to a truth-telling spell, or sea spray gathered on a moonless night to a curse.*'

She shifted uncomfortably, Pecanty's rhythmic voice fading from her focus as her fingers tightened around her fountain pen. '*People all around the world use transmogrification. It's the earliest form of magic. We were doing things with transmogrification long before we learned the principles behind how to replicate these effects with transmutation. Have there been historical uses of components that have fallen out of use in favor of new interpretations of their sympathetic connections? It seems impossible for anything else to be the case. Humanity's perception of the world has changed greatly over the last few thousand years. So if transmogrification worked for ancient humans, and it works for foreigners, and even other species whose cultures are completely different, these sympathetic connections couldn't be an inherent property of magic...right? It couldn't be that we've somehow* instinctively *discovered completely* contradictory *sympathetic connections for the same colors, and numbers, and components. It has to be created by...us?*'

The idea was strange, and vaguely frightening. She set down her pen and tried to focus on the lecture. She needed to learn what Pecanty had to say, in case they would be tested. She couldn't afford to perform poorly due to distraction.

After class, she stayed behind to ask Professor Pecanty about her revelation.

"Experimental evidence?" he echoed, as if the words were foreign, or perhaps egregiously unrelated to the topic. "Why, the proof is all around you. Transmogrification works on those intrinsic qualities, and attempting to cast a spell with a component that does not meet the qualifications is either difficult or impossible."

She frowned. "But how does it *work*? Who decides what the intrinsic qualities *are*? If I began telling everyone that pigeons can read the evil in their heart, and they believed it, would I be able to use pigeon eyeballs in an intent-scrying spell? Or would I, who knows pigeons cannot, in fact, read the evil hidden in a heart, be unable to use them? Does magic warp to fit new understandings or beliefs? If so, how quickly? Are there transmogrification spells used historically that no longer work today? What if *I* were the one who truly believed pigeons could read the evil in my heart, and everyone else thought pigeons were simply stupid flying pests?"

Professor Pecanty blinked at her for a moment, rocking back on his feet. "Who decides the intrinsic qualities?" he repeated, as if the question was slightly humorous. "Why, it is the purview of the young to ask such questions. It seems one with such an...*analytical* mind as yourself might do very well in the Natural Sciences. Myself, I think such questions are perhaps unknowable, better left for the wisdom of those species closer to the heart of magic than us humans. Magic does not require my interrogation to exist, merely my acceptance and what small understanding my years have allowed me." He gave her a small smile that she imagined he thought seemed wise and learned, gathered up his things, and left her standing alone in the empty classroom, seeming completely satisfied with himself and his answer.

"He basically just said I only have such questions because I'm not old enough or wise enough to know when to quietly accept what is served me and be grateful for it," she muttered.

As she left the room, Damien Westbay fell into step beside her. Apparently he had been waiting outside the classroom for her to exit. "Pecanty is *incurious*," the boy said without preamble, letting the statement sound like a devastating judgment. "Professor Lacer says failing to hold an opinion on a matter says one of two things. Either, 'I do not wish to invest the resources to understand the matter,' or, 'I understand the matter and the evidence is weighted toward only one answer, and that answer is *neutrality*, at least until more evidence is presented.'" The boy spoke in the articulate, clipped tones of Thaddeus Lacer as he quoted.

"He says most people don't understand that, however, and what they really mean is, 'I am above all this,' 'I am wise,' or 'I am lazy.' And they are likely deceiving themselves about which of the three it is." He turned his head toward Sebastien, gauging her response to this.

"Professor Lacer is not incurious," Sebastien said, forming the certainty even as she said the words. Westbay had pronounced the word as if it were a slur, and she found herself agreeing with him. '*How dull, to never wonder. How* unambitious*. One does not become great by only accepting what is given to them and never reaching for more.*'

Westbay gave her a small smirk. "He is not. And neither am I. I hope you didn't think you were the only one given extra exercises." Before she could respond, he sped up and turned the corner into a classroom, his expression saying better than any words that she was dismissed from his attention.

'*Observe, a wild example of the contraceptive personality, in its natural habitat.*' She resisted the urge to glare. Glaring would mean that he had affected her, something she refused to allow to be true.

After a quick lunch and another visit to the library, she checked her map, confirming that she was meant to leave the building altogether for Defensive Magic. She made her way to the north side of the University grounds, walking fast so the fifteen minutes between classes would be enough to arrive on time.

Green grass and trees gave way to bare, white ground by the time she arrived. The Flats, contrary to their name, were not flat at all. In fact, some of the white stone buttes seemed to have been deliberately molded with large platforms, squat walls, and even a few hoops. She did a double-take as she passed what seemed to be a pit of *spikes*, a faint sense of alarm rising in her. There was a building in the distance, but their professor met them out on the grounds.

She recognized this professor from the entrance examination. He was the one with the muscles and the armor, who had asked her about fighting the Blood Emperor.

He had them line up, then paced before them while speaking in a loud voice that carried far and bounced off the surrounding stone. "My name is Elwood Fekten. I served in the army during the border skirmishes, and the Haze War before that. I have no need for titles. You will call me Fekten. The man who taught this subject before me did so in a classroom, with a textbook. He was very knowledgeable, and his students became knowledgeable. They understood that a banshee's wail is deadly from five meters, and will burst your eardrums and knock you unconscious from ten. They had learned that the best way to avoid this is to cast a vibration-cancelling spell and send up distress sparks, since any call for help would not make it out of the bounds of the vibration-canceller. Can anyone tell me why following these instructions would lead to your death?"

Fekten stopped pacing, spinning to face the woman closest to him. "You. Speak."

The woman's eyes were wide. "Umm...because as long as you're holding the vibration-cancelling spell, you cannot cast anything else? Well, unless you have an artifact."

He shook his head and continued walking. "While that is technically correct, it misses the point." He stopped in front of Sebastien. "What about you? Tell me why the accepted response will get you killed."

Sebastien's eyelids flared slightly wider before she got her face under control, hiding the burst of apprehension being singled out had caused her. "If you knew ahead of time that you were dealing with a banshee, you would go into the altercation with a vibration-cancelling spell already cast, preferably in artifact form so you'd be free to cast other magic personally. However, banshees rarely make straightforward attacks. What if you don't know you are about to be targeted by one? Rather than scream, they are more likely to *sing*. Their song has a quality that encourages loss of focus, so by the time you realize something is wrong, they're probably already close enough to slit your throat. Also, your banshee can scream on half a second's notice, but most sorcerers cannot cast a spell that quickly. If you *do* manage to cast the vibration-canceller after she starts singing---say if you had an artifact able to cast it, perhaps---you still have to deal with the actual banshee---who is not in fact completely helpless---while you are inside a field that is either dampening vibration *so* well that your own movement is hindered, or which is allowing through *some* vibration, which means maybe the banshee can still affect you with her voice while she tries to stab you with a kitchen knife." Her grandfather had told her just such a story when she was young.

Fekten didn't immediately shake his head and walk away. "So what would you do, if you suspected you were being stalked by a banshee?"

"Ideally, if you were traveling through lands where such a thing seemed likely, or a town where people kept going missing, you would have prepared in advance for various types of danger, including a banshee. Wards, an artifact or two, that sort of thing."

Fekten nodded slowly, then looked around at the other students to ensure they were paying attention. "And *are* you prepared thus, Siverling?"

"No," she admitted, thinking even as she said it that, '*Perhaps I* should *be so equipped.*' Aloud, she said, "So, when I suspected I was being stalked by a banshee, if possible I would cast a deafening hex on myself, then try to slip from her sight without noticeably panicking, and from there either run away altogether or wait in ambush to attack her from a distance."

Fekten snorted and walked on. "Better. Still not perfect. Preparing you to think of the correct response as well as giving you the ability to carry it out is the purpose of this class. I am here to teach you how to avoid being killed by malicious parties. I cannot stop you from killing yourselves through stupidity or negligence, though some of you will undoubtedly meet your ends that way. This class is not about safe casting practices, it is about defeating or, more realistically for you lot, *escaping* an enemy. If you were hoping to get to attack something in this class, to let out some pent up aggression with destructive spells, you will be disappointed for quite a while. I do not have enough time to teach you both what you need to know to defend yourself and how to act on that information, so we will be doing our best to learn both at once, and it will be unpleasant."

He stopped pacing and turned to the Flats. "A strong body is a strong mind. At your level of skill, if you cannot escape properly, you will just die, since I doubt that you can kill anything larger than a pixie. No, we will start with running, and then move to strength training. I will explain the dangers of the world as we do so, and you will pay attention and remember what I say, or there will be even more *training*."

"Training" sounded more like he meant "torture," and though there was some nervous shuffling and a few mutters of discontent, as soon as he turned around and glared at them, everyone shut their mouths.

"Your training clothes are in the sim room. Follow me, and do not dawdle. We have little enough time as it is." He led them to the distant building at a quick jog, assigned them loose-fitting clothes, and shooed them into the changing rooms.

The next forty-five minutes were some of the most grueling of Sebastien's life, as Fekten led them through exercises while lecturing on the dangers of pixies and how best to deal with them, without ever seeming to grow tired or out of breath.

Sebastien hated physical exertion, and despite a certain stamina gained from being forced to carry all her worldly belongings and walk for miles when they couldn't find a wagon to ride in the back of, she wasn't very good at it, either. Running, tossing, and pulling herself about required a very different kind of fitness. Luckily, she was not prone to holding excess weight, but she had never been one for physical labor, either, and her male form didn't seem an improvement in that aspect. However, she consoled herself that if she ever had to sprint away from the coppers again, this would be good training.

A few minutes into the training, she gave up simply powering through on her own and surreptitiously cast an esoteric spell on herself. It muffled her pain slightly and allowed her thoughts to detach from it rather than focus constantly on the burning discomfort. It helped a little. Of course, it was difficult to keep the spell active while still paying attention to Fekten's lecture and completing the exercises, but the effort was worth it, in her opinion.

The last thirty minutes of class were spent stretching and answering questions about the lecture Fekten had given.

Finally, he let them leave, with an admonition to arrive already dressed for class the day after next if they did not want to perform unspecified punishments.
 
She frowned. "But how does it *work*? Who decides what the intrinsic qualities *are*? If I began telling everyone that pigeons can read the evil in their heart, and they believed it, would I be able to use pigeon eyeballs in an intent-scrying spell? Or would I, who knows pigeons cannot, in fact, read the evil hidden in a heart, be unable to use them? Does magic warp to fit new understandings or beliefs? If so, how quickly? Are there transmogrification spells used historically that no longer work today? What if *I* were the one who truly believed pigeons could read the evil in my heart, and everyone else thought pigeons were simply stupid flying pests?"
I could take a wild fucking guess based on what she's narrated on how magic works. :p But given that you've apparently written several books of this already, I think we'll end up with more data eventually.

Right now, my guess is that it's the beliefs of the caster (which are subject to all kinds of things), influencing how easy it is to apply their Will to a particular transmogrification. With transmutation being equivalent of having more elaborate and specific Words.
 
Chapter 23 - A Busy Schedule
Chapter 23 - A Busy Schedule

Sebastien

Month 11, Day 3, Tuesday 6:00 a.m.​

The pain-muffling spell didn't stop Sebastien from having sore muscles, and it wasn't feasible to keep it running all day long, not when she needed to concentrate on her classes and practice other casting exercises. Her body was stiff when she woke on Tuesday, and every movement made her want to whimper aloud. She stilled, cast the pain-muffling spell, and kept it going through a hot shower and rubbing a whole jar of bruise balm into her muscles. The bruise balm would only help a little for this type of pseudo-injury. It wasn't created for sore and overworked muscles, but it was better than nothing.

Besides, the deep well of exuberance she felt every time she looked around and realized where she was, the knowledge she now had access to, just waiting for her to find the time to devour it all, was not about to be dried up from a little physical fatigue. '*This will strengthen the force and soundness of my Will,*' she assured herself. '*I can and will torture myself for that.*'

She spent the rest of the first week getting acclimated to life at the University. Every moment was filled, and the days passed quickly.

The supervised practice rooms were busy with other students in the evenings, but she found a place and spent a few hours there when she wasn't in the library. She didn't particularly like it. There were too many other people---talking and casting magic and generally being a distraction. '*If only I could erase them all and learn in private, the University would be perfect.*'

She ran through every variation of the spark-shooting spell that Professor Burberry had given, using both the heat of the Sacrifice Circle as well as the transmogrification components. Then, mindful of the need to push her limits, she tried to do it all with some additional variations. She used a simpler spell array as a little practice toward being a free-caster, which was the hardest, and led to exhaustion that day.

When she came back the next, she got creative with the color and brightness of the sparks, how far and quickly they shot, and the shape of the spray. When she started pushing the thaums higher to stretch her capacity, the flaring jet of sparks splashing against inside of the invisible warded bubble she was in drew attention.

She glared at the students who'd grown distracted from their own practice to look at her, and tried to tone down the light of the sparks while increasing the heat so she didn't draw so much attention. '*Well-deserved attention, to be sure, but Sebastien is going to disappear someday anyway, so it doesn't matter if I build his reputation as the next future Archmage of Lenore.*' Sometimes that was hard to remember.

By the end of the first week, she had firm control of the iron ball exercise, using as many different methods to create its movement as she could think of. Professor Lacer had given her five extra exercises, not including the one everyone else was also doing. She hoped to get through the other four as quickly as possible, and poured hours of her spare time into the second exercise, which was closest to the one they were doing in class. It was a sympathetic movement spell, using a similar pair of iron balls.

However, this exercise wasn't like a standard sympathetic movement spell. Normally, you linked two objects, and then when you lifted one, it would take a little over twice as much energy as normal, but the second object would rise with the first. His version of the spell required the linked ball to move when its partner did, but in a skewed direction or vector. With the axis of movement reversed, tilted, or even curved.

She researched several different spell arrays and glyphs she might use to create these effects, similar to what Lacer had instructed for the first exercise. It helped, but the mental component was still entirely different from any other sympathetic spell she'd ever cast, and it took some time and practice to really clarify her Will.

In effect, she was linking only the kinetic energy, while the details of how that kinetic energy was expressed were entirely arbitrary. The eventual point of the multiple sub-exercises was probably to let her move one linked ball freely, while still moving the other back and forth on a simple line. By changing the third glyph of the spell array, she could move one ball at a specific vector that was different from its counterpart, but she wasn't to the point of free reign over the movement, yet.

Still, it was more interesting than spinning a ball in a circle over and over again. She began to experiment with that exercise, too, trying to push herself to stop and start rapidly, change directions, and pull the ball into the center and out to the edge of the glass.

Casting for hours every day was exhausting, especially when added on to the rigors of the classes and the theoretical studying they required. But she wouldn't want to waste even a moment of the five months she'd paid so exorbitantly for. '*I have to make it worth it.'*

Sebastien spent the next couple of weeks in a blur of classes and studying. As the other students made friends and formed solid groups, she found herself isolated, except for Ana and the occasional irritation from Westbay. This was not unintentional. A few others made overtures of friendliness, which she turned down as politely as she could. She hoped, as Sebastien, to make as small an impression on the world as possible---despite her natural inclination to stand out---but even if that hadn't been the case, she had almost no time for socialization.

She made her way through the first couple of books assigned for each class, which was enough to give her some confidence in answering the professors' questions. She was still barely dragging herself through Fekten's Defensive Magic class, but at least the whole-body screaming pain from overworking her muscles had somewhat subsided.

Her other classes were more enjoyable.

Professor Gnorrish, who taught Natural Science, encouraged them to study the topics they were reviewing in class more deeply. He held a test at the end of the week and gave out fractions of contribution points to those who could answer bonus questions at the end. They were covering the basics at rapid speed, but it was nothing more than a review for most students. They'd been able to pass the entrance exam, after all. But some of them had been closer to failing than others, and not everyone took natural science and the things transmutation could do seriously.

Professor Ilma continued to be fascinating, but also sometimes confusing. She didn't particularly care that they remember dates, lineages, and ranks unless those details were critical to understanding why something important had happened. Memorization was second to comprehension.

She presented opposing arguments for the catalysts behind certain events, and sometimes even more than one version of the events themselves. She only sometimes accompanied those with an explanation of which was more likely to be true. She assigned books where historians argued with each other and made the students try to provide winning arguments for each side. Sometimes, when asked, she would give her opinions on the truth, which was often nuanced and unpleasant, but sometimes she would just say, "I don't know."

Some of her classmates disliked this method of teaching.

Sebastien thought it was wonderful. Ilma didn't give out contribution points for answering bonus questions at the end of her tests, but occasionally she would give one to a student who asked an astute question, and even to students who argued with her. When the latter happened, she would assign that student special reading and tell them to discuss the matter with her when they'd finished learning more about the topic.

In fact, Ilma assigned more reading than most of the class could keep up with.

Sebastien's grasp on history was spotty at best, what with her lack of formal schooling. She tried to get through all the books Ilma kept suggesting, but even she couldn't manage it without skimming a little.

Ilma didn't care one way or another, didn't ask if they'd finished before assigning the next bit of reading, but she graded harshly for anyone who showed ignorance of a topic they'd covered.

Sympathetic Science with Professor Pecanty turned out to be less awesome magic, and more media exploration and interpretation. He would perform simple transmogrification spells so they could see different components used to create various material and abstract effects. At first, this excited her, but she grew confused, and even a little frustrated, when he didn't teach them how to cast any of the example spells.

Instead, he focused on familiarizing the students with poems, stories, alliterations, and rhyming words. Always with example components, but with few transmogrification practice spells assigned. Instead, they discussed theme, connected word choices to feelings, and theorized about different things a seemingly straightforward piece of text could *mean*. There was no talk of foreign components, or the way other species used familiar ones. When she asked, Pecanty told her that was material for a higher level of study, which she might get to eventually, but not in his class.

