The Gauntlet isn’t until after another two weeks of classes, classes that give me a stronger grasp of magical metaphysics but do little to boost my chances in Mae’s contest. Unless there’s an essay writing competition (Dad always said a soldier without study is just a barbarian). As it becomes clear that Tailina doesn’t intend to teach us any spells, I start to wish I’d taken Alyx’s offer.
But first, a week before the Academy tears itself apart in the pursuit of glory, the entire First Form is summoned to the Sky Dome, the huge globed arena that, in a weeks time, will host the Gauntlet. We are gathered, seated in the gargantuan stands which ring the Dome like a ring of asteroids around a planet.
The Headmistress appears to levitate in the centre of the artificial sky, like the centrepiece of a giant snowglobe— from her perspective, inside the Dome, the floating stands which currently seat hundreds of students are invisible; she may as well be talking to the clouds.
We’re here, though, static buzzing between us as we wait for the Headmistress to speak. Mae is seated next to me, squeezing my hand, which would be my dream come true if it weren’t for Alyx sitting on the other side of her, also getting her hand squeezed.
“Hello, First Years!” The Headmistress says. Her voice still seems to come from the sky (the real one), which is disorienting with her standing inside the dome. It gives her an almost unreal quality, like we’re watching a giant projection of a woman.
“With the Gauntlet fast approaching, it is past time all of you were assigned to a Temple! You all need a team to barack for, so to speak — and some of you may even wish to go against our official advice and compete yourselves. For those of you who do, remember this: if you choose to learn from your defeat, you will go far.
“Now, you may think you know which of the Four Fundamental Qualities you align with, but do not attempt to influence the selection. Diligence, Drive, Reason, and Invention are all treasured parts of this Academy; and a mage must show all four to succeed. You will compete with your Temple, study with your Temple, grow with your Temple. Many nights you will spend in its Compound. So let magic alone guide the selection, or these will be a harsh five years. Now, for the ceremony.”
She claps her hands, and suddenly, we’re all inside the Dome with her, staring up at her giant levitating figure like she’s some ancient sun Goddess. Our clothes have changed, too. We’re all now dressed in a simplified version of the Imperial military uniform, with comfortable, heavy duty black pants and a structured, skirt length jacket. Nym complains that her Familiar’s gone (Oracle, like Wineskin and the dragon, is too big to constantly follow — I’m almost jealous that Nym can keep hers in her satchel).
A golden flash passes over the sky.
“We are now in stasis — which means that any harm the befalls your body will be reversed when you exit the dome.” Headmistress Lyra chuckles. “Don’t worry, the Dome has never failed — stasis gives you freedom to take risks, to experiment with your magic, as you are so rarely permitted to do.
“For today’s game, you will be split into four teams. These are not your Temples — Tailina ensures they’re completely random.” I’ve already got my destiny wrapped up with Mae’s — maybe if I envision us on a team together I can brute force probability manipulation? I try it and- “Apprentice Hare: commendable, but save it for the game.”
“There’s always one,” Tailina says, from the centre of the throng; she stands beside an arcane device, a slab of rock almost as tall as her which admits purple light through swirled etchings. Alyx jostles me with her elbow and Mae giggles beside me. I flush.
“Now,” the Headmistress continues, “the last team standing shall obtain victory. You may use any means to vanquish your enemies. The victors shall obtain the Pink Sparkle, which forever distinguishes you among your peers,” she says, holding up a shiny pink butterfly tie clip. “This is for the winning team — high performing individuals, regardless of their Team’s success, will be offered an apprenticeship under a Guardian.”
Alyx scoffs and I jab her in the arm. Nym giggles alongside her; the little snoop knows far more than she should about Vila and Alyx… but then again, so do I.
Still, just because she can’t take them seriously, doesn’t mean I’m not bursting with excitement at the mere chance to be a Guardian. My parents would be so proud — the finest mages in the Empire went to Vayal, and the finest of them were Guardians, patrolling the halls and keeping the Academy safe.
The well-oiled machine marches on — they do this every year, after all — with Tailina affectionately slapping the slab. “The Aleatronomer will assign the teams — Achillea, Blaze, Copper, and Dawn.”
