The Pinnacle Academy

        Foreword: This is a large break from my usual stories. There's only one major transformation, and it takes place well along. So, please keep that in mind. If you like TF-heavy material, you'll probably want to skip this. Ditto if you like stories which jump right into the transformation.

        This was inspired by - but not based on - a long-running Swashbuckler RPG I was in. I have almost completely changed the background, keeping only one basic concept (a government-sponsored special academy) and one player character (Llewellyn, my guy) and two NPCs (Beatrice, and there I only kept the name, 'cause I like it, and Madeline, 'cause she's so closely connected with Llewellyn :-). Most of the history is different, as well, though I did keep Llewellyn's backstory, only a little of which appears in this tale. I also mention Llewellyn's teacher, Mad Agnes, long dead by the time of the events related here.

        To get an idea of appearance of the Pinnacle Academy, search for information on Sigiriya (The Lion Mountain), Sri Lanka and the monastery in Meteora, Greece.

        As they rounded the end of the ridge the two travelers saw that the trail went right to the very edge of the escarpment, then began skirting that edge. Rounding the turn they could look over the edge and see that the base of the cliff far below was littered with broken rock which had fallen from the face through the ages. On this warm, Spring day it seemed to the older of the two that he could actually smell freshly-broken rock, mixed in with the scents of the pine trees and flowers and damp soil. Apparently there had been a storm through here within the past day or so, and this thought brought pangs of grief which made him glad his companion was riding in front of him. Bergen forced himself to focus on his physical surroundings, to push the sorrow away for the moment. He could see ahead where a portion of the escarpment stuck out well beyond the rest of the irregular face. Further around the edge and he could see that this was actually a large spire or pinnacle which was separated from the main body of the escarpment. Nowhere was the crack between child and parent less than twice the height of a man wide until well below, where rocky debris filled the gap. He could clearly see blue sky showing through the gap between the two bodies. He could also clearly see the construction on the spire, and once the scale of the buildings became clear realized he had underestimated the size of the natural tower. Most of the buildings were on the presumably flat top, but there were buildings, balconies and stairways carved into the side of the spire as much as a third of the way down. A thread of a bridge connected the main body of the escarpment with the pinnacle. Even from here he could see that at least one portion of this connecting structure was designed to bar easy access.

        "Is it as impressive as I promised?" said Galthe, a grin in his voice. He looked back towards the other man. His large, grey and brown hawk, stirred from a doze on the pommel of the saddle, squawked and ruffled in mild annoyance at the break in the long silence, then closed its eyes again.

        "More," said Bergen, staring at the spectacle. "I've read of it, seen drawings and paintings... none do it justice."

        "Well, that's partly deliberate," said Galthe. "Wouldn't do to have an enemy learn too much about one of our most valuable institutions from books, would it? Especially with the Gesh border only a day's ride from here."

        The ponies they rode were a tough mountain breed, and not worried by the sheer drop to their left. Bergen had also spent all his life in the mountains, his home to the north. Galthe was originally from a flat farming area, but had lived at the Academy long enough to be used to heights. So, with little anxiety from himself or his companion, the newcomer was free to enjoy his first view of a unique facility, while the wizard simply felt relieved to be so close to home.

        The bridge turned out to be more substantial than it appeared from a distance, and proved wide enough - and presumably sturdy enough - for two loaded wagons to pass with ease. It was a sturdy structure of wood and rope and iron fasteners, old but with signs of recent maintenance. Both the escarpment end and the pinnacle end had guard stations with gates and barricades, though currently only the former was manned.

        The guards waved them to a halt, and one advanced to receive the papers Galthe presented. He was the only one among them wearing a sword, plus a brace of pistols. The others each carried a musket, the main weapon of the military these days. It came with a long bayonet which could be attached to the muzzle or used as a lethal short sword all by itself. Armor for these guards was limited to a helmet, unlike the regular army. The rest of their outfit was a uniform of sturdy cloth and leather and brass buttons, with rank insignia on the sleeves, again similar to the outfit of the army in many ways but different in others. Bergen noted that one of the five was a woman, and that she was not the smallest of the squad.

        The head guard recognized the wizard, even addressed him by name and was in turn addressed by name, but he still took the papers. He read them - actually looked them over fairly thoroughly, rather than simply performing a perfunctory glance - then nodded and handed them back.

        "Two for the school," he called out, stepping back to clear the way.

        The gate was raised and the travelers proceeded through on their horses.

            *           *           *

        One thing immediately obvious to Bergen - even before reaching the end of the bridge - was that space was at a premium at the Academy. According to Galthe, there were fewer than five hundred people here. That hadn't sounded like a large number - Bergen's home village had a population more than twice that even though away from the trade route - back home, but now that he was here... While the spire was large for such a feature it wasn't that large. No wonder they had built up... and down, around the face of the pinnacle. He actually felt a bit intimidated as they left the small open area around the pinnacle end of the bridge and moved between buildings.

        "No offense, but... I'm glad I'm not bothered by confined spaces," said Bergen, as he and the young wizard dismounted to their horses along a narrow alley, structures rising high all around.

        Galthe laughed.

        "We do have some open spaces. Mostly around the rim, to take advantage of the view. We are very aware of the impact all this crowding can have, so we set aside land for small parks, scattered all over the Academy. There are even a few nicely landscaped courts in some of the quadrangles."

        Bergen was glad to hear this, as they turned down an even narrower way.

        "I noticed that many of those here bear elvish features."

        "About one in twelve," said Galthe. "Only about one in ten of those is actually full-blooded elf. The rest are mixes. Elves are naturally good at magic, and that carries through for the mixed offspring."

        "We occasionally see half-elves and such coming through our valley," said Bergen. "Rarely, one of the northern elves will go through on some pilgrimage."

        "We can take the horses all the way to the guest quarters," said Galthe, pointing the direction as they approached another intersection. "There are servants to help carry stuff into your room. My own quarters aren't too far away, so I'll go there and drop my stuff off, leave the horses at the stables, then come back to see how you're doing."

            *           *           *

        "You sure you don't want the grand tour now?" said Galthe, when he returned to Bergen's room. Even takethe time to change out of his traveling clothes he'd made it back before the hourly bell sounded. "There's still a few hours of light left."

        The wizard's familiar was not present. It rarely was, indoors. From past experience, Bergen guessed that the large bird was perched on some high vantage outside.

        "Just show me the location of the essentials, for now," said the stocky mountain man. "I'm... feeling a bit overwhelmed."

        "Yeah, I guess all this is rather intimidating," said Galthe, with a grin. "I was a lot younger my first time here, and the young are more flexible."

        The older man's modest belongings were already properly stored away, so Galthe began his abbreviated tour. He showed Bergen the washrooms, explaining the plumbing, since it was rather more elaborate than what Bergen knew from home. Next came a longer trip to the commissary. As a staff member Bergen would be allowed a food budget, and could supplement this from his salary. Though Noon was well past and evening meal not for some time yet, there were many people in the dining area. Bergen had expected robes and pointed hats and pointier shoes, all decorated with arcane symbols, and there were some of those. Most of the teachers, however, dressed as Galthe now did. That is, more like ordinary teachers, in modest clothes of subdued colors.

        Galthe introduced Bergen around, and he received a considerable amount of polite interest. He could tell that many of these men and women were puzzled by his presence.

        In turn, Bergen obviously was fascinated by these - to most people - strange individuals, but for now barely knew enough about magic to ask even the most basic questions. He settled for making polite small talk, and soon excused himself. Galthe escorted him back to his room and they chatted for a bit. The wizard obviously wanted to stay longer, excited about being back home and wanting to explain it all to the newcomer, but Bergen was firm, while remaining polite. Eventually the wizard got the idea and made his departure.

        Bergen puttered around his room some, looked out the window at the spectacular view some - the guest quarters were situated at the ground level of a building on the east side of the spire, right at the edge, giving a good view of both part of the escarpment and the plains below, and even the distant Gesh Forest - but mostly killed time until the bell sounded for the evening meal. Feeling a bit inadequately dressed, he opened the door to his quarters and stepped out. He wasn't the only one; the hallway was full of people, all strangers to him. Bergen recalled Galthe had explaining that the room he was in until permanent quarters were ready was on one of the main routes to the commissary. Bergen simply followed the flow of people. As he did so, Bergen couldn't help but notice the puzzled looks many of those in the hallway were giving him.

        He was relieved to see Galthe in the dining area, obviously waiting for him.

        "Ah! There you are! I thought you'd be able to find your way."

        "Oh, yes," said Bergen, nodding and smiling politely. "No trouble."

        They ate together and chatted a bit, but this time Galthe begged off, after receiving assurances from Bergen that he could find his way back.

        Once again in his rooms he looked out the window at the growing shadows. The sun was setting on the other side of the spire, coloring the landscape. Bergen saw and even appreciated the beauty, but the fall of darkness filled him with dread. A dread he had shared with no-one, considering it a private matter.

        Once the light had failed enough to require lamps be lit he did so, then began preparing for bed. He most definitely did not hurry the process, even deliberately delaying. Enough so that while he had started his preparations very early, he actually climbed into the unfamiliar bed only a little before the time typical for the spire's inhabitants to retire for the night. He could still hear activity through his open window, the walls, and even the floor and roof. He listened for a while, envying the people making those sounds. Then he did the hardest thing he had ever done, and willed himself to relax and sleep.

        Just like he had every night since his wife and daughter had died.

            *           *           *

        "I trust you slept well?" said Grand Reagent Halperne.

        "Oh, yes," said Bergen, quickly. "Quite well."

        This man actually looked the part of a wizard, in both dress and personal appearance, his long, grey hair and full beard being exquisitely groomed. His office, though, reminded Bergen of woodprints he had seen of mundane universities.

        "Good. I am very much looking forward to having you here, and want your tenure to get off to a good start. Part of the reason I was elected to lead this institution is that I promised to explore other areas of magic beyond what we are already familiar with."

        "Yes, that was explained by Galthe when he came to our village."

        "Excellent. Well, if you have no questions for now Instructor Galthe will give you a tour of the place. I want you to know that my door is always open to staff." The elderly but obviously still energetic man smiled. "Though if the matter isn't urgent you'll probably have to make an appointment. The position I hold is a very busy one."

        "I'll be with you in a bit, Bergen," said the young wizard, gesturing towards a doorway. "Need to speak with the Reagent about some school business, first. Just wait out in the reception area. I won't be long."

