Chapter the Fourth of Part the First
In which the narrative recounts acts from the life of Malcoomb Nordrench in World Drakkenfleiss.
“Are you ready to conjure your dragon?” asked Malcoomb’s father.
“Yes,” Malcoomb replied.
Malcoomb Nordrench and his parents were standing on the flat porch roof of their house that was designed for takeoffs and landings. This takeoff would be the most important in Malcoomb’s life this far. He was proudly wearing the light gray sorcerer’s robe that he had created with a spell taught by his mother. He hoped it would not be long before he earned honorary flares at the Drakkenfleiss Academy. His father had three colorful flares flaming along the left sleeve of his robe and his mother had two on hers. The boy said the words of the spell along with his dragon’s name and made the “dragon” gesture with his hands. A reddish cloud puffed up before him and shimmered into the shape of Malcoomb’s dragon.
“Craftily done!” the boy’s father said with admiration. “I am sure you can ride him all the way to the academy and do great things for us. It should not be long before we have a another Master Magus in the family whose spells can create rings around the necks of all other families.”
Malcoomb chuckled.
“I assume that you will succeed at every skill taught at the academy,” said Malcoomb’s mother. “If you fail at anything, it will be an unspeakable disgrace to the family.”
“I have no intention of failing at anything,” said Malcoomb stoutly. “I must be on my way. If I am late at landing at the Academy, then I will have demerits fired in my name before I even start.”
“That will never do,” said mother.
Malcoomb hastily jumped on to his dragon, waved a formal farewell, and sent his dragon to the spaces in between. The in between spaces were mostly dark as very little existed there. In Drakkenfleiss, one did not follow a route to get from one place to another; one concentrated on the point of destination and directed the dragon to that place. Malcoomb saw the glows of other dragons with passengers on them. He assumed they were other children hoping to become student magi at the Drakkenfleiss Academy. Most of these dragons were some distance away, but one dragon with a boy riding it suddenly appeared close by. The dragon seemed to slip through the air in Malcoomb’s direction and Malcoomb had to react quickly to avoid a collision.
“Watch where you’re going, you flame-flummoxed dead brain!” Malcoomb shouted at the boy.
“Sorry! I’m trying to get the hang of this,” the boy gasped.
“They expect better than that at the Academy.”
“I know,” said the boy. “It’s just that I saw something over there.”
Malcoomb turned his eyes in the direction that the boy was looking saw a very faint sparkle down below them.
“So what?” asked Malcoomb. “I don’t see much from here.”
“I want to see what it is,” said the boy.
“Happy looking.”
What the boy saw did not appear to be interesting to Malcoomb, but he decided to follow the other boy just in case whatever he had spotted turned out to be something worth while after all. When they reached the spot, Malcoomb shook his head over the waste of his time. There was nothing but a scrap of stone floor that had a tumble of books and papers strewn about and a couple patches of stone wall that glowed dimly.
“It’s just a scrap of world,” said Malcoomb.
“Maybe,” said the boy.
The boy slid off his dragon and looked around. He found a battered harp, plucked a couple of strings of it, and then picked up a couple of the papers. Malcoomb decided that the boy looked like a mouse turned into a boy with his dull brown hair, his slight build and pointed face. It was said that body size had nothing to do with magical talent, but the tatters in the boy’s gray robe suggested that he boy was as incompetent at creating a robe as he was at riding a dragon.
“It’s music!” the boy cried.
“Do you want me to tell you how thrilled I am?” Malcoomb asked.
“No,” said the boy, “you already said you aren’t interested in this place. So why did you come?”
“I just did, that’s all. You never know when you might want to know about a world fragment.”
