“You handled that well,” Sebo told him as they waded onto the riverbank. “Enzi likes you. He can add much to what you learn of rivers and streams. Our studies will not be easy, you understand, but first it was important to learn if you would panic in the depths. Though I will confess, I didn’t expect Enzi to be here.” As soon as they were on dry sand, she released the spell over them both. “Come back to my home for a moment,” she said as they headed along the path. “I have a book you must study. Read the first ten pages tonight, and try to grasp what they mean in terms of the place of water in magic.”
He waited outside while she went into the round house for the book. When she returned with it, she was frowning. “You may want to keep word of seeing Enzi to yourself,” she told him slowly. “Many of the masters don’t believe in animal gods, or magic that is not wielded by gods or human mages.”
“Master Yadeen does,” Arram replied.
Sebo smiled. “We are ‘tribals,’ Yadeen and me from the Thak heartland, and Hulak, from the grass country north of Jindazhen,” she told him. “We use the magic taught by our tribes and academic magic. Book magic. The masters who sneer are too blind to realize the gods and the immortals use no books. They think tribal magic is on the same level as hedgewitchery. They will mock you and do their best to shut you out of their oh-so-learned circles if you admit to taking other magics seriously. Lindhall is all right, and your other teachers. But be careful around the likes of Chioké and Girisunika. If you want to move up in Carthak, you stay clean of the stain of tribal magic.” She waved her hand at him. “Now shoo. I need a cup of tea and a nap, I think.”
Arram trudged down the path and back inside the university wall. He was exhausted, as if he’d spent an hour laboring in the gardens. Like Sebo, he wanted to take a nap.
As he passed through the gate, the clocks began to chime the hour. “Oh, no,” he moaned when he realized the time. “Master Hulak!” He had forgotten he still had another class.
Luckily for him, the plants master looked at him and began to laugh. “I heard that Sebo took you as a student today,” he said. “What did she do?”
“We went into the river,” Arram said wearily. He glanced around for a safe place to set his new book.
“The river is hard at first. Never mind now,” Hulak said. “It’s too hot. Take a nice bath. Loosen the body. Just don’t expect me to release you all the time.”
Arram didn’t wait for Hulak to think twice. Thanking the master, he clutched the book to his chest and stumbled to his room for a change of clothes.
Hulak was right: his muscles were much more relaxed after a hot bath. He changed his original plan to go to bed and went to supper. Ozorne and Varice were eager to hear about his first lesson.
Arram told them all that he could. He showed them the bronze figurine and watched as they examined it. “It’s a Stormwing,” Ozorne said. “I always wanted one.”
“You wanted one!” Varice exclaimed. “They were horrible! They defiled those who sacrificed their lives in battle! They deserved to be exiled to the Divine Realms!”
“They’re exactly what I want for those Sirajit dogs who killed my father,” Ozorne replied. “Stormwings would tear their warriors to bits and throw the pieces into Siraj’s stinking villages.” He was grim-faced as he handed the figurine back to Arram. “I want to triumph over my enemies. Human enemies.”
“You don’t have enemies,” Arram protested.
Ozorne replied, “Those who killed my father are definitely my enemies, and some of the dogs are still alive. Mother’s agents tell her their final plan is to wipe out the Tasikhe imperial line.”
“The emperor doesn’t think there’s a conspiracy. He accepted the Sirajit surrender,” Varice reminded him.
“The emperor is old; his mind is not what it was. He agreed the fighting was over when the Sirajit generals were executed, even though my father’s murderers were never taken!” Ozorne’s voice was tight and low so that no one could hear but his two friends. “When I’ve grown into my power, they’ll pay.” He took a breath. “And I’ll need my friends.” He straightened and put a hand on Arram’s shoulder. “You ought to think about classes that will bring you more power, you know. You won’t earn any kind of a living walking on river bottoms.”
“Ugh!” said Varice, shaking her blond curls. “Enough serious talk! They’re holding a dance on the Great Meadow, and you two are going with me!”
“But I’m stiff,” Arram complained. “And I don’t know how to dance.”
Ozorne grinned, his dark mood gone as quickly as it had begun. “We’ll teach you. You’ll have to learn as a prince’s mage.” He tapped his chest to indicate the prince he meant. They gathered up their trays and dishes. With Arram still protesting, they towed him off to dance.
—
A week before autumn term, Arram returned from his bath to discover baggage in the two empty cubicles. Their roommates had arrived, or at least their belongings had done so. On Arram’s pillow was a note from Ozorne:
You will not believe this. My idiot cousin Qesan, the one who cannot leave the ladies alone? He has been killed by a jealous husband. Alas, this means I must attend the funeral with the rest of the family and ten days of mourning at the palace. Please tell Varice. And would you both take notes in our classes for me when things start? Make my apologies to our new roommates, please? At this rate I will be the only prince left, don’t you think?
—Ozorne
Arram looked over at his friend’s bed. Ozorne’s normal mess was tidier than usual; his bed was actually made. Arram’s heart sank. Ten days, or eleven, or more—Ozorne hadn’t mentioned when the funeral would be, and the imperial days of mourning would begin afterward—he would be all that time without his friend, dealing with two new older boys. He wasn’t at all ready for this!
He folded the paper and put it in his tunic pocket. Mithros, don’t let something happen to the others, he prayed silently. Don’t let Ozorne be the only prince left. All he wants is to study magic and be a master one day. He’d hate being emperor.
Arram went to eat with Varice and give her Ozorne’s news. “Oh, no!” she cried, and fled immediately to the kitchens. She returned, beaming. “We have one more prince to go before we have to fast like the imperials,” she whispered in Arram’s ear. “The regular fasting is bad enough. And poor Ozorne will be stuck in the palace again. Do you want to play chess?”
They had settled down to play when he thought of something as intimidating as his new roommates. “Is Prince Qesan important enough for games?”
“No, he’s just dead. Beyond imperial fasting and imperial games. I always think it’s silly to hold games for someone who isn’t alive to enjoy them. Ozorne would love games in his honor,” Varice murmured. “And you’ll be past this game if you don’t concentrate.”
Varice sighed. “Come on, play. Your queen’s in danger.”
He lost, of course. His mind wasn’t really on chess. It was on the succession and new roommates.
“Have you met the new boys?” she asked as he walked her back to her room.
“Not yet. I was happy when it was just me and Ozorne,” he admitted.