klevanski
patreon
Matabar. Chapter 80 - Overindulgence
🕑 Added 2025-03-13 23:01:01 +0000 UTCArdan watched the sun that was barely tinted with the first blush of dawn tenderly caress the fiery hair scattered across the pillow. Little rays of light, reflecting off the cheap, flawed glass, spread out in wide, shimmering pools along her cheeks, then trickled down in a faint rainbow toward her small, upturned nose.
Tess, still asleep, was comically cocooned in the blanket, pulling it up around her ears and framing her face with the cover. She was breathing softly, curled into a ball, and smiling faintly every time Ardi stroked her hair. And he simply couldn’t stop. He did so gently, as though he were touching not a person, but some fragile porcelain figurine brought from the distant lands of Lan’Duo’Ha.
The living room still carried the aroma of last night’s dinner — simple, yet hearty. This time, though Tess hadn’t exactly been delighted by the prospect, Ardi had done the cooking. Back in Evergale, he had often helped his mother around the house and in the kitchen, especially when Kelly had been away on week-long patrols through the prairies and steppes. Ardan had always liked cooking. As a child, ladles, pots, a stove, oven, and bubbling water had reminded him of Atta’nha’s lessons, where the she-wolf had taught him the art of blending herbs, roots, and berries.
They lay in bed together as the dawn lightened the sky outside. Chasing away the drowsy clouds, that crimson band kept growing, draping the city in the glow of this heavenly wanderer returning after its nocturnal adventures on the far side of the planet.
It had returned, and right now, it was caressing Tess just as tenderly as Ardi was.
She opened her eyes.
They were as bright as the forest lakes in the Alcade when springtime sunbeams would race across the surface alongside water striders. As green as the young leaves that had only just broken free of their swollen buds. And as caring and warm as those of his closest loved ones.
Tess stretched, tossing aside the blanket and revealing the lines and curves of a body that made Ardan, for an instant, envy the sun tracing her velvety skin, playing over her slim waist, glittering across her hips, sliding along her breas-
Ardan closed his eyes and let out a measured breath. When he opened them again, he found Tess’ face right next to his. She kissed him softly, the same way he’d been touching her hair just moments before, then tangled her fingers in his short curls, combing through them as though she were spinning yarn.
And Ardi simply stared and stared, unable to tear his gaze away. At that moment, if someone had offered him a choice between all the books of Star Magic, all the mysteries and enigmas that had filled his days until recently, and this fleeting instant — he would have, without hesitation, remained here. By her side. Inhaling the floral fragrance of her airy perfume, drifting in the reflection of her emerald eyes, watching the sunlight glide across the satin of her skin. The world outside could wait. For how long? As long as it took.
“What is it?” She asked in a soft whisper, as though afraid to chase off the remnants of sleep.
“I’m just admiring you,” Ardan answered honestly.
She smiled, kissing him again, this time taking longer, just long enough to make his heart pound faster and a flush of warmth seep below his waist.
They both reluctantly pulled back and looked at each other with regret in their eyes.
“The atelier.”
“The Grand.”
They spoke in unison, then shared a synchronized smile. Ardan leaned forward, kissing Tess’ forehead, then turned and gathered up the trousers, jacket, and shirt scattered at the edge of the bed.
Tess also dressed — her clothes had been laid out on the only bedside table, on the side she slept, right next to the wall.
“Will you be staying at your place tonight, or…” She asked.
Over the past few days, this was only the second time Ardan had spent the night with her. Why did he hesitate to do so more often? He didn’t quite know himself. And yet, for some reason, whenever he lingered too long at her apartment, he felt uneasy. Oddly enough, it reminded him of his younger days in the mountains of the Alcade. Except back then, after climbing the snowy trails, he would miss the forest expanses, whereas now…
Now he would sit at the table in his tiny apartment, buried in seals and research, occasionally glancing longingly at the glow of the lamp in Tess’ living room. And whenever he came to her, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from his own little bay window.
“Tess, I-”
“You know,” she cut him off, tying the sash of her casual dress, “when I was a child, a stray cat often came to our backyard. I really liked him. He was such a funny thing, all black with white paws. And I think he liked me, too. But at first, he never stayed long. Gradually, though, each time he visited, he lingered more and more, until finally, he chose a little spot under our old cherry tree and lived there. Sometimes, he would wander off for a couple of days, then return.”
She came around the bed, crouched down in front of him, and looked into his eyes.
“You remind me of that cat, Ardi-the-wizard,” Tess said, tracing her fingers along the lip that hid his long, inhuman fangs. “I’ll wait for you to find your own cherry tree, Ardi.”
Gazing at her round face, that cute upturned nose, her bright eyes and full crimson lips, he wanted to say, “I’ve already found it.” But instead, he simply said,
“Thank you.”
She kissed his neck, then made her way to the bathroom.
“When are we going to visit your colleague?” She asked.
Ardan could hardly dodge the invitation to Milar Pnev’s family gathering anymore. The day after his and Arkar’s escapade in the Firstborn District, he’d found a message in his mailbox.
It had been sealed with the Black House’s emblem.
“CONFIDENTIAL — TOP SECRET.
Any unauthorized individual reading this message is subject to Article 17, subsection 1.
Message for employee with the service number: 14/647-3
From employee with the codename ‘Cat’:
‘We’ll discuss everything at my place at the appointed time.
And please bring some cranberry juice.’
End of message.”
At first, Ardi had thought that “cranberry juice” was some sort of cipher or code he had to crack, but apparently not.
