Masters & Renegades: Magic University

8/19/2019 Masters & Renegades: Magic University

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Masters & Renegades: Magic University

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events,

and incidents either are the product of the author ’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any

resemblance to actual persons living, dead, or otherwise, events, or locales is entirely coinci-

dental.

EAN — 13: 978-1-936730


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iii

Contents1 Meeting at the Crossroads 1

2 Opening Ceremonies 13 3 True Knowledge 30 4 Time Out 525 Magical Offense 686 More Offense 82

7 Personal Attacks 968 Safe Passage 111

9 Extended Reach 13310 Swift Passage 15411 Magical Defense 171

12 Hidden Treasure 19213 Power Embument 21114 Varied Knowledge 22815 Power Display 24316 Strong Ties 26417 Leap of Faith 284

18 The Judgement Hour 30019 Tomorrow 316


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1

1Meeting at the CrossroadsReid Blake blinked, stared at the signpost, and then

blinked again.

“Why the hell am I hesitating?” he asked.

He was speaking to himself, but he was not exactly

alone. He was reminded of this fact as there was a loud disturb-ance from the hedges to his left. A small flock of birds scattered

from the shelter of its leaves, flushed out by the only company

that Reid had had on his journey from Turmetti. It was a long

enough trip on horseback, but Reid had made the trek on foot,

mostly because of his financial situation. He had assets that

would have allowed for the purchase of a horse, but he had not

had the time to liquidate them before making this journey. He

ought to be grateful to finally reach his destination, the entrancetrials for the three elite apprentice seats at Magic University, and

eager to clear the final stretch. But he was not.

The cause of the avian exodus emerged from the bushes

as well, his leathery wings having tangled in the branches there.

The imp – Reid’s imp – Stiggle, grabbed at the last couple of

stragglers from the flock with his clawed hands and feet, but

they had had too much of a head start, and he came away empty-

handed. Disgruntled at his failure, Stiggle hopped down ontothe dirt road, dragging his pointed tail on the grounded and

shrieking angrily.


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Reid exhaled heavily and pushed the cloying strands of

his long dark hair back behind the slight points of his half-elfin

ears. Stroking his moustache, he eyed the sign, again, particular-

ly the slat scrawled with the words “Magic University”. Thiswas supposed to be his goal. This was what his magical mentor,

Gerant, had been training him for – had demanded from him. If

Gerant were still alive, he would finally be satisfied with this

accomplishment. He had always suggested that Reid, along with

being one of his greatest hopes, was also one of his greatest dis-

appointments, as far as his students were concerned. It had not

been Reid, however, who had been responsible for the spell fail-

ure that had claimed Gerant’s life. The Renegade wizard had

managed to screw that one up all on his own.

Reid was distracted enough by his concerns and his

memories that he did not notice the slight movement by the base

of the signpost. A short figure with severely scarred skin was

huddled there, hunched over a traveller ’s meal of hard tack, ale

and dried meat. The dwarf, Shetland, had not come half as far as

Reid, but he did not have a mount either, and had journeyedthrough rougher terrain, having come from the mountains to the

south of Anthis. Reid may not have noticed him, but Stiggle

certainly did.

Taking advantage of the fact that his master was not pay-

ing, the imp scuttled up the road, slowing as he neared the dwarf,

and creeping forward surreptitiously for the last few feet. Once

within reach, he made a haphazard lunge for Shetland’s last

mouthful and as a result of his clumsy efforts, he ended up en-tangled in the dwarf ’s beard.

Shetland, red-faced and roaring, leapt to his feet and was

dancing about, swinging wildly at Stiggle, who flapped and dan-

gled at his chin and was shrieking at the top of his lungs. The

ruckus was enough to easily snap Reid out of his reverie, aware

now that his imp had been up to no good.

Knife in hand, Reid raced over. He despised the imp, but

Stiggle was a magical resource, a tool for the trials that the half-elf was about to take, and he did not want to lose him with the

Trial Grounds almost within sight. Shetland had been reaching


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Meeting at the Crossroads

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for his axe to attempt at batting the demonic creature away from

his precious whiskers, but upon seeing Reid’s approach, bearing

a blade, his demeanour quickly changed. His beady eyes wid-

ened and his grimace hardened into a vicious scowl as he bracedin a full battle-stance.

“I’ll sever your head from your neck if you come any

closer,” the scarred dwarf spat, strangely calm despite the frantic

fluttering at his chin. “If you’re to blame for this beastie troub-

ling me, it would serve you right if I killed it to rid myself of it!

I won’t have it said that Shetland Feldspar lost his beard to a

keeper of demons.”

He reached out and snatched Stiggle up, clutching him

solidly with one fist while hefting his axe with the other. Reid

stiffened, changing the grip on his knife from that of tool to

weapon and started to consider his available offensive and de-

fensive spells. He certainly did not want to fight the broad little

man, but he would do so if forced to.

“I don’t think that violence against the imp will be neces-

sary,” said a regal, unwavering voice. Reid cast a glance over his shoulder, briefly, so as not to

give the dwarf opportunity to strike while he was not watching.

Two other strangers stood in the pathway behind him and Shet-

land. The taller of the two newcomers, a finely dressed young

man with bejewelled accessories and an impressively crafted

sword sheathed at his hip, was the one who had spoken. His

travelling companion, a shorter fellow in bright colours who

clutched a flute in one hand, regarded the turmoil with interest.Reid stared back warily, making note of the small ivory horns

protruding from his golden-brown curls.

“Well, I’m certainly not going to let anyone cut this little

green bastard out of my beard,” snarled Shetland, casting a spur-

ious look at Reid.

“That won’t be necessary either. My friend Snyder here

can help solve this dilemma. Show them what I mean, Snyder.”

His companion lifted the flute to his lips and began to play. The air seemed to grow thick with his music. His listeners

felt like they were being wrapped in a warm, heavy blanket.


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One had to actively resist the calming effect of its soothing mel-

ody or be swept away into a mind-numbing oblivion. Stiggle

relaxed in Shetland’s meaty hand, which now barely restrained

the flighty creature as the dwarf swayed to the tune’s liltingrhythm.

Snyder paused, and then his song took on a new feel,

light and snaky. The strands of Shetland’s beard, which had be-

come entangled with Stiggle’s thrashing, started to writhe as

though alive. The whiskers twitched like brindle worms, wrig-

gling themselves free from the imp’s limbs and crawling back

towards Shetland, until they once again hung loosely at his

chest. More out of surprise than intention, Shetland released his

grip on Stiggle, who instantly made a beeline to his perch upon

the bracer on Reid’s wrist. Shetland snorted, patting at his beard

in amazement. He stepped back to where his pack still lay by

the signpost.

“Bravo,” rasped a shallow voice. Everyone was now

suddenly aware of the eerie, transparent figure lingering nearby.

“Crisis averted.” None of the original four had any idea howlong this wraith-like person had been watching them since he

blended into the shadows so easily.

“Who are you and where did you come from?” demand-

ed Snyder ’s wealthy friend, obviously startled. He had been

looking rather pleased with himself until this latest arrival had

made his presence known. He did not like surprises.

“I could ask you the same, but I doubt you would answer

me truthfully.” As he spoke, his words tinged with bitter dis-taste, the air seemed to shimmer around the wraith-like man.

“Let’s just say you can call me Ebon, and I’ll call you Tom. Ra-

ther than asking me where I’m from, you should be inquiring as

to where I am going and what bearing it has upon your future.”

A ghostly limb gestured towards the path marked “Magic Uni-

versity”. “We travel the same road, but don’t set your sights on

first place. I’ll be the victor here, today. The rest of you misfits

and wretched Renegade-types may as well head on home.” “Tom” pursed his lips, and drew in a breath, as if prepar-

ing to speak, and then deemed it more prudent to remain silent.


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He released the air as a soft sigh instead. Snyder gave Tom a

knowing look, shrugged and turned to head up the path labelled

Magic University. Unnerved now, they both walked away at a

quicker pace than they had been using when they had arrived atthe crossroads. Ebon had a habit of making people want to leave

with some haste, both because of his appearance and his sour

disposition. This instance was no different. Reid and Shetland

were inclined to make themselves scarce as well.

