Hazeltop and the Scale

Chapter 1

Gil slipped through the mass of students bubbling outside Hazeltop’s gate. He didn't wear robes or furs like the others. His shirt and pants were plain but well kept, and his cloak was green as moss. He pulled it closer as a tall, dark-haired boy joined him.

"I'm Hammen," the boy said. "Hammen Oatley. What's your name?"

“Gil of Evervale.”

“I’ve never met an Evervale before,” Hammen said.

Gil smiled. “It’s a town.”

“Really? That’s a strange name.”

“It’s from a story,” Gil explained.

A gleam caught Hammen’s eye. “Do tell.”

“You must have heard The Heartscale Tale before,” Gil said.

“Sure,” Hammen said. “But there’s no Evervale in the story.”

Gil frowned. “It’s all in Evervale.”

An old horse tugged an apple cart past them. Gil wondered how many times it had passed a new band of students at the gates of Hazeltop, waiting for the term to start. The driver grinned toothily and threw a dozen apples into the crowd. Hammen plucked one from the sky as it sailed overhead.

“These were cider apples anyway!” the man called over his shoulder.

Hammen crunched into his apple. He was watching Gil curiously. “Sounds like one of us has the story wrong.”

Gil had ridden by wagon for days to reach Hazeltop, and the company had been dry as corn husks. Hammen was a welcome change. He cleared his throat and drew up the familiar story.

“They lived in the valley, and it was veiled from the world. The town was hidden from every road, map, and traveler. Many families lived in the village, and each filled their role, whether it be woodsman, cook, or gardener. As generations passed, the town learned many secrets. They learned every leaf of the forest. No animal tracks were a mystery to them. They befriended great creatures.

One day, a traveler discovered the village. He had journeyed far and seen much, but the valley was new to him. He was welcomed by the people, and though they spoke different tongues, they traded many secrets. The traveler learned of woodcraft and herbs. He taught them to use stone and iron, which they had feared. The village showed him a dragon’s den, and he swam with the yael. He crafted tools of iron. Still, there were many things he could not explain, and as the seasons passed, it seemed there was one secret they would not share.

So he followed the elder, past the pool and to a cave deep in the forest. In the cave was a cauldron of smooth, worn wood. The traveler watched from the trees as the elder added plants and saps, chips of stone and a measure of water. The elder spoke, and the cauldron seemed to glow. The elder ladled the potion into bowls and returned to the village.

The traveler inspected the cauldron. Some potion remained. He noticed a bowl, forgotten beside the cauldron. He took the bowl. The  final secret lay before him, but it was not enough to merely taste it. The traveler would make it his own. He dropped a ring of iron into the cauldron, and spoke the elder’s word.”

The clang of keys interrupted Gil. “Pardon, pardon me,” An old man called as he wobbled through the crowd of students, carrying a ring of keys that clinked maddeningly. His tunic was ill-patched and lost somewhere between green and blue. A bit of smoke curled from the man’s ear. He didn’t seem to mind. He reached the gate and fumbled with his key ring.  

Students cheered as the man bumbled at the gate, and Gil smiled apologetically. “Best save the rest for another time.”

“I’ve never heard it start like that. I’ll be curious to see how it ends,” Hammen said. “Will you be studying alchemy?”

"Yes," Gil said with a smile. It seemed surreal to be standing outside Hazeltop’s gate. A long, steady hill rose behind the gate, flying up past tents, buildings, trees. At the crest, Gil fancied he could see a forest of handsome wood. No, not a forest, a school. Hazeltop.

Hammen winced. “Tough application, I’ve heard. I only had to read a few enchantments from the examiner’s book. Soon as I read, ‘creserume’—a mushroom wiggled behind Hammen’s book and suddenly shot skyward to form an odd, lumpy chair. Hammen grinned widely. “You get the idea.”

Gil gaped at the enchanted mushroom. “You’re an enchanter? Could I use that spell?”

“I will be, hopefully,” Hammen said. “From what the examiner said, everyone can do magic with some training, but not every kind of magic. I expect if you’ve got the knack for alchemy, the other branches will give you some trouble.”

There was a bang at the gate, and the old man grunted.

Hammen chuckled. “Sounds like he’s sieging a castle.”

Gil grinned. The man poked the gate’s lock with each of his keys to no avail. They were too large, too small, or too oddly shaped. He prodded and muttered through his key ring until he gave up and patted the many pockets of his tunic. A wizened, crooked apple core emerged. He grinned toothily and inserted the core into the lock. The lock clicked, and the gate swung open. Students cheered.

The plump man seemed genuinely impressed. He returned the apple core to his pocket and patted it protectively, turning to the bubbling mass of students. “Call me Trent if you like,” he said, pulling a note of crisp paper from another fold in his tunic. “Now, Master Vail has a few words for you before you get official with your classes." He squinted at the paper and said a little shyly. “Now, how about someone reads this." His hooked finger swiveled across the crowd, freezing as it landed upon Gil. “You." 

The bottom fell out of Gil’s stomach as a hundred heads started turning. He looked down. Everyone would be watching him. The feeling left his legs. It seemed even the magic of Hazeltop could not dispel his fear. He took a wobbly step back, before all those spinning faces could find him, but he need not worry.

“Gladly,” Hammen called to Trent, stepping between Gil and the old man. He closed the distance to Trent swiftly.

“On you go then.” Trent made to offer the note, but his hand was empty. His face wrinkled in surprise when Hammen produced the note with a flourish. Giggles swept the crowd.

Hammen winked and read clearly. “A message from Master Vail. Welcome to Hazeltop. Let this school become your home as it is mine. Today, you will register for your first-term classes and receive a room in the Flask. In the coming days before term begins, I encourage you to make full use of campus and begin bonding with your peers. The way of magic is winding, and is best walked with company. I look forward to addressing you on the Green prior to classes." 

Hammen handed the note back to Trent. “That’s it?" Hammen nodded, and Trent turned back to the students. “That’s it. On you go to the registration tent just up the hill there. Remember, gate locks at—"

But his words were lost in a swell of scuffling boots and cheers as students swept past him, up the lawn toward the white complex of tents squatting beside the road. Inside, Gil saw desks, ledgers, and registrars waiting with pen and parchment. Several of the passing students called out to Hammen or shook his hand. He smiled and joked. Then, with a turn of his tawny cloak, he disappeared in the crowd. Gil tried scanning the swirling robes and cloaks, but it was as good as counting bubbles in a soup pot.

He wondered if his friend had vanished as soon as he’d appeared. Then, Hammen slipped through the forest of cloaks, robes, and pelts. He clapped Gil on the shoulder as the line squeezed through the gate. "Trent was some alchemist, you know. Great brewer, but not a wit of sense, my sister said. Mistook a potion for a bottle of cider and drank the whole thing, if you can believe it. Thought he was going mad when he started hearing voices. Gatekeeper ever since."

The stream of students wound toward the registration tent farther up the path. The air tasted of cider. A girl climbed atop a stump beside the path and drew a lute. Her hair was the warm brownish red of a log against coals. A black dog sprang from the crowd of students and sat beside her stump. She strummed the opening chords. A murmur went through the line, and Gil heard, “The Heartscale Tale.” He smiled. The only thing better than telling a story was hearing one. The din of conversation faded as students elbowed and shushed each other.

She sang and played beautifully, but Gil’s excitement soured with each passing line. The story was wrong. He wondered if he had misheard the students, or if they had been mistaken. Her song was not in Evervale. There was a family, not a village. The father grew sick, and the mother brewed a potion in a cauldron of iron. For a moment, Gil saw story and song overlap. But the potion did not save the old man, and the song ended in low, sad chords. It was a lovely song, but it was not The Heartscale Tale as Gil knew it. There was a span of silence before a piper sprang up beside the lutist. A jolly tune danced into the summer air. The moment passed, and Hammen pointed up the hill eagerly.

Silks stretched between poles to create a huge registration tent that was steadily receiving the line of students. Registrars sat behind desks covered in ledgers and parchment, questioning nervous first years about the upcoming term. Gil shook away his thoughts of the song and pulled a scrap of parchment from a pocket in his cloak.

Alchemy, Herblore, Wondercraft, Defense, Gardening his tidy script read. There was no real need to consult the parchment; he had dreamt of these classes for months, ever since passing the examiner’s test. 

He followed Hammen to an open desk. A stern, pinch-faced enchantress waited for them, her hair scrooped into a tight bun. "Name?"

"Hammen Oatley."

"Classes?"

"Enchanting, Roots and Fungi, Defense, and I'd like to write for The Toptale."

A quill jumped up from the desk and began scribbling in the Enchanting ledger. The woman eyed him. "Toptale? Well, write an article for Master Arienna before classes start. She'll decide if you’re better at writing papers or delivering them.

Gil felt nervous for the tall boy.

The quill scratched a final note beneath Hammen's name. "Very well," the woman said. "Your registration is complete, and you’ll receive a class schedule tomorrow. Make your way to the Flask for dinner. Is this your roommate?"

Hammen blinked in surprise and turned to Gil. It was clear Hammen hadn’t considered a roommate. For all Gil’s considerations of the school, neither had he. He would need friends here, in this world of magic and mystery.

Hammen seemed to be thinking the same. He seemed hopeful, but there was a hesitance in his smile, as though he were going against his judgment. "A roommate could be nice..."

Gil offered his hand. "I won't start a fire if you don't."

Hammen laughed and shook Gil's hand. "I'll do my best."

"Excellent," the woman said, and the quill danced over to the housing ledger. "Name and area of study, dear."

Gil's cheeks reddened. He was small for his age, and people seemed to make a point of emphasizing it. His hand found the parchment in his cloak. "Gil of Evervale, and I'd like to study Alchemy, for starters. Could I also take Herblore, Wondercraft, and Defense. Gardening, for my work-study."

"Of course you'll be in Alchemy and Herblore. Can't have you mixing potions with plants you can't even name now, can we? Everyone takes Wondercraft and Defense. Best you beef up a bit before the final exams, though. Gardening..." The ledger beside her flopped open, showing a page of names and figures. "I'm afraid it's full, dear. Most gardening applicants in years. What's your next choice for the work-study?"

“Full?” Alchemists were supposed to apprentice as gardeners. His mom and dad were bakers, and even they knew gardening was vital for the alchemy students. He racked his brain. He hadn't bothered to research the other work-study options for alchemists. The only one he could think of was Cauldron Cleaning.

"Quite full, my dear. There's Herbalism, Procurements, Bottlecraft, Pewterworks." She frowned. “Well, Pewterworks might be a little too rough for a boy like you?"

His cheeks burned a cauldron-bottom red. He knew these apprenticeships were nearly alchemy, but they missed the heart of it. Alchemy was creation, a transformation of ordinary into extraordinary. Alchemy students apprenticed as gardeners because it modeled the principles of alchemy itself. The power of time, forethought, and meticulous care. As the thought came to him, he knew where he would work.

"How about the kitchens?"

Hazeltop was wonderful, Gil thought as they left the registration tent. He finally had a full view of the massive school atop the hill. Towers, domes, archways of dark wood. Squat buildings hunkered between graceful towers. Trees interspersed the campus. In their windows, Gil saw students carrying books and oddments. The breeze was heavy with honey and sap.

He couldn’t help but smile. "We made it.”

They made their way up the road and crested the hill. Here, the path broke into a dozen branches. Students milled about, laughing and eating snacks. A plump woman wearing a fur-lined robe led a huge creature down a side street. Students scuttled out of her way, but Gil saw a curious pack collecting in her wake. He couldn't blame the followers. The creature was big as any three cows, with a coat of prickly hairs over a rough hide. Its mouth hung open near the ground, and Gil was surprised to see a mouthful of loose stones rather than teeth.

Hammen consulted their map. "It looks like the Flask is higher, near the center of campus. We're in room 107."

As they continued on Hazel Street, Gil was amazed to find Hazeltop more of a city than merely a school. They passed the dragonry first, a tall, twisting tower with gaps along its length. Birds circled the tower, passing through the wide openings.

The library was a pale dome without windows or even a door, as far as Gil could see. A signpost identified the hemisphere as The Egg. Foot trails and clipped grass paths branched off the main path, racing past forges and shops. Cobblestone streets sprouted from the ground seemingly at random. Gil found someone airwalking between two trees as though on a bridge, though none was visible.

They found the Flask to be an oddly shaped building; round and squat at the base before tapering upward to a single room at the highest floor. Music rolled through the front door. A lutist, and a good one, Gil thought. The singer’s voice carried over the crowded dining room and into the street.

"I wonder what's burning tonight," Gil said.

Hammen seemed puzzled, then smiled. “Ah, food. We better get some before it’s gone. We can drop our bags off at room 107 after dinner.”

Gil followed him inside. The room was torchlit and packed with small, round tables laden with platters. A server passed, carrying a tray of bread and roasted chicken. This was too good to be true.

"Do we just sit?" he asked.

"Looks that way," Hammen said, and they sat in the corner near the stage. The lutist was the same he’d seen earlier beside Hazel Street. She looked to be Gil's age, though she wasn’t worried about playing before the sea of students in the dining room. The handsome, black dog sat beside her.

"What'll it be tonight, kings? Braised chicken or potato soup?" The speaker was a brown-haired serving boy with an open face. He produced a pair of mugs. "Cider or water for the future wizards?"

They ordered ciders and soup with a loaf of garlic bread. As the server returned to the kitchens, he passed by a thin, bearded man in a vest and apron. An iron broach gleamed against his vest.

"Must be the Master of Food, Perius Drayborne," Hammen said as the lutist finished her song to a round of cheers. "My sister said he ran the kitchens like a battlemaster when she was here. Doubt time softened him.”

This information did not bode well for Gil’s upcoming time in the kitchens. "What does your sister study?"

"She studied alchemy."

Gil straightened. "Could I meet with her, get an idea of what to expect this term?"

Hammen swirled his cider. "She'd be happy to, but her days with alchemy are behind her."

The lutist began another song. Her voice was crisp and clear as an Evervale morning, and her hands were sure on the strings. She finished with a flourish and packed her lute into a wooden case. A curly-haired piper replaced her beside the hearth, shrilling out a wobbly tune.

The server returned with bowls of thick soup and warm bread. Gil was famished after weeks of travel fare. As he was emptying his second bowl, the lutist's dog appeared beside him, looking hopeful.

"Ash likes you," A voice said behind him. The lutist sat beside them. "I'm Millie."

"Gil," he returned, "and this is Hammen. We just registered. Are you a student as well?"

"Already started my work-study in music, as you can hear. Can't wait for my Runes class to start. I have the silver stylus and everything."

“I’m not much for music,” Hammen grinned and tapped his throat. "But I do have my pipes. All an enchanter needs."

“All an enchanter needs,” Millie stressed, “is a brain.

 She turned to Gil. "You must be in Alchemy,"

"What gave it away?"

"Nothing." She smiled. "It's all the ingredients you have stowed in your cloak. Ash is going crazy."

It was true. The dog had turned his attention from the soup to Gil's cloak, sniffing over lumps and pockets. Gil pulled the cloak closer. “They’re just some…oddments I’ve collected for the term. An alchemist is always prepared.”

Millie smiled. “Someone’s been listening to tales about the Heartscale family.”

“That reminds me,” Gil said. “The song you were singing earlier. That isn’t really how the story goes.”

Millie frowned, but Hammen knocked his third bowl, now empty, against the table with a satisfied thump. He tore off a chunk of bread and turned to Millie. "Find any secrets around Hazeltop yet?"

Millie drummed her fingers. "They’d hardly be secrets if I told you. I did find a Blocks tournament every afternoon at third bell, though. Over by the Hall of Runes. Brilliant game. There's the Thicket of course for any magical plants or beasts you have to study. I found—"

"Do they have dragons there as well?" Hammen interrupted.

Millie’s face was incredulous, though she avoided Hammen’s eyes. "You two are up to the nose with nonsense. Have you ever even seen a dragon?"

"It sounds like you have," Hammen said.

“Drakes, yes, but an adult dragon,” Millie trailed off, and she smiled sheepishly. “Well, I may have heard one once. In the mountains. Its voice was like a lute strung with lightning.”

They passed the rest of dinner in a warm stupor, imagining the distant dragon and listening to the stumbling piper and the crackling hearth. Millie took a bowl of soup, and Ash licked out another. The server returned with a blackberry pie courtesy of Master Drayborne. The master nodded to them and slipped back through the kitchen door. Apprentices whisked away their plates and mugs.

Gil looked between Hammen and Millie. "Any plans for tomorrow?"

"I'm heading down to Grent," Hammen said immediately. "Need a spell book and some things before class."

Millie ruffled the dog's ears. "The Silversmoke Lake is calling us tomorrow morning and I’m playing Blocks in the afternoon. I even heard a few masters might be playing. And right before class will be the Welcoming."

"The Welcoming?" Gil asked.

Hammen rose from the table. "A ceremony to kick off the term. Food and magic. Master Vail will say a few words. Probably tell us to keep out of the Dragonry."

The Master of Hazeltop. "Wonderful,” he said. "I still need my cauldron. Could I come with you tomorrow, Hammen?"

"Of course. That's what roommates are for."

Gil smiled and grabbed his travel sack. "Maybe we'll see you tomorrow, Millie?"

She laughed. "You will.”

Chapter 2

The following day was extraordinary. A phoenix cry woke him in the small room he split with Hammen. It was on the second floor, he'd been glad to hear, and while there were few steps to scale, laughter and music from the dining room rose through his floorboards deep into the night.

The sounds were familiar to Gil, who had slept above his parents' bakery his whole life. Hammen seemed the worse for wear though, and groaned awake as the phoenix's song rolled over Hazeltop.

Breakfast was a plate of sausage and eggs. The milk was cool and washed down the strawberry pastries. The server from the previous night shook Gil’s hand and took their plates. “Name’s Wilkus. I’ll see you in class tomorrow then, huh?”

“Absolutely,” Gil said. “Sit with us at the ceremony if you’re looking for a spot." Wilkus grinned and disappeared back to the kitchens. Gil and Hammen left the Flask, making their way down the gentle slope toward the town below.

Hazeltop was waking in the early morning air. The forges on Steel Street were already a rosy orange as students worked bellows and hammered metal. Horses towed carts laden of hornroot and clam shells to the Apothecary, an odd building puffing green smoke. Three muscular squires headed off toward the sparring ring and rock wall for a workout.

The registration tents had been neatly picked up since yesterday, revealing a handsome plain of fresh, emerald grass. As they neared the gate, Hammen hiked his travel sack higher. "So, what brought you to alchemy?"

"The stories," Gil said immediately. "Marabel the Moony. Hishwishy Stomplebee. Rabore Heartscale. I grew up hearing stories of them every night."

"Which is your favorite?"

“Depends,” Gil said. “That’s the thing about stories. They’re different every time you hear them.”

They passed through the gate and paused, looking over Grent, the half-moon town skirting the base of Hazeltop. "You're just buying time," Hammen said. "Which one's your favorite?"

Gil smiled, and they made for The Pewt cauldron shop. "Now don't laugh, but I've always liked Rabore and the Dragon Scale."

"Why would I laugh?"

"Well, it's just a fairy tale, fantastic. There's no such thing as an everlixer. Alchemists have been trying to make it for centuries, and no beans."

"What’s an everlixer?", Hammen asked.

Gil paused beside The Pewt’s door, unsure if Hammen was joking. The everlixer was the whole point of the story. To know of Rabore but not the everlixer was like knowing about water but not rain. Inside the shop, he heard the grinding of mortar and pestles and smelled heavy spices. "The everlixer could heal any wound or disease. It's what Rabore brewed to save Allia's life."

Hammen cocked his head. "Who told you that? Allia dies in the song. That's what makes it so sad."

Now it was Gil’s turn to frown. "It's not a sad story at all. My parents have been telling me about Rabore and Allia for years. There wouldn't be many stories of them if she died right away.”

Hammen's eyes were narrowed suspiciously, as though this were some prank. His voice held a strange note. "Allia had the rust, didn’t she?”

“She did,” Gil said.

“How did Rabore cure her?”

Gil entered the cauldron shop. "With a potion, of course. Maybe you'd better get a cauldron while you're in here."

Only, Hammen hadn’t entered. He was rooted outside, staring at the place Gil had been. He shook himself and entered The Pewt. In the space of an hour, Gil's travel bag was packed with a pewter cauldron, three sets of alchemist's blacks—handsome pairs of dark shirts and pants, mortar and pestle, and a tool kit. His coin pouch was rapidly depleting, and he decided to wait until his apprenticeship in the kitchens began before making any unnecessary purchases.

Hammen was buoyant as he purchased his sapphire enchanter's robes and some oddments. Several enchanters were already wearing their robes, and Gil saw them choosing staffs, rings, amulets. He wasn't sure why an enchanter needed such tokens and neither did Hammen, it seemed, for he didn't even glance in those shops.

Their shopping complete, Gil took the opportunity to explore Grent. The shops seemed tailored specifically for the school. Staffshops, apothecaries, cauldron scrubbers, and rune stores lined the main roads. The last seemed strangest of all. Dozens of students milled inside the store, holding ink bottles to the light and feeling the weight of a slender stylus. A saleswoman took a sable stylus and drew a spiraling design that seemed to pull Gil toward it. It was only when an ink bottle flew into the center of the rune and shattered that the woman laughed and slashed ink across the rune. The strange tugging vanished.

"Strange, isn't it?" Mille asked from over his shoulder.

He spun around in surprise. Her clothes were bright and clashing, with the tapered sleeves favored by runists. Ash sat beside her, looking from Gil to Hammen eagerly.

"I've never seen runes up close before," Gil said. "Are they all so..."

"Hypnotic?" Hammen supplied.

Millie ran a hand over Ash's head. "Of course not. Most runes are small, hidden things. See there." She led them to the signpost at the street corner and brushed a thumb across the wood. As she did so, Gil realized an odd pattern carved into the wood. A pointed, circular rune was carved into the post, no bigger than a thumbprint.

Hammen stopped several paces short. "Is it going to suck me into the post? Will I get trapped in there or something?"

"It's just the wayfinder's ward," Millie said, exasperated. "Nothing dangerous or mysterious at all. It's almost like cutting an arrow into a tree."

Gil looked at the rune more closely. "Almost? What's the difference?"

Millie favored them with a smile. "The wayfinder's ward is more than a symbol. It's a language of its own kind, and if you know how to read it, you'll never be lost. What's more, the runist can see the wards in her mind, like looking at a map."

“They don’t seem terribly helpful,” Hammen said apologetically.

“Neither do your wits,” Millie said.

The day was growing warmer, so they trekked back up to Hazeltop, stowed their new belongings in their rooms, and took lunch at the Flask. Fresh bread was served with pots of honey, jelly and butter. Gil found the warm rolls and honey to his liking, and had several helpings. After the meal, Millie drew out a square board from her bag.

Hammen rose as she placed the board on the table. "I forgot to buy one of my school books. See you two later.”

"I might be in the library. I want to explore before classes tomorrow," Gil said.

Hammen left, and Millie drew a pouch of slats. "Right, this game is Blocks, and you're not making it far in the tournament this afternoon if you don't practice. We've only got a few hours."

“Will there be people at the tournament?”

Millie threw an exasperated look his way. “Unless you want to ask Master Horatio to enchant a self-playing board, yes, there will be people to play. Lots, I hope.”

Gil's stomach twisted into a sour knot at the thought of people watching him play. "I don't even know how the game works."

"See the pit in the center?" She pointed to the board, which was striped by seven rows and columns. The central square was a crater. "That's the pit. Whoever falls in, loses. Make sense?"

"Yes, but I'm still not playing in that tournament. I'll look like a fool."

Millie covered a smile and felt the board. “There are grooves across the board, see?" She handed him a wooden figurine and a pouch of small, wooden walls. "On the first turn, we both add a wall to the board. Next turn, we move our player one space. Repeat the dance of blocking, moving, and outmaneuvering each other until one of us is forced into the pit."

The game seemed simple enough, but the hardest games normally were. The first match was rough. Millie forced him wall by wall into the pit with no apparent effort. He asked for a second game, and she gave it to him. Now that he had the rules down, he anticipated giving her a good match. He did not. Initially, he pushed her player just two spaces away from the pit. There were several alleys she could have used to slip out, but she seemed content just outside the pit. He didn't question his luck. He placed a wall beside her figurine, trying to force her across those final two spaces into the pit, but she found a safe move. Meanwhile, she funneled him closer. Slowly, at first, and then he was on the rink, the squares surrounding the pit. He thought he could use the last alley against her, but she foresaw his move and blocked the opening. Next turn, a wall slammed behind him, cutting off any hope of retreat.

And so the games played out. Millie a move ahead, blocking every exit as he tried to escape, and sealing off the others with her walls. She was using her own character as a movable wall, and to incredible effect, Gil saw. The game ended when Millie's player took the last square, and Gil had to knock his figurine into the pit. They shook hands.

"Another one." Millie said. "I think you're really getting it now."

Gil shook himself. "Maybe tomorrow. I'm certainly not ready for the tournament. Besides, I need to go to the library before dinner. Classes do start tomorrow, you know."

Millie grinned at that. "All the more reason to enjoy today."

She took Ash up the northern staircase, toward her room, and Gil was truly alone in Hazeltop for the first time.

The feeling was strange. For the past day, he had spent every moment with either Hammen or Millie. They were decisive, knowledgeable, friendly. Gil chuckled. For all their good qualities, he couldn't picture either one of them in a library.

Gil left the Flask for the warm, golden afternoon. The air was flushed with conversation and excitement. He passed a pod of girls crowded around a path poet spouting rhymes. Gil descended the hill until he reached the pale, domed building Hammen had called the Egg. He stopped. There was no door. It seemed an important thing to forget, Gil thought, but then he realized he may be on the wrong side of the Egg. It was circular, after all. He left the path and walked around the large building, but there was nothing to break the sloping white stone. He completed the loop and ended where he started, baffled and irritated. “What kind of a building has no door?” he asked.

Two cracks raced up the wall and joined over his head. An orange glow flared through the right crevice. Gil touched the wall, and it swung inward. Through the doorway, he saw a strip of bookcases. Gil’s chest fluttered, not just at the books, but at the magic of this place. He had never heard of an enchanted building, not in real life. This was like the magic of stories. 

He entered. The air was warm, dry, and smelled of knowledge. A high ceiling sloped overhead, impossibly high, much higher than the Egg he had seen from outside. Bookshelves and corridors stretched as far as he could see, all bathed in an orange light from the dome, which osmosed the outside light. The shelves were like leatherbound hedges separated by the odd desk or table. The nearest shelf held a hundred books, beautifully bound and organized. He ran a hand across the spines. Riddler’s Quandry, Mind-Murglers, and The Locked Key and all seemed to wait eagerly, hoping he would choose them. Suddenly, Mind Murglers shivered. The purple tome wiggled out from its neighbors and teetered off the shelf. The flaps shot out as it fell, and it caught the air and pulled out of the nosedive inches above the ground. Mind Murglers flapped eagerly, and flew down the hall like a drunken owl.

“Amazing,” Gil said. There was a papery rustle overhead and he looked up in time to see five mustard yellow books bobbing toward a different section of the Egg. The heaviest book was as thick as a loaf of bread and struggling to remain airborne. It plummeted several feet before flapping back up to the group. A disheveled boy wearing a brown robe popped out of a side corridor. He walked at a near-run, elbows askew and eyes fastened on the faltering book. 

The book swooned downward again, and the boy raced forward to catch it. “Know better,” the boy muttered to the book as he carried it back into the maze of shelves. “Much too old. Need a fresh binding before you even think about…”

The boy disappeared, and Gil decided to scope out the inside of the library. He took several corridors and side passages in hopes of finding a sign or obvious guidance, but the forest of hazel bookcases stretched on. He followed a corridor for several minutes before it tapered to gap between a pair of shelves titled “Irenian Poetry of the Elder Age." He was turning around when he noticed something within the crevice. He squeezed through and found himself in a dim, narrow tunnel of dusty codices. Gil wondered how long these texts had waited here, hidden from sight. Discovery glowed in his chest like a coal.

He slipped out through another crack, followed a pathway, and found a clearing where everything had been pushed away from an old, worn shelf. A dozen students were in line for the shelf, whispering to a friend or hitching up their sack of books. Gil tried walking up to see what genre the shelf held, but an older girl hissed at him. “Back of the line. No skipping.”

“I just wanted to see it,” Gil said, cheeks reddening as other students looked up at him.

Several snickered. The girl looked at him as though he had offered to rob her. “You little…Get out, before I bring you out to Master Vail myself.”

Confused and red as a raspberry, Gil backpedaled his way out, but not before he spotted the sign above the old shelf. The Eluciant.

He walked until the weight of the eyes on his back vanished. In all his exploration, he’d nearly forgotten why he had come to the Egg. He wandered for a long while through the haphazard maze, but he did not seem to be nearing the other side of the dome. Needing a rest, he paused in a section about "magical mysteries, tricks, and hoodwinks." The nearest shelf was devoted entirely to the String Brothers. Gil took a copy at random and found a soft armchair.

The String Brothers, as they came to be known, were brothers of an unusual sort. Brilliant boys, they grew closer with age until they were inseparable. Though they were marked as future alchemists or enchanters, the twins favored magicianship over true magic. They developed a series of seemingly telepathic tricks throughout their adolescent years. By early adulthood, they had devised what is now known as “The Card Trick.” Without fail, one could guess the card the other held. Audiences supposed trickery at first, a signal of some sort one brother would give the other. That assumption was disillusioned when the second brother was blind folded. Other signals were hypothesized—a key phrase, foreplanned sleight of hand to produce a certain card, and so on. With each skeptic, the String Brothers hardened the act. In the year 319 of the Age of Magic, Master Veil tested the String Brothers herself. She separated the brothers, keeping one at Hazeltop and moving the other to a nearby village. She drew a card from the first, and kept it under lock and key for seven days and seven nights. She allowed the first brother a glimpse of the card. Within the hour, a rider arrived from the village bearing a claim from the brother that the card was—

"Excuse me," a kind voice asked. "Do you know where I might find any books on potioncraft?"

Gil pulled himself from the story with an effort and saw a small, hopeful girl. Her hands were bunched in the folds of her skirt, and a bag of books hung from her shoulder. Her hair was a light silvery gold.

"I’ve been asking myself the same, but I can’t even find the alchemy section.”

“You’re studying alchemy too?" She nodded to the book he held. "I thought maybe you would be a magician.”

"Not me," Gil said quickly. "I wouldn't do well with an audience."

“Me neither,” she said, “which is all the more reason I need to study before classes tomorrow." She smiled and turned down the corridor. Knowing she was right made him all the guiltier to flip the magicianship book open.

The Mage of Glass, the very card drawn by his brother some three miles away. Master Vail was amazed.

The Card Trick remained unsolved for another decade, until a traveler from the Southern Fields spread tales of a strange magic. It came to be called Persamancy, an undiscovered magic which allowed the brothers to trade senses, thereby allowing the second to see the card of the first. The precise capacities and restrictions of Persamancy are subjects of intellectual speculation today. The trick, as is often the case, was merely magic of a new shade.

Gil closed the book. The trick seemed so obvious, now that he knew the answer. He wondered what it would be like to trade senses with someone.

His stomach rumbled, and he decided that a full mind could not be pursued on an empty stomach. He stood and turned in a full circle, trying to see from which way he had come. Looking at the massive, sloping dome overhead, he realized that he was quite lost. His stomach gurgled hopefully, and he wondered if a student had ever been permanently lost. Before long, fortune led him to a stooped woman hunched behind a desk.

"Can you help me?" Gil said. "I think I'm lost. I was just trying to reach the other wall, so I could get out."

"That would take some time, dear. You may have noticed, but the Egg is...different in some ways. It was here when the school was founded, you know. Old magic, quite strange. You'd be walking for days before you crossed the library."

Panic rose in his throat. "Can I get out? There has to be a way."

"Of course. Why don't you try asking, dear?"

Gil felt strange, but he took a step toward the smiling woman. "Would you let me out, please?"

She laughed and waved to the nearest bookshelf. "Not me. The Egg."

Feeling even more foolish, Gil stopped before the shelf, which was packed with bestiaries and anatomical texts. He fixed his eyes on a book about scruffin, since they seemed the least threatening creature. "Can I please go now?"

There was a grating sound as the shelf swung like a door. Violet light flooded in, and Gil was looking out to Hazel street. "Thank you," he called back to the librarian, and he stepped into the evening.

He made his way quickly back to the Flask before another building ate him. Classes started tomorrow, and he was determined to get a good night's sleep, if nothing else.

He had a bowl of soup in the dining room and made his way up the southern staircase to room 107. Hammen was not back yet, still evidently in Grent, but Gil didn't mind. At 9th bell, Master Vail was delivering a welcome message to all students to begin the term, with Defense class and Herblore to follow.

His stomach squirmed with excitement and nerves that night. He laid out his dark shirt and pants for tomorrow, tucked his herblore book into his book bag, and slept.

Chapter 3

The phoenix's cry pulled Gil from his dream. Cool morning air sighed through the open window.

Hammen groaned. "Morning already?"

Gil sprang to his dresser and found his pants and a shirt. "First day of class. Find everything you needed in Grent?"

Hammen grinned. "Enough to get through the week." 

Gil hefted his bag. It was well-stocked with parchment, pens, and every textbook he had bought in Grent. Leather bound ingots of knowledge holding answers to ten thousand questions. He opened the bag and checked its contents. It seemed too ordinary. Shouldn’t you need more for your first day at the school of magic? After some thought, he added the last of his road apples and an iron haffer. A bite to eat and a bit of luck were always welcome.

The bells in the Spire rang seven times, clear as morning rain. Hammen straightened his robe. "We have an hour to eat and make it to the green. Can't miss the Welcoming."

Gil grinned. "Wouldn't dream of it."

There was a nervous air about the dining room that morning, quite different from the giddy glee of the previous day. Students seemed a little paler, their portions a little smaller, as though not quite certain they could keep a normal plate down. Laughter was muted to chuckles and grunts. The mood was infectious. Gil’s excitement at the thought of the Welcoming ceremony and his first classes was replaced with wonders and worries which seemed harmless throughout the past weeks but suddenly seemed very scary. What if the classes were too difficult for him and he fell behind? Maybe his magic with the examiner had been a fluke or he had run out. Had he made a mistake by coming to Hazeltop? He could be back at the bakery helping Mother and Father, listening to their stories and serving bread to Maggie Mintcooper and Gummer. His appetite evaporated, and he chewed on something that tasted like a sandy stick. Despite Hammen's smile and chatter through breakfast, Gil noticed he ate little. Hammen’s mound of food had merely been smooshed and prodded into a less lumpy lump. Only Millie seemed unaffected with the imminence of the term. If anything, she seemed anxious for it to begin.

"Is the whole Welcoming thing really necessary?" she asked. "I mean, why can't we jump right into Defense class? I have to run across campus after that for Music."

"Herblore for me this afternoon," Gil managed.

"I have remedial incantations," Hammen said. “But I’m sure we won’t start anything too involved today. There’s no need to—"

"Your attention," A smooth voice swept the room, silencing the murmuring conversations. Master Drayborne, the well dressed master of food, stood beside the kitchen door, smiling. "As you are well aware, the Welcoming begins at 8th bell. Just past the Spire, you will notice the Green. There, Master Vail took the liberty of producing a stage and seating for the occasion. Third-termers, if you would…" He gestured to the door. Immediately, the third-term students rose and led the way outside. Gil recognized a handful of the older students from his travels the previous day. It was only seeing the group at large though, that he realized how very different they were from him. Older, yes, but they moved with certainty, with knowledge of sorcery, skills, and secrets to be discovered.

