a surfeit of wizards 5, holiday bonus

 

Chapter 5

 

I liked the battle-magic arena. Someone very skilled in illusions had set up a terrain which could have more or less vegetation added, using runic arrays, for the students to practice against illusory armies or dangerous illusory beasts. Seating around the arena was protected by wards, though the illusions covered it. I walked in to find a dragon flying out of my chest towards a group of students who were lucky enough to be defending against this beast.

They lost, of course.

The battle mage greeted us, and smiled sarcastically.

“Perhaps the mighty Towermaster might have a few tips for us?” he asked. “You do have experience, I believe?”

“Mostly against demons; I’ve never been in a battle,” I said, hiding my irritation. “After all, I was sent as a diplomat to the elves to deal with a misunderstanding, and divert them from going to war with us.  In my opinion, all war-mages should learn something of the art of diplomacy, as a battle is best won by avoiding battle where possible, and winning the victory at the diplomatic tables is more satisfying, especially at the point where a warmongering enemy’s plans fall apart about them.”

“But sometimes, one has to fight,” said a youth. “And if you have been in battle, sir, what is the best way to win?”

“It’s a simple enough thing,” I said. “The art is in staying alive, and keeping yourself and your fellows and anyone you are protecting, alive and undamaged longer than the enemy, and inflicting more damage on them than they do on you.”

“But that’s obvious,” said the boy.

“You didn’t do it very well, though, did you?” I said. “What could you have done better to achieve your objective against the dragon?”

“Uh… learn more spells?” said the boy.

“With a team of ten, you could defeat a dragon using household cleaning spells, and simple charms which an apprentice learns in their first year,” I said. “If you have the will.”

He goggled.

“Oh, come, now, Towermaster!” said the teacher. “You exaggerate.”

“Well, I am sure you were about to tell the class all that they did wrong,” I said. “Weren’t you?”

“Why, they took up the classic formation for dragon hunting, and….”

“You mean you teach them to bunch up and make a closed target of themselves?” I cried, in horror. “By the gods! No wonder Ogier’s son was killed by a manticore if you are such a sloppy teacher!”

He went for me.

I kept dodging his spells until I had the opportunity to put a fist spell in his groin. He didn’t seem to have anything worth using there, anyway.

When he could speak again, he was furious.

“Why do you keep dodging, you coward? Can’t you stand still and duel?”

“I understood this class is battle magic, not games for the effete,” I said. “I fight to win, and I fight in the real world, not a duellists piste.  Now, play that dragon again, and you lot! Scatter when it comes, so it is confused, keep dodging, use the terrain to hide. One of you, cast a scour spell on its eyes, another, cast polish on its tongue; someone else put a feather light spell on that big rock, advance it towards the dragon, and then cancel the spell once it is moving fast. The rest of you, use collective preserve food charms on it which will stop any biologic function, including decay, but should also stop the blood flow. Be creative!”

It was, of course, Chessina, who had invented the spell to ‘rock’ people or creatures, but we had discussed how to get creative with cantrips and small spells, when power was a premium, even if over-powering them. And I was not going to share Chessina’s concept of using the straightening charm for hair on human intestines.

She has always been such an enthusiast.

They gave it a go; the rock went through the dragon, the illusion not being designed to understand sudden forays into the realm of physical science and the idea that momentum is always conserved, but it pulverised the wards and took out a good bit of the staging for the observers.

“Oops,” I said.

They lost two of their team and got the dragon down.

“And the two who ‘died,’ froze, and let themselves be crisped,” I said.

They were chastened, but enthusiastic; their teacher was sullen.

“He’ll have to go,” I said, to Dragovar.

“Indeed,” said Dragovar, displeased.

 

So far, I had not disapproved of the enchanting teacher, and had approved of the potioneer.

Dragovar sighed. He could feel my disappointment.

“You don’t have time, and nor do I,” he said.

“What about Frigermar?” I said. “He doesn’t have to be able to perform to the level of the top students, so long as he knows what that level is. He is surely better read than Ogramir, and an able enough administrator. He passed until the end of year four, so he is considerably more than a hedge wizard. And maybe he can see how to help children succeed where he struggled. I wager he’s bitter because the teachers let him down.”

