Returning to Mericella

The entire trip passed in a blur of lessons with the eager children, talks with the middle-aged men of the caravan (I quickly learnt to avoid these, as they mostly talked of alcohol, sex and the sights and spices seen further inland), and of late night conversations and hot drinks with Marjorie, whom I quickly developed an iron-shod friendship with, despite our extreme differences in gender, age, and life experience. She was a grandmother, and while she was not interested in magic at all, she was interested in me. We talked of our families, and I confessed to her my sins against mine. She told me she had run away after her father had arranged for her to be married, and had found an honest living repairing objects.

She told me of some the the things she had seen; indescribably stories of heroism, cruelty, exotic food and drink, beautiful inland animals and the incredible architecture of huge cities. I told her I was beginning to suspect that embellishment of the truth was somewhat her speciality, but she only laughed - throwing back her head theatrically - and told me she was a tinker and an old woman - of course she exaggerated the finer details.

Far too quickly for my tastes, we arrived at Maricella. By this time, I had well and truly decided to remain with the caravan and teach the children the cantrips and enchantments that would be useful to them. Marjorie smiled at this, and even Lilia remained impassive about it.

I decided that I would buy some academic materials from the College of Maricella - paper, ink, wooden pens and the like. I also decided I would read up on some other uses of Sol, or Sun as I was now calling it to avoid confusion, while I was there.

Personally, I’d always preferred to call Sun by the archaic name, but I’d had to compromise.

So I told Marjorie and her husband Jonathan that I would be back before nightfall. They would stay with the caravan while everyone else attended the market, offering their services.

Maricella had changed. The streets were fuller, and I saw the darker skin of Inland folk mingling amongst the native Verich olive. I even saw a few of the bleached white faces from far south. There were also beggars on every corner, and men harassing every pedestrian with proposals for medicinal oils, cleansing incense, or exotic scaled boots.

The College rose high above the otherwise flat city of Miricella, being outdone only by the Church of Wind and Water. The sandstone of the magnificent building glowed in the morning sun. It seemed far too beautiful for what was, in essence, a glorified library.

It took me a full half-hour to reach the College by foot, though it was hardly an ordeal for my body, which was still hardened from months of long travelling. When I reached it and walked in through the pillared entrance hall, I immediately felt at home. I was amount other mathematicians, other academics, and even a few other magi. As lovely as the tinkers were, I missed the intellectual discussion that they could not truly provide. I sighed deeply, breathing in the slightly spicy scent of mingling new and old paper.

Despite my longing for academic conversation, I requested a private booth on the College's second floor, and asked that a Librarian take me a few texts on Sol. I requested the writings of Tellin Naral, who was a scholar rather than a mage (though many these days managed to be a fusion of both), but I respected his unbiased and unabridged writings on all runic matters.

I sat in my booth and read. The text was dry, and mostly contained things I already knew. However, I did discover the ninth harmonic form of Sol, which I had never been able to find before. I wondered whether it was a recent discovery, or merely not considered very useful.

I knock from behind me interrupted my musings. I called for them to come in, and the door creaked open apprehensively. A big brute of a man, a head taller than me and easily twice as broad, stood there holding a tray of fruit and sweetmeats. I cocked my head in an enquiry.

“You ordered refreshments, sir?” The hulking man’s jowls shook as he spoke.

“No,” I responded. “I didn’t.”

“Well, how about I just put these here, sir? If the high-and-mighties fucked up, well, it’s their fault, huh?” He grinned at me from behind his huge jowls.

As he leaned in to place the tray on the table, I saw the glint of metal from inside his brown jacket.

It was the hilt of a sword. My mind froze for a second - but just for a second.

No one brought weaponry into the College.

I brought my staff between us, but he moved like a snake despite his size, knocking it out of my grasp and drawing his blade in one movement. I backed away the few steps allowed by the cramped room, and then he was charging toward me.

I ducked under the shortsword, feeling it shear against one of my hairs. I responded with a quick Force rune directed at his sternum, throwing my attacker back against the wall and scattering papers with the resultant shockwave.

He came right back at me, transferring his bouncing motion into an overhead swing, all brute force and hot fury.

I kicked him in the knee and he fell over, his size working against him, the blade missing me by inches.

It was more difficult to cast quickly without my staff to assist me, but I managed to blast him with a Mind rune and a Degression second harmonic, knocking him senseless for a few seconds.

I grabbed my fallen staff and reading material and then (I admit it) fled. I slammed the door behind me, and shoved another Force rune on it - this time with a Patterning harmonic - binding the door to its frame.

As I turned away from the door, I felt a prickling on the back of my neck, and threw myself to the floor, feeling a wave of blistering heat rush over me. I rolled to my feet, my months of hard travel and subsequent whip-cord physique serving me well.

Even (and perhaps especially) in the chaos of fighting for my life, the analytical part of my brain was in overdrive: That was some kind of rune, probably Incineration built from a Progression base. Move before they casts another one, or at least build some defences. I jumped to the side, seeing a streak of red light zoom past me, felt its heat on my cheek. Alternatively, you could counterattack, utilizing an offencive rune. I admit, I considered it for a moment, but decided against it when I saw that the swordsman was not, in fact, the one slinging spells at me - the door was still firmly Patterned shut. With a moment to look around, I realised two additional people were bearing down on me. In a moment, I realised both were women, wearing the gold and green headdresses of scholars.

I was surprised by how little that bothered me, even considering the attempting-to-murder-me circumstances. My father would not approve.

So, it was not because of their gender that I decided against a counter-attack, but simply cold, survivalist logic - I could blast one of them, but it would give the other an opening. So instead, I dived to the side, hoping to gain a few precious moments, and forced a Water rune to form onto a Dispersion base in my right palm, adding a Sound harmonic onto the base rune. Another bolt of red light whooshed past me, nearly igniting my cloak as it unspooled in the wake of my leap. I pushed the runes from my palm into the hallway around me, and suddenly --

Quiet. Sound muted. Grey filling my vision.

Weather magic was often fickle, but filling a room with horrifyingly thick fog was far easier than the Patterning rune I’d used to seal the library door. I snuck down the hallway, hoping to get to the crowds outside.

As I reached the edge of the spell and walked out of the mist - which formed a seamless, eerie grey wall behind me - I realised that I had no allies, no home base, and nowhere to turn; unless I was willing to endanger Marjorie and the other tinkers, which I wasn’t. Still, I sprinted down the stair, hoping my spell would muffle my footsteps.

When I reached the great entrance hall of the College, I heaved a sigh of relief. There were at least twenty-and-five men and women in the hall, and surely no further attack would be launched against me.

I walked into the centre of the room, staying in full view of the witnesses. To my dismay, three of the men in the crowd drew swords - bigger than the shortsword my would-be assassin had used in the close confines of my booth - and advanced towards me. Seeing this, the others fled the room, supplying a suitable soundtrack of screams.

So much for my academic colleagues. Magic was wonderful, but the only thing I knew that would hold off three men was my Sleeping Spell - Mind spliced into Regression. And once the spell-fog upstairs began to fray, I would be fighting two practitioners of the art, whom I doubted would be affected by such a simple trick as a Sleeping rune.

I couldn’t stay here.

I ran towards the door, but one of the men was there before me, blade poised. I blasted him aside with Force and dived into the busy streets of Mericella, throwing my staff on the ground. Wearing worn tinkers’ clothes as I was, and without my staff to identify me, I would blend in with the crowd perfectly - near impossible to track. I began to make my way towards the marketplace, to assure myself the tinkers were safe.

I needed to find out who had orchestrated this, and I didn’t know where to begin. But I did know one person who might help.