~Chapter Ten: The Chubby Saber~

The next morning, just after grading the morning’s runes—and sadly cookie-free—Eola walked into Madame Reyanna’s classroom for the first time in what felt like months.

Unlike some of her other professors, who alternated between classrooms and demonstration halls as needed, Madame Reyanna maintained her own classroom, which the bright red gnome guarded jealously. The centerpiece, aside from the blackboard on the wall, was an array of fifteen silver and chromite bars. Each of the first fourteen was identical—a full three feet tall and four inches to a side. All fourteen would have fit easily within the fifteenth, though. It was a massive block of metal that scraped the ceiling and was wider than Eola’s shoulders. Her parents had a set of four similar bars, and Eola knew exactly what they were for: Mana measurements.

She’d filled all four bars when she was seven.

“I see a new, old face in the room today,” the wide-eyed, wild-haired professor said, an air of false magnanimity in her voice. “Welcome back, Miss Lemiene.”

Catrine glanced over her shoulder and smirked. Eola winced.

“Today’s lesson will focus on a technique that can build up a mage’s soul capacity, provided it’s used consistently and with great diligence. A colleague of mine has requested this among several favors, and I am only too happy to oblige him.” Madame Reyanna didn’t sound happy about it at all. “Many of the previous techniques I’ve given you are tailored to the needs of Journeymages and those just pushing past Child’s Magic. Exhaustion is geared toward more advanced mages and is suitable through Archmage levels.”

Eola stared at the blackboard and ladder as Madame Reyanna’s thin, tiny hands worked with a piece of chalk, slowly sketching what she recognized as a modifying mark—but not one she knew—and a single rune of Child’s Magic that she did. The modifying mark looked a little like a feather or leaf made of letters, the symbol for lightness in Old Alemic, while the rune seemed to take on the shape of an anvil with several symbols across its flat top. Heavy Hold.

“The practice of exhaustion involves using a spell with an ongoing Mana cost to tax one’s soul to near breaking. Since it’s a bit more advanced than what I would typically teach an aspiring Journeymage, I’ve added a modifying mark to the base spell. This is Lighten. It reduces the cost of a given spell by a slight amount, but is too complicated for battle-magic. In combination with Heavy Hold, it will create a flexible training tool for you to learn exhaustion with.”

“But what is it?” one of the boys asked. Eola glanced over across the classroom. It was Garreth Skaget—the same boy who’d failed to summon a familiar. He had a snake draped around his neck now. Good for him.

“You, Master Skaget, have been drifting during my lessons,” Madame Reyanna said. “The theory is simple. Exhaustion as a soul exercise works because, during spellcasting, the soul’s Mana reserves plummet—especially when a mage is operating near the maximum Order they can cast at. For obvious reasons, I can’t allow a gaggle of would-be Journeymages to cast First Order spells in an unwarded classroom. That would be the fastest way. This is functional, though.

“Heavy Hold is a simple bit of Child’s Magic that does absolutely nothing. However, it requires increasing amounts of Mana to maintain the spell’s effect. That makes it useless for everything except exhaustion training. Please find a partner and begin casting Heavy Hold, one at a time, while the other observes. Use the Lighten modifying mark if you feel the need.”

Eola looked for someone—anyone—to partner with, but before she could, Catrine swooped in and grabbed her by the wrist. “Miss Lemiene, I’d be honored if you’d be my partner,” she said.

Colin was already paired up with another boy, and her other suitemates had found each other. She had nowhere to hide. Nowhere to run. “Sure,” Eola said shortly.

“Wonderful. I’ll go first.” Catrine reached into her robes and pulled a wand out. Unlike Eola’s bit of oak, which was worn from heavy use until her fingers fit inside of her dad’s hand every time she cast with it, the noble girl’s was brand new. “I had Father send this for me a month ago. It’s mine, though, not a loaner.”

“Mine’s not a loaner, either.”

“Sorry, toddler, I didn’t hear you. Speak up. Or even better, be quiet. Child’s Magic—and those who can only cast it—should be seen and not heard.” Catrine’s hand moved, and she traced the anvil.

Eola had just enough time to note that she didn’t use the modifying mark. Then Catrine’s brow broke out in a sweat. She narrowed her eyes, and her breathing picked up. It took her almost thirty seconds to stop, shaking slightly.

“All done?” Eola asked quietly.

“Yes. Were you counting?”

“I was. You made it twenty-eight seconds.”

“Liar,” Catrine said. “You’re just as deceitful as you were in the cafeteria.”

Instead of responding to the childish insult, Eola pointed to an hourglass on Madame Reyanna’s desk, which had lost less than a minute of its sand. Then she pulled her dad’s wand out of her own robes. “Ready?”

“Sure. Impress me with your ten seconds. Don’t forget to use the mark. It’ll help your baby-sized soul a little bit.” Catrine crossed her arms and sat down.

Eola rolled her eyes and drew the anvil.

When class ended, Eola found herself cornered by Colin and shouldered aside by a very annoyed Catrine Andresse. “What’d you do to make her so mad?” he asked, staring.