For some reason, Milar didn’t want to set up another meeting, and even more strangely, he wasn’t summoning him to file a report at the Black House. Admittedly, after the spectacle he and Arkar had created in the Firstborn District — a fiasco that might end with them doing several years of hard labor, given the shootouts, explosions, damaged property, and Sleeping Spirits only knew what else — this was all the more baffling.
“Tomorrow.”
“And today, you…”
“First, I have the Grand. Then I need to stop by the Spell Market. After that, I…” Ardi hesitated, unsure of whether he could tell Tess about his lessons with Aversky on the fourth day of the week, but he didn’t want to lie to her. “I have training with a Black House colleague.”
“All right,” Tess replied with a nod. “I’ll grab groceries after work, and from six to ten, I have rehearsals.”
“You’re starting them again?” Ardan was surprised.
Since “Bruce’s” had closed to customers, Tess had barely seen her bandmates. They’d been working the occasional gig at other establishments, sometimes with different performers.
“Yes. Shiler, our saxophonist, told us that a new concert hall is opening on Eleventh Street around mid-summer.” Her voice took on a dreamy note, which was likely something only creative souls could show when thinking about such things. “We want to try and get a regular spot there. They say it seats nearly two and a half thousand. On top of performance fees, they give artists a cut of ticket sales. Best of all, they’ll record records and provide press coverage in the biggest papers. Even the Imperial Herald!”
Part of Ardan wanted to warn her about who owned the concert hall that was under construction, to explain that dealing with the Dandy was reckless and dangerous. It would’ve probably been the right thing to do. But something inside Ardi told him that, no matter how right that warning might be, it wouldn’t do him any good.
“You’ll do great,” he said, doing his best to smile sincerely. “I’ve never heard anyone sing the way you do.”
“You’ve heard a lot of other singers?” Tess asked with playful sarcasm.
“Recently, I heard an elven woman sing.”
“And?”
Ardi thought about it for a moment before replying honestly, “It was boring.”
Tess smiled and disappeared into the bathroom. And Ardan remained on the bed, telling himself that it was best not to reveal the identity of the concert hall’s owner. Instead, he needed to ensure Tess could perform there without having to worry about any danger or unforeseen consequences.
That, he thought, was what his father would have done. Ardi was beginning to understand why their home in the Alcade had never had a fence. His mother, raised in the steppes, had pined for an unbroken horizon, so his father had put in an enormous amount of effort into warding off the wild animals (though they’d still visited sometimes) instead of simply building a fence.
On one hand, it had been irresponsible. On the other…
“Maybe that’s part of the answer to my question,” Ardi muttered under his breath, recalling his conversation with Arkar about what it meant to “be with a woman.”
Sleeping Spirits… Next to such strange problems, even the hardest challenges of Star Engineering didn’t seem so daunting.
Tess finished washing up, then Ardan did his own quick morning routine. Working together in the cramped kitchen — bumping shoulders and elbows from time to time — they made breakfast. Following his mother’s recipe, Ardan made milk, flour and butter pancakes for Tess. She, in turn, prepared salted and peppered boar meat lightly seared in hot water for him.
Ardi would have liked to eat pancakes as well, but he couldn’t have too much flour; the few times he indulged in pastries, it was so he could have his favorite blackberry pie.
They ate, then went down to the dusty, long-closed bar, stepped outside, hugged, and headed off in different directions — Tess on foot to Mrs. Okladov’s atelier, Ardi to the tram stop. Tess had helped him tailor a few of the orc suits, and as for his Imperial Mage regalia… In the worst-case scenario, Ardan’s shredded crimson cloak would at least keep the crows away, which was something.
He punched his ticket with the sleepy conductor (he’d soon have to replace it because there were barely any free squares left on the cardboard pass) and, as usual, he made his way to the back of the tram car, taking up residence on the typically empty bench.
He dozed all the way to Star Square, resting his forehead against the metal rail and trying not to breathe too deeply. Spring had advanced quickly in the Metropolis, bringing with it a distinct aroma.
In that half-asleep state, where shapeless dreams merged with fragments of reality, Ardi arrived at the Grand. He hopped off the tram, holding onto his cowboy hat, and surveyed the plaza that was packed with all sorts of cloaks. There were mostly crimson cloaks there, of course, with the occasional green ones thrown in, a few blue cloaks, and almost no yellow ones. Those belonged to professors or instructors for the most part.
Yes, it had been a long time since Ardan had last arrived at the university in time for the first lecture.
He entered the atrium with the rest of the crowd, waited his turn at the coat check — taking the opportunity to clean his shoes at a mechanical device bristling with brushes — and exchanged knowing, wordless glances with the gargoyles perched on high pedestals who were glaring down at the students. Then he headed into the warm connecting hall.
Today’s first lecture was with Professor Convel, and it would be focused on applied Star Engineering.
After reaching the Engineering Faculty building and climbing to the appropriate floor, Ardi was pleased to see a familiar face.
Elena Promyslov stood by the windowsill, as usual, buried in several sets of notes at once. She must have borrowed one of them from a classmate — there was a whole group of them gathered at the far end of the corridor.
“Good morning, Ard,” Ishka and Veshka Nelvir greeted him in unison.
“Morning,” he replied.
“Did something happen today, or did you finally decide not to be late?” A short, pretty classmate whose name Ardan had never learned teased him.
“Well, something like that,” Ardi answered vaguely. Then, after exchanging quick greetings with a few more classmates (and when it came to Eveless, they both, as always, pretended not to notice each other), he approached Elena.
She was so tightly entangled in her notes that she didn’t even notice her friend.
“Good morning.”
