“
Tricks?” Gaspi asked with a raised eyebrow, but Taurnil just shrugged.
“
Whatever you want to call it,” he said, stepping carefully off the ice and re-joining Lydia.
“
So that’s why you made Taurnil bring his koshta gear all the way back from Aemon’s Reach,” Lydia said.
“
Uh huh,” Gaspi said with a grin. “Shame it’s down in the barracks!”
Lydia pulled a face.
“Great!” she said sarcastically. Emmy laughed and put an arm around her. Lydia hated watching sport of any type.
“
Don’t worry Lyd,” she said indulgently. “I’ll keep you company when the boys want to play.”
“
You say that now,” Lydia responded with narrowed eyes. “But I bet you just end up watching the stupid seed.” Emmy laughed till there were tears in her eyes, and even Taurnil couldn’t keep from chuckling. Lydia looked at them in shocked indignance until Emmy leaned over and kissed her warmly on the cheek.
“
I love you Lydia,” she said, still chuckling. Lydia wrinkled her face up but Gaspi thought she looked mollified.
“We won’t be doing it very often anyway
,” he said. “Taurn and I are the only players!”
“
Maybe the other boys will want to play,” Emmy said.
“
Maybe,” Gaspi said. “But they’d need whackers and ice-boots.”
“I’m sure you can think of a way,” Emmy said.
“Well I suppose we could make the whackers from some other kind of wood, and a local smith could make the boots…”
“
We’ll work something out,” Taurnil said, at which point his stomach growled loudly.
“
Supper time is it?” Lydia asked, patting him fondly on the belly.
“
Guess so!” he said cheerfully. “Where are we gonna eat?”
“
Let’s just grab something in the refectory,” Gaspi said.
“
Sounds good,” Taurnil said. Normally the barracks kept Taurnil fed and watered, but he’d not started duty yet and the refectory staff didn’t seem to mind when Gaspi occasionally brought him along to eat with the magicians.
Lydia snuggled in under Taurnil
’s arm, clinging to him lovingly as they walked towards the refectory. Emmy beamed at Gaspi, taking his arm as they followed behind.
“
Oh wait,” Gaspi said, turning back to the ice. He held out a hand, releasing the enchantment and heating the ice so fast that it shrank and then disappeared in the space of several heartbeats, leaving the ground completely dry.
Satisfied, Gaspi turned away from the quad. Taurnil was looking at the now dry ground appreciatively.
“A portable pond; such a good trick!”
Later that morning, a messenger arrived to lead Gaspi, Emea and Lydia to their new rooms. The messenger, who introduced himself as Jaim, was a student himself, though he was clearly a couple of years older than they were. He was short of stature with closely cropped black hair and warm, brown eyes. Gaspi was surprised to find he was leading them to the tower, and stopped him as they were about to pass through the archway into the Atrium.
“We’re going to live in the tower?” he asked. He’d never given much thought to where the older students lived but he wouldn’t have guessed it would be the tower itself.
“After the first year, all students live in the Warren,” Jaim said. “It takes up the entire fourth floor. In the past, there used to be a lot more trainee magicians, but these days there are plenty of empty rooms.”
“Oh right,” Gaspi said. He was pleased to find out where he’
d be living; the tower was a fascinating place full of magical mysteries and secrets.
Jaim led them to the receptionist, a compact woman in her fifties dressed in scrupulously tidy clothes. She
peered at them over thick glasses as they approached. “Yes?” she asked with the brisk efficiency of someone accustomed to dealing with too many people in a single day to take individual notice of.
“I’
m taking these three to their rooms,” Jaim said.
The receptionist appraised them brief
ly, glancing down at her list. “Names?” she asked.
“Gaspi, Emea and Lydia,” Jaim answered.
The receptionist ran a finger down her list, placing three, hard ticks against their names with a short, stubby quill. She opened a draw and pulled out three keys, placing them on the top of the desk, indicating which key belonged to whom. “Fourth floor, Eastern Annex.”
Clearly dismissed, they thanked her and followed Jaim towards the transporters.
“Don’t pay any attention to Dorys,” he said when they were out of earshot. “She’s been here longer than most of us can remember. She’s a bit of a dry old stick but she’s harmless enough,” he said conspiratorially.
“Is she a magician?” Lydia asked.
“No, just a local citizen,” Jaim answered. “They say the place would fall apart without her though,” he added. “Magicians can be a bit…messy.” Emea laughed.
“Okay, step on,” he said. He waited patiently while they arranged themselves on the platform. “The Warren,” he said, and they were all swept up in the discomforting sensation of transportation.
“Welcome to your new home,” he said as he led them through the exit from the transporter room. The broad corridor they were walking along was lined with large, white-painted doors, many of which were open, spilling smoky, incense laden air from within. Glancing through the doorways as they passed, Gaspi could see groups of students gathered in the rooms, lounging on the beds, or even on the floor. The sound of soft chimes came from one open door, and a gently plucked string instrument from another, causing Lydia to linger behind them for a moment before catching them up.
“Jaim, we’
ve got a game going,” a voice called as they passed another room.
“Hold on Pita,” Jaim called back. “Just showing these guys to their rooms, then I’
ll be back.”
“K,” the voice replied.
They passed through a large set of double doors and into another corridor. Jaim stopped by one of the rooms, comparing the symbol on the door, a kind of snaking S, against the one on Emea’s key. “Okay this is you Emea,” he said.
Emea nodded.
“Come back here when you’re done?” she called to Gaspi and Lydia as they were led away.
“Sure,” Gaspi answered. “See you in a bit.”
Jaim led them round the corner and delivered Lydia to her room, which was marked with a teardrop. Gaspi’s room was through another set of doors.
“
Here you go,” he said, indicating a door marked with a flame.
