by Andy Adams
So Brenner kept quiet, looking away.
“That’s right,” said Sorian. He pointed down the table. “Eat on the other end, unless asked to be seated by the premiere players. Now get out of my spot.”
Brenner grabbed his tray, and Sorian curtly turned his back to him as he sat down to talk with his squad.
What kind of leader is so scared he has to bully a newcomer on his first day? Brenner thought as he headed to the other part of the long table, still wrestling with the urge to give Sorian a piece of his mind. As he neared the end, a ruddy-faced boy scooted over in his seat and motioned Brenner to sit by him.
Relieved to see that not everybody was hostile, Brenner placed his tray down and joined him.
“Our esteemed captain give you the standard tongue lashing then?” the red-haired boy asked.
Brenner nodded.
“Don’t let it get to you. Old Sorian has been trying to lead this squad for too long, and he gets way too much pleasure from his power trips. I’m Finnegan Hutch.”
The boy held out a hand, and Brenner shook it. “I’m Brenner.”
“Good to meet you,” Finnegan said, releasing his hand and giving him a quick glance. “You must have been stuck as a level three apprentice awhile. Which group did you come from? Pazinsky’s? Dagman’s?”
“No, actually. This is my first day,” Brenner said, taking a big bite of stir-fry.
“Your first day?” said a teenage girl across the table, her mouth hanging open. Brenner looked up from his food and noticed that the kids nearby were now all watching him, too.
Brenner finished chewing and said nonchalantly, “Well…yeah, I just completed the entrance test.”
“The Entrance Agilis? At your age?” said another boy sitting kitty-corner to him. “You must be, what, fourteen?”
“Sixteen,” Brenner said.
The teens’ eyes widened, and they exchanged looks.
“Sixteen?” said Finnegan with disbelief. “The sages increase the hazards at every birthday, maxing out at age seventeen.” His curly red hair bounced slightly as he shook his head. “Crown me a sovereign,” Finnegan said admiringly, “My cousin couldn’t do that stage until he was a level ten magician. You must be wiped out.”
Brenner smiled. “Yeah, you could say that. How old are you, Finnegan?”
“Just turned fourteen,” he said with pride, and then in a lower voice, “and well on my way to getting up to a level five conjurer and away from that dictator.” He gestured towards the other end of the table, where Kendra and the premiere players laughed at something Sorian was saying.
“Where are you from?” the girl across the table again spoke up. She had soft brown hair, a sharp nose, and hawk-like eyes.
Brenner quickly tried to remember the story he and Windelm had rehearsed.
“By…the three waterfalls near Cormith.”
“Oh, I’ve been there many times,” said the girl, “Those waterfalls are absolutely gorgeous, aren’t they? My parents and I go at least twice a summer to them, and again for the foliage in the fall. My name’s Maureen, by the way.”
Brenner smiled at her.
“How come you came to Valoria only now?” Maureen asked bluntly.
“My parents…finally let me,” Brenner said, hoping that would suffice.
“That’s strange,” Maureen said. “My parents signed me up as soon as I turned nine.”
“Your parents would buy you a team of winged-horses if they thought it would turn you overnight into a magician,” Finnegan cut in.
“Oh, quiet, Finnegan,” Maureen said. “You’re only jealous since my family owns the Russwell Suites, and what are your parents, barkeepers?”
“Oh! You’re right, I am jealous,” Finnegan said in oily tones, and with feigned sincerity, added, “Please, do be generous and drop some hints to them that I need a sky-blue Pegasus, too? Then we can braid their tails together!”
The boys and girls around them laughed. Maureen crossed her arms, looking thoroughly unamused.
“Brenner,” Finnegan said. “You’ll find that while, yes, there are plenty of oafs in our squad, there is a core of students who know how to have a good time.”
“Oh, please,” said an olive-skinned girl sitting next to Maureen. “If you listen to Finnegan, you’ll be cleaning out the academy beast stalls every night. He gets yelled at by Sorian at least once a day.”
“Portia, that’s because I teach the squad the right way of doing things!” Finnegan said. “Sorian can’t handle being corrected, is all.”
“You’d do better letting someone else do the correcting for once,” said Portia, raising her eyebrows.
“If someone else wants to accept that noble task,” said Finnegan, his hands raised in mock-surrender, “I’m all for it.”
“How do you get to be a captain?” Brenner asked.
“The sages decide,” Finnegan said. “Mostly it depends on how well you perform on the previous level classes and games, but for some unknown reason, kids from rich families are usually given special treatment and more captainships.” He glanced again at Sorian.
“How long has he been captain?” Brenner asked.
“At least a year, that’s as long as I’ve been here,” Finnegan said.
“Closer to two years,” Portia said. “And that’s longer than normal. Usually, captains only go six months to a year before they move up to the next level.”
That would explain his inferiority complex, thought Brenner.
