Songs of the Magi
Miss Longueville
Less two hours had passed since Louise Valliere's failed summoning spell had temporarily blinded and disoriented each of the academy's students and staff members, the very Earth seeming to shake beneath their feet. Old Osmond – the white-haired and bearded headmaster so old that none save, perhaps, he himself, even remembered his age anymore – had been one of the worst effected, the sudden shock having caused him to pass out for almost thirty minutes. Even now, it was clear that he was far from wholly recovered, as his familiar Motsognir had not even once taken the opportunity to peer up her skirt since he regained consciousness. Normally, this would please the headmaster's secretary, who often served as the target of his perversions, but, with every report she and the headmaster received from the academy's staff, she was getting more and more worried.
"Indeed, headmaster. The immediate surroundings of the academy seem to have changed significantly. I can confirm that the river running parallel to the wall between the Fire and Earth towers stretches for at least one thousand mails in either direction, while the road connecting the main gate of our academy to Tristania is absent. Of course, even on gryphon back, determining whether the capital itself has disappeared or not was not possible, but, considering the rest of our surroundings..."
"Yes," Osmond replied, breathing out a cloud of smoke from behind his pipe, as he stroked his beard. "Although I am reluctant to give credit to the strange theories being bandied about by some of the staff, what you've reported is certainly troubling, Vendome."
Pierre Vendome – the academy's wind magic instructor – was quite a skilled gryphon rider, having had one of the winged mounts as a familiar since his own days at the academy. Thus, when Madame Chevreuse – who had been teaching a class in the Tower of Earth – had reported that a river seemed to have suddenly appeared outside her classroom's window, Vendome had been tasked with investigating the matter. The report he had offered after surveying the area really was surprising, even to her.
While she played the role of Miss Longueville for the benefit of the Tristain Academy of Magic's staff, in truth, she was rather better known amongst Halkegenia's nobility by the sobriquet Fouquet of the Crumbling Earth, the continent's premiere thief.
Fouquet had taken on her latest cover identity in order to acquire an item for which one of her occasional buyers was willing to pay a small fortune. For whatever reason, Viscount Wardes – although he was under the impression that Fouquet was unaware of his identity – wanted the Staff of Destruction quite badly. Of course, it could also have been that his allies amongst Reconquista (something else which she was not supposed to know about) hoped to use the staff in their war against Albion's royal family.
In truth, so long as his money was good, his reasons were not that important to her. The Tudors were no friends of hers, having stolen her family's lands when she was only a child, so she would be pleased to help with their destruction, but even if the viscount was just looking for an expensive knick-knack, she had been more than willing to oblige him when he was offering enough ecu for Tiffania and the orphans she looked after to live comfortably for the rest of their days.
However, Professor Vendome's report might force her to set back her plans until she at least had a better handle on the situation. It would have been one thing if that little Valliere brat had just summoned a river. That still would have been completely insane, but, in the end, would not have really impacted her plans to steal the Staff of Destruction at all. However, it was not just the river. The roads were in different places, a nearby village had seemingly vanished, and even an experienced gryphon rider could not find a single recognizable landmark. As ridiculous as the idea sounded, it seemed as if the academy's least talented mage had managed to fail at the summoning spell with such zest that her failure had transported the whole of Tristain's Academy of Magic to an entirely new location.
Were they still in Tristain somewhere, or had the girl sent them all the way to Gallia or Germania? While the chaos Miss Valliere had caused might yet aid her in her theft, she was reluctant to flee the academy with a legendary magical weapon when she might accidentally stumble upon a company of Gallian mage knights on her way out. In her profession, knowledge was power, so she found her lack of knowledge at present rather vexing.
Of course, beautiful, innocent Miss Longueville would have a rather different view of the situation. First and foremost, she would be concerned with the safety of the academy, as well as her own personal security. The poor dear always fretted about that sort of thing, but was usually easy to calm down once one of the big strong men of the academy's staff reminded her of all the marvellous enchantments guarding their fair school.
Affecting an uncertain expression, the green-haired beauty for once interrupted the headmaster's briefing with a pertinent question.
