Guild Mage: Apprentice

As it turned out, the master mage that was expected to come for Professor Jurian’s testing did not arrive when expected, and so Liv was brought before the archmagus while the school remained in a state of nervous excitement. Jurian - still only a master - had dragged a third chair up next to Caspian Loredan’s office desk, and slouched in it at the archmagus’ side.

“When I named you my apprentice in Whitehill,” Jurian said, “it was a legal technicality. I’m sure you’ve learned about how large parts of our guild rules were simply copied from how the merchant guilds function.”

Liv nodded, unable to relax in the single chair that faced the two older men. She knew what it felt like to imprint a word, because Duchess Julian had given her Luc. Of course, she couldn’t let on that she knew what it felt like, because she’d come by Cel naturally, and both mages knew that. “Journeyman Barnabas explained it to us,” she said. “We don’t really do personal apprentices - instead, you earn your rank here, at the college.”

Caspian Loredan nodded. “And while other guilds take apprentices as children, we prefer our members to make a choice about whether to join the guild as an adult - especially since we operate under several restrictions the merchant guilds do not. I know that you know all of this, but I’m going to say it anyway. If you join the guild today, it will no longer be on a temporary or technical basis. You will take on all the rights - and the obligations - of any other member of the guild. You will respond to a call to cull a rift, whether it is convenient or not, because it is your duty. You will follow the commands of your assigned culling team leader, whether you like them, or agree with them, or not. You will give up your right to inherit noble title or land within the kingdom of Lucania.”

“To be entirely clear,” Liv said, “it is my understanding that provision does not apply to my father’s people. Am I correct?”

“The guild, as a legal entity, is not recognized in the north,” Jurian answered. “Most members are never permitted further than Al’Fenthia. We’ve helped with the culling there, at the Garden of Thorns, a few times, but that’s the extent of it. Whatever inheritance you may have waiting for you in the north, remains yours.”

“We’ve never had one of the Eld join the guild before, though I made the offer,” Archmagus Loredan explained. “In ways I’m not even certain I can predict yet, you will break new ground. You’ve already seen how that can cause jealousy from others.”

“I’m not afraid of bullies anymore,” Liv told him. She’d faced down the giant stone-bat beneath Bald Peak; idiots like Merek Sherard were nothing in comparison.

“With full knowledge of what it means to join The Watchful Guild of Magim, and as an adult of the age of majority by Lucanian Law, is it your desire, Liv Brodbeck, to take your place as one of us, and become our apprentice?” Caspian Loredan asked. The words felt stiff, formal, as if each one were built of black iron and weighed just as much. She’d learned the response in her Guild Law and History course.

“With full knowledge of my rights and obligations, and being of the age of majority, I, Livara Tär Valtteri Kaen Syvä, do request to join The Watchful Guild of Magim as apprentice,” she said. “I give my oath that I will keep the secrets of the guild, abide by its laws, and dedicate myself to the preservation of magic, and the protection of this world against the rifts that threaten it.”

“I witness this oath,” Jurian said.

“And I accept your oath,” Loredan intoned. “As the mage with the honor of inducting you, I hereby offer the imprint of the word Aluth, passed into the keeping of the guild by our founders. Only those who are members of the guild have the right to use or learn this word in Lucania. You will not attempt to imprint this word on anyone who is not one of our apprentices, and then not until you hold the rank of master yourself.”

“I understand,” Liv said. “And I accept. What do I have to do?” It felt dishonest to ask the question, when she already knew the answer, but she forced herself to do it anyway.

“Lean your head forward,” the archmagus instructed, “and do not resist.” Liv closed her eyes. The feeling of Caspian Loredan gripping her head between his hands was familiar, and she braced herself for the pain.

“Dō Aluth.”

Lightning had burnt her bright white, with the smell of the storm in her nostrils, but now mana overwhelmed Liv in a wave of coruscating blue, clear and bright as the bay on a bright, sunny day. Veins of sparkling gold rippled through the magic, and even with her eyes squeezed closed, Liv could see nothing but the brightness and color.

That did not stop her from feeling. Just in front of her, two sources of power, concentrations of mana, flared light bonfires. Further out, below them in Blackstone Hall and moving in groups across the courtyard and in the dormitories, were candles or torches, apprentices and journeymen and first years all infused with mana. For a wonderful moment, Liv could tell where every one of them was, and feel their strength. Something about the feeling reminded her of riding across the ocean to Varuna, on the winds, and the visions she’d seen.

The archmagus released her head, and Liv straightened in her chair. Three words slept, next to each other but not quite touching, and she knew that she could wake them at need. “I’m certain you have the notes from class on initial incantations,” Loredan said. “For another student, I would assign a journeyman to supervise your initial attempts at spellwork. However, I doubt that will be necessary in this case. Show me a shield, Apprentice.”

