The two Columns of Dothranan mounted guards formed into a protective escort around her carriage and moved forward. The two-hundred-forty soldiers formed up neatly, every odd one with a spear in hand, and every other one holding a bow with a nocked arrow. She opened the slit in the armored carriage's wall and watched Central Vallad go by, lost in her thoughts.
Wednesday May 1st 1624th year of the First Great City
Revelation
Thorel woke with a start at the yelling. “All first-semester students are to assemble immediately!” A guardswoman yelled, her voice carrying to all corners of the dormitory.
“Up, man!” A guardsman called, kicking a bunk. The student nearly fell to the floor he was so startled.
The west male dormitory of the Academy was a large single room lined on each side with what Thorel guessed was about a hundred bunks. He and Nigel had been directed to the building after completing their admissions paperwork. Thorel had found it easier to sleep in Korin's tent on the way to Vallad than in this strange bed surrounded by strangers.
The dorm was abuzz with activity. Most of the students were already dressed and running out with a pack, bag, or a case for their books, notes, and assignments.
Nigel rolled out of the top bunk and landed lightly on his feet in his silk boxers. “Damn that racket! I was trying to sleep!” He said with a yawn and blearily located Thorel's trousers in the wooden cabinet. With half of his wits still on the pillow, he pulled them on.
Thorel couldn't help a grin, and watched quietly.
Nigel regarded them with a puzzled look when he tried to cinch them. “Shit,” he said, taking them off and handing them to Thorel.
Thorel chuckled heartily. Nigel stuck his tongue out at him and grasped the frame of the top bunk. He deftly swung his legs through the bottom bunk of the bed without touching the sheets. Thorel was impressed. He certainly couldn't have done that so nimbly.
Nigel landed lightly on the other side. He located his clothing in the other cabinet with a fold out study desk built in. He hastily dressed himself and caught up with Thorel as he fell into line with the other first-semester students. They exited into the brisk morning air.
It was later than Thorel was used to waking. He'd had difficulty sleeping in the bunk though. The blanket was too short, and he'd had to curl up in order to fit in the small bunk. He was used to laying on his back or stomach to sleep, but he could only sleep on his side with his legs bent in this bed. His mind was abuzz with all the new things he had seen. He yawned as they walked with their escort.
They arrived at a square with a small clock tower, groomed grass, scattered trees and benches. He wouldn't have thought of that clock tower as small before coming to Vallad though: it was at least fifteen yards tall. He saw the Headmaster there conferring quietly with the hulking guardswoman, a sheaf of papers in his hand.
A group of female students were being led in from the other side of the square. Their dormitory must be on the south side of the grounds. Thorel thought.
Nigel whispered, “Look at her, she's a beauty,” pointing out a pretty woman. Yes she is, Thorel thought. He started to reply but was cut off by the Headmaster's voice.
“Students, assemble in an orderly manner in two rows. Those of you who are taller please form a second row.” The students assembled sloppily in a slight confusion, but the Master was patient and allowed them time to sort themselves out.
“Slow, but good enough for your first time. As most of you already know, I am Headmaster Heward Stiral. Thank you for choosing the Great Academy of Vallad for your education. This Academy has stood and taught the young men and women of our realm for nearly two-hundred years, and is second only by a small margin to the Great Academy of Corwinthius in the capital. If you have a question, you will raise your hand and wait to be called upon. Failure to do so will be punished at the discretion of your instructor.”
A pretty red-haired girl shot her hand up immediately. “Yes, Miss Kwinn?” Master Stiral called.
“What is 'years,' Milord?” She asked. A few students laughed quietly.
The ancient Master glared at the offenders, silencing them quickly. “I will have no student mock another student who seeks knowledge, is that clear?”
“Yes Milord,” came the chorus of young voices.
“A year, young lady, is the same measurement of time commonly referred to as a summer by the uneducated. They are both correct terms, but when you are speaking to an educated person, it will diminish your intelligence in their eyes if you refer to a year as a summer,” he explained patiently.