The server from yesterday emerged through the kitchen door. He wore the dark pants and shirt of an alchemy student, and his eyes were alight with excitement as he watched the third-termers filter outside. The door swung shut and time seemed to slow as the boy was struck in the shoulder. He yelped and teetered off balance. The remainder of the room turned just as he bounced off the wall and tripped in a windmill of elbows and knees. The nerves of several hundred students burst out as laughter. The boy flushed pink, skipped red, and landed on purple. Master Drayborne’s mouth thinned into a grimace, and he pulled the boy up. “Second-termers!” he barked. “Out with you!”

Still laughing, the jaunty, grinning crowd rose and jostled each other outside.

"Criminy," Millie said, “They’re like a herd of scruffin.”

“First-termers,” Master Drayborne called.

Hesitantly, a few students rose around Gil. Seeing they were in the minority, they plopped back into their seats. Hammen snorted and sprang up, Millie and Ash just behind him. Millie handed something small and wooden to Hammen. She turned and tossed something back to Gil with a grin. “For luck.” It was a wooden cube, inscribed with a sprawling, looping design. Luck was always welcome, and Gil tucked the cube into his cloak.

Nobody wanted to be the last one, it seemed, because a stream of clammy first years funneled behind Hammen and Millie. Gil had no interest in shouldering his way into the line, so he waited until he could merge into the end of the line after a round boy wearing a heavy, thick fur vest that left his doughy arms free to fumigate the world. He must have felt Gil’s eyes because he turned around, grinning proudly. “Wolf pelt, if you can believe it. Hunted it myself, I did. Only one arrow in my quiver, and my bow was broke clean in…" 

“Really,” Gil said, but movement caught the corner of his eye as Master Drayborne steadied the embarrassed boy and spoke a few low, soothing words. He called into the kitchens, and an old man emerged with a glass of water, which the Master of Food offered to the student.

“And I threw the arrow just like that. Quick as summer, my Ma would say. Course, I hit the wolf. Never seen a bigger one in my life, and pry never will again." The boy was ruby-cheeked with the effort of his story. He seemed to be waiting for Gil to say something.

“That’s quite… unbelievable,” Gil said.

The chubby boy smiled.

Gil followed the line outside, and saw the school for the first time in its entirety. A thousand students, clogging Hazel Street and flowing past the spire, which erupted from the ground like a giant’s sword. Beyond the Spire lay the Green, a field of emerald grass and a massive tree. A ring of bleachers sprouted from the field today, though Gil was sure they had not been there yesterday. A small platform sat in the center. Even from a distance, Gil saw several robed figures seated on the stage. The Masters.

There was a snuffle behind Gil, and he saw the server boy join the end of the march. His eyes were red and downcast. The red-cheeked boy was sputtering eagerly.“...and then the rabbits raided us again, you see, so I—"

“Yes,” Gil broke in quickly. “You know, I think I need a cider to really appreciate your story.”

The boy winked. “You’ve got a good ear for stories. Know I’m not quite on my game without a cider to warm me up. You wouldn’t believe it, but I can really get talking once—" Gil slowed his pace and watched as the boy ambled away, chattering obliviously to a partner that was no longer there.

“End of the line, huh?” someone asked beside him. It was the server.

“I’m Gil of Evervale.”

“Wilkus,” the boy said miserably.

“You’re studying alchemy?”

Wilkus brightened by a shade. “Yes.”

They walked on. Gil was no longer sure if it had been a good idea to come back and introduce himself, and he busied himself looking for the tall figure of Hammen amid the crowd. The stands were filling, and Gil saw a handful of merchant carts framing the upcoming road. The breeze strengthened, and he smelled caramelized almonds and minted chocolate.

Someone bought a bar of chocolate on a stick, and Gil had an idea. “Do you like stuck chocolate?”

Wilkus’ wouldn’t meet Gil’s eyes. “I’m sure it’s good, but I haven’t actually, well…”

Gil frowned. “I thought it was a common treat around here.”

Wilkus flushed again. “My family didn’t buy that sort of thing.”

“I haven’t had it either,” Gil said quickly. This was technically true. His parents’ bakery had a dozen forms of chocolate but never on a stick. He couldn’t help but notice Wilkus didn’t wear a coin pouch. “Here, let’s try some.”

He offered the nearest merchant a copper groople, and the merchant drew two sticks from her ice box. Skewered at the end of each was a lovely bar of chocolate laced with mint leaves. She nearly impaled Gil as she jabbed the chocolate bars toward him in her excitement. Gingerly, he relieved the merchant of her sticks and offered one to Wilkus. 

He inspected the chocolate for a long moment, then nibbled. His eyes widened, and he gobbled up a third of the treat in one bite. Gil took a chunk off his own chocolate. Sweet chocolate and sharp mint flooded him. His mouth tingled, cool and clean. They ate as they walked, and it seemed to Gil that Wilkus grew taller and brighter with each bite, as though the chocolate were rinsing out the sour taste the morning had left him. The stands were filling quickly as students clamored for the best seats or sat near a group of friends. A pair of arms in the upper row waved down to them.

“Look, they saved a spot for us,” Gil said. Wilkus followed eagerly up the tiered wooden platform until they crowded in with Hammen, Millie, and Ash. 

Ash took an immediate interest in Wilkus, and Millie looked up grinning. “You’re just in time for the show. I’m Millie.”

“Wilkus.”

“And Hammen,” Hammen added, shaking Wilkus’ hand. “Ok, how many different fruits do you see on that big tree? I’m counting seven, but Millie says she can’t see any.”

“It’s just blurry,” Millie said, a little sharply.

The Yeatree was wide as a house with a tangle of roots like petrified waves radiation from the base. The trunk stretched proudly before blossoming into a sprawling, stretching canopy. Heavy, red apples speckled the crown. Gil looked more closely and saw brambles of blackberries and raspberries woven among the limbs. Honey chocolate branches buttressed a spray of plums and oranges. Tiny, dark specks darkened the mid canopy. Almonds? Pecans?

Hammen snorted. “Is that a lute in the tree?”

GIl followed his gaze down the tree and drew a sharp breath. The lowest branches were filled not with fruit, but with the oddest things Gil had ever seen. There was the lute Hammen had noticed, though the neck was badly bent. Beside it, nestled in the fork of two limbs, something like a green frog splashed around in a glass sphere. A rope woven from something gold and fine. A loaf of half-eaten black bread lodged between two limbs. 

A hush fell over the stands, and Gil tore his eyes from the tree to see Master Vail crossing the Master’s stage. Her robes were long and sweeping, silver and white as a winter morning. With each stride, her dark staff claimed the ground before her. Upon her hand was a dull ring, and a stylus hung at her side. Her graying hair hung loose to her shoulders. She tapped her staff against the floorboard, and a clear note rang across the Green.

"Vocal enhancement charm, I'll bet," Hammen whispered.

Master Vail smiled, and it seemed to Gil that she was looking at him. "Many of you traversed seas and borders to be here today. Others came from Grent. Wherever you are from, I hope Hazeltop becomes your home this term. You may come from a place of music, magic, metal, or meat. I think you’ll find each in abundance here, if you’re willing to look. Know that the friendships forged upon these grounds are as strong as we make them, limited only by our own fears." She paced the stage. "In just a moment, the term will begin. You will learn the magics and methods of which you've dreamt. Apply yourself, and recognize that this term will demand much of you. Rely on the Masters. Invest in your friends. Believe in yourself. And…"

She walked toward the Yeatree. A wind swayed the limbs, and the tree seemed to bend toward her. She raised her staff once more and brought it to the grass. “Always wonder." A ribbon of cherry flames gouted skyward from her staff. A small, silver object flew from the fire and came to a smoking rest, hovering beside Master Vail. She admired it for several seconds before turning to the stage. "A dragon scale. A most interesting Sigil for the year."

Now the Yeatree did move. There was a thunderous creak as a branch bent to curl around the scale and lift it back into the canopy. Now, amidst the lute and the rope, a smoking dragon scale rested, silver as a moonbeam.

Master Vail stretched her arms wide, staff and stylus outstretched. "Let the term begin!"

Students cheered, and masters rose from the stage, calling for students to come this way and that. Some third-term students assisted the masters, shepherding openmouthed students from the Green.

A tall, muscled man was striding toward their section of the bleachers. His clothes were gray and finely-made, though the edges of his shirt and pants were torn. "I'm Master Flint,” he boomed. “Master of Defense. All first-term magic students with me for the morning. Time for your first lesson." He began marching north, toward the Orchard, and there was a confused moment before students started scrambling after him. Gil and the others were near the back of the group as they crossed the Green. He couldn’t help but gaze at the Yeatree as they passed. It seemed even taller up close. The dragon scale caught the morning sun and winked at him, curls of smoke lifting from its surface. Millie was watching as well, but her foot caught on a stick and she stumbled. Ash turned from the Yeatree and was at her side instantly. She laughed and found her feet again.

“What does the dragon scale mean?” Gil asked.

Hammen grinned. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”

The question was like a prickly burr that Gil could not shake. He pulled and poked at the idea of the scale, wondering, until Master Flint led them past the Orchard and Silversmoke Lake to the very edge of Hazeltop. The Meadows, a rolling prairie of bluestem, switchgrass, and honeyed flowers. Gil was surprised to see three more Masters waiting at the edge of The Meadows.

"Master Horatio," the first called with a brilliant smile. "Master of enchanting." His voice was sonorous and turned each syllable carefully, precisely. He bowed low, sweeping his blue robes elegantly.

The second Master was dressed in darks like Gil and the other alchemy student. To Gil's surprise, the Master also wore a cloak. His eyes were a dark fern green, and his well-groomed hair and beard were slate. His eyes groomed through the host of students, pausing for the barest second on each of the alchemy students. Before he spoke, it seemed he had memorized each of his pupils. "Master Wicks. Alchemy."

"Excellent," Master Flint boomed. "That leaves—"

"Me!" The third professor beamed, hopping forward. Her tunic was so ink-splattered Gil could not guess its original color. A golden stylus perched behind her ear, tangled in a nest of pale, mousy hair. "I'll be Master Nibbly, if you must, but Amber will really do just fine I think. Some of us have a stylus up—"

"That will be enough, Master Nibbly," the Master of Defense said. "Students, join your master of magic for an introductory lesson. We will begin the Defense lesson at 9th bell. The last team standing will be deemed winner."

"Last team standing?" Gil hissed to Hammen. "What does he mean?"

Hammen's normal grin looked a little lopsided.

Hammen, Millie, and Ash followed their groups to Master Horatio and Master Nibbly. Gil joined the 30 alchemy students puddling around Master Wicks, who had stepped behind a table of flasks and bowls.

"Your first lesson," Master Wicks said," is to brew a passable smoke potion for the defense lesson. Your team's success depends upon it."

Several tall students started whispering in front of Gil, blocking his view of the table. He moved to a nearby opening and found himself next to the girl from the Egg. She was watching the table with something between excitement and fear.

Master Wicks held up a glass flask, and the whisperings ceased. "You must understand the foundation of alchemy. The first principle."

He raised a bowl of gnarly weeds and another with some kind of pale powder. "Nearly everything contains magic, to a degree. This the alchemist understands. The alchemist also understands that some things are more magical than others. A phoenix feather has far greater alchemical properties than a chicken's, for a phoenix is among the most magical of creatures, yet either feather can serve in potioncraft. You may imagine which will produce the more powerful elixir."

He measured the weeds into a flask and dusted it with silver powder. “Brindle,” Master Wicks commanded. A grungy green smoke unfurled from the grass, though Gil saw no fire. The girl drew a sharp breath beside him.

"Mudweed and powdered horn. White-tail deer, in this case. Weak by themselves, but they produce this unusual reaction when bound. This is among the simplest of combinations. The constituents may be combined in nearly any proportion and still react, though the mudweed must be kept dry." He stoppered the flask, and the glass began to fill with the grimy smoke. "Come forward, and prepare three flasks for the tournament. Speak ‘Brindle’ over your flask to transmute the material, and stopper it quickly to capture the smoke."

The most exuberant students rushed to the table and began fiddling with flasks, tossing in a handful of tangled mudweed and pouring powder. “Brindle!” Several students shouted. Smoke geysered from five flasks, catching a few excited students in the face as they peered in. They looked around in confusion, their faces the color of old cheese.

“The alchemist’s tool is time,” Master Wicks said dryly, and drew a clump of herbs red as apples from his cloak. “You remind me why we start with mudweed and not rosegrass.”

The rest of the class migrated to the tables. Clinking glass and murmurings of “pass the mudweed” filled the air. Gil realized he was the last one. Him and the girl, who watched the table fearfully. “I guess it’s time,” Gil said, not feeling quite as eager as he had hoped. What if the smoke didn’t work for him? Sure, he had passed the entrance exam, but that may have been a fluke. And what was this talk of a competition for Defense class? He hadn’t realized school would be so hands on from the start. Wasn’t the teacher supposed to orate from a podium or give him a stack of books to read? Either option sounded better at the moment than the untold competition to come.

About half of the class had finished the task and had three smoke bombs to prove it. Gil joined the table, heart racing. A few dozen flasks stood at the ready. Vials of powdered horn were arranged in a rack. A wooden crate held a great nest of the green, rooty mudweed. He was reaching for it when a soft voice stopped him.

“Let me help,” the girl said. She selected a clump of mudweed and a vial of powder. She offered them to him. “I’m Reya Goldborne.”

He accepted the ingredients. “Gil of Evervale." He added them to a flask. They looked so ordinary, unmagical. A bit of powdered greenery. He couldn’t resist smiling. “Brindle." Smoke hatched from each speck of antler like a chick bursting from an egg. Gil’s grin flopped as he realized his face would be painted in a second if he didn’t stopper the flask. He cast around, looking for the cork and knowing it was too late. There was a hiss and a pop as Reya plugged the flask.

“I’ll take cork duty,” she said with a grin.

They finished Gil’s other two smoke bombs easily. Gil readied himself to switch jobs with her, but she was already reaching for another batch of constituents.

“Don’t you want to switch and add your own ingredients?” Gil asked.

Reya looked up at him. Her kind, bright face was suddenly very tense. “And what makes you say that?”

“Well, I’m not sure. I just thought you’d want to transmute your own flasks." There was a long pause. Reya seemed frozen. She did not meet his eye, nor look at the flask that waited between them. “Unless,” Gil said quickly. “I can do the transmuting. I’m happy to, really.”

She brightened at once, and he had only a moment to wonder at the situation before launching back into the process. While they worked, a thick-fisted student knocked her smoke bombs off the table. All three erupted in thick, grayish smoke, which swallowed up Gil, Reya, and most of the class. Surprised shouts exploded from the air. Gil banged his knee against the table as he sought something solid to hold onto. A cork popped, crisp and clear in the chaos. The smoke thinned and vanished. Master Wicks stood over the scene, a flask of blue potion held high. The last tendrils of smoke swam toward the bottle and dove down the neck into the blue. All was clear. The student muttered something and began making a new set. Gil shook himself and returned to the final flask for Reya. They finished her three bottles and joined the rest of the group, where Master Wicks was speaking. "I thought it wise to produce a few drafts of Claritan’s Breath for just such an occasion." A chuckle went through the students, and Master Wicks’ jaw tightened. "While humorous, you were all completely defenseless for a moment. Knowledge and forethought are an alchemist's only weapons. I had hoped one of you might ask for the counterpotion before you created the smoke bombs. In any case, you see the effect, which you must use to your team's advantage soon."

"What will we be doing?" someone asked hesitantly.

"Demonstrating knowledge and forethought," The Master said. "You will divide into teams of three. One alchemist, one enchanter, one runist. You must outmaneuver the other teams using your wits and the tools taught to you today. Each team will be given something to defend. Should your artifact be touched by another team, your team is eliminated. This is a game of deception, acumen, and reactions, as is all magic."

He led them back to the clearing, where they found the enchanters and runists. The enchanting students were exuberant, wide-eyed and grinning. They practically shouted to each other. Gil saw that a few of them were docile, nearly comatose amidst the hectic crowd. They looked sleep-deprived and lost.

“They seem a little odd,” Reya said beside Gil. “Well, odder than normal.”

The runists were holding their styluses with newfound appreciation. If they were confused about the green-faced alchemists, they said nothing.

"Choose your teammates, and receive your charge from me," Master Flint bellowed. Gil winced and Reya winced.

“Good luck,” he called to her, and then he was lost in a windmill of arms and shouts.

Hammen materialized beside him and grabbed his arm. “Let’s go,” he grinned. “Millie’s waiting for us." He beelined through the tumultuous mass, and Gil hurried after.

"Right," Millie said once they reached her. "Master Nibbly taught us a few runes to camouflage ourselves in the prairie. What did you two learn?"

"Magical detection spell," Hammen said quickly. "Points me toward any active magic used in our area."

Millie went pale, and Gil frowned. “If Millie conceals us with magic, won’t people figure out where we are?

Hammen clapped Gil on the back. “Nevermind that, good Gil. We’ll find them first.”

“Hammen, you’re acting a little…strange,” Gil said carefully.

“What, this? Hammen wriggled his fingers.

“All of you, really.”

“Your attention, students,” Master Horatio called. “Doubtless you’ve noticed something strange about your enchanting friend. Other than them being an enchanter.” He allowed a smile and raised three fingers. “Know that each shape of magic is bounded in some way. Enchanting is not bound by temporality or locality as its siblings are, but it is constrained in quantity. Every spell taxes the enchanter. The detection spell is particularly draining for new enchanters. You may be noticing an emotional amplification in your peers after one such practice spell. Further magic will diminish their cognitive capacities. Magic beyond this stage,” he gestured toward a comatose enchanter who slumped beside his two teammates, one of which was a green-faced Wilkus, “diminishes the caster’s physical strength and reduces them to statuary. Your enchanter has a range of two, maybe three more spells. Use them wisely and remember: As each enchantment taxes, the enchanter’s weakness waxes.”

“I love magic,” Hammen announced.

Master Horatio stepped aside, and Master Flint came forward. Giggles and surprised shouts issued from behind Gil. The cause was a third-termer in a leather jerkin with a leash. More accurately, the source of the giggles was at the end of the leash, which stretched to a herd of dogs and pigs waddling after the student. He led the animals to Master Flint, who took the leash. “Today, you will join the ranks of former students who have played Stalkinstalks. The game is simple enough. Choose an animal and protect it. Do not let another team touch it, or you are out. Last team, wins.”

“Simple in word, but complex in practice, as the best games are,” Master Horatio added. “This is a game of deception, of forethought, and of magic. Outmaneuver your opponents. Surprise them. Dazzle them.”

Master Flint’s mouth thinned. “No need for showmanship. Teams, line up, and choose your animal. You’ll have two minutes in the Meadows to prepare yourselves, then the game starts on my horn. Let’s go.”

There was a chaotic, scuffling flurry as each team fought for precedence in the line. Hammen squeezed his into a spot near the front of the line. Millie followed hesitantly, still pale, and Gil tried to keep up. He would have been happy at the back of the line, but he wasn’t sure how to argue with this amplified Hammen. Teams chattered in line, discussing strategy or peering into the tall prairie stretching to the horizon.

“Dogs are going like gloves in winter,” Hammen said.

 Millie petted Ash protectively. Ash licked her hand and returned his vigil to the host of pigs and dogs, as though making sure none tried to take his place. Every team before them selected a dog. When Master Flint waved them forward, there were only two scroungy dogs amidst the drove of pigs.

Master Flint squinted between Millie and Ash. “You jump line and take one already?”

"No, sir," Millie said quietly. "Ash is my dog."

“Can’t have that. Here, give him to me. You’ll get him back after the game.”

Ash was watching Master Flint. Gil waited, but Millie was still at stone. She reached deep into a pocket and drew a worn scrap of parchment, often folded. She offered it to the Master, who sighed and opened it. His eyes drifted toward the center of the page, and stopped, focused on something Gil could not see.

“Could Ash be our dog for the game?” Millie asked.

Master Flint folded the page and handed it back, hardly seeming to notice them. “Well, yes, no harm in any…” his gaze drifted past them and fell on the next team in line. He frowned. “What are you waiting for? Hurry up and choose an animal!”

Gil, Hammen, Millie, and Ash scuttled out of the next team’s way and joined the ranks of students waiting for the horn blast to enter the Meadows. 

“How did you do that?” Gil asked Millie.

She could not quite meet his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know Master Flint well, but I doubt he changes his mind often. What did your parchment say?”

Millie slipped the parchment back into her robe. “Nothing important. Look, he just changed his mind about Ash. That’s all.”

“I’m sure,” Gil said, though he was only sure that something important was scrawled across the parchment, and he wanted to read it. There was nothing more exciting than a mystery. 

“Two minutes until the game begins,” Master Flint bellowed, breaking Gil from his thoughts. “Good luck and don’t get lost.”

“That’s our cue,” Hammen shouted, and then they were running into the Meadows, switchgrass and bluestem parting before them like water. The other teams melted into the prairie around them. Then, the sound of distant footsteps and rustling was gone. He heard only the buzzing of nearby bees and the whisper of wind through the grass. Gil knew he was only a hundred feet from the edge of the Meadows, but it seemed he was in the middle of a vast grassland. They slowed to a walk, passing the odd trails stamped into the grass by animals or students.

“This way,” Hammen said, gesturing down a trail to one of the few, gnarled trees. “It’ll make a great vantage point.”

“A disadvantageous point, you mean,” Millie said. “Everyone will see us there.

“Relax, we’ll tag them before they even reach Ash,” Hammen said.

“The point,” Millie emphasized, “is to go unnoticed. Not to draw attention straight to us.”

“Maybe we can do both." They looked at Gil, and he continued. “We set up a distraction in the tree. A concealment rune that will trigger an enchanter’s Detect Magic charm. Then, we hide ourselves nearby in a safe place, and we can surprise teams as they go for the tree.”

Hammen jumped on the idea, which was no surprise given his current state. A slow grin spread across Millie’s face. “That might just work.”

They hurried to the tree. Gil and Hammen scouted the nearby switchgrass for any suspicious movement while Millie used her stylus to trace a handful of interlocking runes on the branches. There was a great, sighing creak as the branches reached skyward and intertwined above the tree like a massive, leafy raindrop.

“You learned that in half an hour?” Gil asked.

Millie smiled. “More or less.”

“Let’s set up nearby, before the horn blows,” Hammen said quickly, hopping from foot to foot.

They found a thick patch of grass between foot paths with a good view of the tree. Millie traced a few more runes over the ground, and the greenery curled into a camouflaged cocoon around Gil, her, and Ash. 

“Where’s Hammen?” Gil asked.

“If I was a snake, I’d bite you,” someone said from Gil’s left. He turned, scanning the shifting grasses. Nothing. It was only when Hammen rose and flicked back his cloak that Gil saw him. Crouched and wrapped in his tawny cloak, Hammen had seemed one with the ground and grass. Gil whistled appreciatively, but he was overshadowed by triumphant chord of horn blasts. “That’s the game,” Hammen said eagerly. “I’ll tag any teams that get to close." He cloaked himself once more and began making his way toward the tree. Within seconds, Gil had lost him. 

A low, rumbling horn blast rolled through the warm morning. A tense, expectant silence settled over the field. From his vantage point with Millie and Ash, Gil peered through their grassy cocoon for any sign of the other teams. It wasn’t long before an excited enchanter sprouted from the prairie. An alchemist followed, nervously clutching smoke bombs. A tall runist emerged soon after, leading a tiny, chubby dog that looked like a loaf of bread. Gil thought they were still looking for a place to hide, until the enchanter raced into a swathe of bluestem. There was a startled cry, and a team tromped away with a squealing piglet. The enchanter returned to the path, scanning the nearby grasses. Gil realized she had no intention of hiding. There was more than one way to play. 

The shriek had drawn attention and within minutes, Gil saw several other teams roaming the Meadows. He spied a few lone enchanters on trails, evidently hunting while their team hid, employing the same strategy as Gil. Two hunting parties approached each other. Gil couldn’t help grinning, waiting for smoke bombs to fly, for runes to be drawn, but there was nothing. The teams nodded to each other and passed, neither making a move at the other’s dog. Neither did the solo enchanters try to tag out the larger hunting teams. There seemed an unspoken agreement to eliminate the hiders one by one until only the hunters remained. Gil’s smile soured as he noticed a blue robe down the path, heading their way.

“Someone’s coming,” Gil whispered.

Millie straightened. “Where?”

“Right there.”

“Can’t see. Grass is blocking everything.”

He frowned and leaned to the side to see from her perspective. “There, she’s right...." The bush behind the approaching enchantress was wobbling. A piglet’s head popped from the bush. In the scuffle to pull the piglet back inside, several elbows and knees emerged and retreated from the shrub. Gil felt elated as the enchantress stopped, head cocked at the noise. A green face poked through the bush, saw the enchantress, and withdrew like a turtle. It was Wilkus. Gil’s relief soured to alarm as the enchantress turned and stepped carefully toward the bush. The glass of a smoke bomb cooled Gil’s hand. He watched the swirling, foggy potion for a moment before returning to the enchantress. She was moving closer to the shrub. What could he do? He waited for the solution to show itself, but his mind moved slowly. If he had time, or books, he could find an answer, but this was all moving too fast. There must be an answer, but the enchantress was nearly to Wilkus now. The time for consideration had passed, and Gil was left with only good intentions. His bottle winked once in the rising sun as it arced toward her and shattered like a broken branch. Thick smoke blossomed around her, and she was lost.

The other hunters froze across the Meadows and, like moths to a flame, they turned toward the growing smoke cloud. Teams raced toward the smoke, peering eagerly into the smoke for the startled prey. Thus it was that a green-faced, hacking Wilkus emerged from the smoke. His eyes and nose were streaming from the strength of Gil’s bomb. Someone laughed, and Wilkus glared at them. He shouted something, gestured back to the smoke, and stalked off. Each step was hard and angry. Gil grimaced. He had only tried to help. When the smoke cleared, a hunter tagged out the squealing piglet that belonged to a confused runist and comatose enchanter.

The game went on, and several more hiders were discovered. As they dwindled, though, the hunters became the prey. One by one, the roving teams fell to a tawny-cloaked ghost that sprang from the prairie like lightning and vanished as quickly. Gil could only see Hammen’s afterimage, the dismayed cry of a team as their animal was tagged. The edge of a cloak sliding back into the switchgrass.

“We’re going to win,” Gil said eagerly. “Hammen is hunting the hunters. Look, the tree!”

One of the last hunting parties surrounded Millie’s runed tree and eyed the folded crown suspiciously. Their enchanter spoke. She stumbled and leaned against the runist for several breaths. Then, she pointed to the tree. The runist surged forward, the alchemist soon after, leaving the unsteady enchanter with the pig while her teammates climbed. The bluestem shifted as though by wind, and Hammen materialized. He tagged the pig before the enchanter even noticed him.

Gil grinned. “That’s another one. We just need to stay hidden while he—”

Millie clamped a hand over his mouth. Her eyes were unfocused, voice low. “Someone. Behind.”

Gil was a leaf turning to light. He rotated by degrees to see the grass and trails behind them, but there was nothing. 

“They’re close. Throw smoke.”

Gil traced the smooth surfaces of his remaining flasks, but he did not pull one from his belt. His last smoke bomb had caused more harm than good. 

“Throw it,” Millie hissed.

He saw nothing, but her voice was certain. Cold sweat prickled his hand. He should toss another one, distract the hunter, but he was frozen. He didn’t want to hurt or embarrass someone again. But he needed to help Hammen and Millie. He pulled the smoke bomb from his potion belt, but it was too late. The most amazing smell was sweeping across the Meadows. Warm bread, cinnamon, sugared raisins. A bakery at sunrise. He nearly stood to better locate the scent. A revolted look passed over Millie’s face, and Ash was a blur. He bounded out from the nest of grass and bolted back toward Hazeltop like a shadow. He vanished into the Meadows immediately. Only the wake of dancing, trampled grasses revealed his path. 

“Ash!” Millie cried in alarm.

“Ahah!” someone yelled behind them. Within seconds, a blue-robed enchanter sprinted to their concealment. She paused, her grin fading. “Where’s your animal?”

Everyone else was stirring the same cauldron. Shouts erupted across the Meadows as several dogs raced toward Hazeltop. The few remaining pigs jiggled after them. Teams popped up from the prairie and hurried after their animals. Most enchanters, now looking drowsy and confused, turned and lumbered toward the smell.

There was a rustle, and Hammen appeared, cheeks flushed. “What a game! How about that smell? Where’s Ash?”

Gil pointed to the trail, and then they were running. Hammen was fast, though not just due to his longer stride. He ran easily through the grass, while Gil was afraid of tripping. He spared a look over his shoulder. Millie was still sitting. Gil slowed and stopped, heart pounding. Hammen sprinted after Ash, and Gil returned to Millie who was adjusting the stylus on her belt.

“Let’s find Ash,” Gil said.

She followed him carefully. Ash’s path was as unnering as an arrow, leading them back toward Hazeltop. The sunrise bakery scent strengthened with every step, and so did a strange, uneven rumbling. It wasn’t until they neared the edge of the prairie that the sound clarified to something familiar: cheering. Smoke ballooned in the distance. They emerged from the Meadows to see a ring of clapping, excited students encircling the final two teams. Hammen was among the spectators, Ash beside him. The masters of magic spoke quietly and watching. A cauldron burbled beside Master Wicks. A delicious haze hovered over the potion. They made their way to Hammen. Millie embraced Ash, who licked her apologetically.

“Just missed it,” Hammen said. “Totally wild.”

Master Flint's boom rolled across the clearing. "Well done to all teams, and especially to our finalists. You demonstrated great teamwork and cleverness, both of which will keep you safer than a sword. For our next Defense class, we will meet at the arena."

"What a time," Hammen said as they trekked back through the Orchard. "I mean, that was wicked."

Millie managed a grin. "A blast. We probably would have won if Wicks didn’t trick Ash with that potion."

Gil smiled. He was in Hazeltop, with his friends, learning magic.

Chapter 4

With his first class done, Gil had a few hours before the afternoon session began. He ate at the Flask with Hammen and Millie, who enjoyed reliving the Defense class. While Hammen was narrating his time as a hunter, Gil reviewed his class schedule. The parchment organized his classes into two groups: cardinal and technical. The cardinal classes were Defense, Storytelling, and Wondercraft. Herblore and Alchemy were marked ‘technical’. Each day rotated between a cardinal class in the morning and a technical class in the afternoon, so Gil had Herblore in a few hours. He decided to explore the Egg in more detail after lunch. There were many students who spent their free time in other ways, though. It was at the end of the meal that they caught wind of a sword fighting tournament at the Green from some older students at a nearby table.

“...all bet on different fighters, we can’t lose. It’s un, un…” a stubbly-chinned boy squeaked.

“Don’t hurt yourself, Yap,” someone grumbled. “Listen. We swing by the tourney early. Watch the fighters warm up. Scout. When the other betters come in, we start talking up the bad fighters, see? Get the firsties rolling die, so to speak. Then—”

“I think I’ll head out for a walk,” Hammen said, pushing his empty plate away. “Going to stretch my legs a bit before Wondercraft this afternoon. Sounds like a good time for a nap." He grinned, though Gil wasn’t quite sure he was joking.

A short walk to the Egg, and Gil was standing before the smooth, pale dome once more. “Elementary Herblore." Cracks sprouted from the base of the wall and crawled up to a point over his head. He pushed, and the door swung open once more. The same dry, leathery smell greeted him as he entered. A warm glow emanated from the dome overhead, and it was easy to imagine he was inside a colossal egg. He spent his time poking through the Herblore books around him, thumbing past sketches of mosses and mushrooms, reading bits and whits about the various flora. He selected a few of the more interesting texts and brought them to a fine, plump chair with good light. He was not going to get lost again. He read for what felt like the better part of an hour. Something began to bother him. He settled deeper into the chair, but the feeling remained. He focused on the unsettling feeling for a long moment, but it had no source. Then, a realization washed over him. There were no bells. The Spire’s hourly bells had become a constancy for him over the previous days. He should have heard the first bell by now, but maybe the reliable cadence could not breach the Egg. Gil sprang to his feet. What time was it? Had he missed Herblore already? He rambled off the names of each of the books he was reading, and they laboriously flew back to their bookcases and nestled into their places. 

He turned to the nearest shelf. “I am ready to go.”

The shelf popped out an inch. Gil saw a panel of sunlight through the gap, though the light did not shine into the Egg. It was odd, but he had no time to ponder it as he would have liked. He eased the shelf further open and slipped into the afternoon. Within moments, a bright, heavy toll rolled across campus. Gil waited fearfully for the second toll. The Spire waited several long moments before repeating the single toll. It was still only first bell. He sighed. It was easy to lose track of time while reading, especially in a place as wondrous as the Egg.

With an hour until Herblore, he inspected some of the students passing on Hazel Street. Many wore robes or the Alchemy darks, like Gil, to mark them as a student of magic; however, half of the students were garbed differently. Jerkins, sheepskins, tunics, aprons, high collars, and filled pants. Some students were identifiable, like the band of future stonemasons with a beltful of hammers and chisels. Others could be cooks, merchants, or wanderers. Anything, really. The guessing game was entertaining, though Gil wished he had more nerve to ask the mysterious students what they were studying. 

He made his way through paths and buildings to the western edge of Hazeltop, past the Green and the Arena. A small timber lay along the edge of Hazeltop, smooshed between the Meadows to the North and the fields to the South. On a stump at the edge of the forest sat an older man with pale, watery eyes looking up the hill toward Hazeltop. A gaggle of students sat on the grass around him. Gil spied Wilkus and Reya among the group already. Reya sat among a group of chattering girls, while Wilkus was sitting quite alone. 

Gil joined him. “What have I missed.”

Wilkus looked up in surprise. His face, formerly green as an early squash, now only had a smear of green across his chin. “Nothing much. He’s pretty much been like this the whole time.”

“Is he the master?” Gil asked. He examined the old man, who was still squinting upward. “He looks a little…different.”

“Different would be good,” Wilkus grumbled.

Gil wasn’t quite sure what to say, but he was saved by a gravelly sigh from the man atop the stump. “Nother year, is it?" His eyes wandered down the hill and strayed over a few students. “Thought I heard something. Well, ‘ere I am. Always a good start.” He cackled deep in his chest. “Well, this be the Thicket. Find some Timplebelly petals, why not? Get on, then.”

Gil and Wilkus exchanged a look. A red-haired girl raised a tentative hand. The man peered up the hill. “Excuse me,” she said. “Do you have any more instructions or-—”

“Speak up,” he said to her general direction. “Can’t hardly hear you. The birds, see.”

She took a moment to process this. “Can you teach us how to find the Timplebelly?”

“Yes, there it be!” the man said.

She raised her voice to a near shout. “Yes, but how do we find it?”

“Ah, in the thicket! It’s all there, see. Off you go, and bring back Timplebelly." He shifted to a more comfortable spot on the stump. 

“What is your name?” someone called.

A slow, rumbling snore came from the master. He looked quite the same in sleep as during his speech, except his eyes were now squished shut. Hesitantly, students rose and began trickling into the forest. 

“This is hopeless,” Wilkus said. “How are we supposed to find Timplejolly?”

Gil patted his shoulder. “Timplebelly. And he actually chose an easy one. It’s the first plant mentioned in this book I was just reading. It grows in shallow streams.”

