Before I could respond, a booming voice interrupted our conversation. "Not a masterpiece, Antinus. A failed experiment." I looked up toward the door, and recognized the arrogant young man who had helped Claighan out of the courtyard. His lips were dark and red as a courtesan's and twisted in a vicious sneer.
Archus. Seriphenes's apprentice. All his features stood stark black against his pale skin. Dark eyes, bored, told me his contempt. Dark brows, drawn down, told me his distaste. Dark hair, neatly combed and hanging loose like his master's, told me he knew the luxury I would not find here. He took a heavy, dramatic step down into the room, his eyes fixed on mine even as he finished speaking to Antinus. "Unfortunately," he said, "it's going to be my time wasted, not yours. You are dismissed."
Antinus flew to his feet, face red with anger. "I am not interested in your dismissal, Archus. Daven is to be my student. I have specific instructions from the Chancellor—"
"Your instructions have changed." Archus cut him off coldly. As he passed Antinus, Archus casually handed him a folded bit of paper without ever taking his eyes off me. The note bore a wax seal which made Antinus go from flushed to pale, and as he read the message within his face sank in defeat. He turned to me with pity in his eyes, perhaps even compassion, but only shrugged before turning and darting up the steps and out into the hall. All the while Archus kept his hateful gaze locked on me. When Antinus was gone and my eyes snapped to meet his, Archus grinned evilly.
"Now your instruction begins. Sit."
Fighting to hide my frustration, I moved to obey. I took a step toward my chair, but he clucked sharply. "Around here, Daven, we are concerned with propriety. It wouldn't do for you and me to be on the same level, would it? You may take a seat at one of the benches, and I shall instruct you from here."
A caustic reply sprang to my tongue, but I bit it down and moved swiftly to take a seat at one of the long benches. Archus smiled smugly. "Now, have you pen and paper?"
For a moment I stared at him, astonished. "Not at all. Should I?"
"Most students think to bring such supplies to their lectures. I'm certain you'll remember it in the future. For now, let us focus on more immediate matters. What do you know of magic?"
"Nothing at all, I'm sure."
His grin flashed teeth. "So modest of you! Or perhaps the simple truth. I understand your pathetic old mentor had little time to instruct you on the journey here, as you were pursued by the King's Guard. Correct?" I nodded. "And you've had no magical or religious education growing up, correct?" I nodded. "In fact, you've had no education of any sort, is that correct?"
"I know more than you could possibly imagine." I fought to keep the words cold, almost frozen, and the fact that I responded at all clearly surprised him. He took two long steps toward me and glared directly into my eyes.
I expected a haughty challenge, perhaps some dreadful lecture, but his voice was light with sarcasm. "I'm sorry I didn't specify. Sheep herding doesn't qualify as education here." He chuckled to himself, stepped back to the middle of the floor. "No, I meant more academic study. Can you write?" I had to shake my head, not trusting my voice. "I expected not. Can you read?" I gave a curt nod, and he chortled. "Oh ho! That is something, at least. One surprise in you, but so far you're not shattering my expectations."
I pushed myself up, shoving the bench back with a harsh growl. "Who do you think you are?"
"I am the first apprentice to Master Seriphenes," he said, staring into my eyes. "I am the first heir to the Pollix duchy. And I will be the first wizard to wear the FirstKing's crown." His black eyes blazed. "And who are you?"
"I am but a humble shepherd," I said, and my voice came out a growl. "But I have come here to do good."
He snorted. "Good. You bring the king's wrath down upon our walls, you stain our reputation with your filthy common blood, and you waste our time with a mind unfit for the simplest workings. You are a nuisance."
My patience snapped. I couldn't even manage fury, just frustration. I waved back toward the door at the top of the stairs. "Then why not leave me to Antinus? Why insist on taking over my training yourself?"
"Because my master asked it of me," he said, and his eyes glittered cruelly. "Because my master considers you a threat to this Academy. Because my master trusts me to keep your contagion contained."
"How?" I meant it to be a challenge, a sneering demand, but it came out stammered and weak. I cleared my throat and tried again. "How do you intend to contain me?"
He grabbed the chair Antinus had used and sank down into it. He tilted back, balancing on two legs, and laced his fingers behind his head. He spoke to the ceiling instead of meeting my eyes. "I have full oversight of your training," he said. "I will be your personal tutor throughout your stay at the Academy. I decide when you are ready to attend lectures, when you are ready to study basic workings, when you should be allowed to commune with more advanced students."
My heart sank with every word, but he went right on. "And I decide when you are out of line. When you need correction. When you need punishment." That turned his smile into a wolf's grin. He tipped his chair forward and the legs came down with a
bang
. He caught my eyes. "Leave tonight, and save us both some trouble."
"I will not leave." The words came out a growl, and somewhere in them was a truth that hadn't existed before. Even while speaking with Antinus I had been uncertain about my future here, about my right to even stay within these walls, but I would not bow to this prat. "I will not leave the Academy. If you are the only teacher I'm to get," I invested that with all the contempt I could muster, "then at the very least you should attempt to teach."
He studied me for a moment through narrowed eyes. Then he shrugged, and climbed to his feet. "Fine," he said with a dismissive wave. "Fine, you have passed the first test. You have the necessary will, the necessary determination. If you're willing to face me," he smiled, "you're strong enough to face at least a few weeks of classes. I just had to know."
I offered him a smile, but it was not a friendly one. "I'm glad I pleased you."
He didn't respond. Instead, he turned his back on me, staring up at the slate on the wall, and took on a lecturing tone. "Magic, as you know, is the reshaping of reality. We do not make or break reality; we don't even bend it. We take the fleshy bits, the extra, the skin on the skeleton, and we move it about, but the underlying model never changes. Does that make sense?"
