7. A Challenge

A young man came around the corner at a quick pace, his face set in a scowl. Tall and thin, he wore a beard that looked more mature than he did. When his eyes fell on me, though, they were sharp and compelling. "Daven," he said crisply, "you are to be my student. Rise."

We entered the room, a great auditorium intended for twenty to thirty students, with benches and tables standing in long rows, five tiers above the floor. On the floor of the room stood a podium, four crude wooden chairs, and a large slate only half erased. My teacher led me down to the floor and sank into one of the chairs, waving me toward another. When I was seated he dragged his chair a little closer to me and simply stared at me for several minutes.

From the moment he arrived he'd been wearing a look of anger and frustration, but as he examined me now I watched his expression slowly change, melting into curiosity and perhaps even pity. After a long while he sat back, crossed his arms, and said, "Daven of Terrailles, why have you come here?"

The question had no ring of formality to it. I recognized his own curiosity and tried to answer honestly. "I had no pressing business elsewhere, and I was invited here. It sounded exciting."

"You were invited. By Claighan, no?" I nodded. He nodded. "That is a sad business. Do you know why Claighan chose you?"

The answer was complicated and I wasn't entirely sure of it, so I just shook my head.

He nodded. "Neither do the Masters, apparently, but some are quite suspicious." He paused for a moment, thinking, then leaned forward again. "You already have great powers turned against you, Daven, and your only real defender is on his deathbed. Are you certain you wish to stay here?"

I shrugged, "Claighan said the king could not reach me here, that I would be safe. I wouldn't know where else to hide."

"It's not the king you need fear, Daven. He is only a minor power in this world. If you make enemies within these walls, they can undo you in ways the king could only dream of."

My mouth went dry at the thought of Lareth's cruelty, of Seriphenes's dark eyes passing over me, but I told myself it had only been a dream. Still, some of the fear must have shown in my eyes, because my teacher gave a curt nod. "Yes, you understand. I do not think excitement is reason enough for you to stay here. I'm not at all certain you should."

I thought about it for a moment. Then I frowned and met his eyes. "Do you want me gone?"

He shook his head. "I have almost no interest in you at all." The words rang with an eerie echo of Claighan. My only ally. My teacher went on. "I have been appointed to teach you your preliminary lessons, but beyond that I've no emotional tie to you. I have heard some of your story, heard most of the rumors, most of the lies, but I see you before me as just a boy, caught up in something he cannot comprehend."

He rose and began to pace as he spoke. "Everyone says you came here for the power, that you want to escape your peasant roots. I don't see it." He looked at me briefly, looked away. "There's a rumor that the Masters mistreated your father, and some say you're here to learn the magic necessary to avenge him. That, I think, is ludicrous. To me it seems...just as you said. You answered an invitation, and find a place more hostile than you could have imagined."

"And so I should run from the threat?"

"It wouldn't be a bad idea."

I considered it. "I thought....." I started, and then had to swallow against a sudden pang of regret. I tried to laugh it off. "I will tell you the truth. I thought I would find this place all comfort and luxury. I thought I would find wise old teachers anxious to grant me untold power and authority." I chuckled darkly. He only nodded.

I licked my lips. "This place is not what I expected. But I did not come for the comforts or for the easy power. I came here because I have nowhere else to be, and because someone thought it would be worthwhile to teach me something new. If that opportunity is still available, as long as it is available, I would like to find out if he was right."

He stopped pacing. He weighed me in his eyes again until my shoulders began to itch. Then he shrugged. "You are an interesting young man, Daven. This should be...interesting." He stepped close to me and extended his hand. "My name is Antinus. I shall be your instructor."

I stood to shake his hand, mumbled some pleasantry, and sank back into my chair. "And that was all to satisfy your curiosity?" I asked. He nodded, and I nodded. "I expected as much. Is there any more, or may we begin?"

He chuckled, but returned to his seat. "We may begin, though much of the early part of your training will be little more than discussion. I suppose for most of it I will be answering, you asking, but there is still much we must learn of each other before we can investigate the power. For instance, have you ever knowingly worked magic before?"

"I learned a spell which my friends and I used for sword practice. I probably worked that several dozen times at least."

"Interesting. A spell in the Elder tongue, that you read off a card, or a bit of paper?"

I shook my head. "Not the Elder tongue. More of a ritual chant. But otherwise yes."

He nodded. "That won't count for much at all. Anything else? Have you ever reshaped anything? Ever studied under a real wizard? What about a priest? Ever trained for the cloth?" At each question I shook my head but briefly before he moved on. "Very well, what sort of training do you have in craft or trade? What is your professional intention?"

