Loremaster - A Progression Fantasy Adventure, page 42
The next few days saw Rowan slip into a familiar pattern. In the morning, he would train, working up a sweat before taking a quick shower and heading to breakfast. Afterwards, he would study, reading books recommended to him by Kanna—a dwindling list given their current estrangement—before heading off to lunch.
After lunch, he and Droon would get together to study the materials he had trouble with, Droon having offered to help Rowan study in exchange for Rowan’s help with sparring. Despite his incredible grades, Droon as it turned out was an excellent teacher, able to pinpoint the areas Rowan was stuck on and offer advice or reasoning that would usually allow him to figure out where he had gone wrong.
With Droon’s help, Rowan found himself completing his study materials far faster than before, which gave them some free time before dinner—time he used to relax and rest in preparation for his nightly activities.
Dinner was always delicious and, speaking honestly, was Rowan’s favorite part of the day. Although Droon was not the conversationalist Dugan was, Rowan found himself enjoying the boy’s company, and the two were slowly striking up a friendship of sorts over their shared love of delicious food.
Following dinner, Rowan would take advantage of the relative emptiness of the academy after the dinner rush to wander the empty halls, poking his head into every nook and cranny while observing the walls for any signs of abnormalities. He had not forgotten the smooth sensation the first hidden passage had given him, and had returned twice to analyze it, careful to do so at times that Morgana was otherwise occupied.
Finally, he rounded off the day with a lively sparring session with Droon, both boys working hard to catch up to the other students at the academy.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The day of Galdurfest started like any other, with Rowan awakening to the sound of shuffling feet in the common room below. Outside, it was snowing, the flakes thick and heavy as they fell, carpeting the ground and covering the window in drifts of glittering white.
“You awake, Rowan?” Droon’s head poked up from the other side of his bed. Hair stuck up every which way on Droon’s normally orderly head, the remnants of a night spent twisting and turning on the pillow. Despite this, he had not gone to brush it as he normally did, but was occupied with something on the floor, just out of Rowan’s sight.
“Mmmh,” Rowan responded after a few seconds.
Oblivious to Rowan’s drowsiness, Droon smiled happily, lifting a thickly wrapped object into the air so that Rowan could see it. “My parents sent my Galdurfest gift, and it arrived last night! I hope it’s not a book. I told them that the library here has more books than they could ever comprehend, but old habits do die hard after all.”
“Mmmh,” Rowan said once more, throwing the covers off as he gathered the energy to get out of bed.
It was warm in the dormitory despite the swirling snow outside, and his bed called him temptingly to remain. However, this was something it had done every day for the past few months, and while no means immune to it, Rowan was at least used to it at this point, swinging his feet out of bed and padding off towards the bathroom.
A minute later, a slightly more awake Rowan returned, his forehead wet from where he had splashed water on it. Droon was still where he had left him, sitting patiently beside the bed with the package in hand, an eager look on his face, looking for all the world like an enormous hound awaiting the okay to tear into his meal, or present in this case.
“Did you get anything?” Droon asked as Rowan sat on the edge of his bed, careful not to get too close to the point where covers met sheets. Although he had managed to tear himself away from the bed for now, that did not mean it could not suck him back in.
“No—” Rowan began out of habit, only to pause. Unlike every other year before, this year he had been given a present. Reaching down, he opened the clothes trunk at the end of his bed and pulled out the package Dugan had given him before he left.
“Open them together?” Droon asked excitedly.
With a shrug, Rowan agreed. As Droon ripped into the packaging, sheets of old parchment flying through the air, Rowan began to gently do the same, undoing the strings tying the wrapping around Dugan’s gift together and setting them aside.
Despite Droon’s exuberant show of unwrapping, it was Rowan who finished first, the packaging falling away to reveal the contents within. Dugan’s gift was a pair of black leather gloves that glistened darkly in the firelight. Tufts of fur stuck out from the bottom, evidence of a well-lined interior, and the leather itself was soft and pliable under Rowan’s touch.
Lifting them from the packaging, Rowan was about to try them on when a small note fell from where it had been sandwiched between them. On it, Dugan’s familiar scrawl could be seen, the same scrawl that adorned many of Rowan’s books and notepads, usually offering helpful advice or corrections, and with the occasional bawdy joke.
With a small grunt of exertion, Rowan leaned forward and picked up the note, flipping it over as he began to read.
To Rowan,
I’d call you dear, but then you might get the wrong idea about us.
Rowan rolled his eyes. Even dozens if not hundreds of miles away, Dugan still found a way to tease him. He would have to make sure to get him back for this when he returned. Thus resolved, he turned his attention back to the letter.
Happy Galdurfest! Sorry I couldn’t be there to celebrate it with you, but my mother would kill me if I missed spending it with my family. I’ll try talking you up while I’m home, see if I can invite you next year.
Anyways, I got these gloves for you. I noticed that the gloves you’ve been using kind of suck. I mean, they’re gloves, but as a northerner, I can tell you that there’s a difference between gloves and GLOVES. These are the second type, the ones that will keep your hands warm even in the middle of a blizzard (Don’t go jumping into one of those now). They’ve got an enchantment on them that should help keep your tender southern hands from freezing, you big baby. They weren’t too expensive, so don’t worry about paying me back, but if you must, then make it something fun like mead. Anyways, try your best to enjoy yourself, okay?