"Claighan said something of the sort, yes."
He whirled and I saw a deranged fury in his eyes. "Do not speak that name!" He trembled, and despite myself I shrank back from him. He stalked toward me. "Whatever I hold against you," he growled, "whatever threat you are to the Academy, you at least have not yet damaged the honor of the Masters. But that man...that
imbecile
...is a stain on everything this Academy has ever accomplished. I won't have you speaking of him here. Understood?"
I glared at him, unbelieving, but he seemed to take my silence for assent. "Very well," he said, and I watched him take control of himself. "Then I shall continue." He turned his back again, and all the emotion fell from his voice. "Your magical power, your ability, derives almost entirely from your faith and your force of will. Both of these things can be trained, can be developed, but both demand some starting point within your own personality. If you have no strength, the training will do you no good."
He turned back to me again and met my eyes. "So we must ask the question, Daven: What strength do
you
have?"
I thought of Claighan challenging my master at his dinner table. I thought of him offering me the Green Eagle's sword. We had spoken of this on the road to the City, and he had lamented how much I lacked. My mouth suddenly felt dry, my chest gaping empty. Claighan should have been my teacher, telling me these things. Instead, I had only Archus, and he smiled down at me, waiting for an answer.
"I don't know," I said.
He smirked. "Of course you don't. That's why we're here. One of the first tests of any new student is a weighing of his magical power, to determine his potential. A reality exists—a small one, an insignificant one, but one that is part of your right-now life. In a moment, you are going to do what you can to reshape it, to rearrange it, and I shall focus on doing the same."
He leaned down, bringing his eyes to a level with mine, and put on a mask of helpfulness. "The heart of the test is this: You try with all your might to make the change I suggest, and keep at it. As you do, I will very slowly, very slightly at first, begin to apply my own will to managing the same feat you are attempting. At some point, the force of us both will overwhelm the reality we know, and things will change. I will determine your power by how much of the magic is mine, and how much your own. Does that make sense?"
"I understand the basics, I suppose, though I have no idea what you mean in specific."
He raised an eyebrow at me and his mouth twisted in a sarcastic smile. "How could you know the specifics? I haven't taught you any yet." He straightened and took a step away from me, then turned back again and began.
"The very first thing I need you to do is relax. Relax completely. Your muscles must be calm but much more importantly your mind must be fresh and alert, free from distractions. Do you understand?"
I fought to contain a growl. A storm of anger and injury against this man boiled within me, battling a flood of self-doubt and fear. For a moment I felt my throat tighten, and the thought of relaxing seemed impossible. But old habits held my panic at bay. I caught a deep breath and held it for a moment, and then began a brief exercise that I had learned with my sword work. It was the second chapter of my book. Relax the mind and body, so the muscles can respond according to their training.
I closed my eyes and imagined waves like water lapping at my toes and then at my ankles and rising slowly up my body. Each wave washed in with a sense of cool relief, and then ebbed carrying away my tension with it. The exercise was old habit, familiar like nothing else in this place, and in the space of three deep breaths I was completely relaxed. I exhaled softly, feeling the tension go, and then opened my eyes and met Archus's surprised stare with a small smile.
"I'm ready."
He frowned. "We shall see. When the spirit is calm, the mind's eye may see. The second part of any magic is a perfect awareness of your surroundings. You must now take a moment to get to know this room. Learn as much of it as you can, and be prepared to imagine it with your eyes closed, to
see
this room—not one like it, but this actual room—from your imagination alone." He sank down into his chair once more, relaxed, then gestured impatiently. "This shall take a while, so begin."
I almost laughed at that. I wanted to laugh at the old Claighan, so sure my background in sword fighting would pose a challenge here, and all these other wizards married to the same belief. Relaxation. Environmental awareness. I closed my eyes and drew up a perfect recollection of the circle where I had fought my friends outside Sachaerrich. And then a perfect memory of the lakeshore in Gath-upon-Brennes, where I had fought a contingent of the king's Guard. And then, without even trying, a perfect model of this room.
A bench on the second tier stood slightly out of place. There was a scrap of parchment on the floor off to Archus's left. Four pieces of chalk sat in a tray beneath the slate. I could see Archus even with my eyes closed, track his every movement by tiny sounds and sense impressions, by fitting him into the picture I held so clear.
This was magic? I felt a grin twist at my lips. Control. How often had I preached that to the boys from my village? Everything I'd learned, everything I'd taught them, had been about understanding and control. Of course I could work magic. I looked out into the classroom in my head and imagined I could feel the world around me as a soft illusion. Everything in the room showed in that image, and thinking back on things Claighan had taught me, I imagined it was nothing more than an illusion stretched taut over something deeper. If I pressed a finger against the slate, it might bend like doeskin leather. If I willed it, that bench on the second row might settle into place.
The sensation buzzed in my head. My skin felt flushed, and for the first time I felt a great desire to learn this magic. Not to prove myself against Archus or defend the embattled Claighan's grand experiment, but for my own understanding. I longed to reach out and pull back the veil, to find the core of truth that rested behind the stale world I'd always known.
I waited long enough that he might be satisfied with my pause, then I opened my eyes to meet his. "I am ready."
He laughed, "Already? Perhaps you don't understand—"
"I am ready, Archus. Please continue. Teach me magic."
Finally he shrugged. "Very well, we shall continue. When the spirit is calm and the mind's eye sees, all that is left is the work of the will. Close your eyes." I did, and felt him come to stand over me.
"Now," he said, "do your best to imagine the room we are in, do your best to recreate it in as perfect detail as you may." He invested his words with heavy sarcasm, certain I would fail, but I easily regained an image of the room. I shifted my awareness, until I saw it as though I were looking down from a spot just above the door. This I could handle.