Aeron glanced up, his eyes alight. "I'm ready."
"Of course you're ready. I know that you can pass the examination easily, or I wouldn't have challenged you to attempt it. We'll observe the forms, but you need to be instructed as a student, not as a novice."
"Yes, my lord."
"I didn't expect this so soon, Aeron," Telemachon said, meeting Aeron's eyes. "But several students are about to graduate, and we expect to place some new fish soon, so there's no sense in holding you back. Most of the High Masters favored accepting you as a student based on your performance so far."
Aeron assented with a nod. He knew he could learn more as a student. . and it would incense Dalrioc Corynian if Aeron climbed from the ranks of the novices to the exalted status of student. It also meant that he could remain close to Melisanda. "I won't fail, Lord Telemachon."
The old wizard leaned back behind his desk, studying Aeron. "Are you certain you've recovered from your harrowing experience of a week ago?"
"Yes, my lord. I was not injured."
"Through auguries and divinations, we've gleaned some information about the creature that attacked Master Raemon," Telemachon said. "It was a yugoloth, a supernatural horror from black dimensions beyond the circles of the world. A powerful fiend indeed."
Aeron straightened in his seat. "How could such a creature appear in the middle of the college?"
"Obviously it was summoned here," Telemachon said, a trace of irritation in his voice. "There are a number of wizards among us capable of such a feat, which leaves us to ponder the reason of it, not the means."
"I've been told that the ruins of the pyramid are dangerous. Could Master Raemon simply have stumbled across something better left undisturbed?"
"Perhaps," Telemachon said without expression. "Yet I find it curious that a powerful mage, one of the best among us, should simply happen to be abroad in the tower's ruins on such a night, and that he should happen to disturb something, and that the thing he unleashed should happen to be a creature capable of destroying him. . and that his death should happen to occur in front of two defenseless novices, conveniently located to observe that no one else was near to rend Raemon limb from limb."
"You suspect foul play?" Aeron asked.
"Suffice it to say that I find the circumstances of Master Raemon's demise to be suspicious," Telemachon replied.
"But who would kill him, and why?"
Telemachon shrugged. "That," he said, "is what we still need to learn. Although it does not escape my notice that Raemon was one of nine members of the Ruling Council, a supporter of the Sceptanar, and that he has been replaced by Andreseus, who is a lord and senator of the city. With one unfortunate encounter, the balance of power has shifted."
"You don't think one of the masters favoring the senate killed him, do you?"
The High Diviner turned a frigid gaze on Aeron, the weakness and fatigue of his manner sloughing away to reveal an iron will beneath. "Novice Aeron, it is unwise in the extreme to speak such accusations of a High Master. The affairs of the Ruling Council are not the concern of novice or student. Do I make myself clear?"
Aeron recoiled. "Yes, my lord," he muttered. "Lord Telemachon. . neither Melisanda or I had any part in this."
Imperceptibly the diviner's ire softened. "I know, Aeron. I suspect you were simply moved into place as one might move a piece on a chessboard. Some of my compatriots are not so certain of that." He settled his bulk into his chair and steepled his fingers in front of him, turning his gaze out the window. "Have you considered which colors you want to wear when you become a student?" he asked suddenly.
"No, my lord. I haven't thought that far ahead. Illusion and invocation are my strongest disciplines." Aeron paused and added, "A few weeks ago, Oriseus told me that he wanted me to consider conjuration as my school of choice."
Telemachon scowled. "Oriseus wants you, eh?"
"He said my talents lent themselves to summonings."
"Do you feel that is true?"
"No other master has encouraged me to choose another school, my lord. I hadn't wielded many conjuration spells before I came here; the spells I studied under Fineghal were invocations that relied on the elements around me, or illusions crafted from my own force of will." He shrugged. "I think I could choose any school except necromancy and do well, but I'd do best in illusion or invocation."
"I believe so, too, Aeron. Master Sarim is a good man, one of the best here. Think on the yellow of invocation."