“Eternal Angels!” She exclaimed, jumping in surprise. “Ardi, you scared me. Don’t sneak up on people like that.”
He raised his palms in a conciliatory gesture. They gave each other a quick hug — being careful not to stir up rumors about their relationship.
“How’s Boris?”
“He’s slowly getting back on his feet, returning to everyday life,” Elena said, closing her notes and handing the borrowed notebook back to its owner. “What about you? I hardly ever see you around the University.”
“Work,” Ardan said simply.
Elena sighed, looking him in the eyes.
“Ardi, forgive me if I’m overstepping, but this is the Grand! Maybe you can pass the exams for now because you’re smart, but that won’t work forever. The notes you gave me don’t include even half of what our group has covered so far.”
“Yes,” Ardan said, scratching his head. “I know. It’s just… Things are like that right now.”
“Things are like that,” Elena echoed, opening her satchel and taking out several notebooks. “Here, while you’ve been gone, I compiled all the material you missed over… Well, I’m not even sure how long.”
Ardan’s eyebrows rose.
“How did you-”
“I analyzed everything you gave me, then compared it to the notes from our classmates and made a combined list of cross-references and missing topics. I summarized the main theses and included references to supporting literature.”
He glanced from the notebooks to Elena, back again, then up at her once more. The work in those pages looked incredibly daunting — like something that would take more than just a night or two of painstaking reading and writing.
“Elena, I-”
“Take them,” she said, pressing the notebooks into his hands. “And don’t you dare score less than a hundred and ten on the summer exams!”
Ardi, nodding dazedly, slipped the notebooks carefully into his bag.
“Thank you,” she said, much quieter now.
“For what?” Ardan asked in puzzlement.
She met his eyes, and hers were so brown and sincere.
“For being who you are, Ard Egobar. And for being our friend.”
“That’s…” Ardan scratched the back of his head again. “A very vague way of putting it, Elena.”
The young woman just snorted into her palm.
“Eternal Angels, I have no idea how you and Tess manage to communicate. I recall a couple of times at the balls when she-”
Elena abruptly fell silent, her face showing alarm.
“I already know about Tess’ family,” Ardan said quickly, trying to reassure her.
She exhaled in relief.
“Good,” she said, nodding. “Boris asked me to keep it under wraps, but honestly, I was tired of the secrecy. It just felt unfair to you! Besides, those two… Boris and Tess, I mean… They’re cut from the same cloth. I’m generally…”
Elena didn’t finish that sentence. The lecture hall door opened, and another group filed in, along with the professor. They took their seats, waiting for Professor Convel to start. He — as was his theatrical habit — flourished a small rod. Symbols and diagrams lit up on the board.
“Today,” the professor’s pleasant baritone rang out, “on this lovely, long-awaited spring morning, we shall continue working with Ed Linski’s seal and, going by its example, delve further into the principles governing multiple progressive runic links within a second-contour dynamic array.”
Notebook pages rustled, heavy textbooks opened, and quills dipped into ink jars with a soft slurp. But Ardan… Ardan once again felt a bit out of place.
On one hand, he understood most of the second half of Professor Convel’s introduction because he, too, had spent some time pondering the fact that the more progressive links you had, the stronger their interrelationship should be.
On the other hand, he had absolutely no idea — literally none — what an Ed Linski seal was supposed to be.
Fortunately, his knowledge of runes and other elements let him guess that the seal was related to… transportation. Transferring objects from one point to another. And judging by the fixed arrays describing very specific properties, the seal was meant to move items of complex geometric form, and of considerable weight at that.
Perhaps it was used in large-scale Star Engineering, like for building and calibrating Ley generators of the type planned for the underground tram system. Ardan set his pencil aside and glanced around. Seated near him were young women from the Faculty of General Knowledge, along with several male and female students from the Faculty of Jurisprudence. They hunched over their diagrams, listening to Convel’s lecture… and looked so normal. Not at all like battle mage alcoholics with navy-blue cloaks, nor like vampires leaping across rooftops. They certainly weren’t carrying massive revolvers or fragmentation grenades under their coats. And to them, a Star-born werewolf surely seemed no more real than some random detail in Professor Listov’s lectures — it would have nothing to do with the real world.
The world they lived in was one of student routine, side jobs, exams, lectures, and the gossip that, as Professor Lea liked to say, formed the university’s invisible walls.
“Student Egobar,” the professor’s voice brought him back. “Perhaps you’d like to answer my question instead of gazing at your lovely classmates?”
“Erm… sorry,” Ardan mumbled, flushing at the wave of half-suppressed giggles around him. “What was the question again?”
Convel tapped his staff against the board.
“Which formula do we need to use to calculate this node’s load?”
Ardan peered closer. A few runes in the sequence were labeled as unknown; they formed the linkage that would allow the mage to modify the array if necessary, sacrificing the distance traveled in order to increase the payload. The idea was that you could, in theory, adjust how high the item levitated above the breakaway point.
A decent solution… if it existed in a vacuum. In reality, you’d need to correct for obstacles, changes in elevation, and so on. It was unlikely these generator parts would be transported in a large, empty workshop.
“Couldn’t we just shut off that particular link?” Ardan muttered thoughtfully. “Then, in the adjacent node, switch it to a regressive link so that the item doesn’t float a meter and a half off the ground — maybe only fifteen centimeters. That way, we wouldn’t need to calculate or regulate the height of-”
“Student Egobar,” Professor Convel sighed, setting aside his pointer, “I’m asking you to apply the formula for calculating the runic links designed to overcome gravity, not replace Linski’s seal with Shofra’s. Which we covered last week, by the way. You’d know that if you bothered to come to class more often than… Well, it feels like I see my building superintendent more regularly than I see you.”
