The Last Red Year

THREE: Enter the Magescourt

 Sorine proves themself a better traveling companion than Kas would've thought. They're quick on their feet with an even quicker mind, and they rival Kizlane's frog-catching abilities. It helps that they can snare their targets up in gossamer threads of violet magic, of course.

"Are we there yet?" they complain, leaning against Ghiliss on the back of their horse. "It's been a million years."

"Quiet now. Every time you ask that, we slow the horses down a bit," Ghiliss says. It's a shame they're stuck on the same horse--it doesn't seem like they like each other very much, other than a mutual respect for each others' magic. Ghiliss is much too formal for Sorine's liking.

"Come on, Sorine, you've asked that like five times," Isri complains from Mirei's horse at the front of the procession. "We're never going to get there if you keep asking such stupid questions."

"You're never going to get there because I'll knock you off that stupid horse, you fuckwit," Sorine mumbles, only to be parried with a quick Language! from Ghiliss. Their exasperation is short-lived, though--as they make their way through a pass between two hills, a glittering citadel towers up from the heart of a lake, shining turrets and twining towers piercing into an ever-present fog. Farm fields and cottages surround the lake, buildings growing taller and denser as they grow closer to the bridges that lead into the massive citadel. Kas thought the three story buildings in Waywater had to be built by blue mages, but looking at the marvel of architecture shimmering out of the mist in front of them, the inns and apartments are utterly dwarfed.

"Welcome to Tenacitas," Mirei announces, pride in their voice as they coax their horse down the hill. The trail they've been following widens, turning into a dirt path, then gravel, then neatly cobbled stone as they ride into town. "I'm sure you know this is the capital city of the Red Coast, but...knowing your education, I figure I ought to remind you anyway. The citadel is home to the Magescourt--in fact, most of the island is its campus. That is where you three will be training."

Kas peers over Hadling's shoulder as the procession approaches the lake. The beach is filled with life, families having picnics on the shores, children playing in the sand. The air is much warmer here than in Callocast--Kas has never felt this heat in their life, except for huddling around the fireplace in Tallin's shack in the winter. "Is it always this warm?" they ask Hadling.

"We're right at the center of the world, at least that's what the cartographers say," Hadling replies. "The same latitude as Amphire. That's where Kizlane is from. It's even hotter there."

That doesn't answer Kas's question, but they don't mind. It's so warm here, and they're for once glad for how threadbare their tunic is. They have so many questions. Don't the mages get hot in all their robes? Even Kizlane's poncho seems to be too much for this temperature. They look out over the walls of the bridge, watching people sailing and fishing in the waters below. Everyone looks like they're having so much fun. They never heard this kind of happy clamor back in Callocast. Maybe it's the cold.

They reach a gate leading into the citadel, and with a flick of their wrist, Mirei moves a lever with their blue magic, sending the gate grinding up into the top of the archway it protects. Isri watches, fascination on their face--Kas can tell how excited they are to be here. Kas is excited too.

The inside of the citadel feels like a whole other world. Everything inside is bright and shimmering, tropical plants lining the neatly laid out streets, birds and butterflies flitting happily between them. Every so often, a rippling sheet of cyan light flashes in the shape of a dome overhead-- "To keep out rain," Hadling says. "Any moving thing that touches it is instantly vaporized." Kas wonders about the birds that might fly into it by mistake, but decides not to say anything. There's no use worrying too much about it.