Wings on my Back

by Alex Sapegin

  “I don’t see a menu on our table. What kind of food does this dump offer, anyway?” Andy took on a haughty expression borrowed from the Rauu on the day of the entrance exams. He also added a generous portion of ice to his tone.

  The bloke froze in confusion. How quickly he had switched roles with Rigaud! The young baron froze and smiled; the bloke got boiling mad. He had compared this restaurant to a common, stinky tavern! They had quickly lowered his status, too, along with that of the prestigious establishment. Now you’ve really done it, you brute! So you’re used to waiting on counts and marquis in silk and lacy collars? A simple guy’s beneath you? Well, we’ll just go and change our clothes then! We’ll be all clean and not sweaty. We’ve come to eat, dammit. There was a giggle from the next table over.

  “So, how long do we have to wait?” Timur decided to chime in and support the show. So much smug. Not bad. Suddenly, this man in the guise of a poor simple bookworm turned out to be a titled noble. The bloke stormed off and came back in a couple of seconds with a folder full of menus and slapped them down on the table. How rude! Will Timur forgive him or not?

  “Tell the owner to send us a different waiter. Dismissed.”

  Timur had used Berg’s favorite word and then waved the bloke away ceremoniously. Just holding it against him was already right. He could have even sent him to the stables, ask that he be assigned toilet cleaning duty, or something in that vein.

  The new waiter was the picture of politesse. His manners only grew as the company ordered a wide assortment of meats, side dishes, and wines of various brands as per Rigaud’s instruction. The simple dish on their table instantly changed to top-notch service. Now that’s more like it!

  With all the commotion of the waiter around their table, Andy missed his chance to introduce Rigaud to two young attractive baronesses who were sitting at the next table in the company of a chaperone. The fact that there was a portly female chaperone didn’t stop the skinny don juan from constantly sending compliments the girls’ way. The presence of a chaperone who was obviously foreign meant the girls were high-born; only high-borns or the wealthy could afford such a “luxury.” The portly lady, who was very large indeed, eyed their table with her hawk’s gaze, which lingered on the bottle of rare vintage wine and the kikiray birds, half closed her eyes, and permitted the girls to accept the cavalier’s wooing. The group of young men had been judged and pronounced acceptable for “use.” The rich spread on the table outweighed the simple clothing. The non-human origin of one of the group members did not affect the ruling; the main thing was that he had a purse full of coins. That was the way it always went. Rigaud played the role of the yummy cake, while Andy was just the “money bag.” Timur occupied the role of the silent third wheel.

  Dinner proceeded merrily. Andy was reminded of Earth restaurants. He called the waiter over by a gesture with his finger, nodded to the baronesses, and ordered expensive wine. The waiter closed his eyes in a sign of understanding and disappeared. Soon a bottle of fine wine was brought to the adjacent table. Andy had earned a grateful glance from the ample chaperone. The girls feigned embarrassment and covered their faces with their fans. Rigaud’s lips never closed. He was so busy smiling his dashing smile. How is it your tooth enamel hasn’t cracked yet? Timur said nothing but observed, gaining experience.

  The great big grandfather clock standing in the corner of the restaurant’s dining room struck ten. All good things must come to an end. After a filling dinner of various types of meat delicatessen, Andy felt like a stuffed animal. Rigaud looked like a pregnant nail. Timur said nothing. What he felt like after that great meal remained a mystery.

  The waiter brought the bill. What? Six gold pieces for a couple of hunks of burnt meat and a two bottles of sour wine? Well, can’t do anything about it, a promise is a promise. Andy shelled out six gold pieces and added a couple of silver ones as a tip for their on-the-ball waiter. He and his friends then took their leave. Rigaud was squeezing a note from one of the young ladies firmly in his fist. The little paper smelled like her expensive perfume and invited the young cavalier to take her on a date. When did he manage to get that? He’s truly a “hunter” who never returns home empty-handed! The memory of the distorted expression on the flippant bloke’s face when he saw how much Andy tipped was priceless. It was a great night!

