Free Magic (complete)

Chapter 2

Jak sat lazily on a stone fence overlooking Whitethorn. His back was propped against a tree, and his gaze was casually taking in the goings on of the Whitethorn square. He had light brown hair, drawn into a horse tail and sharp green eyes. He kept some hair on his chin, where he hid an old scar. His frame was lean but strong, and he moved with a casual grace. His belt had several bulky pouches and two cruel daggers hung loosely at his bony hips.

The train of merchants flowed across the bridge, which was the sole access to the keep on the cliffs. Few paid him any attention as they traveled back to town passing by him. A smith and his two workers eyed him with some caution, as though he were a sleepy lion watching a herd of antelope. A few other peddlers looked his way, but paid him no other interest. Eventually no other travelers were on the road, and he had time to quietly watch the changing of the guards.

Every two bells the guards moved around to keep alert. They shifted positions clockwise around the walls or traded shifts with other guards from inside. They patrolled in pairs, and no part of the land in front of the keep went unwatched. The man stayed there all night. Watching, taking notes, waiting. Ensuring that nothing changed in the patterns of the soldiers since he last was in Selstad. He was gone by first light, no hint of his presence left behind.

Anders hunched over an empty fireplace in a seldom used library while Guilda quietly read nearby. No one actually cared what you did at Whitethorn, so long as you didn't destroy anything or hurt anyone, and were back in your room for lock up. The mages inside weren't going anywhere, and the desire to study, learn, and master their magic kept them mostly in line. That and the council of elected mages that policed themselves. In fact, the only ones in the keep other than the mages were soldiers and kitchen staff. If you wanted a clean room, you cleaned it. If you wanted to send a letter home, you had better hope you could pay someone from town on market day to take it to a messenger. There were periodic royal scholars that would come to research something with a mage, or conduct searches for illegal or magical contraband, but rarely other visitors.

The children are taught meditation and some semblance of control. Those are grey mages. Once you are deemed safe enough to wander the keep you become brown. Then you were on your own to learn or find a willing teacher. The assessments, which were of a magical nature themselves, happened every five years as they were done in each country on the northern continent in turn. Last year they were held for the mages in Nummelin. This year would be Selstad, Anders's chance to gain rank and leave the keep. That is, if he could pass.

"What is it that you are trying to do again?" Ghilda asked over the top of her book.

"Turn this stupid sand into stupid glass." Anders had several blobby, burnt, and bubbly piles of half formed glass. The bag of sand he got from Reece was nearly half gone and Anders was visibly frustrated.

"What kind of stupid glass do you need?" Ghilda smiled and turned a page.

"I need a case, sort of. Something to hold everything in place. I know the principal, the shape I need. I just can't get the temperature right. Or the, something. I don't know. I'm not sure what I'm doing wrong." Anders flopped onto his back, staring at the stone ceiling.

"Your face will stick like that." Ghilda teased. "You seem to have some semblance of glass in some of those piles. Why don't you try to melt them into the desired shape?" She put her book down and glided towards the fireplace.

"Lightning can't re-melt the glass. I don't think anyway." Anders mumbled.

"That is a conundrum. And I'm no fire mage." Ghilda inspected the blobs. "This is another part of your storage contraption, yes? I think what you need is to get back to the books, or find a willing fire mage. Are these safe to touch?"