Academy of outcasts, p.18
Academy of Outcasts, page 18
Trax perked up at that thought. “Meat? Where?”
“Sorry, Trax, it’s a figure of speech. Though I suppose if Gaul Haddar kills me outright, you should probably just eat my corpse afterward. I’ll have died a failure, so what does it matter?”
“Thank you, Carnavon. That is the kindest thing any land dweller has ever told me.”
Trax was as oblivious as I was bitter. Leaving now meant abandoning my family to be punished for my crimes, and that I would not allow. I’d either earn a place of status here sufficient enough to force the clearing of my name, or I’d return to Fogo to spend the rest of my life breaking rocks in debtor’s prison. Better for me to pay for my mistakes than my brothers and sisters and their kids and grandkids working off my sentence. My parents would go unavenged, and their killer would remain free. The whole situation left a sour taste in my mouth.
We spent the morning approaching other academies. As Inspector Borg predicted, I was shunned at each and every one. Some were coldly polite. Others were downright cruel. Not one of them would give me the chance to show off the few spells I’d created. Desperate would-be mages like me were so common that some of them set up on the streets outside of the various academies and performed shows of their magic in the hopes of attracting a real mage’s notice. That wasn’t an option for me, because the only spell I had which wouldn’t get me arrested for endangering the public was to heat up a copper bowl, and I doubted gradually bringing water to a boil would be a crowd pleaser.
Adding to my annoyance, the other aspirants’ displays were actually really good. Since today was Airday, most of the visitors were from that realm. When I found myself at the park around the great tree of the Wynlyn Academy, I stopped to watch several illusionists putting on incredible shows. There were moving images of monsters and heroes from myth and legend, and of different Saints undergoing the trials that had caused the Gods to make their paragons of a specific virtue. Some of the illusions looked so real, it felt like I could reach out and touch them. Some weren’t just illusions of sight, they also made sound, with the roar of battle and the crash of steel against steel.
It was a display the likes of which I’d never seen before, and these were the amateurs!
And yet the real mages barely even seemed to notice as they walked past. Occasionally, a wizard would be amused enough to drop a few small coins at the feet of an illusionist. I’d paid more for Trax’s moth-eaten blanket than they gave to a would-be student who just created a work of breathtaking beauty.
That was certainly a blow to my confidence.
I’d not tried my luck at the Wynlyn Academy yet because this was where my nameless pirate enemy had most likely studied, so I sat on a bench in the shadow of their vast tree to gather my courage. From the traffic coming and going, it appeared most of the Wynlyn students and instructors were elves, and they struck me as a haughty bunch. Like all the other academies, Wynlyn’s campus was protected by a wall, only this one wasn’t made of stone, metal, or brick, but of some thorn bush which had been magically reinforced and twisted into shape. The thorns on those branches looked sharp as needles. Anyone who tried to climb over it would be in a world of hurt.
The only opening in that living wall was protected by a pair of human guards wearing steel breastplates shined to a mirror finish. There was a fountain in the park, so Trax went to splash in it. I believe the odd birds swimming in the fountain were called ducks, and I assumed Trax probably ate a few of them while I wasn’t looking.
The leaves of the giant tree had been falling off and piling up everywhere, which I’d been told was normal for this thing they called autumn. The park must have been a popular place for the Collegium’s residents, as it was very crowded. I went unnoticed in my humble hood, quietly observing visitors arriving at the Wynlyn Academy. Those with appointments, the vines of the gate untwisted and moved aside to let them in. Then there were other arrivals, where the gate stayed closed, and the haggling with the guards began.
It appeared that unless they were confirmed by a tester to have an outstanding natural aptitude, there was no talking their way through those vines without offering up a donation, and from the size of the purses changing hands between the academy staff and ambitious parents buying interviews for their children, getting in that way required wealth far beyond my destitute means. Once the guards were properly bribed, then the gate would open, allowing the families inside.