Dugan
P.S. Don’t be surprised if you get a bunch of letters from me this holiday. The girl that runs the mail in my town is a total knockout and I’ve gotta come up with an excuse to tell my mother why I’m seeing her so much or else she’ll start talking about marriage arrangements and grandchildren.
With a grin, Rowan set the letter aside, admiring the gloves once more.
“You get something you like?” Droon’s voice drifted over. In response, Rowan lifted the gloves, showing them off to Droon who whistled in appreciation. “Niiiice! Those should help with the weather outside.”
A quick glance at the window confirmed Droon’s words. The snowstorm was picking up speed, the flakes falling fast and hard against the glass of the windowpane.
“What’d you get?” Rowan asked Droon, turning his attention back to the situation at hand.
Droon grinned and held up a large circular object, which he flipped to reveal an embossed wooden front, decorated with the image of a stylized anvil.
“It looks like my parents received my letters and changed their gifting habits accordingly,” he said happily.
“It’s nice,” Rowan offered. He was not lying. The shield really did look nice. The outside rim was made of iron, carved with images of books, quills, and blacksmith’s tools. The inside was made of some sort of wood, dyed green and then stamped with that strange looking anvil that he had noticed before.
Droon smiled happily, putting the shield on his arm and admiring it for a moment as he basked in the pleasure induced by his parent’s gift.
Rowan felt a strange combination of joy and sorrow. Joy at finally having a friend that cared enough to give him a gift, and sorrow as he recalled many years of peeking into windows of happy families, while the best he could hope for was slightly more drunks to pickpocket from than usual. Still, he was in a far better place now, and that was what mattered.
Both satisfied by their respective gifts, the two spent a few more minutes in admiration of the high-quality items before packing them away and heading downstairs for breakfast. A moment later, Rowan bolted back upstairs to grab the gloves, snagging them from his trunk before heading back down to rejoin Droon at the door.
It was blisteringly cold outside, the snow somehow even thicker outside the dormitory than it had appeared from within. Bracing themselves, the pair set out into the snowstorm, cutting through the grounds as they made their way to the cafeteria and its promise of food.
“We should just go through the castle,” Rowan complained as they arrived at the great hall, shaking off snow like a pair of trembling mountaintops before entering. “It’s slower, but at least I’d be able to feel my damn toes when I sit down.”
Droon looked at him strangely. “But you’re the one who said we should cut through the grounds. You said it was faster, which it is, but not by so much as to warrant braving the environmental hazards we just exposed ourselves to.”
“Droon,” Rowan began. “I heard yesterday that there was going to be apple pie served today. And in my experience, the apple pies here at Faebrook are equally delicious as they are likely to disappear the moment they’re served. If we had followed your idea, and there were no apple pies left in the cafeteria when we arrived, how were you planning to compensate me?”
“Well… I—”
Whatever Droon had been about to say was forgotten as the two entered the great hall and went silent, their mouths hanging open at the scene before them.
In the middle of the hall swirled a tempest of violet and azure, magic winds spinning and twirling in the still air of the hall. Within, countless mana crystals sparkled, reflecting the light from their faceted surfaces as they whipped through the air.
All of a sudden, the tempest stilled, the gems within going motionless for a moment, before dropping precipitously towards the stones below. Just before they could slam into the unforgiving ground, they froze, hovering at the level of Rowan’s knees as the tempest came back to life, slower this time.
Slowly, the crystals began to rise, ordered this time. As Rowan watched, they formed the image of a fox, leaping playfully through the air of the hall, almost lifelike in appearance if one ignored the fact that foxes generally were not made of magic crystals and nor were they thirty feet tall.
A slight shimmer went through the crystal fox above and the crystals broke apart from each other once more, the tempest returning with unabated frenzy as if it had never left, or at least not broken apart to form a remarkably lifelike facsimile of a fox before resuming its raging once more.
After a minute of watching, in which they watched the tempest go through its cycle of breaking and reforming twice more, the boys remembered what they had come for, and both scurried towards the cafeteria, giving the tempest a wide berth lest they discover that the crystals were as sharp as they appeared.
The cafeteria was similarly bedecked in arcane ornamentation; an aurora shimmering brightly above the tables and reflecting off the silverware that moved busily as those present dug in to their meals.
Had Rowan just arrived at the academy, he would have been awestruck by the aurora, probably enough to stop in his tracks and just stand there with mouth agape. Nearly half a year spent at Faebrook had changed that, and he only glanced at the sight for a moment before hurrying towards the breakfast line with Droon close in tow.
“There,” Droon pointed. “Apple pies. Ready to be served. We could have walked through the school instead of cutting across the grounds.”
“But then my apple pie intake would have been delayed.” Rowan blinked slowly at his friend. “Why would you want to do that to me, Droon? I thought we were friends!”
Droon shuffled uncomfortably. “You’re just teasing me now.”
