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“I dunno, maybe it’s all the chapel sessions they made us sit through in basic, but I can kinda see it,” Farah said somewhat dreamily. The rest of Squad Thirteen eyed her askance.

“Really, now,” Merry said. “First week of active duty and you’re already planning your retirement and how many kids you want. I think you skipped seven or eight hundred steps, there, private.”

“Oh, hush,” Farah retorted without rancor. “I’m just saying, it’s a point, you know? The spiritual power of motherhood, the bond between mothers and daughters. I’d never really considered it, but I can see myself wanting that. Can’t you?”

“Babies terrify me,” Casey muttered in between bites of porridge.

“You know, there’s no reason you’d necessarily have daughters,” Merry pointed out. “It’s kinda random.”

“Nonsense, you can pick!”

Merry snorted. “It’s possible to pick. You can’t, though. Not on a Legionnaire’s salary.”

“The expensive alchemical methods aren’t a hundred percent certain, anyway,” Prin commented. “You want certainty, you need a good shaman. And even then they mostly won’t do it. Blah blah, messing with nature, wakka wakka spontaneity, yakety yak respect the balance. Pfft.”

“See?” Merry said, grinning, and tucked back into her own breakfast.

“Oh, you’re a bunch of wet blankets,” Farah said crossly. “I’m just saying, I think having a daughter would be a beautiful thing. Come on, I bet even you’d settle down for that, Locke.”

“I have a daughter,” Principia said mildly. “About your age, in fact.”

Farah blinked. “Oh. Um…well, then you’ll know what I mean, about that connection!”

Prin shrugged, eyes on her porridge. “Well, not really. She won’t talk to me.” A half-grin flitted across her face. “Can’t really argue with the kid. I’m arguably the worst mother who’s ever lived.”

They fell silent, the sounds of the busy mess hall washing over them.

“You really know how to kill a conversation,” Merry said at last.

Principia grinned at her. “You’re in the army now, woman. Killin’ is our business.”

“Attention!”

There was a mass scraping of benches and clattering of dropped utensils as every woman in the cohort sprang upright, saluting. Two figures were approaching the center of the mess hall’s open front area, which was commonly used by officers to address the assembled troops. Squad Thirteen were disciplined enough not to react to either the speaker or the Legionnaire who paced along behind her carrying a stack of papers under one arm.

“There has been a disruption of our normal schedule, ladies,” Bishop Syrinx announced, coming to a stop in the center of the space and folding her hands behind her back. Private Covrin fell to attention behind and to her right. “You will be informed of further details at a later time if command deems it necessary, but for now, Captain Dijanerad is among several officers called away on an urgent matter. As I have an interest in this cohort’s progress, I am delivering your assignments for today.”

She paused, angling her head slightly to one side and giving them assembled cohort a look that was both contemplative and slightly supercilious. “One day’s duty is hardly indicative of your skills, ladies, but as I told you yesterday, you are being watched and evaluated closely. The High Commander and your captain appreciate your patience with the unconventional manner in which this unit is being run, for the moment, as do I. A few of you are already beginning to stand out…and I mean that in both positive and negative respects.” Her eyes flicked back and forth to a few specific spots, none of which included anyone in Squad Thirteen. “The plan at present is for squad leaders to be assigned by the end of the week, after which you will not need to be nursemaided by more seasoned units and will draw more conventional duties. Those of you who have distinguished yourselves already, do not get complacent. Those who have not managed to stand out in any way still have time to do so. Several of you are on very short notice to get your act together. The Silver Legions have no place or the incompetent or the weak.

“Thus far, by and large, I’m pleased with you. Keep up the good work, troops. In fact, improve upon it. Private Covrin will now distribute assignments. At ease.”

She turned and stepped over to the side to speak quietly with Lieutenant Vriss, who was the only officer attached to the cohort currently present in the hall.

“I have a very bad feeling about this,” Farah muttered as the assembled Legionnaires relaxed, some hurriedly finishing off their meals.

“Mm,” Principia mused, eyes on the Bishop.

By chance or design, they were approached in reverse order, meaning Squad Thirteen was the first to be handed its orders, a sheet of cheap parchment bearing the Third Legion’s seal and an illegible signature at the bottom. Ephanie accepted this wordlessly.

“Covrin,” Farah said in an icy tone.

Private Covrin paused just barely long enough to ensure that her faint sneer was visible before moving on to Squad Twelve’s table.

“It’s bad, isn’t it,” Casey said, eyes on Ephanie, whose expression bore out her prediction.

“We’re to meet up with Squad Nine from Cohort Six,” she said slowly, eyes darting across the page. “They’re…heavily patrolling the Steppes. Specifics are to be given once we’re in the field, but that squad is positioned to intercept a major operation by the Thieves’ Guild, targeting a shipment of gold arriving at a Vernisite bank.”

The silence hung for a beat.

“But…we can’t have an assignment that involves the Guild!” Farah protested. “Locke has a conflict of interest. It’s against regulation!”

“Welcome to the conversation,” Merry said acidly.

“Heel, Tazlith,” Prin said.

Merry snarled at her. “Don’t you dare—”

“Treat your squadmates with respect and you’ll get the same in kind,” Prin said relentlessly. “It’s not as if Szaravid is wrong. Hell, we should’ve all been expecting something like this, but it’s faster than I’d imagined she would move.”

“This is what yesterday was about,” Casey said softly, frowning into the distance. “She was priming you to expect something like this. She wants you to challenge the order. Why? That’s not punishable, is it? Avelea?” She turned to Ephanie, who suddenly straightened up, eyes widening.

“Wait,” she said. “Come with me!”

Ephanie set off at a sharp trot for the back of the mess hall, making a beeline for the bulletin board with the rest of her squad trailing along behind. Once there, she began rifling through a whole sheaf of papers pinned together to the much-battered cork board, finally pausing on a page half the stack in.

“This was posted a week before we arrived,” she said. “Due to a ‘pattern of incidents’ involving new enlistees, until further notice, privates failing to report for duty will be considered absent without leave and subject to court martial, with a potential penalty of dishonorable discharge.”

“Wait, what?” Casey exclaimed. “Okay, I’m still new to the military. Isn’t that a bit excessive?”

“Failing to report is a serious matter,” Ephanie said, letting the pages drop and turning to face them. “But yes, court martial and dishonorable discharge for one offense verges on the absurd. There are a lot of prescribed disciplinary steps before it should come to that point. It says this is at Command’s discretion…”

“Is Syrinx’s signature on that thing, by any chance?” Prin asked wryly.

“She wouldn’t be so overt,” said Casey, scowling. “There is no way this is a coincidence, though. Are you all seeing what I mean, now? She’s capable of anything.”

They glanced across the hall, past the knots of armored women dispersing to their assigned tasks, at Bishop Syrinx, who was still speaking quietly with the lieutenant.

“How did you even know that was there?” Merry asked Ephanie. “It was buried. It predates us being here!”

“I make a point to read all posted notices carefully,” Ephanie replied, “for exactly this reason. I really cannot afford any slip-ups.” She paused, glancing around at them. “Without meaning to tread on anybody’s privacy, I’ve been getting the impression that nobody in this squad can afford any slip-ups.”

“What the hell do we do now, then?” Casey demanded. “Dijanerad would shut this down, but she’s conveniently elsewhere on what I bet is some urgently made-up bullshit.”

“You need to challenge this as quickly as possible,” Ephanie said to Principia. “An oversight isn’t your fault. You actually reporting for this duty would put you in the wrong. Get on the record pointing it out to a superior…”

Prin was already moving. She wasn’t quite fast enough; as she approached the front of the hall, Lieutenant Vriss nodded to Syrinx and dashed out the side door. The Bishop herself turned to depart through the opposite exit.

“May I help you?” Private Covrin said coldly, interposing herself between Principia and Syrinx. “Hey!”

Prin slipped around her without slowing. “Bishop Syrinx!”

The Bishop paused, glancing over at her. “You have duties, Private Locke, as do I. Be about them.”

“There’s a problem with my squad’s orders, ma’am,” Principia said crisply. “Regulations prohibit—”

“As someone recently reminded me, private, I am not in your chain of command, and I am certainly not your mother. Find someone whose problem this is and pester her about it.”

“Your Grace—”

“You are dismissed, private.” Syrinx stalked off, Covrin following her after giving Principia a hard look.

The rest of Squad Thirteen gathered around Prin as Syrinx and Covrin departed the mess hall. Most of the other squads had already filed out.