“Pshaw! I didn’t come all this way just to turn tail and

run home,” grumbled Shetland, scowling at Ebon. “I don’t care

if I come in first. I’d be just as happy skipping these trials alto-

gether, if they’d just fix me up and send me back to where I

came from, but I doubt I they’re gonna gimmee that choice. I’ve

tried everything else to restore my accursed flesh. If I’ve gotta

go this route, then that’s what I’ll do.” He gestured at his badly

scarred-skin that Reid could now see glimmered with tiny pin-

pricks of metal. “Life’s played a cruel joke on me. The question

is: can I beat it or will I be forced to live with it.” He paused as

he strapped his pack on and hefted his axe over one shoulder.“An’ I don’t plan on wastin’ any more time chatting about it

with strangers. You two can lollygag about and natter like a

bunch of old grannies, but I got somewhere I have to be by noon,

an’ I plan on gettin’ there early.”

With a determined grunt, he trudged off down the path.

“I already know all I need to know of you and your

weak-minded cohorts,” breathed Ebon to Reid. “And if you or

those other detestable Renegade louts plan on focussing on your perceived strengths and avoiding your known weaknesses, well,

let’s just say I’ll be using that to my advantage. Your presence

here is no threat to me.”

He floated off down the path, following after Shetland.

“What do you suppose he meant by that?” asked Reid,

once again to nobody in particular. He wondered how this Ebon

managed to know so much about the people he had just met on

the road. Reid had not intended on telling anyone that his initialtraining was as a Renegade, and not in the Master magic that the

University taught. There was a stigma attached to Renegade


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magic and Reid was aware that there had been reluctance to ad-

mitting converting Renegades to the University in the past.

Gerant had faced that discrimination. Apparently, Ebon shared

the bias.“Pardon?” a quiet feminine voice said. The word almost

made Reid jump out of his skin, certain that he was alone. He

turned to face the speaker, not knowing what to expect after his

last few encounters.

When he saw her, Reid was not surprised that this wom-

an had succeeded in a approaching undetected. She had the

slight form and light step typical of a full-blooded elf. Unlike

the usual silvery gold colour of her kin, however, this woman’s

hair was a coppery red, its highlights gleaming like fire when it

caught the sunlight. He tried not to stare, but it was hard not to

get caught in the leafy depths of her wide eyes, a piercing green.

He held his breath, until he realized that she was waiting for an

answer.

“Oh...yes, um. I was just wondering aloud what that

shadow-man, Ebon, had said before he left. He suggested thathe would already know my strengths and weaknesses.” He

chuckled a little. “If that’s the case, I wonder if he would share.

I’m not even sur e that I know what they are myself.”

The woman’s green eyes narrowed as she looked at him

like he was somewhat funny in the head. She had no doubt

missed the wraith-like man, who could only be seen while hov-

ering in shadow with major effort. Reid fumbled to explain.

“You may not have noticed him. He was transparent anddifficult to spot, but the others who were here spoke to him, too;

so it wasn’t as if he were some figment of my imagination. He

suggested that he was one of the competitors in the admission

trials, like me – actually, he insisted that he was going to win top

seat. He’s a bit presumptive, if you ask me. I’m Reid Blake, by

the way, and this here is Stiggle.” Reid pointed towards the imp,

who was searching the space where the dwarf had been sitting

while he ate, looking for crumbs.The elf ’s face brightened.


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“I’m going to be competing in the Trials as well. I’m not

as well-trained as I had planned to be by this point, but I think

I’m ready. At least, I hope I am. I’m Finch Loreleaf. I’m really

hoping I can place today. My mother did when she was my age,and she wanted me to share in the experience. You can’t be a

proper Master without University apprenticeship. I know many

a novice apprentice privately, but those who are university-

trained never take them very seriously.”

Reid’s excitement at meeting Finch dimmed a little with

this declaration. He was hoping perhaps that she was just one of

the general attendees for the opening ceremonies and that he

might have the opportunity to get to know her better after the

trials, if he placed in one of the top three positions and ended up

attending the university. She appeared to be close to him in age,

although it was impossible to tell with a full-blooded elf, and

from what he had seen so far, she had a pleasant disposition. If

they were going to be rivals, however, competing directly with

one another, striking up a friendship might be awkward. That,

and it was clear that this Finch was from Master lineage. Shemight share in the prejudice against Renegades, and as soon as

she discovered that Reid was one of their ilk, she would despise

him for it.

“I was just trying to build up the nerve to clear the last

stretch to the Trial Grounds,” Reid admitted. “That was, until I

bumped into a few of the other competitors. I’m still trying to

figure them out. Can you believe that one of them was a

dwarf?” Finch stared at him like he had two heads.

“There’s no such thing as a dwarven wizard – he can’t

possibly be a competitor.”

“Well, he told me he was. I don’t think that he was mag-

ically inclined by choice.” Reid was well aware that the

dwarves were one of the typically non-magical races, and were

even rumoured to repel magic. He had never heard of a dwarven

wizard either. “There was something ver y unusual about hisskin. He was badly scarred, and he looked like he had metal

embedded in his flesh. It was ... painful. I’m not sure if it was


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this condition that is allowing him to participate, but what he

said before he left suggested that.”

At the mention of leaving, Finch glanced up at the sun

above them, now almost directly overhead.“It was nice meeting you, Mr. Blake, but if we stand here

and chat for much longer, we’ll both be late for the opening cer-

emonies. I understand that this alone could disqualify us.”

Reid smiled and offered her his arm.

“Well, we had best be off then. Allow me to escort you

the rest of the way. Just because we will be rivals doesn’t re-

quire us to be enemies, right?”

She returned his smile and took the offered arm.

“Certainly not – lead the way.”

~MR~

Ebon and Shetland moved in stone cold silence along the

path. It was not long before they arrived at the clearing where

the Trials would begin. There were signs posted and a series of platforms and stages in the process of being decorated for the

upcoming opening ceremonies.

The clearing bustled with activity. Apprentices and nov-

ices rushed about with fabric, flowers and various tools of

construction. Ebon seemed to feed off the chaos, watching con-

tentedly from the sidelines. Shetland, on the other hand,

appeared to be disturbed by the discord and quickly found a cor-

ner in the shade where he could sit and avoid most of the peoplemoving about.

Ebon, drinking in his fill of the movement and the anxie-

ty, eventually dropped back into the shadows as well. This

made Shetland quite nervous, as Ebon all but disappeared from

view when he did this. Even more disturbing to Shetland was

the fact that, despite being unable to see Ebon, he could still

“see” him. Sensing E bon’s presence like a niggling swarm of

insects at the edge of his field of vision; the dwarf could not help

but know where the extra-planar being was at all times. Shet-

land shivered, almost as though he were trying to shake off the


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knowledge of Ebon’s existence. The dwarf made a mental note

that he would distance himself from the wraith-like creature that

served as a constant reminder of his current “un-dwarf”-like

condition, the result of what should have been a lethal encounterwith molten enchanted metal as a child. Instead it had scarred

him badly, infusing his flesh with bits of the metal and it had

transformed poor Shetland into a living magical bauble with un-

predictable effects.

Ebon laughed, startling Shetland to the point where he

almost dropped his axe.

“Don’t worry, stout one. I will keep to myself once the

games begin. You are of no threat to me,” Ebon said, hovering

at the edge of the shadows. “And I would trade you your condi-

tion for mine any day, so enough with the self- pity.”

Shetland was not sure what the irritating shadow-man

meant by that, but assumed that perhaps the shadowy form was

also one that Ebon had not been born with or had chosen for

himself. The dwarf scowled in the general direction of Ebon’s

presence and crouched down beside a large tree trunk. An elfinwoman, dressed in silken robes of red and gold had entered the

clearing and was bringing some order to the chaos by directing

several of the apprentices to specific tasks. The venue for the

opening ceremonies was finally beginning to take shape.

“That must be Fortia,” Ebon murmured, watching the

svelte yet imposing figure influence the flow of traffic. “I had

heard she would be seeking a new apprentice at the Trials. It

would seem my sources were correct.” Shetland grunted. “Who else did your sources say was

apprentice-huntin’?”

Ebon scanned the clearing before pointing a ghostly limb

at a stout man dressed in greys and blues, standing at the far

edge of the activity, his hands behind his back.

“Him... Burrell. He just lost an apprentice to an ‘acci-

dent’. Apparently, the fellow was rushing things and caused a

very nasty explosion. I heard Burrell had to relocate because ofthe damages to his quarters. – Hmmmm,” the wraith-mage

rasped.


