Tin Thoughts (The Downfall Saga Book 2) Page 10

  They saw a posting on the notice board which they stopped to read on their way out. A large, square piece of glass with a silver backing hung on the wall. The notice board, Ravyn explained, was linked to a similar one in a central room below the Administration Building. With an ample supply of free magical energy available to them, it was easier to have a wizard change the appearance of the notice boards in the central room, which would be reflected in the ones spread throughout Haven, than to have someone walk the expanse of Haven to change pieces of paper hanging on the wall.

  The notice told all of the second year students to meet by the hot springs near the Medical Center on Sunday evening for a moonlit meal followed by a special announcement. It wasn’t mandatory for them to attend, but was highly recommended.

  “What do you think it’s about?” asked Ravyn rapidly.

  “We’ll have to wait and see,” said Donovan.

  ***

  A full moon was peaking over the mountain when they arrived for the special announcement. Mist from the hot springs covered the ground, making it appear as if they were walking on top of the clouds. Long tables had been setup, covered with white tablecloths. Stands holding candles stood along the path leading to the tables to light their way.

  The four of them sat down at an empty section of table, with Kort and Ravyn sitting together on one side, and waited for the food to arrive.

  “If I knew it was going to be this fancy, I’d have worn a clean shirt,” said Kort.

  “A picnic outside is not what I’d consider fancy,” said Caddaric.

  They chatted with each other for several minutes before they heard a group of people approaching. Emerging into the valley was a row of people dressed in ornate robes, forest green in color with golden embroidery. As they neared, they picked out two familiar faces in the procession.

  Osmont was easy to spot by his fluid movements and amber eyes shining in the moonlight.

  Near the middle of the line was Headmaster Marrok, dark circles puffed out of his face below his nebulous eyes, but he had a bright smile on his face.

  They walked between the tables before lining up to face the direction that they had come from.

  Four figures in pristine white robes with their hoods left down, emerged. They were smaller and broader than the professors, and all had shaved heads.

  “Are those?” asked Kort.

  “Dwarves,” said Caddaric. “Now close your mouth and pretend that you have some class.”

  As they approached, Donovan saw a familiar face in the crowd.

  “Tuff,” he mouthed.

  Tuff gave him a wink as he walked past.

  “Your attention,” said Marrok in his quavering voice. He waited for the side conservations to cease before continuing. “Thank you all for coming. You’re probably wondering why you’re here, and now you’re wondering who these people are with me. Let me introduce to you, Elder Eban.”

  The students clapped politely until one of the dwarves waved for silence.

  “I’ll keep this brief so we can start eating sooner,” said Eban in a deep, gravelly voice. “We believe that applying constant pressure and heat to our students is the best way to get them to reach their full potential. The difficult part is finding the proper challenge for our best students. With that in mind, we created an annual competition call the Paragon Prize Tournament, to pit our best students against the best that the other races have to offer. Teams of six people will compete against each other in the spring. We’re leaving the selection process up to the staff at each school.”

  “It’s challenging to compare our methods to the other schools,” said Marrok. “We’ve discussed this, and decided to send a group of students from the second year of our program to this year’s competition. A selection committee will choose a team captain from among our students. The captain will be responsible for selecting the rest of the team. The committee will interview any interested student, as well as your teachers, during the term, and periodically observe your performance during your classes. Anyone who is interested in being our captain should give your name to Osmont before the end of September.”

  “The competition will be dangerous,” said Osmont. “Take your time to think it through before nominating yourself as a potential captain.” Osmont looked around at the other professors, none of which seemed inclined to speak. “Now let’s get down to the real business of the night. Bring out the food.”

  The professors found empty spots around the tables to sit. Osmont came over to sit beside Donovan.

  “This is so exciting,” said Ravyn. “We have the opportunity to see how things are done at other schools. We can compare curriculums and share best practices.”

  “It’ll be an opportunity for our students to broaden their horizons, as my father would say,” said Caddaric. “You might as well name me captain now because no one else can measure up.”

  “I’ll put you at the top of the list,” said Osmont. “Anyone else?”

  “Yes,” said Ravyn.

  Osmont looked at Kort and Donovan, but they both shook their heads.

  Chapter 11

  Donovan woke early on Monday. He wrapped his cloak around him, and headed for the door, when he noticed his sword laying on the desk. Instinctively he reached for it, but stopped himself. Walking around Haven with a sword on his belt wouldn’t ingratiate himself with the other students. He itched to pick it up and perform a Vanora to loosen his tight muscles, but he wanted to find a spot where he could perform it in private.

  He left the Complex and followed the tunnels which would take him near the Warrens. He paused at an eatery, which was little more than a cart against the wall. The vendor uncovered a smooth, flat rock which glowed red with heat. He set a thick cast iron skillet on top of the rock and fried a few pieces of bacon for Donovan. He cut off a slice of bread from a crunchy loaf and lay the bacon on top, before pouring the grease from the skillet on top. Donovan tossed the vendor a penny and picked up his breakfast to eat on the way to the Foundry.

