by Pirateaba
A score of the shimmering birds fell, the light-flesh of their bodies shattering and fading as they struck the floor. Ceria grinned as she ran forwards at the head of the group. There were still monsters left, but she had a clear shot to the Troll.
This was what she’d been practicing for! Ceria raised her finger, aiming for the Troll’s vulnerable eyes—
And felt something crash into the back of her head. She stumbled, and the world went dark. Something had hit her. But this was a test. What—?
—-
“That damn brat! He hit the half-Elf on purpose!”
Some of the mages were calling out in outrage. Rievan was raising his voice, trying to placate them.
“It was an accident. A slip of the finger!”
“Was this your plan? If this is what the Libertarians call fair, I won’t have it! I demand a retrial!”
“Now? You’ve got to be joking. We saw the half-Elf go down by accident.”
“My tail it was an accident!”
“It’s too late to retry. We’ll just have to judge her by what we’ve seen. That’s fair. And as for that boy, I doubt he’s passing.”
“He’ll just buy his way in! This is outrageous—”
Rievan let the debate rage hotly among the other mages, sometimes shouting in support, but no longer trying to shift the argument. It was done. Ceria was lying on the ground. She couldn’t distinguish herself further in this trial. A redo of the test was unlikely, he knew. Some mages might shout, but no one wanted to give one student special treatment.
He stared at the examinees, smiling, but his smile faded when he saw what was going on. Illphres shifted her cold stare from Rievan to the students still battling the illusions. She passed a hand over her mouth, and then she was smiling.
—-
Pain. Dark. Ceria felt herself falling—
And someone caught her halfway down. Ceria felt two arms encircling her, and felt herself being lifted upwards. She felt…safe. Someone was calling her name. Ceria smiled. So dark.
The world faded. When Ceria opened her eyes again, the exam was over. But in the time between then, someone carried her.
—-
“That boy. What’s he doing?”
“He can’t be intending to carry the half-Elf to the end?”
The mages stared as Pisces lifted Ceria, dodging out of the way of the Troll’s illusory club. The Lizardwoman angrily turned towards a group of mages Rievan was standing with.
“See what’s happened? Now we’ll have to adjust for his performance as well. He can’t be expected to do as well carrying her!”
“What if we send a mage in to retrieve her? That’s simple.”
“Yes, but—wait a second. What’s that in his hands?”
The mages stared. After a moment one exclaimed.
“A rapier? Why’s he carrying that?”
“We told them it was a combat test. And I suppose some of them heard the rumor about the Troll—”
“If he wants to try and take it out with a rapier, that’s fine. But that’s not a display of mage combat—”
“Hold on!”
Some of the mages gasped as they saw Pisces blur with Ceria’s body in his hands. He stabbed backwards as the Troll lunged at him, and then ran the hulking beast through with his rapier. On one shoulder he carried Ceria’s unconscious body, in the other hand he held the rapier, thrusting it into the Troll’s eye.
“Good strike!”
“Look at that footwork! The Troll can’t touch him! He’ll take it down without a scratch!”
“That [Flash Step] spell is being used superbly! Does he have any [Warrior] classes?”
“He doesn’t need any. Look at his rapier.”
That comment came from Illphres. The mages stared, and after a second one exclaimed.
“A silver bell! Well, that explains that. If we’re looking at a [Swordmage] here, I say we accept him on the spot.”
“Even if he doesn’t want to be one, this is a splendid example of mixing magic with conventional proficiencies. I agree!”
Rievan stared helplessly as he watched Pisces run past the disintegrating Troll. Weapon in hand, the young man was speeding through the rest of the test almost too fast for the mages in charge to trigger the spells.
“Silver bell? What’s so important about a silver bell?”
“It means he is recognized as a true expert. It’s a Terandrian symbol of expertise.”
Rievan jumped. He turned and stepped backwards from Illphres. She was smiling at him and he didn’t like it.
“Indeed, Miss Illphres?”
