Euris’ horse had not been fed that day, and it nudged her curled-up body in the clearing to prompt her. The horse got no response from the lifeless form, and eventually gave up. When the riderless horse came back to the gate at South Port, a chain of events was unleashed which culminated in Old Aeral traveling south to attend yet another funeral within only a couple of months. He seemed not to be in any hurry, walking from village to village, but made good time; and all the while beside him walked a man who, by all rights, was supposed to be dead.

They passed down the lanes among the small steadings in the rolling hills near South Port, looking out at the cotton and other crops in this area. The fields were occasionally interspersed with meadows containing herds of peacefully grazing animals. The countryside was bright and peaceful in the morning sun. As he walked along, Aeral seemed to come to a realization of what the events of the past few months meant, and he blurted out to his companion: “We’ve somehow managed to round up two of them in a short time!”

The man nodded, mildly. “Most certainly, Old One. Yet the work never ends, and the workers are few. So many more remain to be gathered into my flock.” Nearby, in a field, a sheep bleated, as if to punctuate the statement, and both of them had to smile.

Aeral laughed a rueful laugh. “True enough, the work never ends, but my own bones are wearing out. I’ve lived on borrowed time as long as I can remember. How much longer could I possibly have to do my work?” He popped his joints in a stretch, as if to illustrate.

The man smiled secretly. “As long as you need. You will have your reward, just as I promised, but there’s a girl in South Port who has a lot of potential. And as I recall, you now need an apprentice.”

Old Aeral made a mock face of exasperation towards the man, and then bellowed out a laugh so strong that he felt younger than he ever had. Somewhere, he could hear a quill scratching on a parchment, a manuscript that would be worked on for all eternity but never quite finished, while a fire popped and crackled. He’d be home soon enough.

Aeral dreaded the funeral. Gath’s was not the sad occasion he knew Euris’ would be, because only a few people who knew Gath attended the funeral, and most of them realized how tenuously he clung to life after getting sick. They had known the end was coming sooner rather than later. Aeral couldn’t even bring himself to cry over his apprentice, or rather Journeyman if only for a few days, because he knew the boy was better off to have had such a peaceful end to his life. Any sadness felt on Gath’s behalf was tempered with a knowledge that he had not suffered like many would with a gradual, wasting sickness. And besides Aeral himself, Euris herself was closest to Gath, and she was almost unnaturally closed and reserved during that time. Aeral had been, in truth, more concerned for the Protector than the departed Journeyman, although he knew that Euris’ path through life was still unfolding before her. The end had come, unexpectedly soon for Aeral, but he had expected the end.

The funeral for Euris had a certain hysteria which set Aeral on edge. Seeing Euris again did not bother him half as much as seeing her family. Aeral almost cried, to see the silent and serene face of the Protector. He had not realized how beautiful she truly was, and perhaps he never would have if he had not seen her completely at peace with herself. He had known her only a short time, although he had learned as much as he could about her before entrusting his apprentice to her. If he had not learned from the man as they walked south that she had at last found the life she struggled for, he would have guessed it from the look on her face. He was happy for her, and sad at the same time, but knew she was where she longed to be. In a way, he himself longed to join her and Gath in whatever place that lay beyond the Gray Tower, where no sundering would ever mar their lives again. He only half joked about his aging body. In another way, though, he knew of at least one more person under the sun who longed, even if she did not know it yet, to be beyond the sundering and for whom he would have to stay, a little while longer, to get her on the right path, no matter at what cost to himself. His successor, he reminded himself, thinking of the pale, wasted look on Gath’s face when he had returned to the Gray Tower after his Quest. What a Master Gath would have made! But the man had shown him clearly that he needed someone as strong as he had been, to take his place and carry on the work, someone who had been tempered in the same fires he had once been. So long ago, now. He silently saluted absent friends besides Euris and Gath.

