"Some serf with a letter for Master Telemachon, Lord Oriseus," the guardsman answered. "He wants to enroll."
"A new student?" Lord Oriseus turned his attention to Aeron, making a show of examining him from head to toe. With comic exaggeration, he tsk-tsked his imaginary findings. "I see that the pool of undiscovered talent in this world grows shallow indeed. What's your name, lad?"
"Aeron Morieth, sir."
"May I see the mysterious missive, good Corden?"
"Of course, Lord Oriseus." The guard handed Aeron's letter to the magician. "I was going to escort the boy to Master Telemachon's quarters, my lord."
With no hint of humor, Oriseus weighed the parchment in his hand, his brow furrowed as unknown thoughts gathered behind his features. For a moment, Aeron feared that he would impulsively break the seal and read it himself, but with a sudden flourish, Oriseus returned the letter to Aeron. "Then do so, by all means," he replied to the guard. To Aeron, he said, "It is irregular for a fish to find his way into our little pond with nothing more than an elven letter, but I suspect that there is more to you than meets the eye, Aeron Morieth." With that, he sketched an outrageous bow and capered off, bubbling with a good humor that encompassed any who passed near.
"Who was that?" Aeron asked the guard, more than a little astounded by the master's exaggerated greeting.
"Lord Oriseus, High Conjuror and a senator of the city. Remember his face. He could be one of your instructors."
"I will," Aeron promised. He followed the guard into the hall. While the drab buildings of the college seemed to be nothing more than fieldstone barracks on the outside, the interior was much more lavishly appointed. The floors were made of gleaming hardwood; rich, dark paneling and crowded bookshelves covered the walls. High, narrow windows allowed symmetrical squares of sunlight to fall across the dark corridor. A melange of dust, oil, and aromatic wood created a subtle odor that Aeron found distinctly pleasant.
Corden led him past several chambers, mostly studies and reading rooms, to a paneled door at the end of the hall. The guard knocked at the door. "Master Telemachon? I have a lad here with a letter addressed to you."
"Show the boy in, good Corden." The voice quavered with age. The guardsman gestured at Aeron and followed him in. This room was a personal study, with tall windows of leaded glass that rattled in the winter wind. A rotund, stoop-shouldered man with watery eyes and a mere wisp of white hair clinging to his wattled head sat at a small writing desk, scratching at a thick journal with a sharp quill. With a heavy sigh, he set down his pen and rose to face Aeron. Telemachon was dressed in heavy robes that resembled Oriseus's in cut and style, but his were light blue in color, and he draped a long hood of indigo around his shoulders. He eyed Aeron for a long moment and said, "Wait outside, Corden."
"Of course, m'lord." The guardsman withdrew.
The old master held out his hand. "Your letter, lad?"
"Yes, my lord," Aeron replied. He quickly stepped forward and handed the parchment to Telemachon. "It's from Fineghal Caillaen, of the Maerchwood."
"Fineghal …" The master frowned. Moving over to stand in the light of one of the windows, he broke the seal and perused the letter several times. When he finished, he glanced up to meet Aeron's gaze. Aeron was surprised to see that some of the weakness and uncertainty in the older man's expression had vanished. "You are Aeron Morieth?"
'Yes, m'lord."
"Do you know anything of the contents of this letter?"
"No, m'lord. Fineghal only told me that it was a letter of introduction, and that I could show it to you to gain admittance to the College of Mages."
"I knew Fineghal a long, long time ago," Telemachon mused. "My studies led me to his doorstep more than forty years ago. Is he well?"
"I haven't seen him in three months, but the last time we parted, he was in good health," Aeron said.
"Good," grunted Telemachon. He faced the door and raised his voice slightly. "Corden!"
The door cracked. 'Yes, Lord Telemachon?"
"Bring Melisanda here, please." Telemachon turned back to Aeron as the guard disappeared. He paced ponderously back and forth, hands clasped behind his back. "Fineghal's taught other students before you, Aeron," he said. "I've never known him to send an apprentice on to study elsewhere. He finishes what he begins."
Aeron shifted nervously. "I wanted to learn more than he was willing to teach."
