betrothal. Shame she’s no longer a virgin. I popped her cherry last year. She cried, you know. It was very touching.’
‘Piss off, Malevorn,’ Alaron snarled and shoved the bigger boy back. Malevorn went to cuff him, gnosis light flared between them as their shields brushed and the crowd about them started to look interested. Before anything could develop, a hawk-faced Magister with a flowing black hair and beard stepped between them. ‘Enough! I’ve warned you before, Mercer.’
‘Sorry, Magister Fyrell.’ Alaron bowed his head, seething.
Fyrell always takes Malevorn’s side!
Ramon pulled Alaron away from their smirking classmates, keeping his hand on Alaron’s arm as moon-faced Gron Koll spat at him, making sure Alaron didn’t attempt to retaliate in front of Fyrell.
What a fine example of the divine magi we are
, he thought as he stamped into place in the procession.
The walk across the plaza was fraught with discomfort, the ordinary people peering at them with mixed fear and envy. Girls made eyes at them, knowing that to bear a magi’s child was a path to wealth. Young men envious of something they would never have glared sullenly. Citizens who genuinely believed that the magi were beings blessed personally by Kore Himself wanted to kiss their robes, to have their children touched, to give and receive blessings. It all made Alaron’s skin crawl.
These poor fools see us as some kind of sacred brotherhood blessed by the Gods
. Alaron might have believed that once, but seven years alongside the ‘Pure’ had destroyed that notion.
What a crock! We’re more like a pack of wolves
. He loathed each of the Pure, for different reasons. Malevorn Andevarion was handsome and worldly and far more skilled than Alaron would ever be – and driven, in a way none of his friends were. The Andevarions had fallen on hard times and Malevorn was to be their redemption. He worked as hard as anyone at the college, with a burning competitiveness that meant he couldn’t resist stamping down upon all of the others, to make sure they all, even Francis Dorobon, a king-in-waiting and Seth Korion, son of the greatest general of Yuros, knew that he, Malevorn, was the Alpha. But Malevorn’s particular delight was bullying Alaron, and so Alaron hated him as much as he envied him. He also despised Dorobon for his self-righteous prating about his destiny, his rights and his privileges. No silver spoon was polished enough for the prince, who complained ceaselessly, until even his friends got impatient with him.
Ramon always called Seth Korion ‘The Lesser Son’. Magister Hout, their history teacher, had once commented that great men often had weak sons who failed to live up to their parent’s deeds, andRamon played on this relentlessly, no matter how often Seth beat him.
Boron Funt was a sanctimonious preacher, always toadying to the religion-master and pulling up the others, especially Alaron, on perceived moral failings. He ate seven meals a day and dressed in pavilion-sized robes. As for Gron Koll – well, he was the sort of boy who practised his fire spells on small animals.
It wasn’t a fun group to share seven years of life with, made tolerable only by his friendship with Ramon and weekends at home – but the end was in sight. They were within five weeks of graduation. Next week, the exams began, and in forty days he would be holding his periapt, a fully graduated mage. Then he could join the Crusade and make his fortune.
He brightened at this thought and managed to keep his temper as Funt and Dorobon jostled him as they entered the cathedral. He made it to his seat near the front without being tripped again, where he huddled alongside Ramon. Magister Fyrell appeared and Alaron braced himself to be chastised, but instead Fyrell gestured for the five Pure to follow him. Alaron was puzzled, but at least he and Ramon wouldn’t have to share a seat with them.
The next two hours of sermons and hymns were purgatory.
‘Piss off, Malevorn,’ Alaron snarled and shoved the bigger boy back. Malevorn went to cuff him, gnosis light flared between them as their shields brushed and the crowd about them started to look interested. Before anything could develop, a hawk-faced Magister with a flowing black hair and beard stepped between them. ‘Enough! I’ve warned you before, Mercer.’
‘Sorry, Magister Fyrell.’ Alaron bowed his head, seething.
Fyrell always takes Malevorn’s side!
Ramon pulled Alaron away from their smirking classmates, keeping his hand on Alaron’s arm as moon-faced Gron Koll spat at him, making sure Alaron didn’t attempt to retaliate in front of Fyrell.
What a fine example of the divine magi we are
, he thought as he stamped into place in the procession.
The walk across the plaza was fraught with discomfort, the ordinary people peering at them with mixed fear and envy. Girls made eyes at them, knowing that to bear a magi’s child was a path to wealth. Young men envious of something they would never have glared sullenly. Citizens who genuinely believed that the magi were beings blessed personally by Kore Himself wanted to kiss their robes, to have their children touched, to give and receive blessings. It all made Alaron’s skin crawl.
These poor fools see us as some kind of sacred brotherhood blessed by the Gods
. Alaron might have believed that once, but seven years alongside the ‘Pure’ had destroyed that notion.
What a crock! We’re more like a pack of wolves
. He loathed each of the Pure, for different reasons. Malevorn Andevarion was handsome and worldly and far more skilled than Alaron would ever be – and driven, in a way none of his friends were. The Andevarions had fallen on hard times and Malevorn was to be their redemption. He worked as hard as anyone at the college, with a burning competitiveness that meant he couldn’t resist stamping down upon all of the others, to make sure they all, even Francis Dorobon, a king-in-waiting and Seth Korion, son of the greatest general of Yuros, knew that he, Malevorn, was the Alpha. But Malevorn’s particular delight was bullying Alaron, and so Alaron hated him as much as he envied him. He also despised Dorobon for his self-righteous prating about his destiny, his rights and his privileges. No silver spoon was polished enough for the prince, who complained ceaselessly, until even his friends got impatient with him.
Ramon always called Seth Korion ‘The Lesser Son’. Magister Hout, their history teacher, had once commented that great men often had weak sons who failed to live up to their parent’s deeds, andRamon played on this relentlessly, no matter how often Seth beat him.
Boron Funt was a sanctimonious preacher, always toadying to the religion-master and pulling up the others, especially Alaron, on perceived moral failings. He ate seven meals a day and dressed in pavilion-sized robes. As for Gron Koll – well, he was the sort of boy who practised his fire spells on small animals.
It wasn’t a fun group to share seven years of life with, made tolerable only by his friendship with Ramon and weekends at home – but the end was in sight. They were within five weeks of graduation. Next week, the exams began, and in forty days he would be holding his periapt, a fully graduated mage. Then he could join the Crusade and make his fortune.
He brightened at this thought and managed to keep his temper as Funt and Dorobon jostled him as they entered the cathedral. He made it to his seat near the front without being tripped again, where he huddled alongside Ramon. Magister Fyrell appeared and Alaron braced himself to be chastised, but instead Fyrell gestured for the five Pure to follow him. Alaron was puzzled, but at least he and Ramon wouldn’t have to share a seat with them.
The next two hours of sermons and hymns were purgatory.
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