        Once the mountain man was gone the young wizard moved in close to the older wizard... who preempted him.

        "That could have been done more deftly."

        "Probably," said Galthe, with a sigh. "Anyway, I doubt very much he slept well. The whole trip here, every night like clockwork, he had terrible nightmares. Woke the rest of us repeatedly, crying out in his sleep, trying to warn his wife and daughter, then screaming in grief when they died. Bizarrely, he never seemed to wake. He may not even know he's making a fuss."

        "I suppose that's understandable..."

        "It's been seven months! His elders expressed a concern to me that he wasn't moving on, and might need to speak to a counselor. One reason they encouraged him to come here was that they thought a change of surroundings might help him recover."

        "You can't put grief on a schedule," said Halperne, sternly. "Give him time. If his trouble interferes with his tasks here, or he asks for help, then we'll see about a counselor."

        "Well, the first actual school function I'm taking him to is Orientation. I'll make a point of introducing him to Llewellyn."

        "Excellent idea. That healer has certainly helped others with such problems. Often without them even realizing until later."

            *           *           *

        "This is where the Orientation for new students is usually given," said Galthe, with a casual wave of his hand. "You're going to be an instructor, not a student, but this is still a good place to start. Anyway, this is a nice little amphitheater, so we use it for many functions besides Orientation. The acoustics are good, and I'd like you to have a good view of the full assortment of students, so let's sit up at the back."

        "That's fine."

        As they climbed the steps to the rim of the bowl, Bergen looked around the area, curious. Many students were already gathering, some seated on the stone benches lining the shallow half-bowl. At the focus, on a low, small stage of stone, were a lectern facing the seats, a table on either side of this, and a large slateboard behind it. Bergen noticed that the stone steps in the amphitheater and even the edges of many of the seats were worn from long use. He also spotted what he at first thought was Galthe's familiar, perched on one of several stone pillars around the rim of the bowl. With a start he realized that this was a different breed of hawk. Looking around, now, with an eye towards animals, he spotted several - most of them obviously associated with some human member of the audience. He actually smiled a bit, as he recalled Galthe talking about how students sometimes played "My familiar can eat your familiar."

        "The main schedule of classes begins next week," said Galthe, as they settled themselves. "Of course, there's always something going on, here. Advanced classes, remedial classes, make-up classes. Right now things aren't very busy, so we ask new students to arrive during this time to give us a chance to meet them, and them a chance to learn their way around. We have Orientation three times a day during this week."

        "Is this usually held outside?" said Bergen, guessing that the plenitude of familiars might require this.

        "Always, unless the weather is bad," said Galthe. "Sometimes even then; they can hang a canopy from the pillars around the rim for shade or shelter from mild rain. The climate here is probably less rainy and stormy than you're used to, as well as warmer, but we do have indoor presentation halls for when things get bad. One of our policies is to hold as many classes and exercises outside as feasible. To remind the students there's more to existence than libraries, lecture halls, laboratories and books."

        "A wise policy," said Bergen, nodding, and still convinced the familiars were part of the reason. "But... can't you change the weather if you...?"

        "We don't use magic for everything," said the wizard. "One of the most important lessons we teach here is to apply a little common sense and practicality to dealing with everyday matters. And to not try and change things simply because we can."

        "That sounds like a lesson useful to far more than magic users," said Bergen, dryly.

        As the hourly bell rang a few stragglers hurried to their seats, some being ushered - or even urged - by younger staff members. As the final notes of the bell were struck someone new to Bergen walked onto the stage, approaching from beyond the large slate board. A large, grey cat accompanied him as he walked towards the lectern.

        Bergen hadn't known what to expect in regard to the lecturer. He had observed that most of the magic users on staff here dressed like teachers, but he thought that perhaps for this function the garb might be more formal. Instead, he saw a man in a plain brown robe, hood pulled up and over, only a splash of white hair and a bit of his lower face showing. He was actually dressed more like a pilgrim than a wizard, or even a teacher. Besides the robe the man carried a gnarled staff in his left hand, casually walking it along as part of his gait, obviously not needing its aide, at least for walking. Bergen naturally figured this wizened figure must be the speaker, if only because he moved directly to the lectern in a purposeful but unhurried manner. When the figure pushed back his hood and Bergen saw the entirety of the man's face, though, he was astonished that it appeared youthful, and clean-shaven. Also, the way he moved was slow but easy, not like an old man or a young one, but in the manner of someone in his middle years at ease with himself. The man smiled and shook his head a bit, causing his long white hair, now free of the hood, to fall in a ponytail which reached halfway down his back.

        At first Bergen thought the man was simply left-handed. As he leaned his odd staff against the lectern, however, Bergen was startled to see that the white-haired man was missing his right hand, and instead wore a leather cap over the end of his forearm. As the strange figure opened a folder of notes his cat leapt nimbly onto the table to his left and lay down, peering out at the audience with more than ordinary feline intelligence. Bergen had seen many familiars among the staff and students, of many different types. There were foxes, birds, snakes, even other felines. This one, though, stood out among that crowd, and in more than size. Its gaze actually made Bergen feel a bit uncomfortable.

        "Good morning," said the white-haired man, in a strong, clear voice of surprisingly low pitch. "I am Llewellyn de Chevalier, one of the instructors here. The purpose of this gathering is to provide new students your Orientation. This will include basic information about both the Academy of Magical Studies and Instruction and about magic itself.

        "There are maps, here, to help you get around," said Llewellyn, gesturing across his chest with his left hand to a pile of printed sheets on the table to his right. "Use them. There are senior students and junior staff who get lost in this place, and even the senior staff occasionally have a bit of trouble. Due to centuries of construction and remodeling some parts of this institution are very much like a maze. Other parts are a maze, deliberately. And that brings me to a very important point: do not go anywhere not on one of these maps unless you are with an instructor. There are very good reasons some areas are off limits."

        Bergen found the speaker's calm, strong voice and the graceful gestures he occasionally used to emphasize some point almost enthralling. He leaned forward, frowning in concentration. Which may have been the man's intent.

        "This institution was founded by the elfin mage Lady D'Jara Anatolia Herthale a little over six centuries ago. Lady D'Jara was apparently unique among magic users in that she was multi-talented. Having ability with more than one type of magic is very rare. Lady D'Jara claimed - and her claims were supported by appropriate feats - to have mastered four different types of magic. Because of this she attracted a great deal of attention, much of it unwanted.

        "She heard of this pinnacle, and realized it would make a good private retreat. Even here she was sought out, though few were able to actually disturb her contemplations. After several years she commissioned the first bridge to join the pinnacle with the escarpment and announced she was accepting apprentices and assistants. Over the next century and a half she gradually formalized the institution of the Academy and oversaw the creation of a proper school. Eventually all administrative duties were taken over by a board of senior instructors, led by a Reagent, leaving Lady D'Jara to her studies and the occasional instruction of advanced students. Today there are several colleges, each with a board and Reagent, with a Grand Reagent overseeing them.

        "Not long after the Academy was thus organized, the King of that era - Aethelrud the Grand - decided to augment the old system for obtaining and training soldiers. Conscription was only good for forming the bulk of an army; leaders required a different method. He began establishing a series of schools around the nation to help teach future officers of the military. His policies are still seen as radical by many, but the results have consistently reinforced his reputation for wisdom. Any youth - rich or poor, from any region, and girls as well as boys - would be provided an education in return for three years of service after graduation, plus a promise to leave their civilian lives and return to military service during times of need for the next twenty years. That second part assuming they did not remain in service as a career once their initial three years were completed.

        "Following graduation, the majority of those who made use of this offer entered military service as low-ranking officers in the standard Army. Of the more talented, some were graduated as mid-ranking officers, and some were placed in various specialty branches, such as engineers, intelligence, medicine and so on. A few went into the Navy.

        "When it came to magic, however, Aethelrud and his advisors realized that even wizards were too rare to have instructors at every one of these schools. Instead, the King himself came here and met in private with Lady D'Jara. Three days later they together announced that the Academy would expand its facilities with help from the King. In return, they would accept students with magical potential who could not otherwise afford attendance, their fees being paid by the kingdom in return for service after graduation. Furthermore, instructors from here would meet with military strategists to work out a method of application, a way of smoothly integrating magic into battles and skirmishes and even the construction of defenses. Since that day the system has been constantly refined, improved and expanded. For example, now all students who complete the full six years here must serve three with the military and others may be required to give other service. As a result of this policy and this institution, today the Compact makes far more effective use of magic in its military than any other nation. Even those which - as with the Gesh - actually have more wizards, sorcerers and such in their forces. However, we are still looking for ways to improve this application."

        Bergen had known much of this in general, but the speaker was providing details which greatly expanded his understanding of several things. He remembered that the Gesh - who pressed a large percentage of their greater number of magic users into military service - kept staging battles which depended heavily on magic use. Yet when such battles were directed against the Compact they usually lost. Usually...

        "A little less than two centuries after her arrival, Lady D'Jara simply... vanished. Some say she still wanders the corridors here, living in secret rooms deep inside the spire, or even an entire estate girdling the pinnacle well down from the top. Given that she was known to be at least three centuries old at the time of her disappearance, these speculations are unreasonable; even elves rarely live so long as she already had when she disappeared. However, through the centuries there have occasionally been events which could be taken as indications of her continued or resumed presence here. The consensus is that she either ascended to assume a place among the gods, or was taken by them to prevent her from teaching mortals too much."

        The white-haired man paused for a moment to let this sink in, before continuing with a brief account of the rest of the Academy's history since the founder's disappearance. He moved on to explain class schedules and the basic layout of the Academy, as well as proper protocol and some of the more important traditions. Then he smiled.

        "With that out of the way, I now begin your instruction in the ways of magic."

        He gestured with his left hand and said something unintelligible under his breath. A piece of chalk rose from the tray below the slateboard and began to write what Llewellyn said.

        "The three most important characteristics for a student of magic to possess are perception, knowledge and dedication. You must be perceptive in order to pay attention to what is happening around you and be ready to act when needed. You need knowledge to know when you need to act and what action to take. And you need dedication to help you maintain the focus and attention to detail necessary to perform magic safely and effectively. Now, in addition... Yes?"

