Chapter 58 - The Fifth Day

Arien lay in the grass beside Will’s obstacle course, enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun and doing absolutely nothing.
It was wonderful.
Will lay a few feet away, equally motionless, and for the better part of half an hour they had been discussing matters of absolutely no importance.
A distant bird apparently resembled a dragon.
One particularly large cloud was either a fortress under siege or a fat man carrying a lollipop, depending on which of them was asked.
Arien had to give Will credit. The boy could turn almost anything into a battle scene.
Footsteps crunched softly through the grass behind them. Arien lazily raised his head.
Malbek was approaching, looking past them rather than at them until he was only a few steps away.
During the past few weeks, he had visited the estate only once. Even then, he had merely joined them for dinner, asking Arien surprisingly mundane questions about his stay and listening while Will recounted stories from his childhood with Malbek.
“I see you’ve been a bad influence on my brother,” Malbek said by way of greeting. “This may be the first time I’ve ever seen him lying around in the middle of the day.”
“I’m recovering,” Will replied. He sounded almost guilty, as though Malbek had caught him doing something forbidden.
“Recovering.”
“My muscles need time to rebuild so they can come back stronger.”
Malbek looked at Arien, who nodded solemnly. “Overtraining is dangerous. You recover slower, the injuries start piling up, and eventually your body can’t keep up.”
Convincing Will of that had taken considerably more effort than Arien cared to admit.
His friend seemed to possess an almost inexhaustible supply of energy, and his Attributes allowed him to train far longer than an ordinary person without immediately suffering for it. That did not mean spending every waking hour running, climbing, swinging a sword, or inventing increasingly creative ways to injure himself was the best idea.
Arien could heal the small strains and injuries Will accumulated during training, but using Life Magic every evening so his friend could push himself past his natural limits again the next morning was another matter. He had no intention of finding out where that led through experimentation.
Besides, being lazy alone was considerably less enjoyable than being lazy with a friend.
“Hmm.” Malbek looked thoughtful. “I’m fairly certain I’ve read something similar.”
“Want to join us?” Will asked. He pointed toward the grass beside him without taking his eyes off the clouds.
Malbek raised an eyebrow. “No, thank you.”
“You sure? That one looks like a siege tower.”
“It looks like a cloud.”
Will sighed. “No imagination.”
“Fortunately, I came here for something slightly more important.” Malbek glanced between them. “I’m leaving again after lunch, and I wanted to discuss Academy registration before I go. You do realize registration begins next week?”
Will immediately sat up. “Yes! You’re taking us, right? I thought we could go first thing on the first day.”
“I’ll take you.” Malbek’s mouth twitched. “On the fifth day.”
Will frowned. “Why the fifth?”
“Because by then the lines become almost tolerable.”
“Lines?”
“Do you have any idea how many people attempt to enter the Academy every year?”
Their silence answered for them.
“Half the kingdom descends on Wayhold for registration. And believe me, it isn’t the Masters’ favorite week of the year. Seven days spent examining children, every single one of whom has spent the previous ten years being told they’re the greatest genius their village has produced in generations, tends to wear down even the most patient instructor.”
“And only one in ten actually gets accepted?” Will asked.
“Roughly.”
Arien turned toward him. “Only that many?”
Malbek stared at him. “Only?”
“I expected more.”
“The first year begins with roughly two thousand students spread across four Houses.”
“But I’ll get in, right?” He sat straighter. “You said there was no chance I wouldn’t.”
“Relax. Neither of you has anything to worry about. Eights are always accepted.”
Malbek pointed at his brother.
“And with your current Skill levels, assuming you have the sense to wait until the Masters advise you before assigning anything else, the physical examination shouldn’t trouble you.”
“The what?” Arien asked.
“Physical examination.”
“There’s a physical examination?”
Everything Arien had heard suggested that possessing mana was enough to enter the House of Magic. Nobody had mentioned running, fighting, or whatever else the Academy considered sufficiently unpleasant to qualify as an examination.
Malbek closed his eyes for a moment. “Have either of you actually looked through Gilfra’s library?”
Silence.
“The Academy regulations are there.”
More silence.
“You only have to read them.”
Arien and Will exchanged a look. That seemed answer enough.
