On the Shoulders of Titans

by Andrew Rowe

  When those two weeks were up, I had three final exams in a row.

  ***

  Understanding Attunements was, as I expected, a written exam. I suspected I got an average score on that one.

  Introductory Runes was also a written exam. That one was considerably easier. I’d been terrible at memorizing attunement runes as a child, but that was because they never had any practical use to me at that age. Now that I was actively Enchanting things, I was learning runes on a daily basis, and memorizing them was much easier when I was practicing them all the time.

  Permanent Enchantments, of course, was not a written exam. Professor Vellum never would let us get away with passing her class that easily.

  “Ah, students. It brings me great joy to see so many of you here, so eager to display what you’ve learned.”

  She wasn’t even trying to disguise the mockery in her tone.

  This is going nowhere good.

  As we sat down, I could see the nervousness in the expressions of my peers.

  Even the greatest monsters couldn’t inspire fear like an old woman who was plotting something.

  “Oh! No need to be seated. I wouldn’t dream of giving your final test in something as dull as a classroom. Please, follow me.” Professor Vellum stepped out of the chamber without another word.

  We followed after her, most students mumbling suspicious comments to one another. I stayed focused, trying to figure out where exactly we were walking.

  It wasn’t long before I knew. I’d already seen her with another class at the vaban stadium, so I shouldn’t have been surprised.

  But the dueling class finals were over, so what was she planning?

  The arena floor was still covered with the same tiles that we’d used during the dueling match. In addition, there were two tables on the far side of the arena floor.

  One table held standard enchanting tools, like etching rods and measuring implements.

  The rest of them held a miscellany of assorted items: a vase, children’s toys, kitchenware... It looked like someone had dumped out a box of old junk onto the table.

  And, knowing Vellum, that was very likely what had happened.

  “Stand over here.” She positioned the class on the opposite side from the tables. “Good.”

  Vellum folded her hands. “When this semester began, I told you this would be your hardest class. While the work up until this point has proven challenging for some, I was referring specifically to this final test. Many of you will fail. Most of you who do will feel that the test was unfair.”

  I felt my jaw tighten as she continued.

  She cracked a grin. “That’s because it is, of course. This is a terribly unfair test. Not quite as unfair as the spires, however, which is why you need to be properly prepared before you challenge them.”

  Professor Vellum turned and pointed at the tables behind her. “Those will be your supplies. When I say to begin, you may retrieve a single set of tools and a single item from the other table to enchant.”

  Some students were already groaning, but that part didn’t make me nervous. Not yet.

  “Your test today is a simple one. Assume you are going into the spire with a group of climbers, and you need to prepare. You only have the time and materials to prepare a single item. Ten minutes after we begin, I will begin calling out the names of students, starting from those who have the highest scores. When I call your name, you will present your item to me.”

  We were already standing, so someone waved to get Vellum’s attention.

  Vellum ignored the student and continued talking. “You may not give me an item you already enchanted before today, or any other magical item for that matter. You also may not add enchantments to another item you already have on you. You must enchant one of the items from those tables.”

  Her phrasing on that last line already gave me a slim loophole — I could potentially enchant one of the tools, rather than one of the objects from the other table. But I kept listening.

  “You may only use the materials within the arena. You may not leave the arena to go gather more supplies. If you already happen to be carrying enchanting supplies on you, you may use them. Preparation is key.”

  I heard several groans at that.

  I had a few things in my bag that I always kept on me, but not too much. My tools and a few mana crystals were better than nothing, though.

  Beyond that, I did have several magical items I’d already made or purchased, but I wasn’t allowed to turn those in or modify them. I didn’t know if they’d be of any help.

  I did have more materials to work with inside the Jaden Box, and the Box was in my bag...but showing it here would be a risk I wasn’t willing to take.

  “Now, if you have any questions...?”

  Someone was still waving, so she sighed and pointed to them. “Miss Weaver.”

  The student finally put her arm down to speak. “Um, can we work together?”

  That...hadn’t even been something I’d thought about, shamefully enough.

  “Why, yes, dear. You can work together. You’d be surprised how few of my students remember that’s possible. Any other questions?”

  Another student waved.

  “Mister Thompson.”

  “What happens if we’re not finished with an item before the time limit?”

  “You fail, obviously. Anyone else?”

  No one else waved.

  “Very well, then.”

  I shifted my stance.

  “Your test begins...now.”

  I activated the ring of jumping three times in rapid succession, crossing the arena.

  I was the second person to reach the tables, after a student who had teleported. Miss Weaver, in fact, the girl who had been so enthusiastic about working with others.

  I found it amusing that she’d so quickly left everyone else behind.

  Focus.

  I activated my attunement, scanning the tables.

  Just as I’d suspected, some of the random “junk” items were already enchanted.

