Magic, as such, is born with us at birth: the core is just another organ, and its channels run through the whole body, giving rise to attributes. In the first three years of life, pigments form that determine one's future element. During this time, the core, and channels are at their most unstable, and external interference can damage or even destroy them. In the empire's history, there have been cases when older heirs attempted to harm younger ones to guarantee themselves victory in the race for the throne.
Attributes themselves stem from basic elements: earth, water, air, fire, darkness, light – all races possess these. Combinations of these elements form sub-attributes. The most famous sub-attribute was lightning, which was based on three elements: water, air, and darkness. One of the great heroes – Berg Krast – wielded it.
Lady Narin de Moller began telling us stories of other heroes' exploits, but I wasn't interested in those tales at all. The rest of the class pricked up their ears, and even Krast's descendant lifted his head, listening attentively.
"How do we determine our attribute?" I suddenly blurted out, clearing my throat and interrupting Lady Narin's story. All eyes turned to me, and I just sat there blinking. What was the big deal? I had only asked a question.
"Mana channels–that's the answer. Each basic attribute has its color," she replied irritably, before she could continue her tales.
"You said 'specific color,' but I saw shimmering colors with red spots," I piped up again.
"Uh…" she faltered, uncertain. "This is the last time I answer questions without permission. In the future, raise your hand or even your leg–anything, just no more shouting from your seat!" She paused before each word, as if questioning what I'd said. "Light is white, darkness is black, fire is red, water is blue, earth is brown, air is gray… If you truly saw spots, then that means it's a sub-attribute. Which one exactly–you'll have to figure it out yourself."
Lady Narin de Moller got sidetracked, then continued her stories with a slight smile, as if she didn't believe me. Some students started whispering, trading skeptical looks and grins, distracting not only me but Lady de Moller as well. It seemed unbelievable that I might possess something all mages dream of. Even Krast's descendant snorted and shrugged when the girl beside him murmured something in his ear.
Beyond the door, a gentle melody played–the end of class, and I was overjoyed. Instructor Narin seemed content to let the lesson slip through her fingers, without much thought or effort. Only the first part of the lesson had been useful; the rest was just her wagging her tongue…
Most of the students had already scattered: some hurried to the dining hall, and others went to double-check their schedules. I ended up leaving almost last. As I stepped out, someone tugged on my sleeve. It was a familiar face from the introductions. Somebody a head shorter than me pulled me toward a group of two girls and two other guys. One guy was taller, and the two girls were shorter; coming around on all sides, the two boys pressed me back against the wall. Over their shoulders I could see the girls' eyes, barely holding back laughter. I hadn't remembered their names; all five of them had sat next to each other in class–that's the only thing I'd noted during the lesson.
"It's such a pleasure to study with a genius commoner," the blond sneered, struggling to keep a straight face. "Multiple attributes, and even… a freak."
"Even Eryl noticed your genius," said the short lookalike of the tall guy, clapping me on the shoulder–each time a little harder, though he clearly lacked the strength. Not understanding what they wanted from me, I kept silent.
"Why's he quiet? Is he scared or what?" the third guy jabbed a finger into my chest.
"Definitely!" one of the girls behind me added, stifling a giggle.
I took a deep breath through my nose, trying to suppress a tremor. Laughter was bubbling up inside me, my stomach clenched, but I couldn't hold it in and let out a smirk. Listening to them with a straight face was just too much.
"Beat it!" I barked, tilting my head slightly. I shoved the tall blond and his short clone aside in one sharp motion. Neither of them was particularly strong, and they staggered back without much resistance. The girls didn't grasp what had happened at first: they just stood there, frozen, exchanging bewildered looks. Was their plan to let me go and then jump me later?
No one else tried grabbing my sleeve after that, and I made my way in my own good time to the classroom I already disliked – History of the Empire. The door was open and some students were already in their seats. Somebody was sitting in my spot, chatting animatedly with two girls. When he saw me, he just waved, so I had to take a desk one row down, this time by the window. By now, everyone had arrived, including the blond's gang – and I had ended up in their seats. A vein throbbed on one of the guys' foreheads, the urge to say something clearly written on his face. But after they noticed that Eryl Krast was snoozing a couple of seats away from me, they didn't dare approach. With a frustrated kick at the air, they settled for sitting in the front row.
