Chapter 8

The classroom chosen for Free Spellcasting was significantly smaller than the others Az had been in so far, and still only half the available seats were occupied by students. There were about ten others sitting quietly when Az arrived, and a smiling young man dressed in a loose black martial artist’s robe stood patiently at the front of the room, looking over the gathered students.

The man, who could only be Dorian, looked even younger than any of the other teachers and staff Az had seen so far. He looked like a typical man of athletic build in his mid twenties, his red hair and pale skin his most remarkable features. That was a coloring Az did not often see in Macedar. A foreigner, most likely.

Shortly after Az settled into a seat near the front of the class, Dorian clapped his hands to garner the attention of the class, a slight smile fixed on his face as he waited for silence.

After a suitably suspenseful pause, he spoke, “Welcome, my dear students, my new disciples, to a class of frightening significance. By choosing this elective, you have demonstrated insight and wisdom beyond your years. Over the course of the semester, I shall shepherd you down the path to greatness.

“Allow me to introduce myself, though I doubt any introduction is necessary. I am, of course, Dorian. You may have heard of my exploits in your studies.”

Dorian paused in his monologue to frown at the blank, confused faces staring back at him, “No? Well, that is a bit disappointing… but no matter! We shall remedy that gap in your knowledge soon enough. Now.. what was I saying? Oh, yes - free spellcasting. We won’t be relying on anything as redundant as spellforms in this class. I will impart upon you the fundamentals of performing true magic, knowledge that some would kill to possess.”

His smile returning, Dorian spread his arms to the side as if making a grand pronouncement, and, Az supposed, he was.

“You see, my dear students,” Dorian continued, his voice lowering as it took on a conspiratorial tone, “many mages limit themselves by focusing on learning and practising spellforms to the point of neglecting the source of a mage’s true power; their will. Do you think someone like our very own Iskander needs to rely on,” Dorian’s face scrunched up in a caricature of disgust, “a spellform to impose his desires upon reality?”

“Do you think he needs to know the right sequence of runes to level a mountain, or call lightning from the heavens down upon his foes? The answer, for those of you that are struggling to comprehend the depth of my words, is no. No, he does not.”

Dorian straightened, his face splitting into a beaming smile as he surveyed his class, “So, any questions?”

There was silence for a long moment, until a boy Az vaguely recognised from body enhancing class raised his hand tentatively, “Mr. Dorian, sir..”

“It’s just Dorian. Not Mr. Or Mr. Dorian,” Dorian interrupted, “I like the “sir” though.”

“Uh.. yes, sir. Sir, are you saying you are going to teach us how to summon lightning?”

Dorian’s smile withered and died, “Is that really all you took away from that?”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

Dorian just nodded, his face forlorn, “No, I won’t be teaching you how to call lightning down on your enemies. What I will be teaching you, however, is something much more useful. Let’s begin without offering you further chances to upset me with your puerile minds’ fixation on destruction.”

The older man cupped his hands together before him, and a glowing ball of blue light appeared in the air above them. Raw, unfiltered mana. Almost immediately, the sphere of mana began to shrink, compressing down to a point of soft blue light, the glow coming off the ball increasing in intensity as it shrunk, the final result almost unbearably bright.

Az blinked spots of light away as he considered the exercise. Was it meant to simply train one’s mana control? Dorian’s voice interrupted his musings, “The idea is to fill as much mana as you can into the smallest space that is manageable at your current level. Use your will to enclose and compress the mana as if crushing an egg. If you don’t maintain constant pressure the mana will naturally expand and dissipate into the environment.”

The pinprick of mana expanded as Dorian spoke, compressing and shrinking as the mage released and then reasserted control over the ball of power.

He continued, “Note the changes in the light emitted as the volume of the mana changes. In actuality, perfectly contained mana should be near-colorless. As you will learn in your magical theory classes, light is a form of energy, of power, and in this case that light signifies an imperfect control over your mana. Watch.”

Now the ball of mana, dimmed, becoming near translucent; it looked like the shimmering of the air Az often noticed in the distance on particularly hot days.

“As you practise this exercise the strength of your will and your control over your mana will grow in leaps and bounds. Mastery over your mana is the first step to spellcasting unaided by strict adherence to spellforms. The versatility and flexibility of this style of magic can not be overstated.”

Dorian moved his hands back to his sides and the conjured mana grew and dissolved into motes of blue light. Like that, the near trance-like state in which the class had watched the demonstration was broken. Az heard murmurs of conversation from his peers as everyone considered Dorian’s words. For his part, he suspected there was a rare intellect hidden behind the seemingly young teacher’s affable, grandiose demeanour.

That said, Az was unsure as to whether there was true merit to his teachings. Sure, a mage like Iskander could perform miracles without the need for a spellform, but Az was a long, long way from reaching that level of power. Of course the Chancellor could do wondrous things that most mages could only dream of. Iskander stood at the peak of a mountain that was nigh insurmountable for normal men. Why focus on a type of spellcasting that only showed its worth at such lofty heights?

Whatever Dorian might be, Az doubted he was on a level anywhere near that of Iskander. If he wanted to advocate for his style of magic, why didn’t he pick a better example of its merit? Or, rather, any example? The man had crowed on about the strength of this type of magic, but all he had done was demonstrate a training exercise. Az wondered if it was some elaborate method of weeding out those he deemed unsuitable for the class, but only perhaps a dozen students seemed to have given it a chance in the first place. Could Dorian really afford to risk alienating every single one of his students with such a strange first showing?

Az blew a long breath of air out. He couldn’t guess at his teacher’s motivations. The choice before him was clear. Az would attempt the exercise and see if he could discern whether or not it would benefit his growth as a mage. If it didn’t he would request to transfer to a different elective, preferably one that would synergise better with his other elective; the dueling and combat class he had yet to experience.

Focusing inwards, Az drew a sliver of mana from his nexus into his body, and then channeled iit out of his body and into the air. Immediately, the mana became slick, difficult to grasp and manipulate. He frowned, concentrating as he imposed his will on the rebellious power, slowly shaping it into a rough semblance of a sphere. The mana was releasing a liberal amount of light, the wasteful expenditure bothered Az, but he was having difficulty just maintaining the spherical shape. He could not spare any effort to try to stop the slow bleeding away of mana as light.

Az solidified his resolve; he would not fail at this exercise. With a gargantuan mental effort, he clamped down on the ball of mana before him with all his might, imagining that his will was a physical force, crushing the sphere of light down, condensing it as much as he could. If before, the ball had been the size of his fist, now it was a marble. A marble of blinding light that hurt his eyes to look at, but still, a marble.

He managed to force the mana to maintain its shape for a handful of seconds, before it finally slipped his grasp, ballooning out and fading away into the environment. Az sucked air in greedily; the effort had left him sweating and with a dull ache behind his eyes. Not bad for a first attempt, if Az was any judge of such things. He felt a tingling sensation on his skin, and turned his head to see Dorian staring at him from the front of the room, an intensity in his gaze that made Az’s blood run cold. The older mage simply nodded to him - a gesture of acknowledgement perhaps - and looked away.

Az’s heart pounded in his chest. That look had belonged to an entirely different person from that exuberant, pretentious teacher that had greeted the class