Chapter 20: Practical Will-based Casting

Chapter 20: Practical Will-based Casting

Sebastien

Month 11, Day 2, Monday 2:15 p.m.

Sebastien’s next class was Natural Science, which she found more fascinating than she had thought she would, mostly due to the enthusiasm of the professor. The classroom was large, and divided into two sections. One part was desks and seats for students to listen to lectures and take notes, while the other section was lined with sturdy slate tables and various pieces of equipment for them to do practical experiments.

Professor Gnorrish was a big, tall man—not the image one had of a person who spent all his time in the laboratory or library—and he had a big, tall personality and a passion for his field to match. His excited grin was infectious. He waved his arms about and let his voice boom while he spoke, and at one point Sebastien even thought he might jump up and down to better impress his enthusiasm upon them.

“Natural science is the new wave of magic, powerful because of the nature of reality, rather than in spite of it. It relies on the strength of the ties that bind reality together, rather than the strength of the caster alone. One day, I believe we will discover how to replicate all of transmogrification’s abilities with transmutation as our understanding of natural science grows.”

Some students seemed to find this ludicrous, a few rude snorts coming from a couple of boys in expensive clothes.

Sebastien turned around to throw them a disdainful glare, and was surprised to find Westbay doing the same across from her. He had walked into the classroom a minute after her, and had studiously ignored her since then, which she found perfectly acceptable.

Professor Gnorrish didn’t seem to mind the obvious disagreement, though. He nodded to the boys who had snorted. “You think me naively optimistic, I assume. Yet, let me ask you this. Have we not accomplished things in the last one hundred years that the humans of aeons past would have considered impossible to achieve without transmogrification by a powerful thaumaturge?” He reeled off a list of achievements and names, and when he finished, all the students were silent. “What more might we accomplish in one hundred more years?”

At the end of class, he instructed them to borrow and read certain books from the library, which held multiple copies of his specified texts, and then released them.

It was her free period next. Despite the pangs of hunger from her stomach, Sebastien went to the library rather than the cafeteria. She wanted to get there before all the other students picked the shelves bare of the assigned books.

Sebastien borrowed them with her student token, then sat at a table and flipped through each to gauge how long they would take her to read. She doubted the dorm room would be the best place to get work done, at least not while the other students were awake. After a few minutes, she put the books in her leather satchel and went to browse the shelves. ‘If I ever do anything to jeopardize my status as a student here, I will lose access to all these books. More books than I could read in a lifetime. I would rather cut off my own toes with a sharpened spoon.’

Thinking of the encrypted book in her room at Dryden Manor, she searched for guides on decryption. Most of them were on one of the floors still unavailable to her. The subject was large and complex, and a quick perusal showed that many of the books were beyond her comprehension. She found a couple of primers meant for children, as well as a book on unlocking, nullifying, and revealing spells. She checked all three out, then browsed some more. The sheer number of books was astounding. They even had books on Aberrants, though none on the first floor had any deeper information than what could be pieced together from rumors and newspaper articles.

Even the lure of the books all around her couldn’t distract her from making it to her next class on time. She’d been looking forward to and dreading it in equal parts since being accepted to the University. She stopped by the cafeteria to eat and quickly found her way to her next class.

Professor Lacer’s classroom was the largest she’d been in so far. Introduction to Practical Will-based Casting was her first elective, and probably popular enough to need all the desks stretching out and upward toward the back of the room.

Sebastien sat close to the front of the already filling room, trying not to fiddle from a combination of impatience and nervousness. ‘Professor Lacer may have saved me, but he also knows what an idiot I can be. He cannot have been impressed by my tantrum during the examination.’ She stilled, the remembered shame calming her. ‘But he must have seen potential in me, too. I just have to make sure he doesn’t regret his decision.’

“I heard Professor Lacer is the youngest free-caster in the last three centuries,” a man said.

“I heard he should be an Archmage already, but the council of Grandmasters just doesn’t want to recognize him because he’s too young and not from any noble bloodline,” someone else said.

“Archmage? That’s impossible,” a girl interjected, shaking her head. “I don’t care how talented he is, you need decades of practice to get that powerful. Archmage Zard wasn’t given the title until he was eighty-three. Professor Lacer can’t even be fifty yet.”