Liv pushed her chair back, stood, and found herself a spot in the office as far from either desk, door, or bookshelf as she could manage. Then, she drew her wand. “Aluthet Demia,” Liv intoned, shaping her intent so that the bubble of shining blue, striated with veins of pearlescent gold, formed close about her. It was an odd feeling: compared to the two words she’d learned before, which felt like only slightly different varieties of raging storm, or caged animal, the word of raw magic was almost peaceful. Tranquil.

“Good,” Jurian said, rising from his chair. He scooped his staff up from where it leaned against the wall, and tapped the head against Liv’s shield. The surface of the translucent sphere rippled, like a pond when a pebble is thrown into the water, but did not part or allow the staff to pass. “This will give you more flexibility,” the professor said. “You’ve done remarkably well at adapting your barriers of ice so that you can work within their disadvantages, but under many circumstances you will find this a quicker option.”

“You are strictly forbidden to attempt the merging of two words while you remain a student, here,” Archmagus Loredan warned her. “That is a warning I give to every noble with an inherited word, but given your proclivity for experimentation, and your talent, I find it even more necessary in this case. Few would argue that you’ve already shown a masterful proficiency with your inherited word; now your task is to master Aluth, as well, and learn when and why to use each word of power. The correct tool for each job, as Professor Norris would say.”

“I can: and will: teach you how to use the guild’s word,” Jurian said. “But like anyone else who comes to us with their own magic, you will have to experiment and use your own judgement to integrate it with what you already know. That should be your focus now.”

“I’d like to practice treating mana-sickness, at the very least,” Liv declared, and released the shield. “I’ve seen the incantation used multiple times now, and I have it written down.” She decided not to admit that the majority of those uses had been someone else pulling raw mana out of her body, in order to save her life.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Let Professor Annora know that you’re capable of it,” Loredan said. “Though we’re not expecting an eruption in the near future. Still, some of our journeymen may need treatment when they return from Duskvale. In any event, you are dismissed for the moment; I have other matters to speak to Professor Jurian about.”

“Of course. Thank you,” Liv said, and ducked out of the room, closing the door behind her. Wren, who had been waiting in the hall, rose from her chair. Though Liv didn’t mean to, she caught the very beginning of a conversation before she stepped away.

“It shouldn’t surprise me she’d do this,” Jurian’s voice carried, laced with a frustration she hadn’t heard from him since he came to Whitehill. “She’s never gotten over Godsgrave.”

Liv hurried away with Wren at her side, feeling as if she’d intruded, and tried to put what she’d heard out of her mind.

☙

When the visiting master mage did arrive, it was a day late, and in a carriage that rumbled up the road from the waystone, ascending the bluff and coming to a halt in the center of the courtyard just between the first and second class of the day, as neatly timed as if it had been planned.

Liv, and the rest of the Advanced Magical Combat students, had to scurry out of the road to get out of the way. Wren had hung back just a little distance to speak with Master Jurian: presumably about their morning training. As soon as the horses and carriage had passed, Liv hurried after: not only to get to her advanced course in Beasts, with Professor Blackwood, but also because she’d recognized the colors of the carriage. Every fastening, handle, or piece of metal was of gold, and the streamers that flew from it were of cloth of gold. The panels of wood were purple. Royal colors.

A crowd had gathered around the carriage by the time Liv caught up to it, but she was quick enough to get a glimpse of the door opening, and recognize clearly the woman who climbed out. It was precisely as Liv had expected, the moment she’d seen the colors of the royal family.

Genevieve Arundell, court mage to the king, had visibly aged since last Liv had seen her in Freeport. She was still a handsome woman, and perhaps her use of magic had done something to preserve her, but she was no longer beautiful. Her hair was losing its color and fading to gray, but her embroidered robes were as ornate as ever, and her eyes still sparked with a vibrant amber light.

Archmagus Loredan swept out of Blackstone Hall, with Professor Every at his side, and students parted before them as swiftly as the water of the Aspen River flowed around a boulder in flood season. “Magia Arundell,” Caspain Loredan greeted her, his voice raised above the murmuring of the students. “It is always a pleasure to see you. Welcome back to Coral Bay. We have prepared a room in Blackstone Hall. I hope that your journey was without incident.”

“I was delayed by tragic news,” Arundell said, her eyes sweeping the crowd of students. “King Roland the Third is dead. Prince Benedict will be crowned in the spring.”

The murmurs that had been stilled by the arrival of the archmagus erupted once again, and some of the younger students even began to cry. “What does this mean for us?” Wren asked, appearing out of the crowd at Liv’s side.

“Nothing good,” Liv said, but kept her voice low so as to not be overheard. Not that anyone was paying them any attention at the moment. “The old king always tried to protect Julianne - whatever else was between them, he cared about his daughter. Now he’s gone, and Benedict is not on our side.”

“Still, he can’t do anything till he’s crowned, can he?” Wren asked.

