Matabar

Ardan struck the floor with his staff, and the ice needle that formed in an instant shot out from its tip. Trailing a faint, blurry shimmer behind it, the needle slammed into the dummy dressed in a jester outfit. At last, the mocking puppet had failed to raise its shield in time.

Exhaling in relief, the young man dropped his staff and sank to the floor. Spreading his arms wide and breathing heavily, he stared up at the ceiling. It was nearing midnight, and he had finally managed to complete the assignment Aversky had given him.

"Well then, Ard, it only took us…" The Grand Magister, who was sitting nearby as usual — coffee cup in hand, perusing yet another arcane treatise on Star Magic — paused to calculate the time. "Just over two months since we began. That's how long it took for you to learn how to rewrite your repertoire of seals on the fly and form your primary offensive spell faster than I can cock a revolver."

Aversky lifted the revolver from the table and gave its hammer a pointed click. Ardan, like a well-trained dog, jerked reflexively toward his staff. Unfortunately, it was lying out of reach from where the sweat-soaked Ardi was sprawled out on the cold floor.

Nearly two weeks after his little adventure with Peter Oglanov, Ardan had truly mastered Aversky's practical challenges.

He'd learned how to rewrite on the fly — remapping runic links and confusing his opponent — a set of spells that included his Common and Universal Shields, Ice Barrage, Ice Arrow, and Water Shroud. He could form Ice Arrow faster than a trigger pull, and summon a Shield almost instantly. He could now do so quickly enough that Aversky's Spark spell, which he regularly hurled at his apprentice, no longer set Ardan aflame.

At least the Grand Magister had begun issuing him a uniform for their lessons. Otherwise, Ardan would have ruined all his clothes by now. Speaking of which...

A week ago, Ardan had discovered a very welcome letter waiting in his mailbox.

The Black House had tallied up his and the other Cloaks' bounties for the demons, the chimera in Baliero, and the capture of that all-important "canary" — Erik Irigov.

He still kept the note tucked away in a small document box back home. Just seeing it warmed his heart.

***

"Classified — General.

Any unauthorized individual reading this message is subject to Article 17, Section 3.

Message for Trainee Ard Egobar, employee service number: to be assigned upon formal hire.

Bounty from the 24th day of the New Month:

1 Two targets rated at the Red Star level, with provided evidence:

4 exes and 20 kso total.

(Trainee Ard Egobar's share – 1 ex

and

5 kso)

1.2 A dozen targets rated at the Red Star level, with no evidence provided:

42 kso total.

(Trainee Ard Egobar's share (rounded up) — 11 kso)

1.3 Target designated as a Chimera of the Tazidahian Brotherhood, "Sprinter" classification:

18 exes in total.

(Trainee Ard Egobar's share — 14 exes)

Bounty from the 12th day of the Star Month:

Igniting the Green Star, number of rays — pending.

20 exes.

Bounty from the 28th day of the Star Month:

Participation in capturing a high-value witness (name and position — top secret. Any unauthorized individual reading this message is subject to Article 17, Section 1)

42 exes in total.

(Trainee Ard Egobar's share

—

28 ex

es and

17 kso)

Total amount of awarded bounties:

63 exes and 33 kso.

Please submit the number of rays in your Green Star to the accounting department for a recalculation of your salary.

Sincerely,

Senior Accountant

Major Marfa Nirov."

***

Ardan, of course, had passed along the requested information (which had required a two-hour trip, though at least he had a tram pass). As a result, his new salary was substantially higher than before: twelve exes as a baseline (which would increase after his probation and official rank assignment), sixty kso for each ray in his Red Star, and one ex and nine kso for each ray in his Green Star.

No one had bothered with trying to verify his claim; they'd simply taken him at his word that he had nine rays and then sent him on his way, promising to recalculate for the previous month once they were closer to autumn and they received the following year's budget from the Crown. He had no idea why it worked that way, and he didn't especially care to find out.

Jubilant, he'd ridden the tram back to "Bruce's," torn between wanting to kiss the strict, forty-something head accountant or Tess. Probably Tess.

His bank account, which had been whittled down to 115 exes and 65 kso, had suddenly been enriched by another 63 exes and 33 kso, soaring back up to nearly 200 exes.

But that wasn't even the best part. His salary at the Second Chancery after he'd ignited his Green Star had jumped considerably, now sitting at 26 exes and 1 kso. Adding in his scholarship, he'd ended up with a princely sum — for a poor student — of almost 35 exes.

Of course, all his current (and especially his upcoming) expenses for Star Magic research had immediately come to mind, which had made the amounts feel far less impressive. Almost the opposite, in fact.

Still, Ardan had finally been able to afford two cheap suits purchased at the flea market in Tend. They'd clearly been worn before (likely by someone orcish, given their size), and so the seams needed mending and the cuffs were nearly worn through. But for a modest four-and-a-half exes for both of them, it had been a decent deal.

