New chapter is live.
Settle in, take your time, and let’s see what waits in the dark 🖤
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Ban Ard was a city built around its academy.
Mages and apprentices were its real industry, the force that kept its trade moving.
The mages provided enchanted goods for merchants to sell, while merchants supplied what the mages needed.
Alongside Gors Velen and Novigrad, Ban Ard was one of the three great hubs for magical goods on the Continent.
Compared with Ard Carraigh, its walls were not especially high.
They did not need to be.
The mages were the city’s walls.
It was nearly noon when Marek and Lambert paid the entry fee.
At the gate, Marek handed Lambert the dark spectacles he had bought in Ard Carraigh and told him to put them on.
Then he wrapped the silver sword in cloth and tied it to the horse.
With that, the two travel-worn strangers made their way through the city without stares or trouble and rented a room at an inn called Lame Hank’s.
Truly, a terrible age.
Lame men everywhere.
They ordered food to the room and tore through it at the table: two herb-roasted chickens, a huge bowl of mashed potatoes, a bottle of wine, and a pitcher of milk.
When they had eaten their fill, Lambert patted his stomach.
“Straight to the academy?”
Marek wrung out two towels.
He tossed one at Lambert and used the other to wipe his own face clean.
“Let’s go.”
Soon enough, he would know whether the dream was possible.
***
They left the horses behind and went on foot.
As they crossed streets and alleys, hawkers called out from every side.
Lambert heard nothing new in it.
Marek listened with open interest.
“Come and see!
A marvelous magic lock that opens only to the secret word!”
“Honored lady, have a look at my goods!”
“Sir, have you heard the word of the Eternal Fire?”
“Step right up!
Only three magic boxes left that play music all by themselves!”
“Don’t think too long.
Buy now!
Cheapest north of the Pontar!”
Some sales pitches crossed worlds easily.
Ban Ard Academy stood in the center of the city.
Despite the name, it was more than a school for mages.
It also taught scribal work, arithmetic, law, engineering, and other practical disciplines.
A red-brick wall surrounded the grounds.
Beyond it rose several Gothic buildings.
From the gate, their grandeur was not far below the palace complex Marek had glimpsed from afar in Ard Carraigh.
“I leave you here,” Lambert said, stopping before the entrance.
The magical arrays near the gate had set his Wolf School medallion trembling.
“Mages and witchers don’t like each other.
I’m not going in.”
Marek paused, about to answer, when someone interrupted.
“By magic above.
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A witcher?”
The speaker wore a purple velvet doublet beneath a short jacket trimmed with sable.
He sat in the saddle and stared at the wolf medallion shaking against Lambert’s chest.
He gave Marek a passing glance.
“And his apprentice.”
Lambert put on his standard ugly expression and said nothing.
To Marek’s surprise, the mage ignored Lambert’s open distaste, dismounted with slow dignity, and introduced himself.
“Good day, gentlemen.
I am Master Dorregaray of Vole, sorcerer.”
When a man introduced himself like that, failing to respond would be rude.
In Ban Ard, rudeness to a mage had a price.
Lambert shrugged.
“Master Lambert.
Witcher.”
Marek found the whole thing faintly absurd, but followed the format.
“Master Marek.
Alchemist.”
Dorregaray seemed to appreciate the mild, carefully measured sarcasm.
He laughed and even nodded to Marek in apology for assuming his role.
“Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, was my friend.
May he rest.”
“May he rest,” Lambert and Marek said together.
The mage continued.
“I owed him a debt.
So, Lambert of the Wolf School and…
alchemist.
What brings you to Ban Ard?
I believe I may be able to help.”
His words tried for kindness.
The lifted chin and proud tone showed he had little practice.
Lambert looked at Marek, then answered after reading his expression.
“I’m here with Marek.
He wants to become a mage.” After a moment, he added, “He knew the White Wolf too.”
At that, Dorregaray’s smile turned strange.
“Is that so?
He wants to become a mage.
Very well, then.
Come with me.”
He did not remount.
Instead he led his horse through the gate and walked straight toward the tallest tower at the heart of the grounds.
At first, the two travelers followed without thinking much of it.
Then, as Dorregaray moved through the academy, students stepped aside and bowed.
Even a monkey could have noticed something was wrong.
“And your position at the academy, my lord?” Marek asked, stepping closer and quietly raising his level of address.
The smile on Dorregaray’s face deepened.
“Archmage Dorregaray of Vole, rector of Ban Ard Academy.
I took the post after the Thanedd coup, nearly two years ago.
You didn’t know even that?”
It was painfully awkward.
Marek truly had not known.
He had only planned to take an entrance test.
If he had talent and was admitted, he would learn what he needed afterward.
He had not expected Geralt’s name to be so powerful that it could make the rector of the academy dismount and lead them in personally.
Perhaps taking pity on his embarrassment, the mage said no more.
He brought them to the tower, opened the doors with a wave of his hand, and led them inside.
“Mage, sorcerer, wizard.
Different words, but in this context they mean the same thing: a spellcaster who can command Chaos.
“Air, fire, earth, water.
Which element do you sense?
Or are you a Source?
Have you suffered any magical outbursts?”
Dorregaray seated them in a receiving room.
After asking their preferences, he conjured mandrake vodka for Lambert and milk for Marek, arranged himself for a serious talk, and asked the question that left Marek stiff with embarrassment.
The boy could only answer with a flat face.
“I’m sorry.
I haven’t sensed anything, and I’ve never had a magical outburst.
I just did not want to believe I had no talent until someone tested me.”
Even the archmage seemed briefly speechless.
After a pause, Dorregaray waved open a cabinet.
Several instruments floated out.
“Then let us test you.”
Some time later, the answer arrived.
“I am sorry,” Dorregaray said.
The well-dressed archmage put on his professional face of regret, the small moustache above his lip twitching as if he truly mourned the result.
“Unfortunately, you do not have the aptitude to become a mage.”
In truth, he was disappointed and a little annoyed.
He had thought he might repay an old debt to Geralt.
Instead, two travelers had arrived with a joke.
No.
That was unfair.
They had only wanted a test.
His own mistaken hopes had created the distance between expectation and result.
Once he thought of it that way, the rector’s mood settled.
“You cannot become a mage,” he said more gently, “but Ban Ard’s humanities are among the finest on the Continent.
If you wish to become a clerk or a lawyer, I can write you a recommendation for admission.”
The mage’s mild words ended Marek’s dream.
There was not even a sliver of reversal left to cling to.
“I hope you understand.
A magical academy never rejects a child with talent.
That also means we cannot accept a child without it.
“Marek, there is no trace of magical flow in you at all.
You are an entirely ordinary, healthy boy.”
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Want to keep going?
I hope this chapter gave you another reason to stay with the story.
There’s still plenty ahead, and things are only starting to unfold.