The Crystal College

by Nathaniel Sullivan

  Yet as he approached the growing forest fire, he felt a daunting sense of dread at his task.

  There was no way he could channel that much energy. Certainly not all at once. It would have to be done in stages.

  Conducting through his legs and lower waist, he stepped into the flames. He nearly fell from the surge of power that erupted through his body. He couldn’t contain it—he needed an outlet, and he needed it now.

  Holding his arms out, he focused all the fire from his legs outwards. A lash of molten flames erupted from his forearms to his hands, cutting through the trees leaving charred scorch-marks as it lassoed around. He could barely control the beams of fire, much less aim them.

  It was simply too much power. If there had been anyone standing nearby, they certainly would have been burned by his clumsy hands.

  Gritting his teeth, he remembered his task. The goblins.

  He had to kill the goblins.

  Although his arms felt heavy and awkward, he repositioned them to face where the grey creatures were attempting to bypass the flames.

  A lasso of fire crackled against the goblin hoard once, and then twice, and then thrice. They screamed, they scattered, and once again—they ran.

  Nandor managed a sigh of relief that was quickly drowned out by fatigue. The small forest fire died down to broken embers crackling at his feet, and he could channel it no longer, nor was there much left to channel even if he could.

  His body felt heavier than it had ever felt before, and he collapsed to his knees. He felt blisters bubbling into his legs from the still-hot ground, but he couldn’t move—not even crawl.

  His eyes closed. Vaguely he heard a voice that sounded like the guard captain.

  “You did it! Their fleeing! Warmth bless you, you actually did it!”

  He could take no pleasure in the captain’s simple words. The very world felt as if it were spinning far too fast.

  “A-are you okay? Sir?” The captain threw one of his arms under his shoulder, and helped him to stand.

  He was grateful, but could not manage to say it.

  “Come—walk as best as you can. It’ll be okay. You’ve done a marvelous thing. We just need to get back inside the walls.” He leaned to one side, calling towards his men. “Gather up the wounded! Quickly! The goblins have fled—go to the gates!”

  “My god!” one of the guards said. “Is that a goblin burning up there—impaled on the branch between the trees?”

  Another guard laughed without humor. “A goblin rotisserie. What kind of wizard could do that?”

  “Is he one of ours?”

  “He saved us. That’s all that matters,” the captain replied, moving slowly under his added burden.

  More words and commands were said, but Nandor couldn’t listen. It was all he could do to shuffle his feet with the captain as he walked.

  Rest, he thought, for the love of warmth, just get me to a place to rest…

  Chapter 29: Demands

  Ignorance. Particularly, the pairing of ignorance and authority is a recipe for the collapse of any city or kingdom. Careless laws create unforeseen burdens. Unforeseen burdens stunt growth and advancements. Stunted progress promotes systematic inflammation and retardation. Then, when the kingdom finally recognizes its trouble, everyone will have an opinion and a solution, but only the worst will be yelled the loudest, while the best will be buried beneath the flames of raging fools.

  Therefore, only the mighty should rule.

  —Rorgjor’s Enlightened Powers

  Nandor never fully lost consciousness, but he had a hard time staying present.

  After the guard captain had seen to it that his men were being cared for, he dragged Nandor back to the pavilion to deliver a report to Lady Mikja and Galager.

  Forojen met the captain midway and helped to sit Nandor in a chair. Nix and Dorin flocked at his sides.

  “Are you alright? What happened?”

  He didn’t acknowledge their concern. If he had tried to talk it would have come out all twisted and broken, so instead he closed his eyes, leaned back in the comfy chair, and listened. The captain spoke for the both of them, explaining of the unexpected attack from the goblin scouting party, Nandor’s daring rescue, and then how he had started a fire in the forest to send the second goblin scouting party running after rescuing them from the first. “He saved us, my lady. Undeniably. Two times over. He left no man behind, and fought more fearsome than a mammoth bear. I don’t know how one man did the things that he did. He acted as both a mighty swordsman, and the most powerful elementalist I have ever seen.”