Gaspi compared it to the symbol on his key.
“Thanks Jaim,” he said.
“No problem,” Jaim responded. “Let me know if you need anything but I reckon you’
ll be fine,” he said, smiling warmly. “Okay, I’ve got a game to go to, so see you later.”
“Thanks again,” Gaspi said, turning back to his door as Jaim walked away. He put the key in the lock and turned it, pushing the door open. It swung inwards, revealing a large, rectangular room with a wooden floor made up of hundreds of small slats of timber, polished up to a fine sheen. A long shaft of light fell brightly across the glowing floor, beaming through tall windows that stretched almost the full height of the far wall. Gaspi looked around with pleasure at the oaken bedstead, wardrobe and desk, smiling broadly at what was to be his new home. It was much nicer than he’
d expected. He walked over to the desk and ran his hand over the hundreds of carvings etched into the wood, cut into it over the years by students who’d sat there and studied in the past. The whole place gave him a warm glow, and he only hoped Emmy and Lydia’s rooms were as nice.
Content that he was going to very happy there, he left the room to go and find them, pulling the heavy door shut behind him.
…
Taurnil slammed his swords back into the weapons rack, frustrated by another humiliating practice. Drillmaster Trask said he was improving, but it was happening far too slowly for Taurnil’s liking. He didn’t understand how he could use a staff like he was born to it, and yet the swords still felt like clumsy weights in his hands. He could execute the most basic manoeuvres, the blocks and thrusts that every swordsman could do by the end of their first month, but against a skilled bladesman he was hopeless.
Erik had sparred with him today, and the experienced guard had stretched him at every turn, trying to tease some skill out of the young fighter, but it just exposed the weaknesses in his technique, leaving him feeling humiliated. Not that he didn’t appreciate it; he wanted to be stretched, but couldn’t help feeling frustrated when he failed to rise to the challenge.
Erik slid his own blades into the rack and clapped him on the back as he walked off. It was a friendly gesture but Taurnil didn’t trust himself to speak in case his anger made him sound childish. Lydia had come to watch him spar today, which made him feel his embarrassment even more keenly. He could feel her eyes on his back.
As the other guards left the arena, Taurnil made his way over to her. She swung her bag over her shoulder and ran a hand through her hair, smiling warmly at him as he approached. “Are you done for the day?”
“Yeah,” he answered, trying to hide his frustration.
“Good. I want to show you my room,” she said with a secretive smile.
“Okay,” he responded, trying to summon some enthusiasm.
“Are you alright?” she asked, picking up on his despondency.
Taurnil knew better than to try and hide anything from her. Once she was onto something she was like a dog after a bone, though he wouldn’t use that comparison to her face! “It’s the blooming swords,” he said, slumping down onto a bench. “I’m hopeless,” he said.
“You looked alright to me,” she answered.
“That’s because you’re not a fighter,” Taurnil answered, glancing up to see if he’d said the wrong thing. Sometimes things like that could annoy Lydia, but she didn’t seem bothered this time. “Erik was trying to stretch me, so he kept the fight going, but he could have ended it anytime he wanted.”
“Oh,” Lydia said. “I didn’t realise that.”
He was grateful that he never had to justify how seriously he took his weapons training to Lydia; she knew about the prophecy and unequivocally supported his belief that he was destined to be Gaspi’s protector.
“Why do you have to be good at every weapon?” she asked. “Why can’t you just stick to what you’re best at?”
Taurnil thought for a moment. “It’s to do with range,” he explained. “The staff is great when you’ve got room to swing it, but what if you can’t or you get disarmed? I need to be good with a close range weapon too.”
“Alright,” she said thoughtfully. “How about knives? Gypsies always carry a knife on them in case they get cornered.”
He brightened a bit. “That’s actually a good idea. Although there’s no guaranteeing I’ll be any good with them either. But I can give it a go.”
She must have sensed his foul mood lifting. “Right, time to show you my room,” she said, springing to her feet.
He let himself be pulled up. “I’ve got to wash first,” he said, glancing down at the drying sweat on his arms.
“Okay, go and wash,” Lydia answered, pushing him towards the exit from the practice arena. “I’ll wait here, but be quick!” Taurnil smiled wryly to himself as he walked off. When it came to giving him orders, Trask didn’t have a patch on Lydia.
…
Lydia pushed open the door to her room and led Taurnil inside. He looked around in surprise, appreciating how nice it was. It was spacious and well furnished, and Lydia had already added her own touches to it; gauzy drapes hung over the window, plants bloomed in several large pots in the corners, and the floor was strewn with colourful rugs. She’d thrown a richly woven blanket over her bed sheets and strings of bells hung in front of the window.
Taurnil sat down heavily on the bed, bouncing on the complaining springs. “It’s nice in here!” he said. “You’ve made it feel like home already.”
“Thanks,” Lydia said, sitting down next to him and placing a hand on his leg. “Gypsies are good at that.”
Taurnil looked at her, taken aback by the intensity in her eyes. She was often intense but there was something different about her today - something he couldn’t identify but which nevertheless made him feel very nervous. She leaned in and kissed him, her soft lips urgent in a way he’d never experienced before. He could barely catch his breath. Something primal was stirring deep in his belly. Lydia’s hand snaked round his neck, pulling him even closer, and as she pressed her body against his, Taurnil could feel where she was both soft and firm at the same time, amazed by the contrast of those two things. His breathing became ragged in his throat as he felt her hand close over his, drawing it upwards over her stomach.
“Stop!” he said breathlessly, pulling back and placing both hands on her shoulders. “What are you doing?” he asked, swallowing noisily.
Her eyes lost none of their intensity. “What do you think I’m doing?” she said, weaving her hands around his wrists and pulling him towards her again. “I’m giving myself to you.”