Eugellis, the Prince of South Port, and Euris’ father, put up a stoic mask to show how strong his kingdom remained. At least Aeral hoped it was a mask. One never knew about Eugellis, for whom accounts and treaties occupied more of his mind than family, at times. Perhaps not now. The real problem was Euralin, her brother, who had become a complete wreck, and had showed up at the funeral drunk, loudly blaming his father for sending his sister off to the College, and even accusing Aeral of having something to do with the death. He created a miserable and pathetic scene, blaming everyone and completely unable to accept what had happened. Various people tried to console the prince, but he would have none of it, and finally left before the funeral was complete.

As was the ancient custom of the South Port rulers, Euris was buried at sea in full state, with the black sail on the flagship of South Port’s navy. For only the second time in the history of South Port, the Star of the College of Sorcery flew on the black funeral flag: only one other member of the royal house had ever been named a Protector before. The wind flapped it so severely that the Star was often distended and hard to see. The funeral ceremony was an uncomfortable time when a lot of people who did not want to be together sailed out beyond the harbor in one of the royal navy’s ships to consign Euris’ body to the depths, Aeral kept a low profile. Euralin had sobered up enough to turn his lashing out into crying, and was so miserable as to elicit sympathy from most of the people. His friend Mattak tried to give him support, and even the caustic Protector Dorrial softened up. The only person truly at peace on the funeral ship was the one consigned into the deep.

When the ceremonies had ended, Old Aeral stayed a few days in South Port. He shared good memories of Euris with her father, who desperately clung to his pride in his daughter to see him through his time of grief. Aeral did not see Euralin anywhere, and was even so concerned that he approached the Journeyman Mattak asking about him, but Euralin had completely disappeared. Naturally, the Sea Tower’s Master had invited Aeral to stay there. That was ancient tradition, that any Tower was open for the Master (or a duly appointed representative on Tower business) of any other Tower. Most Towers outside of the College itself were spacious and could host a small army of a Master’s contingent if necessary. The Sea Tower was perhaps the largest Tower in terms of square footage ever built. Aeral could hardly decline the invitation.

That led to a minor predicament. The Gray Master needed to see his friend, and the Journeyman of the Sea Tower had a Protector who had killed that friend. Inviting that friend into the Sea Tower would then raise all sorts of questions Aeral was certain that it was not time to raise just yet. So the Gray Master began wandering around South Port, knowing the man he was looking for would be able to find him easily enough.

The finding did not take long. One morning, Aeral turned a corner into a street that opened out into a courtyard, and there he was. The man sat by the well, talking and playing with a child. The child ran off back to his mother when Aeral approached, and the man smiled up at him. “I haven’t been this warm for a long time,” Aeral said nonchalantly, stretching his popping joints.

The man waved at the child who was looking back at him. “You rarely get a chance to come to South Port, I know. But this trip was hardly a coincidence.”

“With you it never is,” Aeral said, a sad smile from old memories briefly appearing.

The man gestured to where the child had begun playing with a stick, now oblivious to the man. “Children really understand better than adults, and it’s so much easier to explain to them.”

“Children, perhaps, but hardly students.” Aeral had had his fair share of students who either did not understand, and never would, or those who could and would not. The latter had saddened him the most. Some people wanted to do things in their lives which they were not destined to do, and they chafed and strained at the course that unfolded in their lives. An honest effort made, Aeral knew, could only be lauded: it was hardly failure to learn what a person was not created to do in life. But those who had their destiny handed to them with the skills and talents to peruse it, and they wasted all that, were the ones that affected him the most. These people threw away the opportunity given.

“That’s true,” the man said with a laugh. “And speaking of students, I guess the only question for you now is, are you ready for the final lap, the stretch run?”

“I feel ready.” Aeral said, hoping he could live up to the certainty in his voice.

“Good. There’s a student here in South Port,” the man said, “who has great potential as a Sorceress, and otherwise. She’ll be a challenge like none you’ve ever had, though.”

“You know, I thought Gath would be my successor,” Aeral said, “and I feel old. I thought I had trained my successor for good.”

“Gath was not your successor, and I think I told you that before,” the man said with a patient smile. “This girl will be, if you can take the raw, rough, unpolished lump of coal and fashion a diamond out of it. This work will take all of your wisdom, and be your legacy.”