“Thank you, Milord. I understand now,” she said with a curtsy.
“While you are students here, you will conduct yourselves in a manner consistent with good public behavior, respect to your peers and all faculty members.” He continued, “The gates of the Academy are closed from the twenty-second hour, until the sixth hour of the day. You are not required to be here during those hours, but you will still be required to attend your classes without tardiness. Failure to attend two full days of classes will result in your immediate expulsion from this Academy unless the failure is due to illness or injury.” He drew a breath and took a drink from the glass his guardswoman held out for him.
Several hands shot up.
“How many of you have a question regarding the telling of the time? If that is your question, put your hand down,” he ordered irritably. The hands went down.
“After your midday meal, you will all come to this classroom here.” He pointed to a building on his right.
“There I will explain the principles of sound reasoning and give you instruction on basic etiquette, as well as time management. I will also have time to answer any questions that remain, or arise due to your new knowledge. Then guards will guide you to the library, where you will be given several books required for your classes. You will care for these books, and be punished if they are not returned in good condition. You will not require any for the class today, but when you begin your regular classes tomorrow, you will be expected to bring them.”
He resumed, “The guards are here for your protection and know the grounds quite well. When I have dismissed you, you should avail yourselves of their knowledge. They will give you a tour of the grounds and answer respectful questions. Do not forget that they don't have to put up with any shenanigans, and they will bring you to me if they feel it is called for.” He looked at them seriously.
“Dismissed, students.”
The assembly broke up, and Thorel said, “This is a lot different than what I imagined.”
“Yeah, me too,” Nigel said then “Ooof,” as Miss Kwinn pushed Nigel out of the way and attached herself to Thorel's arm.
“Hello there.” Her big pretty green eyes were looking up into Thorel's surprised eyes. She was a few inches taller than Nigel with freckles covering her pretty face.
“You shoved me!” Nigel exclaimed as he moved to Thorel's other side giving her an angry look.
“You should watch where I'm going, little man,” she said with a challenging look in her eyes.
Thorel's normally steady mind was having difficulty believing what just happened, and the soft breast pressing on his arm stopped all conscious thought for one moment.
When he felt the stirring, he hurriedly latched his floundering mind onto the guard moving on.
“They're leaving,” he said and began walking.
She let go and walked quickly to keep up with his long strides. “My name is Eliel Kwinn, what's yours?” She asked. Her green dress was cut too low to be decent, but the Master had not remarked on it.
“I'm Nigel,” Nigel said with his eyes all over her ample freckled bosom.
Cinching her shawl closed with a knowing smile she said, “I didn't mean to shove you, little man. I didn't even notice you. Sorry 'bout that.”
With a view that good, I'll recover. Nigel thought. But said; “All's forgiven, Eliel, if you would just call me ‘Nigel.’”
“Little Nigel, t
hen. It's settled.” Her eyes twinkled with humor.
Nigel fumed inside, knowing he had just been expertly dispatched by an intelligent play of words.
Thorel said, “I'm Thorel Tangarth.”
“Pleased to meet you, Thorel. Tell me, do you have a woman in your life?” She looked up at him hopefully.
Nigel's eyes bugged. She was about as subtle as a drunken whore in his opinion. Then he thought about how fun she'd be when she was drunk with a grin.
“My mother and stepsisters,” Thorel replied.
“Well, that's downright disturbing, man,” Eliel replied with a serious look on her face.
Nigel burst out laughing. At least he wasn't the only victim of this woman's sharp tongue.
Thorel sputtered and stopped when she grabbed onto his arm again. She put her finger to her lips in a gesture of silence.