“He doesn’t even have much responsibility,” said Finnegan, “his official role is to lead the squad during games of Agilis and other practices, but I think he’s trying to break the school record for most orders barked out.”
Brenner was now about done with his meal, and noticed many students had placed their trays back near the buffet table and heading toward a large archway on the other side of the Banquet Hall. Where to next? he wondered, deciding it best to follow one of the level four’s, hoping he wouldn’t be asked more personal questions.
“Here,” said Finnegan, interrupting his thoughts, “come with me, and I’ll show you the better ways of getting around.”
“Oh…thanks,” said Brenner. Maybe having a guide here would be better than getting lost in the corridors by myself.
The two rose from the table, and Brenner followed Finnegan’s lead as he put his wooden tray and utensils in a wall-opening near the buffet table, and instantly they floated up and zoomed into a foamy sink with a splash, then began scrubbing themselves.
Finnegan, although younger and a little shorter than Brenner, had a spry walking pace. He led them underneath the Banquet Hall’s tall, pointed archway, a beautifully carved leaf and rose design, with dozens of green emeralds studded in vines that laced up the door sides.
“Valoria is hundreds of years old,” Finnegan said, “and full of changing passageways when roots bore through the old tunnels. Stick close, so you don’t get lost.” Ahead of them, students funneled into a dozen different corridors. Finnegan wove through a pack of them, leading them past a palm tree that Brenner could swear was swaying back and forth, even though there was no wind.
“Once when I was ten,” said Finnegan, “I got quite lost, and found myself way off on one of the ramparts overlooking the Agilis course. When I went to turn around, a thick oakbrawn tree root suddenly ripped out of the ground and collapsed my return tunnel. I had to wait hours before a sage noticed me waving from the ledge and used a floating spell to bring me down.”
“Who are sages?” asked Brenner.
“Sages? They’re the ones who teach us the magic concepts. Most went through all twelve levels of the academy, and are senior sorcerers. Usually we have two or three sages that work with each squad. You’ll meet them tomorrow. Sage Shastrel’s my favorite.”
They ducked under a low hanging leafy branch, and came to a dead end. Nonplussed, Finnegan traced his finger around a circle on a red stone in the wall, which then slid back into the wall, prompting the ones
around it to cascade into neat piles, revealing an isolated corridor that overlooked a courtyard.
“That was cool,” said Brenner.
“Ah thanks,” said Finnegan, “but I just directed the elixir in the wall.”
They walked through the now open wall, which reassembled itself a moment later. Evening sunrays dwindled across the courtyard, and after a few more turns, they came to a passage rimmed with apple green stones that matched Finnegan’s robes, and a large door with the numbers four, five and six engraved into it.
“Welcome to the conjurer’s community room,” said Finnegan.
He pushed the door forward, and inside Brenner found an inviting room illuminated by torches on the walls, flickering with not orange but green fire. It was tastefully furnished, with mahogany tables on soft embroidered rugs, as well as plush chairs and long benches, upon which several teenagers chatted, their robes identical colors, with some wearing gold or silver belts.
Finnegan led them past the benches and tables, and Brenner overheard conversations about flight. The room split off into two hallways, and he saw two girls chatting to each other in the left hallway.
“Hello, ladies,” Finnegan said to them, who continued talking as if they hadn’t heard him.
He escorted Brenner down the right hallway. At the end of it stood a thin, rectangular door, above which there was a painting of a wizard warrior running headlong into battle, mircon raised and casting a blazing spell into soldiers and a horde of beasts. “Boys’ room in here.”
Rows upon rows of bunk-beds stretched before them in a large grid, and Brenner was certain a hundred boys could fit comfortably inside. The smell of all those teenage boys, however, was not so agreeable.
“New robes can be found on this rack,” Finnegan said, motioning to a neat stack of pale green clothes. Brenner put a couple underneath his arm, and the two made their way towards the back. Finnegan pointed out an open bunk adjacent to his own.
“You have a couple options in the evenings, Brenner,” Finnegan said. “Most people talk or play games in the conjurer’s common area—I could teach you Dragon’s Duel—you can also practice in the Agilis training zone, or use your mircon in the Zabrani arena if it’s free.”
“Thanks very much,” Brenner said, still trying to make a mental map of all the castle corridors and tunnels they marched through. “But I think I’ll just get an early rest.”
“Makes sense,” said Finnegan, “I’d be pretty beat, too, if I just completed one of the hardest Agilis courses. What did they put you through, anyway?”
Brenner’s head swam, recalling the course. He used his fingers to count as he spoke: “They tried to fling me to my death, crush me, impale me, have a banshee rip me apart, a dragon smolder me to ash, peel apart my mind…and oh, have a minotaur hack me to pieces.”
Finnegan’s eyes practically bugged out, and then he said, “Well, hey, at least they didn’t try to strangle you. I mean, that’s when I’d start to take it personally.”
Brenner laughed. “Hey, thanks for showing me around, Finnegan.