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“What? What about the third one? There are supposed

to be three successful candidates,” the dwarf questioned

“Exactly, but something’s blocking me. Almost like a

perceptible blur in every accessible mind. It won’t let me readthe third. He or she is good...that means I’ll have at least one

surprise coming my way.” Ebon chuckled, with a very unnatural

echo. Shetland could not help but shiver in response.

“Stop that,” he growled under his breath, as much to

himself as to Ebon.

Ebon did not respond. Either he had not heard the dwarf

or he was choosing to remain silent. The preparations were

starting to diminish now, as the noon hour approached. The

stages had taken on a well-polished appearance and people were

finding their places, awaiting the start of the ceremonies. Tom

and Snyder had arrived in the clearing now and stood back, tak-

ing it all in. A few moments later, Reid and the redhead who

now accompanied him came into view. The pair lingered at the

back of the clearing, talking quietly.

“Heh heh – consorting with the enemy. Looks like thehalf-elf has more libido than sense,” Ebon chuckled. Shetland

thought he detected a hint of envy in his grating whisper. A

flash of reflected sunlight drew their attention.

Two more strangers had entered the clearing, and one of

them, a shapely, athletic-looking, silvery-scaled woman, boldly

strode up to the main stage. Ignoring the more plainly-dressed

crew, she approached the lady in red and gold finery. Despite

the fact that the elfin woman was obviously busy with a series ofscrolls, the scaled-woman chose to interrupt her.

“Where do the Trial competitors sit?”

It seemed like a harmless enough question.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Fortia prefers tact. She won’t be im-

pressed.” Ebon whispered to Shetland – or rather spoke quietly

within Shetland’s mind.

“Get out of my head!” hissed the dwarf in return.

The elfin woman glanced back in annoyance, dropping afancifully sleeved arm that had been in mid-gesture to her side.

She sighed.


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“Does this mean the competitors this year are illiterate?

First row – see the sign? Reserved for apprenticeship candi-

dates?” Fortia paused as she caught sight of a small man

teetering about with a pillar topped with flowers. With an expression of cool dismay, she started moving off, shouting,

“Duckert, that doesn’t go there! Take heed or you’ll break...”

There was a terrible crash and Fortia cringed. She eyed the

scaled woman briefly, and then continued moving towards the

origin of the noise, somewhere just outside of view.

Tom and Snyder wandered over and Tom offered the

scaled woman the chair closest to the centre aisle. He glanced

back over his shoulder at Reid and Finch before seating himself.

Snyder waited for a gesture from Tom before taking the seat on

his left-hand side.

“Maybe you should get a chair while the getting is

good,” murmured Ebon to Shetland. As he spoke, Finch and

Reid approached the front row and joined the others. Shetland

screwed up his face in disgust.

“And sit next to the demon-keeper. I’d rather sit on arusty nail. Nope, you can join them if you want, but I’ll keep my

distance for now,” Shetland sniffed and twisted his moustache to

the left. “Anyways, there are only three seats left – and two of

them are about to go, so I guess the last one’s yours.”

Two more people filed in, a cloaked and hooded figure

and a female gnome in pink. They took seats on the opposite

end of the row designated for the trial competitors.

“I don’t sit!” hissed Ebon.Pulling himself deeper into the shadows, he began to

slide his way around the outer edge of the clearing. Shetland

watched him go, partially relieved to be rid of the constant mag-

ical itch that was Ebon, but also strangely uncomfortable at

having been left alone. He peered out from under the brush.

The sun was practically at the top of the sky. The dwarf decided

that Ebon probably hated being out at this time of day. Unless

standing directly under cover, he and his unusual conditionwould stick out like a sore thumb.


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Shetland glanced back at the last remaining chair. The

little lady in pink seemed pretty harmless, and Reid and his

bothersome pest were three seats down. Besides, the starting

ceremonies were just about to begin. Gritting his teeth, thedwarf stepped away from the trees and trudged towards the last

chair.

As he sat, the gnomish woman turned and smiled at him.

Shetland made note that not only were her clothing and sandals

obnoxiously pink, so were her hair and her irises. To make mat-

ters worse, they all glowed with magic.

“Bah, enchants everythin’...” grumbled Shetland under

his breath. Then he noticed the albino gecko sitting in her lap.

He had had enough with other people’s critters for one day.

“Gack! Not another one! They’re everywhere,” he ad-

monished.

The gnome looked surprised, then realized Shetland was

referring to the lizard atop her knee. She giggled.

“What? Rex? He wouldn’t hurt a fly... ok, well maybe a

fly, or an earthworm, but nothing any bigger.” Shetland cocked a bushy eyebrow, but did not stop

scowling.

A trumpeter dressed in burgundy, green and gold, Magic

University’s colours, stepped onto the left-hand stage and raised

his instrument to his lips. As the University’s theme song rang

from the horn’s brassy mouth, the school’s instructors, clad in

their finest garb, began to take their seats on the right-hand

stage. All but two instructors had a place on that far stage.These two, Fortia and Burrell, made their way onto centre stage

where they turned to face the crowd, waiting patiently for the

music to end. The crowd hushed, and as the last note slipped

from the trumpet, the excitement in the air became almost tangi-

ble. The opening ceremonies were about to begin.


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2Opening Ceremonies

Silence settled over the crowd, as they were anticipating

a speech from Fortia or Burrell. Burrell approached the podium

at the front of the stage, and Fortia strode over to the table that

held the series of elaborate scrolls she had been handling earlier.

A light breeze blew through the air, carrying a hint of jasmineand making everyone more aware of the bright sunshine stream-

ing into the clearing. Burrell cleared his throat, pushing back his

periwinkle cloak, and then snapped into being a volume en-

hancement spell. His voice reverberated throughout the entire

clearing as he spoke.

“Tradition. It is the cornerstone of Magic University,

and adhering to tradition has helped us gather the finest students

in the land to participate in our teachings. Tradition has markedour place in history and now brings us to the celebration of our

50th year of the Apprenticeship Selection Trials. Tradition is

why this current group of Trial participants now sits before me.”

“Not another boring speech...”grumbled Shetland. A

brief but stern glance from Fortia quickly silenced him.

“Tradition demands three elements from these opening

ceremonies: introduction and revelation of Trial participants, a

voluntary spell-binding of participants to follow the Trial rules,and a release of participants into the first of the 12 Trials. I must

now put this question before the potential candidates. Will you


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accept these elements without question? If you agree, you may

join me on the stage when I call your name. If you refuse,

please remain seated and understand that your refusal disquali-

fies you from participating further in the Trials.” A curious murmur rippled through the crowd. It was rare

for a candidate to refuse this intrusion into their privacy and

peace of mind, but not unheard of. All eyes turned to watch the

potential candidates. Most looked fairly unperturbed, but Tom

twitched nervously in his seat and Shetland was tugging at his

beard, shoulders hunched.

Burrell drew in breath to begin naming the candidates

from the list.

“Cerissa June of Smallport.”

The colourful gnome leapt to her feet, practically knock-

ing Shetland out of his chair in her excitement. She then

realized she had dropped Rex and spent the next two minutes

looking for the white gecko before finally making her way onto

the stage. Fortia fingered the scrolls impatiently, giving Burrell

a look of exasperation. Burrell shrugged, smiling, as he directedReeree to her place on the stage.

“Ebon the Misplaced.”

The trees trembled as Ebon moved into the clearing to-

wards the stage. The crowd watched in silence, unsure what to

make of the shadowy figure that remained a dark blur in the

bright sunshine. Burrell shuffled his feet behind the podium and

swallowed uncomfortably, obviously distressed by Ebon’s

strange appearance.“Finch Loreleaf of Tetherwood.”

Finch paused briefly before making her way to the stage.

She glanced back at Reid who smiled reassuringly.

“Nia Brynwyrm.”

The scaled woman bounded haphazardly onto the stage,

assuming her place before Burrell could direct her.

“Reid Blake of Lochland.”

Reid stood to approach the stage, momentarily looseninghis hold on Stiggle’s collar. Stiggle had already decided that the

closest basin of flowers looked very much like lunch, and feeling


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15

the tension on his collar relax, made a break for it. He launched

himself at the basin, coming to rest on the lip at its edge. Said

basin was precariously perched on the top of a lopsided pillar,

which had been recently repaired with somewhat sloppy andfragile results. The entire construct teetered and collapsed,

dowsing the crowd with water, flowers, sawdust and ceramic

shards – along with one soggy and bruised imp. Reid rushed

over and scooped Stiggle from the pile of unhappy and damp

ceremony attendees. Pulling a bag from his belt, Reid shook the

water from the demonic creature and tossed its wriggling body

inside. Ignoring its ear-piercing shrieks, he slung it over his

shoulder and made for the stage, a determined look settling

across his features. He stepped into his spot on the stage, pur-

posefully avoiding the grim stares from Fortia and Burrell.

