Varice’s face lit. “I don’t suppose you know if they used kitchen witches or hedgewitches, people like that to help, do you?” she asked Arram. “I don’t see how they could have kept the little creatures from escaping without mages to work the smaller magics.”
“I told you she ought to have been there,” Ozorne said as he disentangled himself to gather a tray, bowl, and spoon.
Arram did the same, frowning in preoccupation. “I think I saw a book somewhere on how regular mages worked against the magics of the small immortals. It was very old but interesting, and it’s written in Common.” He looked at Varice, who was putting melon and a roll on her tray. Embarrassed, he said, “I’m sorry—you’ve probably read it.”
“No, I haven’t!” she cried. “And I’ll die without it! Would you find it for me?”
Arram grinned at her. He really had found two actual friends, who talked about book things, watched exciting theater shows, and enjoyed their food!
He took a chance with a personal question. “You remember we told you about the robbers, don’t you?”
She halted and cast a look at Ozorne. While they chose their meals, he was settling in at an empty table, out of hearing. “Of course I do. It’s just like Ozorne to have a trap laid.”
“Well, he asked one of the thieves if he was from Siraj. Why would he do that? Because of his father?”
Varice nodded. “He took his father’s passing very hard. So did his mother. His sisters are a little better….I suppose it’s different when you’re a boy. You get ideas, like you should have been there, and you could have saved him. Don’t ask him about it, though.”
“I won’t—it’s why I came to you,” Arram assured her.
She handed him an orange, then said quietly, “Sometimes he…gets angry if he tangles with someone he believes is from Siraj. His friends—his real friends—do their best to keep him out of that kind of trouble.”
“Of course,” Arram said, looking at Ozorne. Their day at the market had been tremendously fun, due to him and to Varice. He’d do anything for them. “You can count on me,” he told her.
THE IMPERIAL UNIVERSITY OF CARTHAK
The School for Mages
The Lower Academy for Youthful Mages
SCHEDULE OF STUDY, AUTUMN TERM, SECOND HALF, 435 H.E.–SPRING TERM, 436 H.E.
Student: Arram Draper
Learning Level: Semi-Independent
Breakfast—Third Morning Bell
Morning Classes
History of the Carthaki Empire Birds and Lizards: Anatomy Language: Old Thak
Lunch—Noon Bell
Afternoon Classes
Mathematics
Recognition of Sigils—Second Half Autumn Term Fish and Shellfish: Anatomy—Spring Term Analysis of the Written Word: The Technique of Common Writing—Second Half Autumn Term Analysis of the Written Word: The Technique of Writing: Sigils—Spring Term Meditation
Supper—Seventh Afternoon Bell
Extra Study at Need
They were finishing their supper when Ozorne nudged Varice. “I think someone is hunting us.” Both Varice and Arram looked where Ozorne did: a proctor was pointing to their table.
An older student trotted over to them, waving a length of parchment. “Arram Draper?” he asked when he was close enough to be heard. Ozorne and Varice pointed to Arram. “With Headmaster Cosmas’s regards,” the messenger said, handing his parchment to Arram. “You poor young cluck.”
“If you peeked at that you’d know he’s no cluck!” Varice shouted after him as the messenger hurried off. She took the parchment from Arram, who did not protest. He would never snatch anything away from her. Only when she and Ozorne had gotten a thorough look at it did they hand it to Arram: it was his new schedule for the remainder of the term.
He winced. The masters had not been jesting when they had said they were going to make him work. Looking at his afternoon’s studies, he squeaked, “I’ll be bored to death!”
“Not unless the masters say you can die,” Ozorne replied with a chuckle. “Cheer up, my lad. Varice and I have this class with you, and this one. I have this one, and I took these two last term, so you can use my notes.”
“You can use my notes for this one,” Varice added, pointing. “And I have these two with you. It’ll be all right. You’ll see.”
“And we can study together,” Ozorne said cheerfully.
Ozorne also introduced him to the back halls and hidden shortcuts that got them places faster. He showed Arram the university’s many hidden shrines to varied gods, where the friends left small gifts in thanks to the Great Mother; to Mithros, the god of men, boys, and scholars; and to the Black God, who oversaw not only death but also the arts of the mage. In his previous three years Arram had not learned as much about the university as he did with Ozorne and Varice.
—
One early November night he flung himself onto his bed and went to sleep, leaving the shutters wide open for any bit of cool air that might happen by. As a result, he was roused from his dreams when something dropped onto his face.
His teachers in animal studies all said that animals acted in two ways: fight or flight. Most of the boys boldly proclaimed they were fighters, while they sat at their desks on a bright day. Arram discovered that night that he did neither. Instead he froze as the small creature slapped him repeatedly with a leathery wing.
Slowly, with shaking hands and the greatest of care, he lifted it from his face. It scolded in the softest of squeaks. That and the wings told him that his visitor was a bat. Gently he rose and placed it on his bed, leaving it to flutter there. He’d already noticed that one of the wings wasn’t working. Groping in the dim light of the half moon, he found his candle and flint. Within seconds, he had light enough to see clearly.
His two-inch visitor had broken a wing. This was beyond his skills. He found a basket and placed an old shirt in the bottom, then eased the bat inside as it continued to scold him. It settled somewhat after he took his hands away, quivering as it glared up at him.
“You’ll be all right,” Arram assured it as he covered the basket with the shirtsleeves. “I’m sure there’s someone who can patch you up. Just be patient.” Arram dressed quickly and pulled on his sandals.
“What are you doing over there?” Ozorne complained sleepily. “Don’t tell me you talk in your sleep now.”
“Oh, good, you’re awake,” Arram replied. He carried the basket over to Ozorne’s cubicle, nearly tripping on a stack of books. He yelped. “Someday you’re going to break a bone this way.”
“Why? I know where I left them.” In the dim light from Ozorne’s open window, Arram saw his friend make a twisted hand gesture. The candles on his desk lit.
“We’re not allowed to do that,” Arram said wistfully. He in particular was forbidden to do anything of the kind without supervision.
“Why? Do you think you’ll make your room explode?” Ozorne looked at Arram, who was tidying the cloth on top of the bat. “Mithros save us, you do think you’ll destroy your room.”
“It was a shed,” Arram mumbled. “And then a pile of old crates. And then they wouldn’t let me work any basic fire spells without a certified mage being present.” He gulped. “They say I’ll grow out of it.”