With his nose buried in the piece of paper, the boy began to sing a song about trees and their search for water. Malcoomb did not like to admit it to himself, but they boy seemed to have a decent voice. Even if he could not ride a dragon well, he might prove himself in magical singing. Not to be outdone, Malcoomb picked up a piece of paper from the nearest stack. It was not easy to hear the tune in his head while the other boy sang, but once he thought he had an idea of how it should go, he sang a song about blackbirds baked in a pie. Between the two boys, their singing was discordant and the other boy winced and dropped the music paper back on its stack. Malcoomb decided it was the other boy who was singing off-key.
The boy shrugged his shoulders, climbed back on to the dragon and flew off. Malcoomb focused his thoughts on the Academy and then, a few instants later, landed smoothly on a field where an aura of light lit up an imposing stone building. A magus with a mustache and roughly half a dozen honorary flares burning on his sleeve stood in front of a line of some seven or eight children in their new magus robes.
“Your name?” asked the magus as he thumbed through a set of shining leaves that floated in his hand.
“Malcoomb Nordrench.”
“Right,” said the magus as he impressed a mark on a leaf with his finger. “Landing with dragon is satisfactory and almost on time. Compress your dragon and stand with the other prospective students.”
Malcoomb climbed off his dragon and compressed it into his hands easily. He took a place at the end of the line of the other children, next to a girl with long golden brown hair flowing down to her waist. The boy who had almost collided with Malcolm had not arrived as yet. Perhaps he would never make it. Malcolm hoped he didn’t but thought he might have an extra source of amusement if he did.
“There should be one more,” said the magus with the mustache as he leafed through his pages. “It seems that every time somebody loses his way or her way.”
The magus and the children waited impatiently until at long last, a dragon appeared coming at a bad angle to the ground. When it landed, it spilled the boy riding it on to the field. It was the boy Malcolm encountered on his journey.
“Your name?” asked the magus, showing no concern over a possible injury to the boy.
“Dunsland Dilworth,” the boy huffed, his breath being short.
“Your landing was totally unsatisfactory. Can you stand up?”
“Yes.”
To prove that he could, Dunsland pushed himself up from the ground and limped painfully a few steps.
“It appears that you have a chance to demonstrate your self-healing abilities as well,” said the magus, accompanied by snickering from the other children. “Take your place with the others.”
Dunsland nodded and, putting a hand to his knee, said a spell. He still limped to his place, but not as badly as he did.
“I am Theory Master Magus Raspoortek and I will teach you the inner workings of magic, provided you are capable of learning anything. You will next be tested in conjuring and, in order to be tested in conjuring, you must be tested for your ability to teleport yourselves. The image of the conjuring class room will appear in the mind of each of you, provided you are capable of receiving it. If you do not receive a clear enough image to teleport, then recall your dragon and go home.”
Malcoomb closed his eyes, confident that he would receive the image of the classroom, but he was still nervous until the image came. What he saw was a shapeless cloud of green filled with the half-formed shapes of many things from trees to cannons. All of the other children appeared, with Dunsland appearing last of all. A woman wearing a flowing gown of a brighter shade of green than the cloud was there to greet the students with eyes of steel. Malcoomb expected knives to appear when she opened her mouth to speak.
“I am Master Conjuring Magus Daylanna. First, I want to see if you can create light. Remember, the only lights you will have in your rooms are lights you can make yourselves. Ready? Spell!”
Malcoomb snapped his fingers and thought “light!” As he expected, a good ball of light appeared, plenty enough to read by. The other children up the line seemed to be roughly as successful with Raissa, the girl with the long hair, creating a particularly elegant light. Dunsland, who had taken the last place next to Malcoomb, struggled once again and managed only to create a very small, dim ball of light.
“Very satisfactory for all except for Dunsland Dilworth,” said Conjuring Master Magus Daylanna. “Dunsland, was it a hedge witch who recommended you to the Academy?”
“It was a music mage, Master Conjuring Magus Daylanna,” said the boy, blushing with the knowledge of what the other children would think of that.
“Most music magi know how to create enough light to read their music spells by and they also know how to teach their pupils to do the same,” said Conjuring Master Magus Daylanna.
