by Kris Hiatt
“Those gates have never been closed because I have never left the premises since the new College was built. The old College gates were closed for thirteen days, the same thirteen preceding my ascension to Archmagister.”
“When Archmagister Truntil died?”
“I see our history isn’t completely lost on you,” Nimbril said, quietly once again. He fixed his eyes on something on the floor of the wagon.
“What is it?”
“What is what?” Nimbril said, looking up.
“What is bothering you? Is it something about Truntil?”
“Archmagister Truntil,” Nimbril corrected sternly.
“Is it something about Archmagister Truntil?” Drevic said, uncertain why Nimbril was being stern with him considering that the man had told him not that long ago to do away with their titles while they were alone.
“He and I were friends, did you know that?”
“I didn’t.”
“The best of friends, actually,” Nimbril said, a little laugh escaping the thin old man.
“Will you tell me about it?”
“Maybe some other time. For now, just know that I hoped to keep the gates open for as long as I could. Probably longer than I should have, but I had my reasons.”
The much older Nimbril looked very old at that moment. Drevic thought that whatever it was that was bothering the old man had much to do about Truntil and their friendship. He noticed the old man wiped a tear from his eye and Drevic pretended not to notice.
He guided the wagon in silence for the rest of the evening before he stopped. It was nearly dark, but he was waiting for Nimbril to give the order for them to stop. He finally decided to stop without the order, knowing that there wouldn’t be much light to get their camp ready. Nimbril didn’t protest at the stop, however; so Drevic hopped down and went to the other side to help the older man down.
“Thank you, young man,” Nimbril told him.
“You’re welcome, Nimbril.”
“I’m the Archmagister, young man, you’d do well to remember that and call me by my proper title,” Nimbril said, giving him another stern look.
“Yes, Archmagister,” Drevic said.
He used the little light left to find some wood from a nearby copse of trees. There weren’t that many trees this far south, mostly only bushes and weeds. You could find some groves of trees, but they were sporadic at best and not so plentiful that you could count on them when you needed wood. Many travelers planned their trips around where the water and wood were. The grove wasn’t very large, but there was plenty of dead wood lying around for him to use.
He got the fire going and then led the horses to the grove of trees where a small brook trickled through it. He let them have several long drinks and then walked them back by the wagon and tied them to a nearby scrub brush. There was plenty of wild grass for them to eat, so he was confident they would be able to find food.
After that was done he stood there for a bit, looking toward the fire where the Archmagister sat on the ground, perched atop a few pillows and a blanket not far from the fire. Drevic wondered how many other people knew about the Archmagister’s condition. He was losing his mind, and had been for some time. He didn’t think it was severe, yet, or many others would have noticed by now. He guessed he noticed it only because he spent more time around Nimbril than anyone else in their order. He wondered how much time the old man had left before he completely lost his mind. He hoped he wouldn’t, but if he did, he hoped it would at least last until they were done meeting with the Archbishop and the baron. He was thinking of a way to to discuss his concerns with Nimbril, but thought it would be best to wait until after they returned. He didn’t want to risk pushing the man further over the edge.
He went to join the Archmagister at the fire a short time later before finally going to bed realizing that Nimbril wasn’t going to speak.
#
“I’m sorry, my young friend,” Nimbril said on the morning of their last day of their trip.
“For what, Archmagister?” Drevic asked.
“Please, call me Nimbril, and that is part of what I am sorry for.”
“Feeling like your old self today, I see. I’m glad,” Drevic told him.
“It comes and goes more frequently now, and I can’t always tell when anymore. I used to, but not anymore,” Nimbril said. His shoulders sagged with the statement.
“Does anyone else know?”
“I’m sure there are a few that suspect, like Kelvrin and Ferral.”
“What about Brental?” Drevic asked.
“No, I don’t think so. If he did, he would have called for a meeting to discuss my stepping down,” Nimbril said.
Drevic was glad to see come clarity back in the eyes of the man before him. He was also glad he trusted him enough to confide in him, although he still didn’t know why he chose to do so.
“Why me?”
“It’s a fair question, and I should probably answer it now that we don’t have much time before we reach Haven,” the old man said, resting his chin on his right palm.
“Probably or will?”
“I will, but once we are on the road,” Nimbril told him.
Drevic nodded and started packing things up, careful to shake off all the dirt far away from the camp so that Nimbril’s bright white robes didn’t get dirty.
Once that was complete, he helped Nimbril into the wagon so that he could pick up the old man’s items and shake them off as well. He placed them in the back and repositioned his staff to make sure it rode on the soft garments.
He tethered up the horses and climbed atop the wagon, ready to leave. He looked at the Archmagister and the old man nodded. Drevic shook the reins and the horses began the last day of the journey.
“I’ll start back with my friend, Truntil, if that’s okay with you?”
“Of course.”
“Get me some wine from the back first. I’ll be talking for a while and don’t want my mouth to dry out,” Nimbril said, taking the reins from Drevic’s hands.