  Vellum had either put them there as ways for students who couldn’t enchant items quickly to pass...or possibly as traps for people who thought they could get away without doing their own work.

  I opted for the cynical explanation and skipped the enchanted items, instead opting to find something with a good mana capacity — a plain metal circlet.

  I couldn’t tell what type of metal it was, but from the color I suspected it was either iron or steel, either of which had a good enough capacity for my purposes.

  With that in hand, I found a corner and sat down. I didn’t bother grabbing tools; I trusted my own.

  I had a few ideas on what I could make.

  The simplest option was to build a stronger shield sigil. I’d already built several shield sigils throughout the year. With my own improved mana capacity and two attunements, I could make something with a capacity at least three or four times higher than the phoenix sigils.

  I also considered building a weapon. Among the kitchenware, there were some decent-looking knives, and the benefits of having a weapon in the spire were considerable.

  With my new training at life magic, I was probably capable of making a weak regeneration item with just the tools on-hand. That was probably the most tempting prospect, since it was something I doubted anyone else in the class could manage.

  As far as I knew, everyone else only had an Enchanter attunement, and thus no one else had the ability to use life mana.

  When I thought about the scenario, though, I realized there was something I considered even more important than any of the items above.

  It wasn’t possible to make what I wanted with just the materials on-hand and my own mana.

  Fortunately, I had a solution.

  I began carving runes into the circlet. Minutes passed, and I had to stop. I knew most of the runes from memory, but I’d never actually made one of these.

  So, I took the return bell out of my bag, and I be
gan to copy.

  The jingling of the bell as it came out of my bag drew the attention of a few students. I ignored them.

  “Ten minutes. Miss Weaver, you’re up.”

  Resh, it’s been ten minutes already?

  I didn’t know how high I was in the class, but I had to hurry.

  I finished carving the runes.

  Then, with the briefest of hesitation, I began to transfer the mana from my return bell’s runes into the circlet.

  The rules of the test had been clear — I couldn’t hand in a pre-enchanted item, but I could use my raw materials.

  And if I broke an item down into raw materials?

  That sounded fair.

  Probably.

  “Mister Holt.”

  I kept working. It didn’t take long to transfer all the runes I was planning to move over.

  I didn’t copy the activation rune, though.

  I had something more interesting in mind.

  I looked down at the floor, the tiles still etched with runes.

  Then I copied the runes that Teft used for voice activation.

  There were multiple runes at work in the process; one rune for recording a sound, and another that constantly “listened” for similar sounds using mental mana, then finally an activation rune that triggered when the recorded sound was detected.

  I copied all of them.

  I didn’t have the ability to use sound mana, but I didn’t need to.

  I just transferred the necessary mana right out of the tile beneath me.

  Damaging school property for the test probably wasn’t going to get me into trouble, especially considering how badly we beat up the arena during the duels. Still, I’d fix it later if Vellum asked me to.

  “Miss Winter.”

  Was there anything else I needed to do?

  I began etching another rune. If I had time, I could give this more functions. Maybe build in a shield? The item probably had a high enough capacity for both the return function and a low-level shield...

  I clenched my fist as I began to transfer mana into the first sigil for building a shield.

  What else was I forgetting?

  I felt like there was something important...

  “Mister Cadence.”

  I wasn’t done.

  There wasn’t nearly enough time.

  I packed away my tools, gritting my teeth as I stood.

  What else did I need to do?

  I was halfway to Professor Vellum.

  I stopped, paused, and sent a flicker of mana into the sound-recording activation rune. Then I leaned down and whispered into it. “Return.”

  I de-activated the rune.

  If I hadn’t recorded a sound, the item would have been completely worthless.

  I breathed a sigh of relief.

  I finished walking over to Vellum. I was ready now.

  “What’ve you got, boy?”

  I handed her the circlet.

  She turned it over in her hands, frowning. “What’s this nonsense?”

  “It’s a return—”

  “I know what it is. Or, what it’s obviously supposed to be. You tried to improve on a return bell, yes?” She folded her arms.

  I felt pretty confident in my choice. “It seemed like the most important thing to have in the spire was an escape route.”

  Vellum waved the circlet. “And you thought you could improve on a decades-old design, did you?”

  I nodded. “With respect, yes. Return bells are still useful, but there are always places for improvement.”

  “And how much have you tested this new design?”

  I winced at that. “Well, I haven’t tested this specific—”

  She cut me off with a wave. “So, let me sum this up. You decided the most important thing to bring with you was an emergency exit. However, that was boring, so you made an untested change to the core functionality of the item. If you made it incorrectly, the item is completely useless, and you potentially won’t know until you are in a life or death situation. Is that about accurate?”

  I took a deep breath. This was not going well. “I have tested the individual components before, and I am reasonably confident that this method of combining them will work.”

  She waved a hand. “Enough of that. Where’s your teleportation anchor?”

