The Royal Academy of Wizardry sat on the outskirts of Adalsberg. It looked as if it had been a castle of sorts, and sported a number of towers of different periods and styles. From the rug of travel, it looked rather like a child’s concept of a fairy ring but with every fungal fruiting body a different kind of highly imaginative toadstool.
“How… interesting,” said Chessina.
Tasayne poked her.
“The towers were put up by masters of different schools as they established enough power to become specialty subjects,” she said. “The various Wizarding Schools elsewhere in Ezustry mostly closed, because of corruption – possibly, as it now seems, caused by demonic influences – and there were a number of factions trying to use armies of juvenile wizards to usurp the crown.”
“Oh, I read about that in history; I never connected it to Agravar and his school before,” I said. “It was about two centuries ago, and his must have been one of the last.”
“Yes, the Braidfleet Academy was the only other school permitted until accusations of demonology were levelled against it,” said Tasayne. “Each turret is an aspect of the art; Translocational, Conjuration, Transmogrification, Crafting and Enchanting, Alchemy and Potion-making, Divination, Illusion, Control, Healing, Herb and Plant lore, Battle Magic, and Elemental.” She pointed to each of the towers as she listed them. I noted that the Alchemy and Potion-making tower had a number of mended regions, much smoke-blackening, and a reinforced roof. Apparently I was not the only apprentice to blow things up a little bit.
“The Divination tower looks a little… dilapidated,” said Chessina.
“You have to be born a seer to get anywhere with deliberately seeking the future, and it’s a bit hit and miss,” said Tasayne, dismissively. “They use drugs to enhance their seeing, and travel mentally in time, backwards and forwards. And often enough they get it wrong, since, as I understand, it’s about ways and paths, and trying to change the future can set in stone what you wanted to change, or you can wipe out a whole civilisation by farting in the wrong place and time. So it doesn’t get much funding.”
“Probably as well,” said Chessina. “Going back to look seems more useful than going forwards; I am sure there are inexorable forces controlling the general flow forwards.”
“More than likely,” shrugged Tasayne. “It can drive people insane. We had one poor devil babbling about towers for living in thirty storeys high, and chariots without horses belching out filthy vapours. He jumped off the top of his tower.”
“I like the Herb and Plant lore tower, all of glass; we could do with one of those, Castamir,” said Chessina.
“Yes, dear,” I said, obediently.
It would make winter gardening more pleasant. And we could scale down one built for large numbers of students.
“We could ask the Tower, and it might grow an unbreakable glassed-in gallery,” cooed Chessina, salivating over herbs.
The Tower was enthusiastically telling me how it planned to do it. It seemed as fond of Chessina as I am.
“Are there many students?” I asked.
“About one hundred and fifty,” said Tasayne. “Not all make the grade, of course. But wizards from all over the country send in hopeful candidates, whom they sponsor, and who may well return as their own apprentices when qualified, if they have the same talents for the same school. And searches are sent out too. Most of us are peasants; you see, the more aristocratic talented are usually trained by the ducal mage of the region, and so become more versed in wider spheres rather than being specialists in one school of magic. This is partly to stop us becoming too powerful. And those who specialise in Elemental magic can also specialise in Earth, Fire, Air, or Water, as few are skilled with all four. It's a powerful school, though, for those who can command more than one element.”
“So, you went there?” asked Chessina. “I thought you were always Dragovar’s apprentice.”
“No; I was found by a hedge-wizard when I was ploughing, and was irritated with a boulder, and willed it into dust,” said Tasayne. “I passed out, and deafened every hedgewizard in the neighbourhood. I was nine. Usually, magic manifests, when it is going to, between about eight and sixteen, as it’s when the body starts changing into an adult. We had a large farm and I was well-fed, though it was some years before the changes were enough for me to notice. We learned in Healing that some changes take place on a very small scale.”
“So, you studied healing?” asked Chessina.