A soldier’s daughter, I recognise the Phonetic Alphabet, drilled into me by age three.
“I hope you are well rested, students,” Lyra says, smiling above us, “because once the game begins, you’ll be shown no mercy.” She vanishes in a flash of light; Tailina places her claw on her device’s huge brass lever.
“Wait!” a voice cries, one I don’t recognise, “how does this-”
“You get one life.” Tailina cuts her off. “We judge how you use it.”
The switch falls like a gavel.
I blink my eyes open and see Nym’s amber eyes staring at me like a dissected heart. “Hello?” I say, wondering why she’s so close.
“You gotta hurry up, everyone else is already awake.”
“I was asleep?”
“Yeah for like, thirty seconds.”
“That’s not-”
“Every second counts,” comes a new voice, echoing off the white stone roof and bouncing around the chamber, smearing menace on every hit. “We’ve been fucked, Orc.”
I pull myself to my feet and take stock. The metal vambrace around my wrist identifies me as a member of Blaze. Myself, Nym, and around fifty others populate this grand white dome, a huge mapped table in its centre. The stained glass windows cast sparkling light across the chamber. Some of us even recline on velvet couches, pick cheese off silver platters. “It doesn’t seem so bad,” I say.
The source of the hostile voice comes into view — a fox with smooth, sunset orange fur, slender and sharp and sneering. Her red eyes burn with contempt. “It is a travesty. Look out the window.”
Sprawling gardens scattered with marble fountains, cherry trees, and mahogany benches with silver frames. The estate — and it truly is an estate, not the castle I was expecting — is ringed by a thin white-brick wall that might keep out possums and wolves, but will do nothing against a determined assault. An Evoker could blast a hole with even a middling fireball. To make matters worse, our indefensible position is in sight of another base, a snarling fortress atop a thicketed mountain approachable only by a winding defile.
“To action!” calls a sharp, clear voice from atop the table. The owner is a tall, thin vampyr woman. Her face is pale, with the typical pronounced vampyric brow ridges; bright colour in her cheeks and lips suggests she has fed recently. She holds a black parasol casually over her shoulder. I guess the Dome’s artificial sunlight, filtering through the window behind her, can still burn.
The vampyr woman’s voice is loud and authoritative; her huge fangs create a noticeable lisp, “We have no choice. We need to seize the momentum. Our foe will grow overconfident in their citadel — they will send out great hunting parties, for even a token force could hold their base. Indeed, we would be fools to assault it!
“Which is why we will assault it! Like the Hammer of Garell we will smash into their unprepared garrison and turn their base to our own.
“First! All Illusionists, Evokers, and Alterationists, crowd round the table. We will devise our strategy, and you will be essential in its execution. Restorationists, your time will come, but as support — for now, scour this place for any useful supplies. Conjurers, I want swords, shields, and armour. On the double! And you, Mystic — come with me.”
The vampyr — Katarina, it turns out — leads me up a winding tower with purple carpeted steps. “There is one advantage,” she says, “this is a Vissani palace, which means this should be the Mystic’s Tower. From here, you can watch our advance and warn us of approaching enemies or tricks from the defenders.”
There’s an enchanted magical stone swirling light blue motes in the centre of the glass room, and I recognise it as a prism — a sort of magnifying glass for magical power. I’ve never used one, but we’ve covered them extensively in class.
Telepathy would normally be beyond me, but with the prism to attune to, it might just be possible. “I think I can even do you one better,” I say, my instinctive shyness overcome by my burning desire for that tie clip and that apprenticeship. “I’m a Seer. I don’t have much control of it, yet-”
“I will come to you before our assault begins — if you can learn something useful in that time, then all the better. For now, I must attend to the offensive; a small contingent will remain behind to guard you, and spirit you to us once we have taken the castle.”
“Wait,” I say, because I want that tie clip. “Make sure you gather the bracers from our fallen.”
Katarina raises an eyebrow.
“If members of another team yield and we have a free bracer for them, we can recruit. I read it in the Handbook they sent us.”
She nods. “Well done,” she says, fixing me with an appreciative smile before disappearing down the stairs.