"Oh?" The master glanced at him. "Very well. I don't set much store by what you may or may not have done before you walked through that door. That includes any learning or skill with the art you may think you already possess." He held up the parchment. "Fineghal says that you must be instructed, and he cannot do it himself. For his sake, I will allow you to remain here as a student."
Aeron let a breath of relief escape from his lips.
"Don't relax just yet, Aeron. I have no idea who you are, what you know, or what you may be capable of learning. Without Fineghal's letter, you would not be a potential student. And without his offer to compensate me for your tuition, you would not be allowed to remain."
"Tuition?"
Telemachon smiled humorlessly. "It is not insignificant. But I will sponsor you, since Fineghal asks it of me."
There was a knock at the door, and a delicate Vilhonese woman about Aeron's age entered. She was short and slight, with dark eyes and a heart-shaped face. Aeron was reminded of his woodsman's garb and lack of formal learning; the girl's graceful carriage, sophisticated features, and studious expression marked her as a lady unlike any Aeron had ever known. "Melisanda of Arrabar, Master Telemachon. You sent for me?"
"Ah, Melisanda. This is Aeron Morieth, a new student from Maerchlin. You are excused from your studies for the rest of the day; show Aeron the college grounds and get him settled in, if you please."
The girl glanced at Aeron without expression. "As you wish, Master Telemachon."
The old master inclined his head to Aeron. "I expect I shall see you in a day or two in class; I am the High Diviner, and you must begin with the basics of my art." He returned to his writing desk, sighing as he sat down. Melisanda caught Aeron's attention and nodded at the door, but before they left, Telemachon held up his hand. "One last thing, Aeron. I am your sponsor, so I shall be keeping a close eye on you. I advise you to devote yourself completely to your studies. More than a few students allow themselves to become. . distracted here. You would be wise to avoid their example."
As Telemachon requested, Melisanda led Aeron to each of the buildings within the college walls, explaining each in a smooth voice with just a hint of a throaty Reach accent. Of course, the College of Mages was only a small portion of Cimbar's great university, but Aeron had already observed that the common scribes and artists who studied in the whitewashed acropolis below did not intrude upon the affairs of the wizards in their lofty perch overlooking the city. Slaves, serfs, and commoners of all descriptions might win a place in the university by virtue of talent and patronage, but the wizards' school was evidently reserved for the noble-born. Aeron didn't need Melisanda's wary glances to figure out that the college was a place of his betters. We'll see about that, he promised himself.
Melisanda started the tour with the Masters' Hall as soon as they left Telemachon's chambers. The northern half housed the college's council rooms, administrators, and the private studies of the masters. "You won't spend much time here until you're a student, fish," she remarked.
"I'm not a student now?" Aeron asked in surprise.
"Of course not. You're a novice-a 'fish,' as we're called. Once you've shown a command of each of the eight disciplines in the novitiate examination, you are allowed to wear the student's tabard and cap." She looked him over and smiled. "I don't suppose you have any idea of what the disciplines are, do you?"
"Abjuration, alteration, conjuration, divination, enchantment, illusion, invocation, and necromancy, Lady Melisanda," Aeron replied. "I know them better by their elven names."
Melisanda raised an eyebr
ow. "I see you have some learning already. And you don't have to call me 'lady' All novices are equals in the college. You should defer to a student-they're the ones who wear the tabards and caps over their tunics. 'Lady' or 'sir' is appropriate for them. And, of course, show deference to any of the masters. They dress as Telemachon does, although in different colors depending on the discipline they favor."
"I noticed that Telemachon and another master wore hoods," Aeron said. "What does that mean?"
"The hood marks Telemachon as one of the Ruling Council, the High Diviner. The highest master in each discipline sits on the council. I don't know who introduced you to him, but he knew who to talk to. Any one of the High Masters can sponsor new novices just by saying so." She gazed at Aeron in frank appraisal. Aeron shifted his feet nervously. After a long moment, she released him with a curt nod. "Well, come on, fish. I can't afford to spend all day leading you about."
"How many masters, students, and novices are there?"
Melisanda frowned, counting in her mind. "There are nine masters on the Ruling Council, plus another nineteen masters who don't sit on the council. Memorize their names and faces as soon as possible. There are forty-one students right now, and eighty-seven novices. Eighty-eight now, including you."