“No, actually, I’m an Elementalist, or had specialised in that,” said Tasayne. “But every child does a year looking at each of the classes, and then they are reviewed and pick four for another year; and then one specialises in one or two. I’ve been brushing up on more general magic under Dragovar…” she went scarlet, “Under Dragovar’s tuition,” she added, hastily.
“And what elements do you command?” I asked.
“Oh, all of them,” said Tasayne. “And lightning. I might have blown up the top Battle Magic student a little bit when he said that messing with elements was for wusses.”
“Well, I never,” I said.
I could think of a few situations we had been in when an elementalist along would have been remarkably useful.
“The Royal Wizard gets to pick which students he wants as his personal apprentices, at any point in their training,” said Tasayne. “I sort of got wished on him by the principal as a punishment for burning Rintoman’s feet with a lightning bolt. I don’t like bullies, and he really was a bully.”
“Good for you!” said Chessina. “So, making the grade? And don’t some or all of you choose new names from the old language?”
“We can, but we don’t have to,” said Tasayne. “Rintoman did. And it’s plain that old Frigermar, that snooty librarian, was one once. He does some small magics, to preserve books and documents, and to make ink easier to read. And he can do a bit more with alchemy, but it’s about his limit.”
“So, how many wizards are there in the country?” I asked.
It was Dragovar who answered me.
“About one percent of mortals are magically active; of whom about one percent have enough power to be trained to be wizards. The rest are wise-women, cunning men, pot-stirrers, and hedge wizards or witches. They all usually learn by the apprentice method, and it tends to run in families. Most villages have one or two people capable of making simples and cures, charming off warts, occasionally helping to bring rain, or stop it, encourage growth and so on. Paradoxically, it is here that you find the best seers, in the short term, who ‘know’ things, and advise moving away from, say, where a tree will fall, or not taking a particular path home, where there are robbers, or a stream bursts its bank. They are best left without being maudled with training they cannot handle and which can destroy their native intuitions.”
“And how many over all?” I asked.
“Well, Castamir, the three biggest cities have close on a million inhabitants in total,” said Dragovar. “This is about a third of the overall population of the country. So, of three million souls, thirty thousand have some small skills; and three hundred have the theoretical capacity to be wizards. We don’t use the term ‘witch’ except for hedge witches. And before you ask, no, not all those in the school are going to become full blown wizards, but have more ability than the average hedge-wizard, and might be magically-trained assistants in various capacities. The king’s chief groom is a horse-whisperer, who did four years in the Academy, having specialised in Healing, which he uses for the horses. He’s very happy in his job. Frigomar is bitter because he really believed he had a chance to be a great wizard, though his skills in elucidation and conservatory work in enchanting and potion-making skills make him invaluable for the job he does. And it depends on the personality whether those who test out at the end of four years are pleased to have some extra skills to help them through life, or label themselves as failures.”
“I see,” I said. “And you skim off the best of the best for more intensive training? How long are they usually in the academy?”
“Ten years,” said Dragovar. “Unless offered an apprenticeship elsewhere, which anyone after the fifth year can request.”
“It sounds quite strict,” I said.
“It has to be,” said Dragovar, dryly. “One hundred and fifty pubescent children with all the heavy emotions that causes, let loose with deadly force.”
“I see what you mean,” I said.
We landed in the centre of a large courtyard, which had large buildings on two sides of it – the lower school for general work, and the refectory, Tasayne murmured to us – and through a covered way to one end, a pleasant-looking garden, and a stable block on the fourth side. The whole school appeared to have been disrupted to turn out the pupils to greet the Royal Wizard, and the Towermaster.
The Principal, or Headmaster, bowed.
“Royal Wizard! Towermaster! We are honoured,” he said. “I do trust you and the Towermaster will say a few inspirational words to our pupils?”
“Castamir will go first,” said Dragovar.
You can go off people, you know.