Fortia shook her head and turned back to the scrolls. Burrell

glanced into the crowd, waiting for the chaos to settle before

continuing.

“Shetland Feldspar.”

The dwarf sat, watching the stage, hesitant to leave thecomfort of his chair. The crowd, which had been murmuring

discontentedly after the imp incident, grew quiet again. All eyes

focused on Shetland, wondering if the dwarf would be one of the

rare few to refuse to be scrutinized. However, before Burrell

could continue to the next candidate, Shetland did rise begrudg-

ingly to his feet and trudge slowly over to the stage. Much to

Shetland’s distaste, he found himself next to Reid and his wrig-

gling sack of imp.“Snyder of the Fifes.”

Snyder moved swiftly up to his place on the stage.

“Ahem...T-thomas Regal of Seaforest.”

Burrell glanced up at the crowd. A bead of perspiration

slid from his forehead, down his nose and off of his chin. He

lowered his eyes as Tom stood and walked over to the stage.

Reid watched impatiently and suddenly wondered if there was

not something familiar about Tom, something that he had notnoticed before, but that he could not quite place his finger on.

Perhaps he had met him before and had forgotten about it. After


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all he had spent most of his life in Turmetti, which neighboured

Seaforest.

“Urwick.”

The otherwise unidentified robed figure stepped up in aslow but steady manner, paying little heed to either the crowd or

the other candidates.

“And there we have it, our candidates for this year’s Tri-

als.”

There was light applause from the audience.

“I now will pass the torch, figuratively of course, to my

peer and a fine sorceress, Fortia de Lynde. Fortia...” Burrell

stepped away from the podium, grinning, and Fortia approached,

scrolls in hand.

“Thank you, Burrell.”

Her smile was forced; she disliked flattery and found

Burrell was often guilty of attempting to use it to influence oth-

ers. She knew he was hoping that he could sway her vote.

“As my cohort stated earlier, all of you are to be magical-

ly bound to assure adherence to the competition’s rules, but eventhis binding spell may not function properly if you are hiding

powers from us greater than is evident at a glance. Therefore, a

more in depth scrutiny is required prior to administering the

spell. Hence, we have created the portion of the Opening Cere-

monies known as the Revelation. Burrell, if you please...” Fortia

stepped back momentarily, gesturing at the stout mage in blue

and gray. He pulled a drawstring, and a drape of fabric which

had been previously undetectable, blending in with the stage’s backdrop, slipped to the floor to reveal a large mirror. It was

clear to see that this was no ordinary mirror. Rather, at its centre

whirled a dark, shimmering nexus drawing in all the light from

its environs.

“To those of you who are attending these ceremonies for

the first time, be it known that this is the Glass of Revelation.

When an individual gazes into its depths, it reveals to all any-

thing that may be hidden by that person, even sometimes hiddento his or her self. Once more, we give you the chance to refuse

this rite of initiation and disqualify yourself from the Trials. If


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17

you refuse at this point however, you will be escorted from these

premises by Magic University faculty, who are very adept with

dealing with both magical and physical threats.”

From the serious tone and expression on Fortia’s face, itwas not difficult to extrapolate that such steps were necessary.

There had been incidences of attempted sabotage in the past.

Fortia let her gaze drift across the candidates’ faces before con-

tinuing. No one appeared to be volunteering to be escorted from

the stage.

“Good. As you all know what to expect, we will contin-

ue. We will follow the same order as the one used to call you to

the stage. Cerissa?”

Cerissa, who preferred to be called Reeree, had decided

she did not want to force poor Rex to stare at himself in the eerie

looking mirror, and was currently trying to find a safe hiding

spot for him. She spent several minutes searching her pockets

until she finally determined one to be suitable. Fortia’s foot

twitched gently as she resisted reacting to Reeree’s lack of

promptness. Burrell looked mildly amused.Finally, Reeree presented herself before the mirror. The

bizarre nexus twisted and blurred before solidifying into the sil-

very-sheened reflective surface of a traditional mirror. Reeree

looked over her rather colourless reflection. The gnomish wom-

an in the mirror had mousy-brown hair and muddy-brown eyes.

Her clothing had lost it pink glow and bore the neutral colours of

natural fibres, lacking dye and trim of any kind. Reeree looked a

little disappointed at the plainness she saw in the mirror beforeher, but Fortia appeared to be satisfied with the reflection and

Burrell gave Reeree an approving nod. Fortia then directed her

to the opposite side of the stage.

“Ebon, you are next.”

The dark grey wraith hovered in place for a moment.

“You may refuse if you wish...”

“No,” he hissed. He floated over to the mirror with a

single movement, like a dry leaf being blown by a strong gust ofwind. Once again the surface morphed to reveal something oth-

er than the dark form that stood before it. Instead, the mirror


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presented the form of a young, somewhat handsome man, with

white-blond hair and pale blue eyes. The shadowy candidate

shuddered, shifting closer to the mirror. The man within was

crying.“That will do,” Fortia murmured, but Ebon did not move.

“Ebon, you must proceed to the other side of the stage,”

Burrell said in a hushed voice. But still Ebon did not move,

transfixed by the image in the mirror.

Fortia drew closer to the dark shape. “I know it pains

you to see your former self, but now is not the time to dwell on

what you have lost. Let this fuel you to strive harder at the Tri-

als, for what you can learn at the University may be able to help

you one day restore yourself.”

Ebon did not move.

Fortia breathed a spell into being, quiet words slipping

from her lips. Suddenly, she was as transparent as Ebon, her

ethereal form hovering just above the stage. Her ghostly arm

firmly grasped Ebon’s and she led him away from the mirror to

the far side of the stage. She released him, and solidified to herformer state. Burrell looked very relieved.

“Next...ah yes, Finch.”

Finch paled as her name was called, but taking a deep

breath, stepped towards the mirror. The mirror seemed to take

longer this time, shifting and bubbling for several minutes before

finally levelling into a smooth surface. Finch gazed into it,

somewhat anxiously. The image was fainter than the previous

two. As Finch looked in, the hazy image of an older elvenwoman stared out. Her hair was longer than Finch’s and more

auburn, less copper. The image was backlit by a soft, glowing

light, illuminating the woman’s pale skin and warm green eyes.

Finch smiled, as did the woman within, lifting a hand to greet

her. Finch reached out as well, her fingers approaching the mir-

ror ’s surface. Quickly, Burrell’s hand darted out and grabbed

her wrist.

“No touching. You don’t want to end up like Ebon here – or worse.”


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Opening Ceremonies

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Startled at the speed of the stout, little man, Finch

jumped back. When she looked back at the mirror, the image

had vanished.

“So you say what we see in the mirror is something thatis hidden within us?” She stared at Burrell who still clutched her

wrist. He released her, letting her arm drop back to her side, and

nodded. With unexpected enthusiasm, Finch lurched forward

and gave Burrell a brisk hug before moving to the other side of

the stage. Fortia, who was still looking at the now empty mirror,

glanced back at Burrell, a flash of admiration playing across her

normally inexpressive features.

As Finch passed her, Fortia whispered, “I knew her. She

was an incredible enchantress, and an even better person.”

Finch smiled broadly, and took her place next to Ebon. Reid

stared after her, puzzled, and somewhat envious. She had al-

ready managed to earn the favour of one of the judges.

Burrell, still befuddled by the hug, attempted to regain

his composure by adjusting his robes before continuing.

“Nia, you are next.” The scaled woman strode confidently over to the mirror

and stood before it, with hands on hips and a smug expression on

her face. She stared into it intently, as though she were daring it

to reveal something she did not know. As with Finch, the mirror

did not respond immediately but contorted its surface for several

minutes. Nia frowned impatiently, now appearing a little less

sure of herself. Finally, the surface settled.

Nia gaped and sputtered, looking less than pleased. Theother candidates craned their necks to see the image within. Re-

flected in the surface before Nia was what could only be the

image of Nia as a child, with a matching silver sheen to her

scales, and identical amber eyes.

“This can’t be right! This thing must be broken!” she

protested.