“Here you go,” Drevic said, handing him a skin of wine from the back. It was quite easy to find; there were several. He opened it right away and took a long swallow. Drevic didn’t hold the fact that it was the first thing in the morning against him; he figured the man had been through enough and lived long enough to do as he pleased.
“As I said before, Truntil and I were very close friends. Even before he was selected as Archmagister, you see. He was a few years older than I was at the time, but we became friends before we attained the rank of adept. You probably don’t need to know that much, but suffice to say that we were friends for a very long time,” he said, taking another swig from the wine.
“Once Archmagister Ilian passed from an attack on his heart, a new Archmagister needed to be selected. We were both magisters at the time and many thought we both had a good chance at it. I knew I was too young, not even thirty yet, but I knew Truntil would be great. I declined the offer to be voted upon and Truntil had an easy victory, twelve votes to one.”
Drevic remembered most of that from the history course that all brothers were required to take, but it was nice to hear it from someone who had actually lived through it.
“For the next several years, Truntil and I worked on finding magic that no one else thought existed. He was certain it was possible to use magic on someone without having to touch them first. He believed the emotional link between people was enough of a connection for the magic to take hold,” Nimbril told him.
Drevic never read any of that in the history books. Use magic at a distance? That was unheard of. As far as he, or anyone else knew, it was impossible. All magic required a physical connection to the target, or be used on the caster themselves.
“I knew it was dangerous, but he was so damned adamant that he could pull it off. I had to support my friend, you see. So I went along with it, the two of us holed up in his private chambers trying to find the key to the puzzle of this new magic,” Nimbri
l said, pausing for another drink.
“We tried and tried. I was mostly the target, him the caster, but we kept failing over and over. I was stronger in using the magic, but he was so determined to find it that I let him try. And I still blame myself for it every single day that my heart still beats,” he said, taking a long drink and a longer pause. Drevic remained silent.
“He was trying to make my hand grow warm, which was silly, we both knew that fire was the most dangerous, but he convinced me saying it was the easiest for me to detect. One night he swore up and down that he knew how to do it and I stood there for minutes on end. I think I felt my hand go warm, but I still don’t know to this day if it was from him or just from me wishing it and my mind tricking me into believing it,” Nimbril said. By now the old man had tears streaking down his face and his words were coming hard. He took another long drink and when he spoke again he sounded a little steadier.
“I looked at my hand and then Truntil fell to the ground, knocked himself unconscious from the effort. At first I thought the worst and thought that he went stone-faced, but was glad when he came to with a smile. He said he had done it, but I couldn’t be certain and I wouldn’t let him try again. At least not for several months before he badgered me into it. He was supremely confident that he could do it, and you know what? I believed him,” Nimbril said before taking another drink.
Drevic thought he would have to get another wineskin before this conversation ended.
“Well, this time he made me promise that I would stay there with him until he succeeded. I know it sounds stupid to you, but you don’t know how convincing he was,” Nimbril said, looking at Drevic for the first time.
Drevic didn’t think he was in any position to judge, but he also knew of someone who seemed to persuade people into doing things they normally wouldn’t. Treace referred to him as Moff, while Drevic disliked the pet name and preferred Moffred.
“I agreed, like the fool I was, and he tried a few times before telling me that he felt it that time and was going for it. He was going to give it his all. And he did. He gave until his mind cracked and he became stone-faced, not more than a few seconds into the effort,” Nimbral managed to say through his quivering lips. He licked at them and took another drink before putting his head in his hands and letting out sobs that Drevic thought were long overdue.
Drevic found it difficult to sit there, listening to the sobs without at least trying to provide some kind of comfort, so he reached over to pat the old man gently on his back.
“Don’t you do it!” Nimbril yelled as he recoiled from him. “This is mine! My pain to bear and to deal with, don’t try to make it easier on me. I killed my friend, not you.”
Drevic pulled back, forcing himself further away from the old man and looked at the horses. He realized he hadn’t been paying attention to where he was going since Nimbril started speaking. He was glad the horses were so well trained that they simply remained on the road and kept their same pace. He still felt bad, but just sat there, waiting for Nimbril.
“He lived for a few weeks, uncaring, unknowing, barely blinking or moving before passing on. We mourned him for thirteen days, just as they did in the stories of Kaden,” he said again after a few minutes. He started off fairly well but broke up again almost immediately.
“We closed the doors to the College, indicating the Archmagister was out. But it was different back then, you see. The College wasn’t one large building like it is now, it was a series of buildings and the doors to the Archmagister’s building just meant that he wasn’t in, so that brothers didn’t waste their time going in and looking for him.”
Drevic went in the back and retrieved another skin of wine after Nimbril emptied the first and tossed it overboard. The old man looked at it and set it down, apparently having enough for the time being.
“There was another election, one that I had refused to apply for, but then relented when everyone told me that Truntil would have wanted me to be his successor. No one else ran against me so there wasn’t even need of a vote, although all fourteen of the magisters at the time voted yes,” Nimbril said much more in control. Drevic thought the worst was over. He was wrong.