Wilkus frowned. “What were you reading? Does this class even have a book?”

“Not officially,” Gil said. “I was just passing time in the Egg. Come on, let’s explore the Thicket.”

Students roamed the forest, sniffing and scanning the ground like a dog at dinner. There was an excitement to the woods, the certainty that something new and curious was around you, if you could only see it. It was a library of wood and water and fur and feathers. An unimaginable wealth of knowledge often ignored and rarely studied. They passed some boys inspecting tree branches.

“Don’t even know what this thing looks like. How are we…”

Gil and Wilkus went on, following game trails which gradually led downward. “Quite the morning,” Gil offered after a few minutes of hiking.

“Bad to worse,” Wilkus replied.

“It can only get better, right?”

 “Not if someone bombs me again.”

“About that,” Gil said. “You know, I didn’t expect things to go quite like that.”

Wilkus frowned. “That was you?”

“I was trying to distract the hunter. She almost had you, and I thought I could, well, I’m not exactly sure.”

Wilkus watched him. Then, he chuckled. “I thought someone was trying to make a fool of me. You did make a fool of me,” he clarified. “But you didn’t mean to. That helps, somehow.”

A weight lifted off Gil, and he smiled. “I’ll make it up to you. Listen, there’s water nearby.”

The source turned out to be a creek tucked behind a wall of oaks and elms. Clear water gurgled over rocks. Gray fish darted through the water.

“My father called them river goats,” Wilkus said. “The chubs, I mean. They’ll eat anything they can swallow.”

“Is your father a fisherman?” Gil asked.

“Farmhand.”

“My parents are bakers." He did not mention that they owned the bakery or that it was regarded as the best in Evervale.

“They weren’t magical?”

Gil smiled. “Some people think their bread is, but they’re not. You don’t need magical parents to have magic yourself, you know.”

“Maybe not, but it would help,” Wilkus said.

They walked along the bank for some time before Gil spotted the lovely pink petals of a Timplebelly. The flower head was large as a sunflower and only a few steps from the edge of the stream. The stalk supporting the head looked strangely like rope. It wasn’t until he looked into the water that he realized the stalk was composed of a dozen individual stems braided together to form a trunk. In the deeper, calmer water, the stems unwound from the stalk to burrow into the riverbed.

The water was only up to their shins. It was refreshingly cool. They harvested a few of the large, pink petals and squelched their way up the hill and out of the Thicket. The master was still asleep when they returned. A handful of students were waiting there as well, each having collected a different plant. One student eyed the forest angrily, his face and hands red with furious boils. The remainder of the class dribbled out to the stump over the next few minutes. A few more students had found Timpleberry. Gil was not surprised to see Reya holding the flower. The class waited. There were a few half-hearted coughs, but nobody really wanted to wake up the master and be sent back into the Thicket. So it was that the class waited and whispered until the bell rang, and they were free. The master did not seem to mind.

The following morning brought Wondercraft. Every first-termer took the class, and it was at breakfast that Gil realized there were multiple sections.

“Aren’t you coming to class?” he asked Hammen and Millie. “It’s nearly 8th bell.”

“Dream on,” Millie said. “Mine’s at 10th.

“Hey, mine too,” Hammen said. 

Millie looked at him. “You’re in my class? I thought I was in the smart section.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Gil smiled and left them to their quibbling. The morning was overcast and filled with the steady patter of rain against stone, wood, and leaves. He exited the Flask and was surprised by the slightest chill in the air, a sign that Fall was nearing. He pulled up the hood of his cloak, grateful for the oil in the wool that repelled most water. He made his way south, down the slopes toward the city of Grent. After a few minutes, he veered West, to the edge of Hazeltop. In the rain, the sea of trees before him almost looked like the Thicket, but a keener eye revealed the truth. The Orchard was not tangled and twisted like the Thicket to the North. The Orchard tailored, uniform, well-kept. Row after row of handsome trees stretched outward, and as Gil drew closer, he saw they were well adorned. The air was fresh with rain and sweet with apples, pears, and cherries. Hazel trees and walnut trees added an earthy base to the honeyed air. Among the trees stood a middle-aged man draping a large tarp across several branches. Students huddled beneath the nearest trees, trying to stay out of the rain. He pulled the tarp taut and tied down the corners, forming a canopy. Students raced under the large tarp. He chuckled, beard bouncing with droplets. 

The teacher noticed Gil approaching and immediately strode to him. “What is your name?" Gil expected the question to come with a weary, bored tone, but it had not. The teacher’s voice was smooth and warm, his eyes steady. He gestured toward the awning and led Gil out of the rain. 

 “I’m Gil of Evervale,” he said quickly, aware that he’d been staring for several seconds.

He smiled. “A child of the vale? I would love to know what drew you to this little school. Would you tell me, some day?”

Gil nodded. “And what should we call you?”

“Lorace.”

Gil took a place under the tarp. “Wait, I thought you were the master. Are you a student?”

“Both, my friend.” Lorace said. He spotted a student descending the hill and set off to meet her. The trickle of students slowed, until the last one joined them under the canopy. Lorace stopped just outside the makeshift shelter and smiled as though they were beside a fireplace in the Flask. “Welcome to Wondercraft. I have looked forward to this moment for many moons, but if you can believe it, I haven’t determined what we should explore today. Does anyone have an idea?" He asked the question pleasantly, rain dripping from his hair and beard. It took several seconds for Gil to realize Lorace was actually waiting for an answer.

“You mean, what we are supposed to work on?” A heavyset boy asked.

“Quite the opposite,” Lorace said. “We must identify something worthy of your examination. To study elsewhere is simply counterproductive.”

An excited murmur swept the class, which was broken by a tall girl with a long braid. “No, it isn’t.”

Gil gaped at her. She had contradicted a master. He waited for a sharp retort but was caught off guard once more by Lorace’s gentle tone. “How do you see?”

“It’s easy,” the girl droned. “Most things worth knowing are boring”

Lorace smiled. “Are you a student of Master Elry’s?”

“How did you know?” the girl asked cautiously.

“Did he also share with you that ‘no house was built not nail by nail’?”

The girl nodded.

“Another of his favorites, and very true in some sense,” Lorace said. “May I presume your first carpentry lesson was spent sawing branches?”

“Yes.”

“Most inspiring, but there are other ways." Lorace peered through the rain, searching for something beyond Gil’s sight. Suddenly, he smiled broadly. “Join me, friends. We have found today’s lesson." He set off up the hill. His wave of excitement spurred Gil and most of the class forward, into the rain. After a pause, the remainder of the class followed reluctantly. Several minutes traveling north on Hazel Way brought them to the heart of Hazeltop. Lorace broke from the path and looped around the Flask, past a cluster of apothecaries, and between two scrolleries. He brought them to the eastern edge of Hazeltop, where streets and structures gave way to a rolling hill falling down to a misty lake. A row of small, tidy houses formed the outer ring of the school’s reach. He paused beside the first house. “How was this home built?”

The girl came forward at once, eying the wall and roof critically. “Wooden framed. Pine boards, by the look of them. Thatch tied down to make a dry, warm roof. Can’t tell from the outside, but they probably used a crook nail technique to nail these boards to the frame.”

The rain was lessening as the morning sun burned through the clouds. Lorace watched the swelling lightness for a breath before turning to the class. “Wood, thatch, iron. Many would say these are enough to construct a house, but they are not. The builder must be clairvoyant, envisioning the entire home before the work begins. Purpose must move him. Knowledge that this collection of timber and iron will be protection from wind and rain. That he is making a home, not a house, and that lives will be spent within these walls.”

Lorace nodded to the girl. “It is hard to imagine a higher calling." This forced a smile out of her, and he gestured to the row of houses. “Within these homes live Bunt, Perine, Mica Willoweed, and Aven. Bunt has worked in the Flask for many years, and he is responsible for cleaning a great many of the plates and bowls you use every day. Perine tends the grounds, and Mica has a knack for collecting valuable oddments that most shopkeeps overlook. Aven and his family spend most of their days fishing on the Silversmoke,” Lorace glanced eastward to the huge, flat lake. “Why am I telling you all this?”

A pause, then a small boy piped up. “So we know who lives here?”

“That and more,” Lorace said. “So as you leave this class you know who has tended the grass beneath your feet and the branches overhead. So you see your lunch plate is clean from another’s work, and the food was gathered patiently and skillfully. That the spices you taste were grown many miles away, and only the slow, quiet work of a master barterer brought them to you. The builder understands this, that we are all pieces of a grand home, each contributing utility and beauty.”

The rain had stopped, and Gil felt his curiosity exceed his caution. “What do you bring, Lorace.”

The Spire rang, and the master chuckled. “It seems you’ll have to enlighten me next class. Enjoy the sun, friends.”

Gil hiked up the hill with the other students. Most were quiet, turning over the same questions as Gil.

He studied Introductory Potioncraft in Room 107 until the twelfth bell rang. He packed up his books and headed down the staircase to the dining room. The doors burst open as a flood of hungry students emerged, Hammen and Millie among them. Gil joined them for lunch. The meal was delicious, and he couldn’t help but feel the smoothness of the plate, worn down by years of handling. It became very clear that his class had been quite different from Hammen and Millie’s.

“Houses? So you didn’t go to Grent at all?” Millie asked. “He brought us there right at the start of class, and we had to talk to different shopkeeps. Learn something from each one.”

“Yeah, we looked at the houses. It was really neat,” Gil said.

“Sounds boring,” Hammen said. “At least Grent is interesting. It’s a city crammed inside a town.”

“What did you learn from the shopkeepers?” Gil asked.

Hammen laughed. “I learned a great deal about mint from a man at The Chipped Mug. 

Spearmint, peppermint, apple mint, red mint. How do you know which one to use?”

“Ash and I got sidetracked by storyteller,” Millie confessed.

“For the whole class?” Gil asked.

“It was a good story.”

Gil felt nervous walking to his first alchemy class with Master Wicks. He headed North on Hazel Way and soon came to the Cauldron. The building looked like a massive cauldron kicked on its side. The huge, curved archway led into the structure, and he entered, wide-eyed. The room was filled with work tables and cabinets. The ceiling and walls sloped together at the far end of the building, like he was looking into a soup bowl. The previous class was just leaving, second term students by the size of them. Once the tables were vacant, Gil trickled in with the other first term students. He sat near the back, running a hand over the craggy surface of the table. The wood was scarred in some places, burnt in others. He could look right through the table in a few places where something had melted through. There was a pop overhead, and he looked to the curved ceiling. Colorful mists and smokes were swirling together. Sparks spat from the epicenter of the whirling vapors. 

He pulled his gaze from the show overhead and inspected the room. Each workstation had two chairs and a large, knobby cauldron. Students began to fill the stations around Gil. The other chair at his desk remained empty, and he watched as reluctant pairs of friends took the first few rows of tables. A large board hung from the wall. Upon the board in large, thick letters read:

Ingredients from the following are prohibited: Phoenix, dragons, fairies, unicorns, goblins, etc. Students are also forbidden from bringing iron in any form into the Cauldron.

Master Wicks stood behind his station at the front of the class. Three pewter cauldrons sat atop a long, smooth table of polished wood. All three cauldrons were smoking if that was the term. The smog rising from the pots looked like smoke, except smoke wasn’t green or orange. Smoke didn’t twist into the shapes of animals as it rose, either. On a shelf behind the master were rows of lovely flasks and bottles, all striated with elegant silver lines. Alchemical glass, Gil realized, designed to contain the strongest potions.

A soft voice came from his right. "Is this spot taken?" It was Reya. 

"Just by you," Gil said.

She seemed very nervous as she took the seat beside him and looked around the room. Her eyes settled on their lumpy cauldron. “Is it supposed to be so…bumpy?”

It was not quite what Gil had anticipated, to be fair. The pewter cauldron had once been fine, he was sure, but calcified warts and coagulated lumps had grown over the surface from years of use. Something the color of old apples burbled inside. A bubble swelled on the potion’s grainy surface, wobbled, and burst. 

“The cauldron or the potion?” Gil asked.

Reya managed a smile. Master Wicks finished washing his hands as the last of the worktables were filled. He dried them carefully, inspecting the students seated before him. "The object of today's lesson is legend, as alchemy goes. You’ve heard of Flariok's Whisper?” The name tickled Gil’s memory, just beyond reach.

Master Wicks nodded. "Only a handful of the alchemist’s stories remain, but they are most interesting indeed. He was an odd man, and it’s no wonder he caused trouble passing through the Barony. Most towns had never heard of an alchemist. They had certainly never met one. A baron’s son took an interest in the traveler’s strange shows. The boy ordered his guards to steal a potion for Flariok. Curiosity overpowered sense, and the boy drank." Master Wicks eyed them one by one. “Most unwise. The boy became very odd very quickly, and the baron was not pleased. Flariok was imprisoned. It was in his cell of dirt and stone that he created Flariok’s Whisper, a potion that could link his mind to another’s. Useful, for a prisoner in need of convincing a guard to free him. The brew is simple, by many standards, but I believe you will find it your match today. Turn to page 23 of Introductory Potioncraft."

Gil flipped open his book with the other students. The page was full of neat sketches and directions. A list of ingredients trickled down the page, long and wavering as a cat’s tail. Beside each ingredient was a number and some properties.

"You'll notice," The alchemist said, "more information than you can currently understand. In time, the language of alchemy will be rendered. For now, see the Magical Index Number beside each ingredient. What is the MIN of Earwax?"

Several hands shot up, and Master Wicks selected a stout boy near the front. "1, sir."

"Very good, and what are the MIN and properties of mortar, which is the third ingredient, if memory serves." He selected another student.

"0.9, and it says mortar is a stabilizer."

"Right again. There in lie two more principles of alchemy, the The Theory of Magnitude and the Law of Similitude. If you recall your Defense lesson earlier this week, I stated that everything is magical to some degree. The alchemist quantifies this magical degree with the MIN. A MIN of 1 is perfectly neutral, with a greater number being more magical and a lesser number being less magical. The Theory of Magnitude states that a potions magnitude is equal to the sum of its parts. This is not exactly true in practice, but it is a near estimate. What is the greatest MIN required in Flariok's Whisper?"

"A glowsprout," someone answered.

"Yes, and the very vegetation growing in Flariok's cell. The glowsprout, of course, is an unusual mushroom that glows brightly in the presence of beauty. For centuries, they were kept in taverns, and bards were only paid if they made the sprout shine. To this day, the best musicians are still named ‘shiners.’"

He strode to the cabinets along the wall and withdrew a dull tuber. "And for the second law of alchemy, the Law of Similitude. Any guesses?"

Gil remembered the answer from his reading, but he kept his hands on the table. Reya raised her hand. "A potion is the whole of its ingredients."

"Your name, young lady?"

"Reya Goldborne, sir."

"Baronese, if I'm not mistaken, and you are correct. Potions assume the properties of all their ingredients, both strong and weak. There is no surer way to destroy a potion, and perhaps the alchemist themself, than to add iron, for the metal is among the least magical of substances. Alchemy behaves erratically in its presence, as it does with certain magical artifacts like dragon scales or phoenix feathers. You'll notice Hazeltop is built of wood, not iron."

Master Wicks came to a stop behind his cauldron. "There remains a third and final rule, upon which the first two stand. Who knows it?"

Gil knew this one as well, but he couldn't find the courage to raise his hand. Reya did. "Lassitude, Master Wicks."

"Indeed, potions are by nature weary, slumbering. A potion must be catalyzed to produce a magical effect. Otherwise, it is no better than a pot of horrible soup. A potion can be catalyzed through many means, including stirring and inclusions of different ingredients, but the Brindle command is common for most basic recipes." Gil was amazed. Alchemy seemed so simple, when Master Wicks framed it in those three rules, but he suspected it would be more difficult than it seemed. He jotted down a quick note in his book.

Theory of Magnitude: A potion assumes the power of its ingredients.

Law of Similitude: A potion assumes the properties of its ingredients.

Law of Lassitude: A potion sleeps until it is awakened.

"You have the theory," The alchemist called to the class. "Now for the application. At the end of class, you and your partner's draft of Flariok's Whisper will be tested. You have the remaining half hour. If your potion is incomplete, you will finish it for homework. The cabinets hold any ingredients you will need. Best of brewing."

Chairs scraped stone as students rushed to the cabinets. Gil was happy enough to let the crowd thin out before grabbing their ingredients, and Reya seemed in no hurry either. In fact, she was eying the cauldron with something near fear.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

She shook herself. “Just thinking about the potion. I’ll grab the ingredients." She popped up and started collecting oddments from the cabinets. Wilkus was also browsing, looking from the cupboard to his book in confusion. Reya returned, smiling. “Ok, so here’s mortar, worm castings, limestone, glowsprout.”

“Don’t forget earwax,” Gil said.

She laughed and pointed to a little pouch in her crate. “Right here. So, I’ll measure this all out, and you work on adding it to the cauldron. Fair?”

Gil nodded, and they set to work. Reya measured and organized the ingredients. She ground up the limestone block. Worm castings and water were mixed in equal parts to create a paste. A scruple of earwax. Gil added the ingredients to the cauldron. He stirred as the instructions demanded, and the murky, muddy pot smoothed to something like the hot caramel from his parents' bakery.

The next step called for the glowsprout infusion. Reya sliced the tuber down the middle and Gil added the halves to the cauldron. They sank into the elixir. "Do you want to say it?” Gil asked.

“Better not,” Reya said quickly.

"My lucky day," Gil said, turning to the pot. “Brindle." 

A finger of steam curled from the surface. Gil read the final line of the instructions: 

After catalyzation, stir until potion lightens to gold and the surfaces crystalizes to shards not exceeding a finger length. Approximately 20 full revolutions (or approximately 80 quarter-turns, in the Journeyer’s fashion).

He set to stirring the 20 strokes. As he stirred, the potion brightened to a honey gold. Odd clumps began to form on the surface, and with each rotation, they lengthened. By the 20th turn, they could have passed for shards of golden glass, bobbing gently in the cauldron. Most of the other cauldrons held golden potions as well. Gil couldn’t help but notice Wilkus’s pot, which held something like tar. Smoke spat furiously from the knobbly cauldron.

“Burned.” Master Wicks said as he passed the table.

"Burned?" Wilkus demanded of Master Wicks. "It's a liquid. You can't burn a liquid."

Master Wicks raised an eyebrow. “Your cauldron says otherwise. Over stirred, I presume.”

This drew giggles from nearby worktables, and the Wilkus. "Well, you're not even teaching anything. You're just walking around, seeing how we're all messing up. Who made you the Master of Alchemy?"

Gil waited for the sharp reprimand, but the Master simply examined the student's book. "This textbook contains all the instruction you'll need for this task. I should know, as I wrote it. You will have more luck on page 23, like I mentioned at the beginning of class." Master Wicks turned several pages and handed the book back. Wilkus slammed the book into his bag and stormed out of the Cauldron.

"Time's nearly up," Master Wicks called, watching him leave. "You all have one minute to skim your shards. You and your partner will eat one each. If brewed properly, Flariok's Whisper will allow you to communicate over exceptional distances."

Hesitantly, groups began to scoop the shards out of their cauldron. Gil used the ladle to spoon out the shards onto their table. Up close, they looked like peanut brittle. He took two and offered one to Reya. "Cheers."

He crunched into it. The flavor was earthy, and though he would not have gone back for seconds, it was not as unpleasant as he had anticipated. He began to hear a faint buzzing. Master Wicks directed partners to opposite ends of the room. "We will go one student at a time. I will give you a word, which you must whisper. Your partner will relay the word to me, if they can hear you.

The activity was quite amusing, Gil thought. Master Wicks provided a tall girl with her phrase. She whispered something, and her partner across the Cauldron flinched in surprise. "A bowl of pheasant soup," the partner called back.

"Well done, Meriander and Tam."

Other groups were not so lucky, and the second student was obviously trying to read the lips of their partner. Gil grew increasingly nervous as more and more groups failed the task. Not only could he fail, but the entire class would see him. His hands grew sweaty as Master Wicks stopped beside Reya. Her lips moved, and he heard her, clear as if she were whispering in his ear.

Amazement flooded him, and he returned the phrase. "Of drakes come snakes."

Master Wicks nodded. “Well said, Gil and Reya.”

The effects of the potion faded as Gil and Reya cleaned their cauldron and put away the pouch of earwax, but his thrill of experiencing magic did not.

That night, Hammen and Millie raved about their first lessons in Enchanting and Runes. Gil was content to eat and listen, his mind warm and swirling like a cauldron.

Chapter 5

Gil took quickly to his classes. When he wasn’t in class, he often found a seat in the corner of the Flask, where he could nurse a mug of cider and read. Singers sang and lutists strummed from the stage beside the hearth. Snatches of conversation from nearby tables washed around him, occasionally punctuated by a laugh or shout. He learned a great deal with each hour in the Flask, both from his books and from overheard snippets of conversation. Everything would be perfect if Hammen and Millie joined him more often.

They had not taken so well to the rhythm of class. Millie’s freetime was consumed by Blocks. There seemed to be a perpetual tournament waged on the Green between classes, where students would cluster around boards to watch intently. Gil knew she was good by the whomping she'd given him. It wasn’t until a boisterous girl at a nearby table started chatting that he realized how skilled Millie truly was.

“She was brilliant. Knew my moves even before I did. Her dog loves the game too. Watched every move, he did."

Within a few days, a rumor began circulating of Blocks player and her dog. The story changed each day; she could play blindfolded or juggle two games at once. Then, she could play blindfolded against three opponents, all while playing the lute. As her popularity swelled, Millie grew happier and more nervous.

"I mean, I'm glad people want to play Blocks with me," she said on a rare night when her and Hammen could join him for dinner, "but everyone's making a portrait from a sketch."

"I saw you play a blindfolded game," Hammen countered. "Two games actually. At the same time."

Millie couldn’t help but grin.

Hammen had also found a hobby: vanishing. Hazeltop was a large school, undoubtedly, but Gil had a difficult time finding Hammen after classes were over. He would disappear through the afternoon and most of the evening, reappearing late. 

At first, he was worried his friend was avoiding him, but Hammen's excitement at seeing him was apparent. When he returned to the Flask, he joined Gil and relaxed over a few cups of cider and a warm plate. The first waves of homework had begun to crash. Gil did not mind this much, but he enjoyed commiserating over the new homework with Hammen. After this well had run dry, they invariably turned to stories.

"Good one," Gil said as Hammen finished The Chanting Chandler.

Hammen refilled their mugs. "Isn't it? Better, since I’m supposed to be writing an essay on the evolution of the Baronese tongue, huh? Come on then, time for one more. How about you finish The Heartscale Tale? You left me at the best part, you know. "

“You’re a hammer head,” a girl droned from a nearby table. She was the carpentry girl with the long braid from Wondercraft.

A short, pudgy boy sat with her. He tried sawing at his porkchop, but the task was beyond him. “How should I have known it wasn’t ‘sposed to be a wheel?” he asked. “Makin’ carts and all.”

“Wheels are round,” she said.

Hammen snorted, and there were chuckles from the nearby tables. The boy flushed. “Master Elry said I’m gettin’ better.”

“Sure are, handsome,” a strong voice broke in. It belonged to an older enchanting student weaving through the tables. His robes were blindingly blue. He clapped the carpentry boy on the shoulder, grinning broadly. “Penny for the poor. If I were you, I’d learn a few enchantments for binding. Never need nails again. You’d be Master Eldie’s favorite student.”

“Master Elry,” the boy said, a grin spreading across his face.

“Absolutely,” the older student said easily. “If only you had an enchanter to teach you.”

The boy slouched, then he looked up hopefully. “Do you know any that could help me?”

A look of confusion flickered across the older student’s face before his grin returned. “You found one. I’d love to teach you a few spells.”

“That sounds great!”

“Absolutely,” the enchanter said. “A few coppers an hour; maybe a silver or two. You won’t be learning any spells from Master Horatio’s Blue Book, but you’ll get by. Top of the class within the month, I’d say.” The enchanter left, a cunning look in his eye. Conversation flooded around them once more. A student wearing the leathers of a smith caught the boy’s eye and shook his head slowly.

Hammen was thoughtful. “Never heard of the Blue Book. Anyway, back to your story.” He leaned back in his chair and took an appreciative sip. "It's the year of the dragon scale if you listen to the Yeatree. It might be worth knowing a bit about old stories."

Gil smiled. "The Traveler had just thrown iron into the cauldron, right?"

“Followed that elder to the cave and wanted to try his hand at alchemy,” Hammen confirmed. There was an eager, hopeful look in his eye. “What next?”

The question was tinder to a storyteller’s fire. Excitement flushed through Gil, and he collected his thoughts.

“The traveler dropped a ring of iron into the cauldron and spoke the elder’s word. Shadow began to rise from the potion like smoke. A villager found the traveler later that day, asleep beside the wooden pot. In the cauldron lay a scarred ring of iron.

The man grew sick in the coming days. Soon, he was confined to a bed. The village did not want to save him, since he had tried to steal their greatest secret. But there was one that would not let his sickness worsen, a woman named Heartscale. She brewed a potion, and slipped it to him, but he did not awaken. Days passed. She scavenged from the deep forest and made the strongest potion she could, but he slept on. He was fading quickly. She remembered a story, an old story. She traded with the Yael for one of its silver scales, and she went to the cave. The ring of iron still lay in the cauldron. The potion she crafted was like no other, and the traveler was healed.

The village became Evervale, for while much of the old knowledge faded, some could never be forgotten.

Hammen was very quiet after the story. That night, he was still awake when Gil fell asleep.

The following day brought Gil's first shift in the kitchens. He was very excited. His parents' bakery had been a place of smells and tastes, entertaining customers and stories. 

He ate breakfast in the Flask. The 8th bell rang and, not knowing what to do, he walked across the dining room and through the kitchen door. A different world lived behind the door. He was greeted by a wave of clinking plates, scuffling boots, knives thudding into wood. Ovens and cabinetry lined the wall to his right. Servers raced around, scooping heaping plates from the counter and hurting past him into the dining room. Bussers squeezed through the traffic with towers of plates or buckets of soapy water. Cooks stood around long tables in the center of the huge room, chopping vegetables, kneading dough, seasoning meat. Someone shouted over the din of the room, and three onions arced toward the voice. Everything was motion, except for Perial Drayborne. 

The Master of Food stood near Gil, not far from the door. Master Drayborne paused the last of the servers hurrying past Gil. He examined the plate of sausages for several long, quiet moments before waving the boy on. Master Drayborne was thin but powerful. His face was that of a king, ruling a kingdom of pie crusts and tomatoes. Gil felt he should probably introduce himself, say he was ready for his first shift, but his throat had gone dry. He could work as a baker or chef, with his experience. 

A bus boy shouldered past Gil, holding a tub of dishes. "Watch it!"

Somehow, Master Drayborne heard over the racket. His eyes fasted on Gil, and the master waved him forward. "Have you worked in a kitchen before?"

"Yes, sir. I—"

"Speak up, boy."

Gil cleared his throat. "I worked in my parents' bakery. I love baking breads and rolls, especially, but I could also—"

"You'll be a washer," Master Drayborne pronounced, turning from Gil to watch over the kitchen. "You're small, but you’ll keep up with the plates. Keep you water warm and soapy. Understand?."

"Sir, I'm not sure—"

But Master Drayborne was already grabbing a passing bus boy and pulling him toward Gil. "Wilkus, bring…" he turned a questioning eye toward Gil.

“Gil, sir.”

“Bring Gil back to Bunt. He’s due for another scrubber.”

“Certainly, Master,” Wilkus said eagerly. “Come with me, Gil.”

Wilkus took Gil deep into the kitchen, past the chef tables and the ovens. A group of tired students slouched on stools in the back of the kitchen. An old, huge cauldron sat between them, filled with soapy water. Beside them was a table piled high with plates, bowls, and silverware. All dirty and crusted with food. Wilkus handed Gil a rag, a little apologetically. "It’s not so bad, I expect. If you impress Master Drayborne, you might get moved somewhere else."

Something was off. "Couldn't, well, I expected at Hazeltop we would use magic. Pallypop's All-Purpose cleaner would have these plates shining in no time."

"Don’t think Master Drayborne likes magic much," Wilkus said, turning toward an old man hidden among the scrubbers. “Bunt, this is Gil. Master Drayborne said he’s supposed to help back here.”

Bunt was stooped and clean shaven, with a wispy horseshoe around his head. He peered up and gave Gil a toothy grin. “Find yourself a stool, son. I like the oak ones, myself,” he said.

Whatever fantasies of baking pies and kneading dough Gil had were ground away with each grimy plate he scoured. The water was hot at first, but his hands acclimated until they were only uncomfortable. While he was scrubbing at some petrified cheese. Wilkus and the other bussers brought a half dozen tubs. The scrubbers were quiet, all save Bunt.

"Some more for ya, ol' Bunt," Wilkus said, pushing another tub onto the table. 

"Business is good today," Bunt said easily, scratching at his plate.

The cauldron was growing murky. Gil grew uneasy. He didn’t think Master Drayborne wanted his dishes cleaned in dirty water. Bunt smiled. "Scrub tub’s getting grubby, eh?" Gil nodded. Bunt pushed himself to his feet. "Would you give me a hand?"

The cauldron was heavy, but he helped Bunt carry it to a nearby door leading outside. He led Gil to a small yard behind the Flask, which had a pump, a fire, and a pit. As they teetered toward the pit, a foul, sour smell flooded Gil’s nose. A haze of flies buzzed over the hole.

“We’ll set it on that stump. Tip it in,” Bunt said.

They shuffled the last few paces and lowered the cauldron onto the stump beside the pit. Here, the acrid air was overwhelming, and his eyes watered. The hole was a marinade of blackening meat, mushy vegetables, cheeses, yellowing tallow. They poured out the cauldron. Cloudy water and bits of food sloshed down into the pit, dousing the bed of rot. Flies zipped down eagerly to inspect the fresh pickings.

They carried the much-lighter cauldron back to the pump. Bunt eased the rim under the spout and began pumping the single handle. Clean water gurgled into the cauldron. Gil frowned. “Is the water steaming?”

“Sure looks that way, don’t it?”

Gil passed his hand through the stream. The water was very warm. “Why is it so warm? Shouldn’t it be cold?”

“I asked myself the same thing, years ago,” Bunt said. He was breathing heavily now, arms straining against the pump.

“Here, let me finish pumping,” Gil said.

Bunt stepped aside gratefully. “Thought about the pump many times. If you really raced my horse, I’d say it’s pumping from the Silversmoke Lake north of here. Can’t imagine how someone ran a pipe all that way, though.”

Gil finished pumping. His arms were exhausted, and it felt like he had just pumped water many thousand feet. It took all his strength to carry the heavy cauldron with Bunt back to the kitchen. The work would have been monotonous and unpleasant, if Bunt hadn’t kept up a stream of chatter and far-fetched stories. The water would darken, and Gil would bring the cauldron out with Bunt. Dump, pump, carry, scrub.

The scrubbers were given a lunch break in the afternoon, and then it was back to the cauldron. Gil had to work until the dinner dishes were done, which seemed quite a long ways away. The cooking slowed throughout the afternoon but began to ramp up in preparation for dinner. Crates of potatoes and apples were brought up from the cellar. Stewpots were filled and pie crusts rolled out. 

The scrubbers found a reprieve during the lull before dinner. Gil was inspecting his wrinkled fingertips when Wilkus stopped by. "Master Drayborne wants me to show you something." He headed for the cellar.

Gil was confused but followed the him. With each descending step, the air cooled and felt drier. A massive, round room opened from the stairs. The smell of old wood, dry dust, and soil enveloped Gil. A forest of shelves crowded most of the room, glass bottles glittering in the torchlight. Iron-bound barrels ringed the earthen walls. 

Wilkus led Gil along the outer aisle, passing him a wooden crate. "How are you liking Alchemy class?"

The question caught Gil off guard. "Wonderful, I mean, it's magic isn't it?" He stopped, remembering how Wilkus had stormed out of the first class. “How are you doing with it?"

Wilkus’ face darkened. "Wicks made me look like an idiot, didn't he? Just cause I can’t do magic."

"You can do magic," Gil said quickly. “You just need to keep trying. And I could help you with the homework if you want.”

“There’s homework now, too?”

Gil tried for a smile. “It’s not too bad. Just a few chapters of reading. We could meet at the Egg tomorrow.”

“Maybe,” Wilkus said. He looked guilty for a moment before turning to the shelves. He selected two jars of peaches and passed them to Gil. “Take these, and some onions, and some potatoes." He added a final bag of garlic cloves to Gil’s heaping box. "That's everything I need from down here. Back upstairs, I guess."

“When should we study tomorrow?” Gil asked, but Wilkus was already climbing the stairs.

Chapter 6

The third week of the term introduced the first dual lesson, where Alchemy and Enchanting would join for a single class. Gil and Hammen were at lunch that day when they overheard a lanky girl.

"You know, Charles and I went on a walk last night. No, not a date, nothing like that. Well, we were out by the lake and saw something odd. Yes, odd, you quarter-wit. These birds flew through some mist, and their feathers changed color. Charles must have been using a spectorum enchantment. Trying to impress me, I expect."

"A spectorum enchantment," Hammen said to Gil. "Sounds wicked. Think I'll learn it in our lesson today?"

Gil mopped up his plate with a bread roll. "Sure, if Master Horatio left his wits in the scrub tub."

“I can only hope,” Hammen said.

After lunch, they took Hazel Way north, passing between the Egg and the Cauldron. Inside, Gil saw second-term alchemy students crowded around worktables. Steam rose from their cauldrons and formed into ethereal animals racing along the curved ceiling. A mint green steam owl hung upside down, head swiveling to watch him pass.

Gil had never gone beyond the Cauldron, and it wasn’t long before they passed the Dragonry. The stone walls were scored and weathered. A span of the tower had melted and cooled into something smooth and cerulean. Stone cast as liquid.

The ground began to slope down and before long Gil saw Clarity. The enchanter’s building appeared quite ordinary, except for the odd bits. It was made entirely of some sort of glass or crystal. Gil could see distorted figures walking around inside like fish moving beneath an agitated lake. He could see the outer walls more clearly. Enchantments and notes swirled across these walls, thick as a forest canopy.

Reya and a handful of other alchemy students waited outside, hesitant to go in. Wilkus was near the back. He did not wave back to Gil.

"Follow me," Hammen said brightly. "I think that’s Master Horatio."

Gil was glad to follow Hammen into the strange, cloudy hallway. Now, the entire world outside of Clarity was hazy. The sight was eerie. 

"Nillicurous?" Someone whispered behind him. "You think that's a spell, Nima?"

"The scales must be leveled, lest the scales tip the level," another student read from a wall. "Honestly, I think they're going a bit mad in here."

Hammen paused outside the classroom where Master Horatio was finishing up the previous lesson. The door was ajar, and Hammen eased it shut to shield the class from the chattering hallway. The master scrawled long, looping letters across a wall. Students popped up from the floor and milled about, gesturing and speaking. 

After a few minutes, Gil noticed the motions growing sharper. The paces were hard and rigid. “Do they look frustrated?

“Quite so,” said the smoke-roughened voice of Master Wicks, who was striding up the hallway. “Undoubtedly due to their enchantment being blocked.”

“By what?” Hammen asked.

Master Wicks paused beside them and drew a half-breath. Then, he allowed himself a half smile and pushed the door open. A breath of wind passed Gil before a dozen squat, knobby creatures appeared in the classroom. Cries erupted from the hallway, while the classroom as filled with cheers.