I’d always been told elves were nearly immortal, so they were above petty human concerns, but the elves who ran the Wynlyn Academy sure seemed to appreciate money as much as the rest of us.
After I’d been sitting there for a while, a human girl approached the gate. She caught my eye because she was around my age, and rather pretty in a very striking way. Fogo girls tended to be dark haired and pale skinned. This one was blonde and tanned. Fogo girls didn’t grow their hair out nearly as long as this one had either, because really long hair was just one more thing to catch on fire. Her clothing was similar to the baggy silks and flashy cloaks the other visitors from the air realm had been wearing, just patched and a bit shabbier. From the looks of her clothing she might be as broke as I was, though she was groomed well enough she’d certainly not slept in the dirt next to a ditch. Even the way she moved was exotic. Fogo girls walked with purpose. This one’s walk was so graceful and airy she might as well have been dancing.
The girl stopped in front of the two guards and declared loud enough for the whole park to hear, “I am Azarin Garzade, wizard of the first rank, daughter of Mazdak Garzade, champion Haatari storm chaser, and I demand an audience with your master.”
From getting rejected for two days straight, I figured I knew how that was going to shake out for her, and sure enough, the guards began to laugh. It looked like she took that personally and began to argue with them. I couldn’t hear the rest of the exchange, but as the girl got angrier and more animated, the guards obviously didn’t care. She must not have had sufficient money for a bribe, or any parents or guardian with her to make up that difference. It wasn’t until she got back to yelling volumes that I could make out what she was saying.
“I’ll have you know I’ve mastered three spells. Now I will demonstrate my skill!” She threw open her cloak with a flourish, revealing that she wore some kind of enchanted glove on her left hand. “Behold as I harness the power of the wind.”
If this stunt actually worked and got her through that gate, I’d risk throwing my last snail grenade in the park for their amusement, but I doubted it would, since these same guards had been dozing through the most impressive illusions I’d ever seen.
From where I sat, the girl appeared nervous but determined as she lifted her arm high, closed the glove as if she was grabbing hold of something, and shouted, “Ascend!”
Immediately, she was pulled straight into the air like she was clinging to an invisible rope that had just gotten tugged on by an invisible giant. Having dealt with barge lifters and air carts, I was familiar with levitation magic, but this was a lot more rapid and violent. Several people in the park went oooh and ahhh as she rapidly rose forty feet before opening her hand. That must have broken the spell, since she hung there for a heartbeat, then began to drop. The oohs turn to oh nos.
Except she aimed the glove at the ground, spread her fingers wide, and shouted, “Descend!”
Her plummet instantly turned into a much softer, slower fall, not too different from how the golden leaves were drifting down from the Wynlyn’s tree. Swaying back and forth, she was still going pretty fast, but had probably slowed down enough she wouldn’t break her ankles on landing if she was graceful, and she looked very graceful. Her cloak and golden hair were whipping in the wind around her, which added to the theatrics. I had to admit, I was impressed. That would be an incredibly useful pair of spells for getting on and off a barge in a hurry.
The girl had a huge smile on her face, as everything seemed to be going perfectly for her. Except that expression turned to terror as she realized that rather than continuing straight down to the grass, the breeze was diverting her toward the wall of thorns. She adjusted where her glove was pointed, but it was too late. “No, no, no, no, no!”
She almost made it. Everyone in the park cringed as she crashed directly into the wall of thorny doom and disappeared into the vines.
A second later, a lot of profanity and screaming came out of the thrashing shrubbery.
The guards abandoned their post as they rushed to the crash site to yell at her, “Get out of there!”
“I’m trying to, you fucking knob! Ouch!” The poor girl shouted as she tried to extricate herself, which just resulted in her getting stabbed more. “I didn’t—fuck! Damn it!”