  He hadn’t approached the Foundry from this direction before, and had to check the signs posted at every intersection to avoid getting lost. He was just finishing his breakfast when he approached the familiar door. He swallowed the last bite and licked the grease off his fingers before entering.

  The room was cooler than normal, and only a few student were working. Wryhta was sitting at a table studying a ledger book and it took him a moment to notice Donovan.

  “Donovan, what brings you here at such an early hour? I hope there weren’t any defects with your sword.”

  “It performed admirably.”

  Donovan crossed the room and sat across the table from Wryhta.

  “Got some use out it, then?”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” said Donovan, staring at the table.

  “I’m always glad to hear from a satisfied customer.”

  “I know you’re busy, but I had a couple of questions I was hoping you could answer.”

  “Ask away.”

  “I signed up for the introductory Artificer class, but I’m afraid that I’ll be absolutely useless. You see, I was the weakest student that Professor Moncha ever taught.”

  “I’ll let you in on a little secret, or maybe I should call it the biggest secret at Haven.” Wryhta gave a hearty laugh before he continued. “The Foundry is the heart of Haven, without it, everything would shrivel up and die. I see that look of disbelief on your face, but I assure you that I’m understating the facts, if anything.”

  “You produce items, both magical and not, which you sell. I don’t see how that is so important to Haven.”

  A student ran a rasp across the blade of a knife he was making. The grating sounds made the hairs on Donovan’s arms stand on end and he tensed his shoulders.

  Wryhta gave Donovan a knowing look, but didn’t seem perturbed by the sounds at all.

  “Clearly, you don’t understand how the world works. We don’t produce any old item. We only produce quality good
s where the addition of magic to its production adds value. This, combined with our extensive trade routes with Strom and Onora, gives us an advantage over Kernish goods. If we wanted to, we could undercut the price of many of the items which their economy relies on.”

  “And they would follow suit until no one is making any money.”

  “Exactly, but it would take time for them to diversify their economy, and we could take advantage in the short term. Now, this is very unlikely to happen. We have agreements in place to prevent this, which allows us to make a killing off what we produce. Without this money we couldn’t afford to pay most of our professors and would have to shut down many of our classes.”

  “What does this have to do with the weakness of my Gift?”

  “Our students keep our cost of labor down. Not only do they work here as part of their classes, but they pay money for the privilege. The students who master the craft go on to well-paying jobs and aren’t concerned with what they spent, but while they are here, we get a massive amount of free magical labor from them.”

  Wryhta marked his place in the book and closed it, before standing up to walk over to one of the furnaces.

  “We have enough older students to carry out the important parts of the process,” said Wryhta. “During your first year, you will take classes to learn the theories at work here, and you will spend time as an apprentice helping the other students. You will spend more time scooping coal into the furnaces than using your magic.”

  He patted the side of the furnace with his hand and gave no indication that he felt the heat coming off of it, despite the brief sizzling sounds when his hand touched the side.

  “You’ll learn about all of the tools. How to care for them, use them, and where they need to be put away.”

  Donovan glanced over at one of the boards attached to the wall. A plethora of tools hung from small hooks protruding from the board. He could see the white outlines drawn on the board of the tools which were currently being used. It seemed like a simple system to replace a handful of tools, but he couldn’t imagine how long it would take if someone removed all of the tools at once.

  They walked over to a student who was watching a blade being heated. The blade glowed a consistent cherry red color.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, why does he need to watch it heating so intently?” asked Donovan.

  The student gave Donovan a glare before returning to his work.

  “Careful there,” said Wryhta. “Bring it up nice and easy.”

  Donovan watched as the color of the entire blade slowly changed until it was glowing white.

  “The process requires precision for the best results,” said Wryhta. “Our students use their magic to regulate the temperature during forging. Unlike conventional methods, they can keep the temperature of the entire object uniform throughout the whole process. They control how fast it heats up or cools down, and how long it remains at a given temperature.”

  He saw the look of dismay on Donovan’s face.

  “Don’t worry, you have a couple of year to go before you’ll be expected to do anything like this.”

  “That is good to know. I appreciate the time that you spared for me, and I’ll be seeing you throughout the year.

  They shook hands before Donovan departed the Foundry. His first class that day was Introductory Illusions. The map of Haven pointed to a small area near the Foundry where he’d find the classroom. Several turns later, the tunnel dead-ended with a door on either side. He opened the door on the right and entered the classroom, only to back out and double check the room number.

  The classroom looked like an insane artist had done the decorating. Sections of the walls were painted in different colors and patterns. Paintings were haphazardly hung along the walls and the entire ceiling was covered with mirrors. The only familiar classroom objects that Donovan saw was the blackboard on the front wall, and a series of desks facing it.

  Knowing how foolish he must have looked when he saw the room, he sheepishly slid into one of the empty desks.

  “I’m Donovan,” he said.