Then there was the matter of his spring footwear. He couldn't buy used shoes for obvious reasons, but he'd deal with that later.

He also needed to account for shirts, underclothes, the occasional outing with Tess, new accumulators, books, and — most painfully of all — a new grimoire. Ardan's current one was nearly out of pages, and it was already so overloaded with modifications that the book could barely close.

He dreaded the cost of a good, sturdy grimoire at the Spell Market. Especially if it was one that wouldn't fall apart after his next — Sleeping Spirits forgive him — little "adventure."

He was already tempted to raid his bank account to purchase a few new volumes, which would still be nowhere near what Aversky possessed, of course. The Grand Magister owned a separate grimoire for each experiment, a whole shelf of such volumes for each of his Stars, a separate cabinet for each branch of magic, plus his personal, ciphered (like Gleb Davos') combat grimoire that he carried with him whenever he left home.

Such treasures, in terms of money alone, must've been worth at least a thousand exes. And if you factored in the entirety of the Grand Magister's lab — his tools, artifacts, and a host of experimental devices — then the total was surely twelve thousand, if not thirteen thousand exes.

So, while Ardan's earnings might've looked respectable compared to a common laborer's or a small-time merchant's, by Star Mage standards, he was still hovering at the edge of poverty.

Yes, the bounty was all well and good, but…

"May I ask you something, Ard?" Aversky's voice cut through their ten-minute break. "Why didn't you hurry to inform us of your new Star the moment you kindled it?"

Ardan stood, retrieved his staff, and sat down at a small table across from the Grand Magister. Lately, Aversky had looked chronically exhausted. The bags under his eyes had gone nearly black, his skin was parchment-thin, and the ever-present smell of strong coffee mixed with energizing brews clung to him.

He was toiling over something so important that even the Black House was leaving him in peace, allowing him to spend entire weeks in the depths of his own mansion. Deprived of sunlight, the Grand Magister had grown pale, frugal meals had whittled him thin, and the basement's lack of a proper bath had left him blotchy and grimy. In that moment, more than ever, he resembled the liches from Ard's grandfather's grim tales. Those rare few Dark Aean'Hane who, dreading death, had purposely abandoned mortal life to seal their minds within an undead shell. Living off the Ley of the living, they would become a sort of sorcerous vampire, feeding not on blood, but something else entirely.

"I was afraid the Second Chancery would think I'd advanced too quickly," Ardan replied honestly, seeing no point in dodging the question. "Nine rays already… I worried you might decide to-"

"Make a lab rat out of you? Open up your brain, Ard, and dismantle you piece by piece to study everything thoroughly?"

"Something like that," Ardan said with a nod.

Aversky's lips curved in a small twitch and he lifted his eyebrows. He didn't meet Ardi's gaze, still absorbed in his treatise while sipping coffee.

"First of all, Ard, none of those who know about you within our organization would be the least bit surprised," Aversky briefly tore his gaze away from the text. "No one would be surprised that a descendant of Aror Egobar — one of the most powerful Aean'Hane to ever live — would make such rapid progress in Star Magic. That, if you like, is simply a fact everyone understands."

This made such perfect sense that it was now Ardan's turn to be taken aback.

"Then why didn't you let on that you were aware of my Green Star?"

Aversky merely gave the tiniest of shrugs. "Our lessons didn't yet cover two-Star spells, Ard. And as for Captain Pnev's motives, or anyone else's, you'll have to ask them," Aversky took another few sips and winced. Not at the flavor, but from pain. He looked truly unwell. "In any case, you've rested long enough. Let's move to a new topic: Ley Resonance."

Ardan raised his eyes to meet Aversky's. "What… What will happen to Irigov's family?"

"Ley Resonance," Aversky repeated, as though ignoring the question at first, "as you, Ard, already know—" Then he froze, for the first time tearing himself away from the monograph. Closing the book, he set it aside. "Why do you ask, Ard?"

Ardan did not answer.

"Allow me a guess," Aversky continued, not breaking eye contact. Ardan had to remind himself to, as Skusty had taught him, conjure the image of a fierce Alсade winter storm, guarding his own mind from the Grand Magister's — possibly prying — attention. "You received your letter from Accounting about the bounty, yes?"

Perhaps Ardan wasn't as adept at shielding himself from the Witch's Gaze as he'd hoped.

"Don't worry," Aversky waved a hand dismissively. "Though I know a little of the ways an Aean'Hane can use to peer into a soul, I've never been so interested as to actually use them."

"Why not?" Ardi asked quickly.

Aversky was silent for a few seconds.

"Would you prefer an answer to your first question, or the second?"

"The first," Ardan muttered, looking away.

