The next night, Sam followed Peran as he left their chosen campsite. He rushed through his meal, barely pausing to breathe until his bowl of stew and rice was empty. The food was delicious, but he barely paid attention to it, his eyes tracking Peran’s movements across the camp. The elven man didn’t join in on any of the conversations or pause to take his nightly meal. As soon as it was clear that all nightly preparations were finished, he simply strolled off into the tall grass that surrounded them, vanishing into the darkness.
? Making a hasty excuse about relieving himself in the bushes, Sam took off after him, exiting at the same exact spot. Peran had left unobtrusively, but his movements were easy to track through the tall grass. Sam had spent far too many years looking for tiny signs of game to miss the evidence of Peran’s passing. Bent stalks of grass, a mushroom crushed underfoot, a broken piece of a twig that showed where he avoided a small pool of water. He might be a master of magic and even of the sword, but he knew nothing of concealing his presence. Or maybe he just didn’t care if someone found the trail, Sam thought.
? It was about ten minutes later that he found where Peran had stopped. Crouching low to ensure the grass hid him, Sam parted the tall grass stalks in front of him and peered through the darkness. The elf was standing in the center of a clear space–the severed grass blades that lay scattered around showed it was recently cut–and stood stock still. Was this some kind of strange meditation? Sam crept a little closer, twisting his head slightly to see if Peran was speaking. No sign that he could detect, at least.
? Then Peran began to move. Slowly, and as smoothly as if he’d performed the action thousands of times, Peran lowered himself into a crouch, right leg bending under him while the left extended to one side. Ki pulsed gently through his frame, rippling with power. Even from several yards away, Sam marveled at the gentle pressure of the energy. As Peran moved slowly through what Sam could only call a dance, the ki moved like the most graceful of streams. Yet Sam could also tell that, at a thought, that same stream could turn into a roaring tide, ready to crash down on unsuspecting foes.
? For about five minutes, Peran moved gracefully in a small circle in the almost ritualistic dance–both exercise and masterful application of some martial art he didn’t know. Then he drew the slender blade at his waist with a whisper of steel on leather and extended it in a slow thrust. The blade gave off a gentle light that was clearly magical, but Sam couldn’t detect any energy flowing within it. Peran moved slowly at first as he withdrew the blade, then swiped it through the air to the other side. Then, at nearly ten times the speed of the thrust, the elf leapt into the air, spinning in place and thrusting down.
? Sam’s heart hammered as he watched the graceful display. Not a single motion of the elf’s phantom strikes was jerky or abrupt. Each move flowed smoothly into another, again reminding him of the course of a river–smooth, uninterrupted, and painting its way across a landscape. The level of balance and grace was spectacular, and entirely unexpected when weighed against the movements he’d made to make it here. Completely cut off from the rest of the world, he was stuck in some kind of silent communication between ki, steel, and himself.
? As quickly as he’d made that first leap, Peran sheathed his sword and became still once more. Standing straight as a pole, the wind around him shifted slightly, changing its direction, then pulling in. Peran pulled the air toward him, but whirling it around before it could make contact. His mana leeched into and laced through the immediate vicinity, capturing the winds and forming them into long, streaming ribbons, visible only due to the sheer concentration of air that they guided. If that had been the only feature, Sam would have been impressed. This was the most intricate display of magical power and control that he’d ever seen or heard of. Even the feats described by his mother’s books paled in comparison to this demonstration.
? After the wind came fire. The element appeared only as a flicker of light at the end of each of Peran’s fingers at first, but soon each pinprick of light grew to about the size of a fist, and joined the wind in an elaborate, flashing dance. Never once in each of their rotations of the mage did the balls of flame flicker or deviate. And when water rose out of the ground in ribbon-like streams to also rotate around him, they found their place in the dance with fire and air with consummate ease.
? Sure that earth would be the next element to appear, Sam shifted his weight slightly and leaned forward, wondering what form it would take, or what pattern the stubborn element would describe in the intricate dance that Peran had created. But the element never joined the dance, and soon, Peran released his control over the elements he’d pulled toward him. The fire and wind dispersed into wisps, and the water splashed silently onto the ground. Peran was still and silent for a few minutes, then let out a long sigh.
? “I expected you to follow me on the first night, young Samuel. I am surprised it took you so long.”
? Sam jumped, not just at being addressed unexpectedly, but at the direction from which Peran’s voice had come. He shot forward even as he spun, his every nerve tensing. Peran had crouched behind him, fingers laced and supporting his chin, green eyes peering unblinkingly at him. He whipped around to look toward the middle of the clearing. How had the elf moved so quickly? Teleportation? That seemed the most likely answer, as he hadn’t seen even a blur when Peran moved.
? As for the elf’s statement, Sam had no reply. He simply stared at his mentor, wondering if he was furious that Sam had followed him.
? “What did you think?”
? It wasn’t the question he expected, but at least he didn’t sound angry. Swallowing in a vain attempt to dislodge the lump in his throat, Sam ventured a guess. “It was… almost perfect.”
