CHAPTER FOUR
The Daedra

The Hall of Elements had always been aptly named. Magicka was in the air, floating back and forth between groups of friends in every form imaginable, physical and otherwise. Not to be deterred by Faralda's warning or the injury I suffered on his behalf, Treoy had elected to gather a group of other students for an impromptu Destruction practice, thankfully confining himself to spells of a more manageable magnitude. From across the assembly I watched him hold the flame in his bare hands, stretching the rampant element into a consistent shape - a circle of fire through which fist-sized orb-shards of ice arched through to be shattered by bolts of cobalt lightning. A dangerous practice, and one Treoy would never attempt were any of his instructors present. On the other hand, he'd always reasoned that what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them. Sometimes I wished he'd consider his own safety a little more carefully, but I knew he was a showman at heart no matter how literal a pain he was to me or anyone else. Whatever he did, he did only to impress.

I had spied Treoy's practice partners during our last lesson. The frost fragments flew from the hands of the same squat Bosmer elf I'd seen talking to his bird, his too-long robes almost grazing the floor. His new feathered companion clung to him, sitting perched on his shoulder. It was rather bizarrely calm considering its master was scooping moisture from the air and forming it into jagged chunks of frozen water for hurling through a ring of fire. Such was the power of the elvish Beast Tongue; to form an instant and implicit bond between the speaker and the animal. Personally, I theorized that the Bosmer's ability to charm creatures was merely a form of inborn Illusion magic, but I knew of no way to prove it at the time.

Standing opposite the Bosmer and his bird was the towering Altmer, so thin that his dangling robes made him look like a farmer's scarecrow. Lazy flicks of his fingertips chained lightning toward the shards of ice, not shattering them so much as disintigrating them from the air. Not even a drop of steaming water could be found after he cast his spells, and he seemed incapable of missing his mark; regardless of the crescent angles each shard travelled, not one escaped his sight - much to the frustration of the Bosmer, whose scowling face looked ready to shrivel up on itself.

Treoy's little routine had gathered a few spectators besides myself; some students had strayed from their studies to watch as the ring rose higher from Treoy's grip, turning end over end in the air in time with the motions of his hands. The Bosmer began to lob his frost spells up and over the ring, letting them fall down through it as it rotated. His timing was impeccable to get them through, but the Altmer was not about to be outdone. His spindly golden fingers splayed wide and lightning leaped from one to the other, swirling into a zigzagging blue vortex. He nudged his palms forward as if to gently suggest that the spell should move; the result was a spectacular spiralling coil of trailing lightning that curved up through Treoy's flame causing it to fizzle outward in a sputtering orange wave, leaving only tiny red flecks to rain down like autumn leaves.

Suffice it to say he'd caught everyone's attention at that point. Even Treoy looked awed. Indeed, there was a respectful silence from all observers, myself included. The Altmer permitted himself a brief smirking glance at his clearly irked Bosmer counterpart, but made no action aside that betrayed even a hint of conceit. Even that little tell was quickly hidden when he heard a long, slow clapping from the hall's entrance that sounded anything but impressed. The elves and I turned to see a stocky, pale Breton whose crown was adorned with a truly remarkable bald spot, his ears sheltered beneath the only remaining hair on his head. As this picture of middle-aged ambivalence strode inside, he reached up with a rough hand to brush the fresh-fallen snow from his gray robes; it was clear he'd been watching from the shattered doorway for some time, and yet he made no notice of the cold weather. With a wrinkle of the nose and a lopsided frown, he stepped into the centre of the Hall to face the young Altmer, somehow dwarfing the taller elf with his mere presence.

"Quite spectacular, young master Balwin," he said, his sincerity less than palpable.

Balwin bowed his head politely. I would have never believed it had I not seen it myself, but there was apparently such a thing as a humble High Elf. "Thank you, Master Gestor," he replied in the way eager young apprentices do when they appreciate the compliments they've recieved and hope to be given another on the merit of their humility.

Master Gestor folded his arms tersely, his expression static. "Are the three of you rehearsing for a festival? The Burning of King Olaf over in Solitude, perhaps?"

Balwin's brow dipped. "Sir?"

"The fireworks," Gestor said, gesticulating imprecisely up at the ceiling. "What were they for?"

"For practice, sir," Balwin replied matter-of-factly.

"Don't you 'sir' me," the scowling master snapped, his voice deepening. Then, like a coin had been flipped to show its opposite side, a sudden civility took him. "Call me Phinis," he finished, a false comfort on his breath.

Balwin, at a loss, complied. "Yes, s- ah, Phinis."

"Balwin," the Breton began, throwing a friendly arm around his wincing student's shoulders. "You know Destruction practice was cancelled for today, and yet here I find you in cahoots with the very hooligan who upset everyone else's schedule." Then, shooting a predator's glance to Treoy and the Bosmer, he intoned "Whom I will speak with later." I could almost feel the elves scowling back at him from where I was standing.