"Then with your permission, Ard, I'll proceed," Aversky took a measured sip and grimaced briefly. "You, being a student and a mage, were quite happy about the sum — then you began to feel guilty about it being blood money?"

Ardan shrugged. In truth, he hadn't even thought of that angle — at least not until right now.

"Everyone who isn't like Yonatan Kornosskiy, Mshisty, Cassara, or a handful of other field operatives, ends up asking themselves the same question," Aversky cast a swift glance at his staff. "My first assignment for the Black House, Ard, was to eliminate a dwarf Aean'Hane who possessed the Name of River Stones. Along with his entire family."

"His family? But why?"

"Because the dwarf had been recruited by Selkado's intelligence agency to sabotage our supply routes on the western Fatian front," Aversky answered crisply. "He betrayed his country, nearly leading to mass casualties. His wife was either too foolish to question where all the sudden wealth had come from, or chose to be deceived if he lied outright, but she most likely knew the truth. Women always know the truth, Ard. No matter how hard you try to fool them — believe me, a wife knows you better than you know yourself."

Aversky absently rubbed his ring finger prosthesis — Ardan had never noticed a wedding ring on it. Indeed, despite Aversky's home being so massive, Ardan had never seen anyone else there, only a few servants and a stern butler.

"His parents would never have forgiven the Empire, even if their son was a traitor," Aversky went on. "They were prominent bankers, and would surely have used their influence for revenge. So, shortly after the tragic deaths of their son and daughter-in-law, an 'unfortunate accident' befell them as well. Their bank was then expropriated by the Crown, allowing the Great Prince to push through his reforms. Or do you think the politicians in Parliament simply decided on a whim to lighten the tax burden for the most vulnerable?"

Ardan swallowed hard.

"And the children?"

"The children… Yes, the children," Aversky sighed. "Those under sixteen were placed under the care of carefully-selected dwarven guardians loyal to the Empire, to ensure they didn't grow up thirsting for vengeance. If you ask me, Ard, that was too lenient. An infection must be uprooted at its source or it spreads. A traitor can never raise anyone noble."

With that, Aversky looked at Ardan in a way that sent a chill coursing down the young man's spine. Perhaps the Colonel — who also served as the acting head of the Second Chancery — hadn't assigned Aror Egobar's descendant to Grand Magister Aversky out of kindness.

Now Ardan understood the role Aversky played, and it was very… specialized. The first time Ardan had ever seen the man, he had sent an elven Aean'Hane to the Paths of the Sleeping Spirits. And now the Grand Magister had just recounted another story of him dealing with an Aean'Hane.

A third example wasn't needed. Chance had no place here.

"But that's only my opinion, Ard," Aversky added, his voice tinged with a weary note that only those who have seen and done what most others can't even imagine could produce. "And perhaps it's for the best that neither the Emperor nor the Colonel shares it."

"You mentioned those under sixteen. What about-"

"Anyone older than that," Aversky cut in sternly, "is no longer a child. And as it just so happened, nearly all of them perished in horrific 'accidents' within a month of thorough investigation."

Ardan pressed his shoulder blades against the back of his chair, as if trying to distance himself from Aversky. Over the past several months of lessons, he'd made the mistake of forgetting whose house he was visiting every fourth day.

This was a Grand Magister of Military Magic, Edward Aversky — call sign "Vulture." One of the most powerful mages in the Empire, and thus the world. Among the nearly two billion humans and Firstborn on the planet, there were perhaps only a few hundred that were as mighty as he was.

Such a person wouldn't be squeamish about blood on their hands. Quite the contrary.

"Now that I've explained myself…" Aversky was suddenly racked by a short, clearly painful coughing fit. "My apologies… this experiment is killing me… In any case," the man ran a measuring gaze over Ardan, "if you, Ard, can master Ley Resonance within the next month, I'll be certain of the fact that I'm not wasting precious hours I might otherwise devote to rest, and I'll invite you to assist in my new research."

Ardi nearly choked on this information.

"Your… your research?"

"I'm working on a strategic water-element spell for the army. The deadlines are, frankly, unrealistic. But you, due to your study of the Aean'Hane arts, have certain… let's call them 'preferences' for water. Albeit only one specific state of it, but still…" Aversky lifted his shoulders almost imperceptibly — it was evidently all he could manage. "Without undue flattery, I respect your clarity of thought and resourcefulness, as well as your quite impressive skill as a Star Engineer for someone of your level. Much to my dismay, you're far better at that than you are at war magic… If circumstances were any different, I'd advise you to forget about military Star Magic altogether."

Ardi wasn't sure whether to feel pleased at the praise or uneasy about what it said about him as Ardan Egobar.