  They decided not to catch a carriage taxi. Everyone felt like walking and helping digest their meal a little bit. Joking among themselves happily, the bookworms headed towards the lesser bridge which joined the Plain and the Middle, not far from the School gates. The gathering twilight came with an evening concert by the tsurds—an insect in Ilanta that makes a chirping sound similar to a cicada. The alley leading to the bridge was lit by a thousand moths swirling around the magical lanterns. The magic light did not burn the insects’ delicate wings and the scents of the oncoming night did not include the stench of singed moth. The bats and Whiteheads, small nocturnal birds, skimmed their share off the abundant stream of dancing moths, most likely giving praises to the local analogue of installers and builders of street lighting. Music was coming from the park across the way; lights were twinkling. For many guests and inhabitants of Orten, the night had just begun.

  Andy could already see the bridge when a single carriage caught his eye. It was moving along the alley parallel and in the same direction as they were. There was something amiss about it. A Viking familiar from the skirmish at the city gates was leading the horse by the bridle; three more Vikings were following on foot behind the carriage. All four of them were wearing capes with the emblem of the city guards. The company of bookworms came up alongside the carriage, which was protected by guards, right at the bridge. Andy nodded to the Vikings as to an old acquaintance as he walked by. They greeted him in reply. They had recognized him. The curious Rigaud couldn’t help but jump up and peek over the high carriage walls. His expression changed immediately, and he threw himself at Andy.

  “Kerr! That’s Chak Zabiyak!” Rigaud’s countenance could have been used in a bleach commercial, it was so white.

  “Chak who?” The name didn’t mean anything to Andy, but judging by Rigaud’s face, the guy must’ve been someone well-known.

  “Do you know them?” they heard someone say from behind. One of the vikings following the carriage stayed back a bit, the senior guard. Them? So this Chak’s not alone in there?

  “Yes, they’re students at the School,” Rigaud answered and gulped.

  “I didn’t know they taught dead people in the School of Magic. Although, it’s none of my business. But it’s good they’re bookworms, mmm, that is, former bookworms. We’ll hand the cargo off to the School guard. Sturney, follow the three guards. We can give the milk-suckers’ corpses to the School. Let the masters deal with them. Duelists, Yotune take ‘em….” Here the viking went into a monologue with regard to the bodies lying loosely in the carriage that encompassed a string of obscenities so lengthy, rich and multifaceted that each of the corpses probably turned over twenty times. It was too bad the carriage walls were high—Andy couldn’t manage to catch a glimpse despite his height. “The brutes. But the Rauu skewered them like flies on needles!” The viking fell silent when he had said his piece.

  WHAT?! Andy paused and reached out to stop Rigaud. Could it be true?

  “Chak, that’s not the one who…?”

  “That’s the one, Kerr, the very same guy! And three of his friends. The ones who had a fight with the Icicles. The red-head guy’s whole face is stripped!” Rigaud stopped acting like a bleached sheet, but his pupils were still dilated.

  Holy frick on a stick! Those little northern beasts can creep up unexpected. You wanted a present? Fond memories of Santa Claus, eh? How ‘bout Snow Elves instead of elves?

  “There’s four of ‘em in there, and there was a group a girls with ‘em. They killed ‘em in front of the women. The red-headed fool clashed with an elvish girl, and she cut ‘em up with a knife first, then run ‘im through. Just like a giant toothpic
k, the backup didn’t have time to blink, and the redhead was already not movin’,” the loquacious viking added a colorful description of events.

  “Rigaud, were the junior students armed last time, or no?” Andy asked.

  “Hmm, don’t think so. Definitely not! Midword would have said so.”