"I tend sheep," I said. I shrugged, both hands palm up. "I drive coaches. I have done some tanning and helped a village baker. And I can handle any sword. My main interest has always been to become a soldier."

He grimaced at each part of my answer. "So those bits are true? You will be a challenge. They say the more adept you are with the physical world, the harder magic becomes. I suppose you'll be my masterpiece."

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.

"I am ready," I said.

"We shall see," he said, with a tone that left no doubt what he expected to see. "The door. Is it open or closed?"

He snapped the question as though to catch me off guard, but I casually replied, "Closed."

"Correct. The body of your test now will be the simple process of opening the door. Understood?"

"No."

He waited for me to ask more, but I was caught in my imagination, moving my awareness down and to the left to stare directly at the closed door. Finally I asked, "How?"

"It is simple. Whether the door is open or closed...that doesn't matter. The fact that it is a doorway is important—in fact, doorways and walls are surprisingly important—but open and closed shift constantly, and they don't hold too well. So, you know that with your eyes open the door would be closed, right?"

I nodded.

"Now, in your imagination, you must create an image of this room, of this door, but with the door open. Then you must believe that the image in your mind is the true reality, that your memory is only tricking you but your imagination shows you truth."

"How?"

He growled softly in frustration before he answered. "By your will," he snapped. "By your faith. That is all it takes. Believe, desire, and create. Now, begin."

I tried. In my mind I spoke the words, "The door is now open! Poof!" But the image stayed the same. I wasn't fooled by words. I knew the truth.

I tried to change the image so that the door was open, or discard this image and create a new one with an open door. But that was not real. The image in my mind was the truth. It was the room I might have to fight in. Whether the door was open or closed mattered very much if I needed to beat a hasty retreat or back an opponent into a corner.

When I closed my eyes and saw the room, I saw the world as I could count on it. I would not hesitate to stand up and walk among the rows of tables and benches, to dance up and down the steps without even glancing, because I knew the accuracy of my memory. This change, though, demanded something different—almost something opposite of what I knew. The tools seemed the same, but the harder I tried to work the magic, the more real my belief in a closed door became.

I began to feel a tension building in the air about me, a heavy, oppressive air that weighed on my body and taxed my lungs. I screwed up my face, frowning in concentration, but the more effort I poured into my imagination the more it seemed I should just stand and walk to the door. It would be so much easier to open it by hand!

And with that thought the whole image fell apart. Instead I saw myself rising within the room, walking calmly and easily to a plain door, and pulling it open by hand. No magic, no power, no buried truth. Only the stale world I'd always known. And as I watched that little pantomime unfold before me, I felt all hope for power, all magical ability at all fade from my feeble grasp like a tide sinking back to sea. I could never have anticipated the great sense of loss, of emptiness that I felt in that moment.

I sighed a great sigh and let my shoulders slump, falling back against my seat. I allowed my eyes to open and stared at the cursed door for one long heartbeat, and then it whispered effortlessly open, swinging easily and rapping lightly against the inner wall before settling to silence. Ashamed, I turned to face the grinning Archus.

"That," he said darkly, "was the most pathetic thing I've ever witnessed. You actually showed no power at all! I've never even heard of that happening! The door didn't budge until I opened it on my own!"

Shame and rage met in a great clashing front that hurled me to my feet. Before I even knew I was on my feet I flew over the long table and landed directly in front of him, grabbing the front of his shirt in my fists. "You arrogant bastard!"

He didn't twitch, but snapped a word of command, and a wall of air threw me back to crash against the wooden table I'd just hurdled. He took a moment to arrange his shirt again, brushed at his sleeve, and then stepped up to loom over me. Half of his mouth curled up in a sneer.

"You should watch your mouth, little Daven. Students are not permitted such harsh language around their masters."

I tried to stand, to lunge at him, but found myself still bound by his magic. I recognized bands of air, like those Claighan had used to trap me at the lakeshore, snaking over my chest and shoulders, my waist and knees. I stopped struggling and instead spat at his face, which took him by surprise. "Let me go, coward! Face me like a man, with sword in hand."

"Oh, Daven." He shook his head slowly. "You should know threatening your master is considered poor form, too! And, as I said, I am responsible for setting your punishments. However I see fit." His eyes danced. "But I'll forgive both your offenses this time. After all, you're just a shepherd, and it will take time to tame you." He turned his back on me and started up the stairs toward the door. He made it halfway, strolling with an easy arrogance, then turned back to me as though in afterthought. "But...perhaps I would do well to continue your education by other means. Meet me in the Arena at even bell, with your sword, and we shall settle this."