“Yes.”
She nodded at Pisces.
“He doesn’t have to have a [Fencer] class. A silver bell is given to those who reach a certain level in [Fencer], true, but it’s also given to those who have proven themselves by dueling a master. It’s worth a lot of money to some.”
She turned back to watch Pisces. Rievan clenched his fists, but he comforted himself with the thought that even if Pisces passed, his performance would only serve to eclipse Ceria’s. Regardless of whether she finished the test, she had done nothing.
And then the exams ended. Ceria woke up in her rooms two hours after it had finished, and cried a bit before Pisces and the others checked on her.
—-
“It really wasn’t your fault, Ceria.”
Beatrice said that as they sat together in Ceria’s room. It was hard to fit everyone in. Besides Pisces, Beatrice, and Calvaron, some of their friends and people they’d gotten to know had come, like Cessic, to cheer Ceria up.
The room was crowded, especially with Calvaron in it. He kept turning and finding nowhere to go. Now he stomped one hoof angrily.
“It was that bastard Charles! I wouldn’t have believed he would try anything—the Libertarians have really done it now! There’s a row happening and I’ll protest what he did to the Council.”
“I will too. But the mages won’t redo the test, Calvaron.”
The Centaur deflated slightly.
“No. They won’t. I’m sorry, Ceria. But they saw you during the first part, and you did really well.”
“Yes, you did. And I’m sure they’ll take note.”
Ceria tried to smile, and failed. She looked at Pisces. He was avoiding her gaze, toying awkwardly with the rapier in his hands.
“I hear you carried me all the way to the end. Thank you, Pisces.”
“And he set a record doing it! Dead gods, I heard about it! Some mages are using a [Mind Scene] spell to show others—Pisces was dodging traps left and right! He barely got touched by any! He’ll be sure to pass—”
Calvaron broke off, awkwardly. All the other students in the room fell silent, but Ceria already knew the truth. She looked at Pisces.
“Thank you. I’m glad you did it. And I’m glad you’ll pass. You deserve—you deserve to be here.”
Ceria choked on the words. She felt like someone was tearing out her guts. Beatrice patted her softly on the shoulder.
“You don’t know you failed. You did as well as anyone else. Better, in many parts.”
But Ceria knew it was over. She knew it in her heart. She bore with the words of comfort and vows against Charles and the Libertarian party as long as she could, and then excused herself. Beatrice and Pisces offered to go with her, but Calvaron managed to get them to leave Ceria alone, which she was grateful for.
All she wanted to be was alone. She’d failed. Her big chance had been right in front of her—
And she’d failed.
Ceria stumbled down the corridors of Wistram, deserted except for the occasional golem or older mage. All the students were celebrating or commiserating with one another. She used one cold stone wall for support as she wandering aimlessly.
It wasn’t fair. Part of Ceria was raging. She wanted to kill Charles for attacking her. But why hadn’t she been ready? Why hadn’t she guessed he’d do something like this and taken precautions? She could have learned a barr
ier spell, or watched her back—
“Stupid!”
Ceria pounded her fist into a wall. She hit it again and again until her knuckles bled, but it didn’t help. Ceria walked on, full of despair. She wiped at her eyes and way her tears mix with the blood.
She wondered if she could ask Pisces for the spellbook when she left. Maybe he’d let her take it. That way, at least she wouldn’t have done all this for nothing.
It was cold. Ceria shivered, and then looked up. She looked at a wall of ice, uncomprehending, until she stared about and realized where she was. Her path had taken her to the classrooms where they normally studied.
This was the classroom Illphres had blocked off.
“Get through if you’re a real mage and I’ll teach you, huh?”
Ceria spat bitterly and raised her fist to punch the icy wall. But it would just freeze her skin and probably tear it off. She glared at the icy wall.
It wasn’t that cold. It was just ice, but Illphres had made it impossible to break or melt. It was an unfair test, just like the rest of Wistram.