Dunsland hung his head. Conjuring Master Magus Daylanna drilled the children in a few more basic practical spells such as the water spell for washing and a food spell for furnishing them each with a snack. Malcoomb was quite satisfied with his raspberry tart and he derived added satisfaction at looking at Dunsland’s sour face when he ate an obviously unripe apple.
“You will now all teleport to the combat courtyard,” announced Conjuring Master Magus Daylanna.
The Conjuring Master Magus produced an image of a courtyard with a hard dirt surface surrounded by sturdy stone walls that the made the courtyard resemble a pit. Malcoomb and the other children were met there by a very short and very thin man with slanted eyes. When this Master Magus man peered at something on the ground near one of the walls, all eyes turned in that direction. It was Dunsland trying to pull one foot out of the wall. The children exchanged mocking faces. After struggling a bit, Dunsland hummed a snatch of a tune and pulled his leg free.
“Dunsland Dilworth, I assume?” said Master Magus as he looked over a set of pages.
“Yes,” Dunsland gasped.
“I thought it was made clear to you that you were coming to a combat tryout and not a music tryout.”
“What you say was said clearly,” Dunsland replied with an edge to his voice. “I used the only spell that would pull my leg out of the wall because I assumed you were not going to do it for me.”
“You assumed rightly,” said the Master Magus in a voice as thin and taut as a tight wire. Then turning to the assembled children he announced: “I am Combat Master Magus Mossritch. Pair off for combat demonstration.”
Malcoomb was paired with Dunsland. Dunsland turned pale at the sight of Malcoomb. This was going to be too easy, Malcoomb thought, but at least he did not have to worry about being humiliated at this trial.
“Prepare your defense and attack spells,” ordered Combat Master Magus Mossritch. “At the count of five—attack your partner. Only the basic missile spells are allowed. Use anything else and you are expelled for life. One—two—three—four—five!”
Malcoomb let loose a fiery dagger that struck Dunsland hard in the stomach. The arrow released by Dunsland was so feeble that Malcoomb would have been just as safe with no protective spell as he was with it. Just to make sure, Malcoomb shot another fiery missile at the boy and doubled him over in pain. Dunsland finally managed to heal himself at least enough to stand straight again, but he still looked weak.
“None of you could burn off the hand of a hedge witch,” said Master Magus Mossritch, “but, with one exception that is obvious to all, your efforts were not totally abysmal. Pair off again for a second match.”
This time Malcoomb was faced with Raissa. Although Malcoomb knew that some women were great combat master magi, he still assumed that a girl would be an easy fight, even though any girl was likely to be more challenging than Dunsland. Raissa hardened her attractive face and shot a missile at Malcoomb’s hip that Malcoomb deflected with difficulty. His attacks were also turned away and they fought to a draw.
Malcoomb quickly glanced over at Dunsland. The boy was slowly getting to his feet, soundly beaten by a girl.
“Dunsland Dilworth,” said the Combat Master Magus. “You continue to fail at everything. Would you rather drop out now, or would you rather disgrace yourself further?”
“I will test for all things,” said Dunsland.
“Well, music is next, so perhaps you can pull off a combat spell in the music room if you try heard enough. Teleport to the music room.”
Malcoomb received an image of a modest-sized room paneled in ebony and gold and promptly appeared in that very room. There, the gold and ebony moved along the walls in rhythmic waves that Malcoomb could almost hear as a melody. A heavy-set man with honorary flares burning on both sleeves waited for the children. Even this time, Dunsland was the last to appear, but at least he didn’t get himself stuck in the wall.
“I am Music Master Magus Hilfersdorner,” barked the red-faced man. “I want each of you either to produce a musical instrument or sing a song, or both, and then create a magical image with the music you perform,” ordered the Music Master Magus.
The first few children either played or sang decently and were told they were not quite beyond hope. Raissa was the first to sing really well and, after being told that she succeeded in not sounded as if she were being throttled, was assigned to the Magical Singing Squad. The boy next in line, however, did not produce an instrument and he sang off-key in a scratchy voice.