The Guardsman named himself and began pointing out the sites. The meal building and kitchen, the library, and infirmary as well as the many classrooms. Each of them were contained in their respective buildings, ranging from one to three stories in height. Cobbled paths stretched between them with meticulously groomed grass and bushes occupying the open space. In each of the open spaces, there was a tree or sometimes two with benches sitting in their shade.
Nigel asked, “What's that?” Pointing to the black stone tower looming on the west side of the Academy grounds.
“That is the Apprentice's tower, where they teach the ways of Magik. They take classes here, too.”
“There are soul stealers training here at the Academy?” A student asked, alarmed.
Soul stealers. A name Thorel had heard and often read for Wizards. According to his Mother, and stories he'd read, they took the souls of people to power their Magiks.
“I wouldn't call 'em that, they don't like it much. And take it from me, you don't want to get on their bad side. I've seen 'em do some mean things when they get mad,” he said seriously.
“Like what?” Another student called out.
“Like none of your business, just don't piss 'em off, trust me. And don't think you can take 'em on just 'cuz they don't look like much.” He looked at them gravely when he said that. “They'll be callin' on me and mine to cart your sorry ass to the infirmary when they get done with you, I promise.”
Thorel nodded. He wasn't stupid enough to bother the Wizard's apprentices, but someone else might be. The tales he'd read about Wizards using the powers of earth, fire, and lightning to kill a thousand men with one mighty spell had always chilled his bones.
“We gotta keep moving, there's lots more to see,” the guardsman growled.
* * *
Thorel's mind was filled with what he'd learned during Master Stiral's lesson. It had been three hours long, and he'd granted two short breaks.
He had discussed time, and the terms of measuring it. He gave them a basic lesson in etiquette. The most important part of which had been the “Right of Domain” as it was known.
The right of domain is the legal term for the etiquette dealing with private homes or property, but it is also extended to a person who was granted authority to govern a specific area. That is the law that makes it so a teacher can punish a student for misbehavior in their classroom, as the classroom is considered the domain of the teacher for the purposes of this law. Thorel was fascinated to learn that this law was also what granted Legionnaires the power to take action concerning any crime they may suspect or witness, as the entire realm is considered their “domain” for that purpose. The same was also true of House or Academy Guards, but their effective domain was limited to their Hold, or Academy, of course.
He then told them about the required classes for the first semester, which included Etiquette, Letters, Numbers, History, Heraldry, Geography, and Physical Law. He also demonstrated the idea of critical thinking: to question one's assumptions and how to ask the necessary questions to deduce the answer.
He seemed to be a very kind and patient man, but he would not tolerate any silliness, slacking, or disrespect.
He called their names and gave them their class assignments one by one. Then dismissed them.
Eliel was a sweet smelling anchor on his arm even though he had no idea what he was going to do with this girl, or what she wanted with him. Since she wasn't hurting him, he was willing to tolerate it. Other students of both genders looked at them irritably during breaks for some reason. He had no idea why though.
“Wow, that's a lot of stuff to think about,” Nigel said as they walked away from the building.
“True. I feel like my brain is tryin' to have a baby,” Eliel said.
Thorel smiled at that. It was an appropriate description of trying to fit the lesson in his mind.
“Stupid whore,” a small blonde girl called Eliel. The girl was even shorter than Nigel, small framed but pretty. She had walked right up to Eliel on Thorel's left. Thorel was shocked this woman would say such a thing. He knew that it could only end badly.
Eliel let go of Thorel's arm. “I might be a whore, but I'm not stupid,” Eliel said slipping her hand into her pouch. “What? Did your Daddy come to see me since he couldn't pry your Mom's dried up cunt open?” She asked mockingly.
Thorel's mouth fell open. He had never even imagined such vulgarity.
The tiny blonde girl slapped her face hard. Eliel took the blow and landed hers. With a fist-sized rock to her cheek. The little woman went down in a heap with blood flowing from her wound.
Eliel kicked her in the stomach. “Who's stupid now, bitch?” She yelled.
