"I agree that they should be punished, Dalrioc, but not with deadly force," Aeron began.
The Corynian prince ignored him and pushed by. He seized Eldran by the shoulders, raised him from the floor, and kicked him in the belly, right where his spell had struck. Eldran coughed and crumpled, retching. Dalrioc drew his foot back to kick the novice on the ground.
Anger ignited in Aeron's heart. When Dalrioc leaned back to kick the novice again, Aeron dropped and scissored his legs through the prince's, toppling him to the cold stone floor. The older student flailed in anger, twisted quickly, and barked the words for another spell. With one hand, he grasped Aeron's ankle, and a fat blue spark of energy flashed. Aeron was hurled backward as every muscle in his body spasmed at once. He crumpled against the wall, the smell of his own burning flesh in his nose. "You dare to strike me?" Dalrioc snarled, surging to his feet. "You dare?"
Shaking his head, Aeron looked up just in time to see the prince spinning to lash a kick at his head. He held his hand up, palm outward, and spoke a single word. A circular field of gleaming force sprang from his hand, creating a lambent shield that halted Dalrioc's kick with the mass of a stone wall. The prince recoiled, staggering back a few steps, and Aeron pushed himself to his feet, his mind racing. What next? Dalrioc was almost frothing at the mouth. He'd use any spell at his command and damn the consequences. Aeron needed to either subdue him quickly or leave ... but if he fled, the prince might take out his anger on Baldon and Eldran, neither of whom could defend himself.
Dalrioc narrowed his eyes, glaring at Aeron. Deliberately he crooked his hands and started to bark out the words of another spell. Aeron started his own enchantment, but the prince finished first. With a sulfurous stink, a small, warty thing with the jaws of a bulldog and fangs like needles appeared in the hallway. It snuffled and growled. "Kill him!" Dalrioc screamed, pointing at Aeron. The creature bunched its stringy muscles and leapt with impossible speed and precision, jaws gaping . . .
. . . right into Aeron's counterspell. He'd meant it for Dalrioc, but the summoned horror seemed a more immediate threat. Seizing the Weave's delicate currents with unconscious ease, he braided them into a roaring jet of flame that burst out from his hands. It struck directly in the creature's face, impaling it on a lance of white agony. The thing discorporated with an agonized howl. Behind the creature, Dalrioc retreated a few steps and shielded himself from the heat, but the billowing fires scorched him badly.
Aeron blinked to clear his eyes, trying to get a good look at Dalrioc. A seething green sphere of acid came hurtling from the smoke, but Aeron's shield still held, and the corrosive splashed harmlessly against the wall. It sizzled and smoked fiercely, adding to the stink. Aeron closed his eyes, hummed, and quickly grasped the chords of magic that flowed through the living hearts nearby, working a spell of sleep, but Dalrioc's force of will was too great to overcome, and the prince shrugged off his attempt. With a malevolent grin, Dalrioc spoke a few harsh words and crushed Aeron's shield with a countermagic spell. "You'll rue the day you ever crossed my path," he crowed. He began another spell.
"Believe me, I already do," Aeron replied. He was running out of options quickly. Do I dare to attack with any more deadly spells of my own? he thought. Ignoring the hot pain that burned in his injured leg, he searched desperately for the right spell. Wait . . . perfect! Aeron reached out and summoned the energy for a spell of blindness, and this time he beat Dalrioc to the punch. He danced aside and called, "You can't hit what you can't see, Dalrioc!"
The prince howled in rage as Aeron wrested his sight away, losing the spell he was attempting to cast. He thrashed helplessly for a moment. "Damn you, Aeron! This is a coward's trick!"
"Well, you should have saved your counterspell instead of wasting it on my shield," Aeron replied. "Now can we put a stop to this?"
Dalrioc uttered a vile curse and started to speak again. Aeron realized that the prince was working another counter. I didn't think he would commit it to his mind twice, Aeron thought. In just a moment, the prince would dispel Aeron's charm of blindness and resume the fight.
Aeron scowled. Enough was enough. He took three strides forward as Dalrioc finished his countermagic. The prince's sight returned just as Aeron's hard-driven boot caught him in the belly. Dalrioc doubled over, and Aeron delivered the best uppercut he could throw, dropping Dalrioc to the floor. Aeron stood over his fallen foe, fists raised, ready to continue if Dalrioc had any more fight left in him. "Come on!" he shouted. "Get up!"
"That," drawled a cold voice behind him, "will be quite enough of that."
Aeron turned and found himself facing Lord Oriseus. The High Conjuror's face, normally so mobile and insincere, was fixed in an icy glare.
"My lord! I-" Aeron began.
"Explanations are neither necessary or desired, student. There is no excuse for this sort of behavior. Deadly spells are just that-deadly. Either one of you might have been hurt, maimed, or killed. We will not have our students brawling like common drunkards in a filthy taphouse!"
Aeron stepped away from Dalrioc. "Yes, my lord," he said.
Oriseus contemptuously surveyed the scene. Baldon slumped against the wall, one hand clapped to his shoulder, eyes wide as saucers. Eldran appeared to still be unconscious. Lucky for him, Aeron thought. Dalrioc, singed, tattered, and pummeled, was just now pushing himself to his feet. Finally Oriseus turned his eyes on Aeron. There was a large charred patch on his breeches where Dalrioc had grasped his ankle and loosed his spell. And his arm stung with smoldering drops of acid. The hall itself had suffered spectacular damage. "All of you, come with me. It is clear that you need the attention of a healer."