“Since that day, I kept my promise to my best friend. I never left him, even though he wasn’t alive to succeed, I never left him,” Nimbril said, breaking into hitching sobs almost immediately.
“And that’s why the gates have never been closed until now,” Nimbril said many minutes later.
“I’m sorry,” Drevic said softly after a while, not knowing what else to say.
“Thank you, Drevic, it means a lot to an old man. I hope you don’t think less of me for either my weakness of crying or weakness of heart.”
“Not a chance. In fact, it takes a strong willed man to grieve in public,” Drevic said, trying to reassure him.
“Well, I’ve grieved a’plenty in private, but I’m glad to finally get the truth off my chest.”
“What do you mean? You’ve told this story before, haven’t you?”
“No, Drevic, I have not. I’ve held the secret of the true nature of my friend’s death for nearly thirty years.”
“Why?”
“I dunno. I don’t think I have a good enough reason, other than to say that what we were doing, well, wasn’t exactly part of our curriculum.”
“It still isn’t, but you were with the Archmagister, how could people frown on trying to further our order?” Drevic asked.
“Because the Archmagister of our order stone-facing himself while trying to cast an unheard-of magic probably wouldn’t have been looked at in a positive light. Especially if they found out that the magic was cast toward his friend. I wanted his memory to remain untarnished.”
“Is that why you commissioned the erection of the statue of him in the courtyard?” Drevic asked.
“No, that is so that my friend will always be remembered, regardless of how much time goes by.”
“I’ll be more clear this time. Why tell me?”
“That brings me to the next topic, but I felt I needed to explain the gate so you would better understand where I was coming from,” Nimbril said.
“Fair enough,” Drevic said, a bit eager to hear the next part. Nimbril was a talented story teller.
“I have selected you as the next Archmagister.”
Drevic felt like he was going to fall over. The next Archmagister? How? Why?
“But, but, I don’t understand,” Drevic said.
“Which is part of the reason why it must be you,” Nimbril said, smiling now. It was an odd sight to Drevic; the smile amidst the tears that still clung to the old man’s face.
“I’m not even a magister,” Drevic said.
“Not yet, so you better get to work on it,” Nimbril said.
“Can you even do that? Doesn’t there have to be a selection and vote?”
“If the current Archmagister selects his replacement, it can be done as long as the replacement is a magister of good standing, part of the board, and the selecting Archmagister is capable of making the decision,” Nimbril said.
“Why wouldn’t there be a vote?” Drevic asked.
“The selection and vote of a new Archmagister only happens if the reigning Archmagister dies suddenly or becomes stone-faced,” Nimbril said.
“Why me?”
“Why not?” Nimbril replied.
“There are many other magisters, five of which currently sit on the board, so again, why me?”
“You have more talent than all of them. More than half of them put together. I know it, and so do you. Look at how you healed that merchant. I am probably the only other member of the College who could do so, although that fault is mine as well.”
“What do you mean?”
“This starts the third topic, and the most important, but we’ll come back to you being Archmagister in a while.”
“There’s a lot you haven’t told me,” Drevic said.
“We’ll get to it,” Nimbril said, patting
his leg. “Now. I know I am asking a lot from you to go through all this with me, but I know you can handle it. If I didn’t think that, I wouldn’t be naming you the next Archmagister.”
“Alright,” Drevic said, still wanting more details, but not believing it all at the same time.
“After Truntil died, I started a new selection process for the new students. I needed money to build the new College, which is something both Truntil and I agreed upon. So I reached out to the many nobles and promised them that many of their children would be selected, regardless of their test scores. Now don’t look at me that way, let me explain,” Nimbril said.
Drevic didn’t realize he was giving the Archmagister such a hard look and relaxed, knowing he would hear more of the story, even though what he was hearing didn’t seem very favorable.
“At first it was only a few, just enough to get us the needed supplies and a little extra. By the third year, however, many of the wealthy families were coming to me, begging to get their children into the program. It was a way they could elevate their station, you see. A way of bragging to others that their child was so bright that they were attending the College.”
Drevic thought it made some sense. It was still wrong to do what Nimbril had done, but he could see why the nobles liked the idea.
“So I started accepting more and more donations, and those increased in value as well once word got out. I found out something else about the sons of the wealthy people. Most of them were terrible at using magic. Whether they didn’t have the mental aptitude, or maybe they didn’t have enough emotional events in their lives to draw upon, I wasn’t sure. But I did know that most of them would never reach the dangerous magic.”
Drevic thought he understood where this was going. He guessed he couldn’t blame Nimbril too much for it.
“So by accepting more donations, the students had all the things they needed to make it easy on them during their time here, and I knew they were much less likely to become one of the stone-faced in the process.”
Drevic knew that was the reason. He was trying to make sure that no one else lost a friend like he did. At least reduce the chances that it would happen. It was still wrong and he went about it the wrong way, but he could understand Nimbril’s intent. He was terribly misguided in doing it, but Drevic thought it was long past the time to call him on it now. He guessed the rest of the magisters would like to know, and he planned on telling them when he returned. He wanted to get all the details first.