“Well done,” Master Horatio called to his class. “And a thanks to the very keen Master Wicks for clearing your Path." The bell tower tolled, and the older students began to stream out.

“For our next class, prepare an essay describing the importance of the Path with respect to the Conduction Charm. Two hours long should suffice.”

“We almost made it out,” a student grumbled to his friend, passing Gil and leaving Clarity.

Hammen’s face was glowing. "Criminy, they just created that thing!"

"Moved, not made, Mr. Oatley,” graveled Master Wicks. As the last of the second-termers trickled out, the Master of Alchemy led them into the classroom. 

Gil entered hesitantly with the other alchemists and the blue-robed enchanters. The room was spacious and very interesting. It was also occupied by a dozen warty creatures that looked vaguely like boars.

The masters broke apart and Master Horatio motioned to the creature beside him. "Does anyone know what this is?"

The class was silent. Finally, someone spoke up. "A scruffin?"

"Precisely." Master Horatio scrawled the word across the wall. As he finished the word, it morphed into an image of the creature. "Ignorance is vulnerability. The scruffin is now named, and thus its greatest hold over you broken. Named but not yet known. Who knows the behavior and characteristics of a scruffin?

Gil had never seen or read about a scruffin. It seemed none of the other students had either. Master Horatio drew a breath.

"They like dirt, don't they?"

Master Horatio nodded. "An excellent start. What is your name, young man."

"Wilkus Tillers."

"How did your studies lead you to scruffin, Mr, Tillers? These creatures are obscure."

Wilkus' face darkened. "The farms shared one, for digging rows."

"A scruffin would certainly be effective. Yes, scruffin have no teeth as you can all see," Master Horatio opened the docile creature's mouth, and Gil saw it was true. "They mulch soil and stones for food, living off the minerals and organic matter in the soil. Their gizzard holds grit and stone, which they use to grind up material. Their stomach is marvelous, a forgefire capable of burning up enormous volumes of matter. The excess matter is converted to heat, so scruffin become hot while digging."

Quick as a snake, Master Wicks threw a crimson potion toward the scruffin. As the flask broke, a fiery hand leapt from the liquid and enveloped the creature. Students cried out in surprise and fear, but as the fire subsided, the scruffin was unharmed. It continued to sit beside Master Horatio, docile and unperturbed.

"As you can see," Master Wicks said. "The creatures are highly resilient to magic. We are lucky the scruffin are friendly. If an adult became aggressive, the results would be unpleasant."

Reya perked up. "If they are so resilient to magic, how can they be teleported?"

The enchanter beamed. "A most excellent question. Imagine a stone. A stone is not easily broken, even by the strongest among us. It may withstand flame and force to tremendous degrees, yet even a child can carry it. So to with magic and the scruffin. Now, enough preamble. The lesson must begin. Letaporia."

A breath ruffled Gil’s hair, and he stepped back as another dozen scruffin materialized behind Master Horatio. 

"Students, pair yourself with someone of the opposing discipline. Each team will be given a scruffin for the day's lesson. Using any means at your disposal, you must move your scruffin across the center line." As Master Horatio spoke, a line crossed the room at the far end. "You may use enchanting, alchemy, treats,or any other means that occur to you within reason. You have one hour complete this task. Good luck."

Gil and Hammen partnered up and chose one of the sleepier scruffin. "Right," Hammen said. "Shouldn't be too hard. Let's move it." He bent and tried to lift the creature. It opened one emerald eye to peer at him before settling into a more comfortable position. "Heavy as a rock." Hammen panted. 

Gil moved to the other side, and they both strained to lift the scruffin. The scruffin was immobile as an oak. “Very.”

Other groups seemed to have tried the same thing with little luck. "Hammen, this is a class for alchemy and enchanting. The masters must think we'll need both kinds of magic to move the scruffin. Do you know any spells that could help us?"

"We've only learned a few so far. Make a light, accelerate growth of plants. Nothing very good for moving one of these."

"Wait," Gil said. "Can you teleport things like Master Horatio just did? If he could teleport them in here, you could teleport ours across the line. Look, there's the incantation on the wall right there! Letaporia!"

Hammen groaned. "I wish. Each spell requires a certain mental and emotional focus. The basic stuff is plenty hard enough. I’ve got no shot at a second-term spell. Do you have any potions for this? Anything to brainwash a scruffin?"

"I don't even know if a potion would do anything. You heard the masters, with how resistant these creatures are to magic. What can we do?"

Other groups were running the same circles. Reya's partner muttered an enchantment, wriggling her fingers at the scruffin. The floor around her began to smoke. She cut the enchantment off and glanced at the Masters to make sure they hadn't noticed. Wilkus was not talking to his partner, if he had one. Instead, he was crushed by the sleeping scruffing, reaching for its head. The other scruffin were snoozing, quite unconcerned with crossing the line some 20 feet away.

Hammen took Gil by the shoulder. "Ok, we know they like dirt. Let's do something with dirt to get it across the line."

"A line," Gil said. "We just need to make a line of dirt, and it should follow it across the room!"

"That's it!"

They raced outside to the little garden behind Clarity that students practiced enchantments on. It was flush with tomatoes, peppers, onions, lemon trees, pecan trees. He scooped two handfuls of tilled soil and hurried back inside with Hammen. 

"Go on," Hammen said. "Start the line."

Gil walked up to the scruffin and sprinkled some soil. Its nose twitched, and those bright eyes flickered open. It sniffed again, and sucked up the dirt.

"Brilliant!," Hammen called. "Keep the line going!"

Grinning, Gil began to backpedal and sift soil onto the floor. The scruffin lumbered to its feet and pounded forward, its footfalls deceptively loud. It followed Gil five feet, then ten, where he ran out of soil. By now the entire room was watching, amazed that their scruffin was practically racing toward the line.

"My turn," Hammen raced outside and came back moments later, hands heaped with soil. He shook some out, but the scruffin stopped. It sniffed over Hammen's dirt before sinking heavily to the floor. It’s eyes eased shut. Someone laughed, and Hammen frowned. "Stupid thing. Why isn’t this working?"

"No idea," Gil said.

Other groups were trying the soil strategy with mixed results. Some scruffin sucked up the dirt greedily and followed it for several feet. Others ignored it completely.

Master Wicks had a few cauldrons set up along the wall, and several alchemy students were brewing and bottling. Vella, a tall alchemy student, had bottled Sweet Scent. The potion fizzed, spewing steam throughout the room. 

Hammen's head was cocked, a strange expression on his face. "Do you smell that?"

Gil smiled. “Smells like fresh bread to me. Vella made Sweet Scent. It’s different for everyone."

"Oh," Hammen said, shaking himself. "Just caught me off guard, is all."

The potion had turned the noses of several students, who watched Vella wave the steaming pot beneath her scruffin. The creature made a half-step toward the bottle. It nosed the ground halfheartedly.

Gil turned to Hammen. We need to move this thing. Should we try the dirt again?"

As Hammen thought it over, a group led their scruffin across the room by using a hover charm on a leaf. The scruffin clambered after the spinning leaf before catching it across the line. A second team poured a dark, muddy potion between the scruffin and the line. After a moment, the surface grew glossy. The enchanter summoned a pale light. It’s reflection gleamed against the potion’s silky surface, and the scruffin waddled forward eagerly. The enchanter backpedaled with her light, keeping the reflection just beyond the scruffin’s reach. They barrelled across the line to join the first team.

"Well done!" Master Horatio called. "Half an hour remaining!"

They tried and failed to lift the scruffin again. Hammen generated a light of his own, but the scruffin was not interested. As time wound down, Gil was surprised to see Wilkus had successfully led his scruffin across the room. His hands were dirty.

"Come on, let's try the dirt one more time."

They hurried outside and scooped handfuls of the black, rooty earth. In his haste, Gil nearly tore a root from a garlic plant and carefully patted it back in place. The last thing he needed was to fail the class and ruin the garden.

Their scruffin was snoozing ten feet from the line when they returned. Gil poured the soil, and the scruffin sprang up immediately, nose wiggling. Gil and Hammen cheered as it crossed the line, and they joined half of the students who had succeeded in the task. 

Another group seemed to have befriended their scruffin, which was following a boy across the room. He was cooing and scratching under its bumpy chin. "That's a good scruffy. Just a little more. That's it."

"Time," Master Horatio called, and the remaining groups stopped trying to lead, trick, or pull their scruffin across the line. He turned to the room at large. "This task proved challenging for many of you. Even among those who succeeded, only two groups truly relied on magic. Even so, I am afraid you have not met my and Master Wicks’ expectations for this lesson. Your magical abilities are budding, but while you may feel a new power at your command, don't forget that your classmates have skills of their own. The advanced magic in your upcoming terms requires magical cooperation, and we must begin that process now. To that end, you will all draft an essay—" the class growned, and he smiled- "on three historical accounts of cooperation between alchemy and enchanting. Off you go now."

“How long should the essay be?” Reya asked?

“An hour should be sufficient, don’t you think, Master Wicks?”

The alchemist nodded, and the bell rang. Students dispersed, grumbling about scruffin and essays. Gil and Hammen met Millie and Ash at the Flask for lunch, bowls of chili and a sweet bread, washed down with cider. A harpist played Cauldron-Bottom Dregs on the stage. 

Millie was bottoming her third bowl when she came up for air. "How was the double lesson today? Been looking forward to it for days, haven’t you?"

"Rough," Hammen said. “Scruffin and all that. We even got an essay to write for next week."

Millie grimaced. "You’re lucky. Master Nibly is completely crazy. She spent the entire class just drawing runes on the wall. Didn’t say a word. Apparently, we’re supposed to invent a new rune for the next class. Is that even possible?"

"New potions are being created all the time," Gil said. "I read about some new ones in the library."

"I bet someone’s figured out that Heartscale potion you were telling me about," Hammen said.

"You know that's just a myth, right? I mean, it’s brewed in an iron cauldron. Iron and magic don’t mix very well." While Gil said this, something tickled the edge of his mind. The distillation of all his parents’ stories, where the rules of alchemy were off by a few degrees.”

Millie let Ash finish her blackberry roll. "Sounds like you boys have some reading to do. I'll be drawing shapes in my room until something crazy happens." Millie rose and made her way up the staircase with Ash.

Gil smiled. "Well, how about we get a start on the essay. Go to the Egg. There are a few books I really wanted to show you."

"I, well," Hammen glanced toward the door. "Yeah, I'll be there in a bit. I just have to finish something up first. Why don't you go ahead and I'll meet you there."

"Excellent, I'll be at 'historical alchemy and enchanting collaboration.'" Hammen seemed puzzled, but Gil was already grabbing his bag and straightening his emerald cloak. "See you there."

The Egg was just as Gil had left it. The walls were pale and smooth, some kind of wood or stone he couldn’t place. He paused outside. "Historical alchemy and enchanting collaboration." A door formed, and he entered.

A dozen familiar students huddled around nearby tables, boys and girls Gil recognized from the scruffin lesson. Each was reading a book, and a single parchment lay between them all, half-full chicken scratch. An orchard of shelves sprouted up beyond the main room, and Gil saw a familiar face sitting in an armchair hidden among the forest. 

He moved to take the chair across from Reya but stopped as she sniffled, hunched over a book.

She looked up. Her eyes seemed wet in the torchlight. 

"Oh," Gil stepped back and thudded into a shelf. "I didn't. I mean, if now's not a good time."

"You're ok," Reya said, folding parchment and using it to bookmark her page. She tapped her book. "Did you know, breathing a potion's fumes can be just as powerful as drinking it?"

"I didn't." Gil sat in another armchair, searching for something to say. "Some lesson today, huh?"

She gave a small smile. "It was. You were the first to think of using the dirt, weren't you?"

"I guess, but you must have told your partner to use that telekinetic enchantment."

Reya nodded and slid her book into her bag.

"Fumes for Fools?", Gil said, reading the cover. "Shouldn't you be looking into the essay?"

"I’ve already started," She gestured to the rolled parchment poking from her bag. She seemed to brighten. "Do you need any help with yours?"

Gil looked over to the table of students feeding notes to the scribe, who was distilling the research into sentences and paragraphs. He turned to Reya. "Did you write it alone?"

She nodded again, and Gil thought for a moment. "Then I will too. Could I stay here, while I write, I mean? The table is too loud."

Reya nodded.

They passed the next few hours in comfortable silence. Gil found a handful of leather books that seemed promising. A book on glowsprouts caught his eye. He accidentally lost half an hour in an analysis of how the mushrooms glowed in the presence of beauty. The author wasn’t really sure, it seemed. He put Glowsprout: Glint, Glee, or Grunt, the Herbist’s Absolute Authority away. With that done, he quickly found three examples of magical collaboration. He scratched at the essay over the next hour, occasionally asking Reya about his wording. She had a good ear for language. 

Night descended as they existed the Egg. Reya headed south, saying she needed to send a letter.

Gil ate a late dinner and climbed the staircase to Room 107. “Missed you at the Egg,” he began, but Hammen's bed was empty. Gil frowned. He stared at the pillow and covers for a moment before sitting on his own bed. He read his essay a final time, smiling, and tucked it in his bag. 

Chapter 7

Hammen slept through the phoenix cry the following morning, and Gil couldn't blame him. It was the weekend, and Gil had high hopes of relaxing after another week of brewing potions, exploring the Thicket, and writing essays. He decided to start with breakfast. He fastened his emerald cloak, feeling the lumps and clinks of various alchemical ingredients. It must have been Millie's turn to play at the Flask because she sat atop the stage with her lute, strumming a slow song. 

Gil took a seat at their usual table near the stage. Ash sat beside Millie on the stage, looking over the sleepy breakfast crowd like a king in court. Millie smiled at Gil.

"What'll it be today?" Wilkus asked, startling Gil. Wilkus always seemed to be working.

"Whatever Master Drayborne has some spare of, and it can all be on one plate," Gil said. "No need for extra dishes, right?" He grinned, but Wilkus just moved to the next table.

Apparently, there was a spare bowl of chili from last night. It wasn't Gil's first choice for breakfast, but he wasn't going to complain to Wilkus. Millie joined him soon after, ordering three plates of eggs, flat cakes, and sausage. She let Ash enjoy a few links, but Gil was amazed with how much she could eat. 

"So," Millie said pushing her plates away and swigging cider. "Are you coming to the Silversmoke today?"

"The Silversmoke?

Millie smiled. "The Silversmoke Lake. The creaturecraft students have an exam out there today. Maybe Knumpy will eat someone."

“An exam on the weekend?”

“Better them than us.”

They wrapped a few links in cloth and made for the Silversmoke, which lay beyond the Cauldron and dragonry. The huge lake was bronzed gold in the rising sun with sandy beaches. A band of nervous students in leathers and a few bandages stood at one of the fishing docks. A plump woman was waving a corncob at them. Gil followed Millie and Ash to a nearby stretch of sand. 

"My dears, do you have any more questions about dragon feeding?"

"No, Mrs. Beaker," the class droned.

She beamed. "You will all do magnificently, and I'll be right here the whole time. Come up, then, and throw your sweet corn into the lake. Remember, my dears, not to throw too much corn. Let the dragon swim to you."

Gil watched as the first student cast a cob far out into the lake. It splashed and sank. A great bubble burst the lake where the corn cob had landed, and students shuffled back on the dock. The thrower grabbed another cob and threw it, not as far this time. It disappeared into the water once more. Silver blurred in the depths. 

"You can do it dear," Mrs. Beaker called.

The student didn't seem so sure, but she lowered herself and splashed the corn cob directly in front of the dock. A dorsal fin broke the surface, swaying and slicing toward her hand. Gil rose to a half crouch, unsure if he was running to or from the approaching dragon.

The student tensed but did not draw back. The dragon hurtled toward her but froze at the last moment, sending a wave crashing down on the student. Then Gil saw the dragon was only a drake, about his size, with silvery blue scales and webbed fins. Up close, the dorsal fin was quite knobby and rounded, still growing. The drake glided forward, cerulean eyes flicking between hand and cob. It eased the cob free from her hand and swallowed it like a defense student would a sausage. The drake’s long tail flashed beneath the water, and it was gone. 

The class cheered, and Mrs. Beaker wrapped the stunned student in a hug. "Absolutely brilliant, my dear. Trust is the heart of creaturecraft, and you showed it! Excellent, who's next, then?"

They passed the morning guessing which creaturecraft students would shriek and run, and which ones would hold their sweet corn for the drakes. Hammen was gone when they returned to the Flask. As it happened, he was more often gone than not over the following weeks. It was during this time that Gil started spending more time with Millie and Ash. He took a liking to the game Blocks and joined Millie for evening tournaments at the Green with a handful of rune students. Millie eclipsed them all in skill, but Gil enjoyed the game.

He came to realize Millie was always doing something—watching sparring in the arena, feeding fish at the docks, singing in the Flask, playing Blocks. Ash followed her like a shadow, always watching with his intelligent eyes. After a week of tagging along to her activities, Gil was exhausted.

She was playing lute late one night at the Green, sitting against a tree. Gil sat against the other side, and Ash was sleeping, curled beside Millie. Gil yawned, and waited for a lull in the music. "How are you always going?"

Millie let the night soak up her last chord. "What do you mean?"

"I'm wiped every night, and I go to sleep before you. It seems like you're always doing something. I don't know how you can keep up with the schoolwork. I had to skip lunch today just to finish my alchemy homework."

"There is so much to do," Millie said, and her voice was serious. "Someday, we won't be able to do everything we can now."

"Sure, but we'll blow the bubble any day now if we keep up at this rate."

Millie laughed. "Get some rest, and say hi to Hammen for me. I haven't seen him in a few days."

Despite Gil's good intentions, he had trouble passing Millie's message to Hammen. His roommate was up as late as Millie, and Gil rarely saw him at meals or around Hazeltop. Only in the mornings did Gil regularly see him, sprawled on his bunk in deep sleep, tawny cloak draped over a chair.

As the strangeness of Gil’s classes became normal, he began to notice oddities around Hazeltop. On his way to Herblore, Gil passed a band of smithing students around a forge. The smith quenched a blade in water. As he returned it to the anvil, he ordered fresh water. The students hurried to dump the barrel down the drain, but before they could, mist arose from the grate. The mist was cloudy and gritty, closer to smoke than steam. It drifted past them toward the anvil. The smith jumped back as the anvil hissed and spat, sparks flying. In seconds, the mist was gone, though the anvil's base was blackened as if by ash.

Gil and Millie were watching a jousting tournament later that week when a group of older defense students sauntered past. “Hey, it’s a rusty,” the lead boy said. His nose was crooked as a crossguard. He passed within a foot of Gil and jumped away dramatically. “Ah! Don’t make me sick! You’ve already look a bit rusty. Been drinking cauldrons, have you?” His friends burst into snotty laughter, and they went on. The jousters charged, and their magically-softened lances bounced off each other. 

“Squires,” Millie muttered.

“Yeah,” Gil said.

It was not the first time Gil had heard this particular joke, and he knew it would not be the last. The rust was an alchemical disease that resulted from inadvertently adding iron to a potion. Gil had read that anyone who breathed the noxious fumes developed a sickness that worsened over time, until it became critically dangerous. The rust. It was one of the main reasons Master Wicks allowed no iron in the Cauldron. Everyone knew of the sickness, but no antidote was known to counteract the iron. It seemed odd to Gil that the question was so obvious and the answer so mysterious.

Students were always talking—throughout meals, while walking, and to Gil's growing frustration, during class. They spoke of the Yeatree's dragon scale symbol and what it could mean for the term. Gil heard complaints of homework and deadlines, which he understood well. His course load had doubled in the last weeks, and he was straining to find time for friends and school, especially while trying to keep up with Millie’s racehorse schedule. 

A new story was spreading through the halls of Hazeltop. There was a mist, students whispered, that did strange things, funny things. Each story was different, and Gil enjoyed sharing them with Millie, Reya, and when possible, Hammen. Reya was the only one that shared his curiosity.

He was in the Flask with Millie and Ash, finishing an essay for Wondercraft. "What makes Brab Naywillow extraordinary? I spent two hours in the Egg yesterday, and I couldn’t find anything about Brab. How does Lorace expect us to write an essay about someone that we can’t research? Have you heard of ‘Brab Naywillow’?”

"Nope." Millie downed her glass and cut into a pork chop.

Gil waited for something more helpful. Millie took another bite, and he sighed. "You know I can't go to the green with you until I finish this."

"I know you'll do it. You always do." She fed a chunk to Ash, who loved pork chops, and turned her attention back to the Blocks board. She had taken to playing against herself recently, which was more of a challenge than Gil could provide.

"Maybe I should go back to the Egg. Look in some different areas."

"Just generalize. Say something vague, and he’ll love it. Then..." She trailed off, eyes fixating on something behind Gil. 

He turned and saw a blue robe slip out the front door. Millie grabbed his arm. "That was Hammen. He was carrying something. Looking nervous."

"He's probably going to the Egg or something. He's said he has a lot to do."

Millie sprang up, eyes bright. "Let's follow him."

"You want to follow him to the library?" Gil said, putting his essay away.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Seriously?. He’s been off for the last two weeks. I want to know why."

She was excited, flooded with the need to act. Gil couldn't meet her eyes. "I don't know."

"That's why we have to find out. Come on!"

Before Gil knew it, he was in the cool night air with Millie and Ash. He saw Hammen down Hazel Way, striding south. "See, he's heading toward the egg."

But Hammen swept past the library without a glance, past the runic building, and out the south gate toward Grent. They hurried to keep up. With each step toward the dark town, Gil's stomach soured. This morning, Hammen had complained of a long project he needed to research and work on. Could he have already finished it and was heading to Grent for some school supplies? Or had he lied? Gil banished the thought.

They followed Hammen, and as they passed through the southern gate, Gil realized he had never seen the little town up close at night. The streets were lit by an eerie blend of torchlight and moon. Most of the shops were closed at this hour, though inns and music halls were in full swing. Someone stumbled from a tavern, yelling something angry and rough. Hammen slipped past the man.

"Are we really doing this?" Hammen asked. His hands were clammy. His legs were heavy.

"Yes," Millie said, and he could hear her smile. "It's like we're in the middle of a story, isn't it?"

Hammen continued past taverns and music halls, past dark storefronts and entertainers on street corners. He gave them no mind, and Gil's worry grew. They followed off the main streets. Torchlight grew thinner, the streets worse. Then, Hammen paused at the mouth of a Dark Alley. Slater’s Pass. His face was hidden in the shadow, but Gil saw his shoulders rise and fall. A long breath. Hammen slipped into the alley.

They followed, and Gil slipped his hands into his cloak. One hand fell on powdered horn. The other hovered between mudweed and rosegrass. When combined with horn, rosegrass produced a smog so thick and heady that a few breaths put most to sleep. The cobblestones were damp and sour with spilled ale. Darkness hung over the alley. Gil did not want to move, but Millie and Ash were already entering. 

Stairs delved into basements. Crooked signposts creaked on the night's breath. Figures leaned against the back of ramshackle shops.

"Phoenix egg for you, boy?" A greasy man asked eagerly. "Give you a bargain, I would. Say, a few memories?"

"Try a sweet," a crone crooned from the bottom of her stairs. 

"No thanks," Gil mumbled. He hurried back to Millie, as someone hissed behind him. "Millie, we have to—"

"He just turned the corner. I think we've got him!" 

A door slammed around the bend. “We have to leave. He can't know we were following him. He'll be furious."

"We need to known what he’s doing," Millie said.

Gil couldn’t bring himself to walk out of the alley alone. They inched toward the dark corner, hiss heart pounding. Ash froze.

A door crashed open, and a boy rounded the corner, arms pumping, hooded cloak whipping. He barreled between Gil and Millie, racing down the alley.

Millie's face was wild with fear and excitement. Then, something growled. Gil clenched the pouches in his cloak. They did not bring him any comfort.

Mist billowed in the darkness like milk in coffee. The swirling mist drank the moonbeams. A form swelled, grew. A long snout emerged from the mist. Powerful shoulders and legs flushed with silver fur. A long tail. The wolf looked from Ash to Millie to Gil. It exhaled. Mist fountained from its snout, and its muscled tensed. They bolted. Millie and Ash were a dark blur ahead of Gil, her hand on the dog. Something yanked hard on his cloak. He pulled and a terrible rip filled the night. He turned only to see the wolf, a green scrap in its jaws, turn and fade into the mist.

Chapter 8

Gil did not sleep. He replayed the night over and over. Trailing Hammen, the wolf, his argument with Millie. The question they could not answer: should they tell Master Vail what Hammen had done? Millie had stormed off, saying she would find the master. Despite the evidence, Gil couldn't believe Hammen was involved with the mist. Hammen was his friend. Gil knew him, didn’t he? He eyed the shorn edge of his cloak.

His thoughts bubbled and stewed through the night, fear and friendship fighting. The door opened in the early hours of the morning. Through slitted eyes, Gil saw Hammen enter. He peered at Gil’s cloak. His shoulders rose and fell shakily. Hammen watched him for several long breaths before turning to his bed, mumbling. “...believe it,” Gil caught. Finally, he changed into his pajamas. As he did so, Gil saw four stripes torn through his cloak. The same pattern striped Hammen's back. He groaned and lowered himself to his side.

The wound further confused Gil. Hammen was undeniably involved with the attack, but why would his own wolf turn on him?

They kept their distance the next day. The meals and walks they had shared at the start of term were over. Gil spent his time with Millie, Ash, and Reya. His schoolwork swelled, and Gil hardly had time to notice the absence of his roommate. As days turned to weeks, Gil saw no more incriminating activity from Hammen. His roommate slept at a normal time and went to class, it seemed. Hammen did not ask him to bet on the sparring in the Arena, and Gil did not invite him to the Silversmoke with Millie.

When he asked Millie if she had brought her suspicion to Master Vail, Millie just petted Ash. "I'm afraid of what she would do if she knew."

A steam cloud was spotted around the Cauldron the following week, and an alchemy student was brought to the Ward when her potion caught flame and injured her hand. The next day, a bit of fog passed through the orchard, and people began to mutter about some odd trees. Strangely shaped limbs and stranger fruit.

By dinner, the entire school was aflame with rumors. The one thread woven through every story was mist. An enchanter hopped on a table, shouting he knew the precise incantation to counter the mist, if you would lend him a haffer. Others wondered who was behind it, why it was happening.

"He's still not looking at us," Millie said at their normal table. 

Gil eyed Hammen across the room, who was inspecting his apple dully. Gil looked away. "He couldn't have done it. Why would his wolf scratch him if he was behind this?"

"Why was he in Slater's Pass? He wasn't there for a cup of cider." She sighed and finished her fruit tart.

"This is Hammen we're talking about. We need to trust him. I know you do, or you would have told Master Vail."

Millie's sighed. "Still, what if we're wrong? What if Hammen is dangerous?"

Gil had no answer.

The next week brought two more mistings, as they came to be known. A smithing student was temporarily blinded by the sparks when the mist touched his anvil. Caution began usurping curiosity. There was still excitement amidst the uncertainty. Master Vail announced the Snow Ball to the assembled students on the Green one evening. Gil sat with Millie and Ash. Hammen sat several seats over. They had cautiously begun spending time together again, but things were not as they had been. 

"The Snow Ball," Master Vail continued, "is the winter dance to celebrate the end of the semester. I hope you find it enlightening and refreshing after your exams. The Snow Ball will be in two months, near the first snow fall, if history speaks again. You may bring a partner or friends and above all, your very best dancing shoes."

Gil could not imagine anything so terrifying as a school dance, but he seemed to be one of the few. The mist was nearly forgotten as talk turned to dresses, jackets, cloaks, dates and dancing. The kitchens were afire with early preparations for the dance. Gil was enlisted to help take inventory of the cellar beneath the kitchen. He learned that at any time the cellar held thousands of potatoes, onions, squash, and more. Unfortunately, it was missing most of the exotic foods and spices Master Drayborne wanted for the dance. Master Drayborne made him comb through the cellar three times in search of green honey. Gil found several honeypots, but there was nothing green about them. Frowning, Master Drayborne finally added the Baronese honey to his list.

Grent also saw a wave of excitement. Tailors were swarmed. Cobblers hung out of their shops, waving boots and slippers at passing students. Even the smiths saw some business as students ordered fresh clasps and broaches.

The Snow Ball's announcement seemed to herald good fortune for everyone, in fact. Gil did not hear of a single misting, and his friendship with Hammen strengthened daily. Even his work in the kitchens was improving, if counting potatoes was better than scrubbing plates. Wilkus alone seemed to grow more frustrated amidst everyone else’s good fortune. The stout boy had grown more ill-tempered with each alchemy class, even skipping their last exam on reading recipes. He probably hadn’t even heard of the next assignment.

As Gil entered the kitchen for his shift, he felt sorry for Wilkus. Garlic and cinnamon washed over him. Master Drayborne was overlooking the room from his usual post, his sharp face pleased. Choppers stood around tables, slicing fruit and cubing vegetables. Tucked back in the corner were the scrubbers. As Gil crossed the room, he saw Wilkus emerging from the cellar, looking stressed. 

Thinking quickly, Gil detoured to Wilkus. "Hey, I know alchemy has been difficult these last few weeks. I could help you on the project."

Wilkus frowned. "What project?"

"Sorry, there's another essay for class. Nothing too tricky, but if you—"

"I've got all the help I need," Wilkus said fiercely. "Don't need any from you."

Gil flushed and joined Bunt with the other scrubbers.

"It's good to see you again, Gil," the older man said. "Just in time for some water, you are?"

They went out to the pump. Goosebumps prickled his arms in the crisp air, and the sting in his eyes faded. He let out a long breath. "Why doesn't Wilkus like me?"

They dumped the cauldron. "I don't think he likes many people. That usually means not many people like him."

Gil tried to understand this as Bunt worked at the pump. "That logic sounds circular."

"You pay attention in class."

"So I'm right?"

Bunt sighed and leaned off the lever. "Wrong as right can be. Keep being good to Wilkus, and he may surprise you."

They went inside. Gil thought and scrubbed. 

Wilkus seemed even more hostile since Gil offered to help with the essay. He piled more dishes by Gil than any other scrubber, and they seemed to be the dirtiest he could find. Gil’s arms grew tired from his ceaseless scouring. His fingers looked like old prunes.

The next time Wilkus came, Gil smiled. "Thanks, Wilkus. I’m sure Master Drayborne really appreciates all your work here."

Wilkus paused. “He does.”

Gil was talking with Bunt during a rare lull later that shift when Wilkus returned. "Hope you like fish. Boats just came in with the catch." He waved to two scrubbers and nodded to Gil. "Come on."

They followed him outside to a wagon of crates. Master Drayborne had opened a crate and was inspecting a dried fish. "Salted salmon. Very good. Wilkus, show them where to stack these in the cellar. I'll have a word with you in a moment."

"This way," Wilkus said. 

Gil and the two girls grabbed crates and staggered after Wilkus. The crates were slimy, as though they had been pulled straight from the river. Something cold and wet trickled down Gil’s shirt. Apparently the fish had been kept on ice at some point, and now the bottom of the crates were filled with fishy water. Wilkus made them stack the boxes on a shelf near the cider barrels, and Gil settled into a trance. Crate, walk, stack. Crate, walk, stack. He seemed to carry dozens of boxes. Fortunately, the wagon was nearly empty. He used the last of his strength to carry the final box down to the cellar, but when he returned, there was a new wagon. His shirt was soaked as he he staggered across the kitchen and down the stairs with another box. His arms felt distant and fuzzy. His pulse thudded dimly in his head. He made it several more paces before falling to a knee, exhausted. As he tried to catch his breath, he heard the rumble of distant voices from the cider barrels. He summoned his strength and moved closer. The voices sharpened.

"Fish this weekend?" Wilkus asked.

"Correct." The voice was Master Drayborne's, low and smooth. "Next week will be soup, I think."

"Excellent," Wilkus said eagerly. 

"Questions?"

"No, Master Drayborne."

There was click and grating noise. Gil heard footfalls approaching, and he crouched behind a sack of onions. Master Drayborne strode past him and up the stairs. Gil peeked farther around the corner, but he could not see where they had been talking. Wilkus was gone.

His shift ended late, and he left the kitchens with a handful of honeybuns for dinner. He froze at the sight of an unlikely scene. Hammen and Millie sat at a table, smiling brightly.

"It wasn't him," Millie half-shouted half-whispered.

Gil's heart jumped, and he joined them. "What’s going on?"

Hammen met Gil's eyes. "For the last two weeks, I thought it was you that put that wolf on me."

"It wasn't," Gil said at once. "We were only..." He looked at Millie.

"I already told him," she said, nodding to Hammen. "We did follow you down Slater's Pass, but we were only trying to see what you were up to. We didn't really think you and the mist were, well..."

Hammen took the tail of Gil's cloak and held it up, showing the torn edge. "When the wolf attacked, I saw a green scrap in its mouth. It wasn't until I saw your cloak that I wondered if it was you and Millie. But now it seems so obvious."

"What's obvious," Gil said. "I'm not—"

"It was the other person," Millie said. "Whoever ran past us in the alley, right before the mist came. They must have done it."

Hammen was nodding. "Someone was coming up from the basement when I walked in. They were hooded and carrying something heavy. Must have gone out the door and around the corner toward you two."

A weight lifted from Gil, as the truth settled in. They were all beaming, thrilled to have their friendship restored. Ash looked between Gil and Hammen, ears perked.

Another thought rose, and Gil's smile faded. "So there really is someone behind the mist, and each of us saw them in that alley. We're probably the only people in Hazeltop to have seen them."

"And they saw us," Hammen said grimly. "They'll know who we are. We'll need to keep an eye on each other. Make sure they don't go for one of us."

The realization left a cold stone in Gil's stomach. He looked around the emptying dining room. Any one of these students could be watching them, planning.

"Did you get a good look at them?" Millie asked Gil.

He shook his head. "All I saw was that old cloak. They were short, though. About my height."

"We should go back to Slater's Pass," Millie said. "See if we can find any clues."

Hammen grimaced. "Don't think so. Whoever did this is waiting for us to slip into a dark alley. I hate to say it, but we shouldn't go to the Pass for a while. Not until we know more about the attacker."

They sat in silence for a time before Millie pipped up. "In the meantime, how about we head to the Silversmoke tomorrow? If someone is plotting my demise, I’d rather have a bit of a tan when I get snuffed."

"Same," Hammen said.

Gil was about to agree when he groaned. "I have to finish that essay on distillation."

"No problem." Hammen said. "You can finish it in the morning. I'll go to the Egg with you, and we'll meet Millie once you're done."

"You don't need to wait for me," Gil said.

Millie smiled. "That’s what friends are for."

Chapter 9

"Distillation of alchemical compounds." A lump disfigured the Egg's smooth exterior. The lump rounded into a knob, and Gil pushed the door open.

Hammen whistled and followed Gil inside. He closed the door behind them, which was now a bookshelf of brightly bound spines.

Pale pink light rained from the dome overheard, a softer shade of the rising sun. A handful of older students sat at a table, passing sketches back and forth. They looked to be studying art of some kind. Judging by their disheveled hair and hooded eyes, they’d been here all night. A flock of books zoomed across the hallway, a scribe hurrying after them with a broom.

Gil turned back to the bookshelf. "I have to find some evidence for my essay. Did you bring some homework?"

"More of a personal project," Hammen said distractedly, watching the scribe swing for one of the books.

Gil glanced at Hammen. "What’s that?"