Phinis turned back to Balwin, looking at him the way a bear might at a small, irritating dog. "I believe that there is room only for the exceptional in the practice of Magery. Now, I don't doubt your skill, Balwin; it's Treoy there who can't keep a lid on his own fire." He paused, chuckling briefly. "But seeing you cavorting with layabouts like him - after all the work we've done together? That's hurtful."

I could see Balwin fight the urge to push Phinis' arm as he struggled for an excuse. "I meant no offense, sir -"

With that, the coin flipped back.

"What did I just say?"

Balwin stared for a moment, a little blank. So did everyone, for that matter. Of all our teachers, Phinis Gestor was perhaps the most... off, and it showed. Vividly. Not that he really cared, considering no one had the gall to interrupt him anyway.

"They're my friends," Balwin put forth weakly, as if the simple innocence of his motives would shield him from Phinis' rage. It did seem to soften Phinis' next response, if only from anger to a mere sneering condescension.

"I'm not your father, Balwin," he said, "I can't make you do what I tell you. If you want to waste your time with him, that's your decision. But when you get your face melted by some reckless gray-skin who thinks he ought to be Arch-Mage, don't say I didn't warn you -"

"Oh, get over yourself!"

Phinis' eyes looked fit to burst from their sockets when he heard that. The sheer audacity - that smeone would dare to insult him during his lesson? Unthinkable. He released Balwin and scanned the crowd for the voice that mocked him, outrage seeping back into his features. Most were unwilling to meet his eyes, instead turning their own to accuse the one who spoke out of turn.

"Oh, guarshit," I muttered, hand instinctively jolting to my calming amulet.

Adjusting her book satchel's shoulder strap, Katarina stepped out of the crowd to face Phinis. She pulled her hood back, her stern features putting Phinis' scowl to shame. He seemed more bemused than anything else at the sight of her, a visible snort issuing from his generously pronounced nose. "Ah, the exchange student," he sneered. "Can't you see I am having a very important discussion with my protege?"

"Oh, we all saw. You made damn sure of it, parading Balwin around like that," Katarina said, "Where do you get off humiliating him in front of his friends, using him to run the rest of us down? Who do you think you are?"

The only response from Phinis was his echoing footsteps as he gradually strolled his way over to Katarina. Understandably, Balwin took the opportunity to slip away and hide in the crowd near his Bosmer friend. No one knew what to expect from Phinis when he got like this, so naturally the crowd took a few steps back. I stayed in place, feeling like I should do... something. Katarina's eyes shifted to me briefly; feeling my throat clamp shut like a bear trap, I subtly cocked my head to the side, trying to get her to back off. She mouthed the word "no," then turned to meet Phinis' stare in the centre of the Hall. I stayed where I was; if she wouldn't budge, then neither would I.

"Miss... Katherine, is it?" Gestor said, strangely subdued. "I apologize if I'm incorrect. You haven't given me much reason to follow your progress too closely."

Katarina didn't even seem offended. "That's alright. You didn't strike me as the sort who bothers to get a woman's name."

There was some scattered tittering from the surrounding students. Phinis ignored them, seeming almost amused himself. "Very glib," he said, smiling much in the way one might consider a skull to be smiling. "I feel compelled to tell you, Miss Katherine, that you are infringing upon my valuable lesson time."

"Wasn't stopping you a minute ago," she quipped, hands perched defiantly on her hips. The snickering continued behind Phinis' back. It cut itself off abruptly when confronted by a mere glance from the Master Conjurer. I couldn't blame them; that hair was truly terrifying.

"How I choose to conduct my lessons is entirely my own affair," he said, turning back to the challenger beofre him. "If you dislike my methods, the door is quite open." He pointed smugly at the still-collapsed entranceway as if Katarina had somehow managed to miss the gaping thing.

"Why should I have to leave?" Katarina snapped, taking a step forward. "I'm here to learn and you're too busy ranting about your master race of mages to do your job. Seems to me you're the one with the attitude problem."

"Are you questioning my authority, girl?" Phinis spat, amusement evaporating from his face.

"Me and everyone else in the College!" Katarina said, extending her arms to the crowd as if she were playing to a jury. "Or is it standard procedure for so-called 'Masters' to use racial slurs regarding students they don't like? I haven't heard it from any of the others, but surely there's some obvious detail I've missed here. Enlighten me, won't you, Master?"

Phinis' mask of amusement abandoned him entirely, his face going beet red despite the drafty chill in the room. "You wouldn't understand!" He barked, his argument losing its focus. "I've seen unqualified hacks like Savos Aren take the title of Arch Mage! The damn grayskins have been running this place ever since the Red Year drove them all up here!"