“He could be older. Heavy magic use keeps you revitalized, you know...” another girl said doubtfully. “I’m hoping learning how to free-cast will keep me wrinkle-free until I’m at least older than my mother.”

Another girl snorted derisively at that, and Sebastien suppressed the urge to nod in agreement.

“Well, I heard he was part of the Red Guard after the war,” yet another young man said, his voice hushed as if sharing a secret.

“Oh, that’s definitely true. My uncle told me the coat he wears all the time is actually an artifact spelled against blood magic curses,” the first man said. “It’s made of the skin of a half-troll, half-giant that Lacer killed during the Haze War.”

The girl who’d snorted earlier laughed. “Your uncle is either telling you tall tales, or he’s as gullible as you apparently are.”

Drawn by the conversation, another boy walked over and sat with the group of gossipers. “Did you guys hear what he did to that girl who tried to break into his house and seduce him a couple years back?”

“What?” the girl who was worried about wrinkles gasped, one hand covering her open mouth. “Who? What did she—I mean...”

The newest addition to their group nodded sagely. “My sister was a student when it happened. The girl was an upper-term research assistant, and apparently she thought Lacer was just shy when he kept rejecting her. So she tried to break through the wards to his house wearing only a cloak—nothing underneath at all! Of course, things didn’t go like she expected.” He paused dramatically as the others leaned in and urged him to continue. “His wards triggered around her and left her tied up, half naked, and green-skinned. When he found her he cursed her to never feel physical desire again, and gave her a huge, hairy wart on the end of her nose so no one else would be tempted, either.”

“No,” another boy said, leaning back and crossing his arms. He shook his head. “A professor wouldn’t do that. I mean, he probably expelled her, but they can’t just get away with cursing students whenever they feel like it.”

“Yeah, Professor Lacer’s not evil,” the girl said with a “humph.”

“But he is really strict,” the first man said. “I heard he expelled a student for coughing on him in the cafeteria.”

There were nods all around, and the conversation turned to free-casting, each student taking it in turns to brag about all the cool things they planned to do once they were able to free-cast.

Only after all the seats were filled—Sebastien was sure half the first term students had signed up for the class—did Professor Lacer stalk in, a long trench coat flapping behind him as the fabric tried to keep up with his long stride. His hair was again tied back simply at the nape of his neck. His eyebrows were bushy and winged, adding to the piercing nature of his dark eyes. He kept a beard short enough that its attempts to grow wild were restrained. Overall, his appearance matched his reputation: impatient, dangerous, and extremely competent.

He stopped in the middle of the room, staring out and up at them. It took merely seconds for the room to quiet. “Welcome to Practical Will-based Casting, or as my upper-term students like to call it, Practical Casting. In it, I will teach those of you who are willing to learn how to do what I can do.” His words were heavy with importance, though he did not shout. He turned and pointed his finger to the far side of the lecture stage.

Sebastien’s hair fluttered, though there had been no wind, and suddenly, a person appeared where before there had been nothing, standing near the wall.

She jumped in surprise, as did most of the other students, but calmed herself when she saw it was just a practice dummy. Why it had been invisible, she did not know, but she assumed it had been for dramatic effect.

When a couple of other students stopped casting, Professor Lacer looked up, his lazy expression contrasted against the snap in his voice. “If you are not approaching Will-strain, I expect you to continue casting. If you are approaching Will-strain already, I suggest you drop this class and return to it in a term or two when you have built up your stamina.” He didn’t look at Sebastien this time, but she took the words to heart.

She settled back in her seat, relaxing tense muscles and taking her eye off the circling ball. It continued moving, and she settled into deep, slow breaths, watching with an unfocused gaze. She had always been one to practice casting almost obsessively, even if not so deliberately as Lacer had instructed. She had often played with whatever small new spell she’d learned until Ennis grew irritated with her. It served her well, here. Sebastien didn’t know how long it had been when her mind started to burn. Not a real sensation, like the burn of overworked muscles, but a feeling, a strain. She breathed deeper and sank into it.

Fingers snapping in front of her face brought her back to reality.

She looked up to find Professor Lacer standing in front of her. “Class is over.”

