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  The instructor continued. “Many—perhaps most—are the type of character one would associate with the word rogue: one who uses his or her Talent for unlawful ends. In rare cases, their mentors were rogue as well. More often, mentors simply turn a blind eye to their apprentices’ activities. If caught early enough, apprentices can be brought to the Conclave, taught some self-discipline, and reassigned to a more suitable mentor.”

  “What happens to rogue mentors?” one apprentice asked.

  “In the long term, the problem is often self-correcting, usually when local authorities get involved. In rare cases, the Conclave itself must act.”

  She paused, perhaps waiting for someone to ask how the Conclave acts. Nobody asked, and she continued. “The second kind of rogue is the self-taught mage, who discovers his or her Talent and attempts to employ it without the guidance of a mentor.” She smiled. “When all concerned are fortunate, as is the case with a few of our first-year apprentices, the budding mage seeks out a mentor and all is well.”

  Mik was now fully awake, face burning. Next to him, Sura smirked and winked.

  “But in these latter days, it can be difficult for an accidental sorcerer to find a mentor. Innocent rogues, unaware of the Three Principles and working from preconceived notions, often come to as bad an end as the criminal kind. There are so many ways that an untrained Talent can wreak havoc: spells not properly closed, attempts at Chaos magic, and simply trying too much too soon. If the Conclave gets wind of such, we attempt to bring them here to learn the essentials and find them a mentor. Since many sorcerers have no apprentice, that is usually not a problem.”

  “I feel a little better now,” said Mik, outside the class with Sura. “Discovering our Talent on our own isn’t so uncommon after all.”

  Sura squeezed his hand. “True. But most of us don’t attempt something so flamboyant as awakening an ice dragon!”

  Mik sighed. “I was lucky to live through that.” He put an arm around Sura. “But I’m more lucky to have you to learn alongside.”

  She grinned and leaned into him. “We’re both lucky. Oh, here come Isa and Charn.” Sura waved, and Isa quickened her pace, pulling Charn along by the hand until he caught up.

  “Learn anything useful?” Mik asked.

  Charn shrugged, but Isa began chattering. “Oh, I was so disappointed, I was hoping they could teach us a way to at least talk to each other if not see each other, but it was only about scrying and that only works over short distances… I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”

  “It’s all right,” Sura assured her.

  “Well, how was your lecture?” Charn asked.

  “Possibly helpful,” said Mik. “They talked about how the Conclave deals with rogue mages. We’ve already run into a couple—one on the way here, in fact—so I guess anything that gives us a leg up for the next one will help!”

  Charn laughed. “You two are first-year apprentices, and you’ve already faced more dangers than most grown sorcerers ever do!”

  “Sura and I were just talking about how lucky we are.” Mik grinned.

  Sura snorted, and Isa giggled.

  “Things are so civilized now,” said Isa. “If you have the chance at an adventure, you should take it, right?”

  “Being an apprentice sorcerer is an adventure in itself,” said Mik.

  “Speaking of adventure,” said Charn, “I think I found the way to the Sunset Tower. After supper, we should skip the baths and see if I’m right.”

  “Our mentors will be watching,” Isa warned. “You know, it’s so unfair, it’s like they don’t trust us, but we—”

  Charn kissed her, stopping her breathless monologue. “It’s all right. Let them watch. We can earn their trust. And after what happened with Mik, I almost don’t mind them watching. Almost.” He grinned. “Besides, the view must be tremendous from there. We could watch just about everything ourselves!”

  Before any of them could answer, a commotion down the hallway drew everyone’s attention. The Eastern sorceress walked quickly down the hallway, then worked her way back. She had the same message for everyone she passed: “All apprentices, please go to the Great Hall. Important news. In orderly fashion, if you please.”

  • • •

  The apprentices filed into the Great Hall, in singles, pairs, and small groups. All of them asked each other questions that nobody could answer.

  “It must be important,” Charn told his friends. “Nothing like this happened last year.”

  “Where are the mentors?” Sura asked. “If it was so important, you’d think they would come in too.”