The angrier Phinis got, the more courageously flippant Katarina became. Brazen, she turned from Phinis to appeal to her jurors in earnest as she continued her excoriation. "I was right! You're still angry that Savos was chosen instead of you. And for him to be replaced so suddenly by someone so young, someone otherthan you... it must sting to be passed over twice." Katarina let a satisfied smirk cross her lips as she returned to Phinis, venomously adding one word.

"Sir."

There was a long silence from the Master Conjurer. His outrage was not in question, but the manner of its expression was. His bearing and his voice relaxed, but his face remained as hard and dictating as ever. Slowly he spoke, choosing each word as if he were assessing its quality. "Miss Katherine. You remind me of a student I once had. Ornstien was his name - a truly talented summoner. For a Nord, anyways. Like you, he had a habit of speaking out of turn."

Phinis flexed his hand into a summoning sign at his side. Katarina mirrored him, white energy pooling in her palm. Behind my back, I did the same. If this was going to get out of hand, I'd be there for her no matter how much Phinis unnerved me and whether or not she appreciated it.

"Ornstien also had a habit of biting off more than he could chew, so to speak." Phinis began tracing his hand through the air as if drawing some symbol that only he could see. "Now, I took great pains to impress upon him that not all daedra are the same - that summoning a mere Scamp does not necessarily mean one can impose one's will upon... a Xivilai, for instance."

As his final words left his lips, he concluded his odd gesture. The lines he'd mimed took on a glowing, floating form in front of him - a curved, asymmetrical arch symbol with a small eye at its centre. Oht in the Daedric tongue.

The sign of Oblivion.

The sigil rippled like a vertical pool and a hunched, shadowy form loomed from within it. As if a reflection reaching through a looking glass, the figure emerged, standing to its full height. It must have been seven feet tall at least, male in form with the body of a warrior, eyes the color of blood and skin like a Dunmer's, regal curved horns sprouting from its brow and a mane of crowfeather black reaching down to its shoulders. It looked pleased as it scanned the room, showing a sadistic fanged grin as it met the eyes of each student in turn, surely imagining unique and grisly fates for each and every one of us. Finally, his bloody glare alighted upon Katarina.

Phinis continued to speak as if he'd done nothing more remarkable than brew up a batch of tea. "Now, Xivilai are the very highest order of Mehrunes Dagon's servants, beholden only to the Daedric Lord himself. Just summoning one is difficult. Making it obey you is nearly impossible. More often than not they'll just laugh, snap your neck like a brittle twig and be on their merry way. I've summoned this one dozens of times and still I wonder if perhaps he's just been humoring me all along, waiting for the moment to strike."

As if on cue, the towering creature snarled and took a thunderous step forward, flexing its clawed hands. Katarina tensed up, bringing her left hand up in front of her, fingers bent into a warding sign. Still, she refused to take a single step back. That was the only reason I didn't. Whether she was making a point or simply paralyzed with fear, I couldn't tell.

"Now, young Ornstien," Phinis said, acknowledging the Xivilai's grin at the mention of the name, "tried to summon this fellow - naturally, right after I told him not to. You can imagine my shock."

Phinis snapped his fingers and the Xivilai shook the hall and its populace with another ominous step, its murderous aura pushing everyone in the hall backward.

But not Katarina.

And not me.

I focused my all my magicka reserves into the palm of my hand, my heart drumming away like a blacksmith's hammer in the heat of the forge, eyes wide with fear, my entire being preparing itself for a do-or-die strike...

And the Xivilai vanished.

Katarina released a breath I hadn't realized she was holding while I did the opposite, gasping in relief. Slowly, she relaxed from her casting stance, her hand returning to her side. Phinis turned his back to her, addressing the thoroughly terrified students collectively.

"The poor lad is still among the living, but it was his friends who paid the price for his hubris. That failure will mark him for the rest of his life because he did not have the will to do this work. Let that be a lesson to you... all of you..." he added, his arrow-gaze locking onto Treoy as he said so, "...regarding the dangers of getting above oneself."

Finally, he turned back to Katarina as if he were a Jarl addressing his lowliest servant. "Have we reached an understanding, Miss Katherine?"

She only glared, and Phinis just smiled that skeleton smile. "I take your silence as a yes," he said.

Stepping up to the lectern, Phinis began his lesson proper. Watching all the hooded students gathering obediently around him, it was hard not to think of him as a sanctimonious sermonizing priest. "Now, if we have all fulfilled our daily desire for drama, everyone please turn to page three hundered and ninety-four in your Liminal Bridges textbooks. We have a lot of reading to do today and, thanks to all these disturbances, not much time to do it in."

Despite the surge of hooded acolytes hurrying past us to their Master's feet, Katarina and I stayed rooted where we were. She looked me in the eye, but her expression was utterly incomprehensible. She was hiding something, but what? Fear? Anger? I couldn't say, and she never told me. She just sighed, turned away and pulled her copy of Liminal Bridges out of her satchel, heading over to join the rest of the congregation.

That was when I realized I'd left my books back in the dormitory.

-=0=-