  “Resourceful, too, it sounds.” Mikja appeared to be impressed.

  “Indeed,” Forojen agreed, a bit of pride showing through. “Being an elementalist is all about understanding how one can manipulate one’s surroundings. Starting the fire to channel from was a perfect idea. I knew I was right to make you a headmaster.”

  “Heroics aside, what are the implications of this? Goblins, here? Where they just scavengers or an advancement force?” Galager asked, not one for senseless praise or small talk.

  The captain began to speak, but Nandor held up a hand. “I-I think I can speak,” he breathed heavy, but managed to find words. “I speak the goblin language—I heard everything they said.”

  “How do you speak goblin?” Mikja went from being impressed to being outright startled.

  “What did they say?” Galager wondered.

  “They were a scouting party,” Nandor answered Galager. “From the goblin homeland up north, Grâ Baile.”

  “What in the great beyond were they doing here? In the territory of the clockwork cities?”

  “Could be anything, but I suspect they were assessing the strength of the green gorest fortifications,” Nandor responded.

  “I agree,” the guard captain nodded. “There was almost a hundred of them, all scampering about, sniffing, climbing trees, looking and seeing everything. These were not idle goblins—they had a purpose.”

  “Surely you don’t mean they plan to attack?” Lady Mikja frowned.

  “That is precisely what I mean.” Her captain replied. “We have the Green Forest secured and protected—but only from a light attack. We need to station more men here, and build up the walls as fast as we can, or mark my words, the goblins will be back—and it won’t just be a scouting force.”

  “Do you agree?” Mikja looked to Nandor, trying to get a second opinion.

  “I do,” he managed to sit up a little straighter in his chair. “When I lived with the barbarians in the wildlands, I learned much of the goblins and their ways. They are not the smartest, but they know valuable land when they see it, and their brood mothers are always looking for places to expand. They breed like rabbits—but worse. They come in broods of a dozen, every six months, every year, for every female they have, and few die. In their homeland, one singular densely-packed city beneath the ground, I reckon they outnumber all of our forces in the clockwork cities ten to one, and that might be optimistic, if anything. Therefore, it is entirely possible they are looking for a place to expand, and the Green Forest just happens to be a prime location.”

  “But they could never take our land—” Galager began, but Nandor cut him off.

  “You don’t know what they are capable of. I do. First they scout, then they gather, then they attack like a plague, they swarm, overrun, and utterly annihilate whatever or whoever stands in their way. It happened to the mighty barbarian Bear Tribe, and it could happen here as well. Don’t think you’re safe just because you think yourself civilized. Trust me—I’ve seen how they attack before. You need to build your defenses if you hope to hold on to what you have—and fast.”

  “We’re already building the wall around the valley.”

  “Then build it faster. And higher. They can jump and climb like snow monkeys.”

  “…This is… troubling news…” Mikja kept her eyes fixed on the ground. “How long do you think we have before they attack?”

 
; “Their homeland is a good distance away, assuming the goblins don’t have another one. I would say around five or six months. Two months for travel, and three-four months for them to rally enough goblins to make an army—or more accurately, a swarm.”

  “That doesn’t give us much time.”

  “It’ll have to be enough,” Mikja hardened her resolve. “We can build the walls twice as high in that time, and create towers for our archers, and line the walls with stone. We can do it. It will just be another investment.”

  “What if we tried to face them on the field? Attack before they do?” Galager asked, his naivety showing his youth.

  Nandor met his gaze, “Bad idea. The goblin’s strength is in their ability to outnumber, overrun, and swarm. It happened to the barbarians, and you can say what you like about them, but they are strong warriors. In my experience, the best way to handle goblins is to build high defenses, and let them die beneath the walls. Remember—they are numerous, but not very smart. They have poor siege weapons, and worse tactics. Create a fortress and you might win—attack in the field and their numbers will be your death.”