“My apologies, Professor,” Ardan said, taking his seat.
“What do I need your apologies for, Student Egobar…” Convel shook his head. “Don’t forget that, for the summer exams, they’ll expect not only theoretical knowledge from you, but also a practical repertoire of seals. Suppose they ask you for Shofra’s seal, and you don’t know it. What will you do then? Well…” He waved dismissively, sounding disappointed. “That’s on you. Now, who here can tell me the formula for calculating gravitational load?”
***
Under the flickering glow of Ley-lamps, in a corner of the Grand University library’s reading room that was reserved for the Faculty of General Knowledge, a young man sat at “his” table. He was far too tall and broad-shouldered for anyone to presume that he was a student from a non-military department when seeing him from behind.
And yet, that was precisely who he was. The young man, who’d removed his regalia and set it aside, absently gnawed at the tip of his pencil, holding its sharpened lead close to his ear. To his right, left, and in front of him towered piles of books with colorful spines — some opened, others still waiting their turn. They stood like silent companions, or perhaps incorruptible sentinels, keeping him from being pulled away from his obviously vital research. And how could he be mindful of the time when, behind him, a defeated clock was moving its hands in silence, while ahead of him, alongside the tomes on Star Magic, rose two more piles of books that Lisa, the reading room’s ever-present attendant, had just set down for him.
Thanks to the special clearance granted by the Black House, Ardan had borrowed so much literature that, on the Spell Market, the cost for that many volumes would easily have amounted to seven hundred exes or more. The only difference was that buying them in the Market would mean owning them outright, whereas here, he could only use them in the reading room itself.
From time to time, Ardan wound his newly-cut hair around the pencil as he pored over research by a Senior Magister of military Star Magic, a mage who had earned his regalia during the Fatian Massacre. Alongside the healing seal created by Elissaar, which had been perfected during that war, military magic tied to individual, rather than strategic, combat had also taken a great leap forward.
This had happened simply because Fatia, as was usually the case, had been supported by the Tazidahian Brotherhood, which had sent several dozen combat mages to help the Principality.
“You know,” the Senior Magister wrote, “when you find yourself in an actual theater of war, where the stench of blood and excrement clouds your head, and all you see overhead are clouds of gun smoke rather than clear skies, you start thinking about things in a far different way than you do in any laboratory, or during practice sessions within Grand Magister Aversky’s demonstration grounds.”
He was, by the way, still alive and teaching at the Magisterium (this was where Mages could pursue post-graduate studies and try to earn their title of Magister). “Usually, mages don’t pay any mind to trivial threats like bullets or artillery fragments. The logic is simple: who in their right mind would shoot at a mage, thus drawing their attention upon themselves, and why should a mage waste extra time against mere kinetic force, when there’s the Basic Shield spell they can use — refined over decades, studied inside and out, with countless modifications? Naturally, all of this pertains to the pomp and displays of mage-on-mage duels, Magical Boxing, and other amusements divorced from reality. So, when I wound up on the front lines, my assessment of shield spells underwent a rather dramatic shift. And since this text is an abstract for the Black House and the Ministry of War, I’ll end my introduction here and move on to the main part of my research.”
He then presented a complex, multi-layered seal diagram. Ardan counted seven external contours and one more inscribed directly into the vectors — a design approach he had encountered in some three-Star seals, but never in a two-Star one. Even the vectors themselves were spread all across the seal in unusual quantities (the distribution wasn’t surprising in principle, but still rare).
The Senior Magister had included, in the lower-left corner, the load-bearing vector structure; in the upper right, a general schematic of how the Ley energy flowed through the seal; and in the upper left, the method by which runic linkage would be created. Not for the seal’s functions, but specifically the structural layering of the Ley. Typically, textbooks written for students omitted these technical details as unnecessary, but this work exposed the seal in its entirety, so that any researcher could easily build on the data to craft any number of modifications. To that same end, the most crucial rune upon which the central array was heavily dependent — it governed the seal’s main function — was also isolated in the bottom-right corner.
In other words, while Ardan had sometimes come across coded seals (like in Gleb Davos’ grimoire), here he could study an example of one that had been fully decrypted.
“The whole problem with these sorts of shield spells is that they entered common use back in the days of single-shot pistols. And that makes sense. Once you’ve deflected the first bullet, the shooter won’t have time to reload, and you’ll promptly destroy them. Over time, the Basic Shield, thanks to its simplicity and wide array of possible applications, spawned a countless number of variations — enough to fill an entire library. Again, that’s all perfectly logical. But nowadays, when the front lines bristle with multi-shot revolvers, rifles, and belt-fed machine guns, I see absolutely no reason to stick with Basic Shield modifications. And here’s why.
Even if we take a mage that possesses a full Red Star — all nine rays — and assume they use one of the specialized shield types, like the Bullet Shield (born from Basic Shield modifications) for example, it still looks absurd. First of all, to even train a mage in the use of that shield, you need a set of licenses, and you also need to be serving as an active officer in the army or other special divisions.
Again, that’s understandable. A properly-trained combat mage — forgive the tautology — constitutes a major, potentially troublesome threat in the eyes of the authorities.
But, for instance, let’s examine that Bullet Shield, which is studied in the Grand’s second year, or in army units if they have a Magisterium representative assigned to them. It consumes five red rays, lasts a few seconds, and can withstand, at best, three hits from a standard seven-millimeter round. All perfectly fine for use in urban combat.