“So, this is what you’ve been preparing me for?”

“Exactly. Go to the Scribe’s Street, just down there,” the man gestured down a wide lane, “and find Utakk’s School. Ask for Palia.” Aeral nodded, and went off. This was to be his task, then, to train his successor. Once more.

The man sat there for a while, alone at the lip of the well, until he saw what had once been Prince Euralin coming out of a bar. The prince had completely fallen apart after his sister’s death, from the looks of him, spending his time either unconscious or drunk. He was bedraggled, with red eyes and a lurching gait. His face was masked in despair clouded over with intoxication combined with no sleep. He walked down the street, passing close by the well.

“May I speak to you?” the man asked as he went by, indicating a seat beside him. Euralin turned with a lurch, apparently noticing the man for the first time. His look suggested that the man had been better off unnoticed.

“Who are you? I’ll have you arrested if you bother me, or kill you myself!” Euralin raged in a drunk, sleepless fury. But he stopped, something in the eyes of the man capturing him even in his hazy remoteness. He tried to arrange his shirt, but the fancy gold buttons had been started in the wrong hole, and the effort was hopeless. Euralin looked around as if he had forgotten something, and then regarded the man once more.

The man said: “Would your sister want you to do this to yourself?” Euralin’s condition was so obvious that it needed no elaboration from either of them.

Euralin tightened his eyebrows and squinted, as if not quite seeing clearly in the bright light. “She’s dead!” he spat, pointing at the man as if he were somehow culpable.

“But wouldn’t she have died anyway? Wouldn’t she have died, and won’t you die? What did her life mean? What did she take from this world when she left it?”

Euralin sat down beside the man and stared at him insistently. The hangover bolstered with new drinking seemed to be forgotten momentarily. “Nothing! Her whole life was ahead of her! I had pushed her so hard, getting her ready, and now she had come back, back to us here, to live here. I sacrificed everything, for years, to make her what she was. We were finally able to have the kind of life we wanted.”

“Perhaps that you wanted,” the man suggested, heedless of the dangerous ground he was walking onto, “but did you even once ask your sister if it was the life she wanted? Do you even know what she wanted? Was she happier in life than death?”

Euralin said with force: “Happy! She’s dead! She had her whole life to live!” He glanced around, blinking, as if a fog was lifting from his brain, but the fog clamped back down.

“Would it help your grief if you knew she was not happy at all, and is now, for the first time, living the life she always wanted to live?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, you crazy old man,” Euralin said bleakly as he walked off unsteadily back towards the castle. The man was left with a certain knowledge that he had not reached the grieving Euralin, but perhaps the door had been opened a crack. Or at least the door had been unlocked for some future occasion when entry might be possible. These things took time. The man glanced down the way Old Aeral had wandered off, knowing time was growing short.

Scribe’s Street was a long, curving street lined with various bookstores, schools, and shops selling writing equipment. Aeral fought down an urge that still came to him after all the years that had passed, to browse. Seeing a rack of books he had never before seen caused a welling of curiosity deep down in his stomach, as he wondered what new and secret books could be found, perhaps under a pile or accidentally behind another book. Even on his few visits to South Port he had never found this street with its unique treasures.

Before the urge to indulge himself crowded out the more pressing matter of why he was on this street in the first place, Utakk’s School loomed off to his right. It was a nice building, one of the nicest on the street, and had been well cared for. He mounted the low stone steps up to the door, and rang the doorbell. The doorman was hesitant to let anyone in, especially since it was the middle of the day and classes were in session, but this was one instance where being the Master of the Gray Tower came to Aeral’s rescue. Such a learned man of high stature would easily be let into the school at any time. The Headmaster of the school, not Utakk but a rotund man identifying himself as Moblar, personally came out to inquire of the nature of the Master’s visit. When the name Palia was mentioned, the Headmaster informed him that the school had a student by that name, attending on a scholarship set up by Prince Eugellis for underprivileged children with academic talent to get an education. Of course, Aeral thought to himself, that old bird would want a non-royal, non-noble force of civil servants at his disposal as he negotiated trade and took his cut of everything that came in and out of South Port. To work on straight salary. With loyalty only to the Prince who had gotten them out of their poverty and given them a privileged life in the first place. Eugellis never ceased to amaze Aeral. But, reasons aside, Aeral was intrigued at this student’s credentials. Perhaps the man had been right. Of course he was right, but Aeral could still be surprised. Even after all these years.

