Loremaster a progressi.., p.43
Loremaster - A Progression Fantasy Adventure, page 43
“I’m good,” Rowan replied.
And it was the truth. Although he had just said the words to be polite, having spoken them, he now realized that it was true. He really was feeling good. Though he still felt guilty about his role in the death of Tana, the scene no longer haunted his dreams at night the way they had in the week immediately following.
“That’s good to hear,” Kanna replied, leaning back and reaching for something within the drawers of her desk. “Can I offer you some tea?”
A minute later, both master and student sat at the desk, sipping from steaming mugs with contented expressions as they talked about Galdurfest and the academy. Rowan slipped right back into his relationship with Kanna.
They passed the time exchanging tales and gossip. One piece of gossip in particular he knew she would enjoy. His use of the secret passage he’d found had resulted in him turning up rather unexpectedly from time to time, and thus he had caught a few students who were trying to find a... private spot.
“Really?” Kanna asked incredulously. “
“Really,” Rowan swore. “I caught them myself, although they don’t know that.”
Kanna giggled. “I can’t believe it. His house is one of the most staunch anti-human houses in Tirsiog. For him to be dating a human, and a girl from the Empire at that, is crazy. They make a cute couple though. I hope they stay together.”
“They seemed pretty into being together when I found them,” Rowan responded, sending Kanna into another fit of giggles.
As her giggles subsided, Kanna wiped a tear from her eye. “I’m glad to see that, despite the passage of the years, some things never change. You caught them in the same place I caught Egil and Jera Sallotail making out back when I was in school.”
“You went to school with Egil?” Rowan asked.
“Oh yes, although he was a few years ahead of me,” Kanna replied. “I was a second year at the time and he was a fourth year, newly returned from his adventuring semester—"
“Adventuring semester?”
“You’ll go on one next year. It’s a semester where you travel the world as an adventuring party. Basically, an internship as an adventurer. There are objectives you need to complete, and a quota to fulfill, but it’s nothing to worry about. At least not yet.” Picking up her mug, Kanna took an appreciative sip.
Rowan practically buzzed with excitement at these words. An entire semester spent adventuring sounded like a dream, the very thing he had dreamt of for years back in Taureen. Unaware of her pupil’s eagerness, Kanna continued.
“Now where was I? Oh right. Apparently, his tales of daring and prowess deep within the dungeons of Kalthiminn impressed Jera enough to make a move.”
“Wow,” Rowan echoed, pushing down his anticipation in order to follow the conversation. “I really can’t see Egil with a partner.”
“He is married, you know.”
“He is?!”
“Yes, though not to Jera. He married a woman he met during a mission in the southern reaches of Valendia. Brought her back here when he accepted the job at the academy,” Kanna responded. “She visits him occasionally, but they’re both discreet people, so most students aren’t aware. Lovely lady, though, and fierce like you wouldn’t believe.”
“I’ll keep that in mind if I ever meet her,” Rowan promised.
“She should be here for the feast tonight,” Kanna informed him. As Rowan absorbed this new information, Kanna glanced at the clock on the wall. “Wow, has it been that long already? I suppose I’d better let you go so that you can get prepared for the festivities tonight.”
Rowan nodded, making to rise, but Kanna stopped him, motioning for him to remain seated. Confused, Rowan did as he was told, looking curiously towards his master for a reason.
“Believe it or not, I actually did call you here today for a reason,” Kanna told him. Reaching below her desk, she pulled out a large package, wrapped in colorful fabric that she slid across the table towards him. “Here, your Galdurfest gift.”
“Master,” Rowan began. “You didn’t have to—”
Kanna raised a hand to stop him. “Actually, as your master, I did. So spare me your false humility and just open it already.”
Unsure of how to respond, Rowan did as he was told, his fingers finding the gaps in the fabric and unraveling it to reveal a dark leather satchel. Almost black in color, with clasps that blended in with the fabric rather than shone, it was a piece of leatherworker’s art—the night made real in the form of a satchel.
Awed, Rowan ran his hands over the surface, marveling at the smoothness of the leather and the seamlessness of the craft. Whatever he had been expecting the gift to be, it had not been this. He had thought Kanna would give him a book, or maybe something to do with magic or magical theory.
“Do you like it?” Kanna asked, a coy smile on her lips.
“I do,” Rowan responded.
“Good. That should make dungeon diving easier for you.”
Rowan tilted his head, his eyes flitting to the satchel and back to Kanna in confusion. “Dungeon diving? Why would I take this into dungeons?” What if it got damaged? The last question he left unsaid, but he felt it was obvious enough.
“Because it’s got several spatial enchantments inlaid in it,” Kanna told him. “You could fit everything you own in there, and still have room to spare.” She paused for a moment, seeming to remember Rowan’s lack of worldly belongings. “Sorry, bad choice of words. You could fit the contents of this room inside it, and still have space for an apple pie or three.”
If Rowan had been surprised at the generosity of Kanna’s gift before, then he was positively gobsmacked now, totally lost for words as he considered the bag in front of him. A bag of holding—that was what they had called them back on the streets. Not that they were always bags, but those were the most commonly seen version and the name had stuck. Anyone with one of those was someone important and, more importantly, rich. Well, rich compared to street dwellers and gang members at least.