But on the front lines?
How many such shields could a mage cast — even a mage with a full Red Star? One. And what then? Accumulators? As we well know, no one has ever found a cure for the phenomenon known as Overindulgence…”
Ardan frowned. He’d never heard the term “Overindulgence” before.
“Hence, any single-use passive shield or extended active shield won’t change the overall situation. Even if just four ordinary revolver-wielding shooters go up against a Red Star mage, chances are it won’t end well for that mage. Yes, of course, if we substitute a mage with two, or even three Stars, the shooters wouldn’t stand a chance. But how many resources and how much time does it take the state to educate and train even a one-Star mage, compared to producing four revolvers and teaching some soldiers basic marksmanship?
Which is why I wholeheartedly support the reform of Star Magic’s military departments and faculties — the one proposing that every subsequent Star ignition occur every two years instead of the usual three.
Technological progress isn’t merely waiting for us; it demands our Star-based progress keep up with it.
My reply to it, born from my personal experience and irreversible injuries, is Orlovsky’s Shield, named, of course, after yours truly.
As you may already have noticed from its structure, it requires one red ray and two green rays. You might accuse me of extravagant energy expenditure, but I’m prepared to answer any questions…”
He then moved on to his calculations, starting simply: while a mage with five red rays and six green ones could only cast a single Bullet Shield, that same mage could cast three Orlovsky’s Shields. And then he laid out the principle behind this shield, showing how it formed twelve invisible, hovering discs that would constantly orbit the mage. Or, rather, not the discs themselves, but their contours, intangible placeholders lacking any physical or energy manifestation until triggered by a condition encoded in the seal itself.
Specifically, an invasive, destructive energy projectile — in common parlance, a bullet — crossing the perimeter defined by the shield’s parameters. At that point, the discs would register the projectile’s coordinates (they were not limited to bullets, but any object) and move along the vector of that projectile, saturating themselves with the Ley energy pre-loaded into the spell. Each disc, however, had fairly low density. Calculated in terms of those same seven-millimeter rounds, each disc could neutralize exactly one shot. Thus, Orlovsky’s Shield could endure twelve shots in total — not a huge improvement over the standard Bullet Shield.
However, the catch lay elsewhere: Orlovsky’s Shield, by its very design as a passive shield, could remain active for up to five hours. And additional arrays allowed for extended parameters. For instance, if the kinetic energy exceeded the default magnitude set by the blueprint, two or three or even all the discs might respond to a single shot. Thus, the mage might even end up surviving a large fragment of artillery shrapnel — albeit only once. And the shield could react to up to four simultaneous invasive vectors.
Of course, it had its downsides.
It was easy to overload — just shoot at the mage from five different directions. Even if the shield intercepted four, one shot might slip through, whereas the Bullet Shield, originally an offshoot of the Basic Shield, protected the mage’s entire body area. Or, for instance, a belt-fed machine gun’s sustained burst would overwhelm Orlovsky’s Shield… but it would also overwhelm the Bullet Shield, for that matter.
Which left a wide field of modifications (a list of the author’s suggested reading had been appended at the end) still unexplored.
Overall, it was no surprise Orlovsky’s Shield was taught only to the military. A two-Star mage who could become briefly impervious to firearms, the mainstay of the guards, the army, or even the Second Chancery, could do plenty of harm in any city…
This book, which had been entrusted to Ardan, was banned for anyone below the rank of instructor or Magisterium staff, with an exception made for Military Faculty students from their third year onwards.
And at last, the fact that the entire Davos family seemed to live off a single military shield spell they’d created no longer seemed so strange.
Modern Star Science, as Ardan had just realized once again, was a monstrously expensive enterprise. All the same, now that he was finished with copying the main Orlovsky’s Shield diagram and its node-by-node commentary into his grimoire, he was mulling over something else entirely…
“Ard.”
“Sleeping Spirits!” The young man yelped, nearly sliding off his chair. Instantly, the nearby readers hissed at him, and Ardan bobbed his head in every direction, displaying the deepest remorse.
Standing next to him, looking somewhat flustered, was a stately young woman. A friend of the Nelvir sisters. What was her name again…?
“Ella,” she reminded him, taking a seat at his side. “I’m sorry for distracting you, it’s just… I need help, and you usually… Well, I’m sure this isn’t the right time — sorry. I’ll just-”
“It’s all right,” Ardan said. He tugged at his cuff to check the time. “I should be wrapping up soon, anyway, or I’ll be late. What do you need?”
“Could you explain to me, in a nutshell, why Star Healing can’t regrow bones?”
“Actually, it can, but it’s a very complicated procedure that demands immediate action and a huge amount of Ley energy,” Ardan sighed, shutting the books on his desk. Apparently, Ella was preparing for the quiz Professor Lea had announced. “You see, the structure of muscles, nerves, arteries, skin, and other soft tissues has been fairly well studied by humanity. But the same can’t be said of the substance inside bones. We have no idea what it does or how it functions.”
“You mean bone marrow?”
“Marrow?”
“Yes, some science journals started calling it that last year — bone marrow.”
Ardan shrugged. Before enrolling in the Grand, he hadn’t exactly kept up with non-Star science. And if he were being honest, he still didn’t. He merely liked solving puzzles, no more than that.
“Whatever you’re calling it, it’s completely unresearched, and so we haven’t got a clue how to restore it,” Ardi replied, piling up the books he’d borrowed and attaching some tags to them so that Lisa would keep them safe for his next visit. “Not to mention the fact that a human body has processes regulating the regeneration of its tissues — including bones. Fractures do heal. But regrowing a bone entirely from scratch? Impossible. So, if the wound is extremely fresh, you might — by pouring in an enormous volume of energy — fix a bone. But if even a couple of minutes pass, that’s it. It’s hopeless. I’m no expert in how the process runs, honestly.”
