Death & Magic (The Barefoot Healer, volume I)

Death & Magic chapter 15

Chapter 15

Adramal hurried to Degoran’s magic class. Because of how she’d impressed him in the entrance examination, he’d put her in his top class, where she was the youngest. To her dismay, the rest of the apprentices were there already. He turned to her as she eased the door shut behind her.

“Adramal.” He smiled insincerely. “So gracious of you to join us.”

“I’m sorry I’m late, Master,” she said, holding out her hands and bowing her head. “Perinar was still showing me around the library.”

One or two apprentices at the back of the room sniggered. As she sat down, Degoran said, “In the last few lessons, I’ve talked about the importance of knowing your limits as a wizard. Today’s lesson is a practical, so we’ll look at some ways of learning those limits.” He moved to the door. “Follow me.”

Degoran took them to the outer ward. Two servants waited there, each with two buckets on a yoke. These men bowed and followed the apprentices.

As the group approached the outer gatehouse, Adramal felt someone nudge her. She turned to see Grenur. “A friendly word of advice, farm girl,” he said from the corner of his mouth. “If you want to progress at this school, keep your nose out of matters that don’t concern you.”

Adramal was too surprised to reply.

“Do you understand, farm girl?”

She looked sidelong at him. “Perfectly.”

He scowled, as if he’d swallowed a wasp. “I’m accustomed to being shown respect.”

“And I’m accustomed to showing respect to those who deserve it, not those who demand it.”

“Quiet back there, Apprentices Grenur and Adramal,” said Degoran, without looking round. “A wizard speaks because he has something to say, not because he has to say something.” Grenur glowered, but fell silent.

They stopped on the path that led away from Kyturil, out of the shadow of the wall. Degoran told the apprentices to line up three yards apart on the path, and ordered the servants to fetch water from the river.

Degoran said, “A very good way of learning your limits is to try to exceed them. I want each of you to cast a shield in front of you, about so big, in the shape of a shallow bowl.”

Adramal allowed the necessary thoughts to assemble in her mind. A patch of air shimmered in front of her as her shield took form, a yard across and a foot deep.

To either side of her, the other apprentices attempted their own shields, with varying degrees of success. Some were nearly invisible, while others resembled saucer-shaped clouds. A few apprentices couldn’t control the shape. One seemed not to be able to cast the spell at all, and was waving his arms about like a priest. Grenur stood two places to the right of Adramal. His shield looked like a piece of fine linen.

Degoran wandered among the apprentices, helping those who needed it. Some of the other shields teased at the edges of Adramal’s awareness, like rustling leaves or a swarm of bees around a distant hive. She thought this discourteous — the others should be better able to control the spillage from their spells. Then she thought some of them were doing well to control their magic at all.

“Master,” said Grenur, “Adramal hasn’t cast a shield.”

Degoran frowned and walked over to Adramal. He tapped on the side of her shield. His hand stopped abruptly when it met the curve in the air. He pressed his palm against the edge. His sleeve slid down his forearm. It was hard to be sure, but Adramal didn’t think he looked unusually thin.