Class had just let out, and the Headmaster scrounged up an extremely surprised Palia. She was a thin girl in her mid-teens, with golden hair which she wore short in the style favored by women in South Port’s heat. She wore a loose, sleeveless blue dress that came to her knees, with a loose belt more for decoration than tightening. She was barefoot, but that was hardly unusual for young people, or any people, in South Port’s heat, even in the most formal settings. She had gray eyes, and never seemed to smile. Perhaps, Aeral thought, it was merely the shock of having a Master of Sorcery appear without warning, and not knowing what he wanted, that made her so reserved, but he guessed it was her nature. He also immediately wished he had set up the meeting better, with more warning. Too late for that!

The Headmaster gave his personal assurance that Palia was excused from all classes the rest of the day, and as long as the Master required her. He also invited the Master back for a formal dinner with the students that evening, of which Aeral knew there was absolutely no chance he’d attend. He imagined most of the students themselves spent enough of their time trying to think of ways to get out of the formal school dinner. In his age, the least respect he could be afforded is the ability to skip such tedium.

Aeral introduced himself to Palia, who barely told him her name and volunteered nothing else. He’d had enough students, and encountered other Masters’, over the years, to know that it would take some time to draw Palia out. Besides the school, the best place to talk was a neutral setting, or even one she suggested herself where she would be comfortable. “Well, now, perhaps there’s somewhere we could get a bite to eat?” Aeral suggested, hoping Palia knew someplace they could talk. She did. After disappearing for a few moments to put up her books and papers, and returning wearing light sandals and a lightly woven straw hat, she directed him through the streets to an inn, where he reserved a small parlor room for them to talk in private.

The food was good, at least. One thing students in any college soon leaned was the best haunts, the best places where they could eat good food and study in private. Smalltalk did not get far. Palia looked uncomfortable, and made only minimal answers to his general questions. Aeral learned just how reserved the girl was. When confronted with a direct question, she would answer, but minimally. She volunteered nothing. She looked at her plate, at her sandals, at her hands, and at the floor, but never once met his eyes.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m here,” Aeral said, cutting directly to his point. The direct approach was probably best, and she confirmed that by nodding a yes. At least, he took it as a yes, and continued: “You are a special student, more than you know. It’s quite an accomplishment to win one of the Prince’s scholarships,” he said with a straight face, knowing the Prince probably had his people looking high and low for anyone of even average intelligence for the civil service on whom to shower his largess, “and you’re smart. But you also have more talent than even that. I am a Sorcerer, and I can detect very clearly that you have a high degree of latent magical ability in yourself which would take very little to develop. I am currently looking for an apprentice, and am here to offer you the position right now, on the spot.” There, the boom had been lowered.

She looked alarmed. Not what he was expecting at all. Her eyes got wide, and she said: “I couldn’t possibly do any such thing. I’m about to graduate, and the Headmaster says he can get me a job at the castle.” That was, anyhow, not a big surprise to Aeral. “I can’t throw away a job like that where I can provide for myself in order to study magic.”

“Don’t be so hasty to make a decision,” Aeral reasoned, “because this is an honor far beyond some paper-pushing job in the South Port keep. You’ll be on the fast track to become a Master,” the self-deprecating joke about his age was completely lost on Palia, “and if you ever want to visit here, why, you’ll be old Eugellis’ equal.”

Palia did not look convinced. “What happens if this ‘latent magical ability’ doesn’t develop? Then I’ll have thrown away a perfectly good job. I’d rather be prudent and plan for my future.”

Aeral smothered a laugh, because he knew the girl would think he was laughing at her rather than Eugellis’ civil service. He could not suppress a twinkle in his eyes. “Oh, I can virtually guarantee that that fox Eugellis would never turn down one of his very own who came to him for a job, particularly one without any noble entanglements or conflicting loyalties. The civil service of South Port will always remain an option for you. But you have the chance to do so much more in life.”