Although they were not necessarily rare per se, the enchantments inlaid on them were supposedly both difficult to cast and costly in terms of materials. All of that was to say that it took a powerful mage a good chunk of funds and effort to make one. And since mages with the ability to cast such spells generally had better things to do with their time, the bags and containers with such enchantments were not commonly seen for sale.
Given just how useful they were, and the supply issue that arose from the limited number of potential craftsmen, bags of holding were something that most owners held onto for life. Even here at Faebrook, where nobles and rich scions were as plentiful as fleas on a dog, the number of bags among the student base was not high. In his months of dungeon diving, only about half of the parties he had adventured with carried such objects, almost all of them in the hands of their respective party leaders.
For Kanna to give one to him spoke volumes to Rowan, and it was with difficulty that he choked back the emotions welling in his throat. “Thank you, master,” he said sincerely.
Kanna waved him off. “No need to thank me. I’m just doing for you what my master did for me back when I was an apprentice. This will make your journeys into dungeons a far smoother experience, and also quite a bit safer since you can stock it with any items you might need to survive within.”
Rowan nodded. One of the main problems many parties had was bringing enough items to account for any contingencies the dungeon might throw at them. While they could theoretically bring enough equipment to deal with any conceivable threat, doing so would weigh them down, reducing their efficiency in combat—a potentially fatal choice.
The common solution that Rowan had encountered was to give such items to the porter: him. But even that had its limits as the porter’s main job was to carry the loot from the dungeon, and overloading his pack and kit with equipment was counterintuitive to that plan.
Every pickaxe, divining rod, or torch Rowan was given was that much less space that he had to carry the items they found within the dungeon. And since dungeon divers were a naturally greedy lot, such a problem was an inexcusable flaw in that plan.
A bag of holding changed that completely. With the enchantments placed upon it, no longer was storage space or carrying capacity an issue. Everything could simply be shoved into the bag and dealt with once they emerged successful from the dungeon. Better than any shield or armor, the bag of holding was truly an adventurer’s best defense against the terrors that lurked within the dungeons below.
The only problem was that that same shield could become a liability if others knew he carried it. Most nobles could acquire bags of holding if they wanted to, but that did not mean that some of the more opportunistic and less scrupulous students would be above killing him in order to obtain it. But that was a problem for future Rowan. Current Rowan was just ecstatic to own one for himself.
“Thank you,” Rowan said again.
Kanna motioned towards the door, a smile on her face. “Yes, yes. Now get. I’ve got to prepare for the feast, and you being here is only a distraction.”
Rowan left, taking care to grab his new bag which he slung over his shoulder, letting it come to rest against his hip. With one last quick bow to Kanna, he departed, shutting the door behind him as he left her office behind.
As he walked, Rowan admired how he looked with the satchel on him. The dark leather contrasted nicely with his slightly lighter clothes, and although he had no mirror by which to judge himself, he felt that he cut a rather dashing figure, if he did say so himself. Thus preoccupied, he headed for the dormitory to make his own preparations for the feast.
The festival of Galdurfest was celebrated across Medanas—in the North because he was a northern god, and in the rest of the world because it was a very convenient time to have a feast. Since Faebrook was located in the North, the festivities were naturally much more intense than Rowan had experienced in Taureen, and the lengths to which the academy had gone to decorate amazed him at every turn.
God of magic and trickery, Galdur was a capricious god, and the festivities reflected that. Grand illusions hung in the air, ever-shifting just as the mana tempest in the great hall was. Gone were the crystal torches that normally lit Faebrook; in their place, floating orbs of frost and flame danced with magical fluctuations, providing a light that shifted as suddenly as the illusions that surrounded them.
Although the decorations were interesting, it was the feast hall that truly made Rowan gasp. Earlier, he had referred to the meal he’d had for breakfast as a feast. He was wrong. This was a feast. The tables were laden with scrumptious foods: trays full of meats, platters stuffed with casseroles, vegetables, and all manner of sauces and jellies, and cups filled to the brim with wine. It was the kind of meal Rowan had only dreamed of having during his hungry nights in Taureen.
The scent of it all was intoxicating and Rowan wasted no time finding a seat, eager to dig in to the plethora of foods before him. Before he could, however, a sharp ringing sounded through the cafeteria. At the head table, Lira Kess tapped her spoon against the glass, smiling gaily as she got the attention of the room. Above her, an illusion of a dragon roared broadly, coiling overhead as if intending to nest within her hair before disappearing in a flash of sparkling lights. Completely unphased by the arcane brilliance overhead, the headmistress launched into her speech.
“The first semester has gone by, and I’m pleased to see so many smiling faces in attendance today. While we understand that it is no one’s wish to be at school and away from their families during the holidays, it is our hope that Faebrook can be considered a second home to all of you. With that said, it won’t do to let the delicious meal our cooks have whipped up go cold, so have at it!”
Her piece said, the headmistress sat down, another professor near her leaning over to whisper something in her ear that caused her to smile. Unable to tell what it was, Rowan turned his attention to more important matters, namely the incredible spread laid out in front of him.