        Bergen looked around and saw one of the more physically unimpressive students raising a hand. Which he lowered as he voiced his question in a somewhat wavering query.

        "Uhm, excuse me, but, well, what about magical talent?"

        Bergen, also curious about this seeming omission, looked back at the instructor. He noticed, absently, that the chalk had stopped writing and returned to the trough.

        "You ask about magical talent, also known as magical potential, the knack, the spark and many other terms. Would it surprise you to learn that there are magics which can be performed by people who produce no reaction on the resonance test?" said Llewellyn, raising a white eyebrow. "And I am not talking about using enchanted items, such as scrolls or charms. Yes, to cast spells or enchant items you need the talent. But there have been miracle workers who gave no reaction at all on the resonance test. Many folk practitioners fail to test positive yet unarguably produce magical effects. And if that is the least of the revelations you experience while here you already know far more about magic than most of the instructors did when they arrived."

        The white-haired man gestured and the chalk returned to the board, to scribe Magical Talent beneath the previous items.

        "Now, it is true that there are various levels of ability with magic. Indeed, there are many scholars who believe that everyone has at least some talent, but that the vast majority simply have too little to trigger the resonance test. Or be worth the effort of training. Every one of you, however, has shown that you do have enough potential to be worth training. Some of you more than others. Do not let that evaluation affect your behavior. I listed magical ability fourth on the list because in my experience it is not of supreme importance. I have seen men and women with great potential who could barely light a candle. I have seen those with minimal talent achieve great things through study and practice. If you know you have a strong ability and think that will allow you to coast, you will be off this pinnacle by the end of the term. If you haven't killed yourself in an accident, first, through overconfidence and lack of study."

        Llewellyn took advantage of the shocked silence following those words to sweep a stern gaze across his audience.

        "Make no mistake. Like any tool, magic can be dangerous to the user if pursued carelessly. Never spellcast when drunk or otherwise mentally impaired. Though you will be coached in how to make yourself alert enough for short periods to cast spells when sleepy or drugged, that is not something you should attempt unsupervised unless you really need to.

        "The main types of non-clerical spellcasters are wizards and sorcerers, who are grouped together with some rarer types as arcane magic users. The primary difference between these two most common types of arcanists is that wizards must prepare all their spells ahead of time and sorcerers can pick spells just before casting. Wizards tend, however, to make up for their lack of spontaneity by having more and more powerful spells. Because of the way their magic works sorcerers tend to acquire spells more slowly, and for the same general level of ability have fewer spells.

        "There is a great deal of rivalry between different types of magic users. The stereotype is that wizards dwell in ivory towers, aloof from the mundane world, while sorcerers are more involved in ordinary affairs. The truth is less polarized, but the trend is real. Wizards and sorcerers generally tolerate each other, because they are the most common types and occur in roughly equal numbers, though with a distinct advantage to the wizards. While magic users of all kinds are rare, wizards and sorcerers account for nearly all of them. Both tend to regard other types of magic users with considerable scorn, usually because they have little actual information and only rumors and tales to go on. They seem to feel that because other types of magic user are even rarer than they are, that this must be due to some deficiency. This attitude often causes wizards and sorcerers much grief.

        "Oh, and note that while there are some spells which are unique or nearly so to a particular class of magic user, and others which are more commonly associated with wizards or whatever, that the majority of spells can be cast by all classes. There is even overlap between the arcane users and the divine users."

        "Sir?" said a young woman with flaxen hair, who appeared to be a bit older than most of the students. She was also dressed more plainly. "You speak of wizards and sorcerers as being other than yourself. What type of magic user are you?"

        From her accent and slightly stilted speech patterns Bergen thought her native language must be a western dialect.

        "I am a craft user," said Llewellyn, calmly.

        There was a small stir of confusion from most of the audience, and a larger one of alarm and outrage from a few.

        "You're a witch!" one boy exclaimed, actually pointing an accusing finger.

        "That term is considered insulting and derogatory," said Llewellyn, still calmly. "We prefer the term craft user or crafter. Since I am an instructor here, you will use those terms, at least in public."

        Before the boy, or the others who were having similar reactions, could respond, Llewellyn resumed his lecture. The piece of chalk again marked on the board, adding Craft User to the list of spellcasters.

        "My type of magic tends to be less dramatic than what is practiced by either wizards or sorcerers. In terms of how we crafters use magic we are somewhat like each, with some peculiarities all our own. Though our spells are of the arcane type, we have some abilities similar to those of divine users, especially Druids. Truly, we are a class unto ourselves.

        "Besides arcane spellcasters and miracle workers, there are also at least four other types of magic user. One is those who practice mind magic. There is actually some dispute as to whether their power should even be called magic, but for now let's include them. Then there are the formulists - the alchemists and artificers - who can only perform magic through their creations. Note that many other types of magic users can also create potions and scrolls and such, but that the specialists are far better at doing this. There is bardic magic, though not all who call themselves bards can actually use magic. Finally - for the purposes of this lecture - there are the physical adepts, sometimes called will workers, who practice something they call key manipulation. Miracle workers - those who use divine magic - are the provenance of the Church, mentalists tend to have no central teaching structure - though there are a few small institutions of instruction - and the physical adepts are all either self-taught or are from one of several mountain villages where the majority of the population practices what they call key manipulation. Traditionally, even sorcerers have tended to learn on their own. The Academy attempts to teach all types of non-clerical magic user, and largely succeeds. We tailor the method of instruction to the type of magic user.

        "The vast majority of magic users are only capable of one type of magic. A few can perform two. Rarely - very rarely - a single individual can work three types of magic. Only one person in all our history has been confirmed to have worked more types than that. That person was the founder of our school, Lady D'Jara Anatolia Herthale.

        "There is one thing about magic which all users have in common," said Llewellyn. He used his left hand to gather some of his long, white hair. "It marks you. Sometimes in obvious ways. Sometime in ways not so obvious. But all who use magic are changed by it."

            *           *           *

        The three-quarters bell rang not long after that, and Llewellyn began concluding his presentation. As he finished he directed the students to the table to obtain their maps, then to different exits, depending on the types of magic they were to be trained in. Once only Llewellyn, Galthe and Bergen were left the wizard took his guest down to meet white-haired man.

        "Llewellyn, this is Bergen of Wide Vale," said Galthe. "Bergen, this is Llewellyn, friend and mentor and occasional pain in the posterior."

        "Good morning," said Llewellyn, not quite offering to shake hands. "I've been looking forward to meeting you."

        Bergen deliberately held out his left hand. The white-haired crafter smiled and shook it. Bergen had the feeling he'd passed some test.

        "I just hope my minor talents prove themselves worth all the trouble of bringing me here and housing and feeding me."

        "Don't be so modest. If you show here even half of what I saw you demonstrate back in your village, those who arranged for you to be brought here will be ecstatic," said Galthe.

        "I know that Galthe teaches general wizardry and something he calls spell manipulation," said Bergen. "You just said that craft users were very rare. What do you teach?"

        "I am primarily a healer," said Llewellyn. "Magical, traditional and modern. I both practice medicine and teach it, and at the risk of sounding immodest even the Church sends healers here to learn from me. I am also the only teacher available for those rare craft users we get."

        "I was surprised to see such a wide range in age among the new students," said Bergen.

        "Most who find their magic do so early in puberty," said Llewellyn. "That does not mean they learn it then. Or, even if they make a start then, learn it well. I wasn't tested until age sixteen, though fortunately I was able to start my training immediately after. It was probably also fortunate that my teacher was very stern and strict, since thanks to her I advanced quickly in ability. Galthe, here, was an early bloomer. His father was a wizard and tested him young, then began his training at eleven."

        "The staff here used to think they only needed to worry about people in their late teens and up," said Galthe. "But then they noticed they were getting inquiries for and from children, and wizards who were twenty or older; some of the latter had even been ranked, but barely knew all the basics. Or had some things wrong. Some of the older petitioners were coming here to find out why their magic was misbehaving. Turns out many wizard traditions require deliberately keeping their novices in the dark... sometimes literally. Partly for secrecy, partly to test to see if the student can figure out what's wrong, partly out of pure perversity."

        "Most traditional wizard training institutions are more like old-style guilds than schools," said Llewellyn. "They feel the student has to earn the secrets of the trade. But magic is not shoemaking. An ignorant cobbler is unlikely to accidentally make a shoe which will devour the wearer's foot. Or the cobbler's hand."

        "I can see that," said Bergen, nodding. "We make certain to teach the basics to everyone, and that includes how much harm even a simple strike can do in the right place. Then we make certain anyone who proves unable to resist temptation is not taught any more."

        "And that's largely what we do here that isn't done in other institutions of magical instruction," said Galthe. "Most of those who come here to learn are advanced students of at least third rank already - teaching advanced students is what the Academy was created to do, after all - but we do provide instruction for the raw beginners, as well. And we keep a close eye on troublemakers."

        "It's good for instructors to review the basics occasionally," said Llewellyn, as his huge, grey tomcat walked up and rubbed its jaw across his shin.

        Bergen actually started a bit; he hadn't noticed the feline jump off the table, and he should have.

        "I think this might be less strange than I thought," said Bergen, putting his start aside and smiling. He glanced down at the cat. "Though it is definitely strange."

        "Oh, don't mind Grey," said Llewellyn, with a smile down at the cat. "He's Forest stock. They tend to be larger and smarter than your typical housecat. And more perverse."

        "If you two don't mind, can we continue this while we walk?" said Galthe. "I have to prepare for a class next period. The only one I have today, naturally."

        Neither had a problem with that. They walked along, chatting about the Academy and magic in general for some time. The mountain man scarcely noticed their surroundings as they moved along. The passed buildings meant for instruction, libraries, offices, and some he wasn't certain of. Besides the mix of functions, they were of many different styles, going back over five centuries. As a rule, the newer they were, the higher they reached. Bergen spotted one obviously ancient stone building which had only two stories. It appeared to be a museum, now, but whatever it had been in the past must have been very important. A measure of the respect it was accorded was the amount of clear space around it.

        "We have had physical adepts here, before," said Llewellyn, eventually, as they entered the teachers' quarters. "Some of them were good fighters. But even they were brawlers, counting on their magically-enhanced strength, speed and resilience rather than a high degree of skill. And the rest were hardly better than fair strongmen."

        "I know the type," said Bergen, in a tone which spoke of unfavorable impressions.