I went over to see if I could help. It was a sad statement about the nature of the Collegium that none of the other witnesses bothered. Trax appeared out of nowhere next to me, still wet from the fountain, and there were feathers stuck to his blanket. Which surely meant some poor duck had met its end at his terrifying jaws.
“Quit damaging our wall or we’ll call for the City Watch,” one of the guards declared.
“I swear on Naanwaala’s tits, do you think I’m doing this for fun?” She was hanging a couple feet off the ground, and all her fighting had only gotten her half unstuck. She still had one arm and one leg hopelessly entangled, her cloak was shredded, and she was bleeding from a bunch of tiny lacerations. “Don’t just stand there, dolt, give me a hand!”
The guards weren’t inclined to risk getting poked, but me being a helpful sort, I rummaged through my pack and found my work gloves. They’d protected me from sharp rocks, they’d surely be able to handle some thorns. “Hang on, air realmer. I’ll help you.”
“This must be the trash collector,” one of the guards sneered.
“Do your job,” the other told me, as they returned to their gate, laughing at her misfortune.
“You can both fuck right off then!” she shouted after them. “I’ll find a better academy!”
“Quit wiggling,” I warned her. “You’re just making it worse.”
“That’s easy for you to say, stranger who isn’t being stabbed a million times.”
“True, but that doesn’t make me any less right. So hold still before you slice open an artery.”
That shut her up.
It took me an awkward, painful couple of minutes to get her extricated—those thorns were bastards. I got stabbed in the arms a good twenty times as I tried to not make everything worse. It wasn’t until Trax finally figured out what we were doing and actually helped that we got her lifted free. Turns out squalo skin is tough enough Trax didn’t even notice the thorns.
Trax set her down, and the three of us stood there, with me bleeding a little, and her bleeding enough I was impressed that she’d not passed out yet. Half her clothing hung in tatters. There were sticks stuck in her hair and scratches on her face. Despite all that, she was still rather cute, even if it was in a loud, profane, and angry sort of way.
“Thank you, kind sir, and…” she looked at Trax, whose basket hat had gotten stuck to the wall, revealing his toothy face, “your fish-man thing.” Then she shook one bloody fist toward the guards. “Whatever he is, he’s more noble than you useless fucks!”
I didn’t know much about the Realm of Air, but she had a mouth on her befitting a Red miner, and that I could respect. “Do you need a healer?”
“You got one handy?” She cringed as she plucked a particularly obnoxious thorn out of her hip, held it up, and saw that it was a quarter inch long. “Fucker!”
I’d seen a church of Olga the Merciful one street over. “I know where one might be. Can you walk? It’s not far.”
“Give me directions. I’ll limp there eventually.”
“That’s dumb. Lean on me. Come on.” I gently took her by the less injured side and placed her arm over my shoulder. She was nearly as tall as I was, though all the air realm people I’d seen today had been tall and slender. Which made sense. They probably had lots of room to stretch out there. As soon as we started walking, she got blood on my new cloak, which caused me to have a very troubling thought.
“Hey, Trax, this blood isn’t going to drive you into a feeding frenzy like Inspector Borg said, is it?”
“No. That is a common misconception. Squalo blood frenzies are only for battle or festive occasions.”
“A what now?” the girl asked. Apparently, like most people, she was unable to receive my companion’s words clearly. Then she grimaced as Trax sent us both a picture of what he considered a festive occasion. “Naanwaala’s ass! Why’d I just have a vision of eating hordes of ratlets?”
“That’s how Trax communicates. He means well. Who’s Naanwaala?”
“She’s the Saint of bad decisions and painful embarrassing fuckups.”
I wasn’t sure if that one was canonical, but there were a whole bunch of Saints. Who could keep track of them all? “I’m Oz Carnavon.”
“Azarin.”
The people on the street were getting out of our way, not out of concern, but because they didn’t want to get blood on them. Mages sitting at little tables outside of their restaurants looked up from their tea, askance at our sad state. I’d not been here long, but had a suspicion the block immediately around the Wynlyn Academy had to be the most aloof part of the already snooty Collegium.