"And even if your fresh perspective contributes only a tenth of a percent to my experiment, that's still better than nothing. Plus, it'll be useful for you as well. And… cough-cough…" Aversky took a small flask from an inner pocket, twisted off the cap, and swallowed some thick emerald brew that poured out like honey. "Forgive me for the little motivational speech, Ard. You asked me about Irigov's family," Aversky wiped his lips with a handkerchief and took up his coffee once again. "His wife is already in the Black House. She'll undergo the same procedure as her husband. Irigov's parents managed to flee to Seiros, and from there will likely sail to Dunsfield on the first available ship. So…" The Grand Magister absently tugged on his expensive, chalk-streaked jacket sleeve, thinking it over. "I suppose that might buy them half a year. Perhaps even a full year. Then the Daggers will finish the job."

The Daggers… Ardan recalled Milar's words about the Second Chancery agents who worked outside the Empire.

"Irigov's younger brothers, who serve in the Crown's navy, will receive compensation. Their records and conduct give us no cause for suspicion," Aversky continued. "As for the older sister — who apparently acted as a go-between for her brother and his… contractors," the Grand Magister nearly grimaced at that last word, "she'll be joining her parents. The younger sons, those who are under sixteen, will be placed in the orphan cadet academy on the Armondian front. The daughter will go to a nursing school, where she'll either become a nurse or one of the Angels' Sisters. The eldest son… resisted arrest. All his assets have been confiscated by the Crown."

Ardan listened, unsure of what to think. On one hand, everything he'd just heard had sounded harsh — perhaps even cruel — and bereft of sentiment or needless rumination. And yet… out in the forest flows and snow trails, hunters battling for territory could be far more brutal.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

But they were supposed to be civilized people, men and Firstborn living in the sixth century since the Fall of Ectassus. Even the Face of Light's inquisition, which had once terrorized the people, had been consigned to ancient nightmares and old horrors.

"Why… Why does it have to be like this?" Ardan finally managed to whisper.

"I can't speak for everyone, Ard, only myself," Aversky looked him in the eye again. And this time, Ardan felt the same primal sensation he'd had when running across the steppe to clash with the Wanderer, only now the creature showed no sign of injuries. "This is my country, Ard — mine and my ancestors' both. For more than a thousand years, my family has shed blood defending it. None of my forefathers ever knew their own grandfathers, because all of them died to protect our right to be who we are. And I will destroy anyone — anyone — who dares to even think of trampling on that sacrifice and legacy. Especially traitors, their sympathizers, and, above all, their patrons and accomplices."

Something clicked in Ardan's mind, an essential puzzle piece finally slipping into place to complete the picture titled Edward Aversky. It now seemed obvious why a man of such tremendous power and wealth chose to serve in the Second Chancery rather than flee elsewhere. And only a fool would doubt that any other nation would have welcomed such a specialist as Grand Magister Aversky — the creator of practice grounds — into their ranks with open arms.

But he'd chosen otherwise. He'd chosen a path many would neither understand nor accept.

And to his own surprise, Ardan both understood and accepted it.

"That's why I agreed to train you, Ard," Aversky said suddenly. "Cassara's request only reaffirmed my decision, nothing more."

"And why is that?"

"Because you understand me, Ard," Aversky closed his eyes for a moment, as though trying to steal a bit of rest from the relentless march of minutes. "And because your father not only atoned for your family's sins with blood — his and that of our shared enemies — but he also, without question, earned every medal and Order pinned to Hec Abar's uniform. You may not yet realize this, Ard, but you and I share the same blood. And it doesn't matter if it's the blood of Gales or the blood of the Firstborn. We have the same home. One for all."

"And if it weren't for my father… If I were just the great-grandson of Aror Egobar?"

Aversky did not avert his gaze, nor did any trace of kindness or regret appear in his eyes.

Without hesitation, without a hint of pity or any attempts to soften the blow, Aversky said:

"You're eighteen."

That was all he needed to say.

It was enough for Ardan to understand, once and for all, that his life wasn't some new installment in his great-grandfather's stories — tales of valiant, upright heroes on a noble quest.

No.

This was reality.

And in real life, as was the case among hunters, there were those who could be seen as "us" and those who were "them."

He was fortunate enough — because of his father's suffering — to be counted, at least for now, among the "us."

And that luck meant his life might have turned out very differently in other circumstances, or might not have turned out any way at all. If he had handled the steppe crossing differently, or if, upon arriving in the Metropolis, he'd been met not by Davenport and Atura but by this stern, gaunt, perpetually harried Grand Magister of Military Magic…

"But if my father atoned for my great-grandfather's sins, then others could-"

"I'm no politician, Ard," Aversky cut him off again. "And Light forbid I ever become any kind of lawmaker. In my personal opinion, a few exceptions don't invalidate the rule. But enough talk about all this irrelevant stuff. Let's move on to what truly matters: Ley Resonance. What do you know of it, Ard?"