        "Well, most of them are in the same situation as those wizards I mentioned before," said Galthe. "They haven't had proper training. One of the things you can do is teach those willing to learn."

        "I'm still a little puzzled about who you want me to teach," said Bergen. "Even among my people only a few are true physical adepts."

        "Yes, but it's obvious that the fighting methods you folks teach work well for non-adepts," said Galthe, grinning. "I mean, most members of your militia aren't key users, but we certainly can't argue with your fighting ability. No invader has made it through your pass in over three hundred years."

        They turned down a side corridor and approached a steep, narrow staircase.

        "Very few of those here have ever been in a serious fight," said Llewellyn, a bit more seriously, as they climbed. "We send senior students out to various military units during Summer break so they can have at least a basic familiarity with how such forces operate. That doesn't mean they obtain any experience with actual combat. This was a problem in the last war. Wizards and sorcerers who knew offensive and defensive spells either wasted them, or didn't use them at all, too confused by the tumult of battle to act. A few actually used magic in a way which hurt their own allies. Even outside of battle, there have been numerous situations where magic users were hurt or killed simply because they didn't know what to do in a violent situation. While we would greatly appreciate you evaluating and training any physical adepts who come here, we primarily want you to train our students - and those among the staff who are interested - in basic fighting techniques. And especially how to integrate with military and militia troops."

        "There's also the fact that one of the surest ways to break a magic user's concentration is with a physical attack," said Galthe, a trace of irritation in his voice, as they exited the stairs on the fourth floor.

        "Most of them have no experience with actual, serious fighting," said Llewellyn, tone serious with a trace of annoyance. "I've seen a twentieth rank wizard humiliated by a common thug who simply kept slapping her when she tried to cast a spell. We hope your training will help with that, as well."

        "Ah; now I understand," said Bergen, nodding. He gave the craft user an evaluating look. "I assume you're one of the exceptions to magic users lacking military experience?"

        "You are looking," said Galthe, grinning, "at a hero of the Blighted Plains Breakthrough."

        "Eh?" said the mountain man, confused.

        "In the last war the Gesh had their magic users conjure demons and send them against several locations along the front," said Llewellyn, sounding a bit tired, as if he had told the tale too many times. "They directed the demons towards the officers, the higher the rank the more-so. The unit where I was stationed was especially hard hit, because the enemy didn't see any wizards, sorcerers or priests there. I was almost the only person in the unit who was effective against the demons. I managed to banish or kill the bulk of them, but not before all of our officers had been killed or too severely injured to function. I was nearly out of spells, and the highest ranked soldier left up and active was a single corporal. We could see a large force of Gesh moving across the plains towards our position. There wasn't time for me to do more than save the most badly injured and try to organize the troops. Normally, medical personnel don't have command authority. Fortunately, the fact I had been so effective against the demons helped me to get them to listen. I'm no soldier, but I know basic tactics, and had worked with soldiers for years before then. With Corporal Hetkess' able assistance we put up a defense which held until help could arrive."

        "What he's not saying," said Galthe, his smile and voice both softening, as he leaned in a bit closer, "is that he stopped a rout before it could get properly started through sheer volume of voice and force of presence. Then set up a fire by ranks which not only slaughtered those Gesh who made it over the barricade, but allowed the troops to retake the barricade with minimal casualties. He received a field commission from General Thorulan as a lieutenant. He stayed with that unit until they could get a proper captain there to take over... and even then the only reason he wasn't officially put in charge was because command realized he was more useful elsewhere. And that's something we still can't talk about with someone who doesn't have special approval."

        "Is that how you lost your hand?" said Bergen, his curiosity overcoming his understandable reticence on this matter.

        "No," said Llewellyn, calmly. "That came earlier."

        The words might have been easy, and his manner as well, but Bergen could tell this was not something the craft user wanted to speak of. Instead, Bergen turned to Galthe.

        "You said 'we.' Were you also in the war?"

        "You are looking," said Llewellyn, with a surprisingly boyish grin, as he preempted the other magic user, "at one of the sneakiest wizards ever to summon a familiar. His talent is making apparently standard spells do things they aren't supposed to. Including those cast by others."

        "Llewellyn is the expert at dispelling," said Galthe, with a modest shrug. "My forte is warping magic in unexpected ways."

        "The vast majority of magic users expect a spell to either succeed or fail. To have it cancelled is disconcerting to them. To have it changed into something unfamiliar is even more surprising."

        "I can see that," said Bergen, with a laugh.

        Soon after that they came to Galthe's quarters, and paused outside the door as Llewellyn caught Bergen's attention.

        "We would like for you to give a demonstration tomorrow at third period, if that is agreeable."

        "Certainly," said Bergen.

        Llewellyn started to say something, then stopped himself when he caught sight of a junior instructor.

        "Edmund, would you do me a favor? Take our guest to the Practice Court, and then help him find his way back to his room."

        "Oh, certainly, Llewellyn," said the younger man. He smiled at Bergen. "If you will follow me?"

        Bergen nodded, and the pair headed off, as the other pair watched them go. Once they were out of sight, the craft user turned to the wizard.

        "So, why this one and not another?"

        "He lost his wife and daughter in a tragedy about seven months ago," said Galthe. "No-one said much outright, but I got the impression that he's borderline suicidal. He and his village elders all agree that he needs a change, to get away from things which remind him of what he's lost."

        "I wonder," said Llewellyn, softly, as he looked towards where Bergen had gone, "if even this will be enough."

            *           *           *

        "This is beautiful work," said Bergen, looking around at the architecture as they walked through the courtyard inside the instructors' quarters quadrangle, obviously impressed with this part of the Academy, new to him. "I have to admit, I thought this place would be far more austere. Wizards have a reputation for asceticism. Well, among non-wizards."

        "I think that reputation comes from the fact that the classic, scholarly wizards tend to be focused on things besides their physical surroundings," said Edmund, obviously pleased with the other's favorable impressions. "As long as they're comfortable, well fed and can pursue their studies without impediment, they don't care much what their surroundings look like. Of course, not all wizards are the classic, scholarly type, and even among those many come from elite backgrounds and consider fancy buildings and expensive furnishings part of being comfortable. The overall design and much of the decoration at the Academy can be attributed to one of Lady D'Jara's first students, and his successors, the first set of whom he trained, himself. Joseph de Mertaile was a sculptor who used magic to shape stone. There are few who exhibit both magical talent and artistic talent, and most of those never actually receive training in how to combine the two. We have four here, currently, which is the largest number in nearly a century."

        "So those few who could combine magic and architectural talent did all this," said Bergen, with a sweeping gesture which included the surrounding buildings.

        "Oh, about half that was actually produced in the traditional manner," said Edmund. "Many sculptors, painters and weavers have done some of their best work for the Academy. The combination of exotic setting and mystic milieu tend to inspire them. On top of all that, there's a dwarf settlement inside the pinnacle. They do the grunt work, but you won't see much of them when the Sun's out. Neither do they contribute much of the artistic content. That nearly all comes from the humans and elves."

        Their destination turned out to be a stone-floored plaza on the edge of the pinnacle, a twenty-minute walk from the instructors' quarters. Behind them loomed a massive stone wall, with a stairway on each side near one end; that being the only apparent way to traverse the barrier. On each of the other three sides of the plaza was open space. The view was impressive, as was the fact that there were no barricades between the occupants and the drop on those three sides.

        Bergen walked slowly across the open space, looking around, a bit puzzled. And a bit concerned. He could understand the purpose of the targets set up at various locations around the Court, and would definitely make use of them the next day. But...

        "I'm... a little uneasy about damaging this floor."

        "It's built rugged and is easy to repair," said Edmund, his tone reassuring. He shrugged. "This is where we practice our more dangerous offensive spells."

        "Ah," said Bergen, nodding. He, however, was not completely reassured. Unlike Galthe, the younger teacher hadn't seen the sort of things a well trained physical adept could do.

        The mountain dweller took a wide-legged stance, knees bent, hips back, fists at his waist, palms up. There was a moment of silence, during which the young wizard could sense a growing tension. Abruptly, the stone between Bergen's feet split with a muffled crack, and dished downwards slightly. He relaxed and stood normally, smiling slightly. Edmund was simply staring, mouth open.

        "That was the Rooted Stance," said Bergen. "It is used to render one immovable, and also resistant to harm. And that is defensive, not offensive."

        "I, uh..." Edmund swallowed. "That's... very impressive, I admit. But this place is meant for the practice of dangerous magics. Our maintenance staff can repair that in a few minutes. And the walls back there are far sturdier than the floor. There won't be any problems."

        Bergen nodded, satisfied.

        "Very well. If you could show me the route to my room, I would like to rest a bit before lunch."

            *           *           *

        By the time of the demonstration the next day, word of Bergen's feat had spread through much of the Academy. As a result, there were many informal witnesses on the wall at the back of the Practice Court, in addition to several members of the staff. Even Grand Reagent Halperne was among the onlookers.

        The stone broken the day before had indeed been repaired. Bergen nodded. Then repeated his previous demonstration, with even more dramatic results. And then explained what he had done.

        "How resistant?" came one timid query.

        Bergen shrugged.

        "I have seen arrows bounce from those who have truly mastered it without harming even their clothing. There are other ways of obtaining this resistance without anchoring oneself to the spot. I, personally, have had blows from the untrained do no harm with just a casual application, while halting a fight between traders."

        "That's very similar in effect to Barkskin," said one of the wizards, marveling. "Though perhaps superior."

        For nearly two full periods Bergen showed some of the more overt abilities he knew. He leapt over nearly the entire width of the Court, punched and kicked through the heavy backing boards of a couple of targets, toppled a target at a distance with a wave technique and in general calmly wreaked havoc on the contents of the plaza. When finished he was mildly tired.

        The audience was awed. Almost cowed. Once they realized Bergen was finished a buzz of conversation built rapidly in volume. Someone tried to start applause, but it died away quickly.

        "As with any magic, you need the talent to perform the effects. However, the basic fighting techniques can be learned - and mastered - by anyone. And that includes some of the things I did here today."

        "Uh, which ones?" said one of the younger instructors present.

        Bergen smiled.

        "You mean you can't tell? Actually, that's not surprising. Most people don't realize just how much damage a well-trained person in good physical condition can do without magic."

            *           *           *

        At the weekly Regent's meeting two days later the demonstration was still very much on the minds of those running the Academy.