“Shit,” Casey said feelingly. “Damned if we do, damned if we don’t. How soon are we supposed to report?”

“We’ve only just got time to get there,” said Ephanie. “We could try to go over the captain’s head, find someone higher up… But by the time we did and actually got their attention we’d be way past late to report.”

Farah straightened up, her face brightening. “Cohort Six will have officers—that’s the whole point of us being assigned to them! They can excuse Locke once we report in.”

“We’re to join Squad Nine in the field,” Ephanie said, re-reading their orders. “We’re given a rendezvous point. That means we’re supporting… If it’s a standard patrol pattern for a district that size, we’ll be meeting up with two soldiers, three at the most. There will be officers, but odds are we won’t see them until after the action.”

“The group we’re sent to meet won’t have any officers,” Principia said softly. “I told you that thuggish display yesterday was beneath her. This is the real play—she won’t have left such an easy out.”

“A court martial is a trial, right?” said Merry. “You’ll have a chance to explain your case there. You’re obviously not at fault here, Locke.”

Principia shook her head. “I’m telling you, this is too thoroughly planned. The notice was posted a week ago; she’s been laying traps long before we even knew we’d be here. There will be some extra surprise waiting at that court martial. Hell, if I were running this con, that’s where I’d have hidden the real trap. It looks like the safest route to take.”

“Well…you can’t go,” Farah said miserably. “You’ll get in trouble with the Legion either way, but if you report for this assignment you’ll be betraying the Thieves’ Guild, too. I sorta got the impression you already aren’t their favorite person in the world.”

“No,” Principia said, narrowing her eyes. “No… We’re not beaten yet, girls. Let’s move out, or we’re AWOL and court martialed. When they put me on trial, I swear it’ll be for something a lot less stupid.”

“The insanity just keeps piling up,” Ephanie muttered, scowling. “Squads sent out without officers, the cohort’s officers all diverted, sweeping changes in regulations hidden… This is not just about Locke. It’s not just about this squad. This kind of nonsense can seriously damage a military unit. In wartime, people would die. I can’t even fathom how she’s getting away with this…”

“A lot can change between here and the Steppes,” said Prin, heading for the exit. “I just need a little time to think of something.”

“Something good?” Merry asked skeptically.

“Trust me, Lang, this isn’t my first time playing this game.”

“The last time you played this game, you got me arrested!”

“Someday I really need to hear that story,” Farah commented.

Principia, at the head of the group, grinned. “That wasn’t the last time.”

The dorm’s relatively quiet morning routine was brought to a halt by an earsplitting shriek.

“What?!” Maureen yelped, leaping reflexively onto her bed and falling into a ready stance. Across the room, Szith had also shifted smoothly to the balls of her feet, one hand grasping the hilt of her sword.

“Look! Look at this!” Iris, still in a patched nightgown, held up a white dress apparently identical to the one she’d worn yesterday, tears brimming in her wide eyes. It was of smooth and heavy fabric, decorated with subtle embroidery around the hem and cuffs. This one, however, had the word SLUT scrawled in blocky capital letters across the bodice in some thick red substance.

“Hm,” Ravana said, narrowing her eyes.

The door burst open and their house mother dashed in, staring around at them in alarm.

“What is it?” Afritia demanded. “What happened?”

Tears spilling down her cheeks now, Iris turned to face her, holding up the ruined dress.

Afritia stared at it in apparent bemusement for a moment, then her expression turned to one of silent fury. Over the course of a few seconds, she mastered it, and when she next spoke, it was in apparent calm.

“Addiwyn,” she said loudly in the direction of the long room’s other door. “Come in here, please.”

There was a moment’s silence. Ravana stepped over to Iris’s bed, picking up a small object from her nightstand.

Finally, Addiwyn’s door swung open and the elf leaned out, scowling. “What are you people doing? Some of us have classes to prepare for.”

“Do you know anything about this, Addiwyn?” Afritia asked quietly.

Addiwyn turned to stare at Iris, raising her eyebrows at the sight of the dress, then smirked unpleasantly. “Well. If you have to advertise, Iris, I guess you can’t be very good.”

Iris let out an animal scream of fury, throwing the marred dress aside, and launched herself across the room, clawed fingers outstretched.

She made it almost two feet before Szith smoothly intercepted her. One whirl of motion later, the drow had Iris in a firm hold, both arms secured behind her back. The taller human girl didn’t stop trying to squirm free, snarling at Addiwyn.

“She is baiting you,” Szith said sharply. “Contain yourself. You become unequivocally at fault if you commit assault in front of the house mother.”

“Worth it!” Iris screeched.

“No one is committing assault!” Afritia snapped.

“This is mine,” Ravana commented, studying the object she had picked up. It was a small clam shell filled with a thick red substance. “Or…was, I supposed. What’s left is ruined. Given how dry it is, I would guess it’s been left out all night.”

“Are you sure you had nothing to do with this, Addiwyn?” Afritia said, staring at the elf.

Addiwn shrugged, scowling irritably. “Domingue’s clothes turn up with Madouri’s cosmetics scrawled on them? Why am I even part of this conversation?”

“’ere now, just ‘cos somebody owns a thing doesn’t mean they’re the one who used it,” Maureen objected. “Y’don’t think Iris mauled her own gown, surely.”

“If you think me capable of something so unbelievably puerile,” Ravana said archly, “at least believe I take better care of my possessions. Frankly, this rouge cost as least as much as that dress. I wish to discuss that matter with whoever is responsible.”

“We all know who’s responsible!” Iris howled, glaring hatred at Addiwyn. She stopped struggling, however, quivering with rage in Szith’s grasp.

“Addiwyn, go wait for me in my room, please,” Afritia said.

The elf heaved a melodramatic sigh. “We have class in twenty minutes. I am still—”

“Go,” the house mother said flatly.

Addiwyn rolled her eyes, but flounced out, slamming the door behind her for good measure.

“Iris,” Afritia said more gently, “what kind of fabric is that? And Ravana, may I see that rouge, please?”

“It’s…just cotton,” Iris said miserably, finally slumping in Szith’s hold now that Addiwyn was gone. The drow gently released her. “Thickened cotton… I had to have it made. White cotton tends to be transparent otherwise.”

“Any enchantments? Alchemical augmentation?” Afritia asked, accepting the clamshell of makeup from Ravana with a nod of thanks.

“Alchemical, yeah. That’s where the thickness comes from. It’s not actually any heavier for it.”

“All right. I will be right back; I believe I can fix it pretty quickly.”

She slipped out, shutting the door much more carefully than Addiwyn had.

“Fix it?” Iris said morosely, picking up the wadded dress from her bed and staring at the now-smudged epithet scrawled across it. “How? This is ruined. Just look at this gunk! Maybe a professional cleaner…”

“Surely she wouldn’t make a promise like that unless she could back it up?” Maureen said encouragingly.

“Indeed,” added Ravana. “She is herself an alchemist of some considerable renown.”

“Is she?” Szith asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Ah, that’s right,” Ravana said smoothly. “Considering your point of origin, Szith, you are unlikely to have heard of Morvana the Poisoner.”

Everyone stared at her.

“Who?” Iris demanded.

“The what?” Maureen added.

Ravana shrugged, picking up the brush she had dropped and casually resuming work on her pale hair. “Perhaps it’s a matter chiefly of interest to the nobility. She never operated in the Tiraan Empire, at least not that I’ve heard. Morvana the Poisoner was an assassin who spent ten years cutting a swath across the Malderaan continent, striking down dozens of high-profile targets. Over a hundred, possibly; matters become a little confused when people are killed by untraceable alchemical substances. Others may also have taken advantage of the carnage to commit their own murders and blame them on her. The Poisoner published claims in various newspapers that each of her victims were members of the Black Wreath and had been killed for that reason.”

“Wh—that—surely…” Maureen gulped heavily, wide-eyed. “You can’t think that’s the lady who’s in charge of our dorm.”

Ravana only shrugged again, smiling. “Well, it could be a different Afritia Morvana. I’ve certainly never heard either name elsewhere, but it’s a wide world. And really, if you were an alumnus of the Unseen University with a dozen governments and the Black Wreath actively seeking your head, the prospect of hiding behind Arachne Tellwyrn’s skirts would start to seem rather inviting, don’t you think?” She set the brush down on her nightstand, her smile widening to an outright grin. “In any case, I would not like to be the person responsible for disturbing the tranquility of her home.” She angled her head pointedly at the door, tracing her ear with finger and thumb and then extending the gesture outward, as if outlining a longer, pointed ear.