"But Old Osmond, if even the roads have disappeared, then how will the students be fed? The gardens are mostly decorative, after all. I doubt that they could provide much food at all."
"Miss Longueville, please remember your place," the headmaster replied, turning towards his secretary. "As I have mentioned before, I would prefer that you not interrupt my conversations with the staff."
"I-I apologize professor. I just-"
"No," he interrupted. "Your concern is understandable, but not anything you need worry about. We still have two weeks worth of food in storage, and that could last twice as long if we have the students cut back on their meals a bit, although that may cause complaint. Hopefully, our situation will be resolved by then, but, if not, Madam Chevreuse, Madam Mancini and a dozen or so of their more skilled third year students should be more than capable of seeing to our most urgent needs."
Fouquet doubted that. It was true that, when working together, even line rank earth and water mages could tend to five times as many crops as a normal farmer, and grow the crops more quickly on top of that, but the academy housed over six hundred students and staff. Moreover, even with mages ensuring that every day was an exceptional growing day, it was only possible to speed up the growth of crops so far. She had learned this the hard way, when she had tried to feed herself and Tiffania after her father's lands and those of the Archduke of Albion had been expropriated by the Crown.
The only question was whether Old Osmond knew this himself, and was simply trying to keep up her spirits while planning something, or whether he really did think their situation was indefinitely sustainable. Annoyingly, as predictable and easily manipulated as he was in other ways, a century of dealing with the nobility of Tristain had made his poker face far too good for her to read either way.
Of course, Miss Longueville, the daughter of a disgraced ex-noble, whose only exceptional features (besides the obvious) were her ability to read and write with great penmanship and grammar, would know none of that.
"Oh thank goodness," she replied, sighing in relief, as she placed a hand upon her chest. "I'm sorry, headmaster. I just get so worried sometimes."
"It's no matter, Miss Longueville. Just try to trust us teachers a little more in the future. We're cannier than you might think. Now," he continued, turning back towards Professor Vendome, "I'd like you to continue exploring our new surroundings tomorrow, Vendome. Perhaps, you could try to find a town or other settlement nearby. However, before that, it would probably be wise if you heard what Colbert has learned from prisoner. Hopefully, he'll be here shortly. In truth, I had already expected him to be finished by now."
Miss Longueville frowned thoughtfully. To her my mind, Jean Colbert – an absent-minded and kind, if very intelligent professor – was an odd choice to question a prisoner, but that was hardly the sort of thing Miss Longueville would comment upon, so she remained silent.
Meanwhile, Old Osmond and Professor Vendome chatted idly regarding a few other matters: repairing malfunctioning alviss, what the students should be told, how to deal with concerns from the cleaning and cooking staff, and how salaries would be handled if reliable contact with the Tristanian Crown could not be reestablished by Voidsday, when their next payment was due. These were important matters, of course, but were only peripherally related to her goals, so she only listened to their conversation with half an ear.
Fortunately, Professor Colbert – a balding, middle-aged man, whose serious blue eyes stood out clearly even behind his glasses – was not too long in coming.
After greeting the headmaster, the fire mage received a perfunctory greeting in turn before he was waved towards a seat beside Vendome along the wall.
"Now, Colbert. This supposed knight our guards captured has claimed to be part of a House Nayland, wasn't it? I cannot think of any noble family in Tristain with that name. Were you able to discover anything more form him?"
The professor sighed, appearing troubled.
"Yes, I did. He was actually quite cooperative – nearly gloating, in fact – but I am not sure that I can bring myself to believe anything he said."
"You think that he lied?"
"No. As far as I could tell, he believed everything he said. I am simply reluctant to believe it myself."
Professor Colbert took a deep breath.
"He claims to be from a village known as Hag's Mire, which is ruled over by his elder brother. From what I could tell, this brother has rank similar to a Baron in these lands."
The headmaster interrupted him.
"He is a mage, then? The guards did not find any wand on him."
"No," Professor Colbert replied, shaking his head. "In fact, he seemed to scoff at the very idea of magic, as if it was practically unheard of. If his words can be trusted, then it may be that magic is not a prerequisite for becoming a noble in this land, as is the case in Germania."