Unfair. But what could she do about it? By now, Ceria knew Calvaron would have talked everyone into doing a bit of celebrating. She dreaded going to his room, where the party would be going on. He’d probably be pouring everyone a drink and showing them how to put salt on their stupid glasses—
Wait a second. Ceria stopped as she had a thought. It was crazy, but…her eyes widened and Ceria dashed off through the halls.
—-
“You need what?”
Calvaron stared at Ceria as she panted and tried to explain. He and Beatrice were standing outside of the large room they’d chosen to party in. Ceria could hear loud voices through the stone walls, but she had no time for drinking.
“Please, Calvaron. I need to take some stuff out of the kitchens, but the [Cook] there said I needed to get permission from the head [Chef] or pay. And I don’t have the coin! Please—I’ll pay you back.”
“Can it wait? We’re celebrating, Ceria! You should too!”
Calvaron stared back towards the party. He pointed into the room.
“Pisces is already drunk. I had to practically pour a bottle of wine down his throat so he wouldn’t go looking for you. Come on, whatever it is, it can wait!”
“No, it can’t. Please, Calvaron. I know I don’t have anything I can trade you, but—”
Beatrice looked at Ceria’s pleading face, and then nudged Calvaron. He blew out his cheeks, but nodded.
“Oh—fine! Tell the [Cook] that you can take whatever you need. Put it on my account.”
“Thank you! Thank you! Tell Pisces I’m fine! I’ve just got to go!”
Ceria raced off. Calvaron watched her go and turned to Beatrice.
“What in the name of the Great Companies was that, do you think?”
Beatrice shrugged. She stared at the place where Ceria had been.
“Should we go after her? She’s very upset.”
“I don’t know. No—she’s got a plan. We’d better let her do what she needs to do and not draw attention. But see if the bookies will take another bet, will you? I’m thinking our dear Springwalker might have better odds than we think.”
—-
Wistram was quiet the day after the exams. Most students and mages were too hung-over to do anything, and the ones who weren’t suffering were disinclined to do anything when making loud noises could get half a dozen spells cast at your face. Thus, it was only a few mages who gathered outside to practice their spells by the ocean.
Illphres was raising pillars of ice and shattering them with the [Ice Spear] spell when Ceria found her. The half-Elf panted as she raised a hand to touch Illphres.
“Miss Illphres—”
The woman turned faster than Ceria had ever seen her and stopped Ceria.
“Do not touch me. What is it?”
“Please, come with me.”
“Why?”
Illphres stared expressionlessly at Ceria. The half-Elf knew she was disheveled, hair mussed, and she knew she was grimy and still damp to boot. She tried to explain.
“I did it. I did it. I got rid of the ice just like you said so can you come and see? So I can show you? The ice?”
For a second Illphres just stared at Ceria, but then she nodded.
“Very well. Show me.”
—-
No one was using the classrooms when Ceria led Illphres there. She had to slow her pace so Illphres could follow, although Ceria was bursting with impatience. Illphres didn’t move faster than a walk. The ice mage stopped though, when she saw the dripping hole in her ice wall.
“Hm.”
“I did it, you see?”
Ceria practically danced in front of the melted ice, half-hysterical from exhaustion. She waved her arms and nearly cried out. Her muscles were beyond burning—they felt torn, and her fingers and hands were raw and practically numb.
Illphres gazed at Ceria and then at the wall. She stared hard at the puddle on the stone ground, and noted the white stains on the floor. She looked at Ceria calmly and said one word.
“Salt.”
“Yes, salt!”
Ceria pointed triumphantly to the nearly empty bag of salt, a huge sack she’d practically depleted after she’d taking it from Wistram’s kitchens. It was so simple. Salt.
Salt melted ice. Ceria had used it to melt the ice, rubbing it on the frozen spell over and over and raising the heat with her own spells. She’d thought it was hopeless, but slowly, oh so slowly, the salt had helped dissolve the enchanted ice.
