Basic Thaumaturgy for the Emotionally Incompetent

“You will not get to know who’s been protecting you,” Inside his room again, Rolen said as he walked past a perfectly good set of chairs and instead perched sideways on the edge of a bookshelf like a contemplative cat.

“B-but why?” Fabrisse asked. He sat on the same seat he did last time he was in Rolen’s room, only that this time there was no need to touch his nose. Lorvan, silent as a shadow, had also taken his seat, again near the emerald ball game table.

Rolen didn’t answer immediately. He was too busy trying to balance a steaming teacup on his knee without using his hands. It wobbled with each breath he took, yet somehow didn’t spill. Fabrisse couldn’t detect any aether manipulation involved.

“They’re not Synod staff, Mr. Kestovar,” Archmagus Rolen sighed. “We are having to go to great lengths to ensure your safety.”

“Ah.” Fabrisse turned the word over in his mind. A simple sound, but it held far too many questions.

At least this rules out Rimmar Ciemnosc. Rolen is deliberately not getting the Synod involved. But why? Draeth seems like an insufferable old hag, but is he untrustworthy?

It only made sense that the Synod would protect him. So why?

“Are you going to report this incident to Archmagus Terevin Sil? She asked us to,” Fabrisse enquired.

“Sil is the best Darkness Thaumaturge in the Southern reaches of the Order, Kestovar.”

Ah. That’s why. His attacker could come from within the Synod itself. That might have been why blatant attacking attempts had been ignored completely. It would make sense there were better protection programs in place otherwise.

“Right. No, then. But I’ve got a question. Did the earlier magi bound to the Eidralith receive protection?”

“No.” Rolen shook his head. “There were no known methods of artifact unbinding back then. It seems that this might have changed, judging from the circumstances.”

Four archmagi ran the administration: Headmaster Draeth, Iveta Monasterie, Karius Fullmann, and Mikhael Rolen. Draeth hated his guts, Iveta’s help would come with conditions, and Karius . . . he had never seen Karius do anything about anything. He wasn’t sure if Karius was present during the Vothiculum ceremony itself.

Fabrisse looked between the two seniors in the room and felt his stomach twist. He clenched the edge of his robes, wishing he could shrink into one of its multiple pockets like a tortoise. ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ NoveI[F]ire.net

This was getting too big. He only wanted to fling stones and feed ducks.

Lorvan, Tommaso, and now even an Archmagus were involved—all because he, Fabrisse Kestovar, couldn’t even fend off a shadow strike without someone saving him.

How many more people were going to be dragged into this mess on his behalf?

For a fleeting second, he didn’t want the Eidralith anymore. He didn’t even want to be a Thaumaturgy student anymore.

But isn’t this my chance? My chance at something bigger in life? He stared at Lorvan, who wasn’t staring back at him. ‘Only in deep discomfort can you bloom’, his mentor had told him.

“Do you have any idea who may have been targeting you?” Rolen asked.

One name immediately jumped to mind. “I’ve met Magister Trastin Montreal once and learned that he possesses the Pre-Binding Codex.”

Rolen nodded as he looked up to the ceiling. “I got the same information. Montreal is a man of deep passion for research, and he doesn’t seem to let nuisances like governing laws get in his way. He’s been taken to court once over an alleged dispossession of an existing Codex. He claimed it was within his right to peruse any unanchored artifact for research. The tribunal dismissed the case—insufficient evidence, they said. But the scholar whose vault he ‘investigated’ was never seen on campus again. He seems to be alive and living okay, though, just no longer an employee. I’ll make sure to keep a closer eye on him.”

Magister Montreal would definitely be interested. But he had respected Fabrisse’s wishes before, so why would he go out of his way and potentially ruin his career and reputation stooping down this low?

“Kestovar. Whatever edge the Eidralith gives you, you may want to capitalize on it now,” Rolen said. “You will need to get good, and get good fast.” The way he pronounced ‘get’ made it sound like ‘gid’. “I expect you to be able to form an elemental weapon in three months’ time.”

“Can we start with basic synaptic control?” Fabrisse asked immediately.

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“Synaptic control?” Rolen arched his brow.

“Yes. I need to learn to move my arm in a perfect arc.”

Rolen turned to look at Lorvan. Lorvan sighed exasperatedly.

“I thought you passed Synaptic Control I?” Rolen asked.

“I scored a 12 in Practical. I wish to change that.”

Rolen stayed silent for a moment, then said, “It’s never too late to start.”

Then Rolen moved.

His motion was almost identical to Lorvan’s standard form: right arm lifted, curve narrowing in at the shoulder. But where Lorvan’s had been precise, Rolen’s looked loose, offhanded, almost lazy.

And yet—

Fabrisse felt the aether shift instantly. They pulled him closer, almost physically, as shades of pink bloomed around Rolen’s arm.