He launched into a description of the six year process of learning magic, and what she could expect from the beginning to the end, with particular emphasis on the freedom the upperclassmen would have to study on their own. She seemed the type who would benefit from that. He also emphasized how he allowed students to set their own pace, something he doubted she was able to do in her current school, but since she was about to graduate that didn’t make the impact it might have a few years ago. The one time she perked up and seemed to be listening with intent was when he described the Great Library, so, reacting to that, he departed off on a tangent about the wonderful place where she would be spending many hours researching and studying. His spiel about the College never quite got back on course, because she began to question him about certain books he had never heard of, but would have been surprised had the Library not had on its shelves.

“All this is free?” Palia explained how she had been working to afford education in South Port, which had been hard at times. She had been everything from a waitress at an inn, a job Aeral suspected had not lasted long at all, to the clerk in a bookstore, where he supposed she was excellent. A partial scholarship from Eugellis’ foundation for advanced students, those who had proven they had an intention to stick it out in the schools long enough to show they had a sincere interest in graduating and coming to work for South Port’s civil service, had removed some of Palia’s burden and even provided a tiny surplus for her needs and interests. Still, though, the thoughts of tuition at the College of Sorcery balked her, which was obvious from her question. He explained to her that room and board was provided, with an allowance for personal needs. All tutorials and classes were completely free to the apprentice. She began to seem much more interested than before.

She had, Aeral realized, eaten the bait and had the hook in her mouth, but he had to reel her in. “I have always been,” Aeral said with slowness, trying to put the right words together to clinch the deal, “one of those Masters who is interested in the broad intellectual development of my apprentices, not just in their magical development. I have always,” he thought there was no point in mentioning that always had started a few seconds ago when the idea flitted through his mind, “provided a small stipend for my students to buy their own books on any topic at all.”

She asked: “Any topic at all? Even poetry?”

Master Aeral had a fair idea that poetry would have been considered a frivolity, if not completely incomprehensible, in the framework of Eugellis’ pragmatic take on education that involved the skills needed for accounting and trade. “By all means, although I think you’ll find enough of that lying around my Tower. A previous apprentice was much taken with it. I never saw what he saw in it myself.”

“I am in particular interested in Early Foundation poetry,” Palia said. Master Aeral had no idea at all what that was, since he had never studied it himself, but he reassured her generally that if the Tower and the Library did not have what she was looking for, someone in the capital would. He had stumbled on the one thing that seemed to sway her, because she made a remark about the abominable selection in books she had found in South Port.

The afternoon was spent in extricating Palia from her school. She simply could not drop out, since she was under scholarship. Unexpectedly, Old Aeral was confronted with the fact that someone would have to pay the pro-rata balance of Palia’s scholarship back to the school. Palia herself had no funds to do so, and he was about to lose his new apprentice in what would have been a College of Sorcery record of short-term apprenticeship, if he did not do the obvious thing. He was glad he always carried some emergency money with him. As he dug it out, he gave Palia a look that insisted she had better be worth it.

Having settled up, and with Old Aeral somewhat out of sorts at having to give Eugellis any money, which was a fate in life he had hitherto escaped, suspecting that he alone was the only person to walk under the sun ever to do so, they made their way back to Aeral’s temporary home in the Sea Tower. As they approached the inner keep through the streets of the city, they could see the majestic stone edifice soaring above all the other towers. The top was crowned in a turret of pure stained glass, in sea blues and greens, which caught the sunlight.

The Tower itself grew from its base within the walls of the inner keep, and was without any real argument the most beautiful and largest of all the Towers. The Sea Tower had been built for show, that was certain, and had a style and élan that thrust upwards from its foundation, which matched its prestigious position in the court of the most prosperous and luxurious city in the kingdom. Only the capital had more prestige, but could not match the splendor.