With that he left. I struggled to stand, but his bonds were still in place. I screamed after him, crying curses, but his footsteps trailed off down the hall and I heard no other reply. It was a long time before his magic faded and I could push myself up off the floor to make my way wearily to my room.

---

I had missed lunch with Themmichus and wasted much of the afternoon pinned on my back on that floor. I didn't know where I was supposed to find dinner, or when, but as I stepped out into the courtyard between the Halls of Learning and the dormitory, I saw evening fast approaching. Bloody sunset bathed the corridor in red shadows. I set my jaw. I'd missed dinner, too, then.

I whipped the door to the dormitory open with more force than I needed. The halls beyond were empty and my footsteps echoed, high and thin, as I stomped my way back to my room. I saw no one. As I went, my shoulders twitched. I licked my lips and fought to suppress a snarl. My hands balled in fists, and I made a conscious effort to relax them, but moments later they were clenched again. I began walking faster and then finally broke into a run for my room just as the great bells of the tower began tolling the evening hour. Archus would be waiting. Hate and fear clawed at my heart, crushed on my lungs, but neither overwhelmed my desire for vengeance. He would pay.

When I came to my room the door was standing open. I exploded through it and saw my travel pack still fallen where Themmichus had dropped it. I spared it less than a thought, stepped over it, and drew the Green Eagle's sword with one furious motion, then turned on my heel and darted from the room. I sprinted down the hall, feet pounding against the stone in time with the thunderous beat of my heart, and burst through the little wooden door that opened onto the Arena.

And I stopped. The courtyard was packed with students, and every one of them faced toward a little clearing at its heart with a palpable expectation. I understood in a flash. I understood why Archus had left me trapped in the room, and why the halls had all been empty. He had gathered them here for this, to witness my humiliation.

Of course. He was the first heir of some southern nobleman. Of course he would have some facility with a sword. I had watched noblemen duel, though. A dark grin twisted at my lips, and I began shouldering my way forward. He couldn't know how hard I had studied. He couldn't know how viciously I would fight.  He had bought his own suffering with that one act of cruel arrogance. I finally broke through the crowd and into a ring of richly dressed young men. Archus stood opposite me in an open area almost exactly the same size as the one I'd fought Cooper in years ago.

No, days. I shook my head, and my grin faded. Days ago, I'd been just a shepherd. But I had killed since then. My path had changed. I set my jaw, raised my sword, and met Archus's eye.

He smiled. He laughed and raised his voice. "So you've come after all. Let's dance."

I dropped the sword to my side and sneered at him. "I hate to dance. Let's fight." He scowled as a chuckle went up from some of the closest students. He came a step closer and answered me.

"You would brawl like a dirty beggar." He shook his head in disappointment. "You're a disgrace, Daven, and you don't belong here. You bring shame on the school, and today you have dared to challenge your master." He dropped his voice, dropped his eyes to lock on mine. "Prepare for your second lesson."

He reached up to unclasp his cloak, and it fell in a soft rustle to pile on the dusty ground. One of the nearest spectators darted forward to take it up. Beneath the cloak he wore new clothes, all of black silk and resting lightly on his pale skin. He pulled a long, light rapier from a sheath on his belt and settled into a northern stance, left hand held arcing up to head height behind him. He hopped from one foot to the other like an excited race horse. "Come fight me, then."

I looked around for a sympathetic face in the crowd, but the closest all seemed to be Archus's friends. They wore the same elegant finery on their soft frames, the same arrogant sneer on their hateful faces. I had no cloak to drop and my clothes were simple cotton, but they were much like what I'd always worn, and I was comfortable in them. I rolled my shoulders once, then raised my sword in a simple capitol stance, and settled to wait for him.

But when his eyes finally fell on the blade, his mouth dropped open. "Where did you get a sword like that, shepherd?"

I kept my voice low for him. "From a duel, lordling. I took it from a Green Eagle."

He snorted, but when my face didn't change his expression did. "Impressive. I'll examine it more closely once I've won it from you." As the words left his mouth he moved. With a smile like a striking hawk's, he came gliding forward.

He used the rapid, careful steps of a trained swordsman. Within three paces I had a measure on how he moved, and I rushed to meet him.