Aeron smiled thinly. Invocation, the direct manipulation of the Weave through natural forces such as wind or fire, had always been his strong suit. "I will," he promised.
Telemachon nodded and drew his hand over his face, dismissing Aeron with a wave. "You are excused from your classes for the rest of the week in order to prepare. You and Melisanda will take the examination together, along with Briet from Crown Hall. Now go study. You have no excuse for a mediocre showing."
As Telemachon advised, Aeron secluded himself for the rest of the week, throwing himself into his studies and preparing for the examination. Traditionally the test lasted three days; most novices could not hold more than two or three spells in their mind at once, and since the test consisted of demonstrating at least one spell from each of the eight disciplines, the prospective student was allowed to rest and study the next spells he would have to cast during the course of the examination. Aeron probably could have managed all eight in a single day, but it would have sorely tested his limits, so he decided to take full advantage of the examination's generous rules.
The first morning, Aeron, Melisanda, and the third novice reported to a small chamber in the college's academic halls, where they were called upon to perform extensive translations of documents in Thorass and Untheric. Aeron passed these with fair marks, although he was allowed a chance to gain some additional credit by demonstrating his familiarity with Espruar.
In the afternoon, the three novices took turns casting spells before the assembled masters of the Ruling Council in the college's council chambers. This was the first time Aeron had set foot in the room, and he found it intimidating. The chamber was floored in dark, rich hardwood, and the masters' seats were gleaming, paneled boxes carved with ornate figures. While the college masters were sometimes less than punctual about attending other duties, the novitiate examination was considered a serious matter, and all nine High Masters were present. Oriseus offered Aeron a sly grin when his turn came, but Telemachon and the others showed no partiality.
Aeron had decided to get the more difficult spells out of the way first. He started with the only necromantic spell he'd yet mastered, a baleful spell known as the cold grasp. He performed it flawlessly. Without pause, he moved on to a basic abjuration, a barrier against evil. For his final effort of the day, he demonstrated the spell of opening, the alteration he'd used to escape Raedel Keep months ago. In all three cases, he passed with flying colors.
On the following day, his morning was consumed by an extensive oral examination on the theory, practice, and ethics of magic, administered by one of the lesser masters. Again, Aeron passed without note. That afternoon, before the Ruling Council, he cast his spells of conjuration, enchantment, and divination. Melisanda struggled with her castings that day, and the third novice, Briet, fell short in his last spell, failing the examination. He was sent back to his classes with the rest of the novices.
On the third day, Aeron suffered through an interminable grilling on the fine points of Chessentan history, geography, and lines of descent, barely passing. But he saved his best spells for that day, proving his command over illusion magics by working the charm of invisibility, and then showing his affinity for invocations by casting fire hand. When he finished, the guardsmen showed him to a small antechamber to await the council's judgment.
Fifteen minutes later, he was called back into the council chamber. Telemachon, Oriseus, and the other masters watched as Aeron bowed and announced himself. "Novice Aeron at your service, my lords," he sa
id.
Telemachon stood slowly and glanced down at a piece of paper before him. "Novice Aeron, you have passed the novitiate examination. You no longer have any assigned classes; as a proven wizard, you may pursue your studies by arranging to study under any High Master you wish."
"Although you should keep working on your history," the sardonic Master Enchanter remarked.
Telemachon resumed. "Have you decided which discipline you will devote yourself to?"
Aeron drew a deep breath. "My lords, if the council favors it, I will study in the School of Invocation under Master Sarim." He noticed Oriseus's face darken for a moment, but the Master Conjuror quickly recovered.
The assembled masters turned to a tall, muscular Calishite in their midst. He wore yellow robes with a topaz hood draped over his shoulders. He smiled and nodded. "The Master Invoker is glad to accept Student Aeron into the School of Invocation," Sarim answered.
Telemachon waited a moment for any other remarks and rapped a small scepter against the lectern before him. "Very well. By decree of the council, Novice Aeron is raised to the standing of student, and his studies now fall under the purview of the High Master of Invocation. Congratulations."