“Ah,” Maureen said, nodding. She and Iris still looked slightly spooked. Szith simply gazed thoughtfully at the door.

Both Iris and Maureen jumped when it opened suddenly and Afritia stepped in. She held Ravana’s small make-up pad in one hand and a black silk pouch in the other.

“I think you’re right, Ravana; the rest of this is not salvageable,” she said apologetically, handing back the clamshell. “I’m sorry.”

“Not at all,” Ravana said smoothly. “It clearly is no fault of yours.”

“Iris,” Afritia went on, stepping over to hand her the pouch. “Sprinkle this on the stain and wait five minutes. Just brush it off after that; the rouge should come right off with the powder. Just… On the floor is fine, if you avoid the rug. I’ll come in and sweep it up while you’re in class. Will that leave you enough time to get ready? I can send word to your professor if you’ll be late.”

“I…no, that’ll be enough,” Iris said, blinking back fresh tears. “I just… Thanks so much. I’m sorry to be a bother.”

“You are not a bother,” Afritia said firmly, smiling at her. “Call if you girls need anything else. I need to have a few words with your other roommate before she’s late for class, too.”

Nodding again to them all, she ducked back out.

They stared at the door in silence for a moment, then Iris shook herself as if waking from a daydream and began laying out the marred dress across the bedspread, preparatory to applying the alchemical powder.

“Um,” Maureen said hesitantly. “Were you serious about…”

Ravana smiled slyly and placed a finger against her lips.

Deep beneath the peaks of the Dwarnskolds—the Spine, as some races called the vast wall of mountains that blocked off the continent from the tropics—the great library of the Svenheim Academy of Arcane Arts and Sciences occupied a chamber vast enough to accommodate a dragon. In fact, it once had, for all that none of its entrances were large enough to admit a creature of such size. A surprising number of would-be dragonslayers over the years had passed over their targets’ lairs by failing to account for their dual forms. In this era, though, rather than the piles of hoarded wealth it had once held, the cavern contained one of the world’s great treasure troves of knowledge.

Bookshelves climbed the walls all the way to the distant ceiling, accessed by balconies, narrow staircases and in some spots ladders, several on sliding tracks. Nearly the entire floor was lined by row upon row of bookcases, each heavily laden, several climbing upward in open-sided arrangements of rails and wooden floors to create towers and pyramids scattered about the middle of the open space. Everything was carefully filed, of course, though the necessities of the library’s odd architecture could make it difficult to find a given title if one were not intimately familiar with the layout of the room.

Most visitors ended up turning for help to the librarians.

Gwen caught herself humming very softly as she pushed the cart between the stacks and cut herself off with a grimace. It had hardly been loud enough to be heard a few feet beyond her, but still. It was a library. Someday, she really had to find a way to kick that habit. Her work kept her satisfied and happy, though, and happiness unfortunately resulted in music, no matter how inappropriate the environment.

She passed into a tunnel branching off from the main, well-lit chamber. The library was illuminated brightly by massive fairy lamps suspended from the ceiling in upside-down towers of metal scaffolding, which also contained the arcane charms that regulated the temperature and moisture in the air. The dwarves, by and large, preferred to use machinery above magic, but the technology to control environments so minutely was still in its relative infancy—and also, it was heavy. The vital task of protecting and preserving the Academy’s precious stores of knowledge was, for the time being, entrusted to the finest of Tiraan enchantments, no matter the current political tensions between the Kingdom and the Empire.

It was dimmer, of course, in the smaller side gallery into which she emerged, but that was mostly for atmosphere. Gwen hummed a few more bars before catching and stifling herself as she trundled along the well-worn carpet path with her cart of books, past a long row of doors, until she finally reached her destination.

Pausing outside, she rapped gently with her knuckles. “Professor Yornhaldt?”

No answer.

She waited, trying once more, before chuckling softly to herself and pushing the door open. A quick glance around the small study showed the Professor hunched over an entire desk full of open tomes, currently with a long scroll sprawled out across the top of the lot. Gwen backed in, pulling the cart after him.

“These are the last of the volumes you requested, Professor,” she said, a touch more loudly than before.

Professor Yornhaldt jumped in his chair, then half-turned to blink up at her. Lost as he was in some ancient lore, it took a few seconds of blinking before his gaze came back into focus.

“Oh! Miss Pjernssen, forgive me. Bless you, my dear, many thanks. I’m sorry, I was off in another world.”

“Not at all, Professor,” she said with an amused little smile. “It’s not as if you’re the first absent-minded academic I’ve tended to—and not the dustiest, by far. Anywho! These are the alignment records you requested from the Venalde Astrological Collection. You can only have them through the close of normal business hours, I’m afraid, and then they have to be tucked back into their own little beds.”

“Ah. Of course, of course…” He cast a regretful glance at his desk full of books before turning fully around on his swiveling chair and wheeling it over to the table as she laid out more volumes on it from the cart. “I suppose I’d best be about it, then. Hopefully I can gather everything I need from these today, and spare you having to cart them back and forth yet again.”

“Officially, I’m obliged to tell you it’s no bother at all,” she said solemnly, then winked. “But still, I appreciate it. Now, don’t let me catch you trying to put up your own books! The last fellow who requested anything from the Venalde Collection made the most abominable mess, attempting to helpfully clean up after himself. Let the professionals do their jobs, I beg you.”

“My dear,” Professor Yornhaldt said with a grin, “you have nothing to fear from me on that account. Believe me, if you had met the previous librarian at my own University, you would understand how careful I have learned to be with such rules.”

Gwen smiled and stepped back, pushing her cart toward the door. “I’m glad to hear it, Professor. Will there be anything else I can get you?”

“I believe that’s all, Miss Pjernssen, thank you kindly. Oh! Wait a moment!”

She paused in the act of departing, looking inquisitively back at him.

“I meant to bring this up sooner, forgive me. Never to early to start making arrangements, though. I’ll need to access the Vankstadt Archives at some point this week, Miss Pjernssen, if you could kindly start the process. I understand there’s rather a significant amount of paperwork involved.”

Gwen blinked, her polite smile frozen in place. “The… Vankstadt Archives, Professor? I’m afraid we don’t have any such wing in this library. To my knowledge, Professor Vankstadt never endowed a collection before he passed.”

Yornhaldt frowned up at her in puzzlement. “What? But I was assured… Oh! Blast me for an old fool, I really am forgetting things left and right. Of course, of course, here.” He withdrew a slightly rumpled letter from an inner pocket of his coat and handed it to her. “One must have the requisite permissions, naturally. I believe you’ll find that entirely in order.”

Gwen accepted the paper and unfolding it, noting its unusual weight. Indeed, within were the wax seals of the Chancellor of the Academy and the King’s Counselor Dornvelt, as well as their signatures. The brief note, on royal stationary, gave him the stated right to access the secret archives in question.

“Ah,” she said, handing the document back after studying it closely. “That is, of course, an entirely different matter. Sorry for the subterfuge, Professor, but they take great care to keep those documents out of reach of the general public.”

“Of course, I well understand that,” he said firmly. “And heartily approve.”

“Having seen that myself, I can begin the paperwork,” she said, “but you’ll need to show it to Master Reichter, and possibly to other officials. Just to let you know.”

“No trouble at all,” he assured her with a smile, tucking the letter away inside his coat again. “As I said, the procedures are all there for excellent reason. The last thing I want is to upset your system.”

“That, too, I appreciate,” she said wryly. “Then, will that be all?”

“Yes, thank you very much, Miss Pjernssen.”

“Very good. I’ll leave you to it, Professor Yornhaldt.”

He made no response, already half-lost in his new collection of books. Gwen heard a belated acknowledgment an instant before pulling the door gently shut behind herself.

She deposited the empty cart in its allotted place beside her desk, then paused, glancing around the open cavern. Her station was tucked into a small recess, giving her a decent view of the surrounding stacks, which were not too tall in the immediate vicinity. Several dwarven scholars moved about nearby, and two humans were hunched together over a book at the very end of the nearest row, but no one approached the reference desk itself. Gwen double-checked that the small summoning gong was clearly displayed, then stepped through the door into her office in the back.

Quickly and quietly, she removed the silken covering over the magic mirror hung on the wall opposite her filing cabinets. A melange of gray and greenish clouds swirled silently in its surface, marking it a very old specimen. Newer ones functioned simply as reflective surfaces until activated, a much more energy-efficient enchantment. Magic mirrors were still made, but they were priceless even so; the spells involved had to be laid by hand, as not even the wizards of Tiraas had yet figured out a way to automate those enchantments. They were not simple to make, and not many even now possessed the skill.