  I...hadn’t made one of those.

  But I still had the one from the original bell, and in theory, since I’d moved all the anchor rune from the bell over directly...

  I wasn’t sure if it would still work, actually.

  I pulled out the anchor and handed it to her. She glanced it over, turning it in her hands, and then handed it back to me. “A standard anchor. Passable.”

  Should I tell her I didn’t make it in the class?

  She has to know, doesn’t she? But she didn’t say anything.

  “I...” I stammered.

  “I’m not done talking to you.” She handed the circlet back to me. “I’m disappointed, Cadence. You made a number of mistakes here, not the least of which was your choice of item. I mentioned in the scenario you were going up with climbers — undoubtedly, one of them would have a bell.”

  I started to open my mouth to object, but she waved a hand.

  “Just listen. In spite of that, a return bell was not a terrible option — if you had experience making them, and the skills to make one on your own.”

  “I’m not going to fail you for transferring mana out of an existing item for the test. Nor will I fail you for stealing mana from the tiles. Those were both valid strategies, and clever ones at that. But when you’re only allowed to bring one tool for something, it’s important to make certain it works. There is a time and a place for experimenting, but it must be done in a safe, controlled environment. If you had truly brought this item into a spire, you would have been gambling with not only your life, but the lives of others.”

  I couldn’t help myself from interjecting. “I also wouldn’t have gone into a spire with one item.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I believe you wouldn’t. I’ve seen a number of other items you’ve built, and as we’ve discussed, many are creative. But your particular brand of excess has another flaw. As you grow more powerful, you’ll find that having too many items causes them to interfere with one another.”

  I nodded. I’d studied that a bit, and taken it into consideration with the placement of my multiple shield sigils to make sure they didn’t cause any problems with each other. “I can consolidate down to a smaller number of items as I grow more skilled.”

  Or, I could just keep storing things in the Jaden Box. But she didn’t need to know that.

  “Be that as it may, this test was about preparing one item, not many. In that regard, you have failed. Not because you are a poor Enchanter — in fact, your item shows a higher degree of skill than most of the class. Your failure is in judgment.”

  I winced. “I...see. So, I fail the class, then?”

  She shook her head. “No. You fail this exam. Your score for the year going into this test was a ‘B’ average. I will give you enough points for this exam that your final score is a ‘D’. Failing you out of the class would only make you more likely to make mistakes in the future. And thus, this once, I will be merciful.”

  I took a deep breath. “Thank you, professor.”

  She handed me the circlet. “You can thank me by taking that to the Divinatory and finding out if it works. It won’t change your grade, but I know your habits, and I don’t want you using it inside the spire until you know for certain that it’s functional.”

  She was right, of course. “Yes, Professor.”

  “Good. With your terrible performance today, I expect to see you back in my office next week. We will be going over some fundamentals, since you clearly haven’t paid enough attention to them up to this point.”

  I tucked the circlet and the anchor away in my bag. “I’ll be there.”

  “Good.” She turned away from me without ano
ther word. “Next... Mister Wydmore.”

  ***

  I found myself slouching as I walked toward the Divinatory.

  I’m such an idiot sometimes.

  I didn’t even deserve to pass that class.

  I should have told her about the anchor.

  Failing the test bothered me, but the worst part of it was that I hadn’t even admitted to Vellum that I hadn’t completed the whole item while I was there.

  She had to know, didn’t she?

  I could...just tell her.

  I failed the test anyway...would she lower my grade further?

  The dishonesty of omitting the information was grating on me, but I couldn’t stand the idea of failing the class entirely because I confessed a new bit of information, either.

  Non-standard solutions were second nature to me. Even cheating at one of the exams deliberately didn’t really bother me.

  But I hadn’t meant to “cheat” there. There had been no clever trick, no bizarre lateral thinking solution.

  No, I’d forgotten something pivotal to passing the test, and I’d effectively lied about it.

  That was different.

  Did she know?

  Would she care?

  I thought about that until I was all the way inside the Divinatory’s doors.

  ***

  “Hullo!” Researcher waved. “You’re looking glum, Arbiter. Did you forget something?”

  I frowned. “...I...sort of? How’d you know?”

  Researcher gave me a sympathetic look. “Casting knowledge spells always takes out a part of me, and it’s awful. Especially the bigger ones. I feel so...wrong.”

  Oh, she doesn’t know what happened. She just...associates losing memories with the idea of sadness in general.

  It was probably a characteristic of her being a knowledge elemental, but in spite of the miscommunication, I appreciated the sympathy.

  And, in truth, I didn’t really feel that differently. The idea of losing my memory was awful. “Yeah. I’m glad I don’t have to pay that cost when casting spells.”

  The elemental turned away with a sad look. “I...wish I could get an attunement like yours, so I could cast spells safely like you do.”