Three days after mastering [Feather Fall], Rowan stood in front of a gated mansion.

  For what had to have been the dozenth time today, he pulled up his spell list, a wide smile on his face.

  Spells: Whisper - [Flash], [Heat], [Ignite], [Ember Spray], [Heat Wave], [Burning Hands]

  Murmur - [Firebolt], [Fire Shield], [Burning Whip]

  Chant - [Fireball]

  Hymn - [/]

  Aria - [/]

  Ode - [/]

  Epic - [/]

  Spells: Whisper - [Gust]

  Murmur - [Feather Fall], [Whisper Step]

  Chant - [/]

  Hymn - [/]

  Aria - [/]

  Ode - [/]

  Epic - [/]

  [Whisper Step] had taken him a day to memorize and master, but Rowan was having trouble with [Tailwind].

  It was much more complex than the first two he’d learned, with its tome having more than three hundred illustrations.

  Mage advisor Tremil had offered to help, and it’d be a waste not to take advantage of it. He was a Yellow-Core mage with the Ice affinity—a combination of both Water and Wind—and a practitioner with years of experience. There were less than a dozen casters of his skill level in the whole region, and in Litwick, he was the strongest one by far.

  Rowan waited at the gate, looking around at the walled compound the card led him to.

  He placed it back in his coat, raising his hand to knock again when the gate finally opened. The tall doors swung outwards, revealing a frazzled Tion standing on the other side.

  “Ah, mage Jamis,” he dusted off his shirt, inclining his head. “Master was wondering when you’d be stopping by. Please, come in.”

  As he entered, Rowan glanced around. Taking in the meticulously maintained lawn with a grove of fruit trees at the back, surrounding a small pond. To the right was a large manor, luxurious but not ostentatious. It looked like a house that was well lived in, with a few people milling about in the large yard.

  The walls around the compound were large enough to shield practicing mages from prying eyes, and Rowan was pretty sure there had been enchantments on the gate.

  Tion saw him glancing at the artificial groove and he smiled. “Master Tremil had it made so I had a place to practice both of my affinities in tandem.”

  Water and Earth? Rowan thought, taking in the pond and the trees surrounding it. Makes sense. Tremil has the Water affinity, and if they’re apprenticing under him, it’s only natural they would practice one of his.

  “So, you’re working towards Nature?” Rowan asked, walking up the path toward the manor, finding himself pleasantly surprised. “Not many mages go that route.”

  “I know,” Tion shrugged. “Most would rather throw around lightning or magma,” he chuckled. “But no affinity is inherently stronger than any other. It all depends on how you use it. And I find myself drawn to Nature in all its aspects.”

  “Druid or Healer?”

  Most mages who chose Nature as their tier two affinity picked the former. Healing was a complex and expansive art—one better left to priests or clerics. It only showed its worth as a tier three affinity, but that was a height few achieved.

  Tion shook his head. “I’m not yet sure. That hurdle is a ways off. It might be years before I have to choose.”

  “And what about your brother?” Rowan asked as they reached the house. “He doesn't strike me as someone who appreciates Nature.”

  Tion snorted. “You’d be right about that. The only thing that concerns him is the amount of carnage he can bring. Says he wants to be like ‘the mages of old’, bringing down mountains and splitting seas.”

  “I’m guessing he picked Magma?” Rowan asked with a wry smile.

  Tion nodded, “Without hesitation.”

  Rowan spoke with the young mage for a few more minutes before they made their way inside. He’d tried to ask about the upcoming expedition, but Tion avoided the topic. Deciding not to pry, Rowan let it go.

  And it wasn’t like he minded.

  Talking about magic with a fellow practitioner wasn’t something Rowan got to do often. Tion might have been younger than him, but the boy had been a mage for years longer than him. He wasn’t spouting nonsense, and Rowan found himself drawn into the conversation.

  “And those whips?” Tion added as they made their way up the stairs. “I can manage two—maybe three if I don’t have any distractions. But keeping eight manifested at the same time? In the middle of a fight?” he shook his head in bewilderment. “That’s something else. I’m not even sure Master Tremil could do much better.”