  “Could it be another grievance, like they did at the beginning?” Isa’s eyes grew wide. “Or maybe—maybe Westmarch and Stolevan are going to war!”

  Charn turned his palms up in front of him, then spread his arms in a warding gesture used by superstitious folk. “Don’t even think that,” he whispered. “Gods, I hope Prince Nalfur isn’t that stupid!”

  “I heard a fleet of raiders were spotted off the coast,” said another apprentice. “The mentors are massing on the Cannoneers’ Terrace, and they’re going to defend the Keep!”

  “Then why bring us into the Hall?” Mik asked.

  “For protection, I would think.”

  The apprentices all took seats, still murmuring and whispering. Two instructors walked the aisles, counting heads. They met at the front, conferred in whispers, then slipped away. After another minute, a woman wearing a white sash and cape mounted the dais. The cape marked her as a Protector, one of Termag’s nine most powerful sorcerers. Although the title was ancient and honorable, in this age Protectors were little more than the leaders of the Conclave.

  “Apprentices,” she said, and a hush like Mik’s spell of silence fall over the Hall. “It is my duty to inform you that four of your more senior fellows, two young men and two young women, left the Keep last night to spend the evening in Queensport. Such excursions seem like a convenient way to escape the scrutiny of your mentors, but outside the Keep we are unable to protect you, the very future of the Conclave.

  “For reasons unknown at this time, they were attacked. The two young men were seriously injured. And one of the young women is—is missing.” The Protector grimaced and turned away for a moment. When she again faced the apprentices, she had regained her composure. “Needless to say, this is a very serious matter. We have always discouraged apprentices from leaving the Keep during the Gathering, and not only because it’s easier to keep an eye on you here.” Several of the apprentices snickered, and she continued. “But, in spite of the warnings, apprentices do find ways around the wards and observers. We Protectors take our role seriously, and we are using all resources—mundane and magical—at our disposal to locate our missing apprentice. We gathered you here now because rumors were already spreading, and we felt it best to quell the rumors before they got out of hand. You will now be led to your mentors’ chambers, and they will attempt to answer any questions you may have.”

  “I wish I could come with you,” Isa told Charn, in the stream of apprentices on the way to the mentors’ chambers. “I just know Tonima is going to give me another long lecture about us, and I don’t know why, it’s not like we were going to leave the Keep ourselves! Things always have to be so complicated.”

  Charn shrugged. “I’d just as soon not go at all. I’d rather be in a boring lecture right now.”

  “Why can’t they use a spell of finding, I wonder?” asked Mik. “It’s one of the first spells the mentor taught me. It can’t be that hard.”

  “They surely have already,” said Hen sim Miran, walking behind them. “But if whoever took her is a sorcerer, he could conceal her. The Protectors—and Fierda’s mentor—will find her sooner or later. But if they took her on board a ship? They might not be able to do anything.”

  They stopped, and turned to face the older apprentice. Sura frowned. “Fierda? That’s her name? How do you know?”

  Hen gave her a quick glance, then grimace
d at Mik and Charn. “If you two hadn’t left, you’d have seen two more empty bunks in the dormitory last night. Fierda was with Perin, one of our bunkmates. I knew I should have gone with them. One more might have turned the tide.”

  Mik shrugged, feeling a little pity toward the Northerner for the first time. “You couldn’t have known.”

  “I’ll be a Protector some day. But I didn’t protect my bunkmates last night.” He pressed his lips together and quickened his pace, brushing past them on the way to Aleya’s chambers.

  Bailar looked grim. “I’m not sure there’s anything more I can tell you,” he said. “The Protectors are working with the mentor in question to find the missing apprentice.” He shrugged.

  “The braggart—Hen sim Miran—said she could be concealed,” said Sura. “But that would mean a sorcerer is involved, right? How would he know that?” Her eyes grew wide. “Do you think he might be part of it? Do you think maybe he said he wished he was there too, to misdirect anyone?”