"Master Oriseus, I demand that Aeron and these two louts be escorted from the college grounds immediately," Dalrioc groaned as he climbed to his feet. "They are to be expelled at once."
The High Conjuror turned his gaze on the Soorenaran. "And you were blameless in this incident? I think not, my prince. I shall give your recommendation all the consideration that it deserves and act accordingly. Now, come on. I don't want to hear one more word."
The moment Oriseus's back was turned, Dalrioc turned a look of bilious venom on Aeron. "I'll get you for this," he promised darkly. "If they don't expel you, leave now. It's your best chance to stay alive."
"Dalrioc!" Oriseus didn't break stride. Aeron tried to ignore the prince's threats, but he feared that Dalrioc was right. Any discipline the Ruling Council chose to impose on him was the least of his concerns.
Nine
By the ancient laws of the college, a sorcerous duel between students meant expulsion for both parties involved. Aeron fully expected to be dismissed within a matter of hours after the incident in Sword Hall, but one day passed, then two, and then a week without any summons from the Ruling Council. Finally Aeron was ordered to move from Sword Hall to Crown Hall. He hated the idea of leaving his few friends behind, but it was clear that he and Dalrioc couldn't share a hall any longer, and it was no surprise that the prince was allowed to remain where he was comfortable.
Aeron's new hallmates offered little in the way of a welcome. The novices, of course, avoided any student like the plague, and Aeron's peers in Crown Hall were not anxious to befriend someone who had earned Dalrioc Corynian's hatred.
The week after Aeron's transfer to Crown Hall, the summons he had dreaded arrived. He hurried over to the Masters' Hall and presented himself to Lord Telemachon. The old wizard was even more haggard and worn than Aeron remembered, and he rubbed his temples constantly, as if to smooth an excess of pain from his mind. "You are satisfied with your new quarters?" he grated.
"Yes, my lord. I miss my hallmates, though."
"You might have made more of an effort to get along with Dalrioc, if that is how you feel."
"Yes, my lord."
"Do you know how close you came to expulsion, Aeron?" Telemachon turned his tired gaze on the young mage. There was no good answer to this question, so Aeron shrugged uncomfortably. "It came down to a vote of the Ruling Council. As your sponsor, I abstained. So did Sarim. Naturally Corynian's friends wanted you out."
Aeron counted the High Masters in his mind. "If you and Master Sarim abstained, my lord, Dalrioc's friends hold four of the seven remaining seats. Why wasn't I expelled?"
Telemachon sighed. "The masters who feel no friendship toward the Corynians of Soorenar defended you. And Master Oriseus chose to cast his vote in your favor. So you remain here by a single vote."
"What of Dalrioc?"
The old diviner laughed humorlessly. "He was in no danger of expulsion, not with his puppets on the council. You've chosen a powerful enemy for yourself, Aeron."
"He chose me first," Aeron replied darkly.
"Hmmmph. Be glad that one of the High Masters voted his conscience. Otherwise you'd be on a hay wagon back to Maerchlin." Telemachon leaned forward on his elbows, fixing Aeron with an unblinking stare. "Had I a vote in the council, I would have expelled you despite my old debt to Fineghal. I do not believe the rules of the college are to be so lightly dishonored, Aeron. You may go."
Aeron stood and left. He paused in the door, considering an apology. Telemachon ignored him. Aeron bit back his words and stalked out of the room.
To his surprise, he returned to his new room in Crown Hall only to find Master Oriseus waiting impatiently, rifling through Aeron's notes with nervous energy. "Ah! There you are, Aeron. May I have a word with you?"
"Of-of course, Lord Oriseus," Aeron stammered.
"Good, good! Let us take a stroll about the grounds." With a broad grin, Oriseus bounded down the hall and out into the long-shadowed afternoon. Aeron lengthened his stride to keep up with the red-robed master. The Master Conjuror led him to the wedge-shaped ramparts mantling the college grounds, whirled dramatically to survey the city below, and perched on the cold stone. "I am delighted that you are still among us, Aeron," he stated, leaning forward in a conspiratorial manner. "It was only by the narrowest of margins that I kept you in the college."
"So I'd heard," Aeron said. "Thank you, Lord Oriseus. I couldn't imagine abandoning my studies."
"Nor could I, Aeron. Your skill is truly extraordinary for one so young. Your gift must be cultivated; it would be a crime to let you slip from our grasp, so to speak." The master leaned back, his eyes glittering. "You chose the yellow of invocation upon your elevation."
"I felt that my talents were best suited for it, my lord."
"Oh, I am not jealous. You see, I hope to persuade you to study with me yet. May I explain?"
Aeron nodded his assent. The master stood quickly and began to pace anxiously as he spoke. "The wielding of magic," he stated, "is nothing more than common craftsmanship. A potter or woodcarver takes a raw material and then shapes it into the form he desires with his skill and labor. Well, any wizard does exactly the same thing. He takes the raw stuff of magic and uses the tools of his willpower and learning to shape the spell he needs."
"The analogy isn't perfect," Aeron observed. "The materials a craftsman works with require no special gift or skill to acquire. But not everyone has the ability to manipulate the Weave."
"Indeed! And what, may I ask, is the Weave? From where do we draw the power to wield our spells? Have you ever wondered how it is that you grasp this power, Aeron?"
"My master Fineghal taught me that it is the life of the world," Aeron replied. "A spirit or potential in all things-"
"Not true, not true," Oriseus interrupted. "I did not ask you whence magic comes. I asked you, what is the Weave by which we wield it?"