Hammen only smiled and began strolling along shelves, poking at spines randomly. Gil couldn’t help it. He murmured “Reductions of Common Fungals and Roots." Nothing happened, and he quickly added, “9th edition." A fat book wiggled on the shelf beside Hammen before tumbling off the shelf. It’s spine arched, flaps flared, but its belly of pages was too heavy. Its wings beat once, twice, before it thumped into Hammen, who let loose a surprised howl. The art students muttered something about “...first termers,” and left haughtily. Hammen caught the book before it hit the floor. He eyed it distrustfully.

Gil laughed. "Brilliant, isn't it?"

Hammen was baffled. "How did...What?"

"Just say the name," Gil said. "The book will come, assuming nobody's reading it."

He grinned. "How did you find out?"

"I was frustrated,” Gil said. “I couldn't find a book and asked a scribe where it would be. She just told me to be patient."

Hammen still seemed skeptical. He eyed a book at random on the shelf. "Floral Compounding by Mariander Plumer." The book wiggled from the shelf and flapped over to him, floating at chest level. He clapped Gil on the shoulder. "This is incredible!" He looked at the hovering book. "Does it go back?"

"Easy, tell the book 'farewell'."

“Farewell,” they both said. Their books flew back to the shelves and nestled in.

Hammen frowned. "This seems like an enchantment, but it doesn’t require any foci or mindscaping. I’m not sure why it works then. Whoever built the Egg must have known all kinds of students would use it, not just enchanters."

"Good on them. I have enough on my plate with alchemy. I'm going to get a start on that essay."

"Great. I’ll just do a bit of reading over here. Let me know when you're ready to head to the Silversmoke."

Hammen disappeared into the shelves. Gil found a few likely books and set off for a table. He passed several occupied work tables before spying a free one tucked amidst the bookcases. As he made for it, he saw Reya alone at a table, pale hair curtaining her face as she wrote.

He joined her.

She looked up and smiled. "Here for the essay?"

"Unfortunately." Gil set his books down across from Reya's stack. "You as well?"

"I probably should, but I've been finishing up a letter to my parents, but it's time for alchemy."

Gil felt suddenly guilty. He had been so busy this term, he hadn't even thought to write home. He was glad Reya was more thoughtful. "I'm sure your parents appreciate hearing from you very much."

A strange look crossed her face. "They do enjoy hearing about Hazeltop. They’ve never been here, you know."

"Mine haven’t either," Gil said.

"I'm sure they love hearing how you’re doing out here. All the magic and everything."

Gil couldn't say he'd forgotten to reach out to his parents. "Yeah, they would. I’ll catch them up over winter break, too."

"Oh, that makes sense."

Gil felt he was missing something. "Won't you go home over the break?"

Reya grimaced. "The Barony is a long ways off. Past the Mooncap Sea."

"That would be a long trip." Gil paused. "What brought you all the way to Hazeltop?"

"I need to learn magic," she said. "The Barony doesn’t have any school for magic."

"Well, I'm glad you came to Hazeltop." Gil flushed as soon as the words were out, and quickly said, "I think you would really like Millie and Hammen. They're wonderful, and I was going to meet them at the Silversmoke this afternoon. You could join us, if you want"

"I'm, I'm not so sure. I don't really know them very well, do I?"

She looked nervous, and Gil hurried to reassure her. "They're wonderful, really. Hammen's could show you some card tricks, and I bet Millie's already at the Silversmoke with Ash just waiting for us."

"I bet she is," Reya said, and there was an edge to her normally soft voice. She leaned over her letter and scratched out another line.

They lapsed into silence. Gil didn't know what he had done wrong. She had seemed friendly, excited to see him. He struggled for something to say and failed. Thinking it best to let the cauldron cool, he turned to leave.

"I'm sorry. It is just difficult for me to make friends here, and you're really the only one I have so far. I'd like to meet Millie and Hammen, but not quite yet."

"Deal."

The awkwardness passed, and they settled into the comfortable silence they had grown used to sharing in the library. Gil inched through his essay, and Reya began her own after finishing the letter. She raced through the essay, pausing only to reference the distillation books beside her. When her essay was four pages long, twice the requirement, she packed up.

"Done already?" Gil asked. He was crawling his way down the second page.

"I better get this to the conduction office before it closes for the afternoon."

"Definitely, don't want your parents to miss that letter," Gil agreed.

Reya paused. "I have a few questions before our next alchemy class. Would you have time after the lake to meet?"

"Of course," Gil said. "Do you want to meet at the cauldron, or should we meet back here for more research."

Reya seemed to be having trouble buckling her bag closed. "Well, the Flask would be fine. You’ll probably be hungry."

"No need," Gil said brightly. "Millie's organizing a picnic at the Silversmoke, so I shouldn't be too hungry. Smoked fish, bread, and apples she was getting from the Flask, I think."

Reya closed her bag. "Good. That's a good idea of hers. Well, we can meet at the cauldron, if that works for you."

"Excellent," Gil said. "Does 3rd bell work?"

"I'll see you there," Millie shared a small smile and left.

Gil wondered what questions she had that he could help with. Normally he was the one asking her the questions. He shook himself and returned to his essay. Sooner done was sooner fun, after all.

He left the Egg with Hammen an hour later, just before the noon bell. They were both hungry and very excited for the spread Millie had promised at the Silversmoke. They made their way north on Hazel Way. The autumn air was crisp but not yet cold, and the trees interspersing the Flask and the Cauldron were a fiery gold.

"It's good to have you back," Hammen said. "For a while there, I was scared of the mist. Thought you had tried to get me in that alley."

“Me too,” Gil said, and they clapped each other on the back.

The lake was a smooth pan of molten gold beneath the midday sun, broken only by the odd burst of a silver bubble. As always, the faintest mist hung above the Silversmoke. Students sat at the docks, feet swinging above the water, enjoying the last weekend before midterms. A cluster of girls were studying in the shade of a towering oak, but everyone else had given the day to leisure.

Hammen was first to see Millie, who sat on a blanket at the sandy shore of the lake. Ash lay at her feet, and they were looking over the silky laketop.

Gil tried to catch her eye, but she was focused on the water. Ash spotted them and wagged his tail eagerly. Millie turned. "You finally made it. I thought Ash and I were going to have to eat all this fish ourselves, not that we would have minded." She fanned out another blanket for them, revealing a basket of smoked fish from the Flask.

"I'm starved," Hammen said. "Gil deserves top marks on that essay, with the time he spent on it."

"I wasn't working the whole time," Gil said.

Millie, who did not much like the library, turned to Gil. "What else is there to do in that pit, besides work?"

"Well, I was talking with Reya a bit. About the essay."

Hammen nodded wisely. "About the essay. You should have invited her here. We could finally meet her."

"She's just a little shy," Gil said. "But you’ll like her. She’d probably do your homework better than you can."

Millie opened the basket, and the air was rich with garlic and rosemary. "Sign me up, but I'm leery of anyone that spends that much time studying. Except you, of course."

"Funny thing for a student to say," Hammen said.

Millie grinned. "You're no model either, Hammen Oatley."

"Priorities, Millie Featherstring."

Gil turned to his fish sandwich, as he’d heard this conversation pan out several times.

Fear wore three faces, Lorace had said in their last Wondercraft lesson. The first was avoidance. A woodsman afraid of the dark could labor throughout the day to collect underbrush and branches for the night's fire. When darkness came, the flame would bring light and comfort.

The second face was oblivion, the well-traveled path. Rather than working through the day to build a fire, the woodsman can fill the night with song and conversation, story and games. Even if the fire burns low, the haze of tale and tune will veil darkness and fear.

The last and least of the faces is truth. When night falls, the woodsman strings the bow and sharpens the arrow. He sleeps soundly but not deeply and wakes with the morning, knowing the night's dangers have passed.

As midterms approached, Gil wondered what faces they wore.

Lunch passed and Ash went for a swim. Millie closed her eyes and began to play the lute, filling the air with sweet chords and words. Gil found himself itching to pull a book from his bag. The alchemy exam would definitely have a few questions on conflating MINs to calculate a potion's potency. He was pretty confident, but it wouldn't hurt to brush up a little bit, just in case. He could bounce a few questions off Reya later when—

Ash erupted from the lake, black body gleaming with water. He raced to Millie and collapsed at her feet, cowering and shaking. "Oh no, what is it Ash? You're ok. Everything's ok." She put the lute aside and murmured to him, feeling his neck and back for any sign of injury. "Did something scare you? You're safe now. It’s ok."

A large bubble popped in the shallows, belching thick, green mist. A dorsal fin broke the surface, heading for the shore. Hammen's face was draining, but Millie had not seen. The fin lurched toward them, and Gil saw a long, silver body. But this was not the smooth, fluid movement of dragons he had seen before.

He had one moment for fear to flush him before the drake burst from the lake and thrashed onto the beach, spraying sand and water. Shouts erupted along the shore and hillside and students scrambled and ran. The drake was large as a horse and watched them run with pale green eyes. A steady trickle of blood dripped from its mouth as it turned to Gil, Hammen, and Millie. Webbed talons curled into the sand, and it lurched forward.

Ash leapt aside with Gil and Hammen, but Millie had lost her footing. The drake bounded toward her, tail arcing high.

"Brium," Hammen shouted. “Adibume.”

Light puffed into being beside the charging drake. Snaps and cracks issued from its other side. Sand soared as the drake charged, unaffected by the spells.

Gil ran to Millie, heart thundering, and drew powdered horn and mudweed from his cloak. He gripped them tightly. “Brindle!” There was a crack and smoke geysered from his handGil. He yanked Millie after him. The ground shook as the drake landed where they had been.

Millie's hand slackened, her voice a whimper. "I can't see. I can't see anything."

"Quiet," Gil hissed. "It can—"

But the drake had fallen silent. There was only the murmur of distant shouting, the hiss of the smoke spewing from the mudweed root. He cast it away from them. The world was thick with smoke, and Gil didn't know where Hammen was. Cold sweat broke his skin. His hand brushed something slender at Millie’s side. Her stylus. He pressed it into her hand, but she was shaking her head, face bloodless.

"Over here, stupid beast," Hammen yelled drunkenly.

Something cracked near Gil, and a sandy hiss told him the drake had turned. It would leave the smoke and find Hammen defenseless and nearly incapacitated after the enchantments. He closed Millie's hand around the stylus and padded toward Hammen's voice. His hands fumbled through the pockets of his cloak and landed on rosegrass and horn. Would it even affect the drake, or just put him, Millie, and Hammen to sleep?

"That's right! Let me get a piece of you! Woah!"

The smoke on Gil's left brightened, and searing heat licked the side of his face. It was flame, and the alchemical smoke evaporated instantly. The drake's legs became clear, then its barrel chest, and finally its open jaws, spewing a pillar of fire. The tree beside Hammen was enveloped in flame. It blazed as each autumn leaf caught fire in a moment.

“Missed!” Hammen yelled. The drake drew breath once more.

Every alchemist must master flame. Gil drew his pouch of nullicant from his cloak. His timing must be perfect. He watched the scales strain across its chest. The muscles of its neck flexed and the jaw opened. He threw the pouch. As flame blossomed toward Hammen the nullicant intercepted the molten stream,. There was the sound of stone shattering. The flame vanished. The drake made a dry clicking noise at Hammen, but nothing happened.

"Neat," He called to Gil, and then the tail whipped from the last of the smoke and caught him across the back. Hammen crumpled, and the drake hissed, eyes flashing.

"Ventorume.”

A gust kissed the lake and tossed a sheet of water over the drake.

"Ferrume."

The water hardened to a skin of ice, encasing the beast. Gil turned toward the voice and saw Master Vail was striding across the shore, flask and stylus aloft. Her stylus cut a glimmering rune into the air and bands of blue light wove over the ice prison like a silken web. She knelt beside the drake's head. Its mouth was bound with the silken light, and it watched her angrily. Master Vail unstoppered her flask below the beast's snout. Gil saw no smoke or steam, but tension drained from the drake. It relaxed. The green eyes closed.

Hammen groaned and tried to sit. Master Vail was at his side immediately, murmuring and easing him down. Gil approached, stomach sour at the sight of Hammen's face twisted in pain.

Master Vail took Hammen's hand. "Travien." He let out a relieved breath, and her face tightened.

"Will he be ok?" Gil asked.

"Thanks to your most effective use of the nullicant, yes. Yet, I wonder why your action was necessary." She inspected the slumbering drake.

"It just came for us," Gil said. "Right onto the beach. Nearly took a bite out out of me and Millie before trying to cook Hammen."

"A bite, you say?"

Gil nodded, and Master Vail returned to the drake, running a finger over a large molar. Gil tensed, waiting for the eyes to flare and the teeth to bite.

"It is quite asleep, I believe," Master Vail said. Gil approached, but stopped several paces the creature. She gestured to the jaw. "Notice the water dragon's teeth, flat and wide. Designed for grinding vegetation and sea stones to strengthen their scales. Rarely do they attack other creatures, save to defend their young."

Blood trickled from the corner of the drake's mouth, and Master Vail frowned. She looked closer, and something glimmered in the drake's gum. She gently eased it free, murmuring an incantation to close the wound. Her hand trembled for a moment before Gil identified what she held. A shard of broken glass, striated with silver lines. Alchemical glass.

Chapter 10

The following morning, Master Vail called everyone to the Green for the second time. The same students filled the stands. The same host of Masters sat at the stage. It was the air that was different. Cool, where earlier it had been warm. Heavy with apprehension rather than excitement. Silent, with not a lute or laugh. Only the dry whistle of wind through a pipe hanging from the Yeatree broke the silence. Millie and Hammen were gone too, taken to the Ward. Master Vail had healed Hammen's back where the drake had struck him, but she thought it best for him to have a good night's rest. Millie had been unharmed, but she was rattled after the attack, unwilling to even let Ash out of her sight. She had been given a mug of chocolate and a sleep potion.

In their place sat Reya, looking worried. Gil had found her in the Flask late last night after he returned from the Ward. She'd listened to his story, first confused, then horrified, as he told her of the drake and Hammen's injury.

"I'm sure she was," Reya had said, when he’d told her about Millie's attachment to Ash after the Silversmoke. She'd walked with Gil this morning, looking small and pale as they came to the Green. Looking around, many students seemed equally nervous. Word had gone out early this morning to meet on the green immediately, and nobody knew why. Nobody except Gil, Reya, and Master Vail.

The Master stood and crossed the stage to the podium. One thousand students focused on the silver-robed figure. 

"The Yeatree's sigil for this term, the dragon scale, is becoming clear." She paused, and Gil glanced to the towering tree behind the stage. Dozens of oddities hung from its branches, including the glimmer of a small, silver scale. "In years past, the sigils have been symbols or insights into the future. This year, the dragon scale may be a warning."

The Green grew even more still.

"Truth is the surest armor, and I would have you well defended. So it is you must know that three students were attacked by a drake at the Silversmoke yesterday. The drake was waterborn, a gentle creature, and yet it sought to harm children. I was astonished." She raised something small that gleamed in the sunrise.

"However, evidence reveals itself to the watchful, and this shard of alchemical glass came to light." Whispers rustled the stands. "I do not believe," Master Vail said, silencing the Green, "that anyone within these gates would wish harm upon another. It is clear, though, that this drake was led to aggression by a potion, though we cannot say whose hand stirred the cauldron."

"There are those who think poorly of us, of magic, and it is my belief the drake was under their influence. You will also, I'm sure, have heard of the mist. You are curious." She scanned the crowd and seemed to pause on Gil and Reya. “But you must not pursue it. While it’s likely the result of potions draining into the sewer, there may be more at hand than spilled potions. Any students seeking out this danger will be expelled from Hazeltop, for their own safety."

She stook them all in with a final look. "This year will test all of us. Our knowledge, courage, and friendship. Our strength is in each other."

Despite her gravity, Hazeltop was bouncing with excitement and rumors by lunch. Students laughed and grinned, saying how this was like being in a hearthtale. They wondered where the mist would appear next and what it would do. Several people wanted to find it and breathe it in, just to see what would happen. Had they forgotten how dangerous it could be? Gil knew, and so did Hammen and Millie, but they were in the Ward. That left only Reya. Two students in an entire school.

The flask was buzzing with music and conversation around Gil. A lutist was picking her way through Auntie Annie's Apple Tree. Gil could almost believe it was Millie playing, but the illusion was short a dog. He finished his plate and returned to the stack of books he'd collected from the Egg. Fumes for Fools, Draineries: A History of Alchemical Drainage Systems, even the History of the Bell Cauldron, an impassioned analysis of a portly cauldron from centuries past. Master Vail had said truth was revealed to the watchful, but these books were reluctant to share their secrets. There was no wisp of steam or smoke that could do what the mist did. 

Reya entered the front door, long hair dancing in the wind. She glanced over the crowded room to their usual table and found him. She looped her bag over a chair and sat beside him. "You've been researching as well? Any ideas so far?"

"None," Gil said gloomily. "Everyone knows alchemical fumes can be dangerous, but nothing explains the mist. Its not like breathing in some fumes from Flariok's Whisper and hearing voices for a few minutes. The mist's properties are too diverse."

"If the properties are true,” Millie stressed. “At this point, I think half the stories are just made up to impress people."

"Maybe," Gil said, "But that still leaves the other half. We need to stop the mist before something terrible happens."

Reya nodded. "Every poison has an antidote. There must be a way to nullify the mist. Let’s find some more books."

Gil sighed and closed History of the Bell Cauldron. “I don’t think books can help us.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“How many have you read in the last two months, cover to cover?”

“10, maybe 12,” she said hesitantly.

He nodded. “And how many have you skimmed through?”

“Another 50 or so.”

“How many of them mention an evolving alchemical fume that can do anything from paint feathers to melt iron?”

“A potion serves a purpose,” she said, quoting Introductory Potioncraft. “A potion doesn’t evolve.”

“But the mist does,” Gil said. “I don’t think we’ve seen anything like this before. Nobody’s seen this before. And if this is new, we won’t find anything in old books." 

Reya knew what he was thinking, and she looked as terrified as he felt. Her voice fell. “Go after the mist? Even if we could, did you hear Master Vail? We’d be expelled. We have to start with books first, give them a chance.”

Gil nodded hesitantly. “I suppose, but if we don’t find anything—"

"Would the chicken and vegetables be good for you tonight, miss?" The voice was pleasant and courteous. Gil turned and was surprised to see a smiling Wilkus, who seemed to be doing his best butler impression. Wilkus' grin failed as he looked between Reya and Gil.

"That sounds lovely. Thank you, Wilkus."

He made a jerky bow and hurried off.

“I would take some too, if you don’t mind,” Gil called.

Another server returned with Reya's dinner, and they spent the evening flipping through books and discussing the mist. 

The night brought no revelations. Nor did the following week. Gil woke, went to class, and researched with Reya. They poured over tables of alchemical constituents, the last dozen issues of Alchemist's Annual. Gil listened to excited second-term alchemy students jabbering about how the mist could worsen and cancel their final exams. His own coursework began to slip as he invested more time with Reya in the Egg.

Hammen and Millie returned from the Hospital Wing early the next week. Hammen's back was healed, and the only evidence of the drake attack were the stories he relayed to his host of eager listeners. Millie's panicked stare from the beach was gone as well, and she was her cheerful self. Ash accompanied her everywhere, and Millie was soon singing at the Flask again, to the cheers of everyone. Neither Hammen nor Millie fixated on the mist as Gil did. In fact, they seemed hardly concerned with it. Hammen only viewed the mist as a riveting story. One that they lived in, certainly, but as dangerous as watching a circus act. With each passing day, his account of the drake attack grew more fantastic, until it hardly matched what happened.

Millie had little difficulty settling back into her schedule, which was now two or three schedules smooshed together. She seemed even busier than before the attack, running from class to watch some sparring at the Arena to a Blocks tournament at the Green. She began grabbing food from the Flask and eating on the go, as though she couldn't spare a few minutes at the table. When Gil intercepted her, she had to leave before he could really hear how she was doing.

The mist was not resting either. Mistings grew more frequent, and another student was sent to the Ward with a strange case of hiccuping once every ten minutes.

As the days shortened, Gil's nights lengthened. After a week of fruitless research between classes, Gil and Reya started meeting at the Egg after dinner for a few more hours of research.

"It has to be the spilled-potion theory," Reya said for the dozenth time. The hour was late. "It's the only way to explain the different reactions to this mist. Each mist must be the product of different potions mixing in the sewers."

Gil sighed and let his book thump shut. "Yes, but that doesn't explain the mist in Slater's Pass. Grent has a completely separate sewer system, doesn’t it? How could spilled potions have drained into another sewer system a half-mile away?"

Reya shrugged. "It's the only thing I can think of. Nobody's seen this before."

Her comment reminded him of their conversation weeks ago. A cold stone of worry settled in his stomach. "Maybe we've been looking in the wrong spot. We're reading about stuff people have already figured out and applying it to what we know about the mist. I think we need to start some hands-on research." Gil waited for her to say no, that she would not risk her place at Hazeltop, the school that she had traveled so far to reach.

She drew a deep breath. “The mist must be stopped.”

The following days blurred. Gil forgot the properties of gnump root in herblore and nearly fainted when he smelled the knobby tuber, which didn’t affect the Master of Herblore at all. His cauldron spat angry smoke when he swapped a fiffel of slug slime for a dram. Lorace asked if he was ill in Wondercraft. Even Master Drayborne sent a stack of plates back to the kitchens because they did not gleam sufficiently.

His mind was elsewhere, picking through the plan he'd made with Reya. They had no idea what to expect, of course, which made planning all the harder. It was one thing to react to danger, as he had done on the beach, and quite another to seek it out. His stomach tightened, and his mind returned to planning.

For once, he dreaded the approaching weekend. It only seemed to come faster, and before he knew it, Hammen and Millie were off for the day in Grent. Gil busied himself with an essay on the defensive properties of iron armor for defense class. Two hours later, his parchment was still blank, and he was staring at the same paragraph of his textbook.

Iron, as armorers keenly understand, is repulsive to most magical attack. A sleeping charm or lock-leg rune has a negligent effect upon the armored, making a full suite of iron most welcome to those with magical adversaries. Indeed, accounts tell of enchantments rebounding off iron plate to hit the caster, with unusual effects. Limitations exist, however, that restrict the armored from complete imperviousness.

The hours trickled by, and Gil managed to eek out a few paragraphs that might appease Master Flint. Finally, the spire tolled seventh bell, and he made his way down the staircase.

Reya was waiting for him, looking as nervous as he felt. A server brought them soup, which Gil was glad for. He wasn't sure a solid meal would stay down. They finished and left the Flask, walking down the main path like so many other students enjoying the cool night, free from the burdens of class. Then, they turned into the Cauldron.

The tall hemisphere of stone curved around them, blotting out the fading sunset. Looking back at the path was like looking out of a giant mouth. Students passed, laughing and shouting, unaware of Gil and Reya in the shadowed building. They went deeper, passing the worktables, following the sloping floor to its lowest point. There was the stone grate. Below, Gil heard the faintest drip and trickle.

His stomach was a sour knot. "Ready?"

Reya nodded, and they lifted the grate. It was lighter than Gil expected and came without a sound. He saw the first rung of a ladder in the darkness below. Ice prickled his neck and ran down his spine. He could still turn back, let the Masters figure everything out. He took the first rung and lowered himself into the darkness. His feet met the sewer before long. The floor was wet and sticky. Foul, warm air fought for his nose, and he coughed. He heard Reya join him a second later.

He drew a flask and tipped it upside down, and shook it. Orange light blossomed from the glower, washing the sewer in a warm glow. He drew another bottle and popped the cork. A fresh breeze blew from the bottle, and the foul stench was blown away. "This might help with the mist too," Gil said.

Reya moved closer to the clear air, and they looked around. The tunnel's grimy walls stretched into darkness on either side. A weak stream trickled along, glittering like rubies in the light. "Which way?" Reya asked.

"Let's follow the water." He set the first glower down to serve as a marker when they came back for the ladder. He drew another glower from his belt, tipped it, and shook. Pale blue light flared. They followed the water down the tunnel.

The darkness swallowed the glower’s small light, so they could only see the walls to either side and a few paces forward. Before long the walls fell away as side passages sprouted from the main tunnel. They paused at the intersection. There was only the tapping of dripping water.

"I think we're almost under the Flask," Reya said.

They continued down the main tunnel, burning back the darkness. The stretch of glistening wall broke again, this time by a stone door. The weakest light bled through the silhouette. Gil moved closer. The slab was rough to the touch, scored and chipped as though struck by a hammer. Gil looked lower, but there was no handle, only the door of rough, cracked rock. He pushed, it did not move.

They journeyed onward, ears straining for any sign of someone else, any sign of something else. Reya chose a side passage and they went deeper. Time seemed to pass faster in the sewer. Latticeworks of moonlight hung from the overhead grates, and Gil counted 5 before they heard it. The hiss was soft, audible only between the pattering drips.

The passage turned, and the hissing intensified to a tea kettle in a distant room. "This has to be it," Gil said. "You have the smoke potions and sleeping drafts?"

Reya's hand fell to her belt. "Yes."

The darkness seemed to thicken with each step toward the hiss. Before long, it seemed nearly visible, smoky whisps twisting at the edge of the glower's light. The hiss was louder now. Panic flooded Gil. Searching the sewers had seemed brave, adventurous when they discussed it in the library. They were researching, discovering firsthand facts about the mist. They could save Hazeltop. Every reason evaporated vanished from his mind and was replaced by a cold, numbing fear.

He grabbed Reya's hand. "We have to go. This is madness."

But her eyes were fixed on the darkness. "We have to know. Come on, we are nearly there."

She pulled him forward, and his feet obeyed, splashing through water he could no longer see. The wall beneath his hand fell away as the passage turned. Reya drew a startled, horrified breath. "No, it—"

Gil felt darkness lick his hand, and the glower shattered. As the potion fell, the bright liquid dimmed and dulled until it splashed in the dark water. Gil yanked his second glower from his belt and flipped it blindly. It glowed pink, and the flask shattered again.

"How?" Gil began and saw the fire.

A cherry flame burned far down the tunnel, warming the belly of a massive cauldron spewing darkness. A figure was frozen beside the cauldron, half visible in the firelight. The chest and neck were buried in darkness, and it was only the face Gil saw clearly. A mask of iron. Then, something huge and dark rose between them, blotting out the masked figure. And they were running, racing blindly away. Gil had never been so terrified of the darkness. The hissing roared far behind them, and Gil tripped. His hands and knees struck stone. Reya pulled him to his feet and they ran until they were out of breath. They stopped, huffing, listening, bu there was nothing. Gil sat and drew his final glower. He flipped it, and green flooded the tunnel.

"It works," Gil said dumbly.

That was all that seemed to work. Gil's hands felt thick and numb. He did not feel the cut across his palm. His knees were on fire. Reya wore the same glassy look as Millie had after the drake attack. Gil groaned to his feet, and they trudged back toward the ladder. After an age, Gil saw a weak orange glow. It brightened, and he made out the ladder leading up to the grate in the Cauldron.

"We know someone's behind this now," Gil said.

Reya climbed the ladder. Gil followed her after she reached the top. "We should go to Master Vail. Tell her what we saw."

"We'll be expelled," Reya said, stiffly.

"Then we'll leave a note," Gil said. "Nail it to the door of the Master's Hall and leave."

Their note was short and clear, splattered red with the cut from Gil’s hand.

The mist is brewed in the sewers. The alchemist wore an iron mask, and a creature guarded the cauldron.

Chapter 11

Word of the anonymous note on the Masters' door swept over Hazeltop like wildfire. Gil expected the excitement surrounding the mist to be dampened with fear, but students seemed thrilled at the prospect of a fearsome beast in the sewers. Students studying beastcraft fantasized of finding it, taming it. Bards and storytellers dramatized the mysterious beast, putting on a show on the Green's stage. 

Gil heard his first ode at the Flask, eating with Hammen and Millie. A dark-haired boy stood like a statue on the nearby stage, warbling his way through the chorus.

A beast of shadow and mist,

Hunts our halls and through them crawls,

Searching for fools throughout the school,

To do the deed in our midst.

"The creature was massive?" Hammen asked Gil again.

"Yes," Gil said, looking through the crowded room for Reya's pale hair. He had hardly seen her since the night in the sewer three days ago.

"Did you see any scales or feathers? Maybe some kind of hide?"

"I've told you, everything was dark. I only saw the beast because it blocked off the light."

“Can we be sure it was even real?” Millie asked. “I mean, it could have been a trick of the light. Bright berries, I wish I had been there.”

“It was real,” Gil said firmly.

“Ok,” Millie allowed. “But what’s going on with an iron mask?”

“It’s like in some of the old stories,” Hammen said at once.

They both looked at him strangely. Gil was first to the draw. “What do you mean?”

Hammen grinned. “I seem to know something neither of you do. I like it.”

“Tell us,” Millie said.

“Like I said, some of the really old stories have an iron mask in them.”

“How do you know this?” Gil asked. “And you’re sure they’re not just helmets?”

Hammen raised his chin like a baron’s son. “In case you didn’t know, I’m a student here. I can poke around the Egg, same as you.”

Gil smiled. “Now that you know how to get in.”

Excitement mounted as Master Vail organized a search of the sewers. A letter was sent to Hightower, and two dozen knights soon arrived at Hazeltop. They were quite different than the mustached, chubby knights that patrolled the grounds. These men were solidly built. Their armor was well polished, their horses groomed and strong. Their only deviance from a hearthtale knight was their weapons. A battleaxe with an arcing, chipped head. The browned, sweat-stained pommel of a straight sword. A scarred, beaten shield. Gil knew these were not for show. The search began. Hours ticked by, then days. Each night, the team returned from the sewers with the same news: nothing to report. The search concluded after three fruitless days. The beast's mythic aura began to fade, and students reluctantly turned to studying for the midterm at the end of the week.

*****

The Cauldron was a haze of lavender and mint steam as Gil and Reya worked to complete the day's lesson. The sleeping potion was supposed to be a fern green, but there’s resembled prune soup. Reya finished grinding the mint in the mortar and pestle, and Gil added it to the cauldron. A grassy steam cloud leapt from the potion to swirl in the haze overhead. The potion turned a brilliant green, and they grinned.

This was no real challenge, as they had snuck into the Cauldron last week to make sleeping potions prior to the sewer excursion. Still, Gil was always glad to make a potion well. Master Wicks came around, sniffing cauldrons. He frowned at some, coughed over others. He inhaled their mist, and his eyes eased close. He stood for several long breaths, trancelike, before jerking awake.

"A most excellent draft," he said with a wide yawn. "Well, I daresay this is the strongest sleeping draft of the day. This brings us nicely to the upcoming midterm examination."

Master Wicks shook himself and strode to the front of the room. "In three day's time, your alchemical understanding will be tested. Results will contribute to your eligibility for opportunities in your remaining three terms at hazeltop. Perform well, and you may find an apprenticeship with a Master or be trusted to journey beyond the gates of this school."

"How will we be tested?" a student asked.

Master Wicks’ serious face broke into a smile. "Cauldroneering."

"What's that?" Wilkus asked, but the bell tolled, and the room was filled with chairs scraping on stone and excited chattering.

Gil and Reya hurried to the Egg after dinner. "Cauldroneering," they said eagerly, and a door materialized. A handful of their peers were already there, sitting around a table and flipping through books. Gil looked closer and realized the students were grouped in pairs, partners. Though there were many students in the area, he realized the teams weren’t interacting. In fact, they seemed to be guarding their stack of books from the other groups.

Reya saw his surprise. "It's to be expected. We’ll all be competing in the midterm."

Gil’s stomach flopped. "How so?"

Reya guided him toward a table, and they set their bags down. "Cauldroneering is the oldest alchemy game there is. A cauldron, a few alchemists, and a flower is all it takes, traditionally. We start by brewing something, a poison, wane paint, glowpot, it doesn't matter. The other team has to counterbrew the potion to its neutral state. Something is dipped into the potion, typically a flower, to test."

"And then?" Gil asked.

"Once they counteract our potion, they go on the offensive and brew their own," Millie said. "Then it’s up to us to nullify, and the cycle repeats.”

"Simple, but complicated."

"The best games are."

The cauldroneering shelves were fairly picked over, so Gil settled for Countering Portents with Counterpotions, Antidotes, and Hishwishies. "We should start with learning counterpotions for all the basic stuff from class. That’s what people will start brewing."

Reya nodded. "We'll need to find a few new potions too. Something other students won't know how to counter."

They set to it, reading the counterpotions for Flariok's Whisper, the sleeping draft, and others. Most of the counters were simple, just adding a few ingredients to neutralize the potion. Knowing what counter ingredients to add was the difficulty, as adding the wrong ingredient could amplify the potion's effect or transform it altogether. The opposing teams trickled out of the Egg one by one. Reya seemed even more interested in counterbrewing than in brewing itself. Even Gil’s sharp mind began to wander after staring at a long list of ingredients, but Reya soaked up the counterpotions eagerly. He was glad she was on his team. 

Meanwhile, Hammen had returned to visiting Grent after classes, and it became difficult for Gil to find him. Hammen returned to their room late each night, smelling of mint. Gil thought he might have been visiting a teahouse, but Hammen looked far too exhausted for anything so ordinary. If Gil wasn’t so busy preparing for midterms, he would have stayed up to ask Hammen what he was doing.

Millie was largely absent as well. She had taken to exploring the Orchard and Woods with Ash. She sang a double shift at the Flask and organized a Blocks tournament the night before exams. She seemed filled with a tireless passion to act, to experience all that Hazeltop could offer, short of the education. Gil was no longer sure she was attending class, and he was too busy with classes, homework, and shifts in the Egg with Reya to track down Millie. 

The following night, Gil and Reya brushed up on brewing. The last night before the midterm was searching for odd potions that might give them an edge in the cauldroneering contest. Gil found instructions for a belly bubble potion that would set the drinker's stomach butterflying for hours. Reya found Graybeard's Brew, which made you look older than you were for a time. If brewed incorrectly, you might actually become older. Cindricicle could cool a fever. Stumpwat made you sick if you drank it while in a bad mood, but it made plants grow quickly during the night. Gil found several conflicting definitions for a Hishwishy, which seemed to be anything from a tonic for bad breath to a shoe shiner.

There had been no mistings since the knights searched the sewers. Maybe they had scared the alchemist away for good. Perhaps the mist was connected to midterms. Maybe the mist's absence was coincidental. And so Gil slept the night before midterms. Unsure where Hammen was, what Millie was doing, what cauldroneering would bring.

Lunch was a watery soup. Gil was glad for the light meal. He felt as if he'd chugged a bottle of Bubble Belly, and his nerves increased as he made his way to the Cauldron. Master Wicks had said his future opportunities depended on how he did today. What opportunities? He was trying to remember ingredients and counterpotions when he heard a soft voice.

"Ready?" Reya had joined him, books tucked under one arm and a bag slung across her back. Her eyes and nose were very red.

Gil froze. "Are you ok?"

"My parents," she said, and her voice caught. "They're coming here. to Hazeltop."

Reya's mouth quivered, and Gil felt he was missing something. "Isn't that, I mean, won't that be nice?"

She hugged him, and Gil was too surprised to respond. She stepped back, wiping her eyes and nose. Gil found something interesting to watch by his feet while she recovered. Her breathing calmed, although her voice was still strained. "I'm sure everything will be fine. Come on, let's go to the Cauldron."

Gil followed, and Reya seemed almost herself when they reached the arching, gray building. Master Wicks was inside, arranging ingredients and checking cauldrons.