At the end of the second week, on Saturday, she went to the library to find recipes for some concoctions the Verdant Stag required that she didn't know how to brew. Katerin had also given her a list of potions Dryden had requested for his new emergency response teams, so Sebastien had plenty of work available, if she could manage it.

She researched and copied down recipes and their various modifications into her grimoire until she heard the bell tolling the hour and realized half the day was gone. She slumped back in her seat and rubbed tired eyes. The mental fatigue was catching up with her. Not just from the last couple of weeks at the University, but the month before that as well, with all the studying, worrying, and scrambling to complete the alarm ward project for Dryden. '*I must pace myself. The brewing can wait till next week, I think. Perhaps half a day without work would not be amiss.*'

She considered trying to take a nap, but that lead her to thinking about her dreamless sleep spell. Sleeping twice a day was the only way she was able to keep up with the demands on her mind and body, but she was used to just four or five hours of sleep per night, and it felt like her days had suddenly shortened at the same time her workload had increased.

Instead, she perused the shelves for sleeping spells that might be more effective than what she had. She found nothing encouraging. Over the last few years she'd already tried most of the things available on this first floor of the library, and had eventually to come up with her own amalgamation of concepts to create her current dreamless sleep spell.

She already knew it would help if she had thousands of thaums to put into the spell, or could somehow continue to cast the spell *while* sleeping. If she were more knowledgeable in artificery, perhaps she could find a way to further improve on the latest iteration, which did seem to be helping, but she wasn't taking that class. She wasn't even sure that her problems could be solved by putting the spell into an artifact, because of the basic restrictions of the craft.

She briefly considered trying to convert the spell into a potion. Alchemy was a ritual. With alchemy, you could store up power over the long brewing period, packing much more potency into the final effect than what you would be able to otherwise. Then, the magic packed into a concoction could be release slowly, over a longer period than the casting, or even all at once, for a powerful burst. You could portion off doses of a single brew to give to multiple users.

Artificery was active casting with a special type of spell array. With artificery, you cast a spell, and that *same* spell was released when the proper conditions were met. The materials needed to create an artifact were much more expensive, but could store the magical energy for a lot longer without depletion. You could release the magic a little slower, which was the principle that light crystals and her current version of the dreamless sleep spell were based on, but that was still a type of containment and restriction, which was the principle that allowed basic artifacts to hold a spell for later use. You couldn't release the spell faster or stronger than when you'd cast it into the artifact. Perhaps much higher levels of the craft allowed more control and variation, but really her problem was a lack of power.

If she wanted to make the spell more powerful over a longer period, the artifact used to cast it on her while she slept would need to be charged for hours every day, and it would be even worse with a potion. The time required defeated the point.

If there was any way around this, the knowledge of the craft was far beyond her, at Master or even Grandmaster level. She was just too weak compared to the strength of her nightmares.

As Sebastien was standing with the intention to leave, she paused. '*With the right resources and enough Will, magic can solve all problems*. *What if there was some way to increase my stamina, or to enhance the regenerative effects of sleep? That would solve the problem even better.*' She used one of the silver-etched crystal balls in the atrium to divine a list of books that matched keywords like "sleep," "stamina," and "enhanced regeneration." The ball gave her an encouragingly long list of codes, strings of letters and numbers that would lead her to the right section, stack, and order of the books she was looking for. "Everyday" magic like this still brought a smile to her face, and she doubted that would ever completely go away.

It took her a couple of hours to get through the first half of the list, and though most of the books had been only peripherally related to the topic, she found a couple of semi-promising ones and checked them out for later perusal.

More tired than ever by that point, Sebastien packed her things and returned the alchemy books to the shelves, then strolled out into the faintly foggy afternoon. '*I* can *do it all,*' she assured herself. '*Maybe not right away, I do need rest, but if there's not enough time or energy, maybe that just means I haven't found the best way to approach the problem yet. There has to be a way for me to do it all.*'
 
The pain-muffling spell didn't stop Sebastien from having sore muscles, and it wasn't feasible to keep it running all day long, not when she needed to concentrate on her classes and practice other casting exercises. Her body was stiff when she woke on Tuesday, and every movement made her want to whimper aloud. She stilled, cast the pain-muffling spell, and kept it going through a hot shower and rubbing a whole jar of bruise balm into her muscles. The bruise balm would only help a little for this type of pseudo-injury. It wasn't created for sore and overworked muscles, but it was better than nothing.

Besides, the deep well of exuberance she felt every time she looked around and realized where she was, the knowledge she now had access to, just waiting for her to find the time to devour it all, was not about to be dried up from a little physical fatigue. '*This will strengthen the force and soundness of my Will,*' she assured herself. '*I can and will torture myself for that.*'
When wizards hit the gym. :p
She hoped, as Sebastien, to make as small an impression on the world as possible
lol

lmao
She was just too weak compared to the strength of her nightmares.
I had suspected that was why she uses a dreamless sleep spell. Not sure what they're about, but at a guess she had an encounter with an Abberant. I base this guess on how she actually knows about them.
 
Chapter 24 - The Menagerie
Chapter 24 - The Menagerie

Sebastien

Month 11, Day 14, Saturday 4:00 p.m.​

The smell of the sea was strong, even so far above Gilbratha proper. Sebastien meandered through the scattered trees, taking the time to let both her eyes and her brain wander. '*Where shall I do the brewing? I could try to find an unused laboratory or classroom here, but that feels risky. If I were caught, I would likely not be punished, but it would be suspicious. If they caught me trying to remove large quantities of potions or salves from University grounds...*'

She shuddered. '*It would make the most sense to brew in one of the Verdant Stag's rooms, since I wouldn't need to worry about transporting the finished alchemical concoctions. It would be best not to travel there as Sebastien, however, and I've already resolved to switch back and forth as little as possible until I know more about how the artifact works. I could anonymously rent a room at some random inn, but students below Apprentice level cannot legally practice magic outside the University or without the supervision of a Master. If I were caught, it would be disastrous. I might be able to brew at Dryden Manor. I lived with him for weeks already, so it's not like intertwining our identities would create any new danger, and as long as no one knows what exactly I'm doing there, it should be safe. I assume his servants can be trusted, but perhaps I should discuss it with him.*'

She sighed, rubbing her forehead. '*To sum up, I have no idea how to do this*.'

She was mentally compiling a list of the ingredients she would need when the winding cobblestone path through the grounds brought her to a fence made of wrought iron bars. Its gate was bordered by two stone columns, which were buzzing ever-so-faintly in a way that signified powerful magic.

Curious, she stepped up to study the wards carved into the stone, only barely able to understand them after a few minutes of concentration. '*This is the Menagerie,*' she realized. '*The wards aren't meant to keep anything out, but to keep the things on the other side in.*' With a couple seconds of hesitation, she opened the gate and stepped through, feeling the student token against her chest shudder subtly for a moment as she did so. Likely, she wouldn't be able to pass those stone columns without it.

The gardens within were barely controlled chaos, seemingly on the edge of overgrowing into wildness, and yet giving the sense that they were meant to be so. Narrow cobblestone paths cut through it all, while a low iron fence kept the plants from spilling out over the footpaths.

She grinned. '*It's like the garden of wonders out of a child's tale.*'

A group of purple-streaked flowers with long, tapered petals opened and turned to follow her as she passed, releasing a spray of sweet-smelling pollen into the air. Sebastien recognized them as deadly elcan irises, flesh-eating plants that lured their prey with their beauty and the soporific properties of their pollen. '*Tanya meant it when she said this place was dangerous.*' Still, Sebastien couldn't quite bring herself to be afraid or turn back. It was dangerous, but it was also magic.

One young sapling in the distance uprooted itself and hurried away when she came into view, hiding itself among the other plants.

A three-headed snake crossed the path ahead of her, stopping briefly to give her a dismissive glance, and a few plots over, a trio of tiny birds darted out of a tree, blinking in and out of visibility with every flap of their wings.

A small pond hosted minnow-sized fish that darted about, glinting as if they were made of precious metals polished to a high shine.

Sebastien wasn't alone in the Menagerie. A couple of people tended the grounds, while others moved carefully through the dense flora, harvesting the plants. Those who were harvesting all had baskets made of stiff leather, which they placed their bounty into, and they would occasionally mist the plants within with water.

She stopped by a girl who was inside one of the garden plots, plucking dark green insects off a plant and placing them inside a small bottle. "Excuse me, Miss," Sebastien said.

The girl startled, then flushed when she turned and saw Sebastien.

Sebastien smiled. "I'm new to the University. Can you tell me, do they allow students to harvest or take things from the Menagerie? I saw some snowdrops a few plots back but wasn't sure if it would be alright to take a couple."

The girl was looking her up and down, her cheeks bright pink, and seemed to take a moment to realize Sebastien had asked her a question. "Oh! Er, as long as you have a basket, you can harvest things and take them out. Of course, we aren't allowed to over-harvest, but they don't really regulate the alchemy students beyond that."

"Oh." Sebastien looked to the ground and put her hands in her pockets, wearing what she hoped was a convincingly innocent expression. "I have an interest in alchemy, but I didn't have enough space to take that class this term. Is that the only way to get a basket?"

The girl shrugged apologetically. "I've seen students from the Zoology, Horticulture, and Herbology classes here, too. Perhaps you could speak to one of the professors and they would let you have one, if you explained your situation?"

Sebastien nodded noncommittally and murmured, "Perhaps," before thanking the girl and continuing on.

'*This place is a treasure trove of ingredients and components, and I'm sure the University administrators are aware of that and have prepared against theft.*' It seemed safer to get any items she wouldn't want them to know about from the market in town, or have someone from the Verdant Stag purchase them for her*.* '*Still, if I have a chance to safely and anonymously obtain a basket, or find another way to bypass those wards, the things within the Menagerie might give me an actual chance to repay Katerin. Magical components are expensive.*' She didn't consider it theft. She'd paid the University hundreds of gold for only a few months within its walls, and would continue to do so. Repurposing a few of their magical components was her right as a student. It was only good sense to take full advantage of any and all opportunities presented to her.

By the time the sun began to set, she had strolled through the entire lower-security part of the Menagerie. The inner gate, beyond which lay the significant majority of the gigantic artificial habitat, did not open for her. She took that as a sign that it would be unsafe to enter and didn't continue trying, though she wondered what could be in the thick forest beyond.

She turned back the way she'd come, meandering slowly toward the entrance. Along the way, she passed a few people strolling idly like her. She even saw Professor Munchworth in the distance, leaning over a small bridge above a stream and looking into the water. She wished for a moment that she could cast some spell that would send him tumbling in while she kept an innocent distance, but even the ire he brought up in her stomach couldn't spoil her good mood.

She felt relaxed, and realized she even wore a rare smile of contentedness, despite her inability to *possess* any of the treasure all around her. '*Should I try to take something from the Menagerie with me, just to see what would happen? I could easily feign ignorance of the rules if an authority figure came to investigate.*' Ultimately, she decided against it. She was tired.

Instead of going directly to the cafeteria once she exited the Menagerie, she once again examined the spellwork on the entrance gate's stone columns and along the outer wrought iron fence. She had made little progress deciphering the wards when a familiar voice called out her name.

She rose to see Anastasia Gervin waving at her, the girl's other arm tucked through the elbow of Damien Westbay as they strolled along the cobblestone path to the Menagerie.

Ignoring Westbay's scowl, Ana dragged him toward Sebastien.

"Hello, Sebastien! What are you up to this evening?" Ana said, smiling with willful obliviousness to the tension between the two boys.

Sebastien nodded in return to her greeting. "I've just taken a stroll through the Menagerie. It's quite remarkable."

Westbay's eyes narrowed, emphasizing the bags under his eyes which gave him a constant look of fatigue, though Sebastien had seen him sleeping soundly several times when she herself was up early or in the middle of the night, so she didn't know what he had to be tired about. "You're outside the Menagerie, and were crouched over the fence line."

Sebastien felt a sudden spike of alarm, but kept that from her face, pausing to think of a response in a way that she hoped seemed natural. "Well, yes. I have an interest in wards. In all magic, really, but lately I've been doing some research to expand my understanding of that branch of magic. These are quite complex, though. I have to admit I don't really understand them." She put on a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of her head.

"You're sure you weren't examining the wards to figure out how to bypass them?" Westbay said, his lip curling up on one side in a sneer. "I've heard more than a few stories about the students from upper levels harvesting moonbeams and fairy wings from the Menagerie at night for the...*mind-altering* effects."

Ana's eyes grew wide, and she turned to Westbay in shock at his blatant rudeness.

Sebastien's back straightened further, her chin lifting. '*The best defense in a situation like this is a powerful offense.*' She scowled, but before she could shoot out a scathing counter-blow, someone spoke behind her.

"That really is the height of stupidity."

The speaker was their student liaison, Tanya Canelo, who was walking out of the Menagerie gate. She stopped at Sebastien's side, an eyebrow raised as she looked between the two boys. "Those students may think they're getting away with something, but I can assure you the University is fully aware that they have removed certain items, and why they did so. Coming here at night does not stop the wards from alerting, whether or not the students have a harvest basket."

Sebastien filed that information away in her mind, but said, "That information is interesting, but irrelevant to me, since I have no intention of stealing anything from the Menagerie. Though *you* may not be able to imagine doing any study outside of class," she said to Westbay, "I am not *incurious*." As Westbay had a few days prior, she said the word like the slur it was.

The boy's cheeks flushed. "Perhaps some of us simply prefer to use our free time to ensure our success rather than run off on irrational tangents. I'm surprised you have any time at all to get away from study. Or have you given up on Professor Lacer's training already?"

At that point, Ana elbowed Westbay in the side, not even attempting to hide the sharp jab into his ribs.

Tanya seemed to find all of this supremely amusing and made no effort to hide her interest in the byplay.

When she looked back at Sebastien, Ana's smile was overly bright and forced. "So, what do you two think of that sorceress thief who hit the University a couple of months ago? Damien was just regaling me with speculation about the case. The Westbay family is in charge of the coppers, you know."

Sebastien felt a faint sense of unreality. '*This must be a dream. A nightmare.*'

Tanya shrugged, putting her hands in her pockets and rocking back on her heels lazily. "It would be wonderful if they had any real information, but if they did, they would have caught her already, I think." She looked to Westbay, raising her eyebrow again as if daring him to refute her claim.

The boy seemed less inclined to rudeness with the upper level student than he was with Sebastien. "They know she's a sorcerer, and she has had some contact with her accomplice in prison, using a blood magic spell. She's bold. My brother says she'll act again, and eventually make a mistake. When she does, we will catch her."

Sebastien hoped she wasn't pale, and very carefully maintained an expression of irritation to mask her dread. "That's all?" When Westbay didn't immediately pipe up with further evidence against her, she snorted. "Well then. I think I'll be off to dinner. You might want to cut your little stroll short, Westbay. Not all of us are able to handle a full class load along with whatever else comes our way without trouble." She didn't want to push *too* far. She had apparently made an enemy of someone powerful, but restraint could keep his animosity from getting even worse. Still, she seemed unable to maintain a firm lock on her tongue, and as always, it tried to get her into trouble even if she understood the foolishness of her actions.

With a nod to both other females, she strolled off down the path. '*I hope Westbay isn't the type to fight dirty.* *Just in case, I should make sure the wards around my bed and belongings are as strong as possible. As for the rest, I need to talk to Dryden.*' The fact that the coppers knew she had contacted her father wasn't a good sign, but hopefully it wasn't so bad as to lead them to Sebastien.
 
Chapter 25 - Alchemy
Chapter 25 - Alchemy

Sebastien

Month 11, Day 14, Saturday 5:30 p.m.​

Sebastien considered sending a message to Dryden through the University Administration center, whose mail department was behind the occasional paper bird she saw flying through the air, but decided against it, since she didn't know what information Administration tracked when sending them. Or even if the spell worked at distances farther than the University grounds. She resolved to learn how to cast it, or another simple communication spell, herself.

Instead, she simply arrived at his house that evening, her nose and cheeks red from the cold.

Dryden offered her a cup of hot, spiced cocoa, which she would normally have savored and allowed to warm her, but she took just a sip, set it down on the edge of his desk, and promptly forgot about it as she explained why she'd come.

Dryden was much less concerned about the coppers' knowledge of the raven messenger than she was. He was sleep-deprived, the symptoms of which she was quite familiar with. He rubbed bloodshot eyes. "So they know you spoke with him. He knew nothing relevant, so they couldn't have learned much from him. And it's not as if finding the dead raven can lead them back to you. *You* are a young man from a good background attending the very prestigious Thaumaturgic University of Lenore. Siobhan is a poor young woman who is in hiding or has left the city altogether after arguing with her father. No matter what other clues they gather---and trust me, what they have is not enough to be useful---there is a disconnect between those *ideas*. There is no precedence for such a thing. Even if they had real evidence, it's unlikely they could understand the true implications of what they were seeing."

She grimaced, pacing back and forth in front of him. "I understand what you're saying, but there could be factors at work that *we* don't understand, or pivotal pieces of information we're missing. Is there any way to get better insight into what their investigation has uncovered? I would feel better if we *knew* they were nowhere near to discovering the truth, as opposed to merely hoping and speculating that I am safe. That *we* are safe."

He sighed, running a hand over his jaw. "You're right. I don't have any direct contacts in Harrow Hill, but I can inquire around. Give me a few days."

She stopped pacing and nodded, letting her shoulders hang with released tension.

"While you are here, why not stay for dinner?" he asked.

Almost giddy with the relief that Dryden would be using his considerable resources to make sure she was safe, she laughed. "Yes, please! I cannot wait to taste something other than the University slop!"