The guards reacted quickly, but the whole thing happened so fast; Thorel was in shock.
Eliel dropped her rock and put her hands up saying: “She hit me first, I swear it.”
Two of the guards grabbed her roughly, and she giggled, “Ooo, like that, huh? I'll see you two later!” She waved to Thorel and Nigel as she was hauled off.
Nigel's mouth was open. Guards came to see to the injured girl and carried her off quickly.
Nigel just watched her being ushered away and said: “She's trouble.”
“Yes,” Thorel agreed with feeling.
Then something caught Thorel's eye. He saw the tallest woman he had ever seen in his life walking towards him. She was a beautiful blonde haired woman, with intense blue eyes. She wore a well fitted black coat that went to her knees with tall leather boots. The Sigil of a Noble house was embroidered on the left breast of her coat in a field of red. Four guards with the same sigil on the breast of their plate or scale walked with her.
That was not what had stopped him in his tracks though; Thorel's eyes widened in utter astonishment.
There were apparitions like his father, walking with her. They trailed behind her like a cape made of damned souls. Thin ethereal chains were coming from the back of her neck connected to ethereal collars. Their eyes were blank like his father's. There was a man who looked large and strong with a look of sadness on his face. There was a woman with a decorated robe that wore a scowl of rage. And the faces of six men and women were twisted in pain and misery unlike the look of determined pride which perpetually occupied his father's features.
One at the end had a whip on his side, but he held his chain rather than being bound by it. His features were a mask of guilt.
To complete this unfathomable horror, a beautiful woman's apparition walked near her shoulder unbound. But when he looked at her; unlike the others she looked back at him.
Something in Thorel broke. He'd just lost his mind, and he knew it. He screamed in terror, panic welling up through him.
Nigel's concerned voice could not reach him. He backed away frantically, and his foot rolled on Eliel's discarded rock.
Darkness claimed him.
* * *
Thorel could hear the bleating of the little lamb in his dream. It nuzzled his head in concern. Then he passed through the veil of dreams into a muzzy consciousness.
“Most of the injury is already healed, Milady,” Thorel could hear a ma
n's voice saying.
“How is that possible? He is unconscious. I did not heal him, and he is not using Magik,” he heard a confident woman's voice say.
“Yes, I know, strange. Perhaps it was not as serious as you thought, Milady,” he replied.
“I probed him, Master. I do not make simple mistakes,” she said with certainty.
Thorel's eyes opened blearily. He saw the fingers of an elderly man's hand partly covering his vision. He moved his eyes. He saw the hand’s owner – an old man wearing a brown robe with softly glowing blue runes. There were glowing gossamer threads coming from the back of his neck, which connected to three ethereal apparitions, two men, and one woman. Two had peaceful expressions, but one man looked to be in agony, his face horribly twisted.
Thorel rolled off the wooden table and landed with it between him and the old man. The beautiful blonde woman from before stood beside him; her cape of tormented souls glowing ethereally behind her. The woman's spirit beside her had a sad expression and looked right at him. It shivered his soul.
“Young man, I believe you have had quite a shock. I mean you no harm. Please be calm,” said the elderly man with a neatly trimmed beard.
The room he found himself in was primarily wood: though the far wall was stone and seemed to curve inward. There was a large desk, and several tables with chairs near them. Along the walls, he saw several glass cabinets with jars of what looked like animal's organs, but one look at the contents assured Thorel that those organs had once belonged to people. There was a bleached human skeleton on a stand, the bones seemed to be hooked together with somehow to give it the illusion that it stood.
“I think I have had a shock too, sir,” Thorel said shakily, taking in the disturbing surroundings. “I've lost my mind, Milord. I'm seeing things,” Thorel babbled before he heard his mother's voice say, “Tell no one!” in his memory. “I mean I can't, I can't,” He could not betray her, it was his duty to obey her.
Spirit of Magik (The Dothranan Chronicles Book 1) Page 6
