Hard to believe another six years had passed. Old Aeral felt his age on a cold early-spring morning, when the campus of the College of Swords glistened white with frost. His bones hurt, and he was too stiff to move. Every step down from his room to the living area of the Gray Tower sent a jolt thought him. He smelled something cooking.

His new apprentice, Palia, had been up early fixing the fire and preparing breakfast. Since she had become his apprentice, she had taken over almost every day-to-day task in the Gray Tower. He was surprised by how well she’d taken to the role of the domestic, something he would have thought her ill-suited to do. She had done the best she could to tidy up the Gray Tower, and keep it that way, and was certainly a better cook than the old Master.

They breakfasted on eggs which Palia cooked in the light South Port style which the Master was becoming fond of, and some bread. Palia fixed good food, but preferred it to be as plain as possible, and never elaborated if she could help it. With the Master’s age, he did as well, his stomach preferring his food as plain as possible. Palia, after cleaning up their breakfast, went back to her studies.

She had spent most of the last year on one particular problem: Gath and Euris had let loose a wight in the north. Palia had taken to this problem with a focused, intense dedication which the Master had come to expect of her. If something captured her attention, she was likely not to rest until she had completely solved it. What he had begun to realize was that if something didn’t capture her attention, she was likely to ignore it. Until the Master figured that out, the two had almost come to blows on many occasions, since Palia’s temper would flare when the Master would berate her negligence. Eventually, they both found a way to cope with Palia’s particular style, and she had made great progress as a student.

The wight had become known to them through, at first, rumors. The start was simply the occasional traveler missing on the roads, with an occasional mention of foul play and desecrated remains. Eventually, the power of the wight grew to the point it was destroying whole caravans. The Gray Master went to the White Master, knowing Gath had fought off a wight, and in that meeting learned that the King had approached the College of Sorcery to do something about it. Since the White Master felt, rightly or wrongly, that the wight was somehow the responsibility of the Gray Tower, he had assigned the problem to Aeral.

An hour or so later, the Master sat in his worn leather chair, working on a manuscript translation of the Book of Ages. Palia bounded down the stairs, her boots clicking on the stone. “I’ve got to go to the Great Library,” Palia told him as she pulled on her heavy winter cloak and thick gloves. The one thing Palia had continuously complained about at first was the cold. It had taken her a good three years to get used to the capital’s winters, after living her whole life in South Port. Breaking her feet to boots, let alone the boots to her feet, had almost been impossible, since she had never worn anything but light sandals in South Port. Having to wear the heavy, leather things almost constantly out of doors felt at first like a vise had been tightened on both feet. On several wintry occasions, slushing through snow drifts, she had almost quit the tower and returned to her own home. Over the past few years, she had not exactly accepted it, but had become resigned to it. At some point, her boots had broken in, and after several years, they felt so comfortable they were a part of her she did not consciously notice. She swung her scarf over her mouth, and left the Tower. Outside, she put her hood up too against the icy wind which blew down into the dark tunnel to the Gray Tower’s door. The wind truly blasted her when she moved out into the open gallery. Bitterly remembering her days of walking barefoot on the beach at South Port, she leaned into the wind and kept going.

She ducked into the Great Library’s anteroom, and pulled off her gloves and removed her scarf, but left her heavy cloak on, shivering. This winter had been one of the worst in living memory, with an almost constant wind blowing off the icy-covered slopes and lakes of the north and bringing a bone-deep cold to the College which even heavy clothing would not keep out.

Two apprentices from the College of Swords were sitting with an apprentice from the Red Tower. Palia noticed this, and made an effort to avoid the Red apprentice, because Palia knew that she was the type of student who floated along for six years taking advantage of other students’ hard work, and finally graduated because of her connections, only to be appointed to a place where she would never have any real responsibilities. Palia found this type, which was surprisingly common even in a school as exclusive as the Collages, no doubt because of their proximity to the nobles and power of the kingdom, offensive to her. She had had to work for everything she’d ever had in life, and those who were propped up by other students along their free ride were hard to stomach. Trying not to grimace, or be noticed, Palia had almost gotten out of sight. Then a voice rang out. “Hey, Palia, who was the thirteenth king of the Wellinglands?”

Palia was about to give an off-the-cuff and obviously wrong answer, just to pay out the apprentice what she deserved, when the dark blue eyes of one of the two swordsmen caught hers, and he smiled at her. Palia went over to the table, almost in spite of herself. “That would be Cadder II,” Palia said. “Second dynasty, of course.”

