Tamlen turned back to Gilai’el and nodded respectfully. “As just reward for your dedication and exemplary insight, you may retain possession of our Primus Magos’ first recorded collection of knowledge and wisdom for a fortnight. I suggest,” he added with more than a touch of menace to his voice, “that you look to its integrity and safety during that interval.”
Gilai’el knew this would make her an immediate target, and she did not relish the thought of fighting off her bitterly jealous classmates.
The Prefect waved his hand, and the iron door reopened. “The rest of you are to spend that same period studying the new books which have been placed within your chambers. Also of note,” he added after turning to the door, “the assignment of rooms is now permanent. There will be no further transfer of belongings or personage for the remainder of your stay within this dormitory.”
The Students wordlessly filed past Gilai’el and back toward the dormitory wing, and she made to follow, but the Prefect placed an interposing hand in her path.
“A word, Student,” he suggested in an iron voice. She suspected he was merely delaying her, to ensure that the other Students would have a head start in determining what form her ‘punishment’ must be for succeeding where they failed. When the last of the Students had re-entered the wing, he fixed his smoldering red eyes on her.
“It is a pity that you are a Grade Three,” he remarked casually, “as the Great Houses of Veldyrian would easily value a Grade Four of your intellect and tenacity highly enough to take you in the top five of your class.”
Gilai’el glared at him, believing his words to be nothing but poison intended to weaken her resolve somehow.
The Prefect chuckled. “You misunderstand me, child. I do not wish to see you fail within these walls,” he assured her, once again suggesting to Gilai’el that the old man possessed some sort of mind-reading ability, which was one of the rarer manifestations of magic. “I merely wish to introduce the presence of an option which may interest you, should you continue to…impress your instructors, as you have impressed me.”
Gilai’el suspected this was yet another attempt to break House Listoh’s loyalty to each other and was about to say so when the old man shook his head.
“I care not for the politics of the Great Houses, Student,” Tamlen said levelly. “Your best value may be among the Archives, where intellect and clarity of vision are of more use than raw magical ability. However,” he continued as the concealed passageway through which the two burned Students had been taken, “the responsibility of membership within our august order is perhaps more than you could shoulder. I merely wished to suggest the possibility, for you to consider.”
With that, he passed through the stone doorway, and Gilai’el made her way quickly to her room, only to find a trio of young Students standing beside her bed, just as she had expected.
“What is the meaning of this?” she asked in an annoyed tone.
The boy who had identified himself as among House Tyrdren, accompanied by the broken-faced Urkalia boy, was present — as was Aribel, the other Listoh girl from the end of the hallway.
“No one could translate this nonsense in the time allotted,” growled the Tyrdren Student, and Gilai’el saw that he was holding The Journey for Enlightenment in his hands, while his Urkalia friend flipped through the blank diary.
“How would you know?” snapped the raven-haired girl. “You were unaware of the purpose for last night’s study, so it would be impossible for you to determine whether I could complete the task in the assigned period!”
The Urkalia boy threw the empty diary across the room, where it struck Jon in the leg as he rested on his bed. This caused the big red-head to stand slowly from his bed with a weary expression on his face.
“You are a liar,” accused the black-haired Tyrdren. “Perhaps it is true what they say of House Listoh?” he mused as he turned to his Urkalia friend.
“And what do they say?” asked the young Urkalia Student with a gleeful expression.
The Tyrdren turned back to glower at Gilai’el menacingly. “That Listoh’s do their best work from their backs,” he sneered as his eyes ran up and down her slender body. “Perhaps that is how she became the Prefect’s favorite?” He reached out with his hand threateningly before locking eyes with the raven-haired girl. “Perhaps I should see what the Prefect finds so—"
“That’s quite enough,” growled Jon as he stepped between the Tyrdren and Gilai’el. “I think it’s time ye left, and ye’d be wise to keep from our chamber, Housie.”
“Housie?” blurted the Tyrdren incredulously with a look to his comrades after sniffing the air emphatically before schooling his features into a look of disgust. “Where did you learn to speak, a pigsty?”
That caused the Urkalia, and even the blond-haired Aribel to snicker, but Jon took a half-step forward until his nose was inches from the Tyrdren’s.
“Leave,” growled Gilai’el’s red-haired roommate, “or we’ll soon learn if you Tyrdrens really belong as high above the rest of us as ye think you do.”
The Tyrdren bared his teeth. “And what exactly do you mean by that, you stinking sack of provincial filth?”
Without warning, Jon swiftly kicked the Tyrdren between the legs, doubling over the black-haired boy immediately as his expression turned to one of pure agony. But before he had hit the floor, the red-haired young man’s fist smashed out into the Urkalia Student’s already ruined face, causing him to scream in agony as he fell to the ground clutching his nose, which had begun to bleed profusely even before he hit the floor.
Jon pointed to the door as he made eye contact with the blond Aribel. “Ye’d do well to egress, miss,” he prompted before grabbing the Urkalia boy by his tunic and trousers, which he used to hurl him out of the room and into the corridor where he fell to a whimpering heap. Aribel followed under her own power, leaving only the gasping Tyrdren Student beside Gilai’el’s bed.