Double-checking that the door was shut, Gwen stepped up to the mirror and cleared her throat.

“Mr. Greyhand, please.”

The mirror only continued to swirl, apparently ignoring her. Gwen waited, patiently staring at it, until…

There. It was only the faintest flicker, gone so soon one would likely not have noticed it unless one had been watching specifically.

“Potential problem,” she said tersely. “Tellwyrn by proxy investigating cosmic alignments. Getting close; has support from the Academy and government. First intervention circumvented. Please advise.”

She fell silent, waiting for the acknowledgment that her message was received. It came, after a few more seconds, in the form of another almost-unnoticeable flicker, the ephemeral shape gone almost before it had come. Only from long experience with this system did she recognize it as the form of a spiky black wreath.

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“I can’t believe she scratched me,” Gabe said, for far from the first time. He was rubbing at his throat with one hand, despite the fact that he had healed the tiny pinpricks as soon as they had been inflicted in a rather excessive display of divine light. “How is everyone always scratching or stabbing or breaking me? Why do I even bother being an invulnerable half-demon if everybody gets a free shot?!”

“I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that you continually seek out and provoke the only people wherever you are who can actually do these things to you,” Toby said mildly.

“You make it sound like I have a death wish,” Gabriel grumbled. “I’m unlucky and dense, not suicidal.”

“I honestly can’t decide which would put you in more danger,” said Trissiny.

“And for the record! I did nothing to antagonize Ruda, she’s just a bi—a jerk,” he finished, glancing guiltily at Trissiny.

“I give you credit for the effort,” she said dryly.

Gabriel cleared his throat. “Sorry. Habits. But seriously, how Ekoi managed to scratch me is a pertinent question.”

“She’s a kitsune,” Fross explained, fluttering over to hover between them. “A potentially very powerful kind of fairy from Sifan. It’s actually really rare to see one outside their home country; they don’t like to travel. But then I guess it’s no surprise that Professor Tellwyrn has friends everywhere.”

“Maybe that means Professor Yornhaldt will come back soon,” Trissiny murmured.

“Be that as it may,” November chimed in, bodily inserting herself into the conversation, “whatever Gabriel did doesn’t justify a professor assaulting a student!”

“I actually think Professor Tellwyrn will agree with you on that,” said Shaeine from the sidelines. “Regardless of the very slight nature of the injury, she has strict rules about such things. If this has not been brought to her attention, I suggest we do so. If Professor Ekoi is as potent a force as Fross implies, it is doubtless best if she is prevented from making a habit of corporal punishment.”

“That’ll be an interesting conversation,” Toby said fatalistically. “Tellwyrn doesn’t have a high opinion of tattletales, even when they’re in the right.”

“Tellwyrn’s opinions are irrational and arbitrary,” Trissiny snorted. “The rules are the rules; she made them. November and Shaeine are right: Ekoi cannot get away with this.”

The handful of other students present simply stood at the periphery of the room, watching November and the sophomores in silence, several with frowns or raised eyebrows in response to tales of the new magical sciences teacher sinking her claws into Gabriel.

They were meeting in Martial Spell Lab 3, an octagonal room attached to the gymnasium, with a padded floor and enormous plate glass windows for three of its wall sections, which looked out over the prairie to the east. That glass, however, was no less fragile than the stone which comprised the rest of the room, and all of it would stand up to mag artillery fire. This was one of the chambers in which spell combat was taught and practiced; the defensive charms covering every inch of the room were the best that could be had. Allegedly they’d only needed to be replaced three times since the University’s founding, which was impressive considering the nature of the student body.

Further discussion was interrupted by the arrival of Professor Harklund through the door opening onto the main gymnasium. He was a man in his middle years, with the receding hairline and expanding waistline to prove it, but his jowly face carried a smile, as it habitually did. Despite his Stalweiss surname, he had the dark complexion of a Westerner. He dressed in traditional wizard robes of plain blue, a custom so outdated as to be an affectation, but despite that Harklund was one of the least-mocked professors at the University. A bronze pin displaying the moon and stars sigil of Salyrene was affixed as always to the breast of his robe.

“Hello, eager learners!” he said cheerfully, sweeping his gaze across the assembled students, pausing at each of them as he did a quick mental count. Class sizes at the University were small enough that most teachers didn’t bother reading names off a list; they knew who to expect and could tell at a glance if someone was absent. Professor Harklund, this time, had the opposite problem. “Ah, Ms. Fross, you are not enrolled in this class. I’m afraid you don’t meet the prerequisites, my dear.”

“Yes, I know!” Fross said brightly. “I happen to have a free period now this semester and I like to study my own projects, so I wondered if you wouldn’t mind if I audit this class? I’m very interested in different methods of using magic.”

“It’s not that I mind,” the Professor replied. “I never object to students wishing to learn. This is a strictly practical class, however; we will be wielding divine energies in significant concentration every day. That is potentially injurious to fairies.”

“Oh, but—”

“And,” he interrupted gently but firmly, “any methods you might use to mitigate that risk could disrupt the actual workings of the class. If you clear it with Professor Tellwyrn and Miss Sunrunner, and get their assurance that your being here is both safe and not disruptive, I certainly don’t mind if you watch. For this session, though, I’ll have to ask you to clear the premises.”

“Okay,” Fross said rather glumly. “I’ll see you later, guys.” She fluttered to the door, which opened to admit her, then drifted gently shut once she was gone.

“Well, then!” Professor Harklund went on more briskly. “Welcome to Introductory Lightworking! This is, as I’m sure you know, a new addition to the University’s offerings. I’m sure you know this because several of you were instrumental in getting it added to the curriculum! The only firm prerequisite for enrollment in this class is an established ability to wield divine magic. An awful lot of lightwielders do nothing but call on the energy and just…spray it out, unfocused. That includes a number of fairly high-ranking priests who really have no excuse not to know better.”

“Not all cults emphasize magic use,” Trissiny said pointedly. “Salyrene is the only goddess of healing and magic; other faiths have other priorities.”

“You are correct, Ms. Avelea,” Harklund said amiably. “To put it in more Avenist terms, then, would you send any soldier onto the battlefield as poorly-trained in the use of a sword as the average Avenist cleric is in the use of the light?” He gave her a moment to consider that, just long enough for her to develop a good scowl, before continuing. “As a counter-example, Themynra’s faith is about reasoning and judgment, which has nothing to do with magic…except when it has everything to do with magic. It certainly does not show good judgment to use tools without developing skill in their use. And indeed, I understand our Ms. Awarrion has a proven facility at magical shields, is it not so?”

“I believe I have attained a certain basic competency, if I may be forgiven for boasting,” Shaeine said diffidently.

“Shaeine is modesty personified,” Gabe said with a grin. “She’s crazy good with shields.”

Professor Harklund grinned. “We’ll take the time to explore the skills each of you already have, of course. I will be demonstrating new subjects as they arise, but as I told our pixie friend just now, this is a practical class. There should be time in each class period for everyone to receive individual instruction, and you will of course be expected to practice on your own. Now then, for the most part I plan to limit my talking to explanations of specific actions I expect you to take, but I will begin our semester with this one piece of theory.”

He paused, glancing around at them with a knowing half-smile, before continuing. “The light is caught up inevitably in religious concepts, coming to us as it does through the auspices of the gods. Interestingly, even among the dwarves, who can touch the light without any god’s help, an animistic faith devoted to it is common. All this leads us to a whole slew of misconceptions about just what divine magic is, and what it does. The truth is this: the guiding principle of the divine is order.”

“I thought divine light encouraged life,” said a boy unfamiliar to the sophomores, probably one of the new freshmen.

Harklund pointed at him. “That’s one of the more common misperceptions, Mr. Mosk. It arises from confusion between the two schools of magic used for healing. It is the fae which encourages life, and the distinction between it and the divine helps illuminate—pardon the pun—their respective strengths and weaknesses when it comes to the healing arts. For example, fae healing is excellent for major tissue damage, and even can reset broken bones if the proper spells are used. However, it has a tendency to accidentally encourage conditions that are caused by an overgrowth of life where one is not wanted. Infections, viruses, cancer. Divine healing, on the other hand, attempts to restore the body to its own base state, which also serves to purge it of alien incursions. However, a simple surge of divine energy hasn’t a physical component, and thus does not repair physical disruptions in the body of a certain size or severity. For instance, if you heal someone with a bone broken and left in the wrong position, you can cripple them for life. Heal someone with a blade embedded in their organs, and you likely condemn them to an excruciating death.”