The Red apprentice totally ignored Palia after the answer was given. That figured. Palia was about to go away. “We haven’t been introduced,” the blue-eyed student said expectantly to prompt the Red apprentice. The apprentice made a dismissing noise and turned to Palia. She launched a quick and perfunctory introduction accompanied by a vague handwave. “You know Garblin, and this other lout is Anror. This is Palia from the Gray Tower.”

The other, whom Palia had never before met or even seen at the Colleges, got up and bowed, then took her hand and kissed it. Palia was acutely aware of how cold her hand was from being outside, and how warm her face had gotten. “That such beauty could be locked away in the halls of Sorcery is unbelievable,” the man said. “I am privileged to meet you.”

Before Palia could respond to this flattery, she head a snort. “Oh, please!” the Red Tower apprentice, “that’s just Palia, the most boring and dumpy student who’s ever entered the gates.” Both Palia and Anror shot the Red apprentice a sharp look, for different reasons. The apprentice ignored both.

Anror squeezed Palia’s hand, which he had yet to let go of. “Never mind her,” he said in a low voice, “I find you to be exquisite, um, exquisitely charming. I hope we can meet some time.”

“Perhaps,” Palia said uncertainly, retrieving her hand from his and making an exit. He bowed again before sitting back down. Shaken somewhat by the unexpected and strong introduction, Palia tried to steady herself as she walked off, imagining his eyes boring into her. She moved behind a shelf to block his view as soon as she could.

Palia went on about her business in the library, trying to forget about the handsome swordsman. If nothing else, the Red apprentice was right. Palia was nothing to get excited about, and she knew it, but being reminded was still like a slap in the face. Palia might have been pretty, but she was so plain and did not ornament herself like many of the girls, including the Red apprentice, did. So no one thought much about her, other than as the dumpy accountant who was trying to be a Sorceress. But this time, his reaction to her had seemed to be genuine. But it didn’t matter. She had more important matters to attend to than a swordsman mooning and swooning over her.

The search for a particular volume took Palia almost thirty minutes, and to a part of the Great Library she had never before visited. Given the size of the place, she reflected, there were likely many places she had not visited.

With the right book, finally, Palia retreated to a small alcove where she liked to read. The place was out of the main paths through the Great Library, in a place few people would ever think to look, and had a small table where she could spread out. The only books near her were the dry volumes of the Kings’ History, in the 2500s, one of the least interesting times in the kingdom’s long existence, so no one was likely to disturb her. Soon, Palia had plowed into the unfortunately unindexed book, looking for what she had hoped to find.

“You’ve been reading that all morning,” Anror said over Palia’s shoulder, causing her to jump. She had been engrossed in tracking down obscure clues, and had not noticed his approach to her isolated corner of the library. She looked over her shoulder at him, causing him to smile. “I propose some victuals,” he continued. “My treat. I know a fabulous inn with an incredible board.”

Palia lowered her head and said, “I’m sorry, but I’ll have to decline. I’m working on something very important. I won’t be finished for some time.” She turned a page.

Anror ran his finger along the edge of the well-worn, ancient volume from which she was reading. “What difference could an hour or two make? That book is older than either of us, and no one has read it in a hundred years.”

“It could mean lives,” Palia answered flatly, wishing he would take a hint and leave her alone. She made a point of not looking into his dark-blue eyes.

“How so?” Anror pulled out the chair beside her, and sat in it backwards, folding his arms on the back and leaning his chin on them. She couldn’t help but look up at him. A serious expression overcoming him which Palia had not yet seen. She liked that better than his pretentious flattery.

She asked him, “Have you heard of the wight in the north?”

“Yes, I have.” Anror’s face looked pained. “One of my best friends was a guard in a caravan that the wight attacked.” His genuine pain was unmasked, and she suddenly realized that Anror was the type who wore his emotions on his sleeve. She liked that.

“I am an apprentice in the Gray Tower, and will graduate next month. My Quest will be to stop the wight. This book probably hasn’t been read in a hundred years, but it should have been, because it tells about a kingdom named Old Platna where they fought a demi-wight in the old days before the Colleges. If I can use this information to stop the wight, many other friends will not be killed. So you see the import of my studies,” Palia said.