  Mik frowned, getting the faraway look he often had when thinking. “I doubt it,” he said at last. “He’s more of a house cat than a barn cat, I think. Makes lots of noise, but when the claws come out? I wouldn’t want to depend on him. Besides, the Healers are with the injured apprentices. Hen said they were our bunkmates. If he was part of it, they could name him when they’re better.”

  “Unless… unless they don’t recover.” Sura raised one eyebrow.

  “Good thinking,” said Bailar. “The Northerner may not be part of this, but if a sorcerer is involved?” He stood. “I’ll see that the Healers are alerted to the possibility. You are dismissed for the afternoon. I doubt that anyone would be paying attention to lectures anyway.”

  Bailar watched them go, thinking over the situation. After a minute, he left.

  • • •

  Bailar moved through the hallways as quickly as he dared—too slow to suit his desire for haste, but fast enough to risk a headlong sprawl in front of witnesses. He finally found an attendant, idling in the atrium, and gave him a message to take to the Protectors. Has any thought been given to our crisis being wrought from inside the Conclave? If not, I will watch over the Healers as long as necessary. Stumbling through adult life as a barely-adequate sorcerer had taught him humility; yet if violence were brewing, he was better prepared than most of his peers. While he wore the blue sash of Water magic, he was well-versed in ancient combat magic, found where Air met the other elements.

  As an apprentice, Bailar spent far too much time ignoring his proper studies. It started once he found Captain Chelinn’s An Account of Other Worlds in the library, his first year at the Gathering. Every year after, he had sought out other dusty volumes from the Age of Heroes, studying magic that The Treaty had made obsolete centuries before. He often daydreamed of living Chelinn’s life of riotous adventure, going from brawl to brawl and shaping a new age.

  In the end, his knowledge of practical uses of magic barely qualified him to become a sorcerer at all. Then, only days later, his mentor passed away, and made Bailar the Sorcerer of Exidy in his place. He resigned himself to a settled life, devoting himself to catching up on his proper studies, his joy found in raising an infant girl left at his door. As Captain Chelinn had also adopted a daughter, one who became a noted warrior-mage in her own right, Sura gave him some closure.

  It was Mik, arriving on an ice dragon, who had rekindled his old passion. Even if his house were full of apprentices, Bailar would have somehow made room for the boy. For in his ignorance, Mik had wrought some powerful combat magic indeed. Bailar focused his lessons on magic practical for the times; he wanted Mik and Sura to earn their own sashes when the time came. But he did include occasional lessons in elementary combat magic, when it also had practical uses. And through no contrivance of Bailar’s, those lessons had already proven useful.

  “Things have been quite lively since winter,” he said to himself, and chuckled. Mik was a humble boy who did not seek trouble. But between dragons great and small, rogue mages, and a seductive sorceress, trouble seemed to find him readily enough. He hoped he could protect Mik long enough to develop his skills.

  Bailar walked through the empty anteroom, and into the infirmary itself. So treachery had not yet been considered, it seemed. “Peace and harmony,” he told the Healers who turned his way. “Your work goes well, I trust?”

  “All peace unto you, sorcerer,” said one. “It goes well enough. As long as we are not interrupted.”

  “Indeed. I am here to prevent interruptions.” Bailar looked around the room, silently warding the open windows. “I will trouble you no further.” He returned to the unoccupied anteroom and took one of the settees. He warded the outer doorway and opened his old favorite, An Account of Other Worlds. He thought Tactical Principles would be more appropriate for the moment, but the magic it discussed was only obsolete combat magic. Thus, it was not part of the Conclave library. His own copy, a gift from a military officer whom he had helped once, was at home in Exidy.

  Bailar put the book in his lap and looked around the room. He knew his plan, in accordance with Tactical Principles, but it was always best to review. He had a waterskin and bread, if his vigil continued past supper. River and ocean nearby meant his Water magic would function well. A single entrance and exit made the infirmary easier to defend, and the windows were warded. That shadowed corner could provide concealment… ah. Bailar pushed a settee into the corner and became part of the shadows. He could read later.