About five minutes later, as a new chime rang, the teacher walked in. To my mild surprise, it was that same gaunt man who'd been coughing in the auditorium yesterday while explaining the schedule. He still looked a bit pale and sickly. An imposing black frock coat hung off his stooped frame, and he carried a thick book in his hands.
"I hope everyone's here," he croaked out, covering his mouth with a handkerchief as another bout of coughing took him.
"I am Magister Elvard Byan, your history instructor," he introduced himself, sweeping sharp, slightly weary eyes over us. "Throughout this year, we will study in detail the history of our great Empire from its founding to the present day…"
He spoke in a monotone, drawing out the vowels a little, and after each sentence he stopped to clear his throat. I already had a feeling it would be difficult to keep paying attention. And sure enough, as soon as Magister Elvard plunged into a list of ancient kings and wars, my eyelids grew heavy. I spent the rest of the class in a half-doze; occasionally, at the sound of his coughing, I'd rouse myself–only to start nodding off again.
He was saying something about discipline and respect for history, but I was already slipping out of the classroom, stretching as if I'd been released from a cramped cage. Fresh air! I inhaled deeply in the hallway. And once again, someone tried to grab me by the arm, but I quickly shook off the hand. I had no desire to squabble with anyone–my drowsiness was slow to recede.
Basics of Close Combat was held in an entirely different wing. Along the way, I spotted a few familiar faces. A slender unfamiliar girl slipped out of the crowd and glided toward the entrance. I caught the door and held it open–she acknowledged the courtesy with a brief "Thank you." I followed her inside. The Basics of Close Combat hall was more spacious than the previous two classrooms. It featured a long training area with a marked-off square in the center, and there were a lot more seats as well. Each step on the wooden floor sent a loud echo through the room. Only now, in the sunlight streaming through the windows, did I get a good look at the unfamiliar girl: sharp features, and pointed ears peeking out from under long, silvery-blue hair. She walked so quietly that the floor didn't make a single creak or echo under her feet. This was the first elf I'd seen in the flesh: back home, in a book about barbarians, I'd only seen some crude drawings of different races – they'd remembered to include elves in there, too. Judging by her youthful appearance, she seemed to be a student here. Had she gotten the wrong classroom? She stood by the window, gazing off into the distance; I was too lazy to get up from my seat to go ask.
When the bell chimed, the rest of the group trickled in and took their seats, but the young elf girl still hadn't left. On the contrary, she watched each of us closely; her gaze even paused on me twice.
"Finally, everyone's seated!" She clapped her hands with an unnaturally loud crack – it made my ears ring. "I am Instructor Elianora Marive, and I will be teaching you for the next two years," she finished with a smile.
I felt a flush of embarrassment at having mistaken her for a student. A chuckle came from the front rows – I wasn't sure who it was.
"I might be young for an elf, but that's no reason to laugh, cadet, if someone looks younger," she hissed sharply. "Step out onto the arena and state your name," she ordered. I glanced around, trying to figure out whom she meant, and was surprised when he stood up.
"Eryl Krast!" The hero's descendant stepped forward to the center.
"Krast? Yes, I've been told about you…" She paused thoughtfully for a moment. "And what, exactly, did you find so funny?"
"It's just, Instructor Marive," Eryl answered plainly, "I noticed one cadet got flustered when you walked in, and I figured he mistook you for a student."
How did he notice that? I'd only been taken aback for a couple of seconds!
"And who is that student? Have him come join you!" she said with a laugh. Eryl scanned the hall and slowly pointed straight at me.
"Edric, no surname," I introduced myself as I stepped forward.
"All right. Since we already have two volunteers, let's begin the lesson. My course covers not only the art of fencing: we'll also study defense, counterattack techniques, and footwork. Many of you have family techniques; if you wish, you may skip my classes, but keep in mind – on the practical exam those techniques will be judged more strictly. Since Eryl is from a mage family, and Edric, judging by the look of him, has studied martial arts, Eryl gets the first strike!" She grabbed each of us by the shoulder and positioned us at opposite ends of the little arena.