  “But we can’t just allow them to run rampant through our kingdom!”

  “They won’t. Or I don’t think they will, anyway. If they fail to take over the Green Forest, they will retreat to their homeland, and search for another place to expand to. Nothing is personal for them—their dumb, but practical, and if this green forest is too hard to take, they will simply search elsewhere.”

  “So we just have to show them we can protect ourselves?” Galager gritted his teeth, already anticipating the war. “Good. We can do that.”

  “Remember—it might not be as easy as you are thinking. They are numerous, and cunning when they need to be. Don’t get me wrong,” he told Galager, “I admire your attitude, but I must advise caution. I’ve seen them attack before, several times. I’ve rarely seen them gamble and lose.”

  “We will keep your advice close to heart,” Mikja lifted a glass. “Thank you again for your wisdom and bravery. Once more I am a benefactor of your action.”

  “And once more you are in my debt,” Nandor carefully spoke his words, trying to hide his growl. “Yet you continue to try your best to anger me, and swindle my goodwill.”

  “You speak of our negotiation?”

  “Yes,” he said, and this time he could not contain a low snarl. “What you proposed to Forojen and I was preposterous. A shameful deal. Are you trying to make me your enemy as well? Do you really wish to fight a war on two fronts?”

  She laughed, and his anger grew. “Dear Nandor, you are so childish sometimes. Froj would never attack, or try to take back what they think they are owed—they are too weak, and wounded. You really think their new Lord Benjfrost will be able to pound that filth into shape? No. I am no smith, but even I know you cannot form a steel sword from a pile of burning shit. I did not offer my deal lightly, I offered it because it is all I am willing to give. I value you,” she waved a hand from him, to the grandmaster, “I value Forojen. I value your college and your wisdom. Froj, however, I have no value for. It will never get a piece of the Green Forest, Nandor. Never.”

  Her words were firm, and unchanging. Forojen gave Nandor a sad look, which seemed to say, we tried, now we need to take what we can get. “I understand, Lady Mikja. If I may speak for the both of us,” the grandmaster glanced at Nandor, who shook his head.

  “You may not speak for the both of us, and I am not done,” he growled.

  Mikja narrowed her gaze. “Don’t make this unpleasant, Nandor.” She flicked her hand and her guards moved closer. At her side, the guard captain looked nervous.

  “Ma’am!” the captain protested, moving to stand before her as he pleaded. “That man there—Nandor as you call him, he killed at least a dozen of those goblin bastards with his blade, and a dozen more with flame! He saved all of my men, as well as myself. I’ve never seen a man fight like him in my life. Why—I thought he was your champion.”

  “I see.”

  “When I saw a glimmer of blue and gold I knew that he fought with your sword—is he your new champion? Is he the same man who fought Lord Viken for you? Why are you at odds?”

  For a moment, Mikja’s eyes grew dark, and Nandor feared that she would have the guards seize both him and the captain, but after a second of deliberation, her face became relaxed. “Yes, he fought with my blade, didn’t he?” She smiled at the captain. “I see where your confusion is coming from. It is as if he was my champion. Perhaps he should be. Perhaps such sterling heroics should be rewarded.” She faced Nandor again. “Very well, let us reconsider our negotiation, but be mindful,” she warned, “I will not yield much. That being said, what would you have me do to make the deal bearable?”

  Inwardly, Nandor glowed, but he kept his face unchanging. “The city of Froj needs what it was owed. An equal portion of the Green Forest.”

  “Denied. I told you that already. Think reasonably. What else could I do to ease your conscious?”

  If he wasn’t so fatigued, he might have climbed to strike her. As it was, he could barely move, and had to rely on words. He thought carefully before replying. “Then meet me halfway. You claim to want the college—very well, you may have it. You may have me as well, to advise you during the goblin war. But I ask something in return. The Crystal College will not be a part of Winfrost nor Norda, but a separate entity, who accepts all students. The college will be provided with enough crops from the Green Forest to feed its students free of charge, and then some extra to supply to the poorest in Froj. At least a section of green land. Grant me that, and you have a deal.”