Dryden yawned a lot and ate slowly, but seemed pleased to have her drop by. He enquired about her progress in her studies, asked intelligent questions when she explained what she was learning, and looked at her with an expression that was not quite satisfaction and not quite pride, but which left her feeling quite gratified with his company.

After dinner, he went back to his study, and she took the time to check on the ancient book she'd hidden inside the mattress in her room. It was still there, seemingly undisturbed.

She took it out and placed it on the floor, staring at the incomprehensible glyph stamped into its leather cover. She needed a better hiding place for it. '*Maybe I could cut up some of the floor, hollow out a hole in the marble the exact size of the book, and then seal it back up again?*' She eyed the matte marble dubiously. Each square was fit snugly against the others, with no visible grout or binding medium. '*My mending spell might be able to handle that, but how am I supposed to cut one of those blocks free? Could I use a sympathetic movement spell to lift one directly out of the floor?*'

She leaned her ear to the floor and tapped on it, hoping for a hollow sound. There was none. '*Not a facade, then. The marble must be at least two inches thick. Knowing the Gilbrathan tendency for excess, these floors are made of pure stone.*' She hurried back downstairs and looked at the ceiling from the ground floor. Sure enough, it was marble. '*They could have put a facade on either side, but I'd bet they just made the whole structure from stone and used extreme precision and magic to keep everything together.*'

Some quick calculations disabused her of any hope of using a sympathetic connection to lift one of the blocks. '*I'm at somewhere over two hundred thaums, but under two hundred and fifty. That's enough to lift about fifty pounds, or twenty-three kilograms, one meter per second. But those blocks have to be many times that. I might be able to manage if I could lift very slowly, spreading that energy expenditure out over a longer time period, but there's still the structural integrity of the floor to consider. Plus, if they bound the blocks together with anything, I'm back to needing some sort of cutting spell.*'

She set the idea aside as impractical and pulled out her grimoire.

She caressed the scuffed leather cover lovingly, then flicked through the pages filled with notes, questions, and sketches till she found the page where she'd copied decryption, nullifying, and revealing spells from the reference texts she'd found in the University library. Students weren't allowed to take books off University grounds, so she'd painstakingly copied the relevant sections into her own grimoire.

'*These spells may be simple and meant for children, but that doesn't mean they won't work. We've made significant advancements since the time the amulet and the book were created. Maybe one of these will work based on a principle the creator didn't think to ward against.*'

It took her over two hours to work through every spell she'd copied, drawing the arrays onto the floor in chalk, setting out the components closest to the suggested ones from the books, and then erasing the Word and trying again with the next one.

She kept hoping that the next one would work.

None did. That might have been because of the exceptional creativity of the creator, or her own relative weakness.

In the end, she was exhausted. She dragged herself back to the University, numb frustration hounding every step.

Back at the dorms, she skipped Professor Lacer's exercises for once and simply went to sleep. She felt better in the morning, but she was becoming less enchanted with only having access to the first level of the library. Maybe what she needed was on one of the upper floors, or even the archives in the lower levels.

Over the next week, she tried not to let her worry over the investigation affect her studies. If anything, her fear of possible expulsion and arrest pushed her harder. It was an impulse to absorb all the magical knowledge she could in case this opportunity was ripped away.

Professor Lacer apparently got angry at some mishandling of magic by one of the second term students and had him expelled from the University in a scene that Sebastien hadn't personally witnessed, but which grew more dramatic with every retelling she heard. She even heard a version that claimed Lacer turned the student into a sheep out of anger and sent the bleating young man back to his family with a note that said, "Your son was raised like an animal, so I have unified his outer appearance to match the inner."

It wasn't that she *believed* the rumors---well, not the more theatrical versions---but they did little to reassure her of the stability of her status as a student.

On Saturday, she left the University early in the morning and spent some time browsing Waterside Market for ingredients. As someone without even an Apprentice license, technically she shouldn't have been allowed to buy magical items, even if she was a University student, because they provided their students with supplies. However, an attitude of arrogance, her expensive clothing, and a quick flash of the sky kraken burnt into the back of her student token allowed her to get what she needed, and no one insisted on needing to see her certification before selling to her. It probably helped that she didn't require any restricted or particularly powerful components.

Waterside Market itself imbued her with a kind of giddiness, despite the pain she felt in her money purse when looking at the standard prices. They had spell components from all over the world, some of which she had never heard of and others which she couldn't afford.

The people were just as varied and interesting.

She saw a sorcerer walking around with a big tome of magic, which would allow him to cast a variety of spells with less than half the normal amount of preparation. The price of such a tome was ridiculously exorbitant, however.

A woman wearing robes of silk woven with active, slightly glowing spells walked past with a pair of guards, her face so beautiful Sebastien was sure she must use glamours.

There were people of other species too. Not so many of them as to avoid the looks of curiosity, but not enough to cause a sensation with their unusual appearance.

A hag wearing a big hat to protect her cataract-covered eyes from the weak sun was selling poppet luck charms that Sebastien thought might have been made of human hair.

A pixie fluttered within a huge birdcage, throwing curses and lewd gestures at the crowd, the dandruff from its constantly peeling wings falling to the bottom of the cage. Small containers of pixie dust were advertised for sale on the table beside it.

A slew of witches were recognizable because of their contracted creatures. Many were accompanied by elementals from one of the other planes, but a couple by simple magical creatures, like a cockatrice or a drake.

Sebastien caught a glimpse of a coy kitsune slipping through the crowd with her fluffy tails wrapped around her body.

A prognos, with one large eye in the center of his forehead, read fortunes at a gaudy stall. Sebastien avoided the prognos's gaze, just in case he could see through her transformation.

A crowd consisting mostly of children and their parents surrounded an illusionist who was putting on a shadow-play, colored lights and shadows taking the form of simplified scenery and people. A young pickpocket grazed through the edge of the crowd, nimble fingers darting out whenever an opportunity presented itself.

Sebastien didn't call out the thief, simply made sure her own purse was secure and moved on.

She already had her own small cauldron, which was all she could handle at her Will's capacity, but along with the ingredients, she bought a whole box of small jars and vials to hold single doses of the alchemical concoctions she was about to make.

She arrived at Dryden Manor well-prepared. When she had seen him the Saturday before, she had verified that brewing at his house would be safe, and he had promised to move the finished products to the Verdant Stag for her.

She walked in through the unobtrusive door to the side of the kitchen, grinning at the servants when they exclaimed in surprise. With a wink at Sharon, who tittered like a girl ten years younger, Sebastien struggled up the stairs and gave a perfunctory knock on the doorjamb of Dryden's study with her foot---since both her arms were full---then poked her head into the room. Dryden's head jerked up from whatever he was working on and he blinked in surprise, seeming to come out of a fugue of intense concentration. His expression and posture both relaxed when he recognized her, and he smiled.

"I'm here to brew. Where do you want me?" she said with a grin, panting under the weight of her supplies.

"Come in," he said, rising from his desk. "You can set your supplies there," he said, gesturing to the bare stone table set against the inner wall of his study, near the fireplace.

"You rearranged things," she said, looking around.

"Yes. As I understand it, there should be a clear area around the brewing station in case of accidents or explosions. I didn't want my belongings covered in acid."

"Nothing I will brew today is in danger of exploding," she said flatly, one eyebrow rising.

He snickered, but pointed to the table. "Slate, since it's chemically resistant. The fireplace is connected to the one below, so the wards should vent any fumes from your brewing." He pointed to a basin beside the table. "That basin is spelled to draw up fresh water from the well, and has a setting to banish its contents, so you can wash your tools."

He lingered as Sebastien set down her supplies and unpacked everything. "What are you making today?" he asked, leaning against the fireplace.

She rubbed her tired arms and put her small cauldron on the table. "It's early yet, so I should have enough time to make a few batches. I think it will be fever-reducing potion, a minor healing salve for cuts and scrapes, and maybe a small amount of the philtre of darkness you requested, if I have the time."

"None of the other battle potions or philtres?" He sounded disappointed.

"I'll attempt one or two, if I can. I've never brewed most of the ones on your list before, and I have to be careful not to push myself too hard." Her choice of what to brew this first day had been based on what would be most useful for the average citizen who went to the Verdant Stag. Once she felt she had produced a reasonable amount of basic healing concoctions, she had ideas about what would make her the most gold for the least effort. For instance, an elixir of euphoria was one of the more expensive items on the list Katerin had given her, and though it could be used in small doses to combat low spirits, it was more often sold recreationally. A potion of moonlight sizzle and the philtre of darkness were both something fun she wanted to try for herself, though Dryden's emergency response teams could use them as well.

"You're right, of course. I'm sure the University is pushing you hard, and your health is more important than a few potions. It's only that I was somewhat excited to see them in action," he said with a chagrined smile. "You have enough vials and jars to store it all?"

She nodded.

"You kept your receipts for the ingredients? You can give them to Katerin and she'll reimburse you, or take the cost off your debt."

"I have them with me. Will you give them to her, when you see her?" she asked, pulling the small stack of receipt papers from one of her larger pockets, which also held the loose change from her purchases.

Dryden's fingers brushed against hers as he took the receipts, and a visible spark of static leapt between their skin, causing both of them to jump. She chuckled nervously, but he only rubbed his fingers together with an absent look on his face. "I have an update on the investigation," he said with no preamble.

Her head snapped toward him.

He waved his hand. "It's nothing to be excited about, one way or the other. It seems your father spoke to the guards about your visit, and the coppers have the raven in an evidence box, so they have Siobhan Naught firmly connected to the crime of blood magic. They are no closer to catching you, and it seems the investigation has stalled since then. They're trying to figure out if you have a source of information within the University that tipped you off about what, where, and when to steal, hoping they can trace your 'source' back to you. If nothing happens to warm the investigation up, I expect it will be set aside to free up resources soon. In a few years, you will likely have no trouble returning to Siobhan's form, though you wouldn't be able to use your real name, of course."

She wasn't surprised that her father---Ennis, she reminded herself---hadn't kept his silence about their visit, but she would be lying to herself if she didn't admit the small pang in her chest was from disappointment. "Any news on a trial or sentencing for him?"

Dryden shook his head. "Not yet. I suspect they're waiting till they either catch you or give up hope of doing so."

She began to arrange her supplies on the table. '*I have no plans to be captured.* *So what will happen to him then?*'

"Are you alright?" Dryden asked, startling her from her thoughts.

She looked up and gave him a small smile. "Yes. Don't worry about me, I won't jeopardize your safety---or my own---with more sentiment."

"That wasn't---" He sighed and shook his head, rubbing at the stubble on his jaw. "I didn't mean to imply that."

"Thank you for looking into the investigation, Mr. Dryden," she said, then turned her attention back to her preparations.

After a pause, he returned to the work at his desk.

Sebastien filled the cauldron with the appropriate amount of water, poured some oil into the brazier beneath it, and set it alight to start the water warming. Like all other magic, alchemy required the three elements of Word, Will, and Sacrifice, and used a Circle to constrain the domain of effect.

The Circle ran around the center of the cauldron's round belly, and the sphere of containment spread from there. The mouth of the cauldron was open to the air, as if the sphere had part of the top sliced off. Alchemists knew to take care not to let their hands dip into the sphere, even if it was invisible. Unlike modern sorcery, alchemical spells were cast as a ritual. The components---also ingredients, in this case---were both a portion of the Sacrifice and the Conduit through which the magic would flow. Alchemical concoctions usually took at least an hour to complete, sometimes much longer, and required concentration for the majority of the process.

She poured out a Circle of white salt on the table and prepared the ingredients for the fever reducer within its boundaries. Alchemy required a steady flow of energy rather than large bursts, except on rare occasions, but she still wouldn't be able to safely make more than twenty doses at once.

Sebastien had plenty of experience brewing this potion, as it was universally useful, and though most of the heat and inflammation-reduction was focused on the head, it also doubled as a mild pain reliever. Someone was always willing to purchase one, and some variation of the ingredients was always relatively easy to purchase or gather.

Careful not to disturb the salt with her movements, she sliced willow, crushed spearmint, swirled a vial of lake fog nine times counterclockwise, and powdered a few hens' teeth, to start. As she worked, she bent her Will in a steady stream upon the ingredients, directing their magical properties to specific purposes.

When she finished the initial ingredient preparation, she turned to the now-boiling cauldron and sprinkled the first of the ingredients in, moving her hand in a circle as she did. In addition to the ingredients themselves, the heat of the boiling water acted as Sacrifice, slowly dissolving the components within, even sometimes things like pebbles or glass, which otherwise wouldn't have melted under such moderate heat.

The Word was held in the brewer's mind as a specific intent or series of intents while they completed each step of creation, and was sometimes aided by a few rhymes or chants spoken over the boiling cauldron.

Similar to artificery, alchemy was so useful because, although slow, it allowed one to bind the effects of a spell into something that could be used later, and could be used by a relatively weak thaumaturge to create a spell they otherwise might not be able to cast on demand. Of course, some of the magical energy was lost along the way---about thirty percent, in most cases. A potion could also spoil, so some people felt alchemy was inferior to artificery, which could capture and release a larger portion of the imbued energy due to the spells being set into stone, metal, or some other high-efficiency material.

She liked alchemy in part because it was much more accessible to a commoner such as herself. Artificery required not only the components to charge the spell, but also expensive materials for the artifact itself, which many people couldn't afford, and access to the complex mathematical and logical strings used to create the Word. Alchemy was more common, and despite the complicated rituals, it was still simpler than the elaborate, tiny spell arrays that an artificer had to carve into their items. Thus, alchemy was easier to learn outside of a structured environment like the University.

But mainly, it was the ability to cast alchemical spells as a ritual rather than an immediate spell that gave alchemy its advantage. Over the course of ninety minutes, Sebastien could pack more magic into a single-use potion than she could ever hope to cast instantaneously while imbuing an artifact.

She added the ingredients with her hands, as her grandfather had taught her, thinking of their purpose as she did so. She took deep breaths and hummed on the exhale, deep in her throat, as he had often done when brewing, though she had no proof that it actually helped. When she stirred the brew, she did so with wood taken from a living tree, feeling it heat up as magic flowed through it. She imagined the relief the potion would give the drinker, the banishment of pain, the feeling of an aching head cooling as its owner fell into sleep, while the body remained warm enough to fight off sickness. She could feel the mental fatigue as time went on, the potion greedily drinking up all the magic she could channel into it.

She brewed for a few hours, with breaks in between each session, and returned to the University after sharing another fine dinner with Dryden, where she stuffed herself to the point of bursting in an attempt to make up for the exhaustion of extended magical exertion.

She came again on Sunday, earlier this time without the need to visit the market, and returned to brewing. She pushed herself, wanting to get as much done as possible before returning to classes the next day. Plus, all magical exertion was useful to increase her Will capacity, the more difficult the better.

By sunset, vial racks filled with potions and cartons of salve jars were stacked beside the table.

She'd made two batches of the fever reducer and the minor healing salve, which went by the more common name of "skin-knitter," as well as a single batch of the much more magic-intensive, but also better paying, revivifying potion. She'd also borrowed one of the big pots from the kitchen and used it in place of her cauldron to create a gigantic batch of the potion of moonlight sizzle, which she'd put in squat little jars that glowed ever-so-faintly blue.

When shaken, the potion roiled with contained bubbles and let off a soft but bright glow that mimicked the light of a full moon and was powerful enough to illuminate a small room on its own. It was best brewed under the actual light of a full moon, but she had substituted owl feathers and a couple handfuls of powdered moonstone, which seemed to work well enough. A jar of moonlight sizzle didn't last as long as a spelled light crystal, only about five hundred hours, or three full weeks of light, and the output wasn't steady, as you had to shake it every half hour or so to restart the bubbles, but it was cheaper than a light crystal, and significantly cheaper over time than an ordinary candle. Plus, she could use it to read under the covers in her dorm without worrying about setting the bed on fire with her little lantern flame.

For Dryden, she made a small batch of Speer's philtre of stench, the fumes of which she had made sure to keep confined within the cauldron's influence, and the philtre of darkness, which was magically intensive enough that she could only make a half-dozen per batch, like the revivifying potion.

She made sure everything was labeled properly with little slips of paper, but hesitated before signing them. It was standard for any magical creations to come with the mark of the creator, as not all thaumaturges were equal, and the consumer might prefer one alchemist, sorcerer, or warder over another. In the end, she simply initialed each of them "S.S." and took one of each concoction for herself, with Dryden's permission.

"No need to take it out of your commission. Think of it as a tip for your hard work," he said, grinning at her.

Her fingers trembled faintly with exhaustion, and she had to force her eyes to focus properly. '*I pushed myself too hard*,' she admitted, but, looking at the product of her labors, she felt no regret. '*Still, that's over twelve gold of pure profit, enough to cover almost nine days of accrued interest, and a handful of potions for my own use, too. If I do this every weekend till the end of term, I will at least have kept up with the interest on my debt. As my Will continues to strengthen, I'll be able to make more expensive concoctions, and more doses per cauldron.*'

In a day, she had earned as much as a poorly compensated worker might make in three weeks. '*If they have enough demand to purchase everything I can make during the ten weeks of break time the University has every year, I may even be able to pay off a good portion of the principal as well.*' Despite her fatigue, she felt satisfied with her productivity. That is, until she considered that the loan she'd been given was only for one term at the University, and she didn't have enough left to cover the second term of the year, so would undoubtedly have to take another loan from Katerin.

Dryden looked over the table full of her work with satisfaction, rocking back and forth on his heels. "This is wonderful, Sebastien. It will make a real difference in the lives of dozens of people."

"Well, that's nice too, but I'm mainly interested in the money," she admitted. "I wouldn't work this hard for altruistic reasons."

He gave her a slightly lopsided smile. "Well, people are selfish. That's human nature. In a perfect world, society would incentivize individual action that was also good for the whole."