“And the timeframe…”
“Same as with any other injury,” Ardan said, rolling his stiff neck and popping his knuckles. “A Star Healer has to bypass the body’s natural barrier, which protects it from the Ley Lines’ constant effects. If not for that barrier…”
“We’d all be mutants,” Ella finished, “Ley-infected, like certain plants and animals.”
“Exactly,” Ardan said with a nod, “and once you’re injured, the body amplifies that barrier around the site of your trauma so that no unpurified Ley energy can slip in. With a bone injury, it’s a double whammy. There’s both the barrier effect and the unknown factor of bone matter. Hence the inevitable outcome.”
He slung his bag over his shoulder and got up. The instant he did so, Lisa appeared by his side, covering his workspace with a black drape. This was standard procedure for books requiring special clearance.
There was no need for Ardan to carry extra papers right now.
It was strange that Ella would need his help. She normally did well in Professor Lea’s lectures and rarely seemed to struggle.
“Ard,” she called out as he turned to go.
“Yes?”
“At the end of the month, we’re having a little get-together at my place. There’ll be music, a buffet, dancing… Maybe you’d like to come?”
A party? Boris had told him many times how the Grand’s students often spent festive evenings in noisy groups. No one had ever invited Ardan to such an event before, for obvious reasons. And it wasn’t like he’d actively sought them out, either.
Saying no outright felt awkward, so instead, he offered a gentle, “If things line up for me, I’ll try to make it.” Skusty would’ve been proud of how politely vague he was.
“Great,” Ella beamed.
Strange… Could she be tied to Selena Lorlov somehow? Was the party some trap set by the Order of the Spider? He quickly dismissed the idea. Ella and Selena had barely interacted, if ever. Ardan was probably just catching a bit of Milar’s and Arkar’s paranoia. Or maybe…
Tomorrow’s thoughts.
As Lisa passed by, carrying an armful of books, she whispered under her breath, so softly a human ear might not have caught it:
“What a fool.”
He couldn’t tell whom she was talking about.
***
“Sign here as well, please.”
Ardan read the form closely, raising his eyebrows.
“‘Disclaimer of liability regarding potential harm to health?’”
“Some people report short-term headaches after the procedure,” said the Spell Market employee — a man in a green cloak who was around thirty. “They also complain about losing their spatial orientation, nausea, getting an upset stomach… and a few other minor side effects.”
“Minor side effects…” Ardan echoed in surprise, scrawling his signature at the bottom.
“Excellent.” The man took the clipboard and pointed to a privacy screen.
They were in a room reminiscent of a hospital ward. It was tiled in white and stocked with an assortment of alchemical instruments and tools.
“Please undress.”
“How completely?” Ardan asked, a bit uneasy.
“All the way.”
“Even-”
“Underwear too,” the mage cut him off before Ardan could ask.
Sighing, Ardan stepped behind the partition and stripped. Emerging into the open area, he stood there as nude as the day his mother had brought him into this world. The mage cast him a quick, appraising look, adding notes about his approximate height and weight.
“You’re a half-blood, right?”
“Yes.”
“Which half, orcish?”
“Matabar… ish.”
“Matabar? Huh… oh. Right. Please remove any jewelry as well,” the mage added, scribbling his “race” in a new line.
Reluctantly, Ardan untied the cord on his belt, setting aside an oak-shaped pendant (the one that had taken a bullet from Selena) and a fang.
The clerk-healer set his notes aside and stood up. “This way.”
They passed through a heavy iron door, entering a large, windowless chamber lined with the same material found on Aversky’s training grounds. In the center stood a massive steel sphere. It was coal-black, bristling with lamps, gears, flywheels, gauges reminiscent of pressure instruments, and other obscure bits of technology.
The man took a heavy key from around his neck, flipped open a cover, and turned it in a lock, opening an oval hatch. Inside the sphere, Ardan saw nothing besides a height-adjustable leather seat and a cluster of technical openings arranged around it.
The mage set up the seat so Ardan would fit in it.
“What should I do?”
“Sit and try to relax,” the mage said with a shrug. “It’ll take about an hour. It can be a bit loud, but bear with it.”
“Got it.” Ardan nodded, trying not to think about the fact that everything was “dangling,” and climbed the short steps to settle on the chair, which had had a fresh sheet draped over it — they apparently changed them for each visitor.
“All right, see you in an hour.” The clerk slammed the door shut, turned the lock, and Ardan’s world went black — equally silent and impenetrable.
The silence, however, did not last long. Soon, the sphere gave a slight shudder, and along with the vibrations, a steady metallic pounding began. It was as if Ardan were lying under a thundering locomotive rolling overhead.
Crash after crash, clang after clang, grinding after grinding. For a whole hour. It was no wonder they made visitors sign liability waivers.
Indeed, by the end of all that cacophony, Ardan’s head was pounding viciously.
***
“I hereby inform you that we’ll have to notify the Mage Guild that your data is outdated within four months,” the clerk intoned in a flat, workaday voice, filling out forms as Ardan dressed himself.
“Is it possible to put that off until, well, the fourth month?”
The mage glanced at the Black House papers in Ardan’s hand. “Certainly,” he said, nodding briskly. “All the notes have been recorded. Two Stars, red and green. Seven and nine rays respectively. Structure intact. Stable emanation. A healthy build for a healthy mage. I see no obstacles to your participation in Magical Boxing, so I’ll sign off on that license.”