        "I had my doubts, Halperne, but after what that young man showed us..." Regent Lavid laughed and shook his head. He was one of only two currently sitting Regents with military experience. "By the Gods! I'd heard the stories of their proficiency, of course, but to see it... Yes, if we can get him to teach some of the students - and instructors - the basics of his art... Why, I, myself, am tempted to try it, at my age!"

        "I was surprised by how well he was able to explain what he did," said Regent Suskind, the other veteran. She nodded, green eyes distant. "He was, indeed, a good choice. Some of our experienced instructors are less able to clearly express themselves. Young Galthe is to be commended for his judgement."

        "He's surprisingly well spoken," said Regent Lavid, nodding in agreement. "You expect people in isolated mountain communities to be, well, primitive."

        "His village is not all that isolated, being in a pass which is part of a trade route," said the Grand Regent. "As well, the practitioners of their art have a tradition of study and discussion. They're also mildly ascetic. Very little alcohol and few other vices. I have good reason to believe this project will produce excellent results."

            *           *           *

        By the time the regular semester began the next week enough students and teachers had signed up for Bergen's class that he would be teaching twice a day, three days a week. More might have applied, but when the flood became apparent the Regents decided to put a cap on the numbers, so as not to overburden Bergen during his first semester. He worked with Regent Suskind - who was provisionally in charge of him, since her school of magic focused on offensive physical effects - to schedule his classes at times when the practice area was available. Bergen very deliberately did not notice that her interest in him sometimes seemed more than academic. The fact that she was one-quarter elf, with slightly pointed ears, green eyes, honey-blond hair and fine features made this rather more difficult than if she had not looked slightly exotic, but he managed.

        The first class actually had more spectators than students. Bergen ignored the observers, focusing on those down on the plaza with him. They were nearly all older than the typical beginning student in his home village, who would actually have already been exposed to the fighting arts from family exercises. Bergen found he had to keep stopping to explain - and frequently demonstrate - things which he had known as a child. As a result he didn't get nearly as far along as he had intended. On the other hand, thanks to this his students were merely very tired, instead of being exhausted. As the bell rang, Bergen assembled his students and formally dismissed them.

        "I think your audience was disappointed," said Galthe, grinning, as he and the white-haired healer approached. For once, the wizard's familiar was on his shoulder, and eyeing Llewellyn's cat warily. "No bang, no flash."

        "I noticed that most of the students in this class were already somewhat fit," said Bergen, being generous. In truth, none of them had been in what he thought of as good physical condition. "Galthe told me about some of the physical activities here - sports and such - and I can see that in some of the students. I am still surprised that so many had problems with the physical training we use."

        "Training is intended to prepare you to do what you train for," said Llewellyn, perhaps drawing from his medical experiences. "While there is carry-over, some exercises are specific to the task."

        He smiled, again unexpectedly breaking his normal serene visage with a surprisingly boyish expression.

        "You should help me with anatomy classes, some time. Wrestling a dead body around takes muscles I haven't found a use for in any other pursuit. And I could definitely use a hand."

        "No, thank you," said Bergen, with a shudder. "I think I'll constrain myself to throwing living bodies around."

        Llewellyn smirked. Galthe laughed out loud. The wizard might have been about to make some morbid joke, but they were interrupted by a panting messenger.

        "There's a wizard at the gate, making trouble," the young member of the non-magical staff managed to gasp. "You two are requested to deal with him."

        "Isn't that a long way from here?" said Bergen, worried that getting to the scene of the trouble might take too long.

        "No. We're actually on the southern part of the pinnacle," said Llewellyn. "Only a quarter of the circle from the bridge. And there is a large, direct pathway from just outside of here to the gate. It goes all the way around the pinnacle, actually, just a short distance back from the edge."

        "I'm still getting turned around in this place," said Bergen, muttering. He shook his head and resumed speaking normally. "If you don't mind, I'd like to go with you."

        "Of course," said Llewellyn, with a gracious smile. "You've shown us some of what you can do. We should return the favor."

            *           *           *

        The situation was both worse than Bergen had imagined, and less urgent. The youth - perhaps in his mid-teens - was standing dramatically at the far end of the bridge, a large, grey stone fox at his feet. The guards were hunkered down behind barricades built into the structure, on either side of the gate, patiently watching. There was a burnt odor in the air, and Bergen noted that some of the wood and rope of the structure appeared scorched.

        "Ah, good to see you two," said the sergeant, as Llewellyn and Galthe arrived. He turned and gestured towards the youth. "He marched up to the gate and demanded entrance. When asked his name he declared 'Eccles the Magnificent!' and started throwing spells. Mostly fire based. He also seems to have protective spells up; even his own fires don't touch him. So far he's just showing off, not actually attacking. No injuries, yet, beyond Thule losing her eyebrows when she didn't duck quick enough."

        Bergen was a bit surprised to note that the female guard was at least half elven. The fact that her light blond and very fine eyebrows had been burned off was not obvious, and he wouldn't have noticed if the sergeant hadn't mentioned it.

        Llewellyn nodded, listening to the sergeant but watching the young man.

        "Well, I suppose we better get to it."

        He and Galthe both cast several spells. From the wizard's words Bergen gathered they were strictly for protection. He couldn't understand what the crafter was doing; his words were in some fluid, musical tongue. Finally, Llewellyn nodded and two of the guards opened the barricade enough for the magic users to step through. This was immediately closed, leaving Bergen to watch through protected slits with the guards.

        The youth immediately came to alertness. He actually smiled.

        "Young man," said Llewellyn, his deep voice stern and disapproving, "you are acting in a most imprudent manner."

        As he spoke Galthe moved to his left and a bit forward.

        "Finally," said Eccles. He drew himself up. "I wish to enter the Academy!"

        "A polite request would suffice."

        "Eccles the Magnificent does not request! He demands!"

        And with that began chanting and making elaborate gestures.

        Immediately, Llewellyn smacked his leather-covered stump into the palm of his left hand, shouted something brief in that same language he had used before, and threw his arms wide.

        What might have been the beginning of a fireball appeared and vanished in the same instant. The young man gaped in surprise.

        Meanwhile, Galthe cast a quick spell. Webbing shot from his fingers and caught the youth, binding him to the spot as it also went left and right to attach to the bridge structure on either side.

        The young man cried out in alarm, his fox yipping and snapping at the webbing. As Llewellyn and Galthe started forward, the young man suddenly collected himself. With a grim look of determination, he cast a spell. The crafter and wizard, ready to defend themselves, were both caught off guard as a fireball materialized around the young man, who, it turned out, was protected by some spell. His familiar, however, screamed as the webbing burned away.

        Immediately, the situation changed.

        "Virgil!" the boy cried out, forgetting the two approaching him to drop down and grab his familiar. "Oh, Virgil! I forgot..."

        "Let me see him!" said Llewellyn, quickly and firmly. "I'm healer!"

        The boy - he seemed younger, now - refused to release the fox, but Llewellyn fortunately didn't need him to. He cast some spell, checked the results, and nodded.

        "He has some healing to do, and will bear scars, but he'll survive."

        "I just wanted to prove my worthiness," said the youth, almost whimpering, his wounded fox cradled in his lap.

        "By attacking those who guard the entrance to an institute of learning," said Llewellyn, coldly.

        The boy and his familiar were taken to the infirmary under guard. Bergen thought the number of guards excessive; the boy had definitely had all the fight knocked out of him.

        "What will happen to him?" said Bergen, watching the guards finish tidying.

        "He will be evaluated by the magistrate assigned to an appropriate college in the Academy," said Galthe. "He'll also most likely be assigned an appropriate punishment."

        "What were those incantations? Llewellyn's, I mean. Galthe's were - or at least sounded like - ordinary speech, poetically phrased, but yours sounded like no tongue I've ever heard before."

        "Oh, pretty much standard verbal components," said Llewellyn, with a distracted shrug. "Much the same as Galthe's. I just perform them in elvish. It's such a more elegant language than any human tongue."

        "How many languages is it you speak?" said Galthe. "Six, or seven, including Gesh?"

        "Just the five," said the craft user.

        "And those gestures of Galthe's!" said Bergen, alarmed. "Fingers don't bend that way!"

        "It's part of the spell," said Galthe, unconcerned.

        "He's double-jointed," said Llewellyn. He eyed the wizard. "I suspect that's part of why he's so adept at distorting magic."

            *                *           *

        "Does this happen often?" said Bergen, at the evening meal.

        He, Llewellyn, Galthe and a few others of roughly the same age were eating lunch together at one of the larger tables. The young wizard's attack was the main topic of discussion.

        "Two or three times a semester, lately" said Galthe, sourly. "Some cocky kid from an area with few magic users comes here to demand access to our 'treasury of magic lore' or whatever. With no idea of how little power they actually have, compared to even the advanced students here. At least the older magic users - no matter how arrogant - know enough not to simply attack."

        "Gyren - he's the head of security - has prepared his people as best he can," said one of the wizards, "and usually they handle even the magical troublemakers. But sometimes, he's very glad for these two."

        "But you train them, anyway. The youngsters, I mean. Even after such an... introduction."

        "If nothing else, we want to keep an eye on them," said Llewellyn, harking back to his and Galthe's earlier discussion with the key user. "Usually, a single dose of humility is sufficient. Some, though, need more. A few much more."

        "Even among the students who come here through the regular channels, there are troublemakers," said Galthe. He sighed and shook his head. "I've got one this semester, among my second year students, who is talented and works hard, but has such a superior attitude he's almost insufferable. He's from a wealthy and influential noble family, which has produced several wizards. Like me, his father started his training early, so he's younger than most of the other second year students. Combine being younger with having high ability and noble birth, and you have an ego the size of the grand hall. We've actually had some complaints from mundane staff about the way he treats them."

        "I believe if magic were more common - as in Gesh - these individuals would better know what other practitioners could do," said Llewellyn. "If it were less common, it would be more feared. Either way, we would likely have less trouble from these incidents. We seem to be on an unfortunate cusp."

        "On a more promising note, one of our newest students is a bright star. Alestair arrived three weeks ago, with high recommendations from one of our scouts, and several of us have been evaluating him. He's self-taught, but though there are some serious gaps in his basic knowledge he had done much with what he already knew, and now that he's receiving proper instruction... He is industrious, polite and has a good mixture of daring and caution."