She hesitated, but said, "There's no such thing as a perfect world."

The rocking on his heels stopped. "I know that," he said softly. He picked up a potion of moonlight sizzle and shook it, watching the cold light spill past his fingers. "But it's not unreasonable to think it can get a little better, wouldn't you agree?"

She didn't answer, partly because she wasn't sure if she did agree, and partly because she was skeptical that he really believed it, either. '*He seems too intelligent to be so...naive*.'

She half dozed her way through dinner with Dryden, who seemed equally fatigued, and made it back to the dorms shortly before lights-out with barely enough energy for her nighttime routine.

Her third week at the University passed without comment, though she noticed the other students' interest in her didn't seem to have diminished. In fact, she found people she didn't even recognize from her dorm---complete strangers---staring at her when they thought she wasn't looking. A pair of girls even went so far as to follow her between classes, quickly ducking into doorways or behind other students and giggling to each other when she looked at them.

Ana, who had been walking with her at the time, laughed at Sebastien's expression of confusion. When Sebastien scowled at her, the other girl explained. "They think you're handsome, Sebastien. Take it as a compliment. Not all females can be as self-composed and unaffected as I."

Sebastien felt particularly stupid for not considering that as a possibility, though she didn't think it explained the entirety of the interest her schoolmates seemed to hold for her. '*Perhaps* *my attempts to seem unassuming and forgettable have instead created an aura of mystery.*' While that would have at one point amused and even gratified her, now it was a depressing thought. '*I hope not. People want to* solve *mysteries.*'
 
Chapter 26 - Bargains Big and Small
Chapter 26 - Bargains Big and Small

Oliver

Month 11, Day 24, Tuesday 8:30 p.m.​

As Oliver stepped into the Verdant Stag well after dark, his mask concealing his features, a man lunged out of the shadows beside the door and grabbed onto him.

Oliver reached for his battle wand immediately, sinking down into a fighting stance. He stopped himself just before shooting the man with a concussive blast, registering the man's plain clothing, lack of weapon, and the desperate look on his bruised face. "Release me," he said instead.

The nearby patrons of the inn had turned to look at them, alarmed. The tense silence was already spreading out through the rest of the large room.

The man released Oliver's arm and stepped back, bowing deeply. He straightened and then bowed again. "Forgive me, Lord Stag. I meant no harm, only I need your help. I'm desperate. Please, sir. The Morrows, a couple o' their boys took my daughter as we were coming home from the temple o' the Radiant Maiden. It was outside o' Stag territory, there weren't any of the green flags to pull for help. I tried to stop 'em, but there were too many. They hit me down, but I was still and quiet, and when they left, I got up and followed 'em and saw where they took 'er. She's in a house off the docks, and I don't know what they might be doin' to 'er, but she were screamin' as they dragged 'er away---" The man choked on his words and bowed a couple more times.

Oliver laid his hand on the man's shoulder, keeping him from bowing any more. "Breathe. Speak slowly. How long ago was this?"

The man trembled as he looked up into the dark eye-holes of Oliver's mask. "An hour at most. I came straight here once I seen where they took 'er."

Oliver nodded sharply. "Alright. Follow me." He strode toward a hallway leading to the back, past the bar and the stage.

The man continued to stammer as he hurried to keep up. "My neighbor Stuart said he came to you when his wife were attacked, and you got 'er all healed up and got the people who did it arrested, neat as you please. And he told me the price weren't too high." He reached into a pocket, pulling out a half-full coin purse. "I've got twelve gold, sixty-seven copper saved up. I was hopin' to send my daughter to get the readin' and writin' certification in a few years, but---" He held the money out to Oliver. "If you can save 'er, it's yours. I don't know if it's enough, but I'm willin' to owe you, and I promise I'm good for it. I'll pay you back if it's the last thing I do, I swear, if you can just save 'er---"

Oliver spun, throwing open a door.

The one-handed man behind the desk looked up from the report he'd been writing with painstaking slowness, unperturbed. "Mr. Oliver," he greeted.

Oliver dragged the man with the kidnapped daughter into the room with him. "Mr. Gerard, some Morrows have taken this man's daughter. He can lead you to the place they're holding her. It's been an hour. Assemble a team and head out immediately."

The man stood, fountain pen forgotten on the desk. He strode off through the door at the back of the room, shouting names and orders, and the men in the room beyond scurried to jump up and equip their supplies.

Oliver turned to the man beside him, who now had tears in his eyes.

He tried to shove the purse at Oliver again.

Oliver pushed it back to him, speaking perfunctorily, any compassion in his tone well hidden. "You can pay afterward. It'll be fifty gold, due to the danger of the mission. The Verdant Stag will be loaning you the full amount. This includes the cost for any healing your daughter may need."

The man tried to bow again, and Oliver stopped him by gripping his shoulder, forcing him to look into the eye-holes of his mask. "This loan will have interest," he continued. "If you cannot afford the payments on your own, we will find a way for you to repay what you owe. Additionally, you will owe the Verdant Stag a *favor*," he said forebodingly. "At some point, the Stags may have need of you. If---*when*---this happens, you will set aside your hesitation, eschew your own comfort, and disregard the risk to come to our aid. This is the price for our help today."

The man didn't hesitate for a moment. "Yes. I agree."

"If your daughter cannot be saved..."

The man gritted his teeth, blinking rapidly.

"The culprits will be brought to justice. The debt will still be in effect. Do you still agree?"

Pale-faced, he nodded, swallowing hard.

"Good." Oliver released his shoulder. "You may accompany the rescue team. You will stay back. Do not impede their work, or you might place your daughter in danger. Mr. Gerard is in charge. You will listen to him unconditionally."

The man nodded rapidly. "Yes, yes."

The rescue team, now fully kitted out, stomped back through the door.

"Perfect timing," Oliver muttered. He nodded to them. "Go."

The man hurried to keep up with Oliver's team of enforcers as they ran down the hall and left through one of the Verdant Stag's side entrances.

Oliver sighed, lifting his mask with one hand to rub his forehead with the other. He'd forgotten to tell the man that there was no need to wait for him, specifically. Any of the citizens within his territory could come to the Stag to ask for help at any time, reporting directly to the person currently in charge of the area they needed assistance in. He turned, going back through the entertainment hall---where once again people took their attention from the performance on stage and their alcohol to stare as he passed by---and up the stairs towards Katerin's office.

He almost stumbled on Theo, who was crouched at the top of the stairs, gripping the railing as he looked down on the room below. Theo was watching the amateur play being performed on stage. A slate board and nub of chalk lay forgotten by his side, the simple math problems on them only half finished.

The boy pulled his head back through the railing. He grinned up at Oliver and jumped to his feet, unperturbed by the mask. "Mr. Oliver! Did that man need help? I saw you take him back toward the enforcers' station. Did they go on a mission?"

"Some bad people kidnapped his daughter. They're going to get her back now."

"Awesome! Well, I mean, not that they kidnapped her, but it's a rescue mission! That's not the *most* awesome type of quest, but a lot of the epic stories have at least a little bit about needing to save a damsel in distress. I wonder if she's pretty," the child mused, looking into the middle distance as his imagination took over.

"People deserve help whether they're pretty or not, you know," Oliver said, stepping past the boy.

Theo turned to follow immediately, his schoolwork forgotten at the edge of the stairwell. "Well, of course," he said in a tone that questioned Oliver's intelligence. "But it's a little more interesting when they're pretty, don't you think?"

Familiar dark eyes flashed in Oliver's mind, but he hummed noncommittally.

"Say, do you think I could get a utility wand?" the boy asked, slyly watching Oliver out of the corner of his eye. "It's dangerous on the streets," he continued quickly. "I mean, just this week we've had a ton of people come in for help. A man got his leg crushed down on the docks. He went to a sham healer who just made it worse, and his friends brought him in to use one of our contacts, but by that time it was too late and his leg still had to be cut off. Wouldn't it be better if I don't have to have any limbs amputated?"

Oliver almost stumbled, but the boy didn't seem to notice his stupefaction, and continued on as if his reasoning was entirely logical.

"Yesterday, a woman came in asking for help to scare off the men coming around her house asking for 'taxes' and threatening her. What if someone tries to mug me? I need to be able to defend myself, or at least get away."

"Do you think it's likely you will be mugged?" Oliver asked, keeping his voice even.

"Well, who knows? It's better to be prepared, right? It would be too late to regret it once it actually happened. Plus, I heard Katerin talking about *you* getting mugged a while back, so obviously these things happen. And it's not like I'm definitely safe just because I live in Stag territory. There's a fight club on Dorset Lane that pulls people in off the street sometimes when they're low on volunteers for the matches. Katerin sent Mr. Gerard out to deal with it, since they're doing crime in our territory without permission."

Oliver was half amused, half serious as he said, "That does sound serious." He doubted the Morrows would be so bold or depraved as to go after a child, but that didn't mean Theo wouldn't run into a situation where he needed a little extra help. It was a dangerous world, and he was surrounded by people in a dangerous line of work.

The boy nodded gravely. "A woman was knocked into the canal by one of the Crowns who was galloping his horse in the street. She breathed in some water and got pneu-mo-nia." He enunciated the unfamiliar word carefully, looking to Oliver to make sure he understood. "She had to spend all the money she was saving for her wedding on potions, and her fiance even started crying because he'd thought they wouldn't be able to afford it. Wouldn't it be much cheaper to pay for my utility wand now than pay for the healing fees when I get pneumonia?" Theo nodded seriously, dropping a fist into his other palm with satisfaction at his argument, then stared at Oliver with big eyes, as if he could make him agree through sheer force of will.

"Do you have an idea what spells you'd want in this utility wand?" Oliver asked, trying to keep the amusement from his voice.

Theo grinned so wide his eyes turned into slits, nodding rapidly. "Oh, yes! I've got a list in my room. Do you want to see it?"

Oliver waved him down before he could run off. "Not just yet. I'll talk to your aunt Katerin about it and see what she thinks. *If* she approves, I'm sure it won't be for free. You'll have to be prepared to earn it."

Theo was completely undeflated. "Yes! I can do anything. I'm already good with my sums. I could do the accounting for the Verdant Stag, or I could do deliveries, or I could even scrub the floors."

Oliver doubted he would be doing any real work. And Theo's math skills certainly weren't advanced enough to do accounting, if the chalk scribbles he'd seen on the forgotten slate were to be trusted. If Katerin agreed, perhaps they could work out something with the boy's tutor. A copper per extra completed assignment, put into a jar of savings for the wand, might give the boy a little more incentive to focus on his studies.

Katerin opened the door to her office just as they arrived in front of it. "So that's where you ran off to," she said, reaching out and smoothing the boy's copper hair.

Theo ducked away from her hand. "Me and Mr. Oliver were talking about how good an idea it is for me to get a utility wand! He thinks so, too!"

She scowled. "Have you been bothering Mr. Oliver about that? Didn't I tell you to finish your homework and then report back to me? Your tutor told me you haven't fully completed the last three assignments he gave you, and you've been distracted during lessons..."

"I'm almost finished!" Theo hurried to assure her, his hands held up placatingly. "I was just accompanying Mr. Oliver so he wouldn't be lonely! I'm going back now." The boy turned and scurried off down the hall before Katerin could respond, picking up his chalk and slate and escaping.

Katerin shook her head ruefully, waving Oliver into her office.

He told her his idea for incentivizing Theo.

She pressed her red-painted lips together and sighed. "I suppose it might work. I swear, if it's not about magic or adventure, that boy isn't interested."

Oliver smiled. "Children his age are all like that. You can't tell me you actually appreciated the value of your studies when you were his age."

"I suppose that's true. It took real hardship for me to understand. I wouldn't wish that for him. It's not like I'm overflowing with money, but I could afford a few copper a day if it would change his attitude toward learning." She crossed her arms and nodded. "I'll talk to his tutor about this idea. The room for your meeting is already prepared. Your contacts haven't arrived yet. I sent Harper to escort them from the docks. We should have a half hour yet."

"Good. I wanted to get here early, and it's a good thing I did. There was a bit of an incident on the way up, but I've sent Gerard out with an emergency response team to deal with it." He explained the circumstances and the deal he'd made with the kidnapped girl's father.

Katerin wrote out two copies of the agreement on a parchment with the blood print vow spell array already painted on it. "I'll have him sign when they return. If he can't afford payments, I'll give him a couple of hours on one of our street cleaner shifts," she muttered, looking tired.

Oliver took a seat in front of her desk, noting the piles of paper covering its surface and the way the paleness of her skin let the shadows under her eyes stand out even more. "It's late. You shouldn't still be working."

"You work even longer hours."

"I don't also have a child to take care of."

She waved his words away, then reached for a folder and flipped briefly through its contents. "I need more funds for the sanitation facility. One of the biological waste processors broke down, and we need to bring in a Master artificer to fix it. Ideally, we would expand the facility to handle greater capacity, so this doesn't happen again. Especially if we plan to expand Stag territory further. The human waste within our area already exceeds the recommended amounts for the sanitation facility's current setup."

Oliver nodded. "Alright. Are any of the other Stag interests bringing in enough income to cover it, or should I make another monetary infusion?"

"The short answer is: No." She picked up another folder. "The Verdant Stag itself is profitable. The rented rooms, the bar, and the kitchen are in the black, considering the cost of the building and its repairs amortized over a fifteen-year period. The gambling is bringing in a modest profit, enough to cover the salary of the basic staff as well as myself, while still paying off the magical renovations you requested."

"Good. At least the foundation is steady. And the rest?"

"Word about the miniature alchemy shop is spreading. Profits per item are low, as you requested, but with the increased volume, it is also in the black. Alice's wages are well covered, and there are enough extra funds to consider expanding the inventory further. Siobhan's contributions have been well-received, especially those potions of moonlight sizzle. Her work doesn't have the quality of alchemy done by someone who's made a career out of it; it's obvious she hasn't had hundreds of hours of practice with any of those potions, but it's good enough to sell, and most people within Stag territory won't be able to tell the difference. I thought it was just your bleeding heart making questionable decisions again when you brought her in, but it seems she might actually be a good investment."

"I have an eye for people," Oliver said, smiling. "Though I will admit, a sense of responsibility did play a role in my decision."

"Well, in a couple of years, perhaps she will be able to take over some of the more difficult magical projects. Bringing those in-house would save us a significant amount of gold. I had to spend *eighty gold* last week just on the liquid stone potions for the enforcers."

She took a deep breath. "On that topic, the protection and emergency response project is still hemorrhaging money. Extracting promises of payment from individuals who've been aided is stemming some of the flow, but without extorting general protection money from those who live and do business in the area, it's simply not enough."

Oliver rubbed a finger over the edge of his mask, then took it off, the magic releasing his skin with an inaudible *pop* of suction. "I don't want to charge general protection fees. That's extortion. The people already pay taxes."

"Taxes that are supposed to fund the coppers. Coppers who can't be bothered to do their job, and who we are replacing with our own system, *without* being compensated. Have you considered that some people might be reluctant to ask for help when they know they'll be put into debt for it? If there was a standard, low fee for all citizens within our territory, those who needed to use our services could feel unburdened doing so."

"We're building a network. It's not just about the money. We want the debt, the favors, people looking to help us because they *are* singled out when we give aid, rather than it being a general public service. The loans we're giving to cover our services aren't debilitating. We allow long-term repayment plans so the payments are low, and we give them jobs to do if they don't have the gold. It shouldn't be that much of a burden."

"That's part of the problem. For instance, the man you just told me about. He has a debt of fifty gold. Perhaps, with interest, he ends up paying us six silver a month for the next ten years, and we get seventy gold out of it. But our response team may cost the Stag sixty to seventy gold for this operation, especially if they need to use magic or any of them get injured. We spend the money now, and *perhaps* make it back over the long term. And that's not taking into account the things we've been handling where there's no one to call in a debt, which means we eat the expense. This project is losing money, and it's getting worse.

"The sanitation project already has no hope of being profitable. The micro-farming warehouse is going to take some time yet before it starts bringing in money, and with the other properties you want to buy, the bribes for the coppers, and the surveys you're paying for..." She shook her head helplessly. "You know as well as I do that altruism has to be met with realism, Oliver. I don't know why I'm telling you this."

Oliver rubbed his forehead. "I'm prepared to lose money on some necessary things for the time being. I cannot have my people afraid to walk the streets. The Stags must become a symbol of trust and good governance. The more people contrast us against the other gangs and the Crowns, the better. However, perhaps there is some middle ground. It's not the sole project I want to implement, after all, and everything costs money."

"Well, I will say that I was skeptical about the surveys, but I'm beginning to see why you wanted them. Since we implemented the sanitation project, illness in our territory has decreased by approximately fifteen percent."

Oliver allowed himself a genuine smile. "That's wonderful. If we could get some basic sanitation artifacts into every home, we could probably get it down even further. I've been lobbying for the tax on soap to be abolished, but..." He didn't bother finishing the familiar complaint. The Crowns weren't interested in anything he had to say, not if it had a chance to lower their income or increase the power of the commoners. "As for the warehouse, perhaps my meeting today will bear fruit."

Katerin brightened. "If you will, ask them if they have access to any battle artifacts. I've been stocking up as they become available here, but I've found no reliable source within the city."

A few minutes before his new smuggling contacts were scheduled to arrive, Oliver and three of his enforcers went to the room Katerin had set up for the meeting. After speaking to the information broker, he'd received contact information for an intermediary, who'd passed along his request to speak to the person really in charge of the operation, the captain of a small fleet who smuggled magical items into the city, hidden among legitimate imports. The captain's ships had just docked a couple of days before, and only now could Oliver finally meet him.

Oliver looked around the room approvingly, motioning for two of the enforcers to stand against the back wall unobtrusively, while the third stood outside the door.

