Loremaster - A Progression Fantasy Adventure, page 18
However, there was one thing that he wanted to make sure of first. “Would it be possible for you to give me a demonstration of your magic?” Rowan asked. Seeing Kanna’s brow start to knit together, he hurriedly explained. “Not that I don’t trust that you’re a master mage. But I’ve never seen a master’s magic before, and I don’t think it would be right to become your apprentice without knowing what you’re capable of.” He gave her what he hoped was an imploring look. “Just so that I know what I’m working towards.”
It was a bold statement, and the look Kanna gave him told him as much, but Rowan stood firm.
After a moment, Kanna nodded. “I suppose that’s fair.” Pursing her lips, she appeared to concentrate for a moment before clapping her hands and nodding to herself. “Alright, watch closely.”
Standing up, Kanna headed for the window, where a pair of frilly white curtains fluttered half-heartedly in the tepid summer breeze. With a swing of her arm, Kanna threw the curtains open, revealing the azure sky beyond. Her tower faced the mountain, and it was this that Kanna aimed at, lifting her arm and pointing her hand at a point on the horizon. As she did, the ring on her right index finger began to glow, and Rowan felt something change in the air around him.
The ring’s glow intensified and then disappeared. In its place, a small wisp of violet light appeared, which drifted slowly into the air outside the tower, quickly becoming lost among the sea of clouds beyond.
Is that it?
As if responding to Rowan’s thoughts, a dull roar echoed through the room, and a pillar of indigo fire burst from Kanna’s hand, tracing the same path that the wisp had followed a moment before.
Shielding his face from the heat, Rowan watched the flames light up the sky, forming a picture of a cat, quietly sleeping with its face in its paws. Then the flames swelled, their colors intensifying as the cat exploded into a cacophony of violet that drowned out the blue sky. Wincing, Rowan was forced to turn away from the sight as an enormous explosion rocked the tower, dislodging bits of masonry as the flaming cat disappeared from the sky.
Below, panicked sounds could be heard from those on the ground, shouts and yells wafting up from the lawn below. Paying them no heed, Kanna wore a pleased look as she turned back to Rowan, whose jaw now hung loosely from his face, in awe of the arcane power his prospective master had just displayed.
“Ahem.” On the windowsill, a strange being now made its appearance. Its body was that of an owl, but its wings were those of a dragon, and the sound that had emerged from its mouth belonged to neither species, though Rowan had to admit that he was guessing when it came to how dragons sounded.
“Professor Soreth, my master would request that, in the future, you do not use seventh level, wide-scale destruction magic on school grounds.”
Kanna waved the dragonowl off. “Right, right. Tell your master that it was an unavoidable event in the contract between master and apprentice.”
The dragonowl tilted its head in disapproval, and Kanna quirked her lips. “Fine. Also tell her that I’ll prepare her favorite tea when I next visit.”
“See that you do.”
With a flap of its scaly wings, the creature was off, disappearing into the sky, where small violet embers were still falling like tiny stars down from heaven. As Kanna turned back towards Rowan, he seized the opportunity to speak, not wanting to give her an opportunity to rescind her offer. Now that he had seen what she had to offer, he needed to have it. What Kanna represented was power. The power he needed to achieve his goals.
“So,” Rowan began. “How do I become a provisional apprentice?”
Becoming a provisional apprentice was a far less involved process than Rowan had thought it would be, and it made him seriously question the vaunted reputation mages had within his mind. There were no contracts signed in blood, no runes etched onto his very soul, nothing. A simple verbal agreement was all that Kanna had required to take him under her wing.
As a provisional apprentice, Rowan’s first order of business was to register for classes, something that Kanna made sure to assist him with.
“If you’re going to be my apprentice, then you need to start by learning the right things,” she had decreed, filling out a paper with all the courses he would be taking his first semester.
Of course, this did not actually change too much for Rowan. Three of the five courses for first years were mandatory: Intro to Magic, Combat, and History of Medanas. From how Kanna had explained it, Magic was essential for learning to harvest one’s full potential; regardless of their future path, Combat was required because the academy wanted every student to be useful in battle with or without mana; and History for a more comprehensive view of the world.
With three out of five courses already decided for him, the remaining two had been picked by Kanna. Her first choice was Magical Theory, the class she taught personally, while the second was Etiquette. When Rowan had protested this choice, proclaiming that his manners were perfectly fine, she had nearly laughed him out of the room. It was only after she managed to calm down that she deigned to explain how it would help.
“Diplomacy and etiquette are two of the most important tools in your arsenal. When a new dungeon is found in some stuffy noble’s holdings, you don’t want to be denied access simply because you did not bow low enough for their overinflated egos,” Kanna explained. “Connections are everything in this world. A lack of etiquette will cost you more chances and close more doors than strength will open. Also, the Etiquette course teaches more than just silly manners and customs. It also teaches important skills such as haggling, negotiation, and leadership, all of which you will need if you are to lead your own party one day.”
Thus convinced, Rowan had allowed Kanna to proceed with his course registration, scrawling his signature on the paper before leaving, with instructions to return a week into the new term.