Burrell shook his head.

“The mirror does not lie.” With a grunt, Nia crossed her arms and strode across the

stage. She stood there stewing, an imperceptible dark cloud hav-


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ing assumed a position somewhere over her head. She glared at

the mirror, then Burrell, then the other candidates.

“Reid, step up to the mirror – and you can hand me that

for the moment.” Fortia gestured towards the wriggling sackthat twisted and turned in his hand. “I’ll have someone hold on

to it for you until the ceremonies are over.”

Reid passed her the sack, which Fortia in turn handed to

one of her assistants. Reid approached the mirror with some

trepidation, but this time the mirror was quick to respond. It set-

tled in seconds, and Reid found himself looking at his own face

in the mirror. The Reid in the mirror was not alone, however,

nor was he identical to the man observing the mirror ’s contents.

The Reid within was shackled at both his ankles and wrists, and

burdened by thick iron chains. He also bore the weight of a

great stone yoke about his neck and shoulders. Behind him,

popping in and out of view, were the faces of grinning demons.

They cackled, revealing their sharp, yellowed fangs and waving

black thorn-like claws. Every few seconds, one would peer out

and yank at the reflected Reid’s hair or tug on his chains. Reidhad not been sure what to expect within the mirror, but this cer-

tainly had not come to mind.

He remained in place for a few seconds, trying to make

sense of it all. Was this referring to Gerant’s association with

demons? Had it somehow been tied into his own being? For

some reason, he knew that was not it. There was something else

behind this revelation, but he just did not understand it.

Reid stepped back. The Reid in the mirror attempted todo so also, but the shackles and chains hindered his movement.

Reid looked back at the other candidates. Most of them

appeared to be as shocked by this vision as he was. Finch

looked sympathetic. He bit his lip, and stepped away from the

mirror. Shoulders sagging, and somewhat disheartened, he took

his place beside Nia. She no longer seemed to be upset with her

own revelation. It obviously could have been much worse.

“Shetland,” announced Fortia. The dwarf trundled up to the mirror, but he stumbled

backwards again as the surface literally lurched out at him.


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Burrell coughed nervously. He had never seen the Glass

do that before.

The surface calmed, still bulging in Shetland’s direction

as an image appeared within it. Shetland frowned as he peeredin. He grunted in a neutral fashion, unsure if he liked what was

there. The surface exposed a dwarven form that glittered with a

metallic sheen, one with the chromatic glow of enchanted metal,

giving him the appearance of a small iron golem. It caught the

light of the midday sun, nearly blinding the audience with its

glare. There was an awed murmur as many raised their hands to

their eyes for protection. After a few seconds of gazing at this

reflection, Shetland decided that he was unimpressed. With a

snort he turned and marched to the far edge of the stage.

“I thought this mirror was supposed to show somethin’

hidden. I already know about that,” the dwarf grumbled under

his breath.

“But many here don’t. This process is more for their

benefit than for our own,” the wraith-mage suggested. Shetland

winced. Ebon apparently had come out of his funk.“Snyder, I believe it is your turn...”

With a sideways glance at Tom, Snyder stepped before

the mirror. There was a moment of haze and one big bubble,

and then the mirror slowed to a slight wave motion, but did not

settle. It did bear the revelation within, however. As if looking

into a pond rippling from a stone’s throw, Snyder ’s reflection

was not his jovial, well-groomed self, but that of a savage, sneer-

ing beast. His hair and fur were knotted and tangled with burrs,and his eyes wild and darting. Instead of Snyder ’s fancy suede

boots, the satyr ’s feet were great cloven hooves, the nails long

and twisted as though in need of a clipping. The creature

clutched at a set of panpipes. Every few moments it would low-

er its head in a threatening gesture, exposing the large spiralled

ram’s horns on its head, partially hidden by its frizzy hair. Its

body was swarming with flies, probably drawn to the filth and

rotted leaves matted into its fur, and as if to add insult to injury,it would pause every few seconds to scratch at its groin. It was

not wearing any clothing, not even a modest loincloth.


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Snyder turned several shades of red, but his features did

not otherwise display any emotion. He stepped back, fluffing

his curls with his hands to keep his horn tips out of view. Then

he casually walked to his place next to Shetland. This time,however, he purposefully avoided the ladies’ eyes.

Tom had a pained look on his face obviously feeling for

his friend in such a time of discomfort. Perhaps that was why he

did not respond to his name at first, distracted as he was.

“Thomas?” Fortia repeated.

Burrell eyed Fortia, clearing his throat. As he pursed his

lips to speak, Tom finally responded, snapping into action. Be-

fore Burrell could continue, Tom rushed over to the mirror. He

gazed in warily, holding his breath.

The mirror shimmered and spun, pausing to flash a brief

picture several times, but not long enough to make sense of the

image within. Finally it slowed, pulsating gently, and provided

Thomas’s revelation.

The image had a soft golden glow, and the Thomas in the

mirror looked no different than he did now, except that he worea nobleman’s formal finery instead of wealthy traveller ’s cloth-

ing. He was also seated in a very sturdy and ornate chair and

was holding an unusual looking, rather intricate staff in his right

hand. Tom looked around; eying first the audience and then his

opponents, but no one seemed to respond in any way to the im-

age within. With a slight sigh, he stepped away and, after receiv-

ing a permissive nod from Burrell, moved to the far side of the

stage.“And finally, Urwick.”

Urwick ’s hooded figure moved silently into position be-

fore the mirror. The mirror ’s surface seemed to dance, almost as

though laughing, and then started into a strange tremor that last-

ed several minutes. It appeared to be fighting something, some

resistance to its power. And then the fight was over, without any

evidence as to which side had won, but the glass’s surface did

clear and there was an image within. Everyone drew in their breath audibly. The image was that of a dark elf. His swarthy

skin and silvery locks were easy to distinguish from the neutral


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23

greys of the background within. The Urwick in the mirror

grinned and his counterpart dropped his hood.

“I do dislike sunlight, but there’s no use hiding what you

now already know.” Dark elves were generally disliked by, and rarely dealt

with, surface-dwellers. Those who did manage to adapt to the

top-worlder society’s ways were hesitant to make the surface

their place of residence because of the sun and its effects on their

eyes and skin. But Urwick was leagues from the mouth of the

Underrealm, a true rarity.

He waved his hand and the area around his face percepti-

bly dimmed, like a reverse halo.

“I do realize that most people prefer to look you in the

eye when they speak to you, but I also prefer to get to know

people before they pass judgement. It makes my life a little eas-

ier and keeps things civil.” He cocked an eyebrow at Fortia and

Burrell, and then quietly slid into place beside Tom.

Fortia turned back to the audience, holding the scrolls out

before her.“With the Revelation now complete we must move on to

the next element of the opening ceremonies. I will be reading

the rules and enchanting you with the spell that will bind you to

follow them. This is your last chance to opt out – once bound

you will find yourself compelled to compete fairly in the Trials.”

She paused and watched the competitors, but no one re-

sponded.

“Good, then I will proceed. I will read the ten essentialrules of today’s trials. You will then all swear that you will fol-

low these rules as written and intended. You may feel a slight

tingle as the magic takes effect but there should be no other side

effects. We have deemed this to be necessary due to previous

examples of blatant disregard for the rules.”

Fortia cleared her throat, unrolling one of the elaborately

decorated scrolls before her.

“Rule number one: Players are not to use their magic todirectly hinder or directly aid another competitor unless it is re-

quired specifically by the Trial. This is an individual


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competition of magical skill specific to the Trials and is not in-

tended to encourage interference or to test ability as a team.

This rule is not applicable to aid from magical equipment or de-

vices. If you wish to share such items, you may do so.” “Rule number two: You have one hour to complete each

of the first ten Trials, and a half hour each for the last two Trials.

After judging, winners will be declared at midnight.”

“Rule number three: The Trials are to be completed in

the following order: Trial of True Knowledge, Trial of Magical

Offense, Trial of Safe Passage, Trial of the Extended Reach, Tri-

al of Swift Passage, Trial of Magical Defense, Trial of Hid-den

Treasure, Trial of Power Imbuement, Trial of Varied

Knowledge, Trial of Power Display, Trial of Strong Ties and the

Leap of Faith. The workings of each Trial will be explained to

you in detail at the commencement of the Trial. Any questions

must be asked at that point in time as you will not be overseen

during the Trial itself.”