“Anytime,” Finnegan said, turning to go. “Oh, and our first lesson is at 8 o’clock tomorrow.”
Brenner looked around for a clock. “How do you tell…” he began.
“The time?” said Finnegan. “Easy. Just find the appropriate time-numeral you want on your bed frame, and tap the raised knob for it with your hand.”
Finnegan showed him twenty-four different carved numerals, and Brenner pressed the one for 7 o’clock.
“Well, goodnight then,” Finnegan said over his shoulder, wandering back to the community room.
“Thanks, Finnegan. Goodnight.”
He heard sounds of water splashing against stone, and followed them till he found the washroom, where he thought a hot shower would be delightful. After toweling off, Brenner put on some shorts and went back to the bunkroom. He had intended to make a few journal notes from his Agilis ordeal, but within minutes of laying on the bed—made, he figured, out of soft, woven hemp—he fell into deep, well-earned sleep.
Chapter Twelve
Conjurer Training
A miniature earthquake jostled Brenner awake. He jerked up, his mind on high alert, and wondered how anyone in his dormitory could still be sleeping. The vibration became stronger. He leapt off his bed and onto his feet and was surprised to find the floor completely still.
His bed, however, continued trembling. Ohhh, he thought.
Brenner cautiously put his hand against the wooden dial that Finnegan had shown him yesterday, and at once the shaking bed turned dormant. He put on his trousers, boots, checked his amulet, and then donned the apple green tunic. He smiled. Wearing the official robes made him feel more confident. Across from him, Finnegan’s bunk was empty.
He exited the boys’ dormitory, went down the hallway and into the conjurer’s community room. A couple of students there were reading. He decided not to bother them, and try navigating the passageways himself: retracing his steps from yesterday, and hoping for the best. After back-tracking twice—first when the tunnel he was following suddenly sealed shut from a stone wall sliding out from the side, and second when he passed under a tangle of plants, and anaconda-like tendrils snapped at his cheek—he finally found the Banquet Hall. Sunlight streamed through arched, stained-glass windows between the wall tapestries. Food was already laid out on the long buffet table, and Brenner helped himself to fruit, tea, and hot porridge, before walking to the end of a table to sit by himself.
“Hey!” he heard a bright voice from a couple tables away, “Over here!”
Brenner was so used to eating in cafeterias by himself it took a moment for him to realize Finnegan was motioning to him. It felt strange going against his usual habit, but he willed himself to walk over to Finnegan’s bench with the other classmates.
“You found us, eh?” Finnegan said. “No hallway trouble?”
“Not too much,” said Brenner, “Just a tunnel that suddenly dead-ended, and some carnivorous plants that tried to bite my head off.”
“Oh, tendrilsnakes!” said Finnegan, slapping his hand against his head. “I’m sorry, I meant to warn you about those. Didn’t bite you, did they?”
“They would have, but I ducked,” said Brenner, spooning into his mouth a warm dollop of porridge that tasted like pure vanilla.
“Good show,” said Finnegan. “I figured you made it out okay. If not, we would have seen your ballooned figure clogging a whole passageway. Tendrilsnakes’ venom causes their victims to swell to huge sizes. And then if they’re not found in a few hours, well, what’s the word for it…they explode.” At this, Finnegan laughed.
“What’s so funny about exploding students?!”
“Oh, it’s just survival of the smartest. In my first week at Valoria, a young apprentice tried showing off by slapping his hand on their thickest archway. The tendrilsnakes bit him so many times, he grew to the size of a mammoth. Probably would have burst apart too, if a sage hadn’t quickly counter-acted the venom and rolled him to the infirmary for potions treatment.”
“Wasn’t that the idiot, Baldspur?” a boy laughed from across the table.
“Yep,” said Finnegan, “You’d think he’d learn, right? But he as soon as he got better, he tried showing off in the Agilis course jumping between the high posts. Cost him the use of his arm for a month.”
Brenner made two mental notes as Finnegan talked—be wary of plants and passageways in the academy, and also, since Finnegan knew of mammoths, there must be some overlap of creatures between Ganthrea and ancient Earth.
“Those tendrilsnakes…” said Brenner, “Just what does Valoria gain by having harmful—”
“Deadly,” Finnegan corrected him.
“Okay, deadly plants draped about their passageways?”
“Keeps young spellcasters away from the more dangerous potions rooms,” Finnegan explained, “And also out of the magician and sorcerer’s quarters.”
“I suppose that’s one way
of doing it,” said Brenner, taking a drink of warm, spiced tea.
“I don’t know how they taught you back at Cormith,” Finnegan said, “but that’s the way of life around here.”
“Yeah,” said Brenner, “Learn quick or die.”
“Not necessarily die. Just hang around with people who know the ropes, and you’ll be fine. Finish up your breakfast and we can go down to the training grounds before Sorian bursts a blood vessel ordering the squad to march there in lock-step.”