Chapter Twelve
Adapting to school life proved more challenging than Rowan had initially thought. Although it was not as dangerous as his life back in Taureen had been, it presented its own unique set of challenges. Chief among them was how to fit in.
Even now, a week and a half since he had arrived at the academy dormitories, Rowan felt like an outsider among the other members of House Draigwyn, all of which had arrived by now. Situated in a tower overlooking the river that flowed past Faebrook, it was actually a very nice place to live; however, Rowan felt like he simply did not fit in.
Ironically, it was not his background as a thief and former scum of the streets that made him an outcast. In fact, Rowan doubted that anyone in the dormitory was even aware of his past. No, the reason he was left out was his culture. Everyone in House Draigwyn, except him, was from Tirsiog. Pronounced tear-she-owed, the small kingdom to the west of the Valendian Empire had formed in the aftermath of some war a century prior, and had a culture distinct from that of both the empire to their east and the northern states which they had broken off from.
References to popular figures and places, expressions and idioms unique to Tirsiog, experiences that could only be had on the west coast of Medanas, even the accent with which they talked, all were alien to Rowan, whose upbringing in the streets and slums of Taureen had been radically different from the world these rich brats inhabited.
Sure, they weren’t all rich, and they probably weren’t even all brats either, but to Rowan, it did not matter. They were Tirsians, and he was not, so he was isolated. Early on, he had considered requesting a transfer to House Turul, the house that governed the Valendian Empire where Taureen was located, but he had dismissed the idea.
Although his accent would fit in better with the residents of the Empire in which he had been raised, it was likely that his mannerisms and actions would actually stand out more in House Turul than they did here.
Despite being well-spoken for one who had grown up on the streets, Rowan was painfully aware that that was only in comparison to other members of the lower class. To the members of the Empire’s upper crust, it would be obvious he was lowborn. At least here, he could pretend that he was simply an uneducated foreigner, and not have his past revealed immediately as it likely would were he to join House Turul.
To be fair to the residents of House Draigwyn, it was not for malicious reasons that Rowan found himself alone as he sat curled up in a secluded chair in the Tirsiog common area. As a small kingdom, many of the nobles and elites of Tirsiog knew each other, having run in the same circles from a young age. Even before arriving at the academy, many were already friends, and cliques had already been formed.
A few of those groups sat here now, clustered in circles around the tables, while some of the older students had commandeered the couches around the fireplace, which pulsed with a dull green flame that gave off little heat. The room was still warm from the rays of sunlight that shone through the nearby windows, the northern sun still barely visible even at this late hour. Idle chatter filled the room, older students catching up with those they had not seen over the summer while younger students fraternized with their friends, all happy to have made it into the prestigious Faebrook.
Ironically, he was not alone in his solitude; there was one other person who kept herself isolated from the other members of the house. Unfortunately, that member was Morgana, and his peace offering upon the bench in Northall had done little to soften her stance towards him.
Fortunately, it seemed that he was not the only one that Morgana kept at an arm’s length; the fae girl had no friends in House Draigwyn, and she did not seem interested in making any either. Her time was spent either reading books or wandering the grounds; though where she went, Rowan did not know.
Either way, of the twenty or so new members of House Draigwyn, only he, the other commoner, Droon, and Morgana were isolated, and she at least seemed to prefer it that way. Had Rowan not been able to leave the tower in order to meet with Dugan Halfrock, who was more than happy to spend time with him, then he would have been totally alone. Not that that was anything new to him, but living with Tethis and Darm had given him a fresh appreciation for the company of others, and he was loath to give that up after so many years of doing without.
Reclining deeper into the chair, Rowan practiced the breathing exercises Darm had taught him, his mug still clenched firmly in his hands. He had diligently continued the training menu given to him by Tethis and Darm, leaving the tower in the mornings to practice before breakfast, which helped to build up a steady appetite, something the servers in the cafeteria had taken note of, always happy to dole out an extra-large portion when he made his way down for food.
His afternoons were spent reading his way through a pile of books that Kanna had recommended, mostly on general topics such as history, geography, and arithmetic, but with a few more interesting titles such as Dungeons: A Beginner’s Guide, and The Makings of a Mage, that he had not yet reached.
In the evening, he usually departed the tower for a second set of exercises, eschewing the academy’s training facilities in order to train in solitude, before returning to the tower to bathe and study a little more before bed.
Rowan reached up to touch his hair, still damp from the shower. Having already finished his training for the day, he was simply relaxing as he waited for bedtime. The book he was currently reading was fairly boring and had thus been abandoned fairly early in the night, lying on its side between him and the chair arm.
The semester began tomorrow, and Rowan was equal parts excited and apprehensive. Although he had done his best to prepare, there was absolutely no doubt in his mind that his month and a half of preparations would do very little to allow him to catch up with those who had trained their entire lives, whether that be in combat, magic, or studies.
With a groan, Rowan abandoned the breathing exercise that he had been attempting, too nervous to focus on the movements Darm had taught him. His thoughts had trended increasingly pessimistic as opening day had approached, and now that it was finally here, he was on the verge of a full-fledged panic attack.