“Rule number four: There will be no summoning of ex-

tra-planar beings during the Trials to aid you with thechallenges. There is, however, nothing specified with regards to

creatures that have been summoned prior to the Trials.”

Fortia paused, shooting a quick look at Reid, who shuf-

fled his feet and shrugged. Gerant had unintentionally found

him a loophole.

“Perhaps we should amend that particular rule for next

year,” Fortia commented to Burrell.

“Rule number five: There shall be no physical hindranceof the other competitors. This includes such things as physical

restraints, drugging, booby traps, assassination attempts, etc.”

Fortia’s countenance markedly strained with mention of

each additional example, as though she were reliving past expe-

riences that she would rather forget. Burrell was a little less

subtle, cringing as each ‘ physical hindrance’ was listed. The

crowd murmured, some recalling the events in question as well.

“Rule number six...” There was another pause. Fortia’sface reddened slightly and her shoulders hunched. She spoke the

next rule through clenched teeth. “There is to be no bribery of


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25

the judges. This includes no gifts of a magical nature and no

sexual favours.”

Fortia exhaled audibly and unrolled the second scroll.

“Rule number seven: All information regarding the Trialsthat you learn during this competition is to remain secret and

may not be shared with outsiders. You may only discuss these

Trials with other students or alumni of Magic University.”

“Rule number eight: You are not to leave the premises of

the Trial grounds during the Trials. Nor may you obtain aid dur-

ing the Trials from anyone who may happen to venture on the

premises or happen to scry your activities from afar.”

“Rule number nine: You may make use of any unused

Trial time as you wish at the Trial Way Stations. This includes

eating, sleeping, drinking, and fraternizing with the other com-

petitors, although you are advised that you may wish to use this

time to prepare, mentally or otherwise, for the next Trial. You

are requested to refrain from such activities in the areas outside

of the Way Stations once the Trials have officially begun.”

Fortia paused to take a breath and smiled at the audience.“And finally... rule number ten. Under no circumstances

will you be permitted to repeat a Trial once you have failed it, so

prepare carefully before attempting each of the Trials. Some

Trials have been specifically designed to fool those who seek the

most obvious or easy answer.”

“To complete the spell, you must now all state ‘I agree to

follow these rules as written and intended.’”

In unison, the nine competitors repeated Fortia’s words.The air grew thick momentarily. Some shivered as they felt the

tingle Fortia had mentioned earlier. Ebon sighed, sensing the

magic like he had stepped into a warm bath. Shetland began

scratching and wriggling frantically, turning a shade of purple as

he withheld any protest due to the severe discomfort he was ex-

periencing. Finally, the spell settled into place and the aggra-

vating itch subsided. Shetland huffed.

“I can’t wait for this day to be over. If I had knownthings would be this bad I might have stayed home,” he mut-

tered.


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“We will now proceed in an orderly fashion to the Way

Station of the First Trial. There we will cut the ribbon that signi-

fies the official commencement of the Trials. Your first hour

will start from that precise moment. I will lead and I request thatyou follow me in alphabetical order. Burrell will also follow

behind you.”

Fortia turned back to the audience. “Thank you for at-

tending these time-honoured ceremonies. We hope to see you

again next year and that you enjoy the rest of this lovely spring

day.”

She glanced at the contestants once again. “This way.”

Almost gliding down the stairs, Fortia descended from

the stage and headed into the woods. In an anticipatory silence,

the competitors followed. Once free of the clearing and ear-shot

of the audience, the nervous rivals started talking amongst them-

selves, a brief distraction to help settle their nerves. Reeree

chattered incessantly at Fortia, who stared blankly ahead, nod-

ding occasionally.

“So what do you think the first challenge will be like? Ithink she called it the Trial of True Knowledge?” Finch asked

Nia, curious to see what the scaled-woman was all about.

Nia shrugged casually. “Probably something requiring

divination magic...shouldn’t be all that difficult. The one I think

will be the real challenge is the Trial of Power Imbuement. Ten

to one you have to make some kind of magic item and the only

things I’ve ever made are potions. But I figure everyone will be

lacking in at least one area, so as long as I’ve got the other elev-en covered, I’ll be fine.”

“Oh.” That got Finch to thinking. She had not made any

magic items before, not even potions, and she was not very adept

at divination magic. She was suddenly convinced she had bitten

off more than she could chew. She walked on in silence, feeling

like an itty bitty fish swimming in a very big pond.

Meanwhile, Reid and Shetland had started ‘discussing’

things.“If that imp interferes with anything I’m doin’, I promise

you I’ll wring its little neck,” swore Shetland, gesturing with his


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Opening Ceremonies

27

hands. This was in response to Reid releasing the creature from

the bag. The imp unfurled its wings and shook them out a few

times. It then leaned over and screeched at the dwarf. Shetland

hefted his axe and snarled back.“I don’t think it will be able to interfere with you because

of the binding spell,” insisted Reid. He leaned over and grabbed

Stiggle’s tail, just to be on the safe side. “Anyway, once all this

pomp and ceremony is over, I’m sure we’ll be able to keep our

distance. The only place we’ll have to tolerate each other is at

the Way Stations and from what I’ve heard they are large

enough to maintain your privacy if you choose to avoid the other

competitors. Personally, I’m going to want to mingle, but you

can do what you want.”

Shetland cocked an eyebrow and grinned. “You want to

mingle, eh? What, one of them ladies has got you all hot and

bothered? The redhead is cute, with a sweet face. Or is it the

scaly one? Not bad looking either, if you go for that kind of

thing, and she’s got a nice, tight little...”

“What difference does it make,” Reid sputtered, inter-rupting again. “But I’m surprised you even noticed them,

neither of them have a beard.”

Shetland screwed up his face in irritation.

“That’s a myth!” he barked. “Our women rarely have

beards, no more often than the average human woman. A man

can appreciate feminine beauty, even if they aren’t the same

race. Otherwise there wouldn’t be any half-elves, or half-orcs,

or the like.” Feeling somewhat insulted, Shetland decided this was a

good place to end the conversation. He crossed his arms and

scowled, watching the woodland scenery in silence as they

walked.

Snyder and Tom, who had been listening to Reid and

Shetland’s discussion, began whispering to one another. Urwick

decided to interject.

“The dwarf does have an eye for aesthetics, but personal-ly I prefer the exotic beauty of the silver-scaled woman to the

pale-skinned elf.”


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Tom glanced back at Urwick, thinking for a moment.

Then he nodded.

“The elf seems too timid for my tastes. Nia has spunk; I

like that in a woman.” Urwick cocked an eyebrow and gave the briefest hint of

a smile. “Some call it spunk; others would say she is cocky,

perhaps too cocky for her own good. Strange. I would have ex-

pected you would be inclined to the more demure ladies, the

ones more likely to obey than argue.”

Tom frowned a little, and shot a look back at Snyder,

who shrugged. He decided that the dark elf must be drawing his

own conclusions from what he had seen in the mirror.

“That does seem to be what is expected of me, but I

don’t always live up to others expectations. If I did, I wouldn’t

be here.”

Urwick chuckled quietly. “You shouldn’t make a habit

of avoiding things just because they are expected of you. Some-

times there is a good reason why people expect things to be done

a certain way, and we all have some responsibility in life wehave to live up to. I would never think of shirking mine.”

Snyder was quick to respond.

“Tom doesn’t shirk his responsibilities, but once in

awhile a person has to have some fun. That’s why he’s here, and

you can’t fault the man for that. A life existed for working and

fulfilling obligations is stifling, and not really worth living.”

Urwick laughed louder this time.

“And you would know that, Snyder, would you? Life foryou has never been stifling?”

Snyder balked at this, but Tom stepped in. “How do you

know all this? Are you reading our minds like that Ebon charac-

ter, or do you just have amazing natural insight?”

Urwick grinned. “Neither, and I’m afraid that’s all I’m

going to have the chance to tell you. It would appear that we

have arrived.”

Before the single file of competitors loomed the largecabin structure referred to as a Way Station, but its lofty interior

made it seem like a small, luxurious villa. If all twelve Way Sta-


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29

tions were similar, the Trial Grounds had no doubt been a costly

venture for the University. The Way Station had been decorated

with wreathes, ribbons, flowers and banners, awaiting the ap-

pearance of the potential apprentices for the completion of theopening ceremonies. Fortia paused by a ribbon in front of the

Way Station doorway, tied between two posts planted in the

ground there. She reached for a dagger sheathed at her belt. It

was a very ornate weapon, its blade tooled with decorative runes

and its hilt fashioned from ivory, gold, emeralds and somewhat

purple rubies. She held it out before her as she spoke.