The room had been immaculately cleaned, the windows and floorboards polished, subtle wealth and power in every detail. A large, thronelike chair sat behind an imposing desk that looked like it might have been carved whole from a single giant tree. In front of the desk were a few shorter chairs, subtly forcing his guests to look up at him. The lighting was soft, the main source a light crystal that hung from the ceiling behind his desk, to better blend the shadows with the artificial darkness behind his mask.

He settled in the large chair behind the desk and took out the single folder Katerin had placed in a drawer. It was simply there for him to pretend to look over while they entered.

The captain arrived shortly afterward, and when the enforcer in front of the door knocked and announced this, Oliver said, "Send them in," immediately. There was no point making them wait as a power play, since he'd been the one to invite them to use the Stag's discreet, neutral meeting rooms. Oliver trusted the setting and his own charisma to make any necessary statement about wealth and power.

A sun-weathered man with the slightly wide gait of someone used to the pitch and roll of a ship's deck introduced himself as Captain Eliezer. He was accompanied by a couple of his men, who followed slightly behind and stayed mostly silent.

Oliver welcomed them cordially.

Eliezer's men eyed Oliver's mask and then the enforcers at the back of the room with obvious discomfort, but neither side made any threatening overtures, and Captain Eliezer himself seemed unfazed.

After a couple minutes of small talk, during which Oliver offered them each a glass of ridiculously expensive alcohol, let them grow comfortable in the opulently plush seats, and bragged about the security wards surrounding the room, they finally got down to business.

"I've been told you have access to certain *luxury items* that can be difficult to obtain in Gilbratha. I have need of a variety of such items. Do you think you can provide?" He handed Captain Eliezer a sheet of paper with a list of magical plants he wanted seeds, shoots, or graftable clippings from, along with the various special materials that would be necessary to successfully cultivate them.

The man read carefully down the list without any change of expression, then looked back up at Oliver. "I can get most of the seeds, and maybe some of the smaller shoots or clippings, if you're willing to pay for stasis spells so they don't die in transit, but some of these are too large or otherwise noticeable to get through the customs inspections at the docks."

Oliver had expected that might be the case. "If you're still able to obtain those things, perhaps another port might be slightly more lax? I have a contact that could pick them up elsewhere." From there, he could either figure out how to get them into the city himself, or perhaps cultivate them outside it, only bringing in the more subtle final products of those plants. There were problems with that plan, too, but anything was possible, with time, money, and a bit of cleverness.

Eliezer hesitated. "There is another issue. You are requesting the capability to produce the end products, which we otherwise provide to other interested parties within Gilbratha. If you become a supplier, this could decrease our trade volume. I'm not willing to put my long-term livelihood, and that of my crew, at risk for a single paycheck."

Oliver dipped his head in acknowledgment, wrapping his fingers around the polished wood of his chair and leaning back. "I completely understand. I'm willing to pay a premium on those items which won't be part of an ongoing order. However, let me reassure you, the components produced from these plants are not going to be sold on the open market. They'll be used for various things in-house, and shouldn't affect your trade with any other interested parties, within or outside of Gilbratha."

Eliezer didn't seem particularly reassured by that.

"This isn't all that I need. I'm hoping to establish an ongoing relationship with you in other areas as well. Particularly, I need battle artifacts and a variety of alchemical concoctions. For the artifacts, it matters not if their spells are charged, though the price I will pay would adjust accordingly."

Eliezer nodded slowly.

"For the potions and philtres, I'm interested in some more magically intensive varieties, useful for both offense and defense. I would require they be fresh and brewed at standard efficacy, if not greater. I would expect you to test them upon receipt, as I won't pay for any of sub-par quality."

"We already have buyers for battle artifacts and a variety of potions," Eliezer said leadingly.

"You cannot increase your volume?" Oliver questioned. "This would seem to be only a good thing for you. I am willing to pay a slight premium for the highest quality of your stock, and you are free to continue trading with whoever else you like. Three percent."

Eliezer thought for a moment, then said, "What kind of volume are you looking for with the artifacts and alchemy? I have one main ship and two smaller ones, and some items are only worth the time and space in my cargo at higher volumes, or if I pick them up with another order."

"For this first shipment, I'm willing to purchase as many as you can provide. After that, we can discuss our ongoing relationship again."

Eliezer scanned the room again, his eyes lingering on the signs of wealth all around him. "Agreed. Seeds will be hidden within larger bags of grain. Shoots and clippings will be held in stasis within seemingly decorative containers. Kegs and bottles of alcohol will hold the alchemical items. For the battle artifacts, it can be a little more tricky depending on their size and shape. The price for whatever we use to disguise the transfer will be included in the payment."

They took a few minutes to draw up a full list of the other items Oliver was interested in, then haggled over the price for each.

At the end, Eliezer nodded, tucking the paper into his pocket. "Alright, we will bring the things you need. It will take a few months, at this time of year. Any bribes to the dock officials or the coppers will be borne by you as well."

Oliver shook his head, his tone firm. "No. Bribes will come out of your own pockets. After all, what incentive do you have to be frugal, otherwise? I'm already paying a premium for the plants, as well as the choicest artifacts and potions. If you cannot afford your own bribes, your business is not run as smoothly as I hoped."

Eliezer glared at him for a moment, leathery wrinkles deepening around his squinting eyes, but finally gave a sharp nod. "Fine."

Oliver offered them another glass of liquor before they left.

Eliezer, a little more at ease now that the negotiations were finished, accepted with a yellow-toothed smile that was duplicated by his men. "Never known a sailor to refuse a good drink," he said.

They left soon after, refusing Oliver's offer of an escort back to their inn, and Oliver settled back in his miniature throne, the exhilaration of success pushing away his fatigue. It might take a few months to see the effects, but this new relationship would make a difference.

Artifacts and potions for his enforcers, to protect them and make them more effective in their jobs, and plants to bring the micro-farm warehouse into quick profitability while subsidizing the ingredients for the alchemy shop. Maybe there would even be something suitable for Theo among the artifacts.
 
Chapter 27 - Study Group
Chapter 27 - Study Group

Sebastien

Month 11, Day 25, Wednesday 5:30 a.m.​

Mid-week, Sebastien was woken early by forcefully hissed whispers and a few grumbling mutters. It took her longer to become alert than normal, as if her thoughts were rising through molasses. When her eyes finally gained the ability to focus, she sat up and saw that Damien Westbay, already dressed and hair perfectly groomed, was leaned over a nearby bed, shaking Alec Gervin's shoulder in an attempt to wake him. The rest of Westbay's group of followers were also up, gathering their clothes and stumbling off to the bathrooms to get dressed.

Other nearby students, who had also been awakened, complained at Westbay's noisemaking. One clamped a pillow around her head and flopped back down with a loud huff.

Sebastien rubbed the sleep from her eyes and checked her pocket watch. It was too late for her to bother going back to sleep, despite her fatigue. She stood up, swaying slightly, and made her way to the bathrooms to get dressed. '*Imbecilic troglodyte. Poor excuse for a sorcerer,*' she thought with a scowl as she passed Westbay.

When she returned from the bathroom, his group was standing outside their dormitory doors and arguing. Someone had at least had the presence of mind to close the doors so they didn't continue disturbing the other students. Both Ana and Westbay held some familiar equipment in their arms.

Sebastien's gaze sharpened. They had the same devices Lacer had given her to practice with outside of class.

"Sebastien!" Ana said brightly, her hair still loose around her shoulders. Her eyes trailed over him, and she grimaced slightly. "I'm sorry if we woke you. Alec has always slept like a tranquilized rhinoceros."

As if on cue, the other girl, who had dark hair and was wearing a dress rather than the trousers Ana seemed to favor, elbowed Alec in the side without looking.

While Ana's cousin pouted and rubbed at his ribs, Sebastien straightened her clothing and ran a hand through her tangled hair, attempting to seem more awake. "It's alright---"

"Siverling rises early every morning to practice anyway, right?" Westbay said, not quite softly enough to be under his breath.

Sebastien lifted her chin. "I do," she said.

Ana smiled charmingly, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrent of tension. "Exactly. When Damien heard about it, he quite admired your work ethic. We have decided to start an early morning study session of our own."

Westbay gave Ana a dubious look, and Sebastien doubted that boy had ever stated such a charitable word as "admire" about her.

Sebastien's lips quirked up at the thought.

Ana's smile grew more cheerful, as if pure, forceful obliviousness were its own type of magic. "So! We were thinking you should join us. You are working on Professor Lacer's additional exercises, and the two of us are as well. Damien's bullied the rest of the group into accompanying us. Why not practice together? Perhaps we could exchange some pointers."

Westbay scowled. "I'm sure Siverling prefers to work without distraction."

That was true. Additionally, Sebastien didn't know half the group, and of the ones she did, the only one she liked was Anastasia. Her morning would likely become markedly less productive if she were to share it with them. She opened her mouth to refuse, but caught the faint hint of satisfaction in Westbay's expression. She wasn't sure if it was the idea of being contrary just for the sake of it, or the memory that Westbay's Family lead the coppers, and he knew about her case, that changed her mind.

'*Perhaps I'll be able to get him to talk about it.*' She smiled, keeping as much vindictiveness out of the expression as possible. "I would be delighted, thank you, Ana." She went back into the dorms to grab her things and the practice equipment Professor Lacer had given her, then followed the group to an empty classroom not far from the outer doors of the Citadel.

Ana introduced the rest of the group as they settled in.

Alec Gervin she was familiar with already, having met him along with Westbay when they tried to cut in line that first day. He was the loud one with the bushy black eyebrows. '*And he also apparently has some sort of sleep disorder,*' she thought uncharitably.

Waverly Ascott was the other girl. She was quiet, but her eyes were alert and quick to narrow in a threatening scowl when one of the others annoyed her. Her eyelids had a partial epicanthic fold that indicated one of her parents---probably her mother, was from one of the countries to the East. She nodded perfunctorily when introduced to Sebastien, then pulled a thick book about the Plane of Radiance out of her bag and began to read, ignoring the rest of them.

Ambrose Setterlund, a young man who was too tall to be so shy, waved his hand rapidly when introduced and mumbled, "Call me Brinn," with a blush on his cheeks. He sat next to Ascott.

The final boy was probably the most handsome of the group, with curly hair, dark creamy skin, and a confident smile that even Sebastien could admit was attractive. Rhett Moncrieffe bowed easily to Sebastien, seeming neither particularly pleased nor displeased at her company, and set a briefcase on a side table.

Westbay groaned aloud. "Must you, Rhett? We are here to study, not play."

The handsome boy tossed his hair and gave Westbay a snooty look. "This *is* study. My field of interest is simply more...*diverting* than yours. I need to practice, and it's not as if there are dueling rings set up in here for me to actually train. Don't be so sanctimonious."

Alec Gervin stood, his chair making a scraping sound against the floor. "I will study with you, Rhett."

The two of them set up on the side table with an unfolding wooden board and two small humanoid pieces. They set the pieces in their respective Circles on the board, and began to shoot "spells" that seemed to be just tiny beams of light at each other, while dodging the incoming attacks from their game-piece opponent.

The entire group perked up a bit when Westbay pulled a kettle down from the cabinet on the far wall and filled it with ground coffee. They set up around a large table while the water heated, and Westbay cast the spell to turn the coffee into wakefulness brew himself, with the kind of proud look a child might wear after "helping" their mother to bake bread. The coffee---probably some expensive luxury strain---had taken the magic even more smoothly than the beans in Dryden's kitchen, and Sebastien had to admit it was delicious, too.

Brinn Setterlund, the tall young man, had hurried to pour Waverly her coffee, which he handed to her with a puppylike smile. She accepted the cup with a distracted nod, barely looking up from her book.

With the sand wheel on the table, Sebastien palmed her Conduit and began to cast, only part of her concentration on the metal ball within, which had been ground down to matte smoothness from the constant sanding. "So your Family is in charge of the coppers, right, Westbay? The ones doing the investigation into that sorceress who stole from the University a couple of months ago?"

"Yes. My brother Titus is in charge of the investigative task force."

"Right. The task force that hasn't caught her and whose lone clue is that she managed to speak to her accomplice even *after* they jailed him."

He scowled, the bags under his eyes standing out.

Before he could speak, she continued, idly spinning her ball faster. "So what is it that she even stole? Rumor at the market is that it was some priceless artifact from an archaeological dig, but is that true?"

He sniffed. "She stole a book, apparently. Perhaps it had powerful or illegal spells in it, I don't know. However, as to your insinuations about the investigators, let me set you straight. Her accomplice spilled his guts on the first day they brought him in, and freely revealed her attempts to contact him the second time, as well. The only reason we haven't caught her yet is that she's been quiet. No doubt she's lying low for fear that we'll have her soon. But we know she's still in the city. That particular messenger spell must be used close by the recipient. It's likely she is being hidden by some other criminals, perhaps ones who wanted the book, but eventually someone will slip up, and then we'll have her and the whole ring of colluders!"

Sebastien spun her ball even faster, till the sand began to heat with its passing, and then slowed it abruptly. The minimalist spell array glowed with inefficiency as the ball slowed, and then dimmed as the ball began to spin the opposite direction and gain speed again. Undoing the momentum the ball had built up so quickly required a level of energy she couldn't channel all at once. Perhaps one day, the ball would stop in an instant, with a cracking sound like a miniature bolt of lightning. She could dream, at least. "But is there any actual way for the coppers to catch her, if she or one of her accomplices doesn't carelessly reveal themselves? Are there any *leads*?"

Westbay looked from her spell Circle back to his own with a frown, spinning his ball faster. He was good, better than most of their classmates, but it was obvious to Sebastien that he hadn't practiced as much as her. "She is skilled, and has been careful," he said. "But she's cocky, too. She wants to be seen, to be noticed, that's why she commits such outrageous crimes in broad daylight. She will act again, she cannot help it, and when she does, she will make a mistake, and we will catch her."

Sebastien raised her eyebrows, indignation at that assessment rising up inside her. She clamped down on the emotion and sent her ball on a series of fast, jerking turns back and forth.

Gervin, who had grown bored with losing to Rhett, stood up and stepped closer, watching with interest. "How are you doing that?"

Without thinking, she replied, "I can explain it to you, but I cannot *understand* it for you."

The cogs between his ears moved slowly as he processed her words. His eyes widened. "Did you just insult me?"

"I didn't mean to offend you. My intention was to insult you without you noticing." The words spilled from her in a bout of ire, and it was only after they were out, hanging in the air like little guillotines over her neck, that she realized it may have been slightly uncalled for. Perhaps even a little rude. '*I must be more tired than I realized, to be acting so recklessly.*' Still, she wouldn't take the words back. She waited for the response to come, the anger and outrage.

Ascott burst out laughing.

Once the dam of tension broke, the others followed suit. Even Gervin, a few belated seconds later, gave her a grudging chuckle. "Not bad, not bad."

Moncrieffe nodded at her from his corner as if bestowing a boon. "You have a sharp tongue, Siverling. I can respect a man who is milquetoast in neither word nor action."

Her surprise was a warm tingle running down her unclenching back. She had plenty of experience with people's response to her sharp tongue. Most had their feelings too easily hurt, even if the things she said didn't hold any particular *intent* to offend. The average person was shocked and offended by the obvious truth being spoken boldly to their face, and rather than change the thing about themselves they didn't like hearing, or simply *avoiding her*, they started crying or got angry and decided she was an enemy to be revenged upon.

She should really be more careful. The people in this group were powerful, and could have made her life difficult indeed if they had chosen to take offense. In fact, even Westbay himself could have chosen to take out his dislike of her in more direct ways. As far as she knew, he hadn't. Perhaps he was not entirely without honor.

She gave Ascott a small smile of gratitude, but the other girl didn't acknowledge it, her attention back on her book.

Westbay had laughed so hard he had to wipe his eyes, and he, too, gave Sebastien a grudging nod of acknowledgement. "You may be an arrogant ass, but you have the skill to back it up, at least."

Sebastien didn't argue with his label for her, since one reckless insult per day was probably enough.

"I told you, Damien," Ana said. "In twenty years, the Siverling name will be common knowledge."

Something in Sebastien's chest warmed at that thought. Fame might not be her goal, but excellence was, and true excellence would be noticed, if she were doing it right.

After she'd run through her paces on the main exercise, she replaced the sand wheel with a three-dimensional glass maze, one of the other practice aids Professor Lacer had given her. The glass cube had a smaller steel ball inside. She modified the spell array and began to guide the ball through the maze without touching any of its walls. It required a fine control the sand wheel didn't, but was easier to hold clearly in her mind than the sympathetic movement one. It was a nice break from the monotony the other two exercises had become.

"You've already moved on to the second supplementary exercise? It hasn't even been a month since this term started!" Westbay said, suddenly outraged.

Sebastien frowned, trying to maintain her focus. "It gets boring casting the same spells for hours every day. I'm just getting a head start on this one while I keep refining my control on the first." Her ball bumped into a corner as she moved it too quickly, and she grimaced. Every time that happened, the maze's walls shifted, rearranging the cube's entire internal structure.

She resolved to see if she could create a pseudo-repelling force between the glass and the ball. They'd briefly reviewed the basics of magnetism the week before in her Natural Science class, and it seemed like the perfect workaround to remove her need for, and failure to provide, superhuman reaction speeds. Of course, doing that without any components except heat might still be beyond her, but it was theoretically possible.

Westbay grumbled and took out his own glass maze, studying Sebastien's simplified spell array before setting up his own.

Ana moved on to the paired movement spell with an amused glance at Westbay's efforts. "You're taking seven classes, Damien. You can't expect to keep up with Sebastien. He only takes six. And he barely sleeps, you know."

Neither Sebastien nor Westbay found her words soothing.

