At the end of the Third Shadowwar, the forces of evil were defeated so thoroughly, so completely, that no-one thought they would ever threaten civilisation again, but they were wrong. Totally, disastrously wrong...
The Sceptre of Samnos. Volume one...
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The room smelled of wood smoke.
It always had. He'd noticed it the first time he'd stood there, five years before, and it had been the same every time since. He had no idea why. So far as he knew, no fire had ever been lit in the Grand Assembly Hall of Lexandria University, and he couldn't think of any reason why it would be, but the smell was there even so, just enough to be at the edge of awareness.
The young apprentice wizard, Thomas Gown by name, was standing perfectly still on the finely tiled floor that had been worn smooth by centuries of young, sandaled feet. He stood among the one hundred and forty six other students in his year, standing in three rows like soldiers on parade. They were all wearing the plain white robes of apprentice wizards, except for two nomes standing a few places beside him wearing droopy conical hats and whose robes were trimmed with the grey and gold of the school of illusionism. For some reason, known to no-one except the Gods, illusionism and divination were the only kinds of magic that nomes were able to use.
The hall arched high above them like a vast gothic cathedral, susurrating gently with the sound of soft breathing and the occasional soft rustle of clothing as the chamber's superb acoustics magnified every tiniest movement of the apprentices. The beams and arches that supported the high vaulted ceiling were carved with the shapes of trailing vines and hideous gargoyles, and sunlight streamed in through the three giant stained glass windows high up in the eastern wall. The six windows, three on each side, depicted wizards of each of the six schools of magic, and these schools were also celebrated by a marble carving at the end of the hall, above the stage on which were set the twelve chairs of the University's senior staff. The six heads of schools, the five heads of years, and the Director, who ruled and coordinated them all. His chair was the most ornate of all, but they were all heavily decorated, to reflect the station of the person who sat there. At this time, however, they were all empty. The students had the hall all to themselves.
Thomas felt the hall pressing down on him, making him feel like a tiny insect on the floor of a giant's castle, horribly exposed and vulnerable to being trodden on and crushed. It was supposed to have that effect, of course. It had been designed to be imposing and intimidating by the wizards who had founded the University some five thousand years before. The ability to draw the magic force into one's body, refine and condense it and then use it to perform acts that could seem miraculous to ordinary people sometimes made wizards feel like giants or gods, and if those illusions were allowed to persist the common people would begin to see them as enemies, people to be feared and hated. Wizardry had come close to extinction once before when those who could use magic had lost the trust and tolerance of the common people, and one of the functions of the University was to ensure that that never happened again. The Grand Assembly Hall towered over the students, therefore, impressing them with their smallness and insignificance, crushing all trace of arrogance and superiority out of them while they were young, so that they'd remember it all their lives.