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  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Rowan chuckled. “Besides, I had a skill helping me. Five is my natural limit right now” he pointed out. “And five manifestations isn’t that much higher than three,” he shrugged, glancing at the young mage. “[Burning Whip] is a favourite of mine, so I’ve had a lot of practice. I’m sure you’d be able to manage it just fine with a bit of elbow grease.”

  Tion smiled, giving a small nod as he knocked on the door at the end of the hall. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

  A calm voice answered. “Come in.”

  The thick wooden doors opened, revealing a cozy-looking space.

  The walls were lined with bookshelves, a large desk in one corner and an area to relax in the other. It looked more like a lounge than a study, with Tremil sitting on the couch, a book held in his hands.

  He looked up, a kindly smile on his face. “Mage Jamis.”

  Setting aside his book, he gestured at the chair opposite him. “I was hoping you’d take me up on my invitation. Please, sit.”

  Rowan did just that, taking a seat and accepting a glass filled with a golden-brown liquid. “I’m not so prideful that I’d reject help from a mage of your caliber,” he said, taking a sip of the offered drink. “And I rarely get to talk about magic with someone knowledgeable, so that’s certainly a plus.”

  Tremil chuckled. “I imagine.” He glanced at Tion. “Thank you for bringing him. You may go.”

  The young mage nodded and closed the door behind him, leaving just the two of them.

  After a few moments of silence, Tremil spoke. “You are an extremely competent mage. Yet also, paradoxically behind,” he said casually, tracing the edge of his glass. “From my reports, you were at the first stage of advancement just a while ago. Which, if you don’t mind me saying, is very… strange, for a man of your talents.”

  Rowan arched an eyebrow. “There are reports about me?”

  “Quite a few.” Tremil laughed. “But do not worry, all of them are complimentary,” a smile tugged at his lips. “Well, most of them at least.”

  Rowan wasn’t surprised with the direction this conversation was heading. In fact, he’d expected it from the moment Tremil had offered to help him out.

  His advancement wasn’t something Rowan could really hide. At his age, most mages were on the cusp of advancing their Core’s to Yellow. It wasn’t even a matter of skill, but of time spent working towards it and the dedication to see it through.

  The first roadblock to a mages advancement was creating a tier-two affinity. You needed to combine your tier-one’s into something more. Which took a deep understanding of both, on top of the one you wanted to create.

  All that to say that Rowan’s age was something he expected to be questioned. Especially by a skilled mage.

  He’d thought about how to answer those questions, and the solution he came up with was incredibly simple.

  By lying.

  “What do you want me to address first?” he asked, taking another sip of the deeply flavourful drink. “Being strangely competent, or being paradoxically behind?”

  “Whatever you wish,” Tremil chuckled warmly. “This is not an interrogation. I am simply hoping to learn about a powerful new addition to our city. One which came seemingly out of nowhere, with coin to spare.”

  Rowan nodded, taking a moment to compose his thoughts. His lie needed to cover his skill, his resources, and his lack of advancement. And thankfully, he knew exactly what to say

  “I’m an apprentice, sent out to gather some worldly experiences,” he shrugged. “My master thought being on my own and tackling problems without a safety net would do me some good. And so far, it seems to be working out.”

  Tremil nodded, thoughtfully rubbing his chin. “As I thought,” he muttered, looking at him with a curious expression. “And if you don’t mind me asking, who is your master? I’m acquainted with many mages throughout the kingdom, mayhaps I know him.”

  Rowan shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I’m not supposed to say,” he said with an apologetic shrug. “But I doubt you’ve heard of him. We’re from… further north.”

  That wasn’t exactly an informative statement, seeing as everything was further north of Litwick. But it got the point across.

  He was hoping Tremil would see it as the deflection it was and move on, steering the conversation into something more comfortable than his past.

  “Ah, a shame,” he said after a moment, refilling his own glass. “I won’t pry then. But that still leaves my other question.”

  Rowan arched an eyebrow. “Me being skilled?”