“Jon—” Gilai’el began fearfully, but her roommate acted as though he heard nothing.
Jon picked up the black-haired Tyrdren Student and slammed him into the floor violently, cracking his head against the stone floor.
“Ye’d like me to make it clearer? All right,” he growled as he picked the Tyrdren up by his tunic and smashed his head into the glass of their massive, single-paned window. The glass shattered, and their room was filled with a rush of wind that scattered the papers which had been neatly stacked beneath their beds. Gilai’el was shocked at the sudden outbreak of violence and could do nothing but watch as Jon manhandled the smaller man.
“This is how we communicate in my pigsty!” yelled the big redhead, and the Tyrdren boy screamed wordlessly as Jon backed up to a running start, which he used to throw the black-haired boy out the now open window. Jon leaned out to casually watch as his foe plummeted to his death. There was a calm look on the red-head’s face as he did so which unnerved Gilai’el, who was unable to resist the primal urge to do look out the window watch the body of the screaming boy shrink until he struck one of the Great Tower’s curving lower sections, his fall directed there by the powerful winds outside.
Jon turned silently from the window after he was satisfied the deed was done, and Gilai’el watched with her mouth agape as he placed new, massive stacks totaling at least forty books beneath his bed before lying down on the silk sheets and lacing his fingers behind his head.
“Jon!” gasped Gilai’el after she was able to process what had just happened. “You killed that Tyrdren Student!”
The red-haired boy turned with an innocent look on his face. “And what exactly would your point be?” he asked seriously, his voice raised to overcome the rushing of the wind.
“You…you murdered him!” she cried.
“Aye,” he agreed, “that I did. And he’d have gotten worse still, had he tried to make good on the half-spoken threat I trapped in his gullet.”
Gilai’el sat down on her bed, having difficulty processing what had just happened.
She had seen her Uncle killed by the bald man, but that had been a real battle. Even though it turned out that Uncle Yav’el had been completely outclassed, it had still been a battle in which he had been able to defend himself.
Jon had just murdered the Tyrdren boy in cold blood, to her mind. Sure, he had threatened her physically, and the feeling she had gotten when he had done so was enough to paralyze her in a way she had never experienced before — but that did not mean he deserved to die for it!
“Don’t ye fret,” said Jon dismissively, “he’s not the first Student to meet such a fate this week.”
Gilai’el’s mouth fell open. “How many others?” she asked after a lengthy pause.
Jon shrugged. “Six that I know of,” he said as he furrowed his brow before jerking his thumb toward the open window, “no, best make it seven including that worthless bastard. Hells, he wasn’t even the first Tyrdren of the bunch,” he said as he rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, “or my first of the week, for that matter.”
Gilai’el was coming to the realization that this was indeed a place of learning, but not of the variety she had initially believed. The Prefect’s method of instruction required that they abandon all thoughts of friendship, loyalty and family from their minds. It was beginning to become clear to Gilai’el that her stay at the Great Tower would be the most difficult period of her young life — and she liked to think that was saying something.
The winds died down slightly as the faintly green rays of the sun broke through the overcast sky, and Gilai’el decided to ask one further question of her read-haired roommate.
“How can I trust you?” she asked hesitantly.
Jon turned his head and smiled faintly, and Gilai’el could tell that his expression was as much intended to reassure her as it was to hide something else he was feeling. “I told you,” he replied as he turned his face to look back at the ceiling, “ye remind me of my sister.”
8
Entrance Examinations
The two weeks passed during which time the other Students of Gilai’el’s class studied their massive collections of knowledge in preparation for whatever their next assignment might be. The days were long, and Gilai’el heard more than a few fights break out in the corridor of the dormitory. Halfway through the fortnight, the two boys who had been horribly burned during the first ‘lesson’ the Prefect had administered, and they kept to themselves despite the nearly incessant urges of the less-behaved Students to reveal what the fires felt like.
Food was delivered twice daily by the same impossibly black-skinned men with angular features, who she came to understand were referred to as ‘Custodians’ within College grounds. More than once, fights even broke out over the food which was delivered to each Student, but Jon was apparently an intimidating enough presence, with a pair of deaths notched on his belt in the first week alone, that no one dared touch either of their meals.
Gilai’el kept her distance from the red-haired man, and Jon never invaded her privacy. They exchanged words occasionally, but she had no idea if he was trustworthy. For all she knew, he had only killed the Tyrdren Student in order to protect her in some bizarre form of mating ritual to which she most certainly did not desire to be a part.
She spent her time translating The Journey for Enlightenment, a task which she completed after eleven days, which allowed her a few days to study the volume. Extra paper, quills and ink seemed to arrive precisely when she required them, which was more than a little unnerving. But she was here to learn all she could about magic in order to facilitate the one burning goal of her life: revenge against the bald wizard who had killed her Uncle Yav’el.
The iron door never opened during those two weeks, but on the morning of the fifteenth day, the voice of the Prefect echoed throughout the stone corridor of their dormitory.