"Thank you, my lords," Aeron said.
"Come see me first thing tomorrow, Aeron," Master Sarim added. "We will speak of your next endeavors. I look forward to working with you."
Aeron bowed once more and withdrew, a spring in his step. Look out, Dalrioc, he thought. I'm not your captive any longer. On his way out, he found Melisanda waiting in the antechamber. She looked anxiously at his face as he left the council rooms. "Did you pass?" she asked.
Aeron couldn't keep the grin from his face. "Easily. And you?"
The Vilhonese girl smiled, too. "No problem." With an impish laugh, she caught him by the arm, and they paraded back to the Students' Hall, ignoring the soft spring rain that had started to fall over the college grounds.
The elevation of novice to student was a cause for celebration, and the other Sword Hall novices swept the new students away from the college grounds to commemorate the occasion with an evening's revelry in the city's livelier quarter. Although he had no idea where to go or what to do, Aeron allowed the carousers to drag him along as they set out into the city.
The night was still and damp, with a fine, cool rain drifting down in gray mist gathering on every surface. It was cold, but not bitterly so, and for a short time, the silver fog concealed the grime and wear of the city in a delicate shroud. They reeled from tavern to tavern, finally ending up in a respectable taphouse called The Rampant Lion.
The college's students and novices were familiar with many of the alehouses ringing Old Cimbar's acropolis, and the Lion was one of their favorites.
Inside, a merry fire crackled in the common room's stone hearth, and dozens of merchants, officers, and ribald rakes shouted, laughed, and drank their fill. The Lion didn't cater to the laborers and longshoremen of the docks; the patrons' belts were heavy with silver and gold, and they paid well to drink in fine company. Aeron tried not to gawk as they pushed through the crowded room toward a private booth. His companions might have been accustomed to taverns such as The Rampant Lion, but the taproom in Maerchlin was the limit of his experience.
"What do you think, Aeron?" asked Baldon, nudging him with an elbow. He nodded toward a dark-haired barmaid whose dress displayed her charms to great advantage. "Isn't this a great place?"
Aeron concentrated on pints of Threskelan ale. Although the novices were about the youngest of the tavern's patrons, he did see a few noble rakes not much older than himself come and go through the course of the evening. After a few pints, he stopped caring. In an hour or so, the Sword Hall novices were roaring with laughter and pounding their mugs on the table for more.
"Congratulations, Aeron," Melisanda said. "You are no longer Dalrioc Corynian's flogging post." The other novices had turned their attention to a contest of bawdy songs. Her pale, fine-featured face was flushed with drink. She straightened, smoothed her dress, and stood with a little unsteadiness. "Well, the hour's late. I think I'm going to head back to the college."
"Not alone, you aren't," he stated. "These streets aren't safe."
"You might recall that I know some magic," she said.
"Why take chances?" Aeron rose, somewhat unevenly, and settled his tab and Melisanda's as well. Their hallmates were just getting started and had found a couple of friendly dancing girls to hoot and holler over. Baldon, Eldran, and the others hardly even noticed as the two new students said their good-nights and found their way to the street.
Aeron insisted on hiring a passing carriage. The cool air reminded him of just how much he had had to drink, and everything seemed too sharp, too well defined. When he turned his head his entire field of vision seemed to stagger and swim. "The university," he ordered in a firm voice, and burst out laughing a moment later. Melisanda joined him.
The driver rolled his eyes and flicked the reins. The carriage lurched into motion, throwing Melisanda against Aeron. That started another round of laughter as the horse's hooves clopped on the cobblestones and wet snowflakes swirled in the air. Aeron glanced over at Melisanda. She was looking up into the warm, dark clouds overhead, ruddied by the countless lights and lanterns of the city. Her dark eyes and slender features took his breath away, and his heart hammered in his chest.
Aeron reached out and pulled Melisanda close, circling her slim body with his arms as he kissed her soundly. She gasped in surprise, but leaned into him for a long, perfect moment before suddenly pushing herself away. "Oh, Aeron. Why did you do that?" she said quietly.