Palia looked with some surprise at the majestic Sea Tower. While it had dominated her life, she had never seen it this close, and had never imagined actually entering it. They moved up the large stone steps into the arching entry with its clever solid-glass doors. The first floor of the Tower was a giant reception area, with huge windows overlooking the sea. The carpet was the same color of a sunny, bright ocean, with interwoven sand-colored threads. Columns supporting the Tower were interspersed among comfortable seats, tables, and plants scattered all over the vast open space. The walls had tapestries in bright patterns, giving the Tower a light and watery feel.

Dorrial and Mattak were sitting in the large reception area talking when the two entered. Both looked up in surprise, seeing the young girl with the Master. “Who’s this?” Dorrial said, eyeing Palia. Palia shrank back behind Aeral.

“My new apprentice, my dear,” Aeral said, guiding Palia out into view by the elbow. “Palia, formerly a scholarship student at, um, at, I should say, what was the name?”

“Utakk’s School,” Palia supplied in a low voice.

“Of course, Utakk’s School, one of the Prince’s fine educational establishments here. But I’ve identified quite a bit of magical potential.”

“Why has not my Master spotted this gem in the rough, then?” Mattak asked.

“I can’t say,” Aeral offered, “but perhaps he hasn’t cast his proverbial net wide enough.”

The Protector had been taking a careful look at the new apprentice during this exchange. “She doesn’t look like an apprentice to me,” Dorrial said. “A bookkeeper, maybe, or an accountant, but an apprentice?” Dorrial laughed. Mattak smiled weakly but shot his Protector a warning look to stop needling the Sorcerer. Dorrial ignored the look.

“If this is what being an apprentice means, I want no part of it,” Palia said. “Listening to these people put me down.” She turned to leave, but Aeral grabbed her arm and stopped her.

“Let it go, Dor,” Mattak said, ready to completely dismiss the girl. “Master Aeral, I don’t sense whatever potential you claim to see in her, myself.”

“Perhaps,” Aeral said more sharply, letting his irritation with the degenerating situation get the better of him, “that’s why neither you nor your Master ever noticed her. But the potential is there.”

“Good luck finding it,” Dorrial said with a laugh that sent Palia trying to squirm out of the Master’s iron grip once more.

“That’s enough, Dor,” Mattak said to call his Protector off. “Whom the Gray Master chooses as his apprentice is none of our concern. My apologies, apprentice Palia.” He nodded at her dismissively. Palia glared at him.

Sensing that the situation was not going to get better, Aeral led Palia out of the large room and up the stairs to his quarters. “How rude!” Palia protested when she was sure they weren’t quite out of earshot. “Is this what magic is, being rude to people?”

“Come, now, that is, we’re not all like that. It takes all kinds in this wide world.” The Master kept stringing placating platitudes together until they had made it back into the small suite which had been given over for the Master to use.

Old Aeral began giving Palia some of her basic lessons, but knew that his stay in South Port was rapidly coming to its close. Palia and Dorrial turned out to be oil and water, and having them live in the same Tower wasn’t working. Dorrial had found the sport of needling the sensitive girl to her liking, and Palia returned those efforts with defensive anger. Intercession by both Masters had settled them into a cold détente, for a few days, but a new shouting match between the two convinced Old Aeral had he had to get out of the Sea Tower. His respite in South Port was over.

They had been taking their breakfast in the Master’s borrowed suite, and the next morning while they were eating fresh oranges and other South Port delicacies, the Master announced to Palia: “We’re going back to the Gray Tower.” She regarded him with an uncertain look. “Perhaps you would like to take today to say your goodbyes,” Aeral suggested. “I will not have any lessons today.”

Palia said without any inflection in her voice, “I have no one to say goodbye to.” She stared down at her almost empty plate, and he could not read her eyes.

“Well, enjoy yourself, and prepare to go in the morning.” Aeral did not sigh, but only because of long years of practice at swallowing such things before they needlessly came to the surface. Perhaps Palia would make some friends in the north who could draw her out more. Dawn the next day found them leaving South Port, heading north, to begin a new adventure at the College of Sorcery.

On to ... Chapter Fourteen: Growing Concern