November gulped audibly. Professor Harklund nodded, his expression solemn.

“In both schools of healing there are, of course, ways around these handicaps, which is what distinguishes a true healer from someone flinging around holy light or fairy dust. Healing is not the focus of this class, though we will of course cover it in some detail later in the semester. For now, however, we’ll begin with a relatively simple form of lightworking: the manifestation of solid objects.”

He held out a hand, a golden glow springing up around him, and suddenly a long, narrow cylinder appeared in his palm, apparently made of pure light. Harklund casually twirled the radiant golden quarterstaff as he continued speaking. “Some deities, notably Avei, grant shielding as an inherent gift to their clerics. If you do not come from a deific tradition which has this ability, however, you can make a shield simply by making something solid. You can, in fact, make just about anything—with certain limitations on size and complexity. There are differences and outliers, but the rule of thumb is you can’t create any object more massive than your own body. Only rigid things can be made, nothing flexible or malleable. A light-crafted object also cannot be changed once it exists; if you want something else, you must dismiss your creation and start over. There are further limitations and provisos, but they tend to situational and can be particular to the source of your magic, so we will address those in detail at a later date.”

The staff vanished, and in the next moment he was holding a traditional leaf-bladed short sword. “I often marvel that this practice is not favored among the Sisterhood. A priestess who can do it would never be disarmed. Ah, but do please correct me if I start to wander into theology,” he said with a wink. “As I was saying earlier, it naturally comes up when we discuss the divine, but isn’t directly germane to this class. Now then, holding a physical object made of divine light requires some concentration, but much less than it takes to create it in the first place. Today we will be attempting to make a simple object—the staff, as I just demonstrated.” He did so again, first dismissing the sword. “Its very simple form is an easy first project, and it also happens to be a particularly useful thing to know. There are a thousand and one uses to which a good staff can be put. Next time we meet, we’ll start to work on holding divinely created objects in existence without focusing your whole concentration on it. The trick can be dicey to acquire initially, but I think you’ll find, once you get there, it’s quite easy. All right, then! Who would like to start?”

Gabriel and November stepped forward simultaneously, then had a short, polite scuffle as each tried to yield the floor to the other. Professor Harklund had to end it by nominating Gabriel to try, admonishing each of them to pay close attention but please not attempt to follow the instructions until he could work with them individually.

The directions given were all about focusing, concentrating and feeling, the kind of talk that was familiar to anyone experienced with using magic but quite difficult for particularly concrete thinkers to initially grasp. Gabriel went about it with a most peculiar expression, a frown of intense concentration that kept flickering into a look of pure, childlike delight.

Trissiny eased over next to Toby, who was watching with a smile. “He looks so…”

“Yeah,” Toby agreed, nodding, his smile broadening. “He does.”

Gabriel’s lesson was interrupted by a yelp from November, who had manifested a golden quarterstaff in her hand, positioned so that she clocked herself in the head with it and tumbled over backwards.

Professor Harklund was by her side in seconds, placing a hand on her forehead and illuminating her with a gentle golden light.

“By far the greater part of your time spent in this class will be in individual practice,” he said to the others as he gently helped a wincing November to sit up. “However, Ms. Stark has just demonstrated the reason I ask that you not attempt new lessons unsupervised. As we get into more complex studies, the potential hazards become more severe. All right, Mr. Arquin, where were we?”

Gabriel got it a few moments later, after Harklund suggested he give up the two-handed staff grip he was holding, as the second point of contact increased the complexity of the initial summon. He absently rested his left hand on the hilt of his sword, and almost immediately found himself holding a staff made of light. No sooner had he whooped in triumph than it flickered out, leaving him grimacing.

“Very good!” Professor Harklund said approvingly, clapping him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Gabriel, holding it is another matter entirely, as I said. We’ll get to that in due course. Some of you may find that a magical aid to concentration can help with the initial summons, if you’re having trouble making that breakthrough. If any of you are still struggling by the end of this class and don’t possess any such devices yourself, I can provide one. This really is very much like learning to walk; getting the trick of it in the first place is the only hard part. All right, Ms. Stark, I believe you demonstrated a prodigious grasp of the basic technique without even meaning to. Ms. Avelea, would you care to go next?”

They went around the room in that fashion, each of the nine students attempting the feat individually. Trissiny did it all but instantly and without apparent effort, as did Shaeine; Professor Harklund left them to practice on their own, occasionally directing them to assist classmates who were getting irregular results from their repeated attempts. Once a student had managed to create a staff from midair, the Professor instructed them to keep at it and get a feel for the act. This caused steadily increasing tension among the remainders before they were called up to be walked through the process, but he had a very calming manner and was adept at handling classes of nervous pupils. By the time the session ended, more than half of them, working alone, had figured out the trick of holding a manifested staff in existence. Of those, only Trissiny, Shaeine and a junior girl named Clara had managed to keep one without actively concentrating on it. Everyone else lost theirs as soon as they attempted to speak or do anything with their staves—which probably averted several impromptu duels.

Everyone except Toby ended up having fun.

He simply could not get it to work. He never grew frustrated or nervous, simply staring at his open hand with a fixed, blank expression, creating futile spurts of light. Golden beams shot forth from either end of his fist at one point, but they were just light, with no solidity. At another, he conjured up a glittering outline, as if a layer of dust had settled over a staff, but not the staff itself. Eventually the Professor partnered him with Gabriel and Trissiny to practice and moved on to the next student, pausing only to give Toby a few encouraging words.

Still, despite all their best efforts, the class time came to an end without Toby having achieved more than a few interesting light effects. Harklund spoke with him quietly at one side of the room while the other students filed out, though Toby’s classmates waited to accompany him.

“It’s like he said,” Gabe said, slinging an arm over Toby’s shoulders. “It’s just…a trick. Once you get it, it’s the easiest thing. Hard to wrap your mind around in the first place, though.”

Toby just nodded, as calm and as distant as before.

 

“The man is absolutely barmy,” Maureen said in an awed tone.

Most of the freshman class had split after escaping the crowded, humid greenhouse, which had somehow seemed to become twice as crowded while Professor Rafe’s excessive personality was present. Now, the girls were on the way back to…

“Wait, where are we going?” Maureen asked, looking around. “This isn’t the path to the Well.”

“I frankly do not know,” Ravana declared, “nor am I terribly interested. We’re unlikely to fall down a hole or encounter a minotaur provided we stay outdoors and on campus, and to be quite honest, I feel an urgent need for some fresh air.”

“Imperial society is, on the whole, far more expressive than Narisian,” Szith said slowly. “Am I correct, then, in concluding that Professor Rafe was exuberant well beyond local standards of behavior?”

“Exuberant,” Maureen said, “irrational… I think the term would be eccentric if he were rich or a noble. Me, I’m goin’ with shoes-on-ears batscratch crazy.”

“Traditionally, academics are allowed to be eccentric, as well,” Ravana commented.

“He didn’t even notice me,” Iris burst out.

All five of them came to a stop, staring at her. At the rear of the group, several paces behind, Addiwyn snorted disdainfully.

“Professor Rafe?” Maureen asked cautiously.

“Lord Gabriel,” Iris said, seeming on the verge of tears. “He didn’t even…augh, not that I blame him, I babbled like an idiot. I’m such an idiot.”

“He noticed you,” said Szith. “In fact, he spoke to you.”

“You’re right,” Addiwyn snapped. “You are an idiot.”

“Excuse you?” Iris shrieked, whirling on her.

“If you spent a little more time worrying about your studies and less obsessing about boys,” the elf sneered, “perhaps you would be a happier, calmer type of idiot. Are you even aware that you were just in a class?”

“I’ve me doubts whether that qualified as a class,” Maureen mused, while Szith subtly interposed herself between Addiwyn and Iris, who had gone from the brink of crying to the brink of attack, judging by her posture and suddenly balled fists.

“It is hardly unconventional or inappropriate for college students to dwell on their love lives, or lack thereof,” Ravana said mildly.

“Besides which,” Szith added, “apart from Professor Tellwyrn’s frankly lunatic homework assignment and Professor Rafe’s instructions to drink something distilled from grains, which I personally am going to regard as a joke, we hardly have any school work about which to be concerned.”

“Really, Addiwyn,” Ravana added, “I don’t presume to know the reason for this directionless hostility of yours, but I cannot imagine how you expect it to end well for you.”