“Do people often get turned away?”
“Two-Star mages? Almost never,” the clerk replied in the same matter-of-fact tone. “But when it comes to three-Stars and above, especially veterans with war injuries or older mages, there can be issues. Their emanation becomes unstable, increasing the number of Broken Seals. Or the structure itself becomes flawed, causing uncontrollable Ley surges. Those folks aren’t allowed to compete and get referred to therapy and rehab.”
Ardan shook his head in surprise.
“You’re a student at the Grand?”
“Yes.”
“They’ll explain it all to you in your fourth year, maybe even take you for a short assignment at Heroes’ Hospital. You ever heard of that place?”
“It’s for treating mages,” Ardan answered with a shrug. He knew nothing more.
“That’s right.” The clerk handed Ardan a folder of documents. “Send in the next person on your way out, please.”
“Thanks.”
***
“Orlovsky’s Shield?” Aversky, who was drinking his usual strong coffee and looking like a half-mad vagrant who somehow smelled of herbal concoctions instead of trash and booze, nodded at him while reading a monograph. “A fine choice, considering how often you run into firearms.”
Meanwhile, Ardan lay sprawled out on the cold floor of the testing ground, trying to remember how to breathe.
“And you don’t?”
“When you ignite your third Star, Ard,” Aversky replied, still not looking up from his reading, “you’ll stop paying attention to little nuisances like firearms. Take, for example, that Lash spell Davos used. It’s far more effective than any shield, simply because — regardless of the mage who invoked it — it can annihilate any projectile it’s sent after, provided it’s not a seventy-five-millimeter artillery shell.”
“And that kind of shell-”
“There’s a three-Star shield for that as well,” Aversky cut him off. “But that sort of matter concerns front-line military mages, and I sincerely hope you’ll never be involved with them.”
After Arkar, Aversky was now the second person Ardi had encountered who… Ardan didn’t quite know how to put it… wished that no one else would ever have to experience what they had.
“A mage at the front,” Aversky said, closing his book and laying it aside on a small table, “is a terrible thing. For everyone involved — infantry, artillery, cavalry, even the newly-formed armored divisions. That’s why each side tries to deploy its own mages to hold back the enemy’s. Because if you let, say, a three-Star mage loose against the front lines…” He shut his eyes for a moment, briefly touching the prosthetic finger on his hand. “Thank the Sleeping Spirits, the Eternal Angels, or whoever you believe in, that the border is calmer now than ever before.”
During a break from practicing Resonance — interspersed with occasional moments where Aversky had grabbed a revolver from the table and fired live rounds in Ardan’s direction — Ardan had filled him in, partially, on the incident in the Firstborn District.
“As for that Star-born werewolf,” Aversky mused, propping his chin on his hand, “this is serious news. They were originally designed as weapons against Speakers — one of many instruments for wiping out the Aean’Hane. After the war, their numbers dropped to a few thousand, and now even fewer remain. Most of them, of course, are fully under the Crown’s control. From what you described… it sounds like someone, without our knowledge, has created a new Star-born werewolf from scratch.”
“Is that even possible?”
“In life, Ard, just about anything is possible, especially when trouble is involved.” Aversky tapped his chin. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to discuss the creation process with you, nor the involvement of Firstborn blood. You don’t have the clearance, and I don’t have the proper depth of knowledge. But regarding your encounter — my compliments. You held your own better than I might’ve expected.”
Ardan scowled. “I couldn’t do anything to stop the werewolf.”
“Not so,” Aversky disagreed. “You forced him to use two accumulators, albeit common household ones. Had you been more thoroughly prepared and trained, you could have taken him down.”
“Unless he had more accumulators stashed somewhere,” Ardan grumbled.
“Star-born werewolves reach Overindulgence faster,” Aversky replied with a dismissive wave.
Propping himself up on an elbow, Ardan said, “Grand Magister-”
“I’ve already asked you to simply call me Edward.”
“Edward,” Ardan corrected himself. “This is the second time today I’ve heard about this so-called Overindulgence. And I-”
“Eternal Angels.” Aversky clicked his tongue, rising to his feet. “I keep forgetting you’re not in the Military Faculty. One second.”
He walked into his office, returning a few minutes later with a small chest crammed full of miniature, high-grade military accumulators in various colors ranging from red to blue.
Ardan’s breath caught in his throat.
“Hold on,” Aversky said, stepping to a switch on the wall and pulling it down. Instantly, the perpetual sense of Ley infusion vanished.
“Catch.” He tossed a red accumulator to Ardan as though it were a mere pebble. “Drain your Star and fill it again.”
Ardan got to his feet, staff in hand, curious but obedient. He cast an energy-hungry version of the Basic Shield, unloading all his available Ley energy into it.
“Catch another.”
He grabbed the second accumulator and repeated the process, draining his Star again. Then a third time. A fourth. After that…
He awakened to find Aversky nudging him lightly in the ribs with a toe without any ceremony. Ardan discovered he was lying on the floor. He touched his face, which was wet with something warm.
Blood.
He was bleeding from his ears and nose.
“Overindulgence,” Aversky said flatly. “Never forget: A Star is a newly-formed structure inside your brain. Constantly pumping it with concentrated, purified Ley energy is… not exactly advisable.”
Ardan, coughing and moaning, head splitting apart as though it were locked in a vise, dragged himself over to the table.
“It’ll ease up,” Aversky said casually, returning to his coffee, “but you shouldn’t use red accumulators again for at least twenty-four hours.”