The first to fall prey to his questing fingers was a dish of meats. Spearing several choice cuts with the two-pronged fork within, Rowan tossed them on his plate and then promptly ignored them, his gaze already searching for dishes to complement the meat.
A bowl of potatoes was his next victim, two large slices of roast potato steaming in garlic joining the meats on his plate.
Reaching for a pie dish from which he could smell the telltale aroma of apples and cinnamon rising, Rowan was horrified to watch his fingers slip right through the dish, passing through as if it did not exist.
Convinced that he must have seen wrong, Rowan tried again, only for the same result to occur. With a devastated look, Rowan decided that Galdurfest was the worst holiday he had ever had the misfortune of taking part in, and Galdur was the worst god for being party to it.
“Here.”
With that short word, a pie plate was slid down the table, coming to a stop in front of Rowan. Similar to the plate that had caused such trauma to his fragile psyche, this too had the aroma of crushed cinnamon and baked apples rising from it. The difference was that this one was real.
Instantly reversing his views on Galdur and his festival, Rowan lifted his fork and knife and dug in, forgoing a plate in favor of simply devouring the entire pie. From the corner of his eye, he could have sworn he saw Morgana look on in amusement, the plate having slid over from her vicinity, but he was too busy eating his prize to confirm.
Everywhere around the room, similar scenes played out, sounds of shock, betrayal, and laughter ringing out across the cafeteria as students discovered the false dishes. Older students seemed prepared for this, all watching with eyes of amusement as the first years reacted to the illusory plates.
Truth be told, the rest of the feast was somewhat of a blur to Rowan. Between the fantastic food, the incredible atmosphere, and the variety of arcane sights, he remembered only a feeling of fullness and contentment that had persisted throughout the night. If he strained, he could also remember dancing, but he had no desire to recall any details, lest it be discovered that he had been among the dancers, rather than at his usual place in the stands.
Nevertheless, Galdurfest came to an end, returning the academy to its normal holiday state. Thus reinvigorated by the festivities, Rowan went about his efforts with a renewed sense of purpose, studying and training with Droon, practicing the shield spell within Darm’s book, and exploring the academy with an eye for any more hidden passages that might exist within its storied walls.
Although he did his best in everything he put his mind to, Rowan only managed to find one other passageway in the week following the feast: a short tunnel beneath the statue of a snarling Torebear in the west wing of the academy that led out into the grounds.
As it turned out, even with his skills, hidden passages were termed hidden for a reason. They were nearly impossible to find, and even those places that he suspected of concealing one were reluctant to give up their secrets. After all, knowing about the existence of a hollow space behind a solid stone wall was one thing, but knowing how to access it was where the real battle lay. The first had been opened by luck, but any others would have to be done so through skill.
Still, searching for the passages was fun and provided one of the few distractions he had as he waited for classes to start up again. He did have one other distraction, however.
True to his word, Dugan did send several more letters, though they were all fairly short and without substance. It seemed that he really was using them as an excuse to see the cute postmaster, not that Rowan minded. Dugan was as interesting a writer as he was a conversationalist, and his tales of family life back at his estate never failed to bring an incredulous smile to Rowan’s face.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The holidays were over and life returned to Faebrook once more. Though, the grounds were as barren as ever, with the increasingly frigid winds that swept across the mountainside turning water to ice and breathing to pain.
“Four out of five classes together this semester, eh?” Dugan’s cheery voice echoed, his eyes on the sheet in front of him as he rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Lucky you.”
Rowan snorted. “They’re mandatory courses. It would be weirder if we weren’t together. The real question is why you don’t love me enough to take an elective with me. That way we’d actually be in the same classroom together, and not just getting the same assignments at different times.”
Dugan pouted. “That’s because you’re taking Professor Soreth’s class again. I didn’t take the first one, so I couldn’t take this one even if I wanted to.”
Rowan waved his hand. “Details. If you really loved me, you’d be in all five of my classes.”
Dugan’s response was to snort derisively.
Bantering lightly, the two trod onwards, forging a path through the crowded cobblestone streets.
They were in Northall for the day, intent on buying supplies for the semester that was set to begin tomorrow along with several dozen other students. Absent was Droon, who had declined Rowan’s invitation on the basis that he had already purchased the required supplies for his next semester at Faebrook early on in the holidays and thus did not need to join them on their last-minute shopping trip.
Without Droon, it was just Rowan and Dugan for the day, and Rowan enjoyed catching up with his friend, finally back from his home up north. As usual, it was Dugan who took the lead as they ventured through Northall, his ineffable personality as cheerful as ever despite the frigid breeze that blew across the town.
Rowan did not know if it was his friend’s northern blood, or just an inherent character trait, but no amount of cold seemed to get Dugan down as he led them forward in their quest for school supplies.
An hour later, the duo found themselves sitting inside a cozy little restaurant off the main square. In front of them sat two steaming plates piled high with meats and roast vegetables. There was no discussion during the meal, both boys sharing an unspoken agreement to savor the food in front of them before engaging in dinnertime banter.