Addiwyn stalked forward until she was within arm’s reach of Ravana and stood, glaring down at her. They made an odd tableau: both girls slender, blonde and attired in a similarly old-fashioned style. The elf towered over the human, though, and wore an expression of almost childish fury—while Ravana, who looked the more physically childlike of the two, was calm and seemed faintly amused.

“Are you threatening me, little girl?” Addiwyn asked coldly.

“I am exercising common sense,” Ravana replied. “That you took it as a threat is a case in point. It is never a good idea to indiscriminately alienate everyone you meet.”

Addiwyn curled her lip, sniffed disdainfully, and shoved rudely past her, flouncing off down the sidewalk.

“Just what the hell is that girl’s problem?” Iris growled at her back.

“She can still hear you,” Szith observed.

“Good!”

“As Addiwyn has fortuitously walled herself off from our shared room, I believe we can dismiss her airs and nonsense from concern,” said Ravana. “She will either come around or come to grief; on her head be it. Meanwhile! You mentioned Professor Tellwyrn’s homework, Szith. I think it’s time we got a head start on it.”

Maureen and Iris drew back from her hesitantly; Szith just raised an eyebrow.

“Y-you’re eager to get started drawing up plans to ambush and…what was the word? Oh, right, neutralize each o’ yer roommates?” Maureen asked hesitantly.

“Oh, goodness, no,” said Ravana, waving a hand as though brushing away cobwebs. “We will not be doing that, ladies.”

“So…you want to do the homework, but you don’t want to do the homework?” Iris blinked twice. “I’m confused.”

“It’s not homework,” Ravana said with a smile, “it is a test. Tellwyrn’s pushing us, seeing how we react to pressure. To manipulation.”

“Apparently I react by getting confused,” said Iris.

“Aye, add me t’that!”

Szith remained silent, watching Ravana closely.

The blonde turned and resumed walking along the path, forcing the others to fall into step or be left behind, and carried on speaking. “Rather than let her turn us against one another, girls, we are going to do an equivalent group project, which will require some research. Let us make for the library while we have some free time.”

“Research on each other?” Maureen asked. “In the library?”

“No, no, Maureen. We’ll all get to know one another organically, over time, as such things are meant to happen. No, the subject of research will be the true enemy here. Arachne Tellwyrn is rather famous for being inexorable and unstoppable, but there are cracks in that awesome resume of hers. She has been beaten. She’s been outwitted, she has made mistakes, she has several times allowed herself to be manipulated by becoming overly emotional. We are going to perform a brief review of everything known about her adventuring career, find all the weaknesses, all the areas in which she can be and has been beaten…” She grinned, eyes fixed on the distance far ahead. “…and rub them in her face.”

A weighty silence hung over the group for several long seconds.

“Ravana,” Maureen said at last. “I like ye an’ all, please don’t think I don’t. But that… I really believe that is the worst idea I have ever heard.”

“It certainly sounds that way, doesn’t it?” Ravana said, half-turning as she walked to give the gnome a pleased smile over her shoulder. “And that is why it will work.”

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“I think he’s mellowing with age.”

“I don’t think that man is capable of mellowing, Ruda,” Toby disagreed. “I think we’re just getting used to him. Which…could be a good or a bad thing, depending on how you look at it.”

“What’s bad about getting used to things?” asked Teal.

He shrugged, pushing his teacup back and forth on the table. “I don’t know…just something about this place. In hindsight I can see the point of a lot of what Tellwyrn’s subjected us to, but on the other hand, I sometimes get the feeling the University is training us to cope with a certain kind of ridiculousness that just doesn’t occur anywhere else.”

Ruda laughed and added another splash of brandy to her “tea.” She’d been doing that after every sip and not refilling it from the pot; by this point she basically had a teacup full of brandy.

The cafeteria was open to students at all hours except during the night. There weren’t meals to be had except at mealtimes, but they could almost always find hot tea and cold pastries. It had long been a popular place for groups to study, between the plentiful table space and free food, though the library was enjoying a resurgence in popularity since Weaver had been replaced by the somewhat awkward but vastly more pleasant Crystal.

The newly-minted sophomores had stopped in to relax and swap stories of their various summers after their first class. Rafe, as per his pattern, hadn’t kept them long, using a tenth of the allotted class time to do little but say hello, strike a few poses and give an extremely brief description of the focus of this year’s alchemical studies.

“The unexpected and extreme can occur anywhere,” Sheaine said. “Perhaps we are better served by—”

She was interrupted by an enormous antlered hare, which bounded onto the table and snatched the half-eaten muffin from Gabriel’s plate. Gabe yelped in surprised, jerking backward so hard he nearly tipped his chair over.

“Jack, no!” Juniper exclaimed, lunging across the table to seize the animal, which kicked in her grasp. Teal grabbed the teapot, barely averting a disaster. “I’m so sorry, he’s not really used to indoors, yet. We’re working on his manners.” The dryad settled her pet back in her lap, soothingly stroking his fur. Only the antlers were visible over the edge of the table.

“Well, this is as good a time as any to ask,” Gabriel said, grimacing and pushing away the smashed remains of his muffin. “June, what is with the rabbit?”

“Actually he’s a jackalope!” Fross chimed. “Closely related to rabbits, as you can see, but a distinct species. They’re fey, rather magical; an actual rabbit’s neck wouldn’t support the weight of those horns very well.”

“They’re antlers, not horns, and it’s a druid thing,” Juniper explained. “Animal companions are a tradition of druidic practice.”

“They’re called ‘pets,’ and they’re a tradition everywhere,” Ruda observed.

“Well, yes, but I mean it’s a specific druidic practice. Several traditions of shamanism and witchcraft make use of animal familiars. It’s a way of…well, it’s kind of technical…”

“It involves imbuing an animal with a part of one’s essence!” Fross said brightly. “Thus creating a second point of observation which is capable of instigating the wave-function collapse which is at the heart of all magical action.”

“Wave…what?” Teal asked, mystified.

“That’s arcane theory, though,” said Gabriel. “Does it really apply to druidic or any fae arts?”

“Arcane physics is so called because it’s most easily investigated by use of arcane magic,” Fross explained. “The principles themselves apply to basically all magic equally. That’s why magical creatures are popular familiars. Actually, some witches use pixies, if they can! Pixies are hard to get, though, you usually have to go to the Pixie Queen’s grove to find any, and she’s not big on visitors.”

“That’s an interesting choice, Juno,” Trissiny said. “Aren’t jackalopes sort of…infamously ornery?”

“Well, he’s not a true familiar,” Juniper said somewhat defensively. “I’m not at that point, not nearly. Really, I’m just starting out. The Elders had me take care of an animal for somewhat more mundane reasons. It’s all about forming a bond with—”

She broke off, having to grab and subdue Jack again as he launched himself at Teal’s plate.

“Taking on a more challenging prospect can be a way to learn more swiftly,” Shaeine observed. Juniper was too busy wrangling the jackalope to respond; he didn’t seem as interested in settling down in her lap again this time.

“Hey, check this out,” Ruda said, craning her neck to peer past Toby at the glass front wall of the cafeteria. “It’s the freshmen!”

“There are an awful lot of them,” Teal remarked, turning to look.

“Twenty-two!” said Fross. “The student roster is posted in the library.”

“Twenty-two isn’t a large class at most schools,” Toby pointed out. “Though…compared to nine, I guess it is.”

“Why are they all boys?” Trissiny asked, her brows lowering.

“Oh, here we go,” Ruda muttered, rolling her eyes.

“The Class of 1183 has seventeen men and five women,” said Fross, “which is a seventy-seven percent gender imbalance, which is the same as the seventy-seven percent gender imbalance in our class skewing the opposite way. Actually those are rounded percentages and ours is just slightly greater, but you get the idea.”

“I didn’t know you could do that kind of math in your head,” said Teal. “Bravo!”

“It’s an important skill if you’re going to study arcane magic,” said Gabriel. “Which is why I really ought to work on that…”

“And I do it in my mind, not my head,” Fross clarified.

“Hey, wanna go say hi to the newbies?” suggested Ruda. “Look, they’re trooping toward the greenhouse. Already had Tellwyrn’s claws in them and are about to meet Rafe. Makes you feel sorry for the little darlings.”

“You mean, like how Natchua said hi to us between our first two classes?” Toby said, smiling faintly.

“Well, no,” Ruda replied. “Because we aren’t creepy and pathetic.”

Gabriel cleared his throat pointedly.