Anror stood up, and returned the chair to its place. He put a hand on her shoulder for a brief second, and said, “By all means, continue. We will have to have lunch some other time.” Anror departed, leaving her to the book which suddenly looked a lot less interesting. In a few minutes, though, Palia was deeply engrossed once more, all thoughts of blue-eyed Anror postponed.

Anror stormed across the lawn, returning to the College of Swords. Whatever ostensible mission he had undertaken that morning which served to allow him a trip to the Great Library had been totally forgotten. He had liked to never found the girl again, hidden on the third floor in a cave! He thought his other friends would never leave, either, giving him an excuse to prowl. The sun was up high, indicating lunch, and his stomach was in complete agreement. He wanted to make posthaste to the cafeteria, and drown his memories of the gray-eyed apprentice who had captivated him in a full plate of food. Palia, he thought to himself, relishing the sound of her name. The Gray Tower apprentice. The short, golden hair. He’d always liked the South Port style, perhaps because it was rare in the colder north. Those wonderful, deep eyes. Plus, she was smart, and that always drew him to girls. He didn’t know why. But the wight had cemented his resolve to get close to Palia. Infatuation was one thing, and Anror knew himself well enough to know he had felt the same way about many other girls. The rush of infatuation was a thrill, seeing a new girl and wanting to learn more about her. The chase had always been better than the catch, until now. But the wight. That made him determined in his purpose, and lunch could wait.

The Headmaster was in his office, trying to finish some paperwork after his morning meetings before going to lunch. Luckily Anror had developed somewhat of a relationship with the stern old man, since Anror was about to graduate and everyone wanted to find him something productive to do with his life.

“May I have a word?” Anror asked respectfully of the Headmaster from just inside the office’s door. The Headmaster’s office had light brown wooden paneling, and a many-colored map of the kingdom stretched out across one wall. A fireplace at one end had an old brick mantle, over which hung a gigantic two-handed broadsword from long ago. The only furniture was a spartan desk and some plain wooden chairs. The Headmaster was nothing if not general issue, and had no taste for luxury.

“By all means. My door is always open to any student,” the Headmaster said, trying to conceal his stomach growling. He waved Anror to a seat. For all the Headmaster’s rank and insistence on protocol, in private with his senior students, he often acted grandfatherly.

“I know what I want to do with my life.” Anror announced this with a certainty which made the Headmaster take note. The chief problem with Anror’s career as a student had been his lack of dedication to anything in particular.

“I’m happy you have discovered that,” the Headmaster said, “since you have had us worried about just what the future holds for you.” The irony in that statement, Anror knew, needed no special tone of voice to draw it out. He had strung them along changing his mind for the past year, and even more unfortunately for him he was truly as clueless about his future as he led them to believe. Until today.

“I want you to fix it,” Anror demanded of the Headmaster, “so that I am named Protector of the Gray Tower’s apprentice.” His absolute certainty took the Headmaster by surprise for a moment.

But then the Headmaster smiled thinly. “Palia has taken your fancy?” He apparently had encountered Palia’s reserved and statuesque beauty. Well, of course, Anror thought, because they were likely discussing the pairings now for next month. “You’ve said that about every girl you’ve met over there,” he said with a chuckle. “I tell you, the answer is to quit going over there. Then when you’re stuck with Swatnork, you won’t have so many regrets.”  Swatnork, the Brown Tower’s apprentice, was a byword for everything a Protector dreaded. The overweight, greasy, wart-infested boy was Brown’s protégé, but had almost nothing to commend himself other than leaving the Brown Tower’s tarnished legacy slightly better by comparison.

“Palia herself has nothing to do with this,” Anror said, trying to be decisive, with his blush betraying him. “She is going to be named to a Quest to stop the wight in the north. I want to be part of it. Even if Swatnork was the one, I’d still have to be part of it. My best friend was killed by that thing!” His sharp blue eyes betrayed something the Headmaster had never seen before in this particular student.

The Headmaster could not hide his genuine surprise, and gave Anror a warm smile. “I see. You know, I’m sure, it is highly unusual for a student to demand to be named to a Protector, after all. But let me look into this. We will be meeting in committee to study that Quest later this week.”

Anror thanked the Headmaster profusely, and went back outside, having totally forgotten about lunch. He loitered in the lawn for a while, but caught no glimpse of the apprentice he dearly longed to see.

On to ... Chapter Fifteen: A New Quest