  Drawing on the patience he had worked so hard to cultivate, he let the hours go by. The Protectors are not concerned, he thought. I hope they’re right. Afternoon became evening, and then night. At last, the ward at the anteroom entrance brought him alert as three shadowy figures entered. They conferred a moment, then drew long daggers. Bailar acted quickly, erecting a Wall of Ice around them, then moved to the infirmary. Behind him, the three cursed and hacked at the ice.

  “Healers,” said Bailar, “if you have an alarm, I suggest you sound it. There is violence afoot—”

  The ward at the windows broke, giving Bailar another warning. A fourth figure clambered through a window, knife clenched in his teeth. Bailar extended his magic, and the attacker wavered for a moment before falling unconscious to the floor.

  “What? What is this?” one of the Healers demanded. A second rushed to pull a cord along the wall.

  “Whoever it was that sent your patients here, does not want to be identified,” said Bailar. “I sent word to—” Pain exploded in his hip, spinning him to the floor. His staff clattered away, silent under his howl. The chamber filled with panicked babble, but he paid it no attention. A fifth figure crouched in one of the windows, cocking his crossbow and loading another quarrel.

  Bailar gritted his teeth against the pain, summoned Air and Water, and reached a clawed hand toward the attacker. Bright crackling lightning, bluer than his sash, sprang from his palm and hurled his would-be killer into the night.

  The infirmary filled with people: Healers shouting, lifting Bailar to a cot. Guardsmen pouring in from the anteroom, demanding answers. Protector Siriodian in his white cape, looking worried.

  Bailar moaned in pain, then looked to the Healer at his head. “Are the injured apprentices—”

  “They’ll live. And so will you.”

  He nodded. “Indeed. At this moment, I have never felt more alive.” Then he heard and felt nothing more for a time.

  • • •

  “You’ll be here for the rest of the week,” the Healer told Bailar, “and a little longer. The Conclave, of course, will arrange any changes necessary for your transport home.”

  “That long?” Bailar asked. “Tell me: have you not read Practical Enchantments by Captain Chelinn? The volume is in the Conclave library. As I recall, it describes a healing ointment that would have me walking—as well as I ever do—in a day or two.”

  The Healer’s eyebrows climbed into her hair. “I thought such knowledge was lost. And it’s here in the
Keep? Why have I not heard of it before?”

  “I am the only sorcerer in generations to have read the Captain’s work, it seems. As I recall, the ointment requires herbs that grow only in the Deep Forest. So, alas, I shall have to heal like all folk.”

  The Healer gave an amused sniff. “And your hip will pain you hereafter when the weather’s about to change.” An attendant touched her arm and whispered. “Your apprentices are here,” she said. “I’ll send them in.”

  “Father!” Sura rushed to his side and embraced the prone Bailar, sobbing. “Why didn’t you send for help? You could have been killed!” Mik reached them and stood at Sura’s side where he could see his mentor. Bailar put an arm around Sura. Mik stroked her shoulder and looked worried for them both.

  “I did,” said Bailar, and chuckled. “Send for help, that is. Still, I think I did well against five assailants, no?”

  Mik snorted. “Rumors are already going around that you killed them all! Fire, ice, lightning, plague, the Terror, or all at once.” He paused, wide-eyed. “Did you?”

  “I think I killed the one who did this,” said Bailar, touching his bandaged hip. “I’m not proud of that, mind you. But he was trying to kill me. I suppose I should tell you the full story so you can correct the rumors.”

  “One of the Healers said they won’t let you up for a week!” Sura cried into his shoulder. “We’re supposed to leave for home in three days. Are we going to have to stay on in an empty Keep?”

  “The Keep is never completely empty, daughter. The Protectors and Healers live here, as do their attendants. Sorcerers passing through Queensport usually pay their respects. Some of those here now will stay on, spending time in research. The apprentices won’t be here, but you two have each other. And until they leave, I will ask Zharcon and Tonima to stand in for me.”