“Does this happen to everyone?”
“You mean the limit of four military accumulators per Star?” The Grand Magister inquired, then answered his question, “It varies, and is usually in the range of three to five, with those rare lower and upper outliers basically just acting as deviations. 99.9% of mages have the same cap.”
“Why-”
“No one knows why four is the magic number,” Aversky cut him off. “That’s why it’s called a ‘phenomenon.’ In any case, Star-born werewolves reach Overindulgence much sooner. But they don’t have Stars like us — only raw Ley manipulation. And they can handle at most two accumulators. If they fully drain them, even a child with a stick could finish them off. After all, they were never meant for open warfare, only for covertly killing Aean’Hane: appear, deliver the strike, disappear.”
Pressing both hands to his throbbing head, Ardan reflected about how half-truths and concealed hints had long been integral to the Second Chancery’s professional mindset. Milar hadn’t bothered to mention the free cafeteria or official tailor, and Aversky had never said a word about Overindulgence.
“They explain this in the first year of the Military Faculty, just so you know,” Aversky added. “But for civilian-track mages who’ll likely never get hold of military accumulators, they cover it, at best, in the advanced hands-on exercises of the fourth year.”
“What about household accumulators?”
“That’s an entirely different concentration and flow rate — far gentler…” Suddenly, Aversky broke off, looking up to stare at Ardan. “Don’t tell me you assumed that military mages all used household accumulators in their staff heads just because-”
“Because they couldn’t afford better?”
“Eternal Angels…” Aversky sighed. “Take a rest, Ard. Then get back to practicing Resonance before you wound my faith in you any deeper.”
Ardan returned to “Bruce’s” late that night and, seeing no light beneath Tess’ door, trudged up to his own apartment. He stripped quickly and collapsed into bed.
Comments
Le Frog
Never thought about it that way, thanks mate
SAB
Right, thanks for pointing out that's how exams work. Thanks for also demonstrating a similar level of understanding as the professor. Movies like Good Will Hunting aren't made about students that merely regurgitate what was taught in class.
Alibhai
I don't know what to tell you except that is how exams work. For them to function properly they require the student to give the specific answer they ask for. Even if somehow, theoretically, Arden demonstrated advanced mathematical knowledge to answer a simple 1+1=2. Arden is still lacking if he doesn't know the basics. Sometimes, people are just asking for simple, efficient answers.
SirWins
Its gonna be like that for a long time lol. Kirill plays that card in his novels
Kirill Klevanski
Ardan constantly "trains" his Aean'Hane arts. It’s just not as straightforward as with Star magic or something similar. Ard is ALWAYS attuned to the world—you can see this reflected in the "excessive descriptions." All of these descriptions represent how Ardan perceives and hears the world around him. Aean'Hane is a soft magic system. It can't be explicitly "trained" in the conventional sense, and mastering it takes decades. Ardan is only 18. So... just accept that Aean'Hane is an art that requires passive, 24/7 learning. Actively training it in the traditional meaning of the word is impossible.
Lorcogoth
I am honestly surprised that Ard hasn't been moved to the Military Faculty, like he successfully beat up a member of that faculty in a duel, or by the hand of the Black chancery.
Sadtyre
I am just wondering why he isn’t listening as much as before. You don’t need a teacher to listen and glimpse names. That might have to do with being so far from the Alcade, making it harder for him to listen.
SAB
I disagree. Imagine if a student was given a right triangle with the lengths of two sides and an angle, told to solve for its hypotenus using SOHCAHTOA that was taught in class, but quickly intuited the Pythagorean Theorem to find the answer instead. Would ignoring the student's genius to berate them that they didn't solve it the formulaic way be a reasonable response? Sure, point out that Arden didn't follow the instructions exactly, but in the face of what he actually did that should be a minor quibble. The professor even had the audacity to say: "For the summer exams, they’ll expect not only theoretical knowledge from you, but also a practical repertoire of seals. Suppose they ask you for Shofra’s seal, and you don’t know it. What will you do then? Well…" Arden just intuited that very seal! I'd say that's a pretty amazing display of practical skills and capability, yet the professor cannot see it past his own nose.
Alibhai
To achieve that, he needs to meet a speaker teacher. Atta’nha is likely the best teacher he will ever have, as evidenced by the solid foundation that impressed the elven speaker. However, he still needs someone to teach him the advanced levels of speaker magic.
Alibhai
I wouldn't say he failed to recognize that; rather, this is a known quality of Arden. His criticism is still valid from his perspective, as he may be seeing a smart and capable student becoming lax in his studies.
The Golem Crafter
I'm getting a little tired of these half truths and hidden information that's supposed to be common.
Silver Beard
The constantly poor mage bit is getting old. Sure hope the boxing brings in the exes. Thanks for sharing. I'm not sure how boxing is going to work for Ard. Besides defense most of his spells are meant to kill not incapacitate.
John
Thanks!
SAB
> "Suppose they ask you for Shofra’s seal, and you don’t know it. What will you do then? Well…" He waved dismissively, sounding disappointed. "That’s on you." It seems to me that Mr. Professor doesn't realize he has a student that, in seconds, looked at a relatively difficult problem and intuitively created and applied a solution that is an officially recognized seal.
Le Frog
Nice chappy, all these side affects that Star Mages have, overindulgence, small stars in their actual brains, etc. It all makes me wonder what Aean Hane have, probably have magical lungs for speaking lmao. Also when is Ardie gonna start training his speaking ability's again, right now he is just using them as an amplifier to his star magic, and as a last resort unreliable backup weapon when he is out of rays.