  Everything made sense now. Attacking an unarmed person was considered dishonorable among the Rauu. Limited by the norms of their cultural ethics, the elves simply didn’t expect to take a beating from humans. They bided their time and waited until the fist fighters left the School territory with swords and daggers at their belts. One had to assume they let them alone until they let their guard down. As soon as they relaxed, the Rauu took it upon themselves to remind them of the black eyes they’d inflicted. A shameful loss in Rauu culture could be wiped out with blood. So they had waited patiently. The guys wanted to show off in front of the girls; that’s when they made their move. The Viking didn’t say exactly how they challenged them to a duel. But their method was 100% effective. What trash they must’ve talked to provoke the idiots not only to stand up for their “honor” by a duel, but to even think of crossing an elvish woman? Just because you can shake your fist at someone doesn’t mean you can hold a sword in that same fist. The Viking said there were witnesses to the duel. It was the Rauu style to do their finest work in front of a crowd. They had to support their moniker as “Icicles.” The conclusion: don’t let your guard down. There they lay, corpses, relaxing eternally. Andy cursed. He employed great and powerful Russian swear words. Neither the Vikings, nor the guys understood a word, but the general sense was crystal clear.

  The School gates closed one hour later than usual that day to allow for the gate guard to summon the senior guard on carriage duty, to take over the “cargo,” and to manage its being transported into the School….

  Andy dashed to his living quarters, changed his clothes, and grabbed the training swords, then went to the far field to practice. He let out a guttural cry from deep within his chest. Those long-eared curs! So it’s blood you want? You’ll get blood, alright! The astral dragon appeared in an instant and…

  “Kerr! Hey, stop it, will you!” Rigaud’s worried voice sounded in Andy’s consciousness. “It’s 2:00 a.m., and you’re growling and swinging your sword like a beast!”

  Two a.m.? I thought I’d just started. The astral dragon, emanating energy, needed to keep going. Hang in there, dude. We’ll start again tomorrow morning. Rigaud’s right. I’ve got to get some sleep. I’ve got to get up early tomorrow.

  “Alright, Rigaud. Let’s go to bed. And um… keep an eye on me tomorrow at practice; I’m acting a little strange lately.”

  The lesson the next morning went by without any problems or incidents. It was a typical practice, if there was such a thing. Andy shouldn’t have been incendiary last night; it only caused Rigaud unnecessary worry. The golden astral dragon hadn’t been needed, but Andy could feel its presence on the periphery of his consciousness.

  After a shower and a big breakfast, Andy went off to School. The large three-story building where the bulk of first-year courses took place hadn’t changed a bit in the last twenty-four hours. It was still standing there, the same color and everything. No illusory graffiti expressing the local flavor had been added to its walls; the same crowds of bookworms still scurried about in all directions inside.

  But inside the building, Andy did notice some changes. The first thing he couldn’t miss was the mass of people standing in front of the wall where they had published the class schedule. Andy waited until the most impatient and curious students had been satisfied and went away and then approached the wall to get a look. New subjects! No wonder the freshmen were crowding around. What dowe have here? There’s even a breakdown by enchantment category.

  “Alchemistry. (All mage types). Instructor master Migro grall Trenx;

  “Artifact-based magic. (All mage types). Instructor master Dania grall von Tol;

  “Instrumental magic. (All mage types). Instructor master Tinner grall tain Roming;

  “Combat magic. (Rune-reader mages, all elements). Instructor master Otto grall von Tufaux;

  “Elemental magic. (Rune-reader mages, all elements). Instructor master Otto grall von Tufaux;

  “Magic of illusions. (All mage types). Instructor master Dania grall von Tol;

  “Necromancy. (All mage types). Instructor master Netro grall Necros;” “A good name for a necromancy teacher!” Andy thought.

  “Psionics. (All mage types possessing psionic potential). Instructor master Jack grall tain Dold.

  “Life magic. Healing. (All mage types). Instructor master Mary grall Torr.”

  It seemed the general prerequisites had been met. Yesterday, they had all been given summaries of their teachers’ comments on their personal abilities, and he had been racking his brains over it—for what? By the end of the third month of school, freshman bookworm Kerrovitarr Dragon’s comments amounted to all of the brief following lines:

  “Rune-reader with great potential. Well-developed abilities of multidimensional modeling. (Geometry rules!). Great imagination.”

