When I had envisioned training under Val Maxis, I imagined an accelerated education and much more lenient access to tomes and artifacts. I’d assumed, wrongly, that there would be competency tests to assess my level of arcane knowledge and ability, and my education would begin there. His method, however, demands at least fifteen years of academic instruction and then another ten supervised years of practical application and inquest. There were no shortcuts and he is either too stupid or too stubborn to make an exception. At this rate I will be in my mid-seventies before striking out to follow my destiny. Unacceptable.
I decide to take another calculated gamble. “I am able to cast spells at an Expert level. I have mastered all the first and second year lessons on my own. What do you intend to do to remedy this incongruity?”
For a moment it looks as though Val Maxis might throw the tome at me, but he flashes a crooked smile instead. He sets the volume back down with care and walks around from behind the workbench.
He capers over to the reflective disc in the center of the room and bids me to follow. I do. A tiny flourish and a whispered word are all he needs to conjure images across its surface.
I see a fortress whose very walls are a rocky mountain pass which was bored through an age ago. Its gates are thick and heavy, made of wrought steel, and embossed with ornate script of a language I do not know. In the dusk of the day, hundreds of campfires and smoking torches reveal orcs. Thousands of them. They are sharpening weapons and beating drums and sharing bowls of dark stew and rationing out meat as they wind down for the night behind those sturdy, steel doors.
“You recall the war I plucked you from, yes?”
I nod.
“The people of Elysium have continued to fight this entire time. Through their perseverance—”
I don’t like how he emphasizes perseverance.
“—they have pushed the Orc Hordes to the keep at the foot of Druumshallt Pass. As you know, this is where their armies first came through. Though Nodkis and the surrounding farmvilles are once again secure, pushing out the remaining host will be no small feat.”
He pauses and looks at me to see if I have any questions. I don’t. He flicks his hand and the scene shifts. It is nearly black but I can make out shapes of pines and humans against the occasional flicker of a hidden fire pit.
“The Elysian forces are camped nearby in Buknar Forest. Not too far east of here. In the morning I will be taking another trip to assist with the efforts.”
Val Maxis has helped with the war efforts on numerous occasions in the time that I have been at the tower. Teleportation magic allows him to be there and back in a blink. Sometimes he will be gone just the day, but he has taken a handful of longer trips. The more advanced students will go with him many times. I find these are the best times to acquire advanced tomes from the libraries I am not supposed to have access to. There is no staff at the tower—just students and attendant magic. The novices left behind have no authority to keep me out of a restricted section of the tower, and the enchantments that cook dinner have no cares when I use sorcery to open a lock or two.
Perhaps this time, when he leaves, I will take all I can carry and disappear into the mountains to teach myself. There is a mild longing nagging at the corners of my mind to go and live alone in the wilderness again. The life of a hermit is a simple and unfettered existence. It has never bothered me to be alone. Even when I am surrounded I do not belong. Living in seclusion allows me to drop all pretenses of sociability. It is very productive.
Val Maxis continues to talk over my fantasies of robbing him, “Like the siege on Nodkis, this will take days or weeks and I will be bringing all of the year-twos and above to assist.”
Why is he telling me this? It isn’t as though I will be in charge while he is out.
“You ask how I will remedy the incongruity of your willfulness? Rather than again giving you unmitigated access to tomes beyond your station, you will also be accompanying me. And I will be watching you most keenly. Impress me and I may consider making adjustments to your education on our return.”
I raise my gaze from the images on the gently rippling surface to lock eyes with the daffy old man. At times, it is difficult to remember he is a prodigy among men and a thaumaturge of the highest ability. Has this all been a test? This conversation? This entire year?
I review the span of time in my mind quickly and attempt to piece together an impartial evaluation of myself. Inwardly I cringe at the unflattering results. Were I to become a wizard of similar caliber and happen upon some stray magic user, weighed down by the baggage of age and stunted by his misconceptions about the use of magic, whom was capable yet stubborn—would I test his character? Would I want to make a measure of him before I handed him the reins of arcane mastery?
Of course I would. One would have to be a fool not to. I am the real fool for not seeing it sooner.
If Val Maxis senses my epiphany, he is kind enough to ignore it.
I answer the only way that I can, “I understand.”
The Wordbearer Chronicles is a dark fantasy web series with new passages on Tuesdays.
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