Students stood around, unsure what to do. Several were pale, and one peered owlishly around, dark rings around her eyes from lack of sleep. The remaining students trickled in over the next few minutes. The class seemed smaller than normal, and Gil realized Wilkus was not there. He felt a growing panic for the boy. Missing the midterm would certainly result in failing the class. There were still a few minutes before the bell rang. He could search for Wilkus, bring him here. As the thought crossed his mind, a breathless, sweaty Wilkus peered into the Cauldron. Seeing them, he sighed and entered.

"I am glad you made it," Gil said, hearing the relief in his voice.

Wilkus seemed surprised by that, and they had only a moment to look at each other before Master Wicks began. "Cauldroneering, as I'm sure you know now, is a marvelous game with roots deep in the history of alchemy. Neither enchanting nor runology can boast such an enduring contest. Cauldroneering was once the very test by which a pupil would eclipse their master. Among alchemists, it was often used to settle disputes or establish mastery. Today it will assess your grasp of the alchemical principles."

He raised a parchment and a rose. "You and your partner will face another team. Whichever team's potion affects the flower wins, and you may use any of the ingredients on your table to reach this end. Any questions?" Silence. Gil thought he heard the faintest hiss, as though foreshadowing the cauldroneering ahead. Master Wicks clapped, eyes dancing. "Let's begin."

Gil and Reya were facing Wilkus and his partner, Meggy, in the seventh round. Part of Gil was glad for this. He could watch the first six rounds, maybe learn some strategy. The other piece of him, the nervous bit, wanted to get the match out of the way now. Despite his nerves, Gil found he enjoyed watching cauldroneering. There was a beauty to the strategy of it. Each team discussing what the cauldron held and how to counter it. Then, the moment of truth as Master Wicks dipped the flower. Cheers as the counterpotion worked, and the cycle began anew. The game's rhythm was calming, and the matches slipped by. The first match ended when the counterpotion failed to neutralize the cauldron of Bubble Belly, which set the flower hopping and dancing, holding its stem. The fourth match closed as Erin Toffer dropped a walnut into his counterpotion by accident. He froze, hand halfway to mouth, as murky foam frothed to the surface. Gil was laughing with the rest of the class as Meggy Huntles confused her opponent by adding a flurry of ingredients to the cauldron. Frog eggs and diced peppers with ground willow bark, horse hair, and more. The opposing team forfeited asking her what potion she'd made.

"No idea, just threw things in," she said. Master Wicks was not impressed, but everyone else found this highly amusing. Master Wicks dumped the potion down the grate, set a fresh cauldron on the table, and Gil realized it was his turn.

He made his way to the table with Reya, feeling his smile fade with each step. His nerves were gone, replaced with an iron focus on the table before him. Minced gruppies, jars of snail slime, bowls of dark powders and syrups. A dozen potions sprang to mind as he ran over the ingredients. Master Wicks added more. Frost salt, driftwood shavings, rose petals, and Gil's concentration faltered as the master added a broad, heavy scale. Gil had seen that kind of scale before, during the enchanting lesson. A scruffin scale, which could repel magic, the masters had said.

"Meggy and Wilkus, you may begin," Master Wicks said.

Meggy set to work immediately, while Wilkus watched hesitantly. A tall board blocked Gil and Reya’s view of the opposing team’s table and cauldron, but Gil heard a few tell-tale sounds. The hard chopping of some kind of root. The grinding of a mortar and pestle. A bloom of rosy steam. Even though Gil could not see exactly what they were doing, it was clear that Wilkus was not contributing his share. In fact, he looked positively terrified, standing still as a tree. A slow, monotonous grinding came from his area, and Gil wondered if Meggy had given him the mortar and pestle just to keep him busy. Eventually, Meggy carried out their cauldron. It was smooth as milk. It was also green as an emerald and shining brightly. A glowpot, one of the most elementary potions Master Wicks had taught them.

Gil and Reya wasted no time discussing a counterpotion. They set to work, slicing strips of oak from a branch on the table. They added it to the pot, and Gil sprinkled some driftwood shavings for good measure. The dry, hungry wood sucked up the light as though it were true sunlight. The potion dimmed, and Master Wicks dipped a rose. The rose did not glow or react, and Gil breathed a sigh of relief.

“To you, Gil and Reya,” the master said.

"Ok, what should we make now?" Reya asked.

"Bubble Belly?"

"Too many teams have already done that today. We should do something else, something difficult."

Gil glanced over the table of ingredients. "How about a salt salve?"

Reya raised an eyebrow. "The counterpotion is easy?"

"But it's uncommon, and it looks like a half-dozen other potions they could confuse it with. If they can't identify it, they can’t counter it."

The potion was simple. Mountain salt, ground mint leaves, a solution of liquids and saps, and constant stirring to dissolve the salt into the potion. If you stopped stirring, or didn't stir fast enough, salt collected at the bottom, and the potion would be worse than pond water. Reya ground the mint leaves, and Gil stirred the pot until all the pink grains of salt had vanished. “Brindle,” he said calmly, and the surface shimmered for a breath. The result was a plain looking gray potion. Reya helped him set it on the center table.

Meggy and Wilkus came forward. Wilkus was looking around uncertainly, but Meggy was confident. After a few minute’s inspection, she grabbed an evaporator from the cabinet and set it over the cauldron. Then, she took tongs and lowered a hot rock directly into potion. Steam hissed angrily. Great clouds rose from the potion for several long moments as the liquid vaporized. The steam was caught in the evaporator and dripped into a separate flask. Meggy looked inside the cauldron. A skin of salt encased the inside, which she scraped out. With it gone, she poured the potion back into the cauldron and smiled for Master Wicks.

Master Wicks nodded and lowered the rose into the liquid. Nothing happened, and the game continued. With each round, Gil noticed Wilkus' contributions decreasing. At first, he still seemed to point toward an ingredient or grind something, but by the third round he was not even watching. She tried asking him to do something, but his face reddened with each of Meggy's quiet directions. There was a sharp crack during the fourth round as he raised the pestle overhead and slammed it down into the mortar.

"Step outside. You've lost control," Master Wicks said sharply. "Alchemy is control and understanding. You are demonstrating your lack of both. You might as well have cast iron into the cauldron and given us all the rust. Be gone."

Wilkus stormed outside, and there was an unpleasant pause. "Carry on," Master Wicks said to the three of them at the cauldron. "You'll have to counterpotion without your partner, Meggy." He paused, brow furrowing, and then Gil heard it. A high, wailing whistle coming from below their feet. Master Wicks spun as mist geysered from the grate and blasted around the Cauldron. 

"Run!" someone yelled, and the world was gray, startled cries, crashing chairs. In the chaos, Gil rammed into his table, sending the ingredients clattering across the floor. He tripped, and crawled forward blindly. Never before had he realized his dependence on sight. His hand reached stone. The Cauldron's wall. The world was swirly wildly. Sounds echoed crazily around him. He felt a cabinet and pulled himself to his feet, taking a few lumbering steps before cracking into another table. He breathed in sharply. He waited for burning heat or icy cold to scorch his lungs, but there was nothing. Only humid, warm air.

There was a bang and a gust that drove him painfully to his knees. The mist whipped away, blasting out windows, rushing out the front of the Cauldron. Several students were sprawled on the floor or clutching tables like Gil. Some had made it outside, including Reya, who looked stunned. Master Wicks drew a handful of clear spheres from his cloak and cast them toward the ceiling. There was another thunderclap, and a fierce wind drove away the last of the mist.

"Is everyone alright?" Master Wicks called.

Nobody said otherwise, and he carefully moved back toward the grate. He stepped carefully around the maze of ingredients scattered across the floor and around the grate. His bucket of roses had fallen, and one red rose hung over the grate. The last of the mist clawed at the flower before dissipating Master Wicks peered through the grate. "A cauldron, at the base of the ladder." His face was unreadable as he dismissed the class.

Gil felt a strange mixture of confusion and elation. Had that really been the mist? It seemed no more dangerous than steam from a teapot, and who had put that cauldron below? Had he even passed the midterm? It suddenly didn’t seem to matter. He was alive and well, as far as he could see, and he felt excellent. Like he could cartwheel around the entire school. In fact, the entire class seemed filled with a sudden energy after the strange ordeal. Fountains of laughter and cheering erupted as they left the cauldron. Teammates embraced, and even opponents smiled and shook hands.

Reya seemed equally joyful at their strange situation, and something in her smile pulled the words from him. "Would you go with me to the Snow Ball?"

"That would be really," She cut off, her grin fading. "I would like to go, really, but I promised my parents I wouldn't."

"Ok," Gil said, and that sudden energy drained from him. Why had he gone and blurted this out? Then, he realized her hesitation and hurried to clarify. "We would be going as friends, you know. That's how Hammen and Millie are going too, so we could stay with them."

“What makes you think I’m not going with someone else?" He flushed royally. He hadn’t even considered the possibility. He should have known someone would have asked her by now. She sighed. “I’m not going with someone else. I’m not going at all, in fact.”

“Oh?”

“My parents,” she explained.

They walked to the Flask in awkward silence. He thought they might part without a word when she said, "Actually, we could do something that day. Not the Snow Ball, but go to the lake or something. You could invite Millie and Hammen. My parents wouldn't be mad then, I think. I wouldn't be going to the Snow Ball."

He seized her idea. "Yes, that's brilliant. I'll check with them. We can get some food and make it a picnic." Reya nodded and headed for the girl's staircase. Gil watched her pale hair weave through the crowd and disappear. What a day, he thought. Time for dinner.

Chapter 12

Millie crunched into an apple. "So she didn't want to go to the Snow Ball, but she’ll meet us all at the Silversmoke instead?"

"Pretty much," Gil said.

They were exploring Grent, which was congested with students in scarves and coats. Exams were wrapping up, and a week of no classes before the Snow Ball was fast approaching. The imminence of freedom ensured everyone was in high spirits, unwinding over cider and music. There would be shows on the green. He could peruse the Egg at his leisure. He would have time to relax, maybe write a letter to his parents. He thought guiltily of Reya, who was probably writing to her parents right now. Maybe they would change their mind and let her go to the Snow Ball. He wondered what her parents were like. The food and music and dancing would be amazing. The morning was cool, nearly cold, and Gil knew the first snowfall was approaching, percolating somewhere in the gray sky.

"I just don't understand her," Millie said. "Why would she avoid the Snow Ball? It’s the highlight of the term."

Gil had also wondered why Reya’s parents wanted her to avoid the dance. He decided to change tact. "You and Hammen are going as friends, right?"

Millie grinned. "Of course. I only like one boy, and he's not much of a dancer." Ash chose that moment to bark at a merchant selling sausage skewers, and they laughed.

The streets were flush with penny plays and puppeteer's, bards and storytellers. It seemed every entertainer from the nearby towns had journeyed to Grent, drawn by the jubilant students. They knew generosity followed merriment. 

The tailors were in full swing as well. The well-established tailors owned shops with gleaming glass and leather sitting chairs. They bustled about inside, all elbows and knees, measuring students, pinning sleeves, hemming dresses. The more enthusiastic, less reputable tailors set up shop on a bare stretch of street. 

A spindly-armed tailor with a wispy beard caught Gil’s eyes and grinned eagerly. “Feeling drab! Come to Brab! I’ll fix that cloak in a…snab” He trailed off, then looked up with a toothy smile. “I’ll do a good job, anyway.”

Gil was saved an answer as another student flagged the eager tailor, who set to work needling and poking at a tear in the boy’s cloak. Along the street, other tailors sewed patches over torn pants and replaced buttons for a coin or two. Businesses boomed in the streets and stores. Students with coin to spare bought new finery for the Snow Ball. Others patched up whatever they had.

"Shines and fittings!" a cobbler called through her shop door. A student bought a gleaming pair of boots from her, black as a cave lake. The next stepped forward, and the shopkeeper beamed. "New slippers for the dance? I must say, a pale blue would accent your eyes so…"

Millie pulled Gil forward toward a penny play boasting a nice crowd. The players wore dramatic, furred robes of an older age, and they moved around a soup pot. Within a few lines, Gil recognized The Heartscale Tale. He enjoyed watching the familiar story unfold. It matched the odes and poems he'd discovered at Hazeltop. A brilliant alchemist and her dying husband. Her quest for the cure. But then the story broke from his parents’ version, and Gil watched as the player sobbed over her husband’s final moments. The story always ended this way at Hazeltop, but why? When his mother told the story, the husband always lived. Had she simply been sparing him from the truth? He did not clap with the other as the actors made their final bows.

They bought bread and cinnamon butter from The Drakefin Inn. The bread was warm and light, sweet with the butter. Millie ordered sausages for Ash, whose tail danced as she lowered the plate to him. Pleasantly full, Gil finally felt the tension of Exams fading. All in all, they had gone pretty well. He hadn’t died in Cauldroneering, for starters. Herblore had been quite easy. The Master of Herblore, or Old Ham, as the class eventually named him, had ordered them into the Thicket to find an impossible scattering of plants, most of which were not in season or did not grow there. They were then supposed to combine the plants to make a delicious soup. After a half hour of fruitless searching, students decided to venture to the Cellars of the Flask. The pickings were easier there, and they returned before long with a sack of vegetables, herbs, and a pot. Ham gummed up the soup eagerly and pronounced, “Good as Nammy’s, this is.”

Gil still sported several bruises from the Defense exam, which had involved a dozen mountain dogs with a stick tied across their back. The dogs had raced around, excited to go from one student to the next. In the process, they invariably clipped someone with their lance. A dozen overeager, jousting dogs racing around the Arena. He had very much enjoyed watching students run and dodge the dogs in the previous class. It had been less fun when he was being scrambled like an egg in a bowl.

Stranger still was Wondercraft. Gil had been at the Silversmoke again with Hammen and Millie one evening. They sat on the hillside rather than the beach. They had rarely returned to the shore since the drake attack. As they made to leave, Gil recognized the master walking the beach. 

Lorace looked up at that moment and approached Gil. “Might I have a few minutes?”

For most masters, Gil knew there was only one answer to this question. With Lorace, though, the question was genuine. So too was his curiosity, and he waved Hammen and Millie on. “Of course.”

“Would you walk with me?” Lorace asked. He led them back toward the lake, which was a sheet of broiling gold in the sunset. As Gil’s feet met the sand, he couldn’t stop a flood of fear from washing through him. It was freezing his limbs, slowing his walk to a shuffle, then to a dumb halt. Lorace’s face was kind. “What do you fear?”

The golden lake shimmered. Something could be lurking beneath any one of those ripples, waiting for him. “Drakes. Dragons.”

“No,” the master said gently, and he knelt at the water’s edge. He struck the water once, twice, with an open palm. His hand cracked against the water in four sharp beats. He continued, and it began to sound like a drum. More than that, it was the cadence of The Heartscale Tale. Water splashed Lorace’s robes, but he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, his eyes were dancing. “The wise have many uses for fear.” He struck the lake once more, the final beat of the chorus. 

 Silence fell. The master was now soaked and grinning widely. Gil wondered if he had lost his wits. Then, there was a flash of silver beneath the golden lake. A fin broke the surface, and a drake glided forward hesitantly. Its head lifted above the water and found Lorace. In a flash, the drake hurtled toward the master. Water sprayed wildly as fins and tail thrashed, eyes locked on Lorace. Gil tried to move, to help, but his feet were rooted. He watched, terrified, as the drake leapt from the water and crashed into Lorace. 

There was a grunt and then a great, rolling laugh. “Oh, Nuzzy. It’s good to see you too.”

Gil realized his eyes were squeezed close. He opened them. Lorace was sprawled in the sand, laughing merrily. The drake was trying to wriggle under his arm, but it was much too large. It flopped onto its back beside Lorace, webbed fins stretching wide. The long tail floated in the shallows, and it flicked water onto Lorace. “Alright, alright,” he said, pushing himself to his feet and scratching along the drake’s neck. It sighed and snorted a little puff of smoke. Lorace looked up, smiling. “This is Nuzzy. I’ve known her quite a long time. I think she’d like to meet you.”

Millie flicked his arm. "Are you even listening? I just heard Hammen outside. Didn't you?"

"What?" Gil shook himself, and the memory of the lake tumbled away. He was sitting in the Drakefin Inn. 

“Look, there’s Hammen,” Millie said.

Gil turned and looked out the window. "I thought he was going to Egg this morning to work on his last essay."

"Must have finished early. Let's go say hi."

They left the warmth of the inn and wove around wagons, looking for Hammen. The nearby lutist trailed off as a dozen squires sauntered by, hands on practice swords. One of them shouldered Gil, nearly knocking him down.

"Your tricks and potions didn't help you there, did they?" the squire jeered. "Next semester, sign up to be a practice dummy." His friends laughed, and they shoved through some startled enchanting students toward a tavern.

"Criminy, are you ok Gil? That boy’s been used as a practice post, I'd say. Didn't his head look a little dented?"

Gil smiled and shook some feeling back into his shoulder. "Wasn’t very happy with me."

"He's probably just jealous. I bet he applied for alchemy and melted the cauldron in his entrance exam or something."

The squires slammed the tavern door shut. People started and turned toward the noise. As they turned, Gil saw the figure. It wore a ragged tawny cloak and passed through the distracted crowd like a leaf through the forest. A hand slipped from the cloak and pinched a few coins from the jar of a shoe shiner. Next were the penny players and a merchant's cart. In the five second's distraction, the figure had lifted coin from a half-dozen players. As the hand returned to the cloak, Gil saw the dark gleam of coppers. He frowned. There were silvers and even a few golds still in the jars? Had the thief missed them? 

The figure slipped into an alley as the crowd eased back into motion, and the music returned. Gil blinked. Should he try to find a knight? Call out 'thief!'? But the thief would be long gone by the time he found a knight, and yelling would only drive the figure into hiding. "There's a thief," he whispered to Millie.

Her eyes were unfocused, panicked. "Where?"

"There, down that alley."

Her panic turned to confusion. "In the alley? You're sure?"

Gil was already moving forward. "Swiped coins and disappeared. Hurry, we can catch up."

Millie and Ash followed him across the street and into the alley's mouth. It was a narrow stretch of cobblestone and would be nothing but shadows once night fell. Now though, it was only a twisting path snaking into the depths of Grent. They went deeper, following the alley's bend. Shops sprang up, distorted reflections of those found on the main streets. A door sighed close beneath a flaking sign for Dreg's.

Gil and Millie inched to one of the shop's grimy windows. The window was level with a shelf of jarred liquids and floating things. Dust had collected on the murky jars, further blurring their contents. Gil was grateful. Even a normal apothecary was unsettling at times. He didn't want to imagine what this apothecary sold. Ash whined, and Gil scratched him.

Beyond the jars was a doorway and then the brown blur of a counter. Grimacing, Gil buffed the window with his sleeve until there was a waxy clarity. A hand drummed the counter, he saw, and something rolled between the fingers in a hypnotizing dance. Another hand appeared across the counter. These hands were smaller, quicker, cleverer. They fanned a row of coppers across the bar like playing cards, and the shopkeep's hand paused, gestured, and disappeared. It returned with a piglet pink flask. The other hand reach toward the flask, wavered, took it. Coins were scooped from the table, and both hands disappeared.

Gil grabbed millie, who was staring blindly into the window. "Come on, we need to go. They’re coming." They hurried away and crouched behind a musty barrel just in time to see Dreg's door ease open. A shadowed face peered left, right. Seeing nobody in the alley, they pushed the door wide. Light fell on the face, a boy's face, and Gil's stomach rolled.

Hammen Oatley slipped a pink bottle into his cloak, and turned down the next alley. Deeper into Grent. Deeper into the shadows.

*****

Gil was scrubbing. His hands were pink and wrinkled in the suds, but he hardly noticed. Why was Hammen stealing, and what had he bought? Was this why Hammen kept vanishing? To steal from any poor sod he could?

Gil doused another plate and scrubbed. Hadn’t Hammen worked odd jobs all year? Where had his coin gone?

"The Dance is tomorrow!" Master Drayborne called across the bustling kitchen. "Tomorrow's lunch must be perfect. I need onions chopped and tomatoes sliced. You—" he grabbed a passing cook and redirected her to a table- "begin shredding greens. The dancers need a light meal before the party. Salad and bread, mostly. Tomorrow's crew will prepare the dressing and toss the salad. Everything must be ready."

The kitchen churned into motion around Gil. Bus boys carried boxes of vegetables and greens from the cellar. Cooks drew knives to chop, peel, and slice. Apprentices ground spices and juiced olives in preparation for the salad dressing.

"Lots, what it takes to make a salad," Bunt said beside Gil. The older man was scrubbing with the same steady motion as Gil's first day.

"What?" Gil's tangled thoughts about Hammen fell apart.

Bunt added a gleaming plate to the rack. "Not my choice of meal before a big dance, but I ain't the cook, am I? I'd a picked somethin' warm'd stick to the ribs. Chops or meat pie. Mayhaps a side of beans for filling, see."

"Salad is a strange meal before the Snow Ball," Gil allowed, and Bunt seized the idea.

"Exactly my thinkin'. Least there'll be fresh bread for you all tomorrow. I'll put in a word with Colton Grenks over there by the ovens. See if I can get some honey served with the bread. I was scrubbing when he was just a chupper, you know. Might be, he'd throw in some smoked beans and..."

Gil let Bunt's easy voice roll over him. There was something comforting in the old man's musings. Bunt had scrubbed for more than 50 years, Gil knew, and it seemed he would for another 50. He had seen so much. He probably knew more about Hazeltop than any three masters added up.

"Then again, bad year for sprouts, they say. Your well'd be wetter if you asked for potatoes. Sweet potatoes, mayhaps, or—"

"Yes, that's brilliant," Gil cut in, and Bunt looked up from his bucket in surprise. Gil had the feeling Bunt hadn't realized he was talking. "Say, have you ever gone down to the sewers?"

Bunt cackled. "Course, I used to bring the slop down every day. Not a far walk, till they buried the sewer door."

Gil's mind rewound to his and Reya’s dash through the damp sewer. "The sewer door? Where was it?"

"Why, you're nearly standing on it. Used to be in the cellar, back by the cider barrels. Afore they mudded the wall, of course."

"Why did they seal the door?"

Bunt squinted into the cauldron, as though the answer were swirling in the suds. "Can't quite say. Might have been 10 years past, maybe 15. Mister Drayborne had joined ‘bout that time and didn't like a smelly cellar, I expect. All those fumes in the sewer and such."

"Evervale," a hard voice called. A hand clamped over Gil's shoulder, nearly pulling him to his feet, and he was looking up at Master Drayborne. "Follow me. You’ll carry onions to the choppers." The master's eyes were dark and unyielding as always, but there was a flicker in them.

Gil nodded. "Yes, Master Drayborne." He stepped toward the cellar, but the hand fell on his shoulder once more.

"After me."

Gil followed the master, his stomach souring. Why had Master Drayborne pulled him aside? They descended the stairs, and the kitchen's din faded to an overhead murmur. Master Drayborne led Gil around the maze of shelves, past boxed apples and barrels of potatoes. The murmur faded to a whisper, and then Gil could only hear the soft steps of the master. There was a hush as the boots slid to a stop, and the master paused, back to Gil, looking through the forest of iron shelves. Gil took a careful step back and his hands fell dipped into his cloak, though he could not say why. 

Master Drayborne drew a deep breath. "You have a date tomorrow."

It wasn’t a question. "I, well, not exactly," Gil stammered.

"Explain yourself."

“Reya and I aren’t actually going to the Snow Ball. We’ll just be at the Silversmoke with a few friends.”

The master nodded to himself slowly, then more firmly. He turned, meeting Gil's eye. "I know Reya's father as it happens, and I just received a letter from him. It seems Reya has been writing to him all term about the dance, asking for permission. Well, tell her that her fondness for this…place has changed his mind. Her father would like her to attend the Snow Ball. You will tell her this.”

"Sure," Gil said, off balance by his sudden good fortune. “I'll tell her right after my shift ends."

"Go now. The kitchen can survive without you. Tell her tonight."

Gil made a quick bow. "Yes, sir. Thank you, Master Drayborne." And he hurried up the stairs, nearly crashing into a weary-looking Wilkus carrying a crate of onions. "Well done," Gil heard from the cellar's depths, and then he was passing the scrubbers, choppers, and cooks.

The dining room was buzzing with laughter and shouts. Millie strummed and sang from the stage, adding a baseline to the ruckus. Hammen was nowhere to be seen. Had the knight's caught him? Was Master Vail questioning him even now?

Girls raced by, trying to hide their newly-purchased skirts and dresses. A squire stood atop a table, posed with hand on his wooden sword hilt like a fairytale knight. His wispy beard was dusted with sugar, and his friends were laughing at him. Millie's song ended, and Ash barked. A table of smithing students clapped and chuckled. An art student sketched a pair of enchanters barn dancing. A busboy slipped past Gil, carrying two flagons of steaming cider. Though moonlight fell through the windows, Gil knew many students would be awake for hours, too excited by the thought of tomorrow to sleep.

Once Gil saw Reya, it was impossible to miss her in the gleeful, rosy crowd. She sat against the far wall, away from the stage and the heart of the excitement. Her's seemed to be the only downturned face in the room. He drew nearer and saw she was bent over a parchment, her veil of pale hair shielding her face. He saw a bit of discarded, purple wax on the table. She must be writing a letter, then, which seemed a strange thing to do in the Flask. The room was infectiously happy, and he couldn't help grinning as he joined her.

She looked hopelessly around the room and ended at the letter. "Gil, I need to talk to you, about tomorrow."

His grin melted. "Tomorrow?"

"I think something terrible might happen, but I'm not sure."

"Why do you think?" Gil asked.

"My parents," Reya began and stopped. "They don't want me anywhere near the Snow Ball. I'm not sure if they want to keep me from the dance itself or something else." She looked up uncertainly. Something was troubling her, and he felt she had been carrying it for days, maybe weeks.

He tried for a smile. "I talked with Master Drayborne just now. He said he knew your father." Reya stiffened and Gil went on. "He said to tell you your letters have changed his mind, and that you should go to the Snow Ball."

Relief washed over her, and a smile slipped through her worry. "Changed his mind? I had hoped, but to hear it from Perius is..." she trailed off before fixing Gil with a radiant smile. "I'm just a little wound up from midterms yet. I think I could use some dancing tomorrow. At the Snow Ball, I mean." She folded up the letter from her parents and bounced to her feet, watching him.

"Of course," Gil said, and Reya surprised him with a quick hug.

"I'll need some beauty sleep," she said, and before he could argue the point, she was off and up her staircase.

He sat there, combing through the day’s events. Wondering. Thinking. He didn't notice as students left the dining room for bed. Nor when Millie's music faded. Nor when the last of the kitchen staff trickled out. Nor did he see the tawny cloaked figure peering through the window or the glimmers running down its cheeks.

Chapter 13

Once more, the phoenix pulled Gil from his dreams. He blinked himself awake. His classmates were already in the hallway by the sound of things, laughing and joking the morning away. They wore fine jackets or handsome cloaks. Several were wobbling through a barn dance, doing some last minute practicing away from the girls. They seemed to lose their knees and elbows, teetering from one leg to the other, arms tense as tree branches.

Gil sighed and closed the door. He did not know how to feel. His own jacket and pants were ready. His cloak hung heavily over his chair. While the cloak had always been a bit lumpy, it was now so stuffed with oddments that it was knobby as knees. He wondered if he should empty it out for the day, just for the dance's sake, but Master Wicks' voice was firm in his mind. An alchemist's hand is ever near the cauldron. Gil knew it to be true. He had come to love the weight of his cloak, the safety it carried. With a few drams from different pockets and a firm Brindle, he could create dozens of effects. A minute at a cauldron and he could brew any of two dozen potions. The knowledge brought comfort.

His eyes rose from his cloak to Hammen's empty bunk. Part of him still did not believe Hammen had fallen into thievery. Hammen was his best friend; there had to be a reason. Surely, the knights had caught him during the knight. They would bring Hammen to Master Vail for questioning, he knew, and then what? Suspension? Expulsion?

He noticed Hammen's Alchemical Folklore book was missing from the nightstand and grimaced. It seemed Misplacement of Academic Materials would be added to his record with the charge of Thievery.

The hour dripped by, and Gil's worry was washed away by a stream of fearful anticipation. Last night, Reya had agreed to go to the dance. The Snow Ball. He had wanted this, of course, but only now it was occuring to him that he might actually have to dance in front of other people. They would all be watching him, probably laughing. He eyed his lumpy cloak and imagined how it would swing around him like a sack of stones. It was one thing to sit at the Silversmoke and talk with Reya and Millie. The Snow Ball was a different beast entirely. The noon bell tolled, and there was were whoops and hollers from the hallway, followed by a stampede of boots heading downstairs.

Gil sighed and changed from his pajamas into his pants, jacket, and cloak. Then he stepped into the hallway and followed the stream of jabbering boys going downstairs to the dining room. The room was busy as bees. Students clogged the floor, sat on and around the tables, hopped on the stage. There were bright dresses, polished chainmail, streaming cloaks. Through the mayhem wove bussers holding high trays of garlic bread and salad. They handed these to students at random and vanished back into the kitchen, only to reappear a moment later with another tray. A piper played merrily to Gil's right. A lutist accompanied a trio of singers to Gil's left, two of which were plugged with garlic bread. The swell of students behind Gil forced him deeper into the room.

"Can't wait for the Walk. What could be more romantic?"

"It's true, you know? Oh yes, Masters will be showing off at the Green. I expect it's the only reason they permit this terrible dance, for a bit of showmanship."

"A great dome. Saw the snowflakes myself this morning."

Snatches of conversations assailed Gil from every direction, booming overhead like thunderclaps, hissing like water over a campfire. He tried to step back toward the stairs. Something crashed into his shoulder, and a heavy squire shouldered past. "Move, rusty."

More students flooded in, and now there was hardly space to move. "This one's for you," said someone nearby. A bowl of greens was thrust at him, and Wilkus vanished back into the crowd. Gil was surprised, but speared a few greens from the salad. They were quite good. A passing busser tossed him bread, and he finished his light lunch in a few bites. He stood awkwardly with his bowl, wondering where to put it. Everything seemed so disorganized. Why wasn't Master Drayborne coordinating the lunch? Looking around, Gil couldn't see the Master’s tall frame anywhere.

A train of sleeves and braids cut off Gil's search. He was jostled farther into the room. Panic rose in his throat as his feet slid across the cider-stained planks. He would get back to his room. He had to. This was no place for him, here with all these people. He tried to set his feet. A broad smithing apprentice laughed and gestured wildly, catching Gil on the arm and staggering him.

He tried to shout, but his throat was tight and heavy. The room was impossibly loud; chaotic. He stumbled toward the only bare piece of wall he could see. If he could just reach it, he could steady himself, catch his breath. A table cracked next to him as four students leapt atop it for a better vantage. It toppled before him and laughter rang out like thunder amidst a heavy rainstorm. His shin barked against the broken table. Tears blurred his vision.

A calm voice slipped beneath the chaos. "Just a little farther."

Steady hands found his, and he was guided around the table to the wall. He leaned against it and let out a shaky breath. His sight cleared after a few moments, and he saw Reya's worried face. She'd worn a dark dress that made her hair all the brighter.

He fiddled with the pockets in his cloak and cleared his throat. "Thank you. I don't do well with crowds."

"I know," she said.

"Really?"

Reya smiled. "It's obvious to anyone that knows you."

Light swept across the Flask as the front door opened. Master Vail stood in the doorway. Her hair was a spool of silver thread, and her robes were the green of a summer pond. She pulled a vial from her belt and sipped. When she spoke, her voice boomed over the room, which fell silent. "You have long waited for this day, no doubt, and it has come. Your enthusiasm," she eyed the broken table and puddles of spilled cider, "is apparent. Let us hope your dancing proves equally energetic. Before then, though, we must walk to the Green. The Walk is not far, though I think you'll find it most fascinating."

She stepped outside, and students streamed after her. Immediately, the tension began to fade from Gil as space opened around him. He and Reya waited for several minutes as the Flask cleared out before joining the tail end of the Walk. Gil's first outdoor breath was cold, fresh, and sweet with music. Far ahead, he saw the lone figure of Master Vail leading the Walk, a river of dresses and cloaks trailing her. Masters lined the road, smiling and nodding, though Master Wicks was solemn as ever.

Millie emerged from the herd of students and beelined for him. Her eyes were wide, and her breaths were coming fast. “There you are. Hey, I need to check something before the dance. See you later.”

Gil expected her to return to the Flask, but Millie and Ash disappeared back into the crowd. He wondered what she needed. There was a distant rumble like bark over stone behind him. He turned around but saw nothing. The sound deepend and roughed like the groaning of a tree against a storm. Now other students were looking around, an uncertain murmur shivering through the students. It grew louder, and Gil realized a whistle overlaid the deep, scratchy sound.

"Dragon!" someone cheered.

Gil's mouth fell open. The dragon was green against the sapphire sky, wings wide and tail stretched. The wings, Gil realized, were not wings at all but canopies of leaves and vines stretched taut, flush with red fruit. The tail was a tree trunk, which thickened into a torso and shoulders before erupting in a tangle of roots. The highest roots twined into horns while the lower roots tightened into the dragon's head. The dragon soared overhead, and Master Vail's voice fell from above. "The Apple Dragon, Hazeltop's newest member."

"She must have animated a whole tree," Reya said wondrously. "Her Focus must be incredible, to maintain the animation of something so large."

The Apple Dragon passed once more and settled atop the Dragonry to watch them all like a great owl. No sooner had Gil's gaze fallen from the dragon than something wiggled beneath his boot. Some students cried out in alarm, others in delighted surprise, reaching down to something. The ground underfoot burped. Gil stared. There, in freshly-tilled soil beside his foot lay a drawstring pouch. Gil opened it and started in surprise. Blackberries.

"Better than me," Reya said, holding up a tiny, dull orb. "This almost looks like a little glower, but it's all burned out."

All around, students bent to collect their gift. A strange coin, silver on one side and gold on the other. Near it someone donned a wide, flappy hat. There was a glowing vial, a wooden brush, a silver string."

"A gift from the Yeatree," Master Vail announced.

Gil touched the pouch in his cloak with new appreciation. The pouch was soft with short, black fur. The Walk continued. Tiny knights of light jousted through the air. Others hopped from student to student, sparring their luminescent opponent. Two landed on Gil's shoulder, light as leaves. Their twig-sized swords squeaked and dinged as they traded blows until one knight collapsed dramatically. Reya looked shocked until the knight rose again, and they bowed to the onlookers watching the match on Gil's shoulder. Then they were off, jumping up the stream of students.

They rounded the Egg, and Gil saw the Green, or at least where the Green should have been. Today, an ice dome arced over the field, nearly as large as the Egg. The ice glittered beneath the sharp sky, and Gil saw refracted images within the dome—a stage, stands, and the towering Yeatree.

Master Vail led the students through an archway in the ice dome.

"Look at the snowflakes," Reya breathed.

Snowflakes fell from the dome to land on surprised students. Gil realized why as soon as he entered the Snow Ball. "They're warm. Here." He lifted Reya's hand toward a spiraling snowlake. It dissolved upon her palm. She laughed delightedly. Warmth flooded him once again as another flake met his hand.

"My final gift to you today," Master Vail said in her gentle voice, and the amplification potion carried her words across the Snow Ball. "Now, the other Masters have something prepared for you before the dance begins. Kindly make your way to the stands and enjoy." She joined the other masters seated in a half moon around the Yeatree. The other Masters of magic sat beside her. The Masters of Craft sat to her left, and the Masters of Arts to the right. Each Master was dressed for the occasion, adorned with their position's crest. Master Flint, the defense teacher, was squeezed into a silver coat much to small for him, and it seemed his hair was slicked back with some kind of sword polish, judging by the shine.