We crossed swords once, almost formally. But instead of falling into a flurry of flashing blades I disengaged and then lunged, forward and to the side. I struck out once, more against his blade than at him. It threw his weapon wide even as he turned to follow my motion. I quickly reversed my lunge and closed with him, face-to-face from less than four feet away.

I slashed my sword up to cut his cheek, to score a point off my clever motion, but he moved with astonishing speed. He managed to bring his blade back around and deftly parried my attack. His riposte came just as swiftly, and I was lucky to send it wide of my right shoulder.

At that distance our fight was a desperate, dizzying whirlwind. His sword and mine danced around each other, seeking frantically for some purchase. A deep, cold silence filled the courtyard around us. The boys closest must have been straining to see what was going on, and those farther back straining to hear some indication from them. But for a long moment, we merely tested each other in speed.

The observers couldn't have followed us. I couldn't even keep up consciously with the motion of our swords. Instead I fought to maintain my relaxation, to know our positions, and allowed my muscles to respond more on instinct than thought. Training turned my wrist, jabbed my arm forward or pulled it back, rolled the hilt of my sword lightly over my fingertips. I moved the blade on nothing more than a sense of the pressure and angle of his weapon against mine, but it was enough to keep me safe.

He was terribly skilled, and faster than I, but everything he did was with textbook precision. For two passes I allowed my guard to lapse on the terce, and on the third pass his perfect strike came in terce, straight out of the book. But I was not there to receive the blow. As his lunge carried him forward I dove free of him, coming up behind and to the right.

He caught himself short of falling and whirled to face me. Surprise and irritation flashed across his face, beneath a light sheen of sweat. I grinned as I moved to meet him, but I hung just an inch outside of the appropriate range. For two or three passes we fought like that, and I could tell that the distance was irritating him. So I pressed an attack and took a long step forward, bringing us face to face. I thought to lock swords with him and then just shove him over—I was clearly stronger than he—but as I slid in close to him I saw his mouth move.

At the same time his left hand suddenly swung out, as if he were throwing a haymaker at me from three paces away, and a great gust of wind reached across the distance to deliver the blow for him. Pain flared across my ribs and I had to take three quick stumbling steps just to keep my feet. Before I could set myself, before I could turn to face him again, he attacked me from behind.

I felt the tip of his sword cut into my left shoulder, sharp and hot. Blood washed down my back and anger flooded me. I threw myself into a tight turn and dove toward him. I swung my sword in a high arc to draw his attention up, and while his blade was still rising to block it I leaped forward and crushed his forward foot beneath my heel.

He cried out in surprise and pain and then lashed out again with another gust of wind that pushed me away and beat me down to the ground. I tried to fight it, tried to attack him through the spell, but he moved forward with the gusts of air and attacked as he did it, the tip of his blade darting past mine to cut me along the arm and shoulder. I fell into desperate defense, but beneath the torrent of air I couldn't even maintain enough control for that.

Finally I gave up, crawling miserably in the dirt, trying to escape his attack, but a too-familiar force wrapped me in tight bonds and lifted me into the air. I was helpless against his magic, and he put me on display. He lifted me up high enough for everyone to see, and then with another gust of wind set me slowly spinning. Humiliation burned hotter than the searing wounds he had inflicted. Then Archus stepped forward, sneering up into my eyes. "You are pathetic, Daven. Go away."

I could not answer, whether from the spell or my own shame I do not know, but after a moment more my spinning broke our eye contact. For a moment I could breathe again. For a moment, I hoped it was over. I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed for an end.

It didn't come. Instead, I suddenly felt the cold tip of his blade cut into my right shoulder. He did it with that same textbook precision, pressing just deep enough to tear the flesh. He allowed my motion to do most of the work for him, slicing my skin open in a long, shallow gash as I kept turning. He waved the blade up and down as I turned, giving shape to the scar, sinewy like a serpent's tail. I felt blood wash down my back, felt sweat burn in the long wound, felt the presence of Archus like a cancer behind me. I heard sounds from the assembled students—some cries of outrage, maybe, but mostly catcalls and jeers and laughter at my humiliation. Archus was laughing, too, and the ring of boys closest to me roared.

A flood of emotion came—rage and fear and terrible shame—but behind it came a great thudding wave of pain and exhaustion that blended with the darkness of coming night and washed me into unconsciousness. I dread to think what indignities they might have done while I hung unconscious in their midst, but when I woke the ordeal was over.

When I awoke, I was in my room. I was in my bed, propped up against the wall, with my legs stretched out before me. It was dark, deep in the night, and there were no candles burning. There was enough light through the cracked door that I could vaguely see the figure leaning against my writing desk. Tall and thin, and idly toying with the sword I had taken from Othin. Its naked blade glittered in the thin light.