“I am.”
“Please stop?”
Rowan grinned but obeyed, ceasing his teasing of Droon as they collected their breakfasts, two plates heaped with bacon, eggs, and toast that smelled heavenly to Rowan’s frozen nose. Carefully balancing the plates, they headed for the nearly deserted Draigwyn table, their only companions a second-year girl that Rowan had partied with once, a pair of third years that looked like they might be twins, and Morgana, who was sat at the furthest end of the table from where everyone else had congregated.
Sitting down, Rowan dug into his meal voraciously, savoring the delectable feast that had been laid out before him.
“I’m so excited to try my new shield,” Droon said between bites, his mind clearly still back in the dormitory.
Rowan merely nodded, preferring to use his mouth to devour more food.
Seeing that he wasn’t going to reply, Droon continued. “My parents are doing okay financially, but I didn’t expect them to send me something from the shop, and a custom work at that.”
Rowan tilted his head, finally putting the fork down for a moment. “The shop?”
“My parents are blacksmiths who own their own smithy,” Droon explained. “It’s been in the family for six generations, and we’re famous for the quality of our work in Merzia. We’re not rich, though, and the stuff we sell is decently expensive, so I didn’t think they’d give me a custom piece like this. Just a regular shield from the shop would’ve been fine.”
“Your parents probably don’t want you to wind up dead because you were using inferior equipment,” Rowan deduced. “That or they love you and only want the best for you. Possibly both.” He considered it for a second and nodded. “Probably both.”
Droon grinned happily. “They definitely want what’s best for me. I think they were worried I’d feel left out since I’m not going to inherit the smithy.”
“You’re not?”
Droon shook his head. “My older sister is set to take it over once my father retires,” he replied. “She’s way better at the whole smithing thing than I am, takes after my dad that way. I take after my mother, which is why I was fine with my sister getting the shop. Originally, I was going to attend a school in the city, but then one of my teachers recommended me to Faebrook and somehow I passed! So here I am.”
“Huh,” Rowan commented, his thoughts turning inwards. Would he have been set to inherit a shop, or perhaps a small house had his parents survived?
It was not as if he had not thought of it before. He had spent more nights than he could count dreaming of his parents finding him in the slums of Taureen after searching for years for the child they had lost. Depending on his mood, they could be rich or poor, though always far better off than he himself had been.
In the dreams, they would tearfully recount how they had thought him dead, and beg him to come back with them, which of course he always had, running into his mother’s arms as his father waited a moment before joining in. Then they would leave Taureen, making for greener pastures and a better life.
Beyond that basic framework, the dreams had never really taken much form, Rowan having no experience with how life with parents was supposed to go, and thus content to imagine himself becoming a hero or a knight as dreams so often went.
Rather than give in to his emotions, Rowan turned his attention back to the plate in front of him, stabbing the last piece of bacon with a little more force than necessary as he and Droon got back to the business of eating. Despite his hunger, it still took Rowan nearly fifteen minutes to polish off his plate, the mountain of food he had taken a challenge for even his sizable stomach to handle.
By the time Rowan finished his meal, the matter of parents had been forgotten, and he wore a contented smile as he pushed the plate away and stood up from the table to leave.
“Rowan?” a voice called out.
Turning in the direction of the voice, Rowan saw a boy from House Jangar standing there, a letter clutched in his hands.
“Yes?”
“This is for you,” the boy told him, thrusting the letter towards him.
“Ah.” Rowan scratched his head awkwardly. “Sorry, but I don’t swing that way.”
“What?” the boy sputtered. “No, that’s not... I’m not—” Pausing for a moment, he collected himself. “It’s not from me. It’s from Professor Soreth.”
From Kanna? Rowan glanced at the letter with renewed interest, his eyes flickering towards the head table where the professors sat. Kanna was not present right now, presumably having eaten earlier today.
With a quick thanks towards the still awkward boy who’d delivered it, Rowan tore open the letter, his eyes skimming the lines within. Although Kanna had written several paragraphs, most of it was just asking him how he’d been. The important bit was at the bottom.
Come see me today.
Since it was still before noon, Rowan decided that he would give Kanna a few hours to get ready and then visit her after lunch. From a few experiences early on in the year, he had learned that Kanna was decidedly not a morning person, and that probably went doubly so for the holidays.
Thus decided, Rowan set off towards the library, intending to while away a few hours amongst the books and, perhaps more importantly, the comfy chairs in the reading section.
Kanna was in her office when Rowan stopped by, reading a novel while curled up on her chair like a cat. Her eyes brightened as she saw Rowan at the door, and she put down her book, beckoning him inside.
Despite the blizzard swirling outside, Kanna’s office was cozy, and Rowan felt almost drowsy in the heated room as he reclined in the chair Kanna had offered.
“Hello, Rowan,” Kanna greeted. “I’m glad you could make it.”
“Me too,” Rowan replied.
“Anyways,” Kanna continued. “How are you doing? Have you made sense of the emotions you were feeling after the Felupin dungeon? I know I saw you in class, but you’re too good at hiding your emotions for me to make anything out from those limited interactions.”