Students funneled into the stands. Gil and Reya found a pair of seats in the back, and then the Masters of Magic were striding onto the stage. Master Wicks wore an alchemist's darks, which looked plain beside the Master Runist's patterned robes. Master Horatio wore elegant blues. The three masters stood apart from each other. There was a span of silence. Then, they moved as one.

Master Wicks produced a dark vial from his cloak and poured it into the air. It hardened immediately into a dark block and landed upon the stage. Master Knibly traced upon the planks and a white block sprouted skyward. The enchanter murmured. Wind caressed the snowflakes and pulled them to his feet. They pooled and rolled into a smooth length of ice, which balanced on the stage. The masters looked between themselves and their opponents' towers. The alchemist began the challenge, casting a green flask toward the runist. Glass shattered, and the potion soaked into the wood.

"That all you got?" Someone called from the stands.

Then a bright, green line boiled up between the planks and spurted toward the white tower, racing along the gaps between the planks. Master Knibly traced a curve, which caught the potion’s momentum and threw it toward the enchanter. With a word, the potion froze midair, a jagged lance of greenish ice. Another word and the icescape moved. The frozen potion glided across the stage toward the alchemist, pointed toward the dark tower like a finger. Master Wicks smiled thinly, hand in cloak, and drew a ruby red potion. Gil recognized the cork style immediately, and turned to Reya. "That's a mister. See the pin in the cork?"

As he said it, Master Wicks pulled the small pin plugging the cork. A small hole appeared, and the potion reacted with the air, spraying a red mist. The icescape disintegrated. Master Wicks returned the pin to the cork, and the mist cut off.

"Clever," Master Horatio called, and turned to the Master Knibly. "Envigium!" The air cracked as several planks burst beside the enchanter. Students cried out in surprise, then wonder, as the splinters hovered beside the enchanter. Drowsily, the splinters gravitated together into two prickly, wooden spheres, and drifted toward the other masters' towers. The runist moved first, tracing a dizzing series of concentric rings. The sphere passed through the first ring and shrunk to an apple. The second hoop reduced it to a the size of a cherry, and then no bigger than a seed. It bumped against the runist's tower but could not fell the block.

The runist spun toward Master Wicks and traced a slender, unbroken rune. The air before her stylus blurred and warped, as though the very air were laden with magic. As the silver shimmer and orb of splinters floated toward Master Wicks' tower, the alchemist drew a blueberry bottle from his belt and cast it onto the stage. "Brindle," he said firmly.

Blue flames licked up from the stage and stretched in a thin line. Strangely, the wood beneath the fire didn't seem affected. The splinter ball and slithering shimmer passed through the fire. The wood burned to ash, but the shimmer was unaffected by the flame. When it touched the alchemist’s tower, the block was pulled to the planks as though by a great weight. Master Wicks stepped off the stage. Two masters remained.

The enchanter spoke; the runist traced. A dog of lines and shadows sprang from her rune and bounded toward the blue tower. A blade of brown grass pulled itself from the ground and hovered beside the enchanter. Light collected on the blade like dew, until the blade was a shard of burning gold. The golden splinter shot forward, arcing over the dog and piercing the dark tower. The block toppled backwards, a smoldering hole in its center. Students cheered but fell silent as the dog leapt toward the final tower at the enchanter's feet. The lines of its body stretched. Its mouth widened.

Master Horatio's voice was thunder. "Emporia!"

The dog hissed into smoke from jaw to tail. The smoke resembled a dog for an instant as it glided into the blue tower, which gave the slightest shiver. Then a breeze washed the smoke away, and the blue tower stood tall.

Students frenzied around Gil and Reya, but he was quiet, amazed. It seemed Reya was too. The masters had given a glimpse into realms of magic Gil had only heard of in stories. To think he may one day possess a share of that skill was inspiring. So busy was his mind that he hardly saw Master Vail repair the stage's scrapes and missing planks. The masters of magic bowed and left the stage. Master Horatio looked a little wobbly, but he was beaming nonetheless. Students laughed.

 The displays and inventions shared by the Masters of Crafts were lost on him. He listened with half an ear to the songs and poems celebrated by the Masters of Arts. The Master of poetry read a thoolpine, a strange form of poetry that would have confused Gil even if he had given it his full attention. A final ballad was played, and then Master Vail's voice eased Gil from his musings.

"I hope your afternoon, thus far, has been entertaining, informative, and inspiring. I daresay these were as fine a Walk and Show as any I have seen. Perhaps more wonderful by the Yeartree's gift to each of you. Rarely are gifts bestowed. Keep yours dear. Now, enough of my chatterings. You have come to dance, to socialize, to celebrate your successes and failures of the term in style, if I may say. Additional food and refreshments will be brought in shortly. The Snow Ball will continue until the 8th bell, after which the third term students will join me for the Sending. Wagons will depart from Grent tomorrow at noon for any who wishes a ride home. She smiled. "Enjoy the night. Enjoy the winter break. Hazeltop will await your return in the warmth of spring."

A thundering wave of applause rose from the stands. Master Vail left the stage, and a dozen bards hopped onto the stage. Their lutes, pipes, and drums bore runes. Gil wondered why, until the first lutist strummed. Sweet, clear sound filled the vast dome as if it were no bigger than his room in the Flask.

A third term boy hopped down to the grass. A pink rose was pinned to his jacket, and he helped down a girl with another rose in her hair. Gil wondered if he was supposed to find matching flowers for Reya, but she didn't seem to notice. In fact, she seemed more interested with the archway Snow Ball than the dance itself. Maybe she was hungry and waiting for the food. Gil’s stomach was a long way from hungry. Three couples joined the first out on the Green, then another five. Soon there were two dozen dancers twirling and stepping into the age old barn dance as easily as an old pair of boots. The dancers looked at home, unworried by the eyes of a thousand students in the stands. The thought gave Gil shivers.

The bards rolled into a lively, toetapping tune, and students streamed onto the field. Seats around him emptied, and Gil sensed the time was now. Much as he didn't want to dance, he knew Reya did, and that meant he could do it, even if people would be watching him. As the stands emptied, Gil said. "We could go down there, if you wanted to."

Reya tensed beside him.

"For the dance," Gil said quickly. "I mean, we don't have to. I thought you, well." He broke off and glanced at her, but she was nearly turned around, looking behind the stands toward the archway.

Her face was a mask of disbelief, her voice a whisper. "He said."

Gil looked through the dome of ice. He froze. Mist. Spewing from grates, pipes, and windows into a rolling wave swallowing Hazeltop. Twisting toward the Snow Ball.

Chapter 14

The mist rolled forward, consuming buildings and trees whole. Gil couldn’t move, but Reya acted. Her face hardened, and then she was racing down the stands, passing students, nearly running into Master Vail. She waved and pointed. Master Vail turned toward the archway and her voice cracked out like broken glass. "To the Yeatree!"

The bards paused; dancers fumbled to a stop. Then someone shrieked and the everyone seemed to notice the mist at once. "To the tree," Master Vail called again. Her voice propelled students into motion, and a thousand people swarmed the towering tree. Gil hurried down the stands and leapt to the ground, directly before the open archway. He landed heavily and saw something small and white land in the grass. His vial of powdered horn. The mist approached the dome like a galloping stampede. Every instinct told him to turn and run, to seek the tree, but he raced forward to his fallen vial. He fumbled for it, unable to look from the crashing wave of mist. His hand closed over glass, but it was too late. The mist wave crashed toward the archway.

The white wall broke and swirled at the archway just before him, and now Gil saw silver gossamer spanning the opening, barring the mist. In moments, the ethereal bands solidified and expanded into the same icy blue of the surrounding Snow Ball, sealing the mist out. Gil stood up, holding his vial in numb fingers, and turned back to the tree. A thousand faces watched him. He suddenly could not feel his legs, and there was a great buzzing in his ears. He took one wobbly step and fainted.

"That's it," a soft voice said.

Gil was lying on his back. The world was a green blur broken by a halo of pale hair. He blinked the world into focus and realized he was beneath the Yeatree, looking up at the canopy of past sigils. Upon the closest branch hung the dragon scale like a silver star against a green night.

"You're ok," Reya said gratefully. "I thought maybe you had breathed some of the mist before Master Vail sealed the dome."

She helped him to sit, and he looked around. Everyone was huddled beneath the Yeatree, worried and whispering. Mist whorled and rolled outside the Snow Ball, licking over the dome, searching for a way in. "How long was I out?"

"Just a few minutes. After you fainted, Master Vail used a hover charm to bring you beneath the tree. Then she called the masters over to her, and they've been talking ever since." Reya's voice fell to a whisper. "I'm afraid they don't know what to do about the mist. We're trapped."

"A pearl is trapped in a clamshell, but it's also safe," Gil said.

Reya brightened at that. "I guess so. Now we just need to dispel the mist." She looked to the cluster of masters. The masters of magic had stepped away from the larger group and were discussing fervently amongst themselves. Master Horatio was leaning unsteadily against the stage. Nobody was laughing at the enchanter’s unsteadiness now. The masters of crafts had formed a loose ring, several paces from the masters of arts. Master Vail stood between the three factions, watching the students and the white world beyond, separated only by the dome.

"How could this have happened?" Gil asked. "This attack must have been planned. Every student in Hazeltop is trapped here."

"Not every student," Reya said quietly.

Gil frowned. "What do you mean?"

Reya struggled for words, stopped, and said with a strange note of hope. "Millie and Hammen are gone."

"Hammen was probably caught last night. He should be in the detention hall." He looked sharply at Reya. "But that will be in the middle of the mist by now. Hammen will be locked in an iron room. No protection or way out.”

Reya went white and looked out into the mist again, eyes distant. "What can we do for him?"

Gil felt his pouches, ran through alchemical recipes. What could they do that even the masters could not? What could you do against a mist that swallowed magic and spit it back, stronger and wilder? The answer was crushing.

Silence lulled between them, until Reya whispered, "And Millie, she's not here either. Did you see her at all today."

"This morning, but she said she had to grab something before the Walk. I haven't seen her since. I should have waited for her at the Walk. How could I—"

"You didn't know she would be missing," Reya said, and again, her tone rose fractionally, hopefully. "Do you think she's with Hammen now? Are they behind the mist somehow?"

"It almost sounds like you want them to be responsible for this," Gil said sharply, the unfamiliar tang of anger on his tongue. "They are my friends you know. Even if Hammen did make a mistake, he wouldn't do this. I know it. I know him. What aren't you telling me?"

Reya's darted behind Gil, and they filled with terror. Then Gil heard it, the worst noise imaginable, a slow, heavy cracking. He wheeled around as shouts erupted around him. A dragon perched atop the dome, teeth clamped into the icy material. Its jaws flexed, and a sword sized tooth punched into the dome.

The adult dragon was massive with scales green as a glade except those around its mouth, which were bleached a colorless gray. Blood pattered the Snow Ball from cuts in its mouth as it bit and scraped at the dome. The dragon's thrashes drove some of the mist away, and a pocket of air opened around it. Though there were several holes in the dome, the mist remained outside, looking harmless as fog. For a moment, Gil was foolish enough to hope the mist would stay outside. The dragon rose with two powerful strokes, fading into a dark shape and then into the vast whiteness. Mist surged into the vacancy and rushing for the holes.

Master Wicks acted immediately, opening a red potion and adding what looked like mudweed. Vulgar, thick smoke belched from the flask, rising and streaming out the holes overhead. For a moment, the mist seemed to stall, unable to push through the flood of red smoke plugging the holes. But the white swallowed the red and pressed forward and in one, terrible moment, the mist spewed into the Snow Ball. It spiraled gracefully, lazily downward. Students ran, shouted. Master Horatio shouted wildly. Lights flashed into the mist. Wind tried to sweep it skyward. The very air blurred beneath the descending mist, but his spells had no effect, and he collapsed. Master Knibly traced an interlacing web, and a tangle of briars and branches grew over everyone, forming a smaller shield. It would have defended them from an army, but the mist sighed through the briars. The top of the Yeatree was now lost in fog.

Reya clutched Gil, and he watched, terrified, as the Mist sank branch by branch down the Yeatree toward them. There was the sound of lightning striking stone as the dragon burst through the weakened dome and crashed into the ground. It rose drunkenly to its hindlegs, snapping at the mist level with its head. It seemed to take a great bite from the spiraling smoke, and the air around it cleared. The dragon stumbled toward the Yeatree. Bands of light twined through its legs like Gil had seen on the Silversmoke, but the dragon broke them like straw. Ceremonial arrows from the squires dinged off the dragon's heavily scaled chest. The scales turned spells, runes, and potions as it advanced, one lumbering step at a time toward the tree. Suddenly, Gil understood something. Something even the masters did not know. Something only the Yeatree knew.

The mist was to the middle of the Yeatree, although, as he had guessed, the descent above him had slowed. The branch with the dragon scale seemed even lower than before, nearly within his reach.

He looked back. The dragon was snapping at the mist, and yes, he could see it for certain now, the mist was dancing away. An angry, rolling carpet twenty feet above the dragon that would not, could not, draw any closer.

Then Master Vail was dashing to the Yeatree, and the branch above Gil bent another foot, nearly to the point of snapping. It was near enough. He jumped, and his hand closed over the warm dragon scale, pulling it from the branch. Master Vail tore a vine from the Yeatree and cast it toward the dragon's mouth. The vine lengthened in the air and wrapped tightly about the snout. As soon as they touched the scales, the vines began to smoke and crumble away. Tears filled Master Vail's eyes, and she turned back to the Yeatree, resting a hand against the trunk. Her gaze rose to one of the great branches overhead. The air broke with a dozen thunderclaps as the limb ruptured from the Yeatree and arced toward the dragon like a spear. The limb smote the dragon, driving it to the ground, unconscious. Master Flint strode toward the fallen dragon. His iron sword hissed from its scabbard. The scaled head lay before him huffing cinders onto the grass. He steadied himself and raised his sword.

"No," Master Vail said. "There are too few dragons in this world to slay another in fear. The very mist fears the dragon."

Hundreds of frightened students turned toward the floor of mist hovering twenty feet overhead. There was a moment of stillness, and it seemed that everything was bound in a portrait. Dragon, masters, students, mist. Then a breath of wind warmed Gil's face. It smelled of fruit and fresh bread. Murmurs swept the crowd as though carried on the breeze, and soon they were enveloped in a pocket of fresh, warm air. An expanding pocket of air that was swelling, rising, forcing the mist out of the Snow Ball. The air pressed the last of the mist outside and geysered through the holes in the dome. The mist retreated before the onslaught. Buildings and streets sharpened into focus as the mist tried to flee, but it could not escape the now racing wind, which whipped the mist into nothing. Trees materialized, flapping in the wind. Then all was clear, and Gil saw from the Silversmoke to Grent.

A great cheer roared from the crowd. Reya embraced Gil, and he followed suit. Someone fired off a cluster of whizzpops, and a lute began to play. The masters shook hands, grouping around the unconscious dragon. The warm breeze began to fade. Gil realized the snowflakes were gone as well. The Yeatree groaned like an old rocking chair. Its many limbs sagged, and the emerald leaves dulled to a watery green. Sap oozed from the broken branch.

"The Yeatree has protected us, but now it must protect itself and heal. Master Wicks, please procure a sleeping draft for this dragon. The better it rests, the better we do tonight. Master Clomber, if you would take a dozen of your best students, I think they would find an adult dragon most enlightening. A hover charm from several of Master Horatio’s students should suffice to help you move the dragon to a safe location."

She turned to everyone, face pained. "What riddle is this, that mist and dragon attack students? We don't yet know the answer, but this much is clear: Something opposes Hazeltop. This much has always been known but never more so than now. To the Flask, all of you. Wagons will arrive tomorrow morning to bring you home for the Winter break. After that," she trailed off.

Would Hazeltop close? The thought surfaced in Gil's mind, cold and terrible. What would he do if he couldn't study alchemy, couldn't see his friends?

"They will bring you back for the Spring term," Master Wicks said firmly, the other masters nodding with him. "Hazeltop will be ready."

"Of course," Master Vail said. "Now, please follow me back to the Flask. You must stay there tonight, while we ensure the grounds are safe. No student is to leave the Flask under absolutely any condition. After me, if you please." She strode out of the broken dome. Students rushed after her, wanting to be near the Master of Hazeltop. After mist and a real dragon, Gil didn't want to think what might come next.

He and Reya funneled into the line of worried students and traced their way toward the Flask. The line took a very wide berth around the dragon. They exited the Snow Ball in silence. It wasn't long before he heard the shout. Four squires huddled around an unnaturally still boy sprawled off the path. The boy wore a cook's apron.

Reya was petrified beside Gil. The boy on the ground drew a slow, peaceful breath.

"He's alive!" One of the squires yelled. "By steel and stone, you played me for a fool, little cook. Up now, we're to go to the Flask." The squire sat the boy up, but his head only rolled, his breathing deep and easy. The squire shook him, but his eyes did not open.

"It's like he's sleeping, but he can't wake up," Someone whispered.

Word traveled up the line of students, and soon Master Vail was striding back. "You found him like this?"

"Sleeping like stone, Master Vail," the squire said. "What happened to him?"

She knelt, murmuring enchantments over the sleeping boy. He slept.

She groaned and pushed herself to her feet. "Touched by the mist, it would seem." She searched the ground. "He carried no food I can see, yet he was headed toward the ball. This day is full of riddles. Varion and Blaire, take him to Master healer at the Snow Ball. Tell her I will return once the Flask has been protected. I fear others have suffered the same fate as this apprentice. We will search the grounds for other sleepers." The two masonry students seemed surprised she knew their names, but they lifted the boy easily and left.

The remainder of the walk passed in grim silence, each student shuffling their thoughts, knowing the only thing that had stood between them and the deep sleep was the dome and the Yeatree's old magic. And a dragon, Gil thought. He felt the heavy lump in his cloak, the smooth shape of the scale. The line slowed as students funneled past Master Vail into the Flask.

The silence was eerie. Reya’s face was pale and frozen. Gil tried to shake her out of it. "How long is the trip to the Barony?”

"A week by land, then another two weeks across the Mooncaps."

"That’s a lot of traveling," Gil said.

"I don't mean to travel home," Reya said sharply. She seized his arm. “It's my parents. I need to talk to Master Vail as soon as the iron cools around Hazeltop."

"Your parents? What—"

"There you are," Someone hissed. "Hurry up. He's ran off!"

The figure was a shadow in the alley. It was only the stout form of Ash beside her that made Gil step toward Millie.

"What are you talking about?"

"It's Hammen. He stole the Blue Book, and he's gone to Grent."

Chapter 15

"You're sure Hammen stole the Blue Book?" Gil asked.

Millie nodded.

"But why would he?" Reya asked.

They had slipped from the line of students and were sneaking past the Cauldron and Apothecary. Gil had nearly turned back to tell Master Vail about Hammen, but she was lost in the sea of students rushing into the Flask. Besides, the masters had to stop the mist before it returned. That left him, Reya, and Millie to stop Hammen.

"You don't steal the Master of Enchanting's spellbook to put it on your bookshelf. Hammen's desperate, and now he's tipping his cauldron."

Gil's mind raced. "But I still don't understand how you saw Hammen. How did you know he was sneaking around the Hazel House in the first place?"

"It was Ash," Millie said quickly. "He smelled Hammen, and I knew I had to investigate. I found him sneaking into Hazel House before the dance, and a knight seized him. Brought him to the Iron Hall for questioning."

The four of them slipped past the Apothecary and descended the hill. "We barely made it inside when the Mist came. It couldn't enter the Iron Hall. Hovered just outside like it was afraid to enter. The knight brought Hammen to a detention room while I waited with the other knights. Before long, a wind swept the mist away."

"That was the Yeatree, right after the dragon attacked," Reya said.

Millie looked as though she'd swallowed a yam. "Dragon?"

"Yes," Gil said. "But how did Hammen escape? You said he was locked in a detention room."

"Picked the lock, somehow. When the guards went to check on him after the mist, his door was open and he was gone."

Gil saw the scene play out. "That's when Hammen stole the Blue Book from the House of Masters. The Streets were empty, and we were still trapped in the Snow Ball."

They stopped on the hill and peered over Grent. People crowded most streets despite the late hour, and Gil wondered if the mist had descended on the town. What could townsfolk and merchants do against malevolent magic?

"He could be anywhere," Reya said, worry bleeding into her voice.

"I know where he is," Millie said.

Gil knew too. The busiest streets blazed gold with alchemical fire, but Gil looked past these. His eyes swept over the cozy shops and street corners the penny players made stages. Deeper into the city he looked. Street by street, the lights thinned, until they were overwhelmed by shadows. He looked deeper still, and there, in the heart of Grent, lay a stretch darkness. "He's gone to Slater's Pass."

The main street was buzzing with townsfolk. An old, green eyed woman jabbed at Hazeltop. "Saw the smoke right there, yes I did. Like you tooked the lid off a giant pot of soup."

"Might be, one of their dragons turned on them. You heard the baker's boy. Said he saw a dragon flying out of that smoke just after dinner."

"No wonder you aint seen it," the woman crowed. "Had your head in a soup bowl, I'd say."

"I'd agree if I could call your slop soup."

Gil, Reya, Millie, and Ash passed shopkeepers hanging out doors and onlookers clogging the street. It seemed everyone wanted to be part of the happenings, though no one knew what had happened.

Gil met eyes with one shopkeep, and the man grinned. "Potion sale tonight, young master. You'd do yourself a favor buying a few before morning. Smart boy like yourself, you know these might be the last potion's out of Hazeltop. Half the school’s burned, I heard."

"Check your ears," Millie called.

Their shadows lengthened and soon the shops gave way to taverns and inns. The swell of chatter faded behind them, and they no longer had to weave through a congested crowd. The taverns seemed unusually quiet. They passed a half dozen quite as trees before Gil saw light splash across the street as a distant door banged open. They continued forward. With each pace, Gil's unease grew. A smith swung the tavern door open, and a boot stomping song thundered out. He slammed it shut, and the tavern's signpost swayed.

"The Horseshoe," Reya said warily.

"You know it?" Gil asked.

Reya stopped. "My parents told me about it."

"And?" Millie asked impatiently.

"It's no place for us."

"We're not supposed to go to any taverns," Gil said.

Reya was still watching the horseshoe on the sign post. "This one especially. It's a place for people who don't like magic."

Millie frowned and walked forward with Ash. "What's not to like?"

"Many things, if you don’t have it," Reya said.

The door opened once more, and two men stepped out. The first turned to the second. "I say we go up the hill and have a look ourselves. Whole school was in the mist for an hour and should be sleeping like stones."

"Keep it down, ingot brain. Don't know who's listening. A bit of patience and..."

The men slipped into a side street and their words followed.

"How did they know the mist made people sleep?" Gil asked.

"Word travels fast, I guess," Millie said.

Reya shook her head. "They're part of something larger. A plan against Hazeltop."

"Even if they are, there's nothing we can do right now. We have to find Hammen, and soon," Millie said.

The moon bathed the streets in pale light as they advanced. Even now, part of Gil hoped to see Hammen step out of a shadow, grinning and laughing at some joke. Could Hammen really have stolen the book? Too soon, they reached the darkness beyond the torches. Only the moonlight guided them to the familiar branch from the main street.

"Slater's Pass," Reya read from the signpost. "You think he's in there?"

"I'm sure," Millie said, it seemed she was staring deep into the darkness. "Have your potions at the ready. We may have to confront him." Her hand fell to her stylus, and Gil's to his potion belt.

They entered the dark alley, passing stairs leading to cellars and strange stores. Gil remembered following Hammen down this alley, how his friend had turned the corner. Mist had sprung up in his wake and taken the form of a wolf. Gil's heart pounded as they approached the bend, but there was nothing. Ash sniffed and peered around the corner.

"Come on, he's close,” Millie said. Her voice was certain.

They turned the corner. A small, hunched building lay before them, the faded letters over the doorway obscured in darkness. "What is this place?" Gil asked.

Light shone from one of the windows overhead, and there was a startled shout.

Millie burst forward with Ash and threw the door open. Gil and Reya followed. A single torch burned inside, casting light on an old cabinet behind a counter. One set of stairs rose to the second floor; another disappeared downward. "He's right above us," Millie hissed, pulling her stylus free.

Then she was bounding up the stairs with Ash, Gil racing after. A corridor stretched from the stairs. Light spilled under one door in the corridor, and Gil heard a desperate voice. Hammen's voice. "Please, it's nearly too late."

Millie threw the door open and froze, Ash panting beside her. Gil pulled a potion from his belt and darted forward. He stopped as well, confused. Hammen sat inside, the Blue Book on his lap. He looked tired and haggard. He held the hand of a young woman resting in the bed beside his chair. Something about her was strikingly familiar. Something about her and Hammen.

Hammen sprang to his feet, putting himself between them and the woman. "You're here to bring me back."

"Why did you steal the book?" Milie asked. "You knew the masters would expel you for it once they found out."

"I had to."

"Why?"

Hammen clenched his jaw, eyeing Millie's stylus and Gil's potion. "You can’t stop me."

"We won't let you hurt anyone," Millie said.

Confusion crossed Hammen, and then he laughed. It was the deep-bellied, true laugh that could not be faked. Something clicked into place in Gil’s mind, and he realized something.

"Millie," Gil said. "Look at the woman. Her hair."

"What about it?" Millie snapped, but her eyes flicked from the woman’s curly brown hair to Hammen. "Who is this?"

"Madelyn,” Hammen said. “My sister."

Chapter 16

Millie frowned. "Your sister has the rust?"

Hammen's face hardened. "Do you know what the masters do for students that catch the rust? What they did to her. Did they even look for a cure, a way to reverse the disease? No, they send students to sick houses."

"I read a book about the first cases of the sickness and the attempted remedies," Gil said carefully. "According to the book—"

"Burn your books!" Hammen shouted. "You're always reading, always mumbling your clever little lines from some book. Can any of your books heal my sister?" Hammen's gaze was hot with anger and desperation. "No? Well, it's a good thing I found my own book." He opened the Blue Book.

"Those spells are dangerous, even for the masters," Millie said. "You'll hurt her or all of us."

"She'll be gone within a week if I don't do something. This is my last chance." His voice broke on the last words, and for the first time, Gil noticed another book on the bedside table. The Heartscale Tale. Beside it lay a chipped mortar and pestle, crushed mint still visible in the bowl. Potions and chipped bottles lined the nearby shelf.

"You've been trying to save her all year," Gil said.

"Of course. I knew if I told you both about Madelyn you would leave me. Probably report me to the masters, and I’d be expelled, maybe thrown in a house. Too scared of the sickness." He touched her hand, and Millie drew a sharp breath. "I'm not. Now, leave me and let me save my sister, or I'll make you."

Silence hung. Gil stood, rooted in place and thought. Hammen had made some terrible choices, but it had been for Madelyn’s sake. Would Gil have done the same? Could they really leave Hammen with the Blue Book? They could hardly pry it from his hands, which had touched Madelyn. He could have the rust now. Thoughts tangled themselves in Gil’s mind. Hammen, Gil, Reya, Millie, and Ash stood as statues, each battling the same unanswerable questions. Each second that passed seemed to weigh on Hammen like a stone. He grimaced, and his hand darted toward the Blue Book.

Gil acted on instinct. He took three strides forward and embraced Hammen. "We won't leave you."

Hammen tensed. For several moments he stood frozen. Then, slowly, he hugged Gil. "You're not afraid?"

"I am afraid of many things?" Gil said. “But not my friends.”

They clapped each other on the back. Hammen managed a smile. “Is that from a book?”

They laughed and stepped apart. Gil smoothed his cloak, and let his hand fall to his side.

"Gil," Millie's worried voice wiped the smile from Gil's face, and he looked at her. "Your hand, it's almost touching—" Before Gil could react, Reya raced across the room and yanked his hand away from Madelyn’s curled palm. She pulled him a full step from the bed and held onto his arm as though it might wander into danger if left unattended.

"Are you ok?" Reya asked.

Gil found his mouth dry, though not from the near brush with Madelyn. "Good as grass."

Madelyn coughed weakly. Hammen took her hand and sank into his chair. "Can you hear me, Maddie? It's Hammen. I'm going to help you soon. Just rest a little longer. That's it." Her breathing evened out, though it seemed shallower than just a few minutes ago.

Hammen looked between them uncertainly. His voice wavered. "This is my last try with her. Nothing has worked so far, but there has to be a spell in here that could save her. What else is magic for?" He opened the Blue Book again and rifled through pages. "There has to be a spell. Something to break the iron’s hold on her. Maybe just hold the sickness at bay or..."

Gil lost the rest of Hammen's words. Hold the sickness at bay. The rust. If his theory were true, he could help. If he were wrong… Madelyn stirred uncomfortably, but the quilt seemed too heavy for her to move. She stilled and sank into the bed, breaths weak and thin.

"This is too dangerous," Millie said.

"I ran out of safe options months ago. If you don't have any better ideas, you should leave before I cast the spell."

Gil felt the smooth lump in his cloak. "I do, actually."

"It better be a good one," Hammen said.

Gil drew the dragon scale, winter green in the darkness.

Hammen squinted. "Is that the sigil?"

"The Yeatree gave it to me."

"Why would it do that?"

Gil looked at Madelyn. "I think that's clear now."

"You don't mean to use it in a potion like the Heartscale Tale?" Millie asked.

"I'd probably blow the roof off," Gil said. "Tonight, though, we only need the scale's inherent magic." He offered it to Hammen.

"You think this will help her?"

"I do."

Hammen reached for it, but Millie stopped him. "Dragon scales and iron do not mix with magic. Everybody knows this."

"They do not mix with each other, either," Gil said. "If you had seen the mist retreat when the dragon attacked, you’d understand. The dragon scale will push the rust back as well."

Hammen took the scale. "You must be sure. This is my sister's life."

If he were wrong, Madelyn could die. Would die. Did he really think he'd shed light on a mystery at the heart of magic, one masters and scholars had puzzled over for centuries? He was only just learning the rules of alchemy. Surely Master Wicks had already theorized the relationship between iron and dragon scales, tested it. But the master himself had cautioned students from ever brewing a potion with iron or dragon scales. But not both, Gil remembered. A double negative.

"Trust yourself," Reya whispered. "We do."

Gil handed over the dragon scale. "It will work."

Hammen swallowed hard and traded the Blue Book for the scale. He placed the scale in Madelyn's hand. For one terrible moment, Madelyn stilled, and her raspy breathing stopped. Then there was a slow, clear inhale, and Gil realized her breathing had not stopped but changed. The rattle was gone, replaced by steady, easy breaths. Hammen laughed and wrapped them all, Ash included, in a hug. Gil's own grin felt wide as a cauldron.

A door banged open downstairs. Boots slapped against floorboards as someone raced across the room and down stairs. An old woman's voice wavered up through the floorboards. "Back already?"

The boots stopped. "Busy night. I've got to head back to school now." The voice was a boy’s. Still familiar through two floors of planking.

"It's Wilkus," Gil hissed.

"Can't be. He should be at Hazeltop," Millie said.

Hammen grimaced. "So should we. Why's he here?"

"Let's see," Millie whispered and slipped down the staircase with Ash. Reya and Gil followed, but Hammen seemed frozen, watching Madelyn.

"She'll be ok," Gil said. "Come on. Let's get back to Hazeltop."

Hammen’s face was bright. He had dared to hope, and Madelyn fanned that hope with another deep breath. Hammen shut her door and eased down the stairs with Gil and Reya.

"Isn't it late for all this activity, dear? What could Master Drayborne need at this hour?" The old woman said from the basement.

"Just a few ingredients for the pot," Wilkus said.

The woman clucked. "By my bones, there's no need to race away on account of soup. Nobody likes it much anyway. Now, how was that dance today?"

There was a pause. "I didn't go."

"Well, why not? You've told me all about that girl you're sweet on."

"Not anymore. She isn't—" Wilkus chomped down on the words. "She's different than me. That's all. You understand, don't you?"

"Everyone's different. Part of the game, dear."

"It's too late now. You...you know I've had a hard time with class?"

"So did I, when I was your age. I expect it's why I'm a nurse and not an alchemist."

"Well," Wilkus said, and there was a note of worry in his voice. "I won't be going back to Hazeltop next term." The tone struck Gil as strange. Wilkus despised classes. Then he realized the truth. Wilkus worried what this woman would think of him for leaving.

Gil reached the main floor with the others, careful to avoid the doorway leading down to the basement. A weak sniffling came up the stairway. "Oh my, come here my dear. A hug is worth more than any potion. Easy now."

Wilkus' sniffling quieted and he cleared his throat. "Just had to tell you. You'll be ok here, won't you?"

"I'm more concerned with how you'll do," the woman said gently. "You know I want you to stay. You've proven yourself a good help and a better friend these last months. You care about these patients. You see how they brighten when you bring them food or a story. Do you want to be a nurse or a cook?"

Gil risked peeking around the doorway. Wilkus stood far below at the basement's landing. He carried a lumpy burlap sack. He wavered, looking into the old woman's room. "Master Drayborne isn't training me to be a cook. I have to go. I hope I'll see you again and thank you for everything. I won't forget what you've taught me here, Gram."

Gil pulled back, afraid Wilkus was going to climb the stairs and exit the front door, but the footsteps below sounded as though they were striking deeper into the basement. A latch clicked. A door closed. The woman groaned and wood popped as she sat in what must have been a rocker.

"Where's Wilkus gone?" Millie whispered.

"Hazeltop, he said so himself," Hammen said.

They all spoke at once. "How?"

Gil’s mind worked. "There's some passage leading out of the basement down there. Either it opens in Slater's Pass—"

"Can't. We saw all the stairways from the alley. This building didn't have one," Hammen said.

"Or it leads somewhere else, somewhere closer to Hazeltop," Gil finished.

"He's not going back to make soup," Reya said. "Master Drayborne is behind all of this, and Wilkus is doing his dirty work."

Hammen raised an eyebrow. "The Master of Food? You think Drayborne is controlling the mist? He doesn't even understand magic."

"Exactly," Reya said.

"Then we need to follow Wilkus," Millie said.

Gil stepped beside Reya. "She's right. You two missed the Snow Ball, but the food never arrived. No servers, no carts. I assumed the mist stopped them."

"It's settled," Hammen said. "We follow Wilkus."

They descended the stairs. Hammen led, hugging the wall and moving with slow, smooth feet. Gil didn't realize why until he stepped squarely onto the center of the stair and it gave a horrible squeak. He froze, but the old woman made no sound. Gil shuffled over to the wall and descended the remaining steps. Hammen, Millie, Ash, and Reya passed the woman's doorway and headed deeper into the hallway. Gil spared a glance as he passed.

The woman was asleep in her rocking chair, hands folded beneath a patchwork quilt. A cane leaned against her chair, which faced a smoldering fireplace. She seemed a kind lady, though weary. Gil moved on and found the others huddled around an old door.

"This must be it," Reya whispered.

Gil nodded, and they opened it. The smell of soil and roots greeted them. A passage of rich, trampled dirt stretched into darkness. Gil drew a glower from his belt and shook it. Green bloomed to life, and they stepped into the tunnel.

The passage was unerringly straight. They walked for several minutes before the tunnel began to ascend, first slowly and then steeply. Each ascending step further convinced Gil they were climbing within a hill. There was only one hill it could be. Before long, a faint light illuminated the end of the passage. The light was orange and red, ordinary torchlight by the looks of it. A breeze washed down the tunnel, carrying onion and cider.