"Hm. I see. Continue."
"According to our prisoner, his family is sworn to Lord Walder Frey, who is something like a Count. This Lord Frey serves Lord Tully, some sort of petty king, like those in Germania. In turn, this Lord Tully is apparently sworn to the King of the Seven Kingdoms, Robert Baratheon."
Old Osmond was frowning, deep furrows setting into his brow.
"Are you quite sure he was not lying, or, perhaps, merely intoxicated?"
"Yes. As I said, he seemed to believe what he was saying. As far as I can tell, he knows nothing of Halkegenia, or even the elves. He did speak of another continent to the East – Essos – but his descriptions of it bear no relation to any location with which I am acquainted. Either he is mad, or Miss Valliere's failed spell has somehow transported us quite far from home."
"Then he is mad," Vendome declared heatedly, his long, brown hair falling over his eyes as he abruptly stood up. "A spell which transports an entire academy in an instant is already madness, but to transport us beyond even Rhub Al Khali is impossible! I refuse to believe that such a thing can exist."
Osmond's eyes were shadowed, as he considered the matter, peering down at his finely-made, sequoia desk.
"I too, have trouble believing in such a thing, Vendome, as does Colbert, from what I understood."
The headmaster waited for the fire mage to nod, offering his agreement.
"However, regardless of the truth of this man's claims. He did say at least one thing which may be of significant value to us. Colbert, were you able to get directions to this village of Hag's Mire from our prisoner?"
Colbert blinked.
"No, Old Osmond. I-I'm sorry. I seem to have forgotten with, well, everything else he said. I'll find out right away."
"Good. Vendome, you should go with Jean, and have our prisoner provide a map. Then, tomorrow, you will take two volunteers from among your third year students, along with Mister Vauban – I recall that he summoned a fire dragon familiar last year, so each of you should be able to carry a passenger – and explore this village, if it exists. That will hopefully provide evidence either for or against our prisoner's fantastical claims."
"Of course, Old Osmond."
"I'll get to it right away, headmaster."
Nodding, the two men headed for the door. Then, after Professor Vendome had left, Colbert turned back towards the headmaster with an uncertain expression.
"Old Osmond, about Miss Valliere..."
Osmond waved him away.
"Do not worry, Colbert. I am not so old and foolish yet as to hand out a severe punishment to a student for an accidental miscast. When she awakens, you may inform Miss Valiere that she will not be permitted to cast any more spells unless she is under the supervision of one of her instructors, as we do not need a repeat of whatever she did. Otherwise, she will be free to do as she wishes, with one exception. It is clear that, whatever has happened to us, Miss Valliere's magic is at the root of it, so I intend to study just what she has done, in order to see if it can be reversed. In this matter, I will expect her full cooperation. Does that satisfy you?"
Colbert simply nodded.
"Yes. Thank you, Old Osmond. I think that Miss Valliere will be glad to hear that when she awakens."
Without another word, the fire mage followed his colleague out the door and towards the academy's prisoner, leaving the headmaster and Miss Longueville alone. Then, for some time, the pair simply sat silently at their respective desks, seemingly lost in thought.
That Miss Valliere's malfunctioning magic had transported them all the way to another continent seemed impossible to Fouquet. As a triangle-class Earth mage, she had a very clear idea of what Brimiric magic could and could not do.
Certainly, there were legends of incredible feats thousands of years ago, but those were just legends. They might not even be true. Of course, even today, there were square-rank mages who could single-handedly annihilate a brigade of soldiers, or transfigure a beach of sand into beach of gold dust, but even if she could not equal those feats herself, the thief could at least understand how they might be performed in principle. With enough wind, any army could be blown away, while transfiguration of metals was certainly within her abilities, even if gold was beyond them for now. By contrast, she could not even conceive of a mechanism which might have been used by the Valliere girl's failed spell. Popping from one continent to another in flash of light was more like a story out of a faerie tale than any magic Fouquet had ever seen performed.
She was well aware, however, that her scepticism did not primarily stem from academic considerations.