“That was some impressive spell craft.”
“The first one went off perfect. The second, I didn’t exactly stick the landing. The density of the air is off here. I knew I should’ve practiced a few times after crossing the gate.” Azarin looked down at her ruined pants. “Damn it. I wore my best outfit to impress the wizards.”
“You’re trying to get into an academy?”
“I am. That’s why I started with Wynlyn. They’re supposed to be the best of the best. I should’ve known better. Fucking elves. Sorry. I don’t normally curse this much, but this really hurts.”
The audacity of that made me laugh.
She scowled at me.
“That’s not at your discomfort. You went straight to the top. I respect that. I’m looking for an academy too.”
“You’re a wizard?” she asked incredulously.
Why was that so damned hard to believe? “I am. Thank you very much.”
“No offense, you just look like a ruffian.”
Sure, I was dirty, unshaven, and wearing a cloak fit for a derelict, but I was no common thug. And to think by Fogo standards I’d been considered the handsome gentleman. “I’m the same rank as you, trying to earn a spot myself.”
“How’s that working out for you?”
“I got here the day before yesterday. I almost got eaten by a caustic spell, assaulted a watchman, got assaulted by a gang, and every academy I’ve tried has spit on me. Other than that, it’s been great.”
“I was warned it would be tough to get into an academy.” Azarin snarled as she found another thorn stuck in her back, pulled it out, and tossed it down in disgust. “But I’ve got nothing to go back to in my realm.”
“All or nothing,” I agreed, thinking it was nice to have someone to relate to in this unforgiving city. “I get it.”
It was like she was talking, not to make conversation, but to think about something other than hundreds of tiny puncture wounds. “So, you’re rank one. How many spells do you know?”
“Four.”
“Not too bad. I’ve got three.”
“I caught that when you shouted it to everyone in the park and the guards.”
“Those fuckers… But three’s a lot for a rank one. Four’s impressive. What kingdom are you from?”
“Fogo, in the Realm of Fire.”
“So that’s why you’ve got the pallor of a cave dweller and dressed for winter on a pleasant day. I’m from Stormwolk.” She announced that like it would impress me or something, but I’d never heard of the place. “Not all of us air realmers are prissy illusionists. I’m a storm mage, all the way. Move like the wind, strike like lightning.”
It was pleasant having a reckless girl leaning against me, even if that lean was mostly due to the dizziness which accompanied blood loss. “I’m good at setting things on fire or blowing them up.”
“Nice. I’ve always wanted to try Red. I’ve only been able to experiment with Clear.”
I’d not even known that was what the air realm called their element. “Maybe later we could get together and compare notes.”
We reached the small church I’d seen, and I’d known which Saint was served here because of the statue of a very plump lady outside. Though the people of the Collegium were too good for the likes of us, thankfully, the Olgaites here turned out to be just as tender hearted as the ones back home, as they rushed out to offer Azarin aid the moment they saw someone in pain. It was a sin for the followers of Saint Olga the Kind to not help someone in need. Luckily that tenet of their faith held even in a place as cold as this.
“Thanks again, Oz.” While the nuns helped Azarin away to tend her many wounds, she looked back and flashed me a mischievous smile. “I’d wish you luck in your quest, but you’re my competition now!”
“I’ll see you around, Azarin.”
After they’d taken her into the church, Trax projected, “You find that female appealing.”
The thought had crossed my mind, and apparently I’d been thinking it loud enough for the squalo to pick up on it. “Well, sure I do. I’ve known lots of pretty girls, Trax, but she’s interesting. Kind of different than I’m used to, you know?”
“So that is why you were thinking about what would be the best strategy to successfully mate with her?”
That made me blush. “No. And you need to calm down.”
“The best way to impress a squalo female is to establish dominance by killing large prey for her. I would recommend giving her a whale. Females love whale.”