Liv shook her head. “The coronation takes time to arrange, and to gather all the dukes and barons as witnesses. But he’s ruler in all but name, now. And with his mother in exile, and his sister in the north, there’s no one to tell him otherwise, whatever he decides to do.” She thought back to how Benedict had called her into a room to threaten her, during the ball in Freeport. The idea of that man ruling Lucania made her feel a sort of cold fear, coiling at the bottom of her belly and lingering there, as if to make a comfortable home for itself. A fear that meant to remain for a long time.

“And Genevieve has made certain that she’s the one to bring the news,” Jurian remarked, coming up on Liv’s other side. “She’s always had a knack for taking advantage of any situation to make herself seem more important.”

“She’s going to be one of your judges, then?” Wren asked.

“To my immense frustration,” Jurian admitted. “And, I suspect, hers.”

“She was your betrothed, wasn’t she?” Liv asked. “Master Grenfell told me some of the story, but not everything.”

“I thought she was the love of my life,” Jurian said. “I was young and stupid. Off with you, Apprentice. You have class, I believe.” He left them there, at the edge of the crowd, and made his way to where Genevieve Arundell’s trunks were being unloaded from the carriage. Liv couldn’t hear what the two masters said to each other, but they had the look of two territorial dogs facing off for the first time.

“Time to learn about all sorts of vicious critters then, isn’t it?” Wren asked, and her voice broke Liv out of her own thoughts.

“So it is,” she said. “Let’s go see what Master Blackwood has to teach us today.”

☙

The critters of the day, as Wren put it, turned out to be not living things at all, but rusted pieces of steel, clockwork, and chipped blades all spread out in a pile along a long table that had been set up in the library. While the huntress took her accustomed place in the back of the library, Liv found an empty seat next to Tephania, who had tested up into the advanced course only a week before. What the shy girl lacked in combat prowess, she made up for in a willingness to learn, and it turned out that she’d absorbed a decent amount of information from her father’s stories of culling under Duke Falkenrath.

“Everyone seems to be coming in late, today,” Teph remarked, waving a hand at empty chairs and the students still entering behind Liv. Professor Blackwood, plainly irritated, waited at the front of the room to begin.

“The royal court mage just arrived,” Liv explained. “And she brought word the king is dead.”

Teph gasped. “Oh, my. We can’t be having classes then, can we? Isn’t there something we should be doing?”

“Regardless of what has happened elsewhere in the kingdom,” the professor said, raising his voice, “we will indeed proceed with our class today. None of you will do anyone any good running about the courtyard, but what you learn today may someday save your life. Or the life of someone else. Everyone be seated, and take a look at the tables. What do you see?”

One of the boys in back raised his hand. “Broken old pieces of clocks and swords,” he called out.

“Incorrect, Apprentice Wainwright,” Blackwood pronounced. “These pieces of scrap metal were recovered from the Foundry Rift, and sent to us by a former student at this college, Beatrice Crosbie.”

Liv raised her hand. “Beatrice Summerset, now,” she corrected the professor, before she could think better of it.

Blackwood blinked once, then stared at Liv for a long moment. “Regardless,” he said, “these are the remnants of war engines originally created by Antris, the Vædic Lord of Machines. While not, strictly speaking, alive, they were crafted in great numbers by manufacturies such as the Foundry Rift. Many historians believe that if Antris had crafted them in larger numbers, earlier in the war, we might still be slaves to the Vædim today. Unlike mana-beasts, there is no flesh and blood component of these soldiers. Their components are forged of steel, brass, copper, and even mana-stone. As a result, different spells and different tactics are required. Who can tell me something that might not be as effective as normal, when confronted by such an enemy?”

“Maybe a sword?” Celestria Ward offered, after raising her hand. “I’m not sure what you could even cut.”

“That can’t be right though,” Liv said. “Because Triss uses a rapier. She wouldn’t have bothered ever learning it if the weapon was no good against the things her family fights all the time.”

“Indeed, the Crosbies often do not use swords,” Blackwood said. “The men of the family prefer hammers. But their word of power is distinctly suited to finding the weak points of these contraptions - an advantage none of you will have. I would not recommend seeking to emulate Beatrice’s fighting style without having access to her magic.”

“Hammers - does that mean we should use blunt force spells, instead of cutting?” Liv asked.

“Generally speaking, that sort of attack is indeed more effective,” Blackwood said. “What else?” He looked around the room.

“My word of power is essentially useless if they aren’t alive,” Celestria said. “I can’t make machines desire me, can I? And even if I did, what would that look like? Would it even help?”

By the end of the class, Liv had gotten a chance to do two things. The first was to pick through the rusted metal and heft some of the scrap in her hand. The second was that she hung back for a moment, to approach Celestria alone on her way out. She’d been putting it off ever since the archmagus made the suggestion, but she wasn’t going to let herself miss an opportunity out of fear.

“Could I talk to you for a moment?” Liv asked.

“As long as it’s quick,” Celestria said. “We’ve got midday meal now. What is it?”

“I wondered,” Liv said, “that is, the archmagus suggested that it might be beneficial for me to practice resisting your word of power.”