“I created this ice wall to be impervious to any spells below Tier 4. But I didn’t expect anyone to actually use something like salt.”
Illphres mused as she stared at the gap in her ice wall. Ceria stared at her, hopefully, desperately.
“But I thought of it. It’s not magic, but you didn’t say I couldn’t use salt. So I pass, don’t I? You’ll teach me spells?”
“There’s only three days before your probationary period ends.”
Illphres turned to Ceria, expressionless. Ceria’s heart sank, and then the anger in her bubbled forth.
“So? You said anyone who could get into your classroom you’ll teach magic! I’ll go in right now if you want!”
“Spare me. But what kind of a mage uses salt?”
“Me! I did it! I’ll do anything to learn magic.”
“So I see.”
“Please, teach me magic. I might not stay here, but I want to learn something powerful. Please, you promised!”
Ceria found herself begging to Illphres and hated herself for it, but she was at the end of her rope. This was the only thing she could think of, the last straw she had to grasp at. If Illphres would teach her something, maybe Ceria could earn money as an adventurer and try again next year. Or if she didn’t, she’d at least have something from Wistram.
For a long time the ice mage was silent. Her face was cold, like a mask, and Ceria could read nothing in her expression. For her part, Illphres looked the half-Elf in front of her upside down.
Ceria was as old or older than Illphres was but still a young woman by her people’s standards. Her hands were red, the knuckles and skin on her palms crackled and bleeding from the intense cold and friction. She was desperate, begging.
Illphres looked at the ice wall, the wall she’d created, sure that no student could break it on their own. Melted, not with a spell, but with salt and effort.
“Tell me, girl. What makes you think a real mage would stoop to this? A real mage would strive towards the height of magic on her own, not rely on anyone else.”
In front of her, Ceria took a deep shuddering breath. She looked up at Illphres, and there was a spark in her eyes of something more than determination.
“I know that. But I can’t become a real mage on my own. You told me that real mages don’t need help. To forge my own path. Well, I found a way to melt your damn ice, but I still need help. I want to become a real mage, but I’m not g
oing to be able to stay here. So teach me something now. Please.”
Silence. Illphres stared at Ceria, and then nodded.
“Interesting.”
That was all. She turned away and began to walk from her classroom. Ceria jumped as the ice blocking it reformed in an instant. She called out to Illphres in despair.
“Wait! Where are you going?”
The ice mage made no reply. She walked away, and Ceria sunk to her knees in the cold corridor.
That was it. It was over.
Slowly, Ceria made her way back to her room. She crawled into bed and slept, too full of sadness to cry. She slept as she heard students stumbling out of her door, slept and willed herself never to wake.
But someone did wake her. Someone hammered at her door and shouted when Ceria didn’t respond.
“Ceria! Ceria! Are you in there? Get up! You passed! You did it! You passed!”
“What?”
Ceria leapt out of bed. She shoved open the door and nearly ran Pisces over. He gabbled at her and then gave up and both of them ran down the corridors, past students celebrating and crying and hugging each other. They came to the entrance hall and stared up at the floating words that danced and spun about in the massive room.
It was a list. A list of names. Each one was a student. Ceria saw Pisces’ name on there, no last name given, and Charles de Trevalier’s, and Timon’s too. But she had no time for that. She looked up and down the list desperately, and then saw her name. It was right on the end, hovering in the air, slightly out of place, as if tacked on at the last minute.
Ceria Springwalker.
—-
Ceria didn’t know what happened after that. She had a brief image of herself kissing Pisces on the check, hugging him, and then running to find Calvaron and Beatrice and hugging and crying some more. She only knew that at some point after the banquet and speeches and eating she found Illphres. Or rather, the mage found her.
The bathrooms in Wistram were magical as with everything else, but Ceria was far too drunk to appreciate them at the moment. She staggered out of one and nearly ran into Illphres. The ice mage was waiting for her, and scaring away all the other students who wanted to use the bathroom.