"Not every novice succeeds in becoming a student?"
"No. About half of the novices can't pass the novitiate examination." She grimaced. "My own examination is scheduled for three weeks from today. I'd hoped to spend the day studying for it. I'm still uncertain of the invocation and necromancy spells I intend to cast."
Leaving the Masters' Hall, Melisanda led Aeron into the open plaza in the center of the college. Over the next hour, she showed him the East and West Halls and the great library in the center of the square. East and West were the college's instruction buildings, filled with classrooms, lecture halls, meeting rooms, and laboratories; since it was now the middle of the afternoon, many of these rooms were in use. Melisanda didn't interrupt any classes or lectures to introduce Aeron, but she quietly pointed out any masters they encountered.
By the time they left West Hall, the blustering wind had increased to gale force, and the temperature had dropped precipitously. They hurried into the last of the college's five buildings, a plain building pitted by row after row of narrow slitlike windows. "The Students' Hall," Melisanda said. "This is your home for as long as you stay here."
The foyer resembled the entrance of the Masters' Hall, but it seemed plainer and brighter. The masters' building was steeped in an air of dignity and reserve, a weight of tradition that brooked no insolence. But the moment Aeron and Melisanda stepped inside the students' quarters, they were nearly bowled over by a pair of novices bounding through the hall, attempting to tag each other with small spheres of colored light-a magician's game of tag.
Aeron caught Melisanda by the arm and dragged her out of the path of a novice. "Is everyone this enthusiastic?"
Melisanda sniffed. "No. Baldon and Eldran appear to have suddenly lost their reason, that's all."
The taller lad was a freckle-faced boy several years younger than Aeron, with an unruly shock of red hair on top of his head. Panting, he skidded to a halt. "Hey, Eldran, look-a new fish! What's your name, fish?"
The other boy spared Aeron a passing glance while he whisked the yellow sphere into Baldon's ribs with a sweeping gesture. The glowing sphere splattered as it struck the taller boy, covering him in a golden halo. "Ha! Gotcha." Satisfied that he'd had the better of the match, he paused to assess Aeron. He was a little younger than Aeron, too, and stood half a head shorter than he.
"Baldon, Eldran, this is Aeron Morieth, from Maerchlin. Aeron, these are two of your hallmates."
"Hallmates?"
"Ha! What a new fish!" Baldon snorted. "How'd you get stuck shepherding this clod around, Melisanda?"
Melisanda shot him a dirty look and then turned her back on the boy. "All the novices and students are divided among the four halls in this building, Aeron. There's an east and west wing, and each has two floors. Hallmates look out for each other. Baldon, Eldran, and I belong to Sword Hall. The others are Crown, Ring, and Scepter."
"So that's why you showed me around. Telemachon sent for one of my hallmates to get me settled in."
Melisanda nodded. "Two of our students graduated recently, so we were due to get some new fish. Come on, we'll show you to your room."
A grand staircase of polished wood swept up from the entry hall, curving into a balcony that ringed the chamber. On one side was a doorway surmounted by a heraldic crest featuring a gilded crown; opposite it, another doorway marked by two crossed swords led into a long corridor. "Sword Hall?" Aeron asked.
Melisanda nodded. They marched about halfway down the hallway past door after door before she halted in front of one, undid the clasp, and pushed it open. The room was about five paces wide, and maybe seven deep; a narrow window looked out over the outside wall and to the barren coasts beyond the city walls. The floor was gleaming hardwood; the furnishings included a small bed, a dresser, a standing chest, a writing desk, and an empty bookshelf. "Your new home," she announced.
"This will do," Aeron said. To be honest, it was a far finer room than any he'd called his own in Maerchlin, but he was determined not to let his hallmates guess the truth. He shrugged his bedroll and pack from his shoulder onto the bed, drifting to the window in amazement. He'd seen too much in one day. Wandering through the city, meeting Telemachon, walking around the College of Mages. . he'd never dreamed how much existed outside the small villages and wide forests of his home.
"Stand to!" barked Baldon. Aeron nearly leapt out of his boots, whirling and raising a hand to defend himself. All three of his companions faced the door, bowing.