        "Sounds like a certain magic bender we know," said Llewellyn, smiling.

        "His only real problem is that he's from a farming family," said Galthe, ignoring the comment. "He feels... inferior to most of the students from merchant and noble families."

        "Should I have a talk with him? Tell him that I'm from a farming family?"

        "No offense, Llewellyn, but you're hardly a commoner. Your family has been landowners since before the Compact was signed."

        "Umph. Good point."

        "I think building confidence is something which will come naturally with time," said Galthe. "However, I would appreciate it if you did have a word with the troublemaker I mentioned."

        "You and I together would be better," said Llewellyn.

        "You're probably right," said Galthe, after a moment of thought.

        "If we're through talking shop, I have a question for our new instructor," said Loosie, like Llewellyn a member of the healing staff. She turned to Bergen. "What do you think of our Academy so far?"

        "Uhm, it's very impressive, even overwhelming," said the mountain man. "Though I have many questions of my own. Why oil lamps and candles instead of magical lights, for example?"

        "Remember me saying we try to teach people not to rely on magic when mundane means are adequate? Well, besides that, there's the problem that spells can interact. Also, the more spells active in an area the easier one or more can be twisted to do something they weren't meant to. Yes, we could have hooded lamps with something inside permanently glowing, and some of us do. In fact, I think that's part of the standard equipment of guards on night duty. But every active spell provides an opportunity for both interference with some other magic, as well as a niche which some opportunist could exploit."

        "Surely you exaggerate," said a male wizard whose name Bergen hadn't caught, one of the younger instructors.

        "Remember who is speaking," said Llewellyn, with a slight smile. "During his third year as a student, he got revenge on a fourth year tormentor through just such a niche. One of this older student's vanities was the use of an expensive, magically enhanced bathing oil. One evening, he went in to the male students' bathing hall, there was a quiet interval, then a loud and very feminine shriek. A rather voluptuous wood nymph came running out, stark naked, dripping wet and in a full panic."

        There was a scatter of laughter around the table.

        "Took me three weeks to get that prepared," said Galthe, shaking his head as the laughter faded. "Even got Llewellyn to help, though without telling him what my little project was for."

        "That spell proved surprisingly resistant to removal," said Llewellyn, dryly. "Turns out my unwitting contribution to the prank was a protective component in the oil. Until 'she' thoroughly washed off the residue, the oil itself dispersed all attempts to counter the magic."

        "That's actually now a common component to magical disguises used by Compact espionage agents," said Galthe. He suddenly winced. "Oh, sorry; not supposed to talk about that. The Gesh haven't figured it out, yet, as far as we know."

        "I think all here are trustworthy," said Llewellyn. "But, yes, let's please all remember not to talk about this."

        "Well, transformation effects are useful for more than pranks and spying," said Theo. "My wife - she's also an instructor here, Bergen - and I have some... interesting evenings."

        There was more laughter at this, which Bergen politely joined, in spite of the almost physical pain the wizard's words unintentionally caused.

            *           *           *

        By the time Bergen arrived for his second class, that same afternoon, the roster had reduced by nearly a third from last-minute withdrawals. Word of how hard he had worked his students in his first class had spread that quickly. Still, there were more than enough remaining to justify the schedule as it stood. There was also again a sizable audience. Knowing what to expect from his students this time, Bergen made more progress, but still went easy enough on them physically that few complained.

        Afterwards, the key user remained behind, sitting on the wall, to watch what the other magic users did with the same facility. Staff workers quickly repaired the minor damage from Bergen's class - his students weren't capable of doing much, yet - and the plaza was soon made ready for the offensive magic practice.

        That class was far more educational to Bergen than to the participants. It was made up of third year students, many of them already sixth rank. They produced bolts of lightning, balls and blasts of flame, cones of scintillating color, and things Bergen wasn't quite sure how to describe. As Edmund had stated when showing Bergen the training area, much damage was done. The key user was left both impressed, and reassured that he still had much to teach them which was worth the effort of bringing him here. If nothing else, how his people defended against just the sorts of effects he had seen here, this afternoon.

            *           *           *

        "Do you honestly expect me to swallow this guff?" said Toreth, with a disgusted expression. "All that nonsense you've been spouting about serving the people and dealing humbly with others sounds like some overly pious sermon, rather than what the Academy is supposed to teach. Saying that its purpose is to train wizards to protect peasants is most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!"

        "That is far from ridiculous," said Llewellyn, sternly. "It's written into the charter our founder and King Aethelrud created. The Academy is to train magic users so that they may better serve the people of the Compact."

        "Meaning the nobility."

        "All the people," said Galthe, even more sternly.

        "But nobles were meant by birth and wizards by the blessing of the gods to rule the lesser peoples!" said Toreth, almost shouting.

        "Not in this nation, they weren't," said Galthe, flatly. "The King and the Heirophant rule, and the courts adjudicate, for the benefit of the people. All three offices work hard to ensure that those in their service also work for the good of the whole. That is the heart of the Compact. If you don't like that, go to Gesh."

        The boy scowled at him defiantly, but said nothing.

        "Unless there is some extenuating circumstance - such as poor health - all graduates of the Academy spend three years in the service of the Compact," said Llewellyn. "That may be military or civilian, but you will serve. Afterwards, you may move on to whatever private plans you wish."

        "Hold it... I thought only those who received help with money had to do that!"

        "That was the original arrangement, but it has been modified through the centuries. All to complete the full six years must serve three."

        They could both tell that the boy was rejecting what they said, but knew better than to do so out loud. Llewellyn became firmer.

        "Without an extenuating circumstance, if you graduate you will serve your three years. No matter what privileges your rank of birth or your magical abilities otherwise bring you." 

        *           *           *

        Days became weeks became a month. Bergen found himself both busy and pleased, almost happy. He had moved into the teachers' quarters for the College of Offensive Magic and settled in nicely. His students were getting fit quickly, and most were able to learn the lessons well. Several of the young wizards and sorcerers also showed a small ability with key manipulation, something which surprised everyone involved and led to much speculation. Whether those of other magical persuasions might also show similar ability was unknown; they were scarce enough that none had yet taken the class.

        Still, those who knew the mountain man realized that there was a shadow on his soul. Some days were worse than others, but even on his best days there would be periods of distraction, of distance. Gentle suggestions that he speak with one of the Academy counselors were politely accepted but not acted upon.

        "Frankly, I'm worried about him," said Galthe. "He's not paying enough attention to his students. Things which need prompt and firm attention are either ignored or earn a very mild correction and half-hearted encouragement to try harder. It's as if he's just going through the motions, and doesn't really care about what he's doing."

        "Yet his students are learning," said Llewellyn, pointedly. He sighed. "You are right, though. He is not teaching as well as he could. He is not living as well as he could. I'll speak with him this evening. However, before then I need to speak with Regent Halperne on a matter which may be related to your friend's problems."

            *           *           *

        "A demon?!" said the Grand Regent, both surprised and outraged. "Here?!"

        "This is not only my suspicion," said Llewellyn. "Lady Beatrice and some of the other clerical staff share my concern. That's why I asked you to meet with us."

        "It may not be a demon," said the Academy's chief cleric. "However, there are definitely traces of some sort of malevolent presence on the pinnacle."

        She was an older woman, with mostly grey hair and a slight stoop. However, she still had piercing eyes and a brisk, professional manner.

        "Very worrying," said Halperne, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Especially with the Kumarl due for a visit in a few weeks."

        He suddenly looked alarmed.

        "Do you think this could be some plot against her?"

        "It's... possible," said Lady Beatrice.

        "Then I expect you - the entire clerical staff but especially you two - to be most vigilant."

            *           *           *

        "Wine?" said Llewellyn, lifting the bottle.

        "A small amount," said Bergen.

        Llewellyn put another glass down beside his and poured it half full of a light red liquid. Bergen thanked him, lifted the glass and sipped. He looked mildly surprised. Llewellyn smiled.

        "My family has maintained a small vineyard for nearly three centuries. We've become quite talented at making certain categories of wine. If I may brag a bit, this particular vintage is a minor favorite of the King."

        Bergen often felt a bit intimidated by some of those at the Academy, but feeling that way around Llewellyn was unusual. Of course, any mention of family these days produced a strongly negative emotional response.

        "I know that you meditate," said Llewellyn, without preamble. Bergen would have to be quite stupid not to know there was some ulterior motive to the invitation, and he was smart enough he probably had a good idea what that was as soon as the invitation was made. "Does it help?"

        The physical adept hadn't known quite what to expect from the crafter's quarters. He'd been inside the rooms of several wizards and sorcerers and even a couple of alchemists since his arrival, as Galthe introduced him around to the staff of the Academy. Llewellyn's rooms had many similar features, but in some ways more closely resembled those of Lady Beatrice. In a few ways it was unique.

        "Some," said Bergen, not needing to ask what his meditation was supposed to help. "But not for long. There's just..."

        "I am not a counselor," said Llewellyn, as the other stopped for lack of words. "However, I have seen - and even experienced - much grief. During the war, and before and since. I have no quick and easy solutions, but I know some things which both I and others have found comforting. If you will allow, I would like to try and help you."

        Bergen nodded silently.

        "Excellent. Now, tell me about your meditation practices."

        "I mostly do it in that little park, inside what I've heard called the Labyrinth. Though it's not underground, and there's no walls, just a pattern of colored stones."

        "It's a minor diversion, the creation of an artist who elaborated on that garden three centuries ago," said Llewellyn. "I've never really understood the attraction of such things, but many enjoy walking the pattern."

        "Well, the garden is just... very peaceful. Quiet, few distractions. I'm surprised I'm the only one I've ever seen there at night."

        "You meditate at night?" said Llewellyn, puzzled.

        "There's... a technique for using meditation to substitute for sleep," said Bergen, feeling oddly guilty. "It's supposed to only be used for short periods, but... it's the only way I can truly rest without sleeping, and sleep..."

        Llewellyn nodded, remembering Galthe's comments about the key user's nightmares.

        "Why don't you sleep well?"

        Bergen needed several moments to speak, obviously struggling.

        "I... keep seeing them. The storm, the landslide, their mangled bodies. I wasn't there when it happened, but I've seen landslides, and I helped dig them out, and can't help but imagine, vividly, what happened."

        Llewellyn drew him out carefully, as much to get him to talk as to learn the details.