  “Has psionic potential. Needs strengthening of skills and faster pace of study. I recommend he majors in mind control.” (Good recommendation! I’ll definitely do that.)

  “Has completely mastered runic writing.” (Thank you Jaga.)

  “Reads at 1200 characters per minute; writes 130 characters. The handwriting is even and legible. I recommend studying calligraphy and short hand.” (Yeah right. We’ve gotten along without calligraphy for years, and we can keep doing so.)

  “He’s a necromancer and a healer. Predominantly shows an inclination towards Death magic. I suggest not developing Life magic skills but making an emphasis on necromancy.” (No way, I won’t go for that one-sided approach. An elective in Life magic won’t hurt at all.)

  “A universal mage of all elements. Main element: fire. Works fluently and freely combines all four elements. I recommend sending him to the battle magic department and offering him a contract with the Royal guild of battle mages.” (So the army’s taken notice of me? They won’t let it go until they have their answer. That’s unfortunate, but I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. I’ve got enough problems to worry about for now.)

  A short report like this was given to all the students except the Rauu and foreign students who were studying upon assignment by other governments. All the rest, who, like Andy, had not indicated any citizenship on their applications, had raised a red flag with those interested in this kind of thing. Freshman students had to decide on their majors and which departments they would be making an emphasis on in their academic careers by the start of the second semester. At the end of the first semester, the School would receive an influx of representatives of various volunteer offices, the army and the state institutions of the Kingdom of Tantre being of course the main players thereof. They sealed the dragon’s share of deals with the bookworms. The others had to make due with what was left, the crumbs from the master’s table, as it were.

  Study of serious subjects had finally begun. Three months of preparatory work had gotten old fast.

  Anyone who got through the “smoky veil” was accepted for study, having proven his or her magical inclinations and ability to wield mana were higher than average, by the fact that he or she could pass through. But it often happened that, besides a talent for magic and the ability to read, more or less, and scribble a few phonetic characters in writing, the newcomers consisted of very little substance. Members of the lower classes weren’t the only ones who suffered from a lack of basic magical knowledge; the nobles’ children weren’t much better educated. Not all the counts, viscounts or barons hired tutor mages for the edification of their offspring. Many simply let the chips fall where they may, not suspecting any magical talents in their children; passing the entrance exams came as a pleasant surprise.

  The preparatory period was made up of prerequisites designed to help the under-e
ducated be ready for further serious study. For those who had already studied under a tutor, a refresher did no harm. The preparation included various general subjects which pertained to all types of magical disciplines.

  These included: the anatomy, physiology and energy structure of various races, modalities and management of energy channels, what constitutes living and non-living matter, and blood as one of the most potent elements of Life and Death magic. Whether you were a healer, a druid or a necromancer, you wouldn’t be able to heal or correctly raise a zombie from the dead without a good grasp of this knowledge. Methods of controlling and collecting a reserve of internal energy, theory and practice. No comment needed. Concentration and meditation methods. How could any mage function without them? Complex spells required a mage’s critical concentration. Theory and practical methodology for developing one’s memory. Just try remembering a three-step, four-part compound magical formula on the energy structures of a power shield or the suppression of someone’s will. Control of one’s dominant element.

  Additional measures to correct illiteracy awaited those entrants who could not read and write, or who could just barely do so. Any attempt to avoid such measures on their part was equivalent to an attempt to desert and deserters were (metaphorically) shot on sight. Someone had to clean the School latrines.

  The teachers began evaluating the students’ abilities with regard to the use of magical enchantments from the very first labs.

  Those who worked with mana and conducted enchantments verbally or by magic words were called verbalists, or wordies for short. Those who enchanted by gestures or magical movements—handies. Andyi thought of a new name for them which quickly caught on and became part of the student body’s vernacular. Even among the instructors it soon was replacing the former term: finger slingers. Those who required additional instruments, staffs, wands, etc. were called instrumentalists or stick bugs. Those who conducted enchantments through their thoughts or by mental three-dimensional rune melding—runies or melders. Before this, Andy knew only one melder: David Copperfield.