In the doorway stood a tall, handsome youth, a red tabard and cap over his gray breeches and white shirt. He leaned against the lintel, surveying the scene, a well-pleased smirk resting on his confident face. His gaze halted on Aeron. "Please don't tell me that this dung-toting peasant is our new fish," he said languidly.
"Yes, sir, Lord Dalrioc," answered Baldon. "He's our new fish, sir."
The young wizard straightened and advanced, a scowl settling over his features. "Haven't they taught you anything yet, fish?"
Aeron noted the inferior pose the others had assumed and realized that Dalrioc expected him to copy them. Awkwardly he did so. "I only arrived today, my lord."
"From what stinking midden heap, I can only imagine," Dalrioc commented. "What idiot let you in here?"
"Master Telemachon."
"And for what possible reason would the High Diviner allow a wretch like you to soil my hall?"
With a conscious effort, Aeron bit back a sharp retort and instead answered, "I'm here to study magic, my lord."
Dalrioc laughed harshly. "By Assuran! Why not teach a pig to sing while we're at it?"
Despite the warning glance Melisanda shot at him, Aeron straightened and looked Dalrioc in the eye. "I've studied some already," he said evenly.
"What, did some hedge wizard teach you how to make potions with bat wings and mudwort?"
"No. I had the honor to study under a great elven mage. He sent me here to continue my learning."
Dalrioc stalked around Aeron, circling him. "Very well. Let us see you work some elven magic, new fish. Impress me with your powers."
Melisanda raised her eyes and spoke. "Lord Dalrioc, we haven't had a chance to explain things to Aeron. He doesn't know any better. Please allow us to correct his abominable behavior. There's no need to trouble yourself with such an insignificant creature."
Dalrioc wheeled on Melisanda with such savagery that Aeron almost expected him to strike her, but at the last moment he reined in his anger. He narrowed his eyes and said, "You are not to inform me of what I may or may not find insignificant, fish. However, you are correct in observing that you have failed miserably in preparing Aeron to become a novice of the college. In reparation, the three of you may empty every chamber pot in Sword
Hall three times a day for the next week. And, Melisanda, since you are so anxious to make amends, you may make my bed in the morning and turn down my covers in the evening." Dalrioc allowed his eyes to rest on Melisanda long enough for the Vilhonese girl to flush and look at the floor.
"But it's my ignorance, and no fault of theirs!" Aeron protested, disregarding the silent warnings of his fellows.
"Make that two weeks," Dalrioc amended. "Each time this fish is disrespectful to me, I'll add another."
Aeron fell silent. He could see where this was going.
"Now, I asked you to work a spell," Dalrioc continued. "I cannot believe that you have any worthwhile command of the art, but since you seem to think so, let's see you prove it." He crossed his arms and offered an indulgent smile, but his eyes were cold and hard.
"Yes, my lord," Aeron replied. He searched through his mind for a moment, seeking something appropriate. He was fleetingly tempted to lash out with fire hand or the charm of blindness simply to see how Dalrioc would react. Instead, he chose to work the charm of invisibility. With a whisper and a quick, skillful turn of the cool currents of the Weave around him, he vanished from sight.
The novices' eyes widened in surprise, but they held their tongues and waited motionlessly. Dalrioc, on the other hand, was visibly shocked. He mouthed a vile oath and scowled. "You know the spell of invisibility?" he said, speaking in Aeron's direction.
"Yes," Aeron answered. To illustrate the scope of his spell, he opened and closed one of the dresser's drawers. "Fineghal, my old tutor, taught me the spell months ago."
"Release it at once," Dalrioc demanded.
Aeron did so, slowly fading back into view.
The older student glared at Aeron for a long moment, and then stomped out of the room. "Remember-two weeks of chamber pots, and more if you don't get him squared away quickly!" he barked over his shoulder. He slammed the door shut behind him.
Melisanda, Baldon, and Eldran heaved sighs of relief. Aeron faced them. "I'll take care of the chamber pots."
"You'll do no such thing," Melisanda retorted. "If Dalrioc suspects that you carried out just one pot, he'd skin us alive for disobeying him. Do you understand me?"
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