Will generally disliked reading. Arien had been considerably more optimistic when he first discovered the estate possessed a library, only to learn that most of its shelves contained romances, histories of merchant families, or treatises on trade. Once he confirmed there was almost nothing about magic, his enthusiasm had declined rapidly.
He had even opened the enormous volume devoted to the Academy, then promptly closed it again.
Entire chapters covered administrative offices, chains of authority, campus regulations, and detailed punishments for various offenses. Naturally, nobles and commoners had separate provisions.
Perfect bedtime reading.
“That’s what we have you for,” Will said, flashing Malbek a shameless grin. “To summarize all the boring parts.”
“Well,” Malbek said, “I’m a busy man. I’m sure you’ll manage somehow.”
He turned as though to leave.
“Nooo!” Will immediately threw himself at his brother’s feet. “Forgive me, Great Brother. You know I’m only a simple warrior. My mind was never made for such complicated matters.” He clasped his hands dramatically. “Please, enlighten us humble mortals. We’ll repay you someday, won’t we, Arien?”
“Of course,” Arien agreed solemnly.
Malbek regarded them both for a moment. “Very well. I’ll add it to your debt.”
Will climbed back to his feet, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
Malbek folded his arms. “As you know, the Academy is divided into four Houses.”
He pointed at Will. “The House of the Sword should require very little explanation. Candidates demonstrate proficiency with a weapon of their choice and undergo a series of physical tests.”
“Sounds reasonable.”
“You would think so.”
Malbek moved on before Will could ask. “Then there’s the House of Magic. The smallest of the four, but also the most prestigious.”
Will groaned. “Why does Magic always have to be the prestigious one?”
“Because that’s simply how the world works.”
“Convenient answer from a mage.”
Malbek ignored him.
“Admission is simpler. You need mana. For ordinary Tens, that’s usually enough, although in particularly crowded years the Masters may also require candidates to demonstrate some ability to actually use it.”
Arien frowned. “And Eights?”
“Accepted automatically, assuming the artifact confirms both their age and the presence of mana. After that, the Masters usually ask a few questions and determine where they should begin.”
Good. Arien had been half expecting to discover that admission involved throwing fireballs at training dummies or some equally reasonable test of magical talent.
“What about the other Houses?”
“The House of the Quill. Future officials, judges, lawyers, scholars, diplomats, anyone hoping to spend the rest of their life buried beneath paperwork.”
“Your people, then?” Will asked.
Malbek gave him a flat look. “They require an extremely difficult written examination. The Quill also cooperates closely with the House of Magic, particularly in research and administration.”
“And the fourth?”
Malbek’s expression soured. “The House of the Harp.” He paused. “A gathering place for degenerates, layabouts, and people who believe playing music somehow constitutes useful employment.”
Arien stared at him. “Why do I get the feeling that isn’t the Academy’s official description?”
“It isn’t,” Malbek said. “Theirs is less accurate.”
Will snorted. Arien decided to learn about the House of the Harp from someone else.
“What about the fifth day?” he asked instead. “Won’t the Masters be exhausted after several days of examinations?”
“Oh, they’ll be exhausted.”
“And presumably more irritable.”
“Almost certainly.”
“Then why are we deliberately waiting?”
Malbek smiled without humor. “Because if you arrive on the first day and fail to secure a place in line, you’ll come back the next morning.”
“And if we fail again?”
“You come back the next morning.”
“And then?”
“The next morning.”
“You tried registering on the first day, didn’t you?”
Malbek’s expression tightened. “Yes.”
A sore subject, then.
“The first few days are chaos. Places in line are claimed before dawn by queue-runners and sold afterward. Merchants appear with special potions supposedly guaranteed to improve examination results. Others offer introductions, secret advice, even promises that a particular Master can be persuaded to look favorably upon a candidate.”
“And the Academy allows that?”
“I asked exactly the same question during my fifth year.” Malbek’s mouth twitched. “Do you know what the Master I spoke to told me?”
“That corruption has always existed and always will?”
Malbek laughed. “No. He said commoners generally can’t afford any of it, so they aren’t the ones being cheated. Meanwhile, separating empty-headed provincial nobles from their money before informing them that the Academy cannot be bought provides a valuable educational experience.”