  “Yes. Your showing against Killian was spectacular,” Tremil said admiringly. “Eight simultaneous casting, some being interchanged with ranged spells is a tremendous feat. One I don’t think many newly advanced mages could accomplish.”

  “I recently worked on getting a skill, and it’s really been helping,” Rowan answered. “Not to mention that both those spells were ones I had the most experience with. They’re my go to ways of dealing with threats.”

  “Still,” he said. “A wonderful showing.”

  They lapsed into a comfortable silence for a moment before Tremil continued “Well, no matter,” setting aside his glass, he interlocked his fingers in front of him. “Tell me Jamis, what can I help you with?”

  “I’ve been having some trouble with [Tailwind],” he admitted. “And I was hoping you may have some insight? I’ve got the circuit memorized, it’s just my Intent that needs work.”

  Tremil’s brows furrowed. “Why are you starting with such a complicated spell?” he asked. “There might not be time for you to master it by the time we have to leave.”

  “Oh, I’m not starting with it,” Rowan said. “I’ve already mastered [Gust], [Whisper Step] and [Featherfall].”

  A surprised look flashed across the older mage's face. “Already?”

  Rowan suppressed a sigh. He felt like he was revealing things he shouldn’t, but there was no way around it. Tremil knew how long he had his second affinity, and if he was going to help Rowan with his spellwork, he’d see him cast all three of those.

  After thinking for a few seconds, Tremil slowly nodded. “Your master is lucky to have you as an apprentice,” he smiled. “I’ll gladly help you take another step on your Path. That is the duty of the older generation, is it not?”

  Rowan chuckled. “Thank you, and if there’s anything I can do for you in return, feel free to ask.”

  Tremil took another sip of his drink, tapping the rim with his finger. “Actually, there is something,” he finally said. “The Guildmistress's scouts returned yesterday, and we’ve got a tally on our opponents.”

  Rowan straightened up, leaning forward. “And?”

  “They’ve confirmed the presence of a Warchief, a Warlock, a dozen casters in a cohort, and almost two-hundred hobgoblins,” he set down his drink. “Their base is two days march east, and since the meeting, another four-hundred lesser goblins joined them.”

  Rowan frowned. “That’s… a lot.”

  That news brought a wave of nervousness with it, but a quick flare of [Iron Will] snuffed it back down.

  The fight is happening either way, and I’m doing everything I can to prepare, he reminded himself. There’s no point in unnecessary worry.

  “It is,” Tremil nodded. “But we’ve got the manpower to deal with them,” he said firmly, no doubt in his tone. “A single Silver-rank is worth ten hobgoblins, and while the lesser goblins are high in number, they are no real threats. At least not against a coordinated assault,” he looked at Rowan with an appraising eye, as if mulling something over. “There is one more thing.”

  Rowan gestured for him to continue, eager to hear what was weighing on the mage advisor's thoughts. It obviously had something to do with the excursion, and from the looks of it, him as well.

  “The Guildmistress will be dealing with the Warchief while I focus my efforts on the Warlock,” he began. “This battle is going to be decided the moment one of our fights concludes. But until then, the rest of you are going to have to hold the line.”

  Rowan knew that already. Battles were won by the strongest person on the field. Quinea by herself could most likely take care of most of the hobgoblins—the same as Tremil—but they were going to be preoccupied.

  “There is one other threat the scouts found,” Tremil said slowly, sounding almost hesitant.

  Here it comes.

  Tremil sighed, running a hand through his hair. “The Warlock has an apprentice of his own. A peak Orange-Core caster with the Wind and Earth affinities,” he looked at Rowan with an intent expression. “We’re short on casters, and even with the reinforcements from Sheercliff, taking on the cohort of shamans will prove troublesome.”

  Rowan’s heartbeat quickened, an excited grin threatening to split his face.

  “The Guildmistress and I think you should be the one to fight against the apprentice.”

  He took a deep breath, trying not to show his eagerness.

  Well, you wanted to show off, Rowan thought to himself. Guess it worked.