“This is the first Way Station and there is one for each

Trial. There is an attendant here who will explain the Trial to

you and answer any questions that you might have regarding that

Trial before you attempt it. You may prepare yourself in what-

ever way necessary before proceeding to your particular Trial

Point. You will be given a marker, exclusively yours. There will

be a scry eye at each Trial Point to monitor your progress and

your success or failure. Please remember, there is a limited

amount of time for each Trial, so while you are advised not torush things, you can’t dawdle either. Are there any questions

before we begin?”

The competitors remained silent.

“Good.” Fortia stepped forward and brought the knife

down on the golden ribbon, which parted with ease. The ribbon

halves transformed into a flock of golden doves, that disap-

peared through the trees. “I declare these Trials officially open.”

There was a puff of green and burgundy smoke whereFortia and Burrell had been standing and suddenly the competi-

tors found themselves alone before the door of the first Trial

Way Station.

The Magic University Apprenticeship Trials had begun.


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3True Knowledge

The Way Station swung open to reveal a subtle vision, a

lithe-looking woman dressed in shimmering, shifting greens. As

she moved, vine-like tendrils extended and withdrew along her

sleek limbs. Her brownish-green curls snaked down her shoul-

ders in an inviting manner. She glanced at the contestants, heremerald eyes reminiscent of shadowy forests depths, alluring yet

haunting at the same time. The temptress in green spoke.

“I am Jadira, Attendant of Way Station One. If you

would like to join me in the Common Room, I will debrief you

on the rules of this Trial. After that, you are free to come and go

between here and your Trial Point as you please. You will find

your name on the door of your room and at your Trial Point.”

She turned away from them, her leafy attire catching the lightwith its bright gloss. “This way...”

They all arrived in the Common Room and Jadira ad-

dressed them again.

“This first trial you must face is called the Trial of True

Knowledge. At each of your Trial Points, a magical item awaits

you. You must explore this item by every magical means avail-

able to you. The more information you can provide to the scry

eye regarding this item, the higher the score you will receive – but note that more points are received for information that is

harder to obtain. Obviously, the challenger with the highest


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score will be named the winner. The highest score ever recorded

for this Trial is forty points, obtained by our current dean, Dean

Virtua. When you are done, you may retire to your rooms or

spend time with me and other competitors here in the CommonRoom. Are there any questions?”

Reeree raised a plump hand. “Do we get points for o b-

serving the obvious, like colour, or is it just things that can’t be

tested by regular senses? What about alterations? Can we alter

the item and then use magic to observe that alteration? Do we

have to use all of our senses, like taste...?”

Realizing that if she allowed the pink gnome to continue,

Jadira might have to wait a long time to give Reeree her an-

swers, the dryad chose to interrupt.

“We are not interested in any information that can be d i-

rectly observed by your senses, only information that requires

some form of magic to be detected. And we want only infor-

mation regarding the object as it is before you begin your

observations. Has that clarified things for you, or are there fur-

ther pertinent questions? Remember, you only have an hour.”She addressed Reeree directly with these words. The gnome’s

cheeks reddened slightly and she nodded.

The contestants pooled out of the Common Room and

hurriedly sought out their own private areas. The rooms were

small, but comfortable, with pitchers of cold water and equally

cold ale on the table by the bed. There was also a bowl of fruit

and dried meats. The majority of the competitors decided to

head for their Trial Points immediately and get the first Trial outof the way. Ebon, who had no interest in the physical comforts

of his room, had already left. Urwick, Snyder, Tom, Nia and

lastly Reeree were soon to follow.

Reid swung around the corner as he heard the others

trampling down the stairs, nearly running head long into Finch,

and accidentally stepping on her foot. He apologized awkwardly

as she grimaced and held onto the toe of her boot. She took a

seat at the top of the stairs to examine the damage. Reid cau-tiously sat beside her.


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“It looks OK, although there might be some bruising. I

can be a bit of a klutz sometimes. That was one of Gerant’s pet

peeves. Of course, if he had been a little bit more organized I

wouldn’t have knocked so many things over. He hardly everclosed a cupboard door behind him. I don’t know just how

many times I almost put out my eye on the corner of one of

those doors.” Reid grinned, hoping for a friendly response.

Finch had removed her boot and was rubbing at her toe,

but she smiled. “My mother taught me what magic I know. We

never seemed to get in each other ’s way. It was like we were in

sync somehow.” She put her boot back on sighing. “She died

three years ago. I promised her that I would try to get into the

University so that I could finish my training. I doubt I could ev-

er be as good a spellcaster as she was.”

Stiggle, who had been exploring the Way Station, chose

this moment to reappear and settle on Reid’s shoulder. His large

flat wings caught Reid and Finch squarely in the face and nearly

sent the pair of them tumbling down the stairs. They heard a

door close behind them and some hushed cursing.“Shouldn’t you be keepin’ that beast in that bag!” Shet-

land grimaced at the imp as he wiped ale froth from his beard.

The imp responded by perching on the highest point of Reid’s

shoulder and screeching at the dwarf at the top of his lungs.

Shetland feigned a lurch forward, his fists clenched, and Stiggle

took flight, diving off Reid and swooping down to the main

floor.

“I doubt he can do much harm to the likes of you. But,hey, if you’re scared...” Reid reached for the bag tentatively.

Shetland scowled, waggling his hand at Reid. “Scared!?

Of that puny thing – never! I was just thinkin’ of the ladies...”

It was Finch’s turn to interrupt. “Well, I’d prefer if

you’d let me decide those things for myself.” She rose to her

feet and started down the stairs. “Not that it really matters now.

I have a Trial to complete, and I plan to get a start on it before

the rest of the crowd has me beat.” Reid also stood to leave. “I think the lady has a good

point. Why bother being here if I don’t put in my best effort.


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Come on, Stiggle.” He held out the padded wrist to the imp who

hesitated a moment, then launched himself over to the familiar

perch.

Finding himself alone, Shetland stared down the stairsand contemplated his options. He could make an early start on

the Trial, but had no clue what he would do once he got there.

Then again, most of the competitors had probably left their

pitcher of ale untouched in their room. If he could manage to

get in, he could help himself to as many as he pleased. He wan-

dered over to the closest door, which had been left slightly ajar.

Chuckling to himself, he slipped into the room, closing the door

quietly behind him.

~MR~

Ebon stepped up to his Trial Point. The walls of the

strange force field were supposed to be opaque, but he could see

through them. There was a small table within and on top of this

sat a strange cobalt-blue carafe. Above hovered the scry eye thatthe judges used to monitor the competitor during the test. He

glanced at the other Trial Points. Empty, aside from similar

items to what could be found within his. He stepped into the

peculiar little chamber.

“Your first Trial has begun.” A voice echoed through the

chamber and reverberated in his head. He glanced up at the scry

eye. It was following his every move. Ebon reached out and

brushed the smooth surface of the blue vessel with his finger. Itglowed.

“Big surprise – it’s enchanted,” he muttered.

“Five points,” replied the disembodied voice, startling

Ebon. He had been reminiscing of the days when he could have

enjoyed the feel of the carafe’s smooth polish. Things were not

“tangible” anymore. He could still pick things up, telekinetical-

ly, but not feel them – not in the ordinary way. He could only

“touch” things that were not natural.

With magical effort, he picked up the vessel and it

glowed where it contacted his ethereal hand. Drawing it closer,


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he noticed a seal where the glazed mouth met the glossy bottom

of the plug. He could smell the magic there.

“Trapped,” he declared.

“Five points.” The voice was becoming familiar. Without much thought, Ebon reached through the solid

bottom of the vessel and seized a handful of its contents.

“Ashes,” he thought aloud.

“Five points.”

Ebon wondered if his rivals would hear the voice’s echo

as he did. Hearing magical voices on multiple planes always

made them sound more ominous. He withdrew his hand from the

carafe. A scattering of ashes had adhered themselves to him.

Nothing solely on the physical plane was capable of doing that.

“The ashes are magically enchanted as well. This is eas-

ier than I thought it would be.”

His own voice blended with the one overhead, camou-

flaging the next “five point” statement. He focused on the ashes.