Sebastien resisted the immediate urge to tell Westbay that she'd still be beating him even if she were taking eight classes. '*I'm not a child. It's okay if he's taking more classes than me and still somehow has time to sleep. He's had tutors preparing him for this his whole life. I don't need to say anything. I just need to work harder.*'

Westbay glared at both Sebastien and Anastasia, then returned his focus to the new exercise. He was clumsy at first, but improved noticeably over the next hour.

Soon enough, the breakfast period began. "Don't think you can slack off, Siverling," Westbay said as they left the room. "Professor Lacer told me he thinks I might have a talent for free-casting, just like my mother."

"It runs in my family, too," she couldn't help but snap back, her voice cold.

The study group dispersed, Moncrieffe slouching off with Gervin, and Ascott muttering something about getting black beans from the kitchen to make an offering to a spirit. Ana smiled and thanked Sebastien for joining them, while Westbay hurried ahead.

Brinn added his own shy smile and said, "You'll come again next time, won't you? Damien may be competitive, but he secretly loves having someone new and interesting around. It would be good for him to have someone to compare himself to who's closer to our own level."

Sebastien made no promises. The wakefulness brew was tempting, at least, even if she didn't have the time to spare for inefficient socializing.
 
Chapter 28 - Admit You Don't Understand
Chapter 28 - Admit You Don't Understand

Sebastien

Month 11, Day 25, Wednesday 10:45 a.m.​

In Sebastien's Natural Science class later that day, she found the slate experiment tables covered with equipment when she arrived. Glass beakers, half full with liquid, sat with spiral tubes coming from their rubber-sealed mouths. For every two beakers there were three small jars, each containing a piece of raw meat. Finally, rolls of gauze and wax paper.

Sebastien sat at her desk and examined the supplies with curiosity while the other students filed in.

As soon as the bell rang, Professor Gnorrish stood up from his desk and said, "We've spent the last month on a blisteringly fast review of the basics. Some of you had a better foundation in natural science than others, but this review should have given you a good understanding of where you need more study. Which is everywhere. In my opinion, every single one of you knows close to nothing."

He waited for the mutters, frowns, and uncomfortable shifting to subside. "But that's okay. I myself know close to nothing. I'm not afraid to admit that. In the grand expanse of reality---cause and effect and the underpinnings of how things really work---I *understand* very little. It's important to admit when you don't understand. And in your lack of understanding, you should be skeptical."

Sebastien leaned forward, intrigued.

"That is the foundation of scientific progress," he continued. "Before the Blood Empire, for thousands of years it was common knowledge, accepted by the learned and unlearned alike, that life could come from somewhere besides a progenitor. People *believed* that mice were created from the mud and heat of a riverbank every year in the summer. They *knew* that scallops formed in sand. Their parents and teachers told them that insects could be created, *spontaneously generated*, from decaying animal or plant matter, and people saw what they believed to be evidence that corroborated this universal understanding."

He waved his arms around to emphasize the absurdity. "But no one actually understood the theory of spontaneous generation. They only thought they did, because the truth of it was before everyone's eyes to see. They knew life was created by 'spontaneous generation.'" He crooked his fingers into quotation marks in the air. "They knew things fell because of 'gravity.' They knew the answer to one plus one is 'two.' They had memorized the answer key, if you will, and could even do limited extrapolation from it, but their answer didn't actually tell them anything about how the world worked. If they were given chalk, a fire, and no further components---limited to transmutation---they couldn't have designed a spell array that could replicate the process through every microsecond and down to the very cells, indistinguishable from the natural occurrence. They didn't understand."

'*Replicating the process exactly with only transmutation? Is that his criterion for true understanding?*' Sebastien thought. It seemed an impossibly rigorous standard. So much so that she questioned whether he actually expected anyone to really achieve it, or if he was just trying to knock them down a peg so they would be more willing to learn.

"Now, let's do a couple of experiments on spontaneous generation," he announced with a huge grin, turning to the chalkboard at the front of the room and touching the control to reveal the instructions written there. "Move as quickly as possible while still maintaining care," he urged. "There's a lot to cover, and we only have ninety minutes."

The two beakers contained nutrient broth. They were to be brought to a boil, thus killing any bacteria or fungus currently living within. When the students had finished that and were quite sure the mixture was sterile, they could remove the spiral tube from one of the beakers, exposing its mouth directly to the air.

The three jars holding chunks of raw meat were to have their lids removed. One was left open to the air. They tied gauze over the mouth of the second. The third, they sealed with the wax paper.

Once this was done, they labeled everything with their name, then everyone placed the meat jars into a Circle drawn on the floor on one side of the experiment space, and put the sterilized nutrient-broth beakers into another.

As they worked, Professor Gnorrish lectured, walking among them. "When testing a hypothesis, such as 'life does not need to come from seed, eggs, or parents, but can spontaneously generate,' we must attempt to *disprove* it. Only when it stands up to rigorous trials can a hypothesis be tentatively considered 'truth.' Even then, new discoveries and understandings may disprove your prior 'truth,' or simply update the depth of your understanding of the model."

He stopped to help a woman who was having trouble tying her gauze over the meat jar's mouth. "Historical documents show that some of the more learned and curious did do experiments on spontaneous generation. One lord even listed a series of *recipes* for creating various types of life. By all accounts, he carried out these experiments himself and recorded the outcomes. To create mice, put a piece of soiled cloth in wheat, and wait twenty-one days. To create scorpions, place basil between two bricks and leave it in the sunlight. Just more proof of spontaneous generation, right?"

Beside Sebastien, Ana laughed aloud.

Professor Gnorrish spun and pointed at her. "Ah! It sounds absurd now, right? How could they have believed such silly things? But don't make the mistake of thinking the human species has gotten any more *intelligent* in the last three hundred years. If you were born in those times, and I was standing here in class explaining to you how spontaneous generation worked, would you think to question me? Would you think to question such an obvious process?"

Ana gave him a crooked smile, but didn't answer.

"Let me phrase it another way," he said, turning to the other students. "Have you ever questioned how life is created from seed, egg, or parent? Do you understand it well enough to replicate the process if the entire world were destroyed, and it was up to you to recreate life out of primordial energy? How are you *sure* that I know what I'm talking about, or that anyone does? Do you think it possible that in another hundred years, students will be standing in this classroom laughing at the absurdity of the things you currently believe?"

"You *don't* know what you're talking about," Damien said from a few tables away. "You just said as much yourself."

Professor Gnorrish applauded him. "Exactly. Your professors aren't going to be able to teach you everything, or even most things, really."

Damien preened.

"But back to experiments on spontaneous generation. Where these historical practitioners of natural science went wrong is that they didn't try hard enough to *disprove* their belief. If they had, maybe they would have seen that their model of the world didn't stand up to harsh scrutiny. So, today, we will scrutinize harshly."

As the students finished setting up the experiments and placed them inside the pre-drawn spell arrays on the floor, he waved them away, then took out some components and began to place them in the spell array around the beakers with the nutrient broth. "Master Pasteur, a researcher working under the Blood Emperor, devised a test to disprove the theory of spontaneous generation of life. By boiling, we've killed any small organisms that were inside the beakers. You have removed the tube in the mouth of one beaker, while leaving the other. The liquid inside the beaker without a tube is directly exposed to any organisms within the air, while the spiral formation of the remaining tube will help to keep organisms from reaching the broth, while still allowing air to travel freely. Any dust, bacteria, or fungi will settle on the bottom of the successive spirals."

He looked up from his preparation. "One of the theories was that air was necessary for spontaneous generation, you see, so we want to make sure that both have air, the only difference being that one broth will be exposed to everything, and the other will receive air with the impurities settled out." He lit a brazier for power, reviewed everything, and nodded to himself. "Watch closely, now, to make sure I don't pull any tricks."

He stood, took out a small paper packet, and tossed its powdery contents into the air over the beakers. A fraction of a second later, an almost-invisible barrier dome sprang up from the spell array surrounding the beakers. "I have just thrown active yeast into the air, and the barrier is to keep any wind from blowing it around, as well as prevent other unexpected variables. It will settle and get into the beakers with the open mouths." When the air inside the dome had cleared, he grinned. "I am also casting a modified healing spell to encourage rapid growth and reproduction of said yeast, which, if you remember, is a form of fungus."

Sebastien's mind latched on to a particular part of his statement. '*He's speeding up growth with a modified healing spell? It seems feasible. Magic can heal a wound or overcome a sickness much more quickly than the body would be able to on its own. Even whole limbs could be regrown with enough power and the right components. But how does that work? Could I do that to encourage an animal to mature more quickly? To have a fruit tree producing food within a couple of weeks, instead of years?*'

She looked at the components, one of which was a lumpy thing she didn't recognize, but which had the telltale glow of being from the Plane of Radiance. '*No, that's much too expensive. It can't be sustainable for any real-world application.*'

The students watched for the next few minutes with growing boredom as nothing particular seemed to be happening. Sebastien considered going back to her desk and trying to get some studying in, but remembered Professor Gnorrish's admonition to be skeptical. '*He might alter the results of the experiment if I'm not watching,*' she told herself playfully. She crossed her arms and glowered at him threateningly, looking over the spell array once again, this time to make sure he was really casting what he said he was.

When Gnorrish deemed enough time had passed, he turned the maintenance of the barrier spell over to one of his student aides and moved to the second experiment. "We'll give that one a little time. Now, the *recipe* for *maggots*!" he announced dramatically. "Place meat in a warm place. Wait one to three days."

He grabbed a small terrarium box full of live flies from the supply closet, activated another barrier spell, and released them inside. They found the uncovered meat quickly enough, and were also drawn to the gauze-covered jar. "Maggots take about twenty-four hours to hatch from their eggs, normally, but since you will be gone by then, we'll just speed things up a little."

When he was finished, he had another student aide take over that barrier, and resumed pacing around, the occasional wild gesture coming close to knocking against a table, piece of equipment, or a student who wasn't prepared to dodge. "We've come a long way in the last few hundred years. New ideas and advancements have sparked a renaissance that has improved the lives of humans all the way from the Thirteen Crowns to the most humble pauper. But don't mistake these advancements in our understanding of natural science as easy or simple. These new ideas, now accepted as common knowledge, were not obvious at the time, and were often simply one among multiple potentially plausible theories. Most of the time, new theories are disproved. Do not assume, without rigorous testing and extreme skepticism, that your shiny new idea about how things work is inherently superior just because it is new. All things must be judged for truth, and that which can be destroyed by the truth should be."

Sebastien felt the rightness of those words. '*That which can be destroyed by the truth should be,*' she repeated to herself. '*Is there anything in me which might be destroyed by truth?*'

"There was a study done on University students a few decades back that judged how well they retained information after the class was over and they had no need to regurgitate what the teacher wanted to hear onto a test paper. The results were...abysmal. Shameful, for an institution of learning such as this one. More effort was poured into understanding why this was, and what we could do about it. We're still doing our best, and still failing for a multitude of reasons, but there was one particularly interesting result of this research.

"Students who were willing to admit that they didn't know, that they didn't understand, rather than fumbling for an answer that used the keywords they'd been taught to associate with the topic, showed a marked increase in their ability to learn and retain information. They didn't just fill in the blank with something, hoping to be right. They didn't reach into their memory and pull out a phrase their teacher had written on the blackboard for emphasis. The biggest correlation with successful learning was how many times they continued to say that they didn't understand."

He continued to lecture, delving deeper into some historical discoveries that were controversial at the time, and the methods that were used in attempts to prove or disprove them. At the end of class, he used a spell to clean up the spilled yeast and the flies, then took away the barriers around both experiments.

Sebastien found her own quickly enough, her spider-scrawl handwriting distinct.

The nutrient broth in the beaker whose spiral tube she had extracted was cloudy with growing yeast. Little disks that looked like lily pads floated on top, and sediment settled to the bottom. It looked absolutely disgusting.

Maggots were crawling on the piece of meat with no lid, and interestingly, *on top o*f the gauze-covered jar, as if trying to get down to the meat. The parchment-covered jar was free of the little squirming worms entirely.

"If you believed in spontaneous generation before you did these experiments," Gnorrish said, "you should rethink your understanding of the world. Let me leave you with one last piece of information to chew on. Spontaneous generation among mundane living organisms has been widely disproved. If you told anyone you think a barnacle goose grows from a goose barnacle, they would laugh and think you an uneducated nincompoop."

The bell rang, but no one moved to leave.

"But the current literature all agrees that under-bed dust bunnies spontaneously generate in dark, dusty areas that are frequently exposed to magic, likely from the dead skin cells of a magical being combined with other fluff and dirt." He let that hang in the air for a moment, then waved his hands in a shooing motion. "That's all for today. Go on then, get to lunch. But don't forget to think. And don't be afraid to admit that you don't know, and don't understand!"

His words lingered in her mind through the next day, which started with Professor Ilma's History of Magic.

The blue-tinted woman jumped immediately into the meat of class, as always. "There is much of history that is lost to us. The oldest signs of human civilization have been dated to approximately seven hundred thousand years ago. Not the oldest sign of humans, but the oldest humans that were obviously acting as sentient, sapient creatures and working together as a community to build a life. And yet, we know almost nothing about history beyond ten thousand years ago. Why is this?" She pointed to a random student.

"Because of the Cataclysm," the student replied immediately. "Approximately ten thousand years ago, there was a catastrophic event that destroyed the civilizations of the time. Humans were set back to nomadic hunting and gathering. Whatever records these pre-Cataclysm civilizations would have kept were destroyed."

Ilma nodded and continued. "It took approximately five hundred years for the population to expand and for people to start rebuilding. Written language was preserved among some, which helped to kick-start civilization again, and gives us some idea about times before, or at least what people several generations later thought they knew about the pre-Cataclysm world. But by then, much was already lost, with only scattered and contradictory tales passed down orally. At this point, humans were still far from the dominant species on Earth, and we were scrabbling to survive among the more powerful sapients and beasts. We had only just begun to develop, or re-develop, the foundations of structured magic.

"What caused the Cataclysm?" She pointed at a man.

He was less quick to respond than the previous student. "Umm, we don't know?"

She nodded. "True. But there are theories. Many of them. Anyone?"

"A falling star hit the planet," someone offered.

"Good. Keep going," Ilma said, waving her hands impatiently.

"The Beast King woke from his sleep," someone else said.

"The strongest thaumaturges in existence went to war with each other, with no care for collateral damage." The answers were coming faster now.

"We were attacked by one of the Elemental Planes."

"The Titans went insane."

"Magic broke."

"We were attacked by some alien force, or an eldritch being from the outer darkness."

"Good," Ilma said. "There is another theory. It's a bit broader, and could have triggered many of the events you just mentioned." Her voice went slow and cold, her eyes roving over theirs. "We experimented with powers better left alone."

Sebastien shivered.

"But speculation aside, we do have some hints at the lost knowledge. Not enough to piece together a coherent tapestry, but enough tattered threads to guess that something was there before. Can someone give me a hint, the end of a thread that we might pull?" She pointed to Sebastien.

Sebastien straightened. "Where did the Blood Emperor and his people come from?"

Ilma smiled. "Yes. Good. Simple calculations can tell us that the planet is much larger than the area that we have mapped. The seas are dangerous, and the wilderness filled with beasts. But we have proof that other humans developed a society somewhere beyond the northern ice oceans. Curious, that although the Blood Empire ruled for over a hundred years and was a huge influence on our society, we know almost nothing about the place they came from."

"It was deliberate," Sebastien said. "It had to have been."

"Yes, that seems the only logical explanation," Ilma agreed. "Let's pull on another thread. Hints at our lost history. Mysteries. Anyone?"

"Who built Gilbratha's wall? It's obviously a Circle. Could it have been part of the largest spell array known to mankind?" another girl asked.

Ilma hummed. "Not bad. Several different accounts claim different things. Some say Myrddin raised these stones. Some say it was here long before that, during the war with the Brillig, meant to be a huge weapon to wipe out their race. Some say it was here even before that, meant to be a shield against the Titans themselves. I don't know who raised it, but divination spells hint it is very old. Almost certainly it was here before Myrddin, though it's curious that there aren't signs of occupation within these walls before his time. Some speculate that he may not have built it, but lowered wards that were keeping it hidden."

"Could the walls have been pre-Cataclysm?" a student asked.

"It's difficult to determine," she said. "Preservation and warding spells could have maintained the white cliffs in relatively good condition from that time period, if they weren't catastrophically damaged during the Cataclysm. But how was such a structure created in the first place? We would find it difficult to do today, even if we had a hundred of Archmage Zard. So either humans didn't create it, or we created it when we still knew how to do such things."

She went through the same thread-pulling process with half a dozen other students. Some had better questions than others, but she took them all seriously. Near the end of class, she said, "We've had some good discussion. But there's one last thread I was hoping one of you would pick out, one that feeds all the way through the Cataclysm into our side of history. Anyone?"

She looked around, her eyes finally settling on Sebastien's face. "Siverling. Make a guess."

Sebastien was silent for a few seconds, then said, "The Titans? They were long-lived, and by all accounts survived the Cataclysm. So they should have known what came before. Supposedly they were intelligent. Enough to go insane, anyway. And incredibly powerful. So...did they have anything to say about the time before, or what caused the Cataclysm? And, if I remember correctly, the Titans were all dead just a couple of thousand years later. How did that happen?"

"Indeed, that is the query I was looking for. The Titans were enormous, and enormously powerful. Accounts from the time say that they were omnivores in the truest sense of the word. They ate anything and everything, from people to smallish mountains."