"We're below the Flask, in the cellar," Gil said.

Chapter 17

It wasn't long before they saw the door. It hung ajar at the end of the tunnel, two thick bolts jutting from the door like teeth.

"Strange door," Hammen said.

"One bolt for the cellar, one for the tunnel," Gil said. "Both sides would have to be unlocked for the door to open."

"It's a truce-door," Reya said. "They're all over the castles in the Barony."

"Why's it here?" Hammen asked.

Millie grinned. "Must be worried you'd steal the potatoes."

Hammen frowned, but Gil spoke. "If they were scared of thieves, they only would have put a bolt on the cellar's side."

"They didn't want anyone leaving this cellar and visiting the sick house," Reya said.

Gil grimaced. "I had a good reason. Still, seems like Wilkus has been using the tunnel as a secret pass into Grent all term. Didn't you all see the bag he was carrying? Don't know what was inside, but it wasn't turnips." 

Gil looked into the cellar's forest of shelves, crates, and barrels. "Where is he now?"

They entered cautiously, but the cellar seemed deserted. All was still amidst the rows of iron. "He's gone upstairs," Hammen whispered.

"Can't have. Their must be a dozen knights stationed above our heads. They would have seized him. Everyone's supposed to be in bed, including us, remember?" Gil said.

Hammen grunted, and they inched deeper into the cellar. Reya peeked down a long row, eyes scouring the patches of torchlight. "Then he must be in here."

Gil's hand fell to the sleeping potion at his belt. Millie's stylus appeared in her hand, and Hammen drew a deep breath. "Let's find him."

They scanned the cellar, waiting for a shift in the darkness or the scuff of a boot. They wove up and down the aisles, and with each empty row, Gil felt more certain Wilkus would be crouched around the next. They searched back and forth, on and on. Gil rounded the last corner and stopped, confused. "We're back to the door."

"He’s a good hider, but maybe we can smell him. Come here, Ash." Millie walked to the door and Ash sprang after her, tail high. Millie knelt beside the doorknob and pointed. "Track."

Ash sniffed the door. His snout ran down the door and hovered an inch over the ground. His tail bounced, and he trotted into the cellar. Gil and the others hurried after Ash, who was hugging the wall. Gil expected the trail to dart into the protective shelves at any moment, but the trail was unwavering, and Ash beelined along the wall. They were nearing the corner of the cellar where the path veered left around the shelves. Still, Ash trotted, nose down. He was heading right for a cluster of cider barrels in the corner, but he was too focused on the trail to realize.

"Ash," Gil hissed, but the dog continued forward, running now with excitement. The barrels loomed closer, and Gil realized Ash would crash into them. The crash would draw the knights who would take them to the detention house at best. More likely, their time at Hazeltop would come to a crashing end. At the last moment, Ash skidded to a halt, whiskers brushing the first cider barrel. He bounced from paw to paw, tail wagging. They stopped beside him, huffing as much from excitement as from exertion.

"You hishwishy," Millie said, patting Ash. "That's a barrel, not Wilkus. Can't blame you for confusing the two, really."

Hammen chuckled. Gil and Reya exchanged a look. "Ash was trailing something, and barrels don't walk," Gil said.

"They do roll," Millie replied.

Gil ran a hand over the barrel. "Even so, someone has to roll them. A breeze won't shift a barrel of cider." He wrapped against the planks to make a dull, muted thump. "See?" He pushed against the barrel, shifting it a handspan away from the other casks.

Hammen grunted. "Ok, it's heavy, but Wilkus—"

Ash sprang through the gap Gil created and squirmed deeper into the field of barrels. His tail wove through the woodwork until it froze beside a barrel wedged in the corner of the cellar, nearly hidden in the shadows.

"Isn't in that barrel," Hammen finished.

"What about that one?" Millie asked.

She climbed in after Ash, stepping around barrels and over them when necessary. Hammen's long frame allowed him to slip around the barrels with surprising ease. Gil and Reya followed clumsily. The oddments in Gil's cloak dinged against casks.

Hammen looked back. "You'd be a terrible thief."

"I was never caught."

"Like you've stolen anything," Hammen said.

"Have both your brains been stolen? We're looking for Wilkus, remember?" Millie stopped beside Ash and inspected the corner barrel. It looked ordinary enough. Wooden bands encircled the planking. The boards were sealed with resin. A fine layer of dust coated the cask, just like all the others. Only the lid was different. 

"There's no dust on the lid," Reya said.

They all looked. Millie wrapped the barrel. A loud, hard noise bounced around the cellar. "Empty as my bookshelf."

"Cider must have leaked out. This barrel has been here ages," Hammen said as they huddled around.

Gil ran a hand around the top of the cask. The wood was smooth, dark, and without dust. As his hand reached the far side, he felt a chip in the barrel. It was no more than a finger's width, but it was enough. He pulled and was not surprised when the lid popped free from the cask. Gil peered in with Hammen and Reya. The ground beneath the barrel was gone. A dark chamber hung from the bottom of the barrel. A ladder was mounted to the inside of the cask and descended into the void.

Hammen let out a low whistle.

"What do you see?" Millie asked sharply.

"Darkness," Gil said.

Hammen stepped over the barrel and lowered himself to the first rung. "And a ladder. Come on. Whatever Wilkus is doing down there, it isn’t good."

We should bring Master Vail here," Reya said quickly.

"I wish we could," Gil said, “but there are knight's stationed above us. They have orders to lock up any students not in their rooms. We’d spent the night in the Iron Hall."

"You could use magic to sneak past them," Reya said.

"Too slow,” Hammen said. Masters are probably holed up somewhere trying to make a plan. By the time we find them, who knows what Wilkus will have done? Hand me one of those lights, would you Gil?"

Gil pulled the other glower from his belt. He flipped the orb and shook it. A warm orange bubbled to life. He handed the glower to Hammen who tucked it into his robe and descended the ladder.

Gil followed suit. The ladder was sturdy, and soon he was dropping step by step into an earthy tunnel. Roots marbled the soil, and humid air clung to his neck and hands. Reya followed soon after. Before long, Gil's feet touched ground. The chamber around them was suffused with orange and gold light from the glowers. Reya touched down, and Gil looked up for Millie. She was not on the ladder.

"Millie, aren't you coming?" He called.

Her head appeared at the barrel's mouth. "You all go on without me. I can't leave Ash up here without me."

Hammen frowned. "We need you, and he'll be fine until you get back. Come down here with us."

"I can't carry him down, and I won't leave him," Millie said, her voice hard.

"We don't have time to waste," Hammen called. "Hurry and—"

Reya touched Gil's arm. "She needs Ash. Wouldn't a few drops of a weight distillant work to lighten the dog for a few minutes?"

"If we had a full apothecary and ten minutes with a cauldron, sure."

Reya sighed and turned to Hammen and cut him off. "Use a hover charm on Ash?"

Hammen cracked a smile. "Yeah, and I'll use my other spells to lifting you two up for the fun of it, will I?" Neither of them smiled, and he frowned. "You're serious?"

"It's the only way we bring Millie with us," Reya said.

Hammen glanced between her and Millie some 30 feet overhead. His jaw worked. "You'll come down with Ash?" Millie nodded and Hammen spoke. "Graviorume."

Ash floated over the barrel and drifted down the tunnel. His gaze never left Millie, who struggled down the ladder after him. She groped from rung to rung, and when she reached the floor with Ash she hugged Hammen fiercely. "Thank you."

They broke away awkwardly. "Right," Hammen said. "Time we find Wilkus."

A dozen steps brought them to a heavy stone door thrown open. Warm, wet air washed them as they stepped through. The soil underfoot changed to glistening cobblestone. Gil looked back at the door and saw scars raked along its surface. "I know where we are."

"The sewer," Reya said.

"And near Ironface's bend," Gil said. "Follow me."

He led them deeper down the sewer corridor. Stone walls lined either side, just visible at the edge of the glower's light. The walls occasionally disappeared as passages opened up on either side. He just had to remember the right one.

"We do have a plan," Millie said carefully.

Hammen raised his glower to inspect a broken torch bracket high on the wall. "Of course. Don't we, Gil?"

"Stop Wilkus," Gil said.

"Sure, I haven't devised many plans to sneak into the sewers and nab a fellow student, but don't you think ours is a little short on the details?" Millie asked.

Nobody laughed. “They came to another turn in the sewer, and Gil felt it. “This is the way." They made it three steps before Ash let loose a low growl. The hair along his back furrowed, and he stepped in front of Millie. Then Gil heard it. The deep, heavy sound of something sliding across stone in the shadows.

Chapter 18

Millie squinted. "What was what?"

A cobblestone cracked deep in the sewer. The sound echoed around the bends like thunder, drawing nearer each second until the sharp noise cracked around them. The sound snapped behind them, and then it was around another bend, fading like a one-legged horse clopping through the tunnels.

Gil touched his pouches of rosegrass and horn. They shuffled forward and peered into the darkness. There was nothing, save for a shaft of moonlight far down the path, pouring from a grate like a spectral waterfall. Between them and the light lay a pool of oily shadow. Gil involuntarily stepped toward his friends.

"We could still turn back," Reya said.

"Rabore wouldn't," Hammen said.

"He has to be the hero," Millie muttered.

"Nobody has to be the hero," Gil said. "But we could be. Together."

Millie squeezed his shoulder, and Reya nodded. "I'm with you."

Hammen entered the passage, and they followed closely. Their spheres of gold and orange light pushed the darkness to arms length. The world was reduced to Gil, Reya, Hammen, Millie, and Ash. Their feet were lost in shadows, as though they were wading through a murky stream. Only their boots against stone knocked away the silence. They reached the pillar of moonlight. Shadows pooled and curled around the light like oil in water. Dark wisps slithered around the light like vines around a tree.

"This is no ordinary darkness," Gil said. Even as he spoke, the shadows seemed to constrict the moonbeam.

The way branched left, straightened out, veered right. With each minute, their luminous sphere shrank like an air bubble at great depths. Was it Gil's imagination, or was the floor of mucky darkness rising? Hadn't it been to Ash's knees? Now, only Ash’s shoulders and head were visible.

"The darkness is rising," Reya said, mirroring his thoughts.

As she spoke, Gil felt a slight resistance under his next step that vanished with the sharp, hard crack of breaking glass. Millie shrieked in surprise.

Hammen clamped his hand over Millie's mouth to cut off her cry. Gil’s fear was reflected in Hammen’s and Reya's eyes. They waited for a voice in the darkness, for footsteps to come rounding the corner. After several long breaths, Hammen released Millie. The mist was to Ash’s neck now, and Hammen hoisted the dog over his shoulders. Ash looked mythical, washed in equal parts by gold, orange, and shadow. He peered around from his new vantage point.

A roar like grinding gravel rang out ahead of them. The sound was familiar, only magnified, deeper. Gil and Hammen met eyes at the same moment. "Scruffin." There was a rockslide of noise in the dark tunnel ahead. Cobblestones cracked. Harsh, gravelly grunts scraped over them like a blade against a whetstone.

"A scruffin?" Millie hissed. "It's going to eat us."

"They don't eat meat, except worms." Gil said.

“I’ve never been more grateful that I’m not a worm,” Millie said sarcastically.

Hammen stepped between them. "We need to hide. Our magic will hardly tickle it. We’ll have to sneak past it."

Another thunderclap grunt, closer.

"In a forest, sure, but I don't see many trees in this tunnel," Millie said.

The darkness seemed even denser around them, a lake of void swirling at their waists. "We can't hide. It digs by scent. It's nearly blind, but it can smell us," Gil said.

"Not if our scent is blown down the sewer," Hammen said. "Ventorume." In the smothered light of the glower, Hammen's eyes narrowed in concentration. Then, slowly, a draft ruffled Gil's hair. The swirling darkness seemed unaffected by the draft, which was strengthening to a breeze.

"Well done," Gil said.

Hammen struggled for a moment to focus on Gil. He managed a weak smile. "I felt that one."

The thundering steps neared, and they huddled at the wall. The breeze chilled Gil's clammy skin. The scruffin's steps slowed as it neared the bend before their passage. Gil's heart raced, and he fought to keep his breathing quiet. Ash hung over Hammen's shoulder, unmoving as a bag of oats. Hammen was grinning wildly. A cobblestone cracked. Another shattered, closer. A solidness displaced the black mist, a large form pushing through the darkness. It came level with them. The scent of loam and clay flooded the tunnel, but something hovered beneath the earthy smell. A sharp, bitter tang like the runoff from a smelter. The scruffin paused and Gil felt it turn toward them. It breathed deeply.

A three note whistle rang through the sewer. Before it faded, the scruffin bounded away, scaled feet clapping against cobblestones. They let out shaky breaths.

"Come on," Hammen said urgently. He hurried onward, and within seconds only the barest glimmer of his glower was visible. 

Gil hurried forward and caught his arm, dragging him back to Reya and Millie. “You’re spell drunk, Hammen. You need to listen to us from here on out. No running off.”

“Sure thing,” Hammen said dutifully, but Gil did not trust the spell-drunk boy. He stayed close to Hammen was they followed after the monstrous scruffin. A wall materialized from the darkness before them, and they followed the bend deeper. Gil raised his glower. His arm felt heavier than normal, as though he were making the action underwater. Something silky and cool brushed his arm. It was shadow, thick as cauldron slop, twining around his wrist, crawling toward the glower. He jerked away. The shadow tendril seemed to diffuse into the void, though was it really gone? Perhaps it was like a wolf, preying on whoever left the safety of the pack. He tried inching closer to the others, but found he was already shoulder to shoulder with Millie, who had clamped his arm for support. Reya was behind them. Hammen led the way with Ash across his shoulders. 

In the darkness, Gil was losing the courage he had found in the light. What could he do against monsters and sorcerers? He was a first term alchemy student far from an apothecary or workshop. There was no time for brewing or preparing, even if he did know what waited for them in the darkness. Time was an alchemist's greatest resource, and he had none. The feeling seemed to go from his legs, and his steps grew unsteady. His head swam. He thought how lovely it would be to leave, to rest in his room and thumb through his bookshelf in peace.

He heard something, the low burr of voices in a distant room. The others stilled beside him as well, ears straining. It was Millie who spoke. "That's Wilkus. He's angry."

A rumble like gravel poured over wood. "Must be the scruffin," Hammen said eagerly.

Then a loud, sharp voice cracked down the sewer, soaring over cobblestones as it had so often done over the kitchen. "You dare call the beast back, after I have commanded it to patrol the sewer. I thought you had a mind, boy, but you've lost it with the mages. Fetch me the shillings, before I throw you in the blasted Flask with the rest of the rabble!"

They moved closer, but Wilkus' words were still lost.

"Not like me?" Drayborne laughed. "You think you're special, that I chose you from the crowd because of your great talent? Your staggering intelligence? You are an outcast, even among ironborn. Put the shillings there, and step back from the cauldron before you kick the thing over. Yes, I saw your jealousy, your anger, and I nurtured it into a fine hatred of magic. You see that now, don't you? How easily I enlisted you to my cause, taught you how evil magic truly is. How mages truly are. For all your incompetence, I must say, you were useful.”

A rumble from Wilkus, sharp and short.

“I gleaned, through your limited mind, enough to experiment with alchemizing iron. You stole ingredients for me, gladly, I would say. Prepared cauldrons across the blasted school. I daresay the songs will remember you as a hero of the Barony. What will they call this day? The Last Dance? The Fall of Magic? Come, take your mask off for a moment."

The weight of Drayborne's words settled in Gil's mind. The Fall of Magic? Suddenly fear was not his only emotion. A small but fierce feeling was welling up for his friends, the books in the Egg, and Hazeltop. These things were somehow as vital to the world, his world, as the sun or air. His legs began to move. Reya, Millie, and Hammen raced behind him. They barrelled through the void, guided by something stronger than sight. A reddish light welled into existence down the passage. It brightened, and Gil saw solid forms beside a fire. The first was moving toward the second.

"Off with the mask, Wilkus. I don't think you'll be needing it any longer." The taller form approached the smaller.

The scene sharpened with each step. Fire danced beneath a huge, iron cauldron spuming black mist that roiled over the cobblestones at knee height. Drayborne and Wilkus stood, faces hidden behind iron masks. Drayborne reached toward Wilkus.

"Stop!" Gil yelled,

Drayborne paused, hand over Wilkus' mask. He let his hand fall and smiled. "The scrubber has arrived, and he's brought a drunk, a dog, a blind, and a..." He squinted, and his smile faltered. "Traitor?"

"We won't let you do this," Gil said.

Drayborne's grin sharpened. "You're just in time for a tasting. Isn't that what you scrubbers always wanted, to prepare the food? Wilkus, send your beast to bring the boy over."

Wilkus' mouth thinned under his mask. "No."

Gil waited for the outburst, but there was only silence. Then a full-bellied laugh from Drayborne. "You hate them, but now you hate me even more. Is that it? Why don't you join your friends then?" His hand flashed and tore the mask from Wilkus' face. He shoved Wilkus toward them. As Drayborne turned to the cauldron, the wagon-bodied scruffin emerged from the darkness behind him. 

"No, Branders!" Wilkus called, but it was too late. Branders bounded toward Drayborne, who drew his sword smoothly, stepping aside and slashing. Sparks erupted as the sword struck the scruffin’s shoulder. Scales fountained into the darkness. The scruffin roared and wheeled back into the void. For a moment, Drayborne’s back was to them.

"Magmorume!" Hammen yelled. “Graviorume!" Blue light arced toward Drayborne, but fingers of black mist leapt upward to swallow the light. Gil fumbled through his cloak and alchemy belt. He could make smoke, but what good was that in a room of smoke? Millie's stylus appeared in her hand, tracing runes in the air. Her head was cocked, eyes unfocused. Runes winked out of existence in the air and suddenly a wall sprang up between Drayborne and the cauldron. It was waist high when the mist clawed it to a stop.

Hammen fell to a knee, exhausted. Gil and Reya were at his side immediately, stopping him and Ash from falling into the black mist. Drayborne cursed at the wall separating him from the cauldron. He made to move around it, but another wall sprang up, perpendicular to the first. He tried to step around, but a third wall sprouted in his path.

Hammen's eyes rolled, and he struggled to remain awake. Walls burst from the darkness like teeth around Drayborne. From a distance, it almost seemed as though they were guiding him, corralling him.

"Call Branders back," Millie said to Wilkus.

"He’ll hurt her," Wilkus said in a tight voice.

"I'll protect her," Gil said. Another wall blocked Drayborne, who hacked at it with his sword."

How?" Wilkus asked.

"Magic."

Wilkus glanced to Drayborne, who had found a break in the maze of walls and made straight for the cauldron. He drew breath. "Branders!"

Heavy footsteps drilled against stone, and the wounded scruffin burst from the darkness. Millie made a motion like scything wheat, and the walls vanished. She drew one more rune, smaller than the others, and it winked into nothing. Gil felt past a dozen ingredients in his cloak and found rosegrass and horn. He cast a handful of powder toward the master, and hurled the entire bundle of rosegrass into the cloud. There was a bang that chattered Gil’s teeth. Drayborne flinched and turned to face the threat. Branders bounded toward the disoriented master. Too late, spun toward the scruffin, but his foot caught on Millie’s final wall peeking through the darkness. The scruffin shouldered him as it raced past. Already off balance, Drayborne was lifted from the ground and thrown onto the cauldron. 

His long frame hung over the rim, faceup and still. Black mist collected around him, hissing and spitting as it kissed his iron mask. Gil wondered if he was unconscious or even dead, but Drayborne drew a shaky breath, coughed. He tried to raise himself from the cauldron but failed. There was a small smile beneath the mask, and a watery voice trickled out. "Always knew it would be me." He coughed weakly, and said the word to turn Gil's blood to ice. "Brindle."

Black mist geysered skyward, choking the sewer and scouring for the grates to overwhelm Hazeltop. The initial wave washed over Gil. A cool numbness flooded his throat with the first breath. The room seemed to darken. Hammen's weight was suddenly mountainous, and Gil braced himself against the floor, breath held against the surge of mist. His hand closed over something round and hard as stone. A scruffin scale. Something sparked in his dampening mind. Something about scales and iron. Reya collapsed into darkness beside him. Millie, a moment later. Hammen and Ash tumbled from his leaden arms. Gil swayed, holding the last of his breath as the mist flooded Hazeltop. He struggled to find the iron cauldron and then spotted it, there at the heart of the void. He threw the scale. His breath was a murmur in a maelstrom. "Brindle."

Brilliance flared, and all was still.

Chapter 19

The smell of blackberries rose through the floorboards. The smell was joined by the softness of his mother’s voice and the low rumble of his father’s laugh. Gil pushed back his covers and hopped to the floor, which was pleasantly warm from the oven below. He eased his door open and tiptoed down the stairs. He peeked into the kitchen. His father was pulling bread from the oven, but his mother spotted him in the doorway.  She laughed and scooped him up. “Our little rumael.” 

His father pinched his cheek, leaving a dusting of flour. Gil grinned. His father embraced them both, and the world was the smell of blackberries, the oven’s warmth, the gentle rhythm of his parents’ hearts.  Gil could stay there forever. But there was a whiff of apple and mint. He tried to snuggle into his parents, but the scent only sharpened. The warmth around him cooled, and his parents faded.

Gil opened his eyes. He realized he was in a bed of cool sheets and plump pillows. He felt wonderful, rested, and warm as fresh bread. 

A kind, wrinkled woman was sitting in the corner of his room. “Tea, dear?”

Already, the tangled threads of his dream were slipping away. He tried to draw them together, but it was water through his fingers. “I saw my parents,” he said. 

It seemed a childish thing to say, but the woman patted his hand gently. “And how proud they should be.”

The last of the dream evaporated, and Gil pushed himself up. “The mist! Master Drayborne is in the sewer!”

“The mist is quite gone, my dear,” she said kindly. “But better you hear so from a familiar voice.”

She left the room. Gil sank back into bed, hope flooding him. Had they really stopped Master Drayborne? Had he really solved one of alchemy’s oldest riddles?

There was a cheer from the hall, and a beaming Hammen burst into Gil’s room and hugged him. “Finally awake? You missed the craziest feast Hazeltop has ever seen! I guess Master Vail pushed it back two full days to wait for you before Bunt said the beans would get bad if we waited till the daisies sang, whatever that means! Never seen so many beans before. And the Green!  You have to see—”

“Wait,” Gil managed to cut in. “How long was I sleeping?”

“I slept for three, and you—”

“Three days?” Gil asked incredulously.

Hammen grinned. “And you’ve been sleeping for another,” he counted off on his fingers. “feast, wagoning, cellar, rink. Four days I guess.”

“I slept for a week,” Gil said in wonder. A dozen questions rose to mind, but one took precedent. “Millie and Reya, are they ok?”

Hammen’s grin flickered. “Reya’s been out and about for a few days. Millie is…not so well.”

“She’s still asleep?”

“Ash is, but no, she was the first one awake.” Hammen paused. “You’d better find her yourself.” Silence lulled between them.  It seemed so strange to be sitting with Hammen in the Ward after following him through Grent and chasing Wilkus into the sewer. The sunlight brightening the room was suddenly very precious.

When Hammen spoke, his voice was quiet. “You were right about Madelyn and the dragon scale. She was awake today. She could talk to me.”

The scale was curing Madelyn of the rust. Gil had hoped the sickness could be reversed, but to hear proof filled him with hope. “What did she say?”

“She wanted to thank us.” Hammen swallowed hard, and Gil felt the weight behind those words.

His throat was tight, and he nodded. After a long moment, the tightness faded. “You were very brave. I couldn’t have gone into the sewer without you.”

Hammen managed a smile. “Brave but foolish. I would have tripped headfirst into the cauldron if you hadn’t kept your wits down there.”

“Someone has to,” Gil said.

Hammen offered a hand. “I’ll do the tripping if you keep holding onto your wits. Fair?”

They shook on it, and there was a knock on the door. “Come in,” Gil called.

Master Vail entered, silver hair and robes bright as the moon. “That’s my queue,” Hammen whispered, and slipped out of the room with a smile.

Master Vail took the chair beside his bed. Her face was kind. “Gil of Evervale, I owe you and your friends a great debt. You protected Hazeltop in its darkest hour. Hazeltop will remember, and I will remember. I heard what happened in the sewers from your friends. You all acted with great courage, but one piece of their story is missing. The most crucial ending, which I have waited so eagerly to hear.” Her eyes were brown, steady, and reassuring, but there was something deeper Gil could not identify. Something like the first splintering crack on a great frozen lake. “How did you stop the mist?”

A very simple question with a very simple answer. An answer that Gil had hunted all term. One that, as far as he knew, no alchemist had ever realized. Telling Master Vail would catapult him to top of the class. Master Vail could arrange private lessons for him with any master of his choice. Gil’s future would be brilliant.

She was watching him, and it seemed to Gil that the crack splintered a little longer. She needed to know how he countered the mist. She could smell it, the answer that had evaded her and the other masters, had narrowly saved Hazeltop from destruction.

“The sewer was full of this dark, smoky shadow,” Gil began. Master Vail nodded, and he continued. “We found Wilkus and Master Drayborne beside an iron cauldron. They were using it to make the mist.”

“Yes,” Master Vail said. “How did you stop it?”

“I…” He very much wanted to tell her. This breakthrough would push alchemy to new heights. Higher magnitudes of potions could be created, with dizzying effects. This was what he was afraid of, he realized. If he told her, the world would be forever changed. Alchemy’s capacity for good would accelerate, but so would the bad. The mist was trivial compared to what could be. This knowledge was for him to hold. “I think Master Drayborne reversed the potion somehow.”

Master Vail patted his hand. “Your friends thought Drayborne had no mind to change his course. I find I agree with them. Think back to that night, and tell me, what did you do?” Her tone was pleasant and warm, but her eyes were fixed on him.

“He must have fallen asleep in the mist, and the potion stopped working,” Gil said.

“Is that all you remember?” Master Vail asked.

“Yes,” Gil said.

The ice broke, and for an instant, Gil saw sadness and anger shining in her eyes. Then she stood, and it seemed some of her grace had gone. For the first time, he understood her graying features were not only a sign of wisdom but of age. She paused in the doorway. “If you remember more of that night, you may tell me. I would be most interested to hear the full story. There is little room for secrets in a place so big as this.” She tried for a smile. “Hazeltop has a way of airing things out.”

Gil was dismissed from the Ward later that morning. He was given his cloak as he left, and the weight of his full pockets was comforting. It only took him a few moments to realize that his cloak had been thoroughly inspected. The pouches and stoppers of ingredients were disorganized and in the wrong pockets. The hunt for his secret had already begun, it seemed.

Hazeltop was peaceful. There was no pounding of distant anvils, no banging of doors. No sea of students clomping and shouting. It felt as though Gil had the entire grounds to himself. He began to walk. He had no real destination in mind, but his feet led him to the Silversmoke. Looking over the steaming lake, with Hazeltop behind him, he could believe he was on the edge of the world, staring into a great wilderness. As he watched, silver blurred beneath the surface before a drake leapt from the water. It winked in the sunlight and splashed back into the lake. He wondered if it was the same drake that had attacked them on the beach. What a difference the potion of iron had caused on the drake. His thoughts strayed to Master Vail, and the flash of anger he had seen. How differently would she treat him next term?

His feet carried him onward, and he looped past the Meadows. The prairie had now died down. Frost painted the grassland in a beautiful icescape. Next was the Thicket, tall and dark as ever. Gil was not altogether surprised to see Old Ham sitting on his stump. The Master of Herblore was gumming up pumpkin seeds, which was not unusual. It was slightly more strange when Gil watched him reach into a pumpkin and harvest more of his breakfast. Gil had never tried raw pumpkin seeds, but he didn’t think he had to.

The Arena was guarded by a few sleepy scarecrows on practice posts. The Orchard was bare, though some optimistic squirrels nosed around the empty branches. Gil turned back toward the Flask before he reached Grent, and his trail brought him to the Egg. Reya was there, standing at the smooth, white wall. 

She seemed very focused, and she did not turn until he was a few steps away. Her eyes widened, and then she hugged him. “Gil! Are you ok?” She stepped back hastily. She looked tired, but she was brightening at the sight of him. “I didn’t know how long you would sleep. I was starting to worry you wouldn’t…”

Gil smiled. “Just needed some beauty sleep.”

“Me too,” she said. “I’ve been trying to remember what happened in the sewer, but everything goes black after Drayborne said brindle. Do you remember anything else?”

“The mist knocked me out too,” Gil said.

She nodded seriously. “If it wasn’t us, then who? I think Hazeltop defended itself that night.”

“This place is worth defending,” Gil said. 

“It is,” she said firmly. She watched him steadily, as though convincing herself he was ok. “Will you go home?”

Gil nodded. “I’ll find a wagon tomorrow. And you?”

She looked back at the Egg. “This is my home now. I’m staying here.”

He was fortunate she didn’t see the surprise on his face. He tried to keep his voice even. “Is everything alright?”

“It’s just…” she sighed. “The Barony. I think they were behind the mist.”

This time, Gil couldn’t keep the shock from his voice. “The Barony? How do you know?”

“I talked to Master Vail, and she agreed with me. It’s no secret the Barony has no love for magic, and Draybrone was from there. I didn’t want to believe it earlier, but now it seems so obvious.”

“Wait,” Gil said. “You suspected the Barony was behind this, but you didn’t say anything.”

Reya faced him. She seemed very small and sad. “How could I be certain? My parents loved hearing about Hazeltop. About the grounds and classes. And the Snowball.” She stopped suddenly, looking sick.

“They wanted information from you?” Gil asked gently.

Reya’s eyes filled with tears, and she nodded. Gil hugged her. He had no words, but there were never words for times like these.

 It was evening when he finally returned to the Flask. He had not seen Millie anywhere on the grounds, and he hoped she was ok. He would see her tomorrow, before he left. He was standing in the room, wondering if there was any dinner, when Bunt emerged from the kitchens. What was left of Bunt’s hair had been meticulously scooped over his bald spot, and he was bustling with cheerful efficiency. He grinned toothily when he saw Gil.

“Crowd’s a bit thin tonight, but don’t let that scare ya. Food’s good as ever, I’d say.”

“Better, from what I’ve heard,” Gil said.

Bunt grunted. “Still got beans from the feast, if that’s what you heard. Might have been a little heavy on the beans. Got excited, see, being named Master of Food and all.”

“That’s amazing!” Gil said at once. “You’ll be the best yet.”

“Better than the last one, leastwise. Care to eat in the kitchen?”

Gil had to agree with that, and he sat at one of the chopping tables with bunt. Their dinner was plain but hearty. Chicken, potatoes, buttered corn, and double servings of beans. Bunt pulled mugs of cider from the barrel and produced two slices of blackberry pie. Gil took the liberty of washing their plates and mugs. He was pleased to see Bunt had moved the scrubbing station away from the drafty door. Gil was warm and drowsy as he made his way up to room 107. For once, Hammen was already there when he arrived, sleeping peacefully.

Chapter 20

The phoenix sang over Hazeltop once more. Gil listened to the rise and fall of the singsongy cry. He wanted to remember every inflection until he returned in the spring. His dark green cloak hung over his chair. Hammen’s tawny one was pooled on the desk. The ends of both cloaks were torn and wild looking from the wolf in Slater’s Pass.

Gil rose from bed. “Are you going to patch your cloak up?”

Hammen pushed himself up and grinned. “Too good a story to hide.”

Gil looked through his wardrobe, which was full of dark shirts and pants. He shifted them aside and found a familiar set of travel clothes in the back. They were a little smaller than he remembered, and he realized with a start that he had grown.

Hammen was also thumbing through his clothes. “I’ll meet you down there. Don’t go leaving without me, though.”

Gil made his way down the staircase and into the dining room once more. It was strange to see so many empty, sleepy tables in the big room. Reya and Wilkus were sitting at a far table. Wilkus looked different than Gil remembered, and he was laughing at something Reya said. Gil heard a plucked string. Then, a strummed chord. He turned and saw Millie was sitting on the lip of the stage, strumming her lute halfheartedly.

He went to her immediately. “There you are! I walked the grounds yesterday, but I couldn’t find you. How are you?” It was the wrong question.

The lute clattered to the stage beside her, and she turned toward him. She would not meet his eyes. “Nobody’s told you?”

“Ash will wake up soon,” Gil said reassuringly. “I only woke up yesterday.”

“And?” Millie snapped. Gil flinched, but she went on. “Don’t you see? It doesn’t matter when Ash comes back. My future here is over.”

“I don’t…”

“See?” Millie said sharply. “Neither do I. I’m blind, Gil.”

Gil fumbled for something to say. “How could that be?”

“I’m Millie Featherstring. It comes with the name.”

“But you’ve walked around Hazeltop all year. You’ve played the lute and Blocks. We watched tournaments in the Arena.”

“With Ash,” Millie said softly. “I can…share vision with him.”

“I’ve never heard of anything like that before,” Gil said. 

“It’s old family magic. People frown upon it.” She sighed. “I’m meeting with Master Vail today. She’ll decide if I can stay.”

There was a scrap of wood on wood as Hammen slid a chair beside the stage. “We’ll make her.”

Millie tried to smile. “She’s the Master of Hazeltop.”

“Everyone’s master of something,” Gil said. “You just need to remind her of that. You came to Hazeltop to learn, but there’s a lot you can teach this place too.”

Millie nodded and sat a little taller. “There’s something else I wanted to tell you both, now that we’re all together.” She reached out and plucked something from both their cloaks. 

Hammen’s mouth fell open. “How did you…but?”

Millie opened her hands, revealing two wooden cubes engraved with runes. “These are wards. To the runist, they show direction and distance, to some degree. I’ve been using them to find you both this semester, so I don’t get so lost. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” 

She made to push them into her pocket, but Hammen caught her hand. “Better late than never. We need those now, more than ever.”

“Agreed,” Gil said immediately.

When Millie smiled, it was like the sun breaking through a thunderstorm. “Whatever happens today, I’m glad I met you two.” They embraced, and Gil and Hammen took back their wards and tucked them into their cloaks.

“Ahem,” came a very fake cough from the doorway. “Eggs and taters ok for yous?”

“That sounds brilliant,” Gil said. Bunt slipped back through the kitchen door, which could not quite conceal his airy whistling. “I’ll be right back,” Gil said to Hammen and Millie.

He crossed the room to Reya and Wilkus. “Want to eat with us? Master Bunt is already cracking eggs.”

Reya agreed at once, but as they crossed the room, Wilkus tapped Gil’s arm. “Could we help Bunt for a minute?”

“Sure,” Gil said. Reya joined Hammen and Millie by the stage, while Gil and Wilkus made for the kitchen door.

Wilkus’ voice had none of its normal anger. “I helped Drayborne create the mist all term, and something terrible was coming if you hadn’t stopped him. You were always nice to me, but I was too mad to see it. I wanted to apologize.”

“You picked your side when it counted most,” Gil said. “We needed you and the scruffin down there.”

“Branders,” Wilkus said immediately. “I’m transferring to Creaturecraft next term. Master Vail’s letting me stay.”

“Alchemy wasn’t the best fit?” Gil asked.

They both burst out laughing and entered the kitchen. Bunt had a pan of eggs going and potatoes boiling. Gil and Wilkus gathered plates, mugs, and silverware. Bunt surprised them by pulling a fresh pie from the oven. Gil and Wilkus served the meal to their friends, and it was the best anyone could remember.

Story Stats:

• Words: 58,000

• Writing Hours: Approximately 300.