It took Ardan several moments — full of the aroma of strong coffee and heavy thoughts — to refocus on the original subject.

"Only what one can glean from general references," the young man answered without hedging. "Ley Resonance is a practical skill honed by military mages that relies on the phenomenon of Ley energy returning to the Ley Lines after a spell is cast."

"Precisely," Aversky set his cup aside and rested his hands on his knees. Ardan couldn't help but notice that they were trembling slightly. How many days in a row had the man been dosing himself with energy tonics…? "Spells woven with Ley energy revert back to the Ley Lines, so long as they don't bring about irreversible changes in reality's structure. That is Star Magic's fundamental principle, which distinguishes it from the art of the Aean'Hane."

Ardan nodded. He'd read about that in Nicholas the Stranger's textbook as well as in other works on Star Magic.

"For instance, your Ice Flowers — how long do they last, half an hour?"

"I tweaked them to stick around for only five minutes," Ardan replied with a hint of pride. "I see no reason for them to hang around longer."

"Not the point," Aversky waved him off. "Though once again, I commend your engineer's instincts… Now then. No Star Magic spell can exist for any significant length of time, because the energy poured into it always runs out. But!" Aversky snapped his fingers, forming a Spark seal before him, followed immediately by a Fireburst seal — a localized explosion in a small area. "Any Ley-based spell, whether it's a sustained effect or a momentary one, relinquishes its Ley energy over time. Usually, this happens between ten seconds and a minute and a half later. During that window, the Star Mage can reclaim some portion of that energy. Now, let me pose a few questions to warm up your mind, Ard. Why can Ley Resonance be used only by the mage who cast the spell, and not by just anyone?"

Ardan paused to think. If not for Professor Tiun Listov's lectures on history, he might not have had an answer at all. But as it was, the explanation lay close at hand.

"Because Stars are special areas within a mage's brain, so… once we draw in the Ley from the environment, it takes on some of our personal properties?"

"Precisely." The Grand Magister's tone brimmed with satisfaction. "That's also why you, as I've mentioned before, have certain unique… preferences. But on to the next question. Why can't you 'repaint' the spent Ley? If you conjure a seal using three rays from your Red Star, why can't you resonate it back into one Green Star ray?"

"For the same reason a mage can't transfer rays between Stars," Ardan answered straightaway. "Each of our nodes can only store its own color. And since every node has unique properties, the Ley we spend picks up traces of those properties, too."

"Once again, your reasoning is correct, Ard." Aversky lifted one of the books off the table and handed it to the young man. "This should suffice for your theoretical prep."

Ardan eyed the slim volume — it was barely one hundred and eighty pages — which was entitled "Ley Resonance" by Grand Magister Duke Ilat Brinskiy. He'd heard that surname in his Star Magic History lectures. Apparently, the man had lived about three centuries ago, and was the one who had discovered the phenomenon known as Ley Resonance.

"Don't be surprised," Aversky said amusedly, brushing chalk dust from his coat and allowing himself a faint grin. "Ley Resonance is purely practical. Brinskiy only wrote down his general observations, a few tips and suggestions on its use, as well as recommendations for magical combat."

"I'm more surprised he wrote anything at all," Ardan admitted quietly. "Professor Listov said Brinskiy loathed writing things down."

"Quite true," the Grand Magister didn't deny it. "The copy you're holding was printed from his personal diary and intended for military mages of the Crown's Army and for the Second Chancery staff."

The book suddenly felt almost scalding hot in Ardan's hands. Since his childhood, he'd kept another book hidden beneath a floorboard at home — one that might have seen his entire family sentenced to hard labor. And now here he was, holding literature that was possibly even more taboo.

"I live in an Orcish Jackets' boarding house," Ardan reminded him.

For a moment, Aversky stared at him with stony indifference before smacking his hand against his own forehead in exasperation. Peering at Ardan between splayed fingers, he asked in disbelief, "You haven't even put up passive shielding wards in your apartment?"

Ardan opened his mouth, then shut it again. He wanted to say that he couldn't, but in truth, for nearly three months now, he'd been capable of… maybe not something on the scale of Irigov's manor, but he could at least create a barrier that might hold off an uninvited visitor.

"Never mind," Aversky waved a hand. "Let's get back to the Resonance. The basic principle is really quite simple. All you need to do is focus on the Ley energy the same way you do with accumulators. The difference is that, because Ley disperses into the Ley Lines, you can't recoup the entire amount of energy you spent. Even more to the point, you can't reclaim it right away. Your Ley first has to…" The Grand Magister paused, searching for the right word, "purify itself of your personal residue, at least to some extent. Such is the paradox… Which means Ley Resonance only becomes feasible about ten seconds after you cast a spell, and even then, you'll lose half the rays. After a minute, your ray loss is tripled, rendering Resonance pointless. Care to guess why it's typically used within a single element?"