"Excuse me, but I haven't studied anything!" I shouted, realizing what she'd implied.
"No need to lie to me…" she muttered, giving a slight, nervous smile. "You noticed my silent steps, and you've got a sturdy build, calluses on your palms–you've clearly been training for quite some time."
"I'm a commoner, Instructor Marive," I insisted. She just waved off my protest and continued:
"Today we'll be learning defense. Our two volunteers will show you what to do, and what not to do. One attacks, the other defends, then you swap, and so on until someone surrenders or can't continue. Magic in attacks is forbidden; in defense it's allowed. You may use any training equipment for your attacks," she nodded toward a door in the corner. "The armory has wooden swords, shields, spears, and other goodies."
Just my luck. Out of all the volunteers, they picked the one guy with an eye patch. In the armory, Eryl and I traded glances: he was practically bouncing with anticipation, a grin stretched ear to ear. Smacking his lips noisily, he was deciding between a spear and a long two-handed sword; he didn't even glance at the shields.
The armory truly was stocked with training weapons and gear: swords, spears, bows, halberds… Only everything I picked up felt a little awkward in my grip. Instructor Marive was already urging us to hurry, so I took the first thing that felt decent. A long wooden rapier with a blunted tip sat surprisingly well in my hand; its hilt reminded me of the homemade pikes I'd once used. Grabbing a spear might have made more sense, but the shafts on all those spears looked worn out and unreliable – as if they'd split in two from a light breeze.
Though it was just wood, the rapier was made of a flexible kind of timber. I slung a shield over my shoulder and adjusted my grip on the rapier. At the instructor's command, we took our positions. She began the countdown: "Three… two… one…"
Eryl, of course, decided to cheat. Before she even finished "two," he was already hurtling toward me. Good thing I'd already braced my right leg back and settled into a ready stance. He swung low at my legs–I dropped the shield to cover and lowered my body. Wooden splinters flew in front of my eyes, and the dull thud of his strike echoed across the hall.
"Not a bad strike, but the defense was even better," Instructor Marive commented evenly. "A quick stance change to guard the lower sector – a correct decision. Switch roles."
I was about to throw aside the crested shield to make attacking easier, but she immediately cut in:
"If you remove your shield or weapon, you won't be allowed to use it further," she warned.
I definitely didn't want to be left shieldless. I'd have to sacrifice some offense, then.
Eryl quickly readied for defense, raising a bluish magical barrier in front of himself, little tendrils of electricity wriggling across it like eels. He ostentatiously lifted his chin and folded his arms over his chest. The moment he did, I noticed the half-dome of the barrier floated up slightly and tilted. A thought flashed – the barrier wasn't fixed in place; it moved with his focus. If I could distract him, make him turn his head, I'd create an opening…
The instructor gave the signal to start, but I didn't charge in head-on. Unhurriedly, I glanced down at my feet, fiddling with my shield strap and sliding it from my forearm down to my wrist. My slow approach made Eryl lower his chin a fraction, refocusing on me. Good. Step by step, I closed the distance, then suddenly swung my shield arm as if aiming for his left flank–at the very edge of his barrier. Eryl reacted instantly, twisting his body and head toward the feint. The gap in his defense widened, leaving more than just his arm exposed. Hugging the shield close to my body, I immediately pulled back the rapier and, with a wide arc, smacked it into his side.
The hall exploded in a chorus of "Oooh!" at varying pitches. Eryl hit the ground, sprawled out like a rag doll, and for a second or two he seemed unsure which way was up. The blue sheen of his barrier sank into his skin and vanished with a sizzle, like a poorly doused campfire.
"Stop," Marive ordered calmly. "Let's analyze that."
I exhaled through my teeth and stepped back, lowering my rapier and shield.
"Eryl," the instructor said, giving him a sharp look, "penalty for jumping the countdown. Furthermore, you let your barrier shift towards a feint instead of keeping it on your target."
He pulled a face. Curled up on the floor, he was wheezing, gulping air like a fish out of water. I thought to myself, Go on, pretend you lunged early accidentally.