“Leave the volumes which were provided for your study, and take only those materials which you have generated yourselves as you leave the dormitory,” commanded Tamlen, prompting both Jon and Gilai’el to jump from their beds and scramble to gather all of their supplies, which they had laid out the previous night to better facilitate the inevitable summons.
“You have sixty seconds to exit the wing. Failure to do so will result in immediate expulsion,” he boomed, but by then both Jon and Gilai’el were out of their room, and the first ones headed down the corridor.
The rest of the Students filed down with their arms full of the various papers they had used to jot down notes during their studies. Gilai’el kept track of House Listoh’s members, but when the curved dormitory corridor was empty, she had not yet seen the last of her Housemates: a medium-height brown-haired girl named Jhyria.
Before she could protest, the door slammed shut, and she heard snickering from behind her. The black-haired girl turned and saw that the Urkalia boy whose nose Jon had re-broken was glaring at her, as well as another boy with blond hair who she did not recognize.
She knew they had done something to the poor girl, but she had no way of knowing what that was.
“Heinrich!” snapped the Prefect, prompting the blond-haired by to jump.
“Y-yes, Prefect?” he asked, the color draining instantly from his face.
Tamlen approached the young boy and looked down at him before asking, “What fate has befallen your roommate?”
Heinrich’s eyes snapped back and forth nervously before he muttered something inaudible.
“Louder, Student!” bellowed the Prefect as he bared his teeth at the young man.
The blond-haired boy stood himself halfway straight, and his knees trembled as he replied in a clearer voice, “She is tied to the bed, Prefect.”
Tamlen’s eyes narrowed. “You would do well to answer truthfully, Student,” he warned. “Why was she tied to the bed?”
Heinrich stuck his chin out slightly as he prepared to receive the inevitable disciplinary action. “Because I bound her, Prefect,” he replied stoically.
The red-eyed old man straightened himself, and his scowl slowly shifted to a lopsided grin. “Well done, Student,” he congratulated him before turning to the rest of the class.
Gilai’el wished she could say that she did not believe her ears, but the truth was she had already concluded such an action was inevitable — if not for retaliation against her for the young Tyrdren’s death at the hands of her roommate, then for the generally savage nature of the College thus far.
She could only hope that her Housemate had survived whatever the young Heinrich had done to her.
“You may now place your assorted research notes and materials in the alcove if you wish,” instructed the Prefect, “as your time in this dormitory is at an end. You will now be admitted to the first year level of the College.”
The majority of the Students placed their papers in the alcove before returning to the hallway. Gilai’el held onto her own translation of Merton Veldyrian’s first written works, however. She had worked too hard on it, and her study of it was not yet complete.
When the Prefect was satisfied that no more Students would place their materials in the alcove, he inhaled a deep breath, causing the Students to recoil slightly.
When he exhaled, a gout of flame erupted from his lips which consumed the nearest piles of paper, and he turned his head slowly until the entire alcove was aflame.
Gilai’el was unimpressed, having seen Uncle Yav’el perform far more impressive pyrotechnic displays during the village’s annual harvest festival.
The Prefect then turned to the class with the sum total of their last two weeks’ work turning to ash behind him. “The final lessons of this level are as follows,” he announced as he paced slowly before the clearly angered Students. “First, a Student never knows which assignments are of the greatest import. Therefore, every assignment should be met with equal measures of zeal and determination. Second,” he continued as he reversed the course of his pacing, “that the only notes which will ever serve you in your career as a High Wizard are the ones you keep here,” he
tapped his finger on his temple.
“And finally,” he finished, “you should never trust what anyone tells you, regardless of their station or relative power, as authority-based governance is a fallacy of the highest order. The Prime Doctrine of our Empire is what?”
“Guidance by Enlightenment!” replied nearly the class in unison, much to Gilai’el’s surprise. Only Jon and herself did not join in the group reply, from what she could see.
“Indeed,” he replied with a nod of his head. “And Enlightenment occurs at the most fundamental levels of any society. If the people of a given nation rely upon the gods for guidance, then do they truly control their own fates…or are they merely tools of those alien, unknowable beings?”
Gilai’el had read all about the need to pacify the gods of their world in order to facilitate the Enlightenment of humanity at the learned feet of the Great Tower. She found more than a few flaws of logic in their conclusions since essentially the people would merely be serving the High Wizards of the Empire instead of the gods. Who was to say that the High Wizards of the Great Tower were any more benevolent — or comprehensible — than the gods?
“Gilai’el would like to point out,” continued the Prefect smoothly without making eye contact with the raven-haired girl, “that the Great Tower might only replace the gods in a way, while there can be no guarantee that our learned wisdom will in any way improve upon the lives of our citizens—”
“That is foolish,” interrupted the young Heinrich.
Tamlen smirked as he turned to the blond-haired man. “Would you care to explain why?” asked the Prefect.
Heinrich stepped forward. “Because the knowledge of magic allows us to control the world around us using proven, repeatable methods whose details and results are contained in the Imperial Archives, the vast majority of which are public record.”
Tamlen nodded sagely. “And what of those people who cannot read? Or those who cannot travel the vast expanse between their native lands and our fair city of Veldyrian?”
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