Ardan considered the question. "Must be something to do with those 'impurities?'"

"Close," the older man nodded. "Elemental Star Magic already carries a distinct 'trace' of its element, so Resonance goes faster and easier if you stay in that same sphere."

"I see."

"Then begin."

Ardan froze. "What do you mean?"

"I mean exactly that, Ard," Aversky said, returning to his treatise. "Resonance is purely practical. It requires hundreds of hours of steady repetition. So don't waste time and get to it. Until you master it thoroughly, we can't advance any further."

Ardan just sat there for a few seconds longer. But after seeing that the Grand Magister was dead serious, he picked up his staff and got to his feet.

Stepping back from the practice dummy, Ardi formed an Ice Arrow seal and started remapping the runic links — something he now did as a matter of course — at every stage until its final manifestation. When a meter-long icicle shot out from the tip of his staff at the speed of a bullet (though it couldn't go farther than a hundred meters in that state), Ardan focused on the Ley energy that had spilled out into the air. Much to his surprise, he could actually feel it. Not as clearly as when he was working with an accumulator, but still…

He fired two more arrows, then tried to funnel some of that spent energy back into an Ice Barrage seal, topping it off with three of his own rays. And there was the hitch:

Where drawing rays from an accumulator felt no harder than sipping a glass of cool, clean water, trying to achieve Resonance felt to Ardan like he was inhaling something thick, foul-smelling, and uncooperative through a straw no wider than a reed.

The Ice Barrage seal cracked and fell apart before his eyes. Ardan panted heavily as weariness settled over him, pressing down on his shoulders.

"Keep going, Ard, keep going," Aversky "encouraged" him in his usual mocking tone.

And so Ardan continued…

He kept at it until he was spent — physically and mentally — then rested, then tried again. Of course, by the end of their session, he still hadn't managed to cast Ice Barrage through Resonance… or to reclaim even the slightest sliver of his spent Ley energy.

In that instant, it became painfully obvious to him why the training grounds at the Grand University were perpetually booked by students of the Military Faculty.

Finally drained of all energy, Ardan once again lay down on the floor. The cold stone bit into him, but it also offered a welcome coolness to soothe his overheated flesh.

"You lack combat experience, Ard," Aversky remarked, flipping a page in his research notes.

The young man refrained from mentioning that, if he had it his way, he'd reduce any "combat experience" of his to an absolute minimum of zero.

"You and your fellow students always need money, yes?" The Grand Magister continued. "Well, why not combine something that's useful with something profitable? Earn a bit of coin and get the practice you so desperately need."

Ardan didn't need any further explanation. After his first trip to the Spell Market, the existence of a "Magical Boxing" league there had gotten him thinking.

There were several such competitive leagues: a Student League, then the Sponsor League (which included assorted organizations connected to Star Magic, the Spell Market among them), and finally, the main Global League, which was arguably the entire world's most popular sporting event. Qualifying for the Global League was already considered a tremendous feat. Tournaments were held in national capitals, and once every four years, the International Mage Guild (whose headquarters were in the capital of the Confederation of Free Cities, Dunsfield) randomly chose a nation to host the global championships.

Students — especially ones like Boris Fahtov — were always discussing Magical Boxing, memorizing the duelist rosters, placing bets, and boasting that they'd gladly enter the League themselves. In truth, it wasn't open to just anyone; there was a strict requirement on how many Stars one needed to possess.

"Off you go, Ard," Aversky said, leaning on his staff and heading toward his laboratory. "The driver's already waiting for you."

"I'll walk."

"That's your choice."

Ardan climbed the stairs, walked down the corridor, and once again braved the old butler's haughty, disdainful glare. Then he stepped outside.

A damp, still-frosty wind — hinting at the promised warmth to come — raked across his face. The snow had changed from a pristine white blanket into a mucky, grayish-black slush. By morning, the asphalt was an uneven sheet of ice, and by evening, patches of it had melted into muddy puddles.

City dwellers were beginning to shed their heavy fur coats in favor of something lighter and more comfortable. Fur-lined mittens and gloves gave way to simple leather, while knit caps and bulky hats were being replaced by felt fedoras. Ladies in particular were eager to take out dresses and outfits that had been gathering dust all season, surviving the winter moths' ravenous appetites.

Gradually, the city itself was beginning to transform. Walls and rooftops were shedding their icy crust, thankful for the extra minutes of daylight. The streets looked wider now that they'd been freed from towering snowbanks, and even the black waters of the Niewa River had shattered their frozen bonds to embrace the gray granite embankments once again.