“I followed the lesson’s instructions, then took her advice,” Eola said simply. Her stomach rumbled, but she ignored it. Now wasn’t the time—she had too much to do, and for the last half-hour of class, she’d been pushing her soul to its limits, just as Madame Reyanna had asked her to.

She’d just been doing it very, very slowly.

It was the Lighten mark that had done it. Eola’s soul was chock-full of unattuned Mana, and with Lighten, the Heavy Hold rune had taken a long, long time to become unbearable. It wasn’t quite sustainable forever; Varin’s Academy was constantly drafting Mana from the dungeon-library, but even with that, Heavy Hold had outpaced her soul’s ability to refill itself. But it had been more than enough to drive Catrine absolutely mad.

“Well, whatever you did, thanks for that,” Colin said. “She’s been pushing my buttons—and everyone else’s—for weeks. Apparently, she’s got House Andresse’s attunement, and she won’t shut up about it. And she’s probably going to be the first Journeymage in our cohort unless Garreth beats her there.”

“Bleh.” Eola made a face.

Eola followed Colin out into the courtyard, then along the icy path back to their dorm room. The trees were absolutely coated with icicles, and a pair of massive ones at least eight feet long reached down ominously above the wooden door. They hurried inside before one could decide to crash down on them.

“So, are you hungry tonight?” Colin asked casually.

“I am,” Eola said carefully. The reality was that she didn’t have time for a trip into Varin’s Town, even for what Colin had described as real food. She had a familiar to bond with, a soul to expand, and runes—both the rolled-up test rune on her desk that she was pretty sure was Fourth Order and the simpler yet more important First Order ones—to take apart and understand. She had to keep going, because even though her parents were still alive in Lord Card’s dungeon, they wouldn’t stay that way forever…would they?

On the other hand, she was out of cookies. And she’d put Colin off long enough.

“Tonight? I’ll be ready at dusk. I know a place that makes the best stew—I’m not sure what the cook puts in it, and she refuses to tell me. Even makes me look away when she spices it, if she lets me watch at all. I bet you could figure it out, though. You’re a spice expert.” Colin held the door open, and Eola slipped into their suite.

Stolen story; please report.

It had gotten awkward there recently. Evelyn and Bannoque had started to ignore their studying in favor of focusing on each other, usually with their lips and tongues. She hurried past the couch, not looking, and ducked into her room. Colin followed, raising an eyebrow at the empty cage. “Got one, huh?”

“I did. She likes to hide when people are around.” She took a deep breath. “Tonight, at dusk. As long as you promise there’s no way we’ll end up like them.”

Colin followed her gaze to the couch and nodded seriously. “Absolutely not. Two friends going out to dinner, that’s all.”

True to his word, Colin was ready as the last rays of winter sun left Eola’s wall. She closed her shutter, shrugged her cloak on, and met him at the door. His own cloak hung sloppily over his shoulder. Atta’s figurine was in her pocket, her notes and scrolls were all in their places, and her wand was tucked in her robe. “Ready.”

“Great. I’m starving,” Colin said, and they headed off into Varin’s Town.

Colin talked softly as they walked past magic-lit houses and shops. He wasn’t talking about anything in particular—just the history of the town—and Eola only half-paid attention to his rambling. The town only existed for two purposes. The first was to act as a place for visiting mages to stay while they weren’t in the library or meeting with the professors. After all, Varin’s Academy wasn’t just a place of learning for aspiring Journeymages.

There were far too many inns and taverns for such a small town—and it couldn’t grow without leaving the granite wall. Every bit of space inside the academy’s circular wall that wasn’t part of the academy itself was streets, shops, or houses. Eola stared at the too-tall buildings. Some of their roofs overlooked the wall’s top. It had been one thing to see them from the academy, but to walk below them… “Greenarbor was nothing like this,” she murmured.

“What was that?” Colin asked.

He turned a corner, and Eola followed. “Nothing.”

It hadn’t taken people long to figure out a second reason for Varin’s Town to exist. As lucrative as providing lodging, supplies, and especially drinks to the visiting mages was, there was a second customer base. There were only three hundred students at Varin’s Academy, true. But a lot of them were noble brats, and noble brats always had money. Varin’s Town existed, in part, to part them from it.

“That includes me, by the way. Not a noble, but Mum and Da gave me plenty of money to be comfortable here,” Colin said. Then he pulled a door open. “Here we are.”

Eola had just enough time to look at the sign over the door. It was, of course, a sword, hanging over the street by a pair of chains. A fat, awkward-looking sword, nothing like the graceful smallswords Varin’s students wore. “The Chubby Saber?”

“Yes, that’s us. Get inside, you’re letting in the cold!” a man’s voice belted out. It belonged to a heavyset man with a red face and a leather apron. “Colin Tremory, it’s been too long. Who’s the girl?”

“Garth Hartwell.” Colin reached out and shook the big man’s hand. “This is Eola Lemiene. She’s my suite mate at the academy. And she likes the food there.”