“I stand corrected,” she said, grinning. “Most of us aren’t creepy and pathetic.”

“Thank you,” he said with deep dignity. “I hate to fuss, but a fella likes to be acknowledged.”

“It’s a good idea, though,” said Trissiny, standing up. “Shall we?”

“Yeah, sure,” Gabriel replied, glancing down at his desecrated muffin. “I guess we’re pretty much done here.”

“It’s almost time to head to Yornhaldt’s class anyway,” Toby added, also rising. “C’mon, we can meet the freshmen on the way.”

“Well, a few of them,” said Ruda. “They mostly went past while you lot were jabbering.”

Indeed, most of the students had gone past by the time they emerged onto the lawn. The freshmen walked alone or in small groups, forming a staggered line; some turned to look at the emerging sophomores, a few slowing down to stare as they recognized Trissiny’s armor and put the rest together. Only the last cluster actually stopped, though. For whatever reason, the girls were walking along at the end, with only a couple of their male classmates.

“Mornin’, little lambs!” Ruda said cheerily. “How’re you settling in?”

“Well, thank you,” said the drow woman politely, then turned fully to Shaeine and bowed. Shaeine nodded deeply in reply.

“Teal, how lovely to see you again,” said a diminutive girl with waist-length blond hair, smiling brightly.

“Likewise, your Grace,” Teal said in a carefully neutral tone.

“Pshaw, let’s not fuss about that,” the girl replied, waving a hand airily. “We are all equals here, as Professor Tellwyrn has just emphasized at some length. Call me Ravana.”

“If you say so,” Teal replied evenly. Shaeine eased closer to her, moving her hand so that the backs of her knuckles brushed Teal’s.

“Can I ask a question?” said the gnomish woman timidly, raising a hand and peering up at Ruda. “Are you really a princess?”

“Only on my parents’ side,” Ruda said lightly. “C’mon, girl, project from the diaphragm! Are you actually raising your hand? Trust me, outside of Tellwyrn’s class, that’s not gonna do you any good.”

“Ruda, be nice,” Trissiny said reprovingly.

“I am being nice! It’s all about confidence, Boots. C’mon, let me hear you roar!”

The gnome’s eyes widened, and she began sidling behind a tall, dark-skinned girl in a white dress, who was gawking at Gabriel.

“Hmph.” The speaker, whose derisive snort seized everyone’s attention, was a plains elf incongruously dressed in a conservative, old-fashioned human style. “We are going to be late. Come along,” she ordered, grabbing one of the boys—also an elf—by the arm and dragging him off toward the greenhouse. He glanced back at them, smiling timidly and offering a small wave.

“Well, damn,” Ruda said, raising her eyebrows. “Who pissed in her oatmeal?”

“Oh, she’s just like that,” said the girl in white. “Are… You’re Gabriel Arquin, aren’t you? The new paladin!”

“Um…for whatever that’s worth, yes, that’s me,” he said, smiling somewhat awkwardly and settling a hand on the hilt of his sword.

“That’s amazing!” she gushed, eyes shining. “I mean… You’re amazing! To be a demonblood and get to… Augh, I’ve wanted to meet you ever since I heard and when I got accepted here I just, oh I can’t even think!”

“Oh, gods, don’t do that,” Ruda groaned. “He gets a big head over the slightest little thing.”

“And this is my fan club,” said Gabe, turning to Ruda and raising an eyebrow. “Not to worry, if my head starts needing the air let out, I can always count on you to fucking stab me!”

“And he carries a grudge like you wouldn’t believe,” Ruda added, winking. “Anyway, you don’t need me to stab you anymore, Arquin, since you seem determined to carry that thing around.”

“I’m getting better with it,” he said defensively, running a hand over the black sword’s hilt, almost as if he were petting it. “Anyhow, it seems like an appropriate thing to carry, me being a paladin now, and all.”

“You were given a divine weapon,” Trissiny pointed out.

“Yes, but it fits in my pocket,” he said, grinning. “The ancient elven sword is so much more impressive.”

“It’ll be real impressive when you hack your foot off,” said Ruda. “I dunno, Arquin, something about you with a sword will just never look right.”

“Hey,” he protested, “do I give you crap about the special lady in your life?”

“…I can’t even start to deal with all the shit that’s wrong in that sentence.”

The remaining male member of the freshman party stepped forward and bowed directly to Trissiny. “General Avelea, may I say it is an honor to be in your presence, and one I have eagerly anticipated since long before my arrival.”

“Oh,” she said, nonplussed, “that’s kind of you.”

“Forgive me,” the young man replied with a smile. “I should have introduced myself to begin with. I am Sekandar Aldarasi, prince of Calderaas.”

He was dressed casually, in a simple open-collared shirt with pressed slacks. The lack of regalia did not detract from his claim, however; the boy was every bit as good-looking as a prince from a fairy tale would be, and carried himself with the confidence of a man who knew it.

“Wait, prince?” said Fross. “I’m confused. Calderaas is an Imperial province, right? How do they have royalty?”

“Calderaas is one of the original provinces,” said Ravana. “The then-Sultanate of Calderaas formed the alliance with the city-states of the Tira Valley that became the Tiraan Empire. Several of those first provinces still have royal titles, though the rank of king, sultana or whatever is applicable is functionally the same as that of an appointed provincial governor.”

“As the Lady Madouri knows quite well,” said Sekandar, nodding to her with a smile which she returned. He turned back to Trissiny, bowing again. “If it is permissible, General, I would greatly appreciate the opportunity to speak with you further.”

“Of…course,” she said uncertainly.

“For now,” said Ravana, “I think we should all be moving along. It’ll make a poor impression on our professors if we are late on the first day.”

“I shall count the hours till we are together again, my lady!” Gabriel proclaimed grandly, bowing deeply to her and ignoring Ruda’s snort.

“Aren’t you a charming one,” Ravana said with a coquettish flutter of her lashes. “Come along, girls.” The girl in white looked to be on the verge of some kind of outburst, but swallowed heavily and followed meekly along after the much shorter blonde.

The sophomores watched their younger counterparts retreat into the greenhouse in bemused silence.

“Gabe,” Teal said tersely, “not to meddle in your love life, but… Not that one.”

“That’s right,” he said, turning to her. “She implied you know her?”

“I…” She stared after Ravana, expression unreadable. “…am aware of her.”

“So, this is a departure,” Toby commented, peering around at Professor Yornhaldt’s classroom as they wandered into their seats.

“I like it,” said Teal. “Doesn’t seem like his style, though…”

“I’m not sure he did it,” said Juniper, frowning and stroking Jack, who rested in her arms. “There’s a lot of magic at work here. Fae magic. Professor Yornhaldt is an arcanist.”

Most of the room’s accoutrements were the same, but it had gained a great deal of greenery over the summer. The back corners of the room contained artfully arranged clusters of potted ferns, which spilled out in a riot of leafy fronds. Other plants were placed strategically under the windows and along the walls, and in a huge, squat container on the dais itself was a small cherry tree, bursting with lovely pink blossoms, for all that it was completely the wrong season.

“So,” Ruda said, turning in her seat to leer at Trissiny. “That boy was crushing on you hard, General Shiny Boots.”

“What?” Trissiny demanded, her cheeks coloring slightly. “What boy? You mean Prince Sekandar? Nonsense.”

“Oh, come on,” she snorted. “’Such an honor to be in your presence, general.’ He was way into you.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Trissiny snapped. “He was just showing respect to a Hand of Avei. I simply happened to be that Hand.”

“There were three paladins standing right there,” Teal pointed out with a smile. “One of whom is a lot more interesting, for being new and unprecedented in several ways. Not to mention foreign royalty, a demigoddess…”

“Hm, Gabriel the Unprecedented,” Gabe mused. “I like the way that rings. I should have business cards printed up.”

“Calderaas has been heavily Avenist for over a thousand years,” Trissiny said testily. “The old Sultanate was a matriarchy and a lot of its traditions are still alive. Naturally an Aldarasi prince would be more interested in a paladin of Avei.”

“One presumes,” Shaeine observed, “that a prince of any extraction would be sufficiently poised not to snub the other members of a party to whom he was introduced. Unless, of course, he were emotionally overwhelmed by, for example, meeting the object of his distant affections…”

“Not you, too!” Trissiny exclaimed. The drow smiled at her, with only the faintest hint of mischief.

“Yeah, that boy wants you bad,” said Ruda, grinning insanely. “Juno, back me up here!”