        "I'm noticing something interesting," said Llewellyn. "You experience grief telling me these things, which is only natural, though it seems to me that you are feeling this more strongly than most would after this much time. But the reactions you feel when you dream about them seem far more extreme."

        "I know," said Bergen, quietly, looking haunted. "I just can't... the emotions of dream are pure and raw. The dreams keep the... the wound in my soul fresh."

        Llewellyn nodded, beginning to suspect something, but not ready to voice his suspicion.

        "Show me where you meditate."

            *           *           *

        "This is the only place since their deaths where I have found a measure of peace," said Bergen, quietly, gesturing to a bench shaded by a huge, old willow. Not that there was much need for shade, just now, with the setting sun already below the building to the west.

        The park - or garden - was a bit wild and overgrown, obviously not closely tended. It was in an area of the Academy away from centers of activity and received only a handful of visitors on any given day. Llewellyn was familiar with the location and also found the place peaceful, and was one of the few who made a point of passing through whenever he was in this general area. He also suspected why he - and Bergen - both felt that way.

        "There may be a reason you - and others - find this garden so peaceful. Come with me and I'll show you."

        Llewellyn led him down an overgrown path to a small clearing, surrounded by old trees. In the middle of a circle of paving stones, on a low pedestal, was a bronze statue of a young woman, a girl perhaps in her mid-teens or a bit older, with delicate features and pointed ears. Though all the materials were in excellent condition, they nevertheless gave the impression of age.

        "Our founder," said Llewellyn, folding his arms and looking at the statue reverently. "This garden - or park - is supposedly the location of her original home on the pinnacle."

        "That is Lady D'Jara? Surely it is supposed to be her as a child..."

        "Actually, that is the way all accounts say she looked, no matter what her age, all her adult life. Even though elves the age she was when this was cast normally look... quite mature. This was the last likeness known to have been made of her, less than a year before she vanished."

        "I suppose it's natural to think that someone who was over two hundred years old would look ancient and wizened, even an elf," said Bergen, thoughtfully. "If she somehow discovered a way to control her aging, why not look like a youth? Though I'm surprised she looks so youthful."

        "One hypothesis is that her juvenile appearance was a necessary side effect of whatever method she used to maintain her youth," said Llewellyn. "Another is that she was a throwback to the ancient, truly ageless elves, or perhaps an actual survivor of that population. This is supposedly the last place where she was seen. If she did, somehow, ascend to the spiritual plane, it was most likely here. Perhaps this place has simply always been a peaceful location, ideal for meditation."

        Bergen nodded, his thoughts only partially on Llewellyn's words. The sense of peace he felt while meditating at the bench he had shown the crafter earlier was deeper here, enough so for him to feel even though he was not currently meditating.

        "I think... I think I'll move meditating here," he said, quietly. "That is, if you think that won't..."

        "Personally, I think she'd enjoy the company," said Llewellyn, with a gentle but somewhat impish smile.

            *           *           *

        "I'm not broke," said Alestair, with a sigh, as he considered his nearly depleted funds. "I have scruples."

        "Well, I told you not to send all your money to your family," said Toreth, with a distinct sneer. "Students have expenses."

        Alestair sighed again but didn't bother replying. Ever since the older boy had learned the younger was coming up short this week on purchasing necessary class materials he'd made a point of harassing him about his lack of money at every opportunity. Alestair had compounded his mistake by stating that his family needed all he could spare and more, which only deepened the lordling's scorn.

        "The stipends you poor kids get is to help you buy stuff for your studies," Toreth continued, in a chiding tone. "Not to send back home to your families."

        "If you're stuck for the week I can loan you..." Stoort began.

        "No, thank you," said Alestair, firmly. "You charge too much interest."

        Toreth laughed, but with too much scorn for anyone else in the study room to join in.

        "You could always get a job," suggested one of the girls.

        "Yeah," said Theal, another of the girls, this one a sorcerer. "You know enough magic to earn a nice amount of coin charging for services."

        "With all the high level magic users here, who would pay me to do anything?"

        "Well, not here," said Theal. "In Midhaven. It's not that far, but they don't really have any wizards there. Too intimidating having the Academy so close, I guess."

        "I guess I'll have to check into that," said Alestair, with a sigh.

            *           *           *

        "I do believe my meditation is helping more," said Bergen, a few days after Llewellyn had shown him the statue in the heart of that little park. "I still dread sleeping, but with the changes I've made recently the special meditation is more effective, so I feel the need for sleep less. I feel more alert."

        By coincidence, he and his two closest friends at the Academy had a schedule where two days in the week all three had lunch late. Though none of them had said anything about it, they used these quiet times, when few others were present in the teachers' commissary, to evaluate Bergen's progress in overcoming his depression. It was a measure of his progress that he admitted the need for these evaluations.

        "I am certainly no stranger to meditation," said Llewellyn, with a touch of irony in his voice. "Though I have to admit this particular discipline intrigues me. To be able to substitute a particular meditation for sleep..."

        "Well, they say the old, ageless elves rarely slept," said Galthe. He shrugged. "Whether that has any connection to this..."

        "You do appear to have more life in you," said Llewellyn, nodding to the key user. "Even your students are commenting on the improvement."

        "I'm... sorry I haven't been as attentive as I should have been," said Bergen, starting to look down again.

        "You've been doing fine," said Galthe, not quite truthfully. "You're just doing better, now."

            *           *           *

        "Wake up, Alestair," said Bergen. "You're supposed to be meditating, not sleeping."

        "S-sorry," said the boy, shaking his head. "Got to bed late because of some, uhm, errands last night."

        Bergen kept an eye on the youth the rest of the class. He was definitely both tired and sleepy, and getting sloppy. After class was dismissed Alestair was one of the first to leave, instead of staying to chat for a while as usual. Bergen was still thinking about him when another student approached the key user. His entire manner spoke of duplicity and manipulation.

        "He's working odd jobs outside the Academy to earn money," said Toreth, out of the corner of his mouth in a conspiratorial manner, as he watched to see no-one else was close. "The gods know what he's doing with it. You might want to check into that."

        After he left, one of the female students came up. Bergen knew Theal quite well; she was one of the few he had found here who could manipulate key. He had learned to trust both her ability and her judgement, especially when it came to her fellow students.

        "Was he causing trouble for Alestair, again? I think he's mad, 'cause a 'peasant' is doing so well with magic."

        "He said something about Alestair working outside the Academy to earn money."

        "Well, that's allowed," said Theal. "As long as it doesn't interfere with his school work."

        "It looks like it might be," said Bergen. "Though this is the first time I've noticed."

        "He usually doesn't work at it this hard. Last night was different, though. He had a chance to earn a lot of money in one job, and took it."

        "What is he using it for?"

        "Oh, he sends it to his family. He doesn't talk about it a lot - mostly 'cause Toreth kids him about it - but we all know they're having hard times."

        "Well, I'll check with some of the other teachers. Maybe we can help him."

            *           *           *

        "Where is Llewellyn?" said Bergen, catching Galthe in the instructor's lounge immediately after classes were over for the day.

        "Off doing his healing of the poor," said Galthe.

        "I beg your pardon?"

        "He tends the peasants in and around the Gesh Woods. Medically, I mean."

        "Wait... isn't that across the border?"

        "You might say it is the border," said Galthe, with an ironic grin. "The Gesh call it the Compact Forest. Neither nation likes sending troops into it. Because they tend to not get them back. So both sides claim it but neither actually patrols it. Anyway, his teacher lived there, and was the previous holder of the Staff of the Forest."

        "I am so sick of that man and his superstitious nonsense!" said a passing man in wizard's garb. "'The forest speaks to me, and I speak for it.' Fairy tales!"

        With that out of his system he resumed his course.

        "I take it Llewellyn isn't popular among some of the wizards," said Bergen, dryly, as he noted Galthe's glare at the older man.

        "Part of the reason for that is that he's done so much more than most of them, both magically and in other ways, that he makes them uncomfortable. Some actually say the only reason he's here is as a sinecure for his service during the war. Or a sop due to his wife, Madeline, being Comtress de Treville."

        "That's the first mention I've heard of him being married," said Bergen, with a stab of grief he barely managed to conceal.

        "Oh, yes. Madeline is quite a beautiful woman, not only talented in magic herself - she's a Porteure - but a distant cousin to the King. They have three children, all of whom have inherited strong magical talent. The oldest should start here next year."

        "I know that Porteure ability runs in families," said Bergen, nodding, and desperately trying to find a way out of the conversation, "and that one of those is the Royal line."

        "Exactly. Llewellyn would never use his position of birth or his or his wife's contacts among the nobility for his personal benefit, but many who don't know him accuse him of just that."

        "But what's this about him treating the poor in the Forest?" said Bergen, still trying to change the subject away from family.

        "That's where he first learned to be a healer," said Galthe. "He's the only real medical care many of those people have. They don't know he's actually Viscount de Chevalier; they just know he's their witch and healer, and they depend on him. They also support him and protect him, from any who would harm him or try to take him away. Even if the most they can do is lie to anyone seeking him whom they think shouldn't find him. That's pretty much the only payment they can afford. Well, that and information. Though the language they speak is Gesh, they have little loyalty to that nation."

        "Viscount de Chevalier?!"

        "You didn't know?" said Galthe, surprised. "He doesn't flaunt it, but I thought you'd heard... I guess this is your day for revelations about Llewellyn. Well, never mind. Yes, he's the second son a noble family. But they're country manor folks, nobles who actually work for their bread. Which is another reason some look down on him."

        "I am so glad we don't use such a system of titles," said Bergen, firmly. "Among us, titles are awarded for accomplishments."

        "I know that," said Galthe, nodding. "One reason I specifically asked you to come to the Academy is that I understand at least something of what your title of Fifth Master means. That system isn't far from how most magic users rank themselves."

        "So you aren't a noble?"

        "Non-noble, and from a modest family," said Galthe, a little too casually. "My father is a wizard, yes, and earns a good living for our area, but that is a poor part of the nation. Still, he and Mother were born there..."

        Galthe shook his head, as if to help him change the subject. Bergen felt darkly amused the shoe was now on the other foot.