Convoys of street cleaners cruised endlessly through every district, gathering snow, draining puddles from cobblestone and asphalt, and hauling away trash from street bins and basement chutes. And the sky, still overcast and sullen, was climbing a bit higher each day, no longer bearing down like a suffocating lid.

It was the Month of Flowers — early spring according to the calendar, even if not reality. After all, in Evergale, the fields were already in full bloom, and the prairies had turned into a kaleidoscope of wildflowers. The bright sun was tickling the thawed out rivers, a broad sky of cobalt stretched from horizon to horizon, and even the night air rarely dipped below freezing.

But here in the Metropolis, these first few weeks of the Month of Flowers saw the mercury in thermometers creep to a mere three degrees above freezing — and only a few times a day at that, and only for a couple hours at most.

Ardan took a deep breath of the frigid nighttime air. At this late hour, it wasn't saturated with fumes or motor oil, and the factory smog from St. Vasily's Island didn't reach quite this far.

He raised the collar of his old coat — the same one he'd been wearing for as long as he could remember — and tapped his staff along the cobblestones, making his way down Guild Quay. Most of the grand mansions were dark by now, although if you tried, you might glimpse a faint glow behind heavy curtains in a few of the offices and salons.

Ardi's gaze, as always, wandered over to the Imperial Quay that stretched out next to the Palace of the Kings of the Past, with its lavish, perpetually festive glow and the majestic buildings nestled there. Over these last seven months, to his own surprise, Ardan had found the Metropolis burrowing deeper into his heart — like a persistent badger carving out its den. It was taking root in his soul, and little by little, he found ever more wonders and beauty in its architecture and trappings.

If only the air had been better, it might've been a perfect picture.

"Good evening." A stern, unfamiliar voice ripped Ardan from his reverie. "Private First Rank Tilin Nilskiy, City Guard Corps. Please present your documents, along with your permit to carry a Star Staff openly."

Standing before him were four men — unexpected for a simple guard patrol, which typically traveled in pairs. They wore red greatcoats over their scarlet uniforms, carried army rifles slung across their shoulders, and from their belts hung clubs along with — strangely — holstered revolvers whose flaps were unbuttoned.

"Certainly," Ardan replied. No sooner had he spoken than the pair behind him drew their revolvers.

"You're one of the Firstborn?" Asked Nilskiy in an odd tone. He was a tall, broad-shouldered young man.

He was tall enough to nearly be at Ardan's eye level and wide enough at the shoulders to surpass him entirely. He and his comrade… well, the whole foursome was suspiciously large. Did they pick only the tallest, most formidable troopers for the duty of patrolling St. Vasily's Island?

"Yes, I-"

"Then show us your permit for traveling within the country, as well as the stamp required for entering the Metropolis administrative zone."

"As you wish." Ardan offered no protest.

He'd been stopped on the street before, but usually the guards simply checked his documents and student papers, wished him a good day, and let him be.

With deliberate, conspicuously calm movements, Ardi unbuttoned his coat and reached into an inner pocket for the leather folio — Bazhen's gift to him for his birthday — that held his papers.

If not for his Matabar's keen eyesight, which even the night gloom couldn't fully hamper, Ardan never would have noticed how deftly the second pair of guards were tightening their fingers on their triggers.

"Here," Ardan said, handing his documents to Nilskiy.

The guard took them, didn't even open them, and then gestured toward a military truck parked on the far side of the street — positioned so it had a clear view of Aversky's house across the way.

"Come with us, Mr. Egobar, and-"

Nilskiy stopped short. Ardan's gaze flicked from the guard to his still-unopened documents, then back again. The guard's eyes mimicked Ardan's motions, glancing downward.

"Fi-"

He never finished giving that order. Ardan sprang, dipping low and ramming his shoulder into Nilskiy, sending him toppling into the two other guards who'd already raised their guns. Snatching back his papers, he pulled the fourth red-coated guard along with him and vaulted over the embankment.

They landed on the ice in a tangle, the impact smashing every last bit of breath from Ardan's lungs. For a moment, he could only gasp there in silence, while the guard he'd dragged down with him cried out and moaned, clutching his legs that were twisted at an unnatural angle, and were clearly broken near the knees.

"Fire!" Someone shouted from above. "But don't kill him! The sergeant wants him brought in alive!"

Ardan slammed the butt of his staff against the ice, forming a shield that redirected the first round of bullets, then pressed his hand against the frozen surface. A frosty puff escaped his lips, and the ice beneath him fractured, swallowing him into the murky, frigid embrace of the Niewa River.

***

The door to one of the Spell Market's branch offices opened, revealing a young man who might have just stepped out of some child's holiday tale about a snow spirit. His lashes and hair were caked white with ice, his clothes crackled and jingled due to short icicles, and his boots clung to the floor thanks to a spiky coating of rime. Despite it all, this hulking figure — his scarlet cloak crackling like a scolding magpie — seemed wholly unconcerned.