He gazed into her eyes until she looked away. "I love you, Melisanda. I've never known anyone like you." The wine in his head and heart emboldened him, unfettering the adoration he felt for her. He leaned forward to take her in his arms again.
Melisanda held up her hands and shied away. "No, Aeron. That's the wine talking."
"No! I love you. I've loved you since I first set eyes on you, Melisanda." Aeron caught her hands in his. "I'd feel the same, drunk or sober."
Melisanda turned her gaze to the black sweep of the harbor to their left as they climbed the steep streets leading to the college. Dim lanterns bobbed on ships at anchor, far beyond their sight. "Aeron, there's no easy way to say this, so I'll just say it. You're my friend, and I care for you. . but I don't love you, not the way you want me to. Please, try to put it out of your mind. I couldn't stand not having you as a friend."
Aeron started to speak, trying to think of something he could say to convince her that she didn't understand, but his rational mind asserted itself through the fire in his heart. In the space of a heartbeat, the world dropped out from beneath him, leaving him with a great hollow hurt in the center of his chest and a face burning with embarrassment. "I'm sorry," he managed.
"I know. Let's just forget about it." Melisanda tried to smile, but Aeron could see the wariness in her eyes. Regardless of what she said, neither of them would simply forget what had happened.
The coach clattered to a halt. With a sigh, the driver hopped down and offered his hand to Melisanda. She stepped away quickly, distancing herself as she wrapped her arms around her chest and shivered. The driver offered Aeron a blank shrug. "That's twenty talents, m'lord."
Although it emptied his purse, Aeron didn't even notice the lordly cost of the ride. Melisanda waited for him but did not speak as she turned and headed toward the college gate. He bowed his head and followed.
Head pounding from an excess of strong ale, Aeron dragged himself out of bed the following morning and dressed himself. It took him a moment to get his bearings, and when he sat up and swung his feet to the cold stone floor, his head still seemed to swim a little. He buried his head in his hands and groaned as the details of his encounter with Melisanda returned to his mind. There was a hot ache in his heart that had nothing to do with the drinking he'd done the night before. I should have known I wasn't good enough for her, he thought angr
ily. A high-born noblewoman! What was I thinking about? Melisanda had told him once that the college made no distinctions based on race or rank, but she'd remembered her station quickly enough.
Aeron might have fumed in his room for hours, but a sharp knock sounded at the door. One of the college servants appeared, a gold-hued bundle in his arms. "Excuse me, Student Aeron. Your new garments, sir." He hung a tabard of rich yellow brocade with a matching cap in Aeron's armoire. Despite his ferocious hangover, Aeron smiled in satisfaction. The servant bowed and added, "The respects of High Master Sarim. He awaits your pleasure, sir."
Aeron groaned. Sarim had wanted to see him first thing! One glance at the window told him that half the morning was gone already. As the servant withdrew, Aeron rose, scrubbed his face in the basin of cold water he kept by the door, and dressed. He belted the tabard over his tunic and donned the cap, enjoying the moment despite his tardiness, and then hurried out of the room.
He found the Calishite master in one of the laboratories of the academic halls, engaged in an esoteric conversation with a young student of abjuration. Sarim was a tail, well-built man with a broad chest and a handsome coffee-hued face. "Good morning, Aeron. I see you've finally decided to accept my invitation."
Aeron bowed awkwardly. "I beg your pardon, Master, but-"
The Calishite laughed and waved his hand. "Do not concern yourself, Aeron. I understand perfectly. The passage from novice to student is worthy of celebration, and from what I hear, you do not indulge yourself in such activities often. Come, let us walk for a while." Aeron followed as Sarim excused himself. They stepped out into the soft, still morning, admiring the first green buds of ivy appearing on the college buildings. Sarim headed toward the open ramparts facing the sea, hands clasped behind his back. "So tell me, Aeron, why did you choose invocation?"
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