“I can talk to him,” said Dragovar.

“And being back in school, he might be able to overcome whatever blocked him,” I said.

“He’s such a genius with books,” sighed Dragovar.

“Well, tell him to train up someone to take it over; your apprentices can take turns in the meantime,” I said.

“I suppose so,” he agreed.

“He’ll love reorganising from scratch, and you never know; he might be glad to get back to his nice, quiet library after a year or so,” I said.

Dragovar brightened.

“So he might,” he said.

 

 We managed to visit each of the other lessons. They were mostly taught more or less effectively; it wasn’t impressive, but it wasn’t criminally bad. The herb and plant lore teacher was an enthusiast, and got into a long discussion with Chessina about planting and harvesting according to the phase of the greater moon and how the lesser moon’s influence could be bad. We left her with him.  Chessina had become very fond of our garden and of growing fresh food; it was so unlike anything in the abyss. She had been somewhat dismissive of the Healer, but only, I thought, in comparison to our dear friend, Silavara, Priestess of Silvana, Keeper of the Stone Circle. Comparisons were odious; there is nobody quite like Silavara.

I went back to the Alchemy and Potions teacher.

I wanted to pay him to make antidotes to certain abyssal poisons and I could provide him with some of the ingredients. Our Centaur friends had presented me with several priceless unicorn horns, from the place where the shy creatures went to shed them. It’s an almost universal antidote, when prepared properly.

“Where did you get this?” he gasped, as I gave him one I had brought along on the offchance. “I cannot accept anything poached…” he tailed off, not wanting to insult the Towermaster but not wanting to touch contraband.

“It was a gift, from my visit to the Elven lands,” I said. “It comes from the yearly shedding. Not as potent as one taken from a live unicorn, no, but also not cursed for that reason. This is from a matriarch who has mothered foals, so I believe has its own potency in healing.”

“It does,” he said, reverently. “It will make many doses.”

“Will two thirds of it for my needs and one third as payment cover your fees?” I asked.

“That would be a kingly gift; one fifth,” he said.

“Then use the difference for other healing, for the school,” I said. “What you use the rest for is up to you.”

He nodded, curtly; not an effusive man.

Sooner or later, we would have to deal permanently with Fishface, as we called our main demonic enemy. It is always well to be prepared.

Wizards are cautious.

 

“We are going to have to have a meeting with the Ducal wizards about the failings of the school,” said Dragovar, pulling a face.

“This is a problem?” I asked.

“No. Well, yes,” said Dragovar.  “And you need to know some history; mine, and basic.  You probably know that Osierleet was the first city and Ezustry grew as a city state which overran the tribal chieftains and subsequently moved capital to Adalsburg for being more central?”

“Yes, and that Osierleet was built on an eyot… no, actually, it’s too big an island to be an eyot, at the best bridging place on the River Leet, and consequently had land and water transport,” I said. “And they changed the name of the town from ‘Frogfoot,’ which was the epithet of the other tribal chieftains. They filled the marsh with rocks, didn’t they?”

“Yes, there was a scarp slope which has essentially disappeared as the city grew,” said Dragovar. “And though my brother has never subscribed to the concept, many of the nobility there see themselves as the first, and therefore superior… and look down on the royal family, although it arose from the nobility of Osierleet.”

“Potentially explosive,” said Chessina, brightly.

Dragovar gave her a jaundiced look.

“Quite,” he said, with a snap. “And one of those is the ducal wizard who happens to be our uncle.”

“Oh!” I said, intelligently.

“‘Oh,’ indeed,” said Dragovar. “Lothamir took me as his apprentice, initially, and was infuriated when Arcana sent a dream to my master, Florisin, to come and find me. Having one of his apprentices appropriated was bad enough, but according to Lothamir, I was useless.”

“Bad teaching?”

“And how,” said Dragovar.  “Lothamir has no journeymen and his apprentices tend to abscond. Evdokar, the alchemist and potion master is the only documented private apprentice to run away to school.”  He sighed. “Lothamir is a very competent wizard. But he can’t teach. His idea of teaching is to tell a pupil to do something, and when they don’t get it first time to scream in their face that they are a dolt, a ninny, an idiot. It does not build the trust needed between master and apprentice.”