For a moment I thought it was Archus, and my heart quailed. I must have made a sound, because he looked up. I saw dark eyes narrow, and then he pressed himself up and stepped over to face me, the sword resting almost forgotten in his hands.

Seriphenes. He looked down at me for a long moment then nodded toward my shoulders. "Are you feeling much pain?"

I glared up at him. It dawned on me, though, that I didn't feel the agony Archus's torture should have caused. I felt a flush of relief, even gratitude, as I recalled the Kind Father's healing magic. I shook my head in a little no, rolled my shoulders to confirm it—

And cried out at a flash of searing cold fire across my back. I could feel the sinuous trail of Archus's cut. It didn't bleed, but it burned with a vicious chill. Seriphenes grimaced.

"I'm afraid our magic lacks the...finesse of the Kind Father's treatments," he said. "But you will live."

I ground my teeth against the pain. He smirked.

"It will scar. I thought perhaps...that would be for the best." His eyes glittered whenever he paused, and his nostrils flared. I took short, sharp breaths and regained my composure. As long as I stayed still, the pain gradually faded.

He watched me for some time and then nodded. "You know why I am here?" I shook my head. His eyes widened in surprise. "Truly? You have no idea?"

I took a slow breath, and then met his eyes. "Because your apprentice tried to maim me?"

"He did maim you," Seriphenes said coolly. "That I undid it does not detract from the effectiveness of his actions. Credit where it is due, yes?" I glared at him, but I did not speak. He nodded.

"I am here to speak with you about your role in the Academy."

"You and everyone else," I growled. "I'm not leaving."

He considered me for a moment. Then he nodded, one curt jerk of his chin. "So I have heard," he said. "And so you have shown. And as I'm sure you have been told, we cannot tolerate your causing trouble at our school."

"I am not the one maiming students," I said coldly.

He smiled, his lips tight. "Just so," he said. "And that is why Archus is currently on...suspension. And that is why he was not allowed to keep the weapon he clearly won." He looked down at the Green Eagle's sword, and his lip curled in distaste. He turned and placed it on the writing desk then wiped his hands clean and turned back to me. "And by the Chancellor's order, it is not even to be taken from you."

"I appreciate the Masters' generosity," I said. "Why are you here?"

"I am here," Seriphenes said, his words a little clipped, "because someone must tell you how a student behaves at the Academy of Wizardry, and Archus's little stunt has caused that burden to fall on me."

I met his eyes for a moment and shrugged. I had to fight down another yelp of pain at the motion, but I kept it hidden. "How about you let me get some sleep, and I'll ask Themmichus for some pointers tomorrow morning?"

His lips curled in a smile that never reached his eyes. He held my gaze for a long moment, and then began as though I hadn't spoken. "You are expected to comport yourself with civility, nobility, and dignity. You are to speak to the Masters, and to any teacher, with nothing but respect. You are to refrain from inciting fights or otherwise causing disturbances with your fellow students, and you are—in every possible way—to keep from drawing my attention."

Those last words fell from his tongue like shards of ice, and I nearly flinched away from them. I made myself hold his gaze, though, and after a moment he nodded.

"Of every ten days, you will set aside six for training with your personal tutor, two for lectures with the other first-year students, and one for personal training and evaluation by the Academy masters. Your remaining day will be left to your leisure, although I suspect you will need it for studying. Your first day off will be tomorrow, and you can spend it healing."

He half-turned toward the door as he rattled on. "Meals can be had at the kitchens north end of the Halls of Learning, and new clothes from the commissary," he nodded pointedly to my shoulders again, and I realized the fine shirt I'd worn from the king's palace was now in tatters. "If you have more expensive tastes you can also place orders there for goods from Gath, although...."

He didn't bother finishing the sentence, and I couldn't muster the outrage to glare at him. I only stared back at him. I did my best to look bored, while I groaned inwardly at the thought of six days a week trapped in a room with the horrible Archus.

He nodded and headed for the door, but when he reached it he stopped and turned back to me. He hesitated for a moment, weighing his words. "I regret Archus's actions," he said. "But you should know he was on direction from me to convince you to leave. I have spread the word to everyone who will listen. You should not be here. I don't care about your pride or about Claighan's grand ideas. I want you gone, boy, and in time you will go. Until that happens...keep out of my way. Keep out of my way, and you may leave here alive."

With that he left my room. It was a long, long time before I fell asleep.