Am I going to die on the combat grounds? Morgana beat me with no effort at all… What if I face someone stronger? Can I really keep up with highborns? If I fall behind, I doubt Kanna will come to my rescue. Faebrook is all about strength after all... What will I do if I lose my place here?
It was with difficulty that Rowan calmed himself down, the threat of others seeing him in a vulnerable position was enough to cause years of training to kick in and lift him out of the chair. Moments of weakness had to happen in private—anything else made you a target. Grabbing his book, he quickly headed for the stairs, doing his best to appear casual. The night was still young, but staying down here would do him no good, Rowan rationalized. Better to just get some sleep and be rested for classes tomorrow.
Rest did not come easily, however, and it was a very tired Rowan that was jolted awake by the clanging of the academy bells, the giant apple pie he had been about to devour disappearing like it had never existed, which of course it hadn’t.
Five, six, seven. Rowan counted as the bells tolled a second time. His first class was at eight bells, which meant he had one hour to get washed, get dressed, grab some breakfast, and then find the class grounds. His stomach gurgled at the thought of breakfast, still remembering the delicious apple pie he had been dreaming of.
With the promise of breakfast, Rowan sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as his brain did its best to turn back on. Around him, the other members of the dorm were also waking, two looking quite well rested, while the other two looked just as tired as Rowan felt.
Racing through his morning routine, Rowan showered, dressed, and left the dormitory, hurrying to avoid the line at the cafeteria. He was already running on low sleep; he did not want to spend the first day of classes without food as well.
Fortunately, the line was not too long when Rowan arrived, and five minutes later he found himself digging into a hearty meal of porridge and berries. Thus refreshed, Rowan headed back to the dormitory to grab the things he would need for class, depositing them inside a leather satchel before heading out once more.
Combat was the first class of the day, taught by Egil, the bearded examiner from the admission test. Unlike the other classes, which were all to be held in normal classrooms, the Combat lesson was taught in an arena on the grounds outside the castle where the Test of Skill had been held. Barrels full of training weapons sat next to a dirt training ground, large enough to fit a hundred students comfortably inside with room to spare.
Here, the first years of House Draigwyn were joined by the students of House Hafgufa, both houses milling about in the grounds of the arena as they waited for class to start.
The way Egil taught was not dissimilar to how Tethis had trained Rowan. The class started off with some stretching followed by exercises: jogging, pushups, crunches, and anything else Egil could think of to torment the poor students.
After they had recovered from this, a handful of the weaker students having thrown up the breakfast they had consumed less than an hour before, Egil had them grab practice swords from a barrel and begin sword practice. A hundred training dummies littered the eastern edge of the training ground, their backs to the river, and it was these wooden mannequins that now bore the brunt of the students’ practice. Overhand, diagonal, crescent, thrust, Egil called out the moves and they executed them, their instructor demonstrating the proper technique with practiced ease.
After thirty minutes of this, Egil called a halt to the drill practice. Rather than end the class though, he instead gave another instruction.
“Sort off into pairs for sparring!”
The order was hurriedly followed, and Rowan found himself standing opposite a Hafgufan boy he recognized from the cafeteria. Staring at his sparring partner, Rowan offered him a weak smile, which was not returned. Seeing how it was, Rowan nervously tightened his grip on his practice sword, the wooden grip unfamiliar in his hands.
Opposite him, the Hafgufan’s fingers settled into familiar positions. There was no adjustment, no nervous tremors. It was a movement as natural for the boy as breathing, and it showed. The moment Egil said go, he shot forward, the sword-point aimed perfectly at Rowan’s heart.
With a frantic step back, Rowan avoided the thrust, but his attempt at a counter attack was dealt with easily, swiped away in a manner that was almost casual. Then his partner brought his sword down heavily. This time, Rowan’s dodge did not give him enough room for a counter, and there was also not enough distance between them to fix his stance. Even as the thought entered his mind, the boy slashed horizontally, forcing Rowan to bring his sword up to block.
He was too late.
Already off balance and with his stance shattered from the first two exchanges, Rowan took the sword to the chest, collapsing with a pained exhale. Rather than celebrate, his opponent simply took a step back and waited for him to recover, as if the scene on the ground had nothing to do with him.
Not willing to show weakness, Rowan got to his feet immediately, resettling his grip on the training sword as he prepared to go again.
Five minutes and fourteen failures later, Egil called out for them to switch partners. With relief, Rowan shook hands with the boy, eager to fight against someone closer to his level. Based on the skills the boy had displayed, he was clearly at the top of the class, so it made sense that he had been unable to land even a single blow. But the next opponent would be different. He was sure of it.
Unfortunately for Rowan, two months’ worth of instruction from a sadistic elf turned out to be nowhere near enough to let him compete with students who had been trained from a young age.
Even with Tethis’ teachings and the experience he had picked up during his journey north, Rowan soon discovered that there was an enormous difference between a battle to the death and a simple sparring match. On the incredibly few occasions where he did manage to land a blow that might have been lethal had they been using real weapons, his opponents simply shrugged, before returning the favor tenfold.