His amber eyes gleamed, irritated and weary, as he approached the counter and pulled out his club membership card. The thing had clearly suffered damage from water and frost, and would need to be replaced. The night-shift worker immediately pointed this out.

"No need," said the young man, passing his hand over the card.

Strangely, wherever his hand swept, the water damage vanished as if drawn into his very skin. The clerk, who was worn out and bleary, suspected he might've just been seeing things.

"How may I help you, Mr.… Egobar?" The clerk squinted at the card's surname.

"I'd like to join the Spell Market League for Magical Boxing."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Egobar, but participation is only allowed for those who have a Green Star."

"I have one."

"But according to our files-"

"I. Have. One."

The worker, his nerves frazzled by those fierce amber eyes, shrank back from the counter and nodded.

"As your personal record must be updated before we receive official notification from the University or the Guild authority, you'll have to undergo identification testing on the apparatus," the clerk said stiffly, then quickly added, "those are the rules, sir! I don't make them!"

"All right," the young man replied, curt but resigned.

"I'll schedule you…" The employee lifted a massive ledger from the shelf and flipped a few pages. "For the start of next week — on the second day, at precisely five in the evening."

"Where?"

His finger traced the lines. "The Fourteenth Branch in Old Park District."

"How much?" The mage asked in the same clipped tone. The poor clerk could only hope the man's wrath wasn't directed at him personally.

Armed with an arithmetic machine and the official rates chart, the clerk clicked away on metal levers and keys.

"Seven exes and thirty-nine kso."

"That's daylight robbery."

"I can't do anything abou-"

"Check?"

"You're a member, so-"

Without waiting for the end of that sentence, the young man yanked out a checkbook, repeated the same trick he'd used on his membership card, then snatched the pen from the counter, dipped it carelessly in the ink, and scrawled out the required amount.

Leaving the check on the counter, he turned without a word and headed for the exit. The worker, slumping onto a stool in exhaustion, found himself pondering whether he ought to heed his father's advice and take a job in the steel mill after all. It had to be less stressful than this…

***

An hour later, Milar stopped his car near a shopfront where Ardan sat on a wooden bench. Unsure of whether it was safe to return to "Bruce's," the young man had hidden in the shadows, waiting for the captain. When familiar headlights appeared at the end of the street, Ardan let his Veil slip away.

Milar got out of the car and gave his partner an appraising look.

"Well, well, Magister… You really do look the part of a Matabar now. I was starting to doubt whether you had a drop of that blood in you."

"Yeah," Ardan said wearily.

"Oh my," Milar whistled softly. "All right, oh great vessel of universal irritation, hop in. You can explain why you dragged me from bed at this" — he peered around — "I can't decide if it's an ungodly hour of the night or an absurdly early time in the morning."

Ardan rose, boots and cloak crunching with an icy rattle. He'd have to work hard to free them from that frost. As it was, he'd nearly torn himself apart trying to cleanse his grimoire and papers. Then he climbed into the car.

After shutting the door, he calmly recounted the events of the night. When he finished, Milar looked astonished, then furious, and then astonished again.

"What an idiot…"

"Who?"

"The Minister of Internal Affairs, who else?" Milar smacked his lips thoughtfully. "Unless they're trying to set him up… Either way, it's time to give the guards a reminder."

"A reminder of what?"

"Ard."

"What?"

"Damn it!" Milar slapped the steering wheel. "Sometimes, your endless questions really get on my nerves!"

"I bet you hate them almost as much as I hate having to buy new clothes every time you and I end up in a brawl!" Ardan retorted. "And don't bother pointing out that this time — wait, why are you looking at me like that?"

Milar scratched the back of his head, smiling awkwardly — the same way he had when he'd finally decided to tell his partner about Café Eltir.

"All my clothes belong to the service," Milar admitted, flicking the lapel of his black uniform. It was plain but well-made, confirming Ardan's guess. "You never got your own? You may just be a trainee, but you're still entitled-"

Ard, who'd just lost all his will to live, slumped wordlessly against the car seat.

Clearing his throat, Milar opened the glove box and withdrew a cluster of signaling medallions.

"All right, enough chatting." He bared his teeth in a grim smile, pressing several coin-sized tokens at once.

"The guards seem to have forgotten," the captain said, causing Ardan's curiosity to flare up despite his fatigue.

"Forgotten what, exactly?"

Milar's eyes flashed dangerously. "That messing with the Black House and our people is a terrible idea."

Not an hour passed before fat, icy raindrops and a smattering of hail started battering the car roof. The season's first real storm had come to the Metropolis. Cutting through the downpour, four identical black vehicles with boxy chassis and round headlights sped along a broad avenue, heading for the Main Headquarters of the City Guard Corps.