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? “Almost?” A single eyebrow shot up on Peran’s face, giving him an amused air. No doubt from his point of view, the fact that a novice mage could find something to critique was a humorous thought.
? “You didn’t add earth,” Sam said tentatively. Then, when Peran didn’t immediately reply and it became obvious he was waiting for more, he added, “The sword dance was amazing, and it really showed how much you’ve mastered the weapon. But when you were doing the magical side, you didn’t include earth. Why not?”
? He couldn’t be sure he really saw it, but he thought he caught a flicker of anger in Peran’s eyes, and he took a quick step back. But an instant later, he saw only a flat, expressionless face. “The reason, young Samuel, is that earth is a stubborn element that refuses to be moved lightly. It is set in its ways and does not lend itself to nimbleness or quick thought. It is as heavy as the rocks it forms, and thus, it is my natural enemy.”
? There were holes in that argument, but Sam’s bravery to question the master mage had long ago run out. He simply nodded, accepting the answer. “I’m… sorry that I followed you. I noticed you left camp every night, and I wanted to know what you were up to.”
? To his surprise, that earned him a smile from the stoic man. “Nothing less than I would have expected. I climbed to where I am as a mage and a man by my insatiable curiosity, Samuel. I will tolerate nothing but the same from those few I call my students.”
? Well, Sam thought, there was little chance of that. If he lost his curiosity, he’d be… not him. He was sure he’d die with more questions than answers, at this rate. “How many students do you have?”
? “That is a topic for another time,” Peran said tersely, all humor or warmth evaporating from him. “Now that you have shown your curiosity, I will increase the intensity of your instruction.”
? There was a flash of light, and the training weapon appeared in his hands. Groaning internally, Sam drew his own from where it hung at his belt. Experience had already taught him that the lesson would take place regardless of his willingness to interact. He either drew the sword and got ready to learn, or Peran would whack him. He’d get whacked either way, but at least with this choice, he learned something.
—
? Master Astori let the sheaf of parchment flop back down to his desk and nearly buried his face in his hands before remembering the ink on them. Instead, he vented his exasperation with a long sigh and leaned back in his chair. The two young students standing on the other side of his desk twitched nervously as he surveyed them, the lumps in their throats jumping visibly.
? “Tell me again, Apprentice Kiinor, why you are in my office today?”
? The red-haired elf shifted his weight to the other foot, then, glancing nervously at the one beside him, nearly whispered, “S-sir, it’s really not a big deal. I just…. lost my temper.”
? “That,” snapped Astori, the sudden jump in volume making the young man jump, “is obvious. And given that this is far from the first time that has happened, I would think you’d make a greater effort to maintain your composure. Are you an aspiring mage, or a student warrior trying to impress the maiden at the fair?”
? Kiinor couldn’t seem to come up with a reply to that, not that Astori was expecting one. Switching his attention to the other, he let out a long sigh. “And when the Mage Guard attempted to break up the resultant fight, you thought you would attempt to belay them, Arren? Are you not aware of the rules regarding proper dueling that this school employs?”
? He’d directed the question at both boys, and they snapped to something that almost resembled attention and shouted in chorus, “Yes, Master Astori!”
? The urge to bury his face in his hands resurfaced with alarming strength, and he vented yet another sigh. “No, I mean- Bah, forget it. Kiinor, you are assigned to the welcome desk for the next six months. Arren, you are to report to the mess hall. Goldfinger has been asking me for a new dishboy for some time. I trust that you will satisfy the position for the same term.”
? He paused then, seeing the relief that changed to annoyance, then to fear as they both envisioned the tedious work in their near future. Neither, however, raised a complaint. So they did at least have some brains between them, he thought. He waved them off with a curt gesture. When neither moved for several seconds, he scowled and barked out the order. “Leave!”
? They were gone from his office so fast that he could have been forgiven for mistaking it for teleportation. Letting out another sigh, he picked up the sheaf of parchment and tossed it to one side of his already cluttered desk. To think that he’d ever campaigned for the seat of Dean, when just overseeing a single department resulted in so much paperwork. Perhaps he’d transition to Academics again, he thought. At least then he’d have less time at a single desk. Not that the students would be worth his time, of course.
? Almost as if the thought of his former students had willed it into existence, there was a flash of light before his eyes. Not bright enough to blind, but impossible to ignore. He snatched the rolled parchment as it appeared and turned it to reveal the sender’s seal. Peran? Was the fool away from the Academy still? This close to the beginning of a new term? Fuming, Astori broke the seal, reading the short missive. He’d plucked a new apprentice from some village on the coast. Harbard’s Reach. Astori hummed to himself. Why was that village name so familiar to him?
? He tossed the missive aside. By Academy policy, it was Peran’s responsibility to send such a notice in. And, as the head of the administrative division, it was Astori’s duty to record the noted absence. Easier than thinking. He jotted the update down in the teacher’s log, marking that Peran would be a week to two weeks late for the start of the term. The fool, he thought. What bumpkin mage from the edge of the continent could have been worth the backlog of work that this would entail?