  Mikja smiled, as if she had accomplished something through his words. “There. I knew you could be reasonable. But there are still some issues. Where would the college be stationed? How would you supply Froj?”

  Forojen answered for them both, “The new location for the college? I have thought about that for a long while. If it can’t remain in Froj, then the best place to put it would be in the valley. As for supplying Froj with the spare crops, we could have a wagon regularly travel between the college and Froj, and Nandor himself could pass out the food, if he wished.”

  “No,” Mikja shook her head. “I wish to keep Nandor close.”

  “Very well. Other than that, do we have a deal?”

  “I’ll began writing up the contract,” Mikja replied, snapping her fingers for a pen and parchment. “Where precisely do you plan on rebuilding the college?”

  “In order to not take up any green land,” Forojen pointed to a large field of rugged terrain in the distance. It was near the center of the green valley, on its own little plateau.

  Mikja nodded, “An ideal location. Between the cities, protected by walls, a lovely view, and surrounded by food. I look forward to seeing it up and running. It will need to be built large to hold all the new students and teachers. When will construction begin?”

  From his pocket, Forojen pulled out a deep blue gem. “It is the Crystal College, remember?” he grinned. “Most of it will not need to be built. It will be grown.”

  For the first time, Nandor raised his brows. Is he saying what I think he is?

  At his side, Nix and Dorin met his look. “I-I don’t understand?”

  “You will soon enough,” the grandmaster chuckled. “My, I have been looking forward to this day for a long, long time. You can’t imagine. Mark my words, the college was never meant to linger in Froj.”

  “D-do you mean the crystals? They grow?”

  “They grow from the earth and the ice, deep, deep below. This gem summons the crystals, and they grow as I shape them,” he pocketed the gem. “It will still take time, but once I envision how I want the college to be, I will form it, and it will grow. Might take a week, maybe two if I’m feeling meticulous.”

  “Only two weeks?” Nandor was astounded. “How come I’ve never heard of this before?”

  “It is a secret of the college, only passed down from grandmaster
to grandmaster,” Forojen replied. “It will ruin the old college in the process, as the magic only allows for one at a time, but it will be worth it.”

  Mikja took the news in stride, writing swiftly as she spoke. “So the college will be erected quickly? Good. All the better. I’m adding in an additional requirement to your college—I wish for it to have a new headmaster, one who will strictly teach combative arts. Is that acceptable?”

  Forojen nodded. “I see what you are doing, Lady Mikja. You are consolidating, aren’t you? You want a singular place to ship all the promising lads and ladies of your city, so that they can learn magic, to fight, and to read and write.”

  “That is one idea,” she allowed, neither confirming nor denying his suspicion. “Your college has always been particularly reputable for its duels anyway—this seems like a natural progression to me.”

  “Indeed it is, and I will allow it.”

  “Very well,” Mikja finished scribbling up the final line, and then passed it from Galager, to Forojen, to Nandor, who each read and signed it.

  There it was—the tiny piece of paper. The small amount of comfort Nandor had been able to win for Froj. One section of the Green Forest, hardly even the size of a small farm. But it was better than nothing. It might keep men like the factory worker he met from having to resort to thievery to feed his family.

  Scraps for the poor. That was all he had managed. As he signed the paper, he did not smile.

  Forojen walked around his chair and squeezed his shoulder. “You did good, Nandor. Very good.” He leaned closer so that their eyes were level, and pointed into the distance where the college would be grown. “We will have a better life soon. The college will become even stronger. We have so much to do, and so much to teach and to learn. Be proud.”

  Nandor released the contract with a jerk, and fell deeper into the chair. He tried to feel proud. He tried to tell himself he did everything he could have.

  But deep down inside, he wondered if he truly had.

  Chapter 30: The New College