Ilma turned and drew two stick figures on the chalkboard. One came to a little below mid-shin on the other. "This is the scale of a Titan compared to a human. But even if you consider the extreme caloric requirements of a being that large, if accounts from those living during that time are to be trusted, their appetites were still outsized. While we should be skeptical of any who claimed to have come into contact with a Titan and escaped uneaten, their ravenous nature is agreed on universally. Scholars have suggested that a large part of what they ate went toward maintaining the structural integrity of their impractically large bodies, which should otherwise have been unable to function, and that everything they ate was in fact being used as a Sacrifice for their particular brand of magic. Some even believed them to be gods. They did not seem to age, and they had strange, terrible powers."

Ilma stared at the stick figure on the board for a moment, then turned back to face the students. "But all their power didn't keep them from insanity. Some were beyond communication from the beginning of our records, but there are claims of reasonable Titans living in the wilderness, nonaggressive unless threatened. They fought each other sometimes, if they happened to cross paths. Perhaps the Titans were simply too dangerous, too strange and volatile and hungry, for anyone to question or get coherent answers from. Perhaps they refused to speak of the time before. Or perhaps they'd been damaged somehow, their minds or their magic broken. In any case, the last of these strange and terrible beings died long ago, and we are left with many questions but few answers."

As if she'd timed it perfectly, the bell rang to signal the end of the class period.

Sebastien stayed in her seat for a few minutes, waiting for Ilma to say something else, to give a hint at what she, an expert, believed.

But Ilma was silent as the rest of the students filtered out.

Sebastien lingered, approaching Professor Ilma instead of heading for the Sympathetic Science classroom and Professor Pecanty. "What happened to the Titans, Professor?" she asked.

"They died," the blue-tinted woman said with a faint smile.

"But how? Did they kill each other? Did the mortal races band together and kill them? Did they starve, or was their magic unable to sustain them?"

"There are quite a few different accounts, many of them contradictory. I can suggest a reading list if you're curious about the topic." Ilma wiped away the stick figures drawn in chalk and scribbled a list on a piece of paper.

When Sebastien took the list, she saw that it was accompanied by a slip for one University contribution point. "Thank you," she said, looking up at the older woman.

"You'll be late if you don't hurry," Ilma said.

Sebastien left quickly. As she strode through the slightly-curved hallways of the Citadel, she folded and tucked the point slip and the reading list into one of her pockets. '*I don't understand*,' she said to herself. '*I don't understand at all. If Ilma had some point for that lesson beyond confirming how little historians have been able to verify, and how frustrating a job that must be, I don't know what it was. The space of things I still have to learn is the size of a vast ocean, wide and deep enough that no light can reach the bottom.*'

Rather than press down on her, the sense of this ocean surrounding her on all sides made her feel weightless, buoyant. '*It's all at my fingertips, just waiting for me to grasp it.*'
 
She'd also borrowed one of the big pots from the kitchen and used it in place of her cauldron to create a gigantic batch of the potion of moonlight sizzle, which she'd put in squat little jars that glowed ever-so-faintly blue.

When shaken, the potion roiled with contained bubbles and let off a soft but bright glow that mimicked the light of a full moon and was powerful enough to illuminate a small room on its own. It was best brewed under the actual light of a full moon, but she had substituted owl feathers and a couple handfuls of powdered moonstone, which seemed to work well enough. A jar of moonlight sizzle didn't last as long as a spelled light crystal, only about five hundred hours, or three full weeks of light, and the output wasn't steady, as you had to shake it every half hour or so to restart the bubbles, but it was cheaper than a light crystal, and significantly cheaper over time than an ordinary candle. Plus, she could use it to read under the covers in her dorm without worrying about setting the bed on fire with her little lantern flame.
Hm. Actual moonlight has a natural correspondence to fake moonlight, and the inefficiencies from using a metaphor instead come out of the potion's qualities instead of the willpower cost?
The rocking on his heels stopped. "I know that," he said softly. He picked up a potion of moonlight sizzle and shook it, watching the cold light spill past his fingers. "But it's not unreasonable to think it can get a little better, wouldn't you agree?"

She didn't answer, partly because she wasn't sure if she did agree, and partly because she was skeptical that he really believed it, either. '*He seems too intelligent to be so...naive*.'
Not all idealists are naive.
Sebastien felt particularly stupid for not considering that as a possibility, though she didn't think it explained the entirety of the interest her schoolmates seemed to hold for her. '*Perhaps* *my attempts to seem unassuming and forgettable have instead created an aura of mystery.*' While that would have at one point amused and even gratified her, now it was a depressing thought. '*I hope not. People want to* solve *mysteries.*'
Yeppp.
Sebastien felt the rightness of those words. '*That which can be destroyed by the truth should be,*' she repeated to herself. '*Is there anything in me which might be destroyed by truth?*'
Lingering regrets about cutting her dad loose, perhaps? :V This seems to be foreshadowing something.

Also, this is more of a general thing than a response to any specific passage, but the Stags seem to be more of a covert revolution than a gang.
 
Chapter 29 - Kindred Spirits
Chapter 29 - Kindred Spirits

Sebastien

Month 11, Day 27, Friday 5:30 p.m.​

Sebastien's free time over the next couple of days was spent engrossed in study and practice. She felt she was progressing well with school-related learning, but hadn't made much progress finding a solution to her sleep problems. Or, to put it another way, her time and energy problems. Books talked about how the Will could be trained through practice, just like any other muscle, and thus become harder to exhaust. They showed spells that were supposed to help get a full night's restful sleep, none of which actually worked to let her sleep through the night without nightmares, at least not at the strength she could cast them.

There were spells that could force someone to stay awake, but the only one that lasted longer than a few hours and didn't require the sleep debt to be made up later was a *curse*. It kept the victim from sleeping, and for the first few days was seemingly without side effects. But as that wakefulness went on, it led to hallucinations, extreme paranoia, and, eventually, death. Even if she had been willing to try it, it was only talked about in general terms. Apparently the University didn't want its early term students getting their hands on curses that could kill someone.

There were spells to promote wakefulness more gently, but they couldn't avert Will-strain, and led to energy debts and fatigue after they wore off. She might as well keep pumping wakefulness magic into high-quality coffee.

With so much other work to get through and no progress on increasing the resources she had to devote to everything, she made little headway in learning about whatever spell might be encrypting the stolen text her amulet had come from. There were so many things she wanted to do outside her schoolwork, and she just couldn't. Altogether, she felt herself begin to wear down both mentally and physically, and grew frustrated to the point of snapping at her fellow students when they interrupted her study.

When a particularly rowdy group of students stomped their way over to the section of the library where she was trying to finish an essay for one of her classes---fast enough that she would still have time for her Practical Casting exercises and to also read a book assigned in another class---she could feel little tingles of electrical anger tightening the muscles in her back and shoulders.

The library was meant to be a place of quiet and study. Just because she wasn't locked away inside one of the reserved rooms didn't mean she deserved to be subjected to their brain-grating distraction. '*Don't they have any work of their own to do?*'

They settled nearby and shortly afterward burst out into laughter. One of the boys took out a gaudily pink, fluffy feather that floated around under his direction and attacked a girl.

She squealed and tried to escape the ticklishness of what had to be a prank artifact by running in circles around the table, shrieking and giggling.

Sebastien's eye twitched.

One of the other boys stepped up gallantly to protect her, but then ended up being "weak to tickle damage." They only got louder, encouragement and jokes mixing with the laughter.

When the girl ran past Sebastien to hide behind her chair, using her like a human shield against the trailing feather, Sebastien snapped.

She stood up, slamming her hands down on the table hard enough to make its contents jump.

The group stilled and went quiet, turning toward her. The feather froze in mid-air, then sank to the ground like a dog trying to escape the notice of its master after doing something wrong.

The door to one of the nearby reserved rooms opened. Their student liaison, Newton, stood in the doorway and waved the boy he'd been tutoring out, one eye on Sebastien.

It was too late for Sebastien to stop herself, though, the anger already crackling out in clipped words. Once she was going, she never could rein herself in.

"Shut. Up," she growled, then rounded on the group, blindly packing her things as she spoke, each movement sharply punctuating her words. "I don't have the energy to pretend to tolerate you nostril-offending, dull-witted pulps of inanity today. Can't you see that people are trying to have real thoughts around you? You may not be able to have any of your own, but I assure you the rest of us would appreciate it if you stopped lowering the average intelligence of the room with your deafening presence." Shoving the last book into her satchel, she gave them a glare, slung the bag over her shoulder, and strode off amidst the suddenly resounding silence.

She blew out of the library and chose the direction with the least number of students clogging the way, which led her past the cafeteria, the dorms, and into the east side of the grounds, which she hadn't explored since orientation.

She stomped over the cobblestone path winding through the trees, past the Archmage's High Tower and the occasional professor's house until the cultivated forest and grass petered out and then the white cliffs broke away.

Her footsteps slowed. She moved to looked out over the east edge of the cliffs. Below roiled the Charybdis Gulf, which ran through Gilbratha's east edge from north to south, separating the Lilies and the Crown Families who lived there from the rest of the city.

Sebastien pressed her arms closer to her body to ward off the stiff wind as she gazed down at the choppy grey waves below. There were a few small boats braving the waters further south---fisherfolk risking the magical sea beasts and the more mundane, but still dangerous, carnivorous marine animals.

A few rays of light broke through the thick clouds above, refracting off the mist in the air and hitting the water, which glowed green like a cut emerald. The sight, so far removed from her own struggles, helped to calm her.

Sebastien had been standing there for only a couple of minutes when footsteps approached behind her.

Newton had his hands in his pockets and his chin tucked into a thick scarf. He moved to stand beside her with nothing more than a slight nod of greeting.

'*Am I going to be punished for what I said?*' she wondered. '*Should I apologize first? It might help reduce my sentence.*' The thought was distasteful, and she let the silence stretch out between them instead.

"You're not like a lot of the students here," Newton eventually said.

It hadn't been what she was expecting, and she raised her eyebrows, turning toward him.

He kept looking out over the water. "The others, those rich kids with Family backing...this place isn't special to them. Learning at the University is their birthright, the magical is mundane. They don't worry about learning everything they can, or about performing well enough to get and keep a good apprenticeship. They aren't trying to stand out, hoping to stay on at the University as a student aide once the first three terms are up, just so they'll have enough gold to pay for classes. Once they leave here, most of them will only need to use what they learned if they want to. If not, there's always the Edictum Council, or an advisory position over one of the businesses their Family owns. They can even retire to their lands outside of Gilbratha. Being here doesn't mean the same thing to them as it does to us," Newton said.

"And what does it mean to us?"

"Opportunity. The type you only get once in a lifetime, and that's worth enough you'd sacrifice almost anything for it."

Sebastien felt herself pale, but tried to keep her expression neutral. '*Is he hinting that he knows about how I got here?*'

Newton nodded. "I've noticed, Sebastien. After all, it takes one to know one."

'*What?*' she thought. Aloud, she said, "What?"

"I noticed the wonder on your face when we toured the place during Orientation. You're dressed just as finely as them, you carry yourself like you belong *more* than they do, and no one can deny you have the intelligence to be here." Newton threw his hands up. "Hells, you even somehow managed to get Thaddeus Lacer to acknowledge you!" He shook his head, then. "But the truth is obvious to me. We're the same. I doubt you ever had finery like you're wearing now before you came to the University. You didn't take trips to Paneth every autumn and get a miniature gryphon for your tenth birthday. You didn't have magical artifacts in every room and servants to take care of everything the magic didn't."

Sebastien carefully kept her hand from creeping toward her Conduit as he spoke. She didn't want to push the situation further into disaster by overreacting. '*Being poor isn't a crime. Even lying about your background isn't. As long as he doesn't know about Siobhan, everything is salvageable.*'

"I had that same look of wonder on my face when I came to the University. The one those rich kids don't have because they're blind to the wonder of it, jaded by the opulence and opportunity they've grown up in. That's why I understand how frustrating it can be---pinching every copper, studying till you dream of writing essays and practice casting in your sleep, and watching the people around you who have it so much easier..."

He gritted his teeth, then shook his head, as if to dislodge the frustration. "Well, you just have to learn to let it go. I've got a little trick for it. My Grams taught me when I was a child. She was helping me calm myself down when I was panicking during a thunderstorm, but it's good for anger too. It's an esoteric spell, the first bit of magic I ever did, and one of the few real spells my family had."

Slowly, making sure Sebastien was watching, he touched his middle fingers to his thumbs, creating a Circle from his hands. His Conduit was set into a simple metal ring, and with it turned to face his palm, he didn't have to awkwardly secure his grip on it. He pressed the Circle up against his diaphragm and let out a deep humming, "Ohhhmm," drawing the sound out till the vibrations seemed to ripple against each other, enriching the note.

Sebastien blinked, absorbing it even as she wondered what in the hells was going on. Teaching a family spell to an outsider was usually a pretty big deal.

The tension she hadn't even realized was tugging at the muscles around Newton's eyes and shoulders released, and after repeating the humming for a couple of deep breaths, he dropped his hands and explained the spell to her, then added, "Being a commoner is nothing to be ashamed of, Sebastien."

Sebastien opened her mouth, not quite sure what she was going to say, but Newton waved her words away.

"Don't worry, it's not obvious. And maybe the Siverlings aren't technically commoners, but what's a name if you're too poor to back it up? I'm not going to give away your secret. What I'm trying to say is, you deserve to be here just as much as any of them. More, even. Don't let them push you till you cause trouble for yourself. Thaumaturges need their pride, but we also have to know when to stay coolheaded. I'll try to have your back, but if you find it all becoming too much, calm yourself."

"We're the same. Commoners trying to fit in at the University," she said slowly, making sure she understood.

He laughed sharply. "Well, it's a little more obvious for me than you." He gestured to his clothes. "I haven't had a new set of clothes since first term, and I spend every spare hour with student liaison business or tutoring people too stupid or lazy to learn on their own, just trying to make enough gold to pay for my next term. I use my contribution points to pay for classes, and the only reason I'm not still in the dorms with the rest of you is because the student liaison job comes with a separate room."

Sebastien pondered the correct response to this, still reeling a little from the rapid shift in emotions and the relief now filling her. "Thank you," she said finally. "For the spell...and the advice."

Newton clapped her on the shoulder. "Don't mention it, friend. Well, maybe someday when you've made something of yourself, you'll remember me. My Journeyman certification will be based on pure skill and determination, and I'm not picky about my field of work."

"You want to...work for me after graduation?" She felt like Newton kept throwing conversational blows she hadn't seen coming.

"As long as the job pays at least market wage for a Journeyman. It'd be better than working for one of the Crowns, or some rich Master who makes me do all the work while taking the credit for himself!" Newton said with a laugh. "Of course, if you're going into the army, I have to give advance warning that I'm only interested in administrative jobs."

Sebastien nodded stiffly. "I'll keep that in mind." She understood his reasoning in teaching her the spell, at least. '*A bribe couched in overtures of friendship. He's making "connections." Too bad he doesn't realize that Sebastien Siverling doesn't actually exist.*'

Newton shoved his hands back into his pockets, whistling as they turned and walked back to the University.

"I do regret some of the things I said to them," she offered.

He nodded slowly, still whistling quietly.

"I came up with better insults while I was walking away," she explained.

His head jerked to a stop mid-nod and the simple, meandering tune died on his lips. After a moment of shock, he burst out laughing.

That night, Sebastien tried out the spell Newton had taught her. It forcefully calmed her heartbeat to match her breaths and smoothed muscles she hadn't noticed were tense. The longer she drew the deep hums out, the farther into the calm state it stretched her body, like straightening a spring.

She started to snap back as soon as the sound stopped---the relaxation was unnatural, based on force rather than a cessation of the triggers that had caused the negative response---but as she kept the spell going with breath after breath, her body settled into the new state. She didn't become relaxed, exactly, but she felt calm, in control. As if the state of her mind when casting magic had spread to the rest of her body. She didn't dislike it, but she wondered how much use she would get out of it. '*Would I remember to stop and cast it in the heat of the moment? And if I do, would control over my body be enough to override my anger?*'

If she was entirely honest with herself, she enjoyed giving the occasional verbal abuse to the deserving. If there weren't sometimes consequences, she would never regret it at all. '*Well, perhaps it could be useful to get back to sleep after I wake too early,*' she thought as she slipped into sleep.

Sometime in the middle of the night, she woke suddenly, and at first didn't realize what had roused her. She hadn't been dreaming.

Her wrist hurt, as if she'd dropped a dot of hot wax or a still-burning coal on it. With sleepy fingers, she probed at the pain, and immediately felt the too-cold bead of metal pressed against her skin.

'*Dryden has triggered the ward on my bracelet.*'

Her heart seemed to stop beating for an instant, and then it crashed against her chest with a surge of fiery adrenaline. '*I've been caught.*'
 
'*Dryden has triggered the ward on my bracelet.*'

Her heart seemed to stop beating for an instant, and then it crashed against her chest with a surge of fiery adrenaline. '*I've been caught.*'
Possible. Or maybe he needs help that can't wait for the weekend. Or that one little boy futzed with the bracelet.
 
Chapter 30 - (A Rather Poor) Rescue
Chapter 30 - (A Rather Poor) Rescue

Siobhan

Month 11, Day 28, Saturday 4:30 a.m.​

Sebastien bolted upright before she could stop herself, but then froze, opening her mouth to breathe so that her panicked gasps would be less audible.

She slid off her bed, pressing her feet to the cold stone floor with careful, deliberate movements. Turning to the bed, she cast the spell to disintegrate fallen hairs or other remnants from her body. Now would be the worst possible time to neglect that safety measure.

'*How did they find me?*' she wondered frantically. Still, that answer wasn't the most important thing at the moment. '*I have to escape.*'

She moved to the chest at the foot of her bed and pulled out her things, most of which she kept organized within her luggage bags, and so required very little preparation to simply pick up and leave.