  Already in the room was Mayson Rian, Niles Thorley, Alannis Tamsen, and Steph Cindra. They all looked several years older than him, and Donovan feared that this would be another repeat of Professor Moncha’s class from last year. They had barely finished their introductions when the door opened and a man came strolling in.

  He stood barely four feet tall, had curly blond hair and a handsome face. He wore a stylish brown vest over a tightfitting forest green shirt and matching pants. He stopped in front of the blackboard and turned to face the students.

  “My name is Professor Nikka. I’m here to teach you ignorant savages about what is not real. Anyone who is in the wrong room should leave now.”

  He stood there and studied the class for an uncomfortably long minute.

  “Pity,” said Professor Nikka. “Since you are all apparently staying, I guess I should get started. Who can tell me what an illusion is?”

  Everyone raised their hands except for Donovan.

  “Excellent,” said Nikka, pointing at Donovan.

  “Donovan, sir.”

  “We have a sir in our class. Am I supposed to be impressed, Sir Donovan?”

  “No, sir. It was meant as a sign of respect.”

  “Respect is earned, just like your grades, so you can drop the sir. Now can you answer my question?”

  Donovan held his tongue and didn’t say what popped into his head. He thought for several seconds before answering.

  “An illusion is something that deceives the senses,” said Donovan.

  “That will suffice,” said Nikka, writing the definition on the blackboard. “You will notice that magic doesn’t appear anywhere in the definition. Does that bother any of you?”

  Niles tentatively raised his hand.

  “It’s just that if I’m paying for a course, I expect to learn some magic.”

  “When a professor shows you how to whack someone upside the head with a sword, do you expect them to show you a magical way to do it?”

  “I don’t even want to know how to whack someone with a sword.”

  “Pity because I’m about to give a demonstration.”

  Nikka walked behind his desk and bent down to pick something up off the floor. When he walked back around the desk they saw that he had a sword in his hand. It had a single edge and no cross guard. The lights around the room reflected off the shiny blade, except when Donovan looked closer he thought he could see a grey smudge, the same color as the floor, showing through the blade.

  Nikka slowly walked around Niles desk, sword casually held in his hand.

  “Are you crazy?” said Niles. “You could hurt someone with that.”

  “Yes I am,” said Nikka, his eyes going wide and bulging from his head. “I intend to do just that.”

  He put his second hand on the hilt of the sword, and swung with all his might towards Niles’ head.

  Niles tried to duck, but it was too late. The blade passed right through his head before it disappeared.

  Nikka whistled a jovial tune, at odds with the sobbing noises coming from Niles, as he walked back to the front of the room.

  “That is the power of an illusion in the hands of a master. You shouldn’t expect to be able to duplicate that, but that won’t stop us from trying, now will it? Of course not. Now who spotted any flaws with the sword?”

  Donovan watched Professor Nikka prowl around the room like some large predator, while the class did their best to avoid his gaze. He paused behind Niles’ desk before continuing.

  “Let’s try something more difficult?”

  There was a scratching noise at the door.

  “Who could that be?” asked Nikka, almost skipping over to the door. He pulled the door open and stood out of the way.

  A beetle the size of a small dog walked into the room, its legs making a clicking noise each time it took a step. Six skinny legs supported a large, bulbous body. A sinuous weave of b
right blue lines flowed around the top of its shiny black shell.

  It unfurled its wings and flew onto the desk in front of Donovan, and let out a loud hiss. Alannis let out a shriek.

  “See any flaws now?” asked Nikka.

  “Yeah,” said Donovan leaning forward. “You can see through it a bit.”

  Donovan slid his hand under its body, careful to avoid the legs, and he could faintly make out the shape of his hand on the desk.”

  “No you can’t.”

  Donovan sat there silently and wiggled his fingers.

  “Can you see through it now?”

  It leapt towards his face, legs spread wide, wings fluttering.

  It disappeared when it would have made contact with him.

  “What did you do?” demanded Nikka.

  “Nothing. I thought you made it disappear like the sword earlier.”

  “I did no such thing.” He gave Donovan a predatory glare. “Let’s dismiss the fallacy that you can see through my illusions.”

  He walked over to the blackboard. He was careful to shield what he was writing from the class with his body. He stepped aside and they saw that the blackboard was completely blank. He motioned for Donovan to come up to the front of the room.

  As Donovan approached, he could faintly see the white writing bleeding through the black surface.

  “It has the definition you wrote earlier right here,” said Donovan, “but I knew that from before. Down here is a picture that I think is supposed to be a mule.”

  Donovan tapped the picture and the picture became visible to the entire class.

  “Uncanny,” said Nikka.

  ***

  “So what’s this class about?” asked Donovan.

  “How should I know,” said Kort.

  The two of them were making their way past the hot springs towards the teaching wing of the Medical Center. The hot, humid air plastered their wet clothes against their bodies.

  “You’re the one who picked it.”

  “It was one of the few classes in the healing program that I could take. I wasn’t about to learn how to use a weapon that I wouldn’t touch for the rest of my life.”