The rest of the students were standing up from their desks, some of them moving toward the door with their practice equipment, more of them looking at her and Lacer.

She cleared her throat and let the ball slow to a stop.

“Passably well done,” he said. “Are you ready for our meeting?”

“Y—” Her voice broke, and she had to try again. “Yes.”

“Homework!” he announced sharply, raising his voice so everyone could hear, but still looking at her. “Write down every possible glyph that could be used to cast this spell, as well as ten different, fully detailed spell arrays that could do the job. Due at the beginning of next class. Dismissed.”

One of the students grumbled, “I thought this was practical casting, not practical essay-writing.”

“Understanding the processes is the first step to being able to take over those processes from an external Word,” Professor Lacer snapped back much louder, not even looking at the student. In a softer voice he said to Sebastien, “To my office, then. Keep up.” He turned and strode away, barely acknowledging the students who either stared or scrambled to move out of his path.

Sebastien grabbed her satchel and the wheel of sand, and stumbled after him, limping slightly on legs that had fallen asleep while she cast.

The hallway had curved far enough to cut off their view of the classroom door when footsteps ran up behind them. Sebastien was exasperated to find it was Damien Westbay. Again.

“Professor Lacer, would you mind if I accompany you both? I have some questions for you.” He glanced at Sebastien out of the corner of his eye, just a little too intently.

Sebastien resisted the urge to snort. ‘Obviously, he wants to spy on my conversation with Professor Lacer.’

Lacer let the silence stretch on just long enough to become uncomfortable, but when he spoke, his voice held a faint hint of amusement. “I am sure your questions can wait, Damien. You may drop by my office in half an hour.”

“I could just wait outside your door. I—” Westbay cut off when Professor Lacer raised his eyebrows.

“Half an hour, Mr. Westbay.” His words were enunciated and precise, not unkind, but still intimidating. He turned to stalk away, assured that his instructions would be followed.

Westbay pursed his lips in a way that looked unflatteringly close to a pout, but didn’t follow as Sebastien hurried after their professor.

When they got to Lacer’s office, which was done in dark woods and bright lights, with all four walls covered in bookcases and shelves holding interesting magical components and artifacts, he motioned for her to sit at the chair in front of his desk. He spoke while walking around the room, taking things from shelves and cabinets and placing them in a box. “I hope you understand that, due to the unusual nature of your attendance here, you must perform to my expectations if you wish to remain a student, Mr. Siverling.”

Sebastien nodded. “I do.”

“Your performance today was not as pitiful as many of the other students in my class, but still far from the standards I expect. To remedy this, you will practice additional casting exercises.” He set the box on the desk in front of her and then handed her a sheet of paper filled with instructions. “You must be able to perform each exercise for two hours without stop, at an acceptable level of control.”

“What is an acceptable level?” she asked, scanning over the exercises on the sheet.

He sat behind his desk. “Are you asking me so that you can achieve the absolute minimum standard of competence?” He didn’t wait for her to respond. “It will be up to you to decide what is acceptable. Do not disappoint me.”

She felt she could not possibly sit any straighter, or hold her stomach muscles any tighter. “I understand. When do you wish me to complete this by?”

“As quickly as possible. I am testing you, Mr. Siverling. I hope that is obvious. I wish to be sure I did not make a mistake.” It was not a subtle threat.

‘Two hours a day of practice will not be enough, then,’ she thought. She had no intention of disappointing him. “I understand,” she said again. “Is there anything else?”

He stared at her over the desk, his elbows resting on it and his fingers pressed together. Then he leaned back in his chair. “No. You may go.”

She stood and bowed politely. “Thank you, Professor Lacer. You are the reason I am here, and I know it. I will not disappoint you.”

“See that you do not.”

She paused in the doorway and turned back. “Why did you keep me from being expelled and banned?” She’d decided not to ask, but her curiosity had overridden her good sense.

“You are an idiot. But I try to remind myself periodically how foolish I too was at your age. It is easy to forget. Perhaps you will be able to learn better, as I did.”

She nodded silently, feeling a strange combination of shame and hope.

His dark gaze followed her as she left the room, and she took a couple of deep breaths to compose herself before hurrying toward the library with the heavy box in one arm and the wheel of sand in the other. She had work to do, and a plan to create.