Arien stared at him. “That was his actual argument?”
“More or less.”
“I’m beginning to like this place.”
“Don’t get too enthusiastic,” Malbek said. “Once you’re inside, the Academy won’t care why someone else progresses faster than you. If you can’t keep up, you’re out at the end of the semester.”
Arien’s enthusiasm dimmed.
Malbek settled back onto the grass. “The Academy is extremely protective of its reputation. Its prestige depends on two things: the quality of its students and the belief that admission is based on merit. Wealth and family influence may help prepare you for the examinations, but they aren’t supposed to change the result.
“Why do you think families from neighboring kingdoms send their children here? Foreign students pay their own tuition, unlike many Wyndorian students from poorer families, and they still compete for places.”
Arien had to admit that sounded pretty good.
A diploma from a school that genuinely refused to care who your parents were actually meant something. He remembered enough prestigious universities on Earth where family connections and money could open doors that ability alone sometimes couldn’t.
For once, Erador appeared to have improved on the original.
“Of course,” Malbek continued, immediately ruining the moment, “wealth still helps enormously.”
Of course it did.
“Rich families prepare their children years in advance with private tutors, better equipment, experienced instructors, actual elixirs instead of whatever colored water the registration-week merchants sell, and artifacts that temporarily increase Attributes. None of that guarantees admission, but pretending it provides no advantage would be idiotic.”
“Those really exist?”
“Of course they do. Even the temple in Three Meadows had an artifact that temporarily increased Strength and Agility.”
Arien looked at him. “I thought that was some special blessing available only to temples. And I didn’t know about potions.” He hesitated. “Besides, wasn’t it Strength and Vitality?”
Malbek frowned. “Was it?”
“I’m fairly sure.”
“Then I’m remembering incorrectly.”
He dismissed the mistake with a small wave. “The principle is the same. Potions are expensive, but personal artifacts that increase Attributes while worn are where the truly absurd amounts of money begin. Even the weakest can cost as much as a small village.”
Arien stared at him. “For a few Attribute points?”
“A few Attribute points can decide whether you live or die.”
Fair enough.
“How many can they actually provide? Is there some sort of limit?”
“Several.” Malbek leaned back on his hands. “The exact limits depend on the effect, quality, and Attribute involved, but the most important rule is that bonuses of the same type don’t stack.”
“Meaning?”
“If you drink three Lesser Elixirs of Strength, you don’t gain six Strength. You gain two.”
“Because they’re all the same effect.”
“Exactly. The System recognizes the strongest applicable bonus and ignores the weaker ones.” Malbek picked at a blade of grass. “That’s why a standard Elixir of Strength granting three points can cost several times more than a Lesser one granting two. Once you reach that market, people pay enormous amounts for very small improvements.”
Arien could believe it. “Alchemists must be incredibly wealthy. Actually, why isn’t there a House of Craftsmen at the Academy? With alchemy, enchanting, and smithing, it seems like an obvious addition.
Malbek laughed. “The King would love one.”
“But?”
“But the Guilds would rather burn half their workshops than surrender control over how their trades are taught.”
Arien raised an eyebrow. “That bad?”
“They’ve guarded their methods for generations. Only craftsmen recognized by the appropriate Guilds are permitted to formally teach most advanced techniques, and they do so through their own workshops and apprenticeships.”
“So the Academy simply accepts that?”
“For now.”
Arien fell silent. Since arriving in Wayhold, pieces that had once seemed unrelated were beginning to fit together.
He had once imagined Factions as organizations waiting to trap talented children the moment they became useful. Now he was beginning to see that most of them had no need for threats.
Reality was subtler.
Progress became expensive. Training demanded good teachers, higher Skills required knowledge, and useful Specializations often depended on opportunities he might never encounter alone. Then there were artifacts, elixirs, rare materials, access to dangerous places, and whatever else awaited beyond the levels he currently understood.
Sooner or later, someone ambitious enough would need things an individual simply couldn’t provide for himself.
That was where the Factions gained their leverage. They didn’t need to force anyone into joining when they could simply offer resources that became harder and harder to refuse.
It was far more rational than Arien had first imagined.
And just as ruthless.