I know how to pitch my voice without using a spell, so I did so.
“I see many eager young faces here, and you are all here because you can use magic, the gift of our Lady Arcana,” I said. “Some of you may go into the priesthood of other gods or goddesses, taking your skills with you; some may go into teaching; some of you might make great magical discoveries. However far you progress, however, let me remind you that you still represent fewer than one in one thousand people; which is to say, whatever the level of your gift, it is still a gift to be celebrated. I know a man who considers himself a failure as he could not progress past the fourth year, and he is a bitter and unhappy fellow, rather than rejoicing that Arcana’s gift touches him, and makes him perfect for the job he does. I pity him; not because he has not gone on to be a wizard, but because his heart is filled with regret for what he cannot do, rather than joy in what he can. And the wise woman of the village where the Tower is situate is a wonderful, warm woman, mother to the villagers, who delights in her small skill in brewing simples, and being able to aid with what wild talents she had. Who would I rather be, of the two? Matille, every time. Though I’m not sure I’m ready to have a husband and five children,” I added, humorously.
It did raise a spontaneous laugh.
“I can tell you things like that until I am black in the face, however, and some of you will take no notice,” I said. “But one thing I do want to warn you against; and that is taking the short-cut of demonology to enhance your powers. My journeywizard and I are the closest thing the kingdom has to experts in demons, as we’ve been dealing with the various problems caused by them, including the foolish dabbling of court ladies, and the demonologist Agravar, whose gruesome death was caused when he lost control of his demon, whose curses we so recently raised from Braidfleet.”
“It’s him!” hissed one of the children. “I told you, he moved all the fishermen’s cottages away from where he brought the water back!”
The child was poked, scornfully.
I looked at him.
“You’re the lad who brought me ale,” I said. “And very welcome it was. Congratulations; I was too exhausted after all that moving to notice your magic.”
“Please, Towermaster, it was watching you made me start trying to move pebbles!” he piped up. “See? I wasn’t lying!” he added to his schoolfellows.
“What is your name?” I asked.
“I’m Chez Kettle,” he said.
“Oh, a relative of Mistress Kettle at the hall; and a name not given lightly; I expect you have Potion Brewers in the family,” I said. “Learn your runes; if I had not recognised the rune of accumulation in the underwater sand banks I would not have realised what had been done, to be able to reverse it. But don’t try anything on that scale by yourself,” I added. I was not about to admit that it was only with the aid of the Tower that I had done it myself.
“Nossir, thank you sir!” said Chez.
I would keep an eye on him.
“Anyway,” I said, “Never cut a deal with a Demon, a Devil, a Dragon, a Duke, and be damned careful with cutting a deal with a Dwarf; they’re touchy. It’s best to avoid deals with anything beginning with ‘D’. Though a dormouse might be harmless enough.” I had a few more titters over that. “What I’m saying is, short cuts, as a wise man once said, make long delays. And might prove fatal. And worse than fatal. The abyss is not a nice place to spend eternity if you mess with demons and end up on the menu… or spending your days in a pain organ, where the level of your agony produces different musical notes to entertain. I am not joking. The last external school fell to fools dabbling in demonology. Do not bring this school into disrepute by emulating them.”
I stepped back and received applause from the enthusiastic to the uncertain.
Dragovar made his speech.
“I would not presume to speak about the abyss in front of those who have been there, but I concur with everything the Towermaster has said. The aftermath of such foolish dabbling almost put us into war with the elves, and has caused considerable distress. All I want to say otherwise is to work hard, but do not neglect to have fun as well. The best wizard is one who is a balanced, healthy character.”
He stepped back. He was not good at speeches.
He was, however, applauded for his brevity.
The headmaster, I noted, was not expecting such a hard-hitting speech, filled with home truths. He looked as if he was uncertain if he was annoyed at me scaring them, or whether he approved of the warning.
He dismissed the children, and ushered us to his office.
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