“Darlan, you fail at music,” said Music Master Magus Hilfersdorner. “If you passed well the other tests, we will try to make you sing better than a forest lizard. Next!”
It was Malcoomb’s turn. He wished he knew if Dunsland had any intention of conjuring up an instrument or if he was just going to sing. Not wishing to take a chance on looking bad if Dunsland did create an instrument, Malcoomb imagined a guitar and it duly appeared in his hands. Knowing he would have to make a serious effort at singing to outdo Dunsland, he concentrated on producing a decent tone and singing the notes on pitch as he sang the song he found in the world fragment he had visited with Dunsland, and accompanied himself on the guitar.
“Malcoomb Nordrench, I believe,” said the Music Master Magus. “At least you don’t sound like a screech owl being tortured by a lion. I assign you to the Magical Singing Squad. You have a slight chance of qualifying as a soloist if you slave away at your singing. One more and we are done.”
That was Dunsland Dilworth. The boy began by singing a song about moons and owls with enough of a beautiful, eerie sense to the melody that it sent a couple of chills through Malcoomb. Fortunately, the boy could not conjure an instrument, Malcoomb thought with satisfaction. But, at the end of the song, an image of an owl encased by a moon floated appeared in front of Dunsland and floated away. It was enough to make Malcoomb fear he would have to struggle to avoid disgracing his family by not being the best singer at the Academy.
“Not a trace of a musical spell,” said the Music Master Magus, “but I must say that you have the magpies in any known world beat. You are assigned to the Magical Singing Squad and I expect you to be prepared to sing solo spells, provided you are accepted into the Academy. You must now teleport to the Academy Assembly Hall where the results will be announced. If you fail to find your way there, then you already know the result for you.”
At first, Malcoomb saw only darkness inside his mind and he panicked for an instant before a he saw large candles light up a flagstone floor, a scene not unlike the world fragment he and Dunsland had stopped at. It took Malcoomb a bit of time to realize that he was in the assembly hall and not just imaging it. Shadows of all shades of black and gray swirled about slowly in what was not really a room but could only be called an ensorcelled place. Malcoomb saw the other children in the shadows except for Dunsland. Three of the gray swirls curled up and turned into the three master magi who had tested the children and then a fourth magus with pointed eyebrows and eyes like fiery knives materialized.
“I am Premiere Master Magus Donanskorall,” said the magus as his honorary flares of all colors exploded over every inch of his robe. “According to the marks handed to me, all of you are accepted to the Drakkenfleiss Academy except for one, whose name I need not mention, and who must know of his failure as he has not appeared in the place.”
“I have appeared,” said the same soft voice that had irritated Malcoomb throughout the day.
“Not very well, you haven’t,” said the Arch Premiere Master Magus in a voice that made Malcoomb think of an underground snake.
“I never said I appeared well,” said Dunsland.
Indeed, Dunsland still could hardly be distinguished from the gray shadows surrounding him.
“I wish that Dunsland Dilworth accepted into the Drakkenfleiss Academy,” announced Music Master Magus Hilfersdorner.
“But the boy has failed in every other category,” Theory Master Magus Raspoortek protested.
“That is your affair, not mine,” insisted the Master Music Magus. “I will instruct his singing and if you have any ability to teach anybody anything, the boy will be spinning his own clothes and creating waterfalls in no time.”
“Very well,” said Arch Premiere Master Magus Donanskorall, in a tone of voice that said the opposite. “I wish to impress upon all who are now officially student magi, that it is to the master magi such as the four of us that the maintenance of all magical works has been entrusted. No magic may be exercised without our consent. This is a responsibility you will all learn to share. If you do not learn to share this responsibility, what magic you think you possess will be destroyed. There is much more that will be said to you but, for now, I send off you to find your rooms and furnish them.”
Proceed to Chapter the Fifth of Part the First