Wardes was in Tristain, and she doubted that he would send her payment to a continent which was not even on any Halkegenian map. Even more importantly, though, Tiffania and her orphans were in Halkegenia. Long ago, she had sworn to herself that before everything else, even her vengeance against the nobility she loathed, Fouquet would provide for Tiffania and keep her safe. However, doing that from some unknown continent would be impossible. Her sister in heart, if not in blood, was a half-elf, living in the middle of a civil war, with no more guile or cunning than a newborn baby bird. Without Fouquet's assistance, she could not hope to survive for long.
Tomorrow, Vendome and his students would investigate this village of Hag's Mire and discover that the man they had captured was either delusional or a liar. No doubt they were in some backwater part of Germania. Returning to Tristain would take time, but would be doable, and it would even provide Fouquet with a number of good opportunities to snatch the Staff of Destruction while in transit. Then, once the staff was in Wardes' hands, she would wash her hands of Tristain, and head back to Tiffania's cabin with all the money they would need to keep her and the children safe. That's what she believed. It was what she had to believe. She-
Foquet's thoughts abruptly cut off, as the exotic, green-haired woman noticed something out of place. In a carefully calculated motion, the headmaster's secretary slowly raised her foot, offering a tantalizing glimpse of her leg, and then, without warning, her foot stomped down upon the floor with all the wrath of a woman whose deep thoughts had been interrupted by a peeping tom.
A high-pitched squeak from beneath her desk, and the rapid retreat of four small legs from underneath her table, indicated that she had missed yet again, but at least the peeping tom would be denied his perverse pleasures for now.
Miss Longueville's eyes turned towards Headmaster Osmond, who was pretending to nap at his desk, pipe in his mouth, with a vengeance.
"Old Osmond," she spoke up in a clipped tone. "We have discussed this before."
The ancient mage simply continued to lay his head on his desk with his eyes closed, loudly snoring, as if to indicate, 'see, I'm actually asleep.'
His canny secretary was not fooled.
"Fine then, if you are so tired, then, as your secretary, it is my responsibility, to do what I can for your continued health."
Saying that, the secretary, raised her wand and, with a swish, sent the headmaster's pipe flying out of his mouth and into her waiting hand.
The headmaster mumbled something in his seeming sleep which sounded suspiciously like, "Oh, what a cruel secretary I have, to take away the last pleasures of an old man in his final years."
Miss Longueville, who heard him quite clearly, remained unmoved.
"You are, of course, correct, Old Osmond. You will find," she continued, opening the drawer of her desk and placing the headmaster's pipe inside of it, "that I am wholly willing to keep denying an old man this particular pleasure for one day for each time your familiar peeps at my underclothes."
"Oh, Motsognir, truly you are my only friend," the old man once again mumbled in a voice which was suspiciously coherent for one who seemed to be asleep.
Having made his way to Osmond's side, the mouse offered a consoling, "Chuchu," to his master.
"And you won't get any more friends until you start acting in a manner befitting your position, Old Osmond, so stop complaining."
"Ah, I see, Motsognir," suspiciously clear, if dreamy, voice spoke up again. "White and plain again again, hm. Perhaps, Miss Longueville would be in a better mood if she wore something a bit more daring. It might even help her catch a husband."
"Chuchu," his familiar replied, concurring with his old master.
Old Osmond's secretary simply gritted her teeth, and then, with a haughty sniff, turned away from the headmaster and towards the correspondence on her desk. When he was like this, the old letch seemed to view even negative attention as encouragement, so, no matter how aggravating he was, the best way to handle him was just to ignore his antics. Even if going through the headmaster's mail on her desk was probably pointless in the academy's new circumstances, it would at least serve as a distraction from the old pervert for an hour or so.
She would just have to keep careful watch over the area beneath her chair and her desk. Motsognir was small and sneaky, but not so small that he could escape her vigilance. Perhaps, once she had repelled a few of the old letch's advances, a miracle might even occur, and he would follow her good example, getting some work done.
Opening the first of the headmaster's letters – this one from the Montmorency family – Miss Longueville sighed. This cover identity and this job: hopefully, she would be finished with both of them very soon. She really felt like spending some time with Tiffania right now.