"Return to your seats. Nicely done–your evaluations will be given at the end of class. Next pair, to the center!" Marive called, moving on.
"He…," Eryl choked out, trying to stand. "He hit me with the shield! That's a foul!"
"A shield isn't just for decoration," Marive replied coolly. "Its purpose depends on the user."
A few guys in the back snickered. The girls who had mocked the "genius commoner" in the hallway exchanged looks – now their laughter was stuck in their throats.
Eryl limped off toward the infirmary, and I returned to my seat. Serves him right.
The remaining duels went on at the usual pace: attack–defense, lunge–parry. None of the other cadets had barrier magic; six of them fought without shields at all, wielding swords as tall as they were. Honestly, they handled those blades pretty well. A couple of students even tried to copy my trick, but it was no use – nobody else fell for it.
"So, it looks like only one cadet earned the top score of ten today," Instructor Marive announced, pausing dramatically. "Edric. He executed a solid defense and on offense quickly spotted the mage's weak point. His opponent, Eryl, gets a six: an average attack, a defense prone to distraction, and minus one point for jumping the start. Moving on…"
I didn't pay attention after that. I'd already earned the highest praise – that was enough for me. Everything else just turned into white noise: names, numbers, and dry comments.
A young man of about twenty had appeared in the doorway, standing still: ashen hair, lean build, a pretty-boy face. I didn't bother trying to push past him. I didn't spot any pointed ears, but for a teacher he looked suspiciously young. He walked in, held the door to keep it from creaking, greeted Marive with a nod, and then waited patiently until the room quieted down.
"Good day. I'm Shokin Alpin, your curator," he said, raising his eyes and letting them rest on the back rows. "In five minutes, you will choose an elective. Room 2-34. Anyone who doesn't show up, I'll assign the toughest course for you by default." Curator Shokin nodded toward the door and stepped aside to let us pass.
No one argued – everyone immediately filed out after the curator. We ended up in a cramped classroom with two rows of desks; the wood had a warm, oily smell, and the chairs creaked under us. All thirty-nine of us squeezed in as best we could, some perching on the edges of desks. Shokin stood by the door, silently waiting for us to settle down; when the hallway grew quiet, he clicked the latch shut and closed the door.
"Cadet Eryl Krast is absent," reported a girl about half a head shorter than me, raising her hand.
"Reason?" Alpin demanded, frowning.
"He's in the infirmary; he took a hit during class," the same girl answered nervously.
"Very well, we'll start without him. First order of business–class monitor election," he said, holding up one finger. "What's your name?" He nodded at that same girl.
"N-Nali Sion," she stammered.
"Your new class monitor will be Nali. If there are no objections or other candidates, let's continue." He scanned the room briefly, but no one spoke up. "In this first semester, you have five electives to choose from: Rune Orthography, General Theory of Magic, General Theory of Close Combat, Summoning and Binding of Familiars, and Artifact Crafting. Over the next two days (not counting today), tell the class monitor which one you've decided. She'll write it down and pass it to me. That's all for today!" Curator Alpin rattled off, then briskly stepped out of the room. Nobody even had time to blink; he was there one moment and gone the next.
The newly appointed class monitor tried to say something, but nobody paid attention. When the bell rang for the final class, everyone stood up and poured into the corridor.
"You can tell us after class, okay?" one of the guys said to her, holding the door open.
The last class of the day took place in a gigantic gymnasium, where the smell of rubber and metal immediately assaulted my nose. There were no desks or chairs–just exercise equipment and a stern-faced instructor waiting for us. As soon as we walked in, he made everyone run laps until we ran out of strength. By the sixth lap–which felt like three kilometers–many of us were spent and had dropped to our knees. The instructor had no intention of letting anyone quit: he drove us on with the toe of his boot, barking that we'd only run a single kilometer so far…
I wasn't sure I'd survive until the end of class. The torture in the form of PT had begun without so much as a warm-up; sweat was streaming off everyone in rivers. A good half of the class ended up flat on their backs in the infirmary. The sadistic instructor seemed to take an immense amount of pleasure in kicking us along.