“I’d have run away, too,” I said. “So, let me get this straight; we don’t want Lothamir involved in interfering in the school, but we need out of courtesy to involve him?”

“In one. Congratulations. Award that wizard with a gold star on his certificate of merit,” said Dragovar, with an even higher level of sarcasm than usual.

“Unmarried, I suppose?” said Tasayne.

“Does he sound to you like a man who has enough shagging time?” said Dragovar.

“Not susceptible to seduction, either?” said Chessina.

“He despises women,” said Dragovar. “Probably why he doesn’t listen to Arcana; he probably thinks she should let herself be put in her place by him.”

Lothamir really had my friend’s underwear in a knot.

“So, being as objective as you can, would he add anything to a conference?” asked Chessina

“What is his relationship with the other two?” I asked, simultaneously.

“Castamir first, because it’s easier; he considers himself superior and they think he’s a dickhead,” said Dragovar succinctly. “And they’re pompous and overbearing as well. I don’t think he’d add anything significant.”

“Well, that’s easy,” said Chessina. “Send him a letter worded so that he thinks it’s a waste of his august and puissant time.”

“Brilliant! Draft it for me,” said Dragovar.

“Administrative details that need to be weighed, considered, and if necessary, acted upon,” muttered Chessina. “Certain formalities which involve minor irregularities and deficiencies.”

“Your demonic little wife is quite brilliant in her own field,” said Dragovar. “Though I doubt she’s restful.”

“Restful? No,” I said, going a bit boss-eyed at the thought of how unrestful Chessina could be.

“I like restful,” said Dragovar, smiling at Tasayne. I thought it was to reassure her that he did not expect her to be as politically able as Chessina. Tasayne gave him a grateful smile. “We could include Florisin, my former master and former Royal Wizard.”

“He’s still alive?” I blurted out, and then flushed.

“He’s frail, and old, but yes. He retired; he had been involved, with his master, in sorting out the mess of the external schools, and the demonology problems with the Braidfleet Academy,” said Dragovar. “He has expressed an interest in meeting you, Castamir.”

“I’d love to meet him,” I said, awed.

“He has all his wits, still,” said Dragovar. “Which is more than most people start with.  I was thinking of asking him to join us in Braidfleet, because you wanted to look over some of Agravar’s writings, and check out why he kept Shareen’s bones. He might have some insights.”

“Wonderful!” I said, warmly.

“I don’t mean to rub it in that I still have his comfort and advice, and you miss Harmon,” said Dragovar.

“Wizard’s secret,” I said, making up my mind suddenly. “I can speak to Harmon through the staff; the orb is a conduit to all the former Towermasters that wish it, for communication.”

“I am glad,” said Dragovar, sincerely. “I know you can make it flare; when we have the conference, do you think you can put the fear of you into the others, without, you know, actually destroying a building you are in? the school shook rather alarmingly.”

“It did? I’m sorry,” I said.

“I’m not. It drove some lessons home. Only we shall have to meet in the palace, on neutral ground, without magical reinforcement.”

“Not your tower?”

“Castamir!  Wizards are cautious! No wizard goes into another wizard’s tower unless they trust him utterly,” said Dragovar.

“You paid me a great compliment, then,” I said, soberly. “And I was too ignorant of etiquette to recognise it.”

“I could say the same of you,” said Dragovar.

“No, I waltzed into your tower with wide-eyed innocence, ignorance, and no caution at all,” I said. “Because Harmon was your friend.”

“Ah, and so you knew you could trust me,” said Dragovar.  “I think, maybe, we should have Florisin in a room where he can hear, but not upset the other Ducal wizards; he can be abrasive.”

“By that token, you should put Castamir in a cupboard, too,” said Tasayne. “His Snideness takes abrasive to new heights.”

“Actually, I want his scaring them,” said Dragovar.

“I’ll coach him on flashing the jaggy lights at people,” said Chessina.

“It’s called flaring the aura,” said Dragovar.

“Whatever,” said Chessina.