He would have to determine their purpose, or that of the vessel

for his next trick. Suddenly, the entire chamber began to swayand spin. Ebon grabbed telekinetically at the table but was una-

ble to grasp it in his disoriented state. He found himself lying on

the floor of the chamber, very woozy, and very aware of another

presence. Someone or something else was in there with him.

“Who – what are you?” He gasped, trying to regain his

senses as he stared up at the chamber ceiling and the trees in the

sky beyond. He sensed annoyance from the presence, and a

strange bitterness that could easily be compared with his own.“You do not know?” The presence hissed. “Then I am

not prepared to tell you.”

Ebon sat up, slowly regaining his strength. “You were

captive in that vessel, weren’t you?”

“Five points.”

A chill wind blew through Ebon, pulling the ashes from

his dark ethereal skin, and scattering them outside the chamber.

He scrabbled over to the vessel and plunged his hand through itsside. To his satisfaction, when he withdrew it, additional ashes

had adhered themselves to his skin. The presence was there


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again. Ebon clutched at the chamber floor as he felt it lurch be-

neath him.

“Are you a demon? Talk to me!” he demanded.

The presence roared. “No more than you!”A second breeze blew through the chamber, carrying the

ashes away. Ebon delved into the vessel again. Fewer ashes had

stuck to his skin this time. His mind raced.

“You are on another plane then, you are an outer planar

creature, like me?”

He held his breath. The disembodied voice did not

speak.

“Yes....and no,” the presence snickered, and this time the

ashes seemed to dance from Ebon’s skin. “One more – one

more question and I am free.”

“Yes and no. How can that be? I don’t understand.”

Ebon was growing angry. This creature was teasing him, talking

in riddles. He grabbed at the contents of the vessel, feeling

around anxiously, and then withdrew his hand. There were three

specks clinging to his skin. The presence was there again, butmuch more faint.

“Are you a mage, then? A spellcaster ?”

“Five points.”

The presence cackled and dimmed as it spoke. “I was

once, but not anymore.”

It sighed as the last three ashes drifted to the ground and

disappeared. “And never again. Free. I am free.” Then it was

gone.“Dead, you are dead then...”

“Five points.”

Ebon reached for the carafe, but it was gone also. It had

crumpled into a fine dust and was blowing away in the wind, just

as the ashes had. Ebon grabbed at the dust frantically, but to no

avail.

“No! No! I need one more, so I can tie the record. One

more!” He stood up, searching meticulously through the cham-

ber.


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“Please, please, one more!” He wailed. He slammed

himself against the chamber wall out of frustration, only the wall

did not restrain him. He stumbled out into the forest. When he

turned back, the scry eye was flying off into the forest, and thechamber was gone.

Ebon drew in a breath to protest, but realized it would be

futile. Without bothering a glance at the other competitors’ Trial

Points, he turned and headed back to the Way Station.

~MR~

Snyder and Tom arrived at their Trial Points, located

side-by-side. They could hear the low rumbling of Ebon’s voice

coming from one of the other chambers. Snyder waited for Tom

to step into his Trial Point before entering his own.The chamber triggered a moment of claustrophobia for

the bard. Shuddering, Snyder reached for his pipes and blew a

soft, soothing tune. His fear eased, and he glanced down at the

table before him. The carafe was a warm orange in colour, witha noticeable seal. He blew a quick melody on his pipes, watch-

ing for the seal to dissolve and the pottery plug to sink into the

bottleneck. With a slight spin and low hum, the plug skipped up

then sank slightly into the container, the seal gone.

“Five points.”

A strange voice echoed above him and he crouched, star-

ing up at the chamber ceiling. Finding no source for the voice,

Snyder stood again and faced the table. He reached down andgently lifted the carafe. He ran his fingers over the cool, smooth

surface of its glaze and grasped the plug. Snyder gave it a slight

tug. It yielded with a loud pop, and an acrid green gas spilled

into the room. It took a good ten minutes for the air to clear and

another five for Snyder ’s eyes to stop tearing and his lungs to

stop burning.

A trap – and he had missed it. Snyder continued despite

his blurred vision and hacking cough. He had already used up

too much of his time.


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With a twist of his wrist, Snyder spilled the contents of

the carafe out onto the table. He stared at the dusty gray powder,

not daring to touch it. He sniffed at it. No strong odour. He

frowned, and put away his pipes. Instead, he reached for hisflute, and he began to play a lilting tune. The dust started to rise,

swirling up gradually in time to the music. As Snyder ’s tempo

quickened, so did the movement of the ashes. They grew into a

billowing cloud, and slowly took the shape of a woman, who

danced upon the table top.

Snyder stopped playing, but the ashes did not settle, con-

tinuing to dance to the rhythm that the bard now maintained with

the tapping of his toe.

“Ashes of the dead,” he murmured to the dancing form.

“I think I have a song to help me.”

“Five points,” echoed the voice. Snyder was only slight-

ly startled, but nearly skipped a beat. Recovering his

composure, he drew in a breath, and began to sing. His voice

was warm and velvety, with the surety of many years experi-

ence. “Spirit, spirit, tell me this – dancing in your quiet bliss;

Tell me, tell me, who you are, where you come from, and how

far; Why you dwell within this place, captured by this magic

vase; Then be free to go your way, no longer will you have to

stay.”

“Five points,” rang the voice, accompanied by ghostly

laughter.

“Answer questions I will three, then by their leave I amfree, I am Margo from the Isles, keeper of my children’s smiles;

I come from where you long to be, and pledged my spirit as their

fee; Their fee now paid I’m free to go, and I’m the one who tells

you so.”

The dancing ashes twirled a single pirouette and then

flew from the chamber.

“Ten points,” the voice declared.

Snyder paused. One of the answers had been cryptic.Where did he long to be? Aside from the fact that home seemed

inviting right now, he considered the more obvious answer.


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“Margo was a mage from Magic University. She paid

her tuition by agreeing to be used in these Trials after her death,”

Snyder marvelled aloud.

“Ten points.”Snyder glanced at the empty carafe and then briefly

looked around the chamber – nothing much left that he could

work with. With a shrug of his shoulders, he stepped out of the

chamber.

~MR~

Tom entered the magical chamber. A surge of apprehen-

sion swept over him as he looked at the royal blue carafe upon

the table and the scry eye hovering above. It was so different

without Snyder there to guide him along. The half-satyr had been a wonderful teacher, but Tom still did not feel confident

enough about his skills to feel comfortable without him. He

sighed and approached the table.

Tom supposed it was his own fault. He had let people pamper him all of his life and he did not have to be here. In fact,

many people would prefer he not be where he was, if they would

have known.

As Tom squatted and focused on the carafe, he consid-

ered how he and his teacher had first met. Snyder had been a

travelling entertainer. Tom had always been fascinated by mag-

ic and had requested that Snyder meet with him for a private

audience. He had food and wine brought to his chamber andthey had talked all night about magic. Having some idea at

Snyder ’s true identity, Tom pressured Snyder into revealing that

his bardic talents were only a tip of the iceberg. The half-satyr

was a highly-skilled Renegade mage and his ability was much

greater than his bardic charade would suggest. Tom had leapt at

the opportunity. He had forced Snyder to remain with him, se-

cretly keeping him as a tutor in spellcasting.

Tom gazed up at the scry eye. He hated the feeling of

being constantly watched, but he was accustomed to it. This trip

had been one of the few times he had experienced any sense of


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privacy, and it was likely because no one but Snyder and the

University knew who he was. He grimaced at that thought.

There would be hell to pay if they both returned to Seaforest,

and poor Snyder would likely serve as the scapegoat for this in-cident, not to mention other complications that might arise.

Perhaps it would be best if Tom returned alone – not that he was

so sure either of them would return at all. He had a chance of

succeeding at the Trials, as did Snyder. Of course, Snyder was

insistent upon limiting his magic use to his bardic skills. He

wanted to give Tom a fighting chance. This thought bolstered

Tom and he paused from his reverie to deal with the task at

hand. He was not about to let Snyder down.

Tom listed off the spells he had prepared for the day, try-

ing to sort through what might be helpful in this instance. He

decided to sense magic on the carafe. The spell revealed to him

that the carafe, its contents, and the seal at its neck all held some

form of enchantment.

“Five points,” a voice said.

Tom glanced around, bewildered. He decided the nextlogical action was to determine if there was a trap on the carafe.

There was.

“Five points.”

Tom was relieved the voice was not overly loud. He

listed through his ch

Masters & Renegades: Magic University

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