“Oh, I don’t like to spread other people’s business around,” the dryad demurred, scratching behind Jack’s antlers. “I can’t help picking up on people’s desires and inclinations, but there’s no reason anyone else should be privy to that information. Everyone’s privacy is important.”

“Thank you, Juniper,” Trissiny said stiffly.

“No dryad business, then,” said Ruda. “Just girl talk, based on what you saw.”

“Oh, just that? Then yeah, he was totally into you.”

“Good morning, class.”

Several of them jumped, all whirling to stare at the dais. No one had seen her enter, but a woman now stood there, beneath the cherry blossoms, smiling mysteriously up at them. She was slender, with luxuriant black hair, almond-shaped eyes and vulpine features, and dressed in a sleek silk robe in dark green with a subtle pattern of white ferns around the hem and cuffs.

Most eye-catchingly, triangular ears, covered in reddish fur, poked up through her hair. A bushy tail extended from behind her, through some apparent opening in her robe, also dusky red and tipped in white. It twitched twice as they stared at her in shocked silence.

The doors of the classroom were infamously squeaky, and were easily within their frame of view. She had not come in that way.

“Let us begin by attending to the obvious, shall we?” said the fox-woman, still with that enigmatic smile. “Professor Yornhaldt is taking an unexpected sabbatical for this semester. I am assuming his duties in the classroom. I am Professor Ekoi, interim teacher of magical arts.” She bowed gracefully, her ears twitching. “And of course, I know each of you by description, and by reputation. You created quite the stir on this campus at the end of the spring term, did you not?

“It is my understanding that last year, you explored the basics of magic—what it is, and how it is used. In my class, you will be learning more specific, more practical things pertaining to that same basic school of thought. We will be examining each of the four common systems of magic, as well as the few which lie outside such classifications, with regard to their actual use. It should be your goal to learn to identify magical objects, creatures, spells and attacks, and understand how each should be dealt with. In short, you have absorbed sufficient theory that you can now begin learning facts. And, more importantly, strategies. You have a question, Mr. Arquin?”

“Yeah,” Gabriel said, lowering his hand. “Um, what exactly are you?”

Professor Ekoi gazed up at him placidly, in silence, until he shifted uncomfortably in his seat and opened his mouth to speak again.

Suddenly she flicked her wrist, and a folded hand fan slipped out of the wide sleeve of her robe, landing neatly in her grip. She swirled it open, covering her face below the eyes and revealing its pattern of calligraphy in a language that wasn’t familiar to them. Then, in a very disorienting spectacle, she twirled the fan in a full circle. It did not visibly grow, and yet it somehow concealed all of her body in passing—and she did not reappear when it moved on. The fan whirled in a complete arc and then vanished into its own center, like water swirling down a drain, leaving nothing behind.

The students gaped down at the empty dais.

“Um,” said Gabriel, “I didn’t mean to yipe!”

“There is endless variety in this world, Mr. Arquin,” Professor Ekoi murmured from right behind him, close enough that he could feel her breath. He could also feel the tips of her sharp nails, resting against his throat. Trissiny half-rose, gripping the hilt of her sword, but made no further movements as the professor continued. “People of every conceivable belief, origin and description. If you are privileged to lead a long life, and to explore the world in all its beauty, you shall come to know the grand diversity of its inhabitants—provided you possess the sense to absorb what you are shown. And you will find, Mr. Arquin, that none of these people enjoy being referred to as a what.”

He hissed softly as the tips of her claws—and those were clearly not just nails—pricked his skin. Five tiny points of blood welled up.

Before he could react physically, she was gone.

And then the professor stepped out from behind the cherry tree, down on the dais. “Except,” she said pleasantly, “for individuals in certain…specialty social clubs one tends to find in the major cities, which you are unlikely to enter or even discover without a specific invitation. For now, we should focus our attention upon the study of magic, children. Now, let us begin.”

Walter tromped through the tallgrass back toward the homestead, four hares strung on the rope thrown over his shoulder. It was early, not even noon yet, but he’d had the luckiest morning of hunting in a good long while, solid enough that he could justify taking the afternoon off. Ma would be happy enough with the meat he brought in to let him go without a fuss…probably. He had his bow in one hand, quiver hanging at his hip—he had a wand, of course, but that was for emergency use against any predators he happened to encounter. Lightning had a bad effect on game. All in all, he was in a great mood, whistling as he walked.

As such, he wasn’t paying terribly close attention, lost in his thoughts, and didn’t spot the other person coming toward him until Smitty barked. The hound was staring, on point but not growling, meaning he didn’t sense a threat. That was generally good enough for Walter; he found dogs were the best judges of character.

Then the individual coming toward him through the tallgrass pushed aside a particularly dense clump, coming fully into view, and he froze, almost dropping his bow and hares.

She was a girl, looking to be about his age, maybe a few years older, and stunningly beautiful in a way he only saw in magazine illustrations and never before on an actual woman. Also, she had pale green hair and was stark naked. He’d have been hard pressed to say which of those traits commanded more of his attention.

“Hello!” the nude girl said brightly.

“Uh… H-hi,” Walter choked out, then swallowed, struggling valiantly to keep his eyes on her face, a battle he knew he was doomed to lose. Not that it wasn’t a gorgeous face, but she also had gorgeous breasts, and he’d never actually seen… He gulped again, trying desperately to maintain an even keel. “Um, can I…help you with something, miss?”

She tilted her head to one side as if thinking, and suddenly frowned. “Maybe. Did you kill my sister?”

That made even less sense to Walter than her appearance and manner, but luckily he had a ready and truthful answer to it. “No, ma’am, I didn’t.”

“Oh, okay, then,” she said, that dazzling smile returning. “Maybe you can give me directions! Am I still headed toward Last Rock? Is it close?”

Last Rock. It figured. Ma always said the only downside of living out here was the proximity to that place.

“You’re headin’ the right way,” he said, looking at her chest again in spite of himself. “It’s about thirty miles on. Careful not to stray too far north or you’ll be in the Golden Sea.”

“Oh, I know all about that,” she said dismissively, taking a step closer.

Smitty whined, and instantly Walter was on full alert. The hound pressed hard against his leg, clearly frightened. His teenage hormones were telling him one thing, but the dog told him something very different—and he knew quite well which was more trustworthy.

“Since you offered to help, though,” she said, licking her lips and smiling broadly, “I’m kinda hungry. Can I have a couple of your rabbits?”

“Oh,” he said, easing backward from her. “I, uh…” It had been a lucky morning, true, and he had ample time to go back out and hunt more… But this was a significant amount of good meat, not to mention what the pelts would sell for.

“Don’t worry, I’d make it worth your while,” the girl promised, stepping forward again, her smile widening. “Would you like to have sex?”

He very nearly exploded on the spot. Ma was forever going on about how boys his age had exactly one thing on their minds, and to be truthful, that thing was very much on his mind right now. Meeting a nude beauty in the tallgrass and receiving such an offer…this was a situation straight out of some of his more absurd fantasies.

But Smitty wasn’t the only one whose instincts were jangling, now. Walter had looked into the eyes of predators before.

“Tell ya what,” he said carefully. With the slow, even movements he knew wouldn’t startle or provoke a wild animal, he pulled the string of hares from his shoulder and held it out toward her. “You just help yourself, my treat. I’ve gotta get home.”

“Aw, you sure?” she said, pouting slightly even as she took the hares. Her warm brown eyes flicked up and down his body, making his pulse accelerate. “I wasn’t just offering a trade. I think it’d be swell to stop and make love. Don’t you?”

Walter had to gulp twice before he could speak again. That would be swell. But Ma, it seemed, wasn’t wrong about everything; the very, very bad feeling he had about this was more powerful than lust. Her knowing smirk widened, almost as if she could tell what he was thinking. Maisie Taathir down at the trading post sometimes gave him that impression, especially when she caught him sneaking a peek at her bum, but…not like this.

“I really have to go,” he repeated. Smitty whined again.

“Okay, then,” she said with a shrug that did extremely interesting things to her chest.

Walter tipped his hat to her, backed up a few steps, then half-turned to set off in a wide arc around her, keeping her in his peripheral view.

As he watched, she licked her lips again, then calmly ripped a leg off one of the hares and bit into it, fur and all. Bone crunched audibly and she made a soft sound of approval.

He didn’t walk backward, but kept going in the slightly wrong direction at an angle until a more comfortable distance had stretched out between them. Even then, Walter very carefully kept his pace measured as he and Smitty left the girl behind.

It was, as he knew very well, a bad idea to run from a predator.

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