        "Anyway, Heinrich - the wizard who just passed us - is not a bad person - he and Llewellyn tolerate each other professionally - it's just that like most of the magic users here he was taught in the modern tradition, which distances the user from what many consider primitive practices, but which others believe essential to truly understanding and mastering magic. The fact that Llewellyn gets such impressive results using what many of the instructors here consider 'primitivist magic' makes them uncomfortable."

        "Well, I would like to see this forest," said Bergen. "I am a farmer and woodworker, and am used to more green than there is on this rock. But I want to see Llewellyn because I'm worried about one of the students. The fact that Llewellyn tends the poor in that forest only confirms my opinion that he's the one to talk to about the situation."

        "You're probably right," said Galthe, looking thoughtful. "The non-teaching staff and students are all supposed to have access to the same medical care as the teaching staff, but some of them are a bit shy about making use of it."

        Bergen started to say that this wasn't a medical problem, but decided to wait until he could explain the situation to Llewellyn to clarify.

        "When will he return?"

        "Not until late. Is the matter urgent?"

        "It... could be."

        "Well, then we should go to him. I think you should see both the Forest and Llewellyn's hut there, anyway."

        "That's a fair journey," said Bergen, surprised. "How do we get there? For that matter, how did Llewellyn? I saw him this morning, at breakfast. He must have used magic to travel that far to still have time to do anything before returning."

        "Going down the trail from the top of the escarpment to the plains takes hours," said Galthe. He smiled, and Bergen had an odd sense of mild dread. "The same trip takes only a matter of minutes if you use a shortcut. The rest of the trip is only a few minutes more."

        "Shortcut?"

        "When you think of witches, what is their stereotypical method of travel?"

        "Don't you mean craft users?" said Bergen, with a smirk. Which promptly disappeared. "Wait; do you mean he rides a broomstick?!"

        "No, that image is actually a recent combining of flying and a sort of pagan ceremony practiced by some crafters. And the popular image gets the broom turned 'round backwards, anyway. But they do fly. It's one of the few spells they do better than wizards. In fact, the best person I can think of to cast it on us is Llewellyn, himself. I have the spell, but I don't have it memorized. I'll check around to see if someone does. Otherwise, I'll need my spellbooks and some time to prepare."

        After making some inquiries, they learned that Heinrich, himself, had multiple copies of the spell on hand.

        "I was teaching it this morning," he explained, "and they learned it more easily than I anticipated."

        "Ah. Well, if you could spare two doses, we'd greatly appreciate it."

        "I'm not too sure about this," said Bergen, uneasily. "I don't know how to fly."

        "Nonsense," huffed Heinrich. "It's one of the safest spells ever created, simply because it puts the subject in such a potentially dangerous situation. Even if dispelled, the effects last long enough for a person to land safely. Control is instinctive and quite easy, as long as you don't try anything fancy until you get some experience."

            *           *           *

        Bergen, despite his reluctance, soon found himself flying high above the plains. Once he became accustomed to the process, he found that he could, indeed, control his course quite easily and hold it steady with little concentration.

        "I thought you'd be good at this," said Galthe, almost shouting over the rush of wind. "With your sense of balance and all that tumbling you do."

        "A person good at physical things would, of course, be good at something as physical as flying," said Heinrich.

        The wizard had had three flying spells left, and decided to include himself in the expedition. Despite his words in regard to Llewellyn's qualifications as a magician earlier, Bergen had the suspicion Heinrich was actually curious about just what the healer did in the Forest. He might have even been curious about the Forest itself. By his own admission, he had never been there.

        That makes two of us, thought Bergen. For being curious about both Llewellyn's activities, and this mysterious Forest.

        Galthe's hawk and Heinrich's raven flew along with the three men, seemingly unfazed by their masters' dalliance in their realm.

        "Just remember, even with the Extend Spell modification this will only last about half an hour," said Heinrich.

        "See that clearing almost directly ahead?" said Galthe, pointing. "That's what Llewellyn uses. For arrivals and departures, I mean."

        "You've made this trip with him?" said Bergen.

        "A few times. Be glad the weather's pleasant this evening."

        They landed in the clearing with a comfortable amount of time left on their flying spells. Bergen was actually a bit disappointed. This magic stuff definitely could be fun.

        "Now we just follow this trail," said Galthe, indicating the well-worn path which passed through the clearing. "We should be at the hut in a few minutes."

        "This place is alive!" said Bergen, as they left the clearing and were surrounded by green, both sight and scent.

        "Don't they have forests where you're from?" said Heinrich, as his raven settled on the wizard's left shoulder.

        "Of course they do," said Galthe, defending his friend and recruit. "I've seen their verdant mountain valleys. Some are covered in croplands, some with woods left for hunting and timber, and some are untamed forests. I admit none are as densely grown as this place. But then, few places anywhere are."

        "That's not what I mean," said Bergen, shaking his head. "There's... it's hard to put in words. I can feel something, some unifying spirit, all around us. As if the forest itself were aware of our presence."

        "Then you possess a rare level of sensitivity," said Galthe, for once quite serious, almost solemn. "I can't feel it. Llewellyn can; that's one reason his predecessor chose to teach him. I know or know of a few others who can. And it's very real."

        "Normally I'd disagree with such drivel," said Heinrich, quietly. "But even I can feel that there is something beyond mere nature present in these Woods." >       "The forest is old, it is dark, and it has learned to defend itself," said Llewellyn, making the others jump as he stepped out onto the path through what seemed a solid wall of brush, his large, grey cat beside him. "Good day, gentlemen. What brings you to my woods?"

        "Bergen is worried about one of his students and thought you might be able to help."

        "I see. Can we talk as we walk to my hut?"

        Bergen explained the situation with Alestair as they proceeded.

        "So, I'm a bit concerned. He's a good kid, he's a good student, but if he's having money problems..."

        "That should not be a problem," said Llewellyn. "And I mean it should never have been a problem. We provide support for student relatives if they need it."

        The rest of the trip was made in thoughtful silence, which was not surprising considering the growing gloom under the heavy trees. Fortunately, they arrived after only a few more minutes. One moment they were walking on a narrow path through heavy brush, rarely able to see more than twice their arms' reach in any direction, and the next they were entering a small clearing, tall trees all around blocking nearly the entire sky overhead. A comfortable hut stood to one side of the center, the bulk of the clearing beyond of it. A trickle of smoke flowed from the plain but sturdy-looking fieldstone chimney. The shutters and front door were invitingly open. Bergen saw parts of an elaborate garden behind the hut, where it extended to the left and right past the structure, but frowned, puzzled, when he noticed the plants. Only a few of them looked edible. Some, even from this distance, in this light, he recognized as poisonous.

        "Well, that was easy," said Heinrich, missing Bergen's distraction. "I keep hearing about how hard this place is to find, but we just walked right up to it."

        "Those who approach with deceit in their hearts will in turn be deceived," said Llewellyn. "Those who approach with honest intent will find the path unconcealed. The forest merely reflects their design."

        "Just where are we?" said Bergen. "I assume we're safe from Gesh patrols."

        "The Gesh River is the actual border, and that's further east," said Llewellyn. "The Gesh occasionally send token patrols into their half of the forest, as the Compact does with their half. For the most part the forest ignores them. However, there are places where it is not wise to go without good reason. The Gesh know this, but sometimes mistakenly believe expressing their dominion over those areas is a good reason. And almost always suffer for this hubris. Even the Compact is not completely innocent of such offense..."

        The door was open. With no ceremony, Llewellyn led them inside. The air in the open-ceilinged hut was full of the scents of herbs and hot wax and other odors, some of them quite pleasant, a few very much not. There was a figure - obviously female - standing in the shadows, working at a small brazier. The table - the entire room, for that matter - was filled with odd boxes and bins and bottles and other paraphernalia, and there were cabinets on most of the walls. The whole place seemed like a cross between an ancient alchemist's workplace and a mad cook's kitchen. In short, very much the way a healer witch's hut should look.

        "My apprentice, Laice. The squirrel, over there, is her familiar."

        As their eyes adjusted to the dimmer light they saw the young woman was naked, though her body was painted in elaborate patterns with henna. She was also quite stunningly beautiful, a dark-skinned southern exotic. She turned and smiled politely at them as Llewellyn completed the introductions.

        "You promised to make something for Widow Besher's stomach," said the young woman. She had a pleasant voice, with a southern accent. That is, south of the Compact, perhaps even from Italia.

        "Of course," said Llewellyn. "Will you fetch a forty fluidram bottle?"

        She smiled and sashayed out, knowing every male eye in the room was watching her egress.

        "Uh..." said Heinrich, as Llewellyn began sorting through items on the table.

        "There are several reasons for her state of undress, actually," said Llewellyn, with a sigh, anticipating the question. "Besides simple exhibitionism, she is practicing using various runes and glyphs for various effects. Many of those would be ineffective if covered."

        "Well, it's nice to know she has a good reason," said Galthe.

        "I... assume some of those... non-edible plants outside are for making medicines," said Bergen, changing the subject.

        "I prefer plant and animal medicaments over mineral," said Llewellyn, as he puttered. "The mineral preparations as a rule seem much harsher in their actions. I am especially distrustful of mercury compounds. I know, they've been popular for many centuries, but I'm not alone in being cautious about them. Several ancient writings we have by doctors who mention them urge moderation. Even Escalapetus, himself, warned that calomel rots the teeth."

        Laice returned, and handed Llewellyn a small bottle, which he accepted with a smile and a nod. He turned to the central bench and began to work, continuing to speak.

        "Of course, even plant products can be harmful if misused, and not all mineral preparations are dangerous. Pink bismuth, for example, is far safer as a digestive aid than many plant extracts more commonly used for that purpose."

        "You're lecturing again," said Laice, rolling her eyes.

        "Then hand me the pink bismuth solution I asked you to prepare."

        She went to a smaller bench littered with odd paraphernalia and picked up a bottle containing a brightly colored liquid. She pulled the stopper out and handed Llewellyn the bottle. He poured a carefully measured amount of the thick liquid into a small pot already on the brazier, added some other ingredients which he already had at hand, and mixed them thoroughly. He nodded to his assistant. Laice, apparently used to working for a one-handed master, placed a small funnel in the mouth of the empty bottle she had fetched while Llewellyn lifted the steaming pot; she held both bottle and funnel while Llewellyn carefully poured. In moments the bottle was full to the neck and the stopper in place.

        "Can you make certain Ellogeran gets this early tomorrow? And I mean make certain and I mean early. You know she can't get around too