She dressed as quickly as possible, slung her school satchel over her shoulder, and slipped from the room, carrying both her boots and her luggage. She put her boots on when she reached the hall, then picked up one bag in either arm and hurried out of the dorm building. Outside, the wind had picked up, clearing away the night fog and whipping hair into her face.

Her student token bounced against her chest beside her warded medallion and the transmutation amulet. '*Should I get rid of the token? They might be able to track it.*' She decided to ditch it after she had escaped the grounds. It would be fastest to go down through the tubes, but she didn't want to do so without anything to slow her descent, not again, and she needed the student token for the tube system's magic to recognize her.

She was panting by the time she reached the glass tubes, but Fekten's training in Defensive Magics had deepened the well of physical energy she had to draw on, and she didn't slow. Her bags went in first, and then her legs, and she was off.

Only then did she have the horrible thought that her student token may have been compromised, and the tubes would trap her within till the authorities reached her---though she didn't know if such a thing was actually possible. To her great relief, the tubes worked as normal, simply setting her and her luggage down on the bouncy surface below.

She grabbed both bags and was struggling off the absorbent landing pad toward the street when the sound of a horse's hooves clopping to intercept her cut through the wind. She dropped the larger bag, the one with her clothes and more unimportant belongings, and turned to sprint away, when Dryden's familiar voice called, "It's me! Get on the horse, it's an emergency."

She stopped running and turned as he drew the panting beast up beside her.

His eyes flicked between the bag in her arms and the one she had dropped. "They haven't discovered you, but I had no other way to get your attention. Stash your bags somewhere no one will find them and climb up behind me. There's no time to wait, lives are at stake."

His urgent, low voice cut through the fog of panic in her mind. She ran back, picked up the bag she had dropped, and then found a half-broken wooden crate in a nearby alley to stash her things underneath. She took off her student token, too, just to be safe, leaving only her school satchel and her clothes on her body. "What's going on?" she asked, panting as she climbed up behind him on the horse. It was saddled for one, which made it less than comfortable.

"The Morrows attacked a building of mine, downhill. Workers were inside, on an early shift. My people called for one of the emergency response teams, but the Morrows were prepared for that," he said, pushing the poor horse hard. He tossed a bundle of cloth back to her. "Wear your cloak and change forms. The Morrows are trying to take the building down around the workers' ears. We have injured, maybe dead, and the emergency response team cannot get in to help. The other two teams are being roused from their homes, but it may be too late by the time they arrive. Katerin sent me a message, and I triggered your ward immediately. I hope you will forgive me for the fright."

She tossed the red-trimmed cloak around her shoulders, pulled the hood down, and pressed a hand to her chest to settle the stolen artifact against her skin. With a tingle, her body shifted, and her skin darkened like the blush of a desert rose. "Why did you trigger my ward? What is it that you think *I* can do about this?" The sound of her old voice was almost startling, and she clutched at Dryden's waist to keep herself steady as the horse's muscles undulated under her. Its hoofbeats thundered off the stone around them, distorted by the wind, and the shadows were barely pushed back by increasingly sparse streetlamps.

"Katerin and the reinforcement teams are being deliberately delayed. I have no other options. They have magic-users, Siobhan. And you know how to heal."

She gaped at the back of his head. "*What*? I told you, I don't know any battle magic! And I can only heal small wounds! You would be better off transporting the injured to a healer!"

"I will do the fighting. I fear it may be too late to reach the healers, especially if we cannot break the Morrows' siege quickly." He turned his head slightly, to see her out of the corner of his eye. "The workers are innocent, Siobhan. They're in desperate need of help. Will you not at least *try*? You will be paid." His voice broke a little on those last words.

Tingles went up her spine as her back muscles clenched too hard for comfort. She considered refusing, demanding that he stop and let her return to the University, but the words wouldn't leave her mouth. '*I am already on my way there*,' she thought with a kind of dry resignedness. Her memory flashed to the moment she'd pressed her bloody thumb against the magical agreement with Katerin. '*And I cannot refuse repayment in favors unless they are morally objectionable. Not unless I want to bear the consequences.*' The thought of releasing her blood for Katerin to use against her led to a shudder that wasn't just because of the cold. Katerin was kind, but she was in no way soft. Siobhan *belonged* to the Verdant Stag.

"I just want to make sure you are aware, *fully* aware, that I am not a licensed healer, and I'm not just saying that. I don't know what I'm doing. I shouldn't be the first one you go to in an emergency. I should be the absolute last resort."

"You are." He paused. "I don't know what you're imagining, but I don't have some sort of secret underground battlefield-healer on retainer. Any legal healer won't come to a still-ongoing gang fight. I hope---I hope you aren't needed. And I hope that if you are, you can be the stopgap, to buy just enough time till a real healer can be had. Emergency response, right?"

'*What does it say about me, that I'm rushing into this when a real healer would refuse?*' Still, she didn't ask him to turn back or let her off.

By the time they arrived, the frigid winds, now carrying the scent of lightning mixed with a hint of feces, were strong enough to distort the sounds of fighting. Even so, Siobhan could see a glow that pulsed artificially from a couple of city blocks away, far enough for them to slow the horse.

Dryden pulled out a battle wand from inside his vest, and they dismounted. He led the horse over to the sidewalk, loosely tying it to a post in front of a building. Then he pressed himself close to the side of the buildings and approached the glow of magic and the screams.

Siobhan made sure her hood was pulled fully down over her face and followed after him. When they got to the corner, she crouched down, peering out into the cross street.

The warehouse under attack stood across the street to their left and about a block away. It had large, many-paned windows running along all three sides she could see, more than a few of which were broken, and the light crystals shining within showed a large barricade the workers must have set up to protect them from spell attacks.

The entire building was vibrating, whatever spell was causing the effect pulsing like an ocean wave. As she watched, a couple more windows broke, their glass falling away and shattering against the ground.

On the street before the warehouse, four people, whose shoulders bore the vibrant green antlers of the Verdant Stag, were crouched behind another makeshift barrier. It had the layered, poured-mud quality of a liquid stone potion, which expanded and hardened when it touched air, and could be used for emergency walls in situations like this. One of the team lay flat, moaning in pain and clutching at his leg, while the other three occasionally popped their heads out and shot up the street.

Their target, almost directly in front of the warehouse, was a group of seven people, each wearing a red bandanna around their neck or arm. They had their own barrier, a glowing half sphere that rose from seven brick-like objects laid on the ground around their group.

One edge of their glowing barrier spell touched the corner of the warehouse, and one of their number was crouched at that edge, casting the spell that was shaking the building on its foundation. The sound of buried thunder, rattling metal, and breaking glass grew louder as the spellcaster continued.

The Morrows' barrier absorbed incoming spells, yet allowed spells shot from within to exit, meaning they had the clear advantage in both numbers and power. A couple of them had battle wands of their own, which they shot at the emergency response team whenever they saw an opportunity. Magicians, who were often not true spellcasters at all, but used artifacts and tools to do their magic, were often derided, but they could be as dangerous as any other thaumaturge.

Dryden withdrew his head from around the corner and turned to her. "The barrier. What do you know about it? Can you take it down?"

She shook her head. "I'm no expert, but spell-barrier wards always have a weakness. They have to be set up to block specific spells, so there's always *something* that can get through them. Alternatively, you can overpower them with brute force, or use a counter-spell specifically to break the barrier. The problem is, I don't know the counter-spell, and I really doubt I have enough power to brute force it, especially without getting close enough to touch it."

"And a spell that can get through it? One it wasn't created to block?"

Siobhan thought frantically, running through her repertoire of knowledge. She knew more than she had the last time she'd been in such a desperate situation, attempting to escape from the coppers chasing her, but she still wasn't versed in battle magic, and her repository of spells wasn't much larger than it had been, though it had a better foundation. All that was coming to mind were the spells she had been doing constantly for Professor Lacer.

The idea caught her. She poked her head out again, watching the wind push debris across the cobblestones. She pulled her head back and looked around. "Is there a way onto the roof from here?"

"I believe there's one in the alley near here. I'll check." Dryden stood up and ran back the way they had come.

Meanwhile, Siobhan gouged her nails into the wooden paneling that divided the closest window into little panes. She broke a couple nails, but was able to break the wood, too, getting at the glass held within. She carefully wriggled the pane out of its bindings, then settled it on the ground and pulled an oil pastel out of a pocket. She drew a Circle and the glyphs for "*line,*" "*movement,*" and "*circle*" on the glass.

Then, she drew over a dozen more Circles on the other panes of glass in the window, with pentagons for each, along with the glyphs for "*force*," "*compression*," and "*sphere*." From a case in her bag, she took a very small oil lantern, which she had found useful more than a few times over the years when the weather was not conducive to an open flame. The spell array to spark the wick was carved on the bottom of the lantern, and once she got her Conduit out of her vest pocket, only took a small push of Will.

Dryden returned, dropping down beside her. "There's an old building about a block east with a ladder up the back. Will that work?"

"As long as it's close enough for me to target the Morrows from. Now be quiet. I need to concentrate." With the energy from the lantern, which she held up into the Circles she had drawn on the window glass, she crushed each pane into a vaguely ball-like shape of jagged, cutting edges. The crisp shattering and brittle crunching was loud enough to temporarily overpower the howling of the wind. A little dribble of honey helped the balls keep their shape.

She turned the first, still whole, pane of glass upside down, being careful not to smudge the Circle. She mixed more honey with adhel juice and smeared it on her left palm, creating a strong, sticky film. She pressed that hand to the pane of glass, and was pleased when it stuck without effort.

Now, with a portable spell array, she held her left hand over the balls of shattered glass and activated the spell array drawn on the glass pane. When she lifted her hand, both the pane and the glass spheres came with it. She held the pane up like a waitress carrying a tray full of food, stood, and tucked away the rest of her supplies with her free hand. "Alright. Lead the way."

Climbing the ladder with only one hand was decidedly more difficult than she had anticipated, and she had to hold her Conduit in her mouth and hook the next rung up with her chin a couple of times while she released her grip with her free hand. Every gust of wind set her heart to pounding, and she remembered belatedly that she really had no love for heights, but by that time it was much too late to give up.

The ladder ended at the roof, which held a gazebo-like structure that had at one time likely housed a bell, but was now empty. The wind was even stronger up high, tugging at her like little grasping fingers as she tried to navigate the steep, shingled surface.

Dryden wrapped an arm around her waist to help stabilize her, but ended up fairly carrying her as they scrambled up and into the protection of the empty bell tower.

From inside, she saw that the stone stairs leading down into the building had half broken and crumbled away, which was probably the reason for the ladder in the first place. She carefully edged around the opening to the broken stairs and looked out over the street below from the far side.

Lightning flashed, so bright that the whole world looked as it did in daylight for a single instant. Thunder followed close behind it.

Dryden reached into his cloak and pulled out a mask. It was smooth and white, with two round holes for the eyes. When he put it on, something happened, a sort of gathering darkness that seeped out around the edges in tendrils and settled behind the empty eyeholes, obscuring the man beneath.

Siobhan couldn't help her grin. "Impressive."

He waved a hand at her, a slight flourish in the movement. "Please, sorceress. Upstage me." He turned his head meaningfully toward the Morrows below.

Most of the glass had fallen from the warehouse windows by that point, and the walls were groaning under the pressure of the vibrations the Morrow caster was creating. A man screamed inside the building, and Siobhan knew there was no time to waste.

She palmed her Conduit, chose one of the balls stuck to the glass pane, and drew it to the center. She wished she had a beast core to pull energy from, but could only take her lantern from where she'd hastily stuffed it in a pocket and hold it within the sphere of influence created by the Circle.

Her hand was within the sphere of influence as well, and she reminded herself with some trepidation not to give herself frostbite.

She had practiced this spell for many hours, till she could do it half asleep and at a moment's notice. It was only slightly harder to do it now, with adrenaline rushing through her body and the wind tearing at her so hard she had to crouch slightly to avoid being knocked over. It took a handful of seconds to get the glass ball rotating so fast its jagged edges were shrieking against the pane underneath. It was easy, with such a small ball, and no sand to slow it. The hardest part was actually keeping it from shooting off under the force of its speed.

The spell array glowed slightly as she poured on more power, not totally efficient even with all her practice. The Word was too simple.

When she released the ball, it shot forward faster than she could see, exploding against the ground below, just to the side of the Morrows' barrier.

Small glass shards shot out in every direction, and the gang member nearest the impact screamed and stumbled back. Their barrier didn't block solid objects, which Siobhan had noticed while watching the leaves and debris the wind sent down the street entering and exiting with no problem.

Siobhan frowned. '*Aiming is harder than I anticipated.'*

The emergency response team, which was to their right, now, took the opportunity to fire some spells of their own.

Siobhan spun up her next shot and managed to aim this one into the barrier sphere. Once again, the glass hit the street and exploded outward.

One of the Morrows turned in their direction, but didn't look up until another flash of lightning illuminated the street. Then, he pointed up at Siobhan and Dryden with a shout to his fellows.

The Morrow sorcerer crouching at the edge of the group turned to look, then screamed at her teammates, "Keep her off me!"

Siobhan was already spinning up another glass ball. The sequence repeated. A brief glow from her spell array, enough speed to start a screeching that even the wind couldn't cover, and release.

The man who had pointed them out went down, scrabbling at his abdomen dramatically.

She'd managed to hit him mostly from luck, as the wind had slightly changed the angle of her shot. By the time he started to scream, she'd already shot again. "How long till the backup teams get here?" she said, shouting to be heard over the wind.

"Katerin is on it," Dryden screamed back. "They'll be here soon!" He fiddled with the settings on the battle wand he still held, then leaned forward and fired off a concussive blast, aiming at the ground at the edge of the barrier rather than directly at it. It barely cracked the cobblestones, but it was enough to make a couple of their opponents flinch and stumble, so he repeated it.

"Soon?" Siobhan repeated unappreciatively, peering through the broken windows of the warehouse, trying to see the workers within from her better vantage point. Past the barrier of boxes and bags of what seemed to be dirt, she saw four people hiding. They had a couple of small wounds, but had bandaged up the more serious with torn strips of clothing.

Apart from them, from the right edge of the building nearest the street, another worker's head popped up and then ducked back down again, but the woman was visible for long enough for Siobhan to catch her expression of fear and the blood smeared across her cheek.

There was a loud crack, the sound of an impact, and then part of the warehouse's roof crumbled and fell in. The screams from within were almost drowned out by the sound of the building's partial collapse.

Siobhan's shoulders straightened in response. She realized she'd been holding her breath and took a dizzy gulp of air. "I guess I had better finish this myself, and quickly," she murmured, knowing her words wouldn't be audible.

She sent off another shot, hitting one of the Morrows who was attempting to shield the female sorcerer. "Two down," she said.

One of the Morrows sent a bright orange bolt shooting from their wand straight toward her. She stumbled to the side to avoid the spell, and for a moment thought it was going to hit her, but instead it impacted the stone of the bell-tower ceiling behind her with a sizzle and *whoosh* of heat.

She paused a moment, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it pushing against her ribs. The warding medallion her grandfather had given her was slightly cold against her chest, indicating that one of the protective spells had activated, probably changing the trajectory of the attack just enough to save her. She resisted the urge to turn her head and look at the place where the spell had hit. Instead, she cast the sphere-spinning spell again and launched the next glass projectile.

Dryden and Siobhan continued to dodge the spells shot back at them, though not without close calls. She nearly cracked her spell array when she was forced to drop to her chest to avoid another orange bolt, but escaped merely with the breath knocked out of her. Her pounding heart had taken her past lightheadedness and into the kind of focus that expanded her sensory intake rather than narrowed it.

She was low on ammunition by the time she managed to hit the third Morrow directly, the glass ball ripping into his shin. It was enough to take the man off his feet, and at that point, the three magicians who hadn't been hit directly grew less focused on recklessly returning fire. One of them brought out a light crystal contained in a lensed lantern and shined a bright beam of light toward the rooftop.

'*That is actually pretty clever.*' She squinted against the light. '*With my vision impaired, I'm less likely to hit them.*'

Instead of using the opportunity to attack her, however, two of them dropped to the ground and began tending to their downed comrades.

She caught a glimpse of the puddles of blood spreading out on the cobblestones and swallowed hard. The glass shards were more effective than she had anticipated---or intended. She hesitated before launching the next one. Her aim was far from perfect, and when the glass smashed into the sidewalk close to the female sorcerer's side, Siobhan wasn't sure whether she was relieved or disappointed.

The woman screamed and fell over onto her left side, clutching at her right arm.

Siobhan spun up her last glass ball, waiting and watching. She didn't want to waste her last shot.

The woman's screams quieted, and she turned to face Siobhan, clumsily drawing a new Circle on the ground with her left hand. Presumably, it would be a ward to protect against Siobhan's attacks.

Siobhan wasn't sure if she should target the female sorcerer again to keep her from completing the new array, or shoot at one of the others. The woman would only be able to hold one spell at a time, so as long as she was warding against being shot, she couldn't continue to attack the warehouse.

That was when a brick came flying out of one of the broken warehouse windows and clipped the gang member holding the lantern in the shoulder. The man stumbled and fell, dropping his wand. Another brick followed quickly after, and the magicians, including one of those she had shot directly earlier, turned their attention once again to the warehouse, while the sorcerer drew out her spell in blood-splattered chalk.

Dryden yelled a warning to the workers within that was lost in the howl of the oncoming storm.

Before the Morrows could retaliate for the bricks, a bolt of light cut through the darkness to her left, from further up the street, drawing their attention.

The shot had come from a third group of people who were running down the street toward them. In another bolt of lightning, Siobhan caught a glimpse of blood-red hair and the spring-green antlers of the Verdant Stag among the new arrivals, and felt her knees go weak in relief.

Katerin had arrived with the reinforcements.
 
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