The top of the tower is one giant sunroom, walls of glass framed with rich whitewood, cushions and couches about like a pleasure den. There are four doors to four balconies, each cardinal and affixed with a telescope. The citadel lies to the east, so I step out and see what the lens might tell me.
The approach is pure hell, by the looks — tripping roots and snaring ferns blanket the leaf-strewn ground, and the constant rustling suggests a forest teeming with predators. But the defile’s overseen by the castle, and carved murderholes along its walls bristle with arrows.
She better have a good plan, or we’re better off fortifying here… Conjurers could reinforce the walls, Alterationists could buy some time with a shield… But we’re still sitting ducks. I wish she wasn’t right — I’m gonna have to watch a lot of us die through this scope.
I catch a glimpse of movement through one of the castle’s polished stone windows, a blur of green. I twist the lens, magnifying further, and see a Kothelli. I’ve heard of her, in passing — the exchange student, the first seed of lasting peace between the Empire and Republic. She seems to be directing with stern arm movements, shoulders back and scaled chest forward. I need to know what she’s saying.
I focus. I focus and focus and focus. She’s there, I can already see her — now, I just need to see her. I’ve never induced a vision before, not consciously, but I know more about how it works than ever. I know about digging my claws into the tapestry, skittering along-
Like a musket’s iron I shoot from the telescope and streak across the sky, my perception landing just behind the Kothelli, who’s tall and proud and not half so monstrous up close — indeed, from up close the uniform really shows off her muscles, and her rocky voice is one I’d lay down my life for.
Why am I thinking about this? She’s a dangerous radical, not someone I want with her hands around my throat and her lips against mine. I look her gorgeous body up and down and get my answer from the blue tie around her throat.
“Wait,” she says. “Someone is watching — a new presence.” The Team Copper soldiers before her freeze up and look about.
“Get outta here, Hattie!” Gelstra shouts.
No! How can she- Doesn’t matter. It’s fight or flight. I rush forward and slam my perception into the Kothelli — if I can’t spy undetected, I can at least learn how she detected me.
Cymbals crash in my brain as my consciousness entangles with her and there ceases to be a me beyond the me I’ve always been: Mistari Maglovich, daughter of the revolution. I’m in one hell of a state right now, all bundled up fury ever since the window revealed the mountains of my homeland — they are training these mages for an invasion.
A bit of the pressure lets up, and I know I’m back to influencing forty-three others with my aura where it had just been forty-four. “She is here no longer,” I say, “we return to our business.”
I consider the pigeon girl with the yellow tie. Not just because I think she’d make a fine addition to my — already unwieldy, if I’m being honest — list of lovers. Acolyte Primrose is one hell of an asset. “Sanctify the forest so they can’t cut through with magic,” I say. She nods her soft head. “Gelstra, with her — sweep for ingredients then return.”
The three march off to duty as I dispense assignments to the others. To my delight, they’re arranged into two phalanxes to be deployed against whoever the scouts determine weakest. To my delight? Puzzling. And to not know why this delights me so scares me. Why do I feel like I’ve been caught?
“No,” I say. “Astonia, you have command — use your judgement,” I say to my gargoyle lieutenant, turning and leaving without a word. It confuses me, why I would do this, though it begins to make sense as I stare in the looking glass, sequestering myself in the privy. Any thoughts of plans scatter away under the light.
“You’re writhing around in there,” I say, touching my forehead. “Joy, yes, joy I can understand, though it comes at the moment of victory — I do not count chickens. But fear? Dread?” I jab a finger at my reflection, snarling. “Nothing scares me, Mystic.”
Now my stomach’s roiling with anxiety, a totally foreign (totally understandable, instinctual) panic. There’s a parasite inside me and it wants to get out, and it’ll wreak whatever havoc it needs to. I won’t let it go, though.
“No, stay; stay!” I say. “You wanted to be here.” With my magic, I conjure an image of the Orc, the one who dined a table away from me at last month’s Banquet. She bleeds out on the asperous stone floor; the threat makes my insides squirm.
“Snoop around here again,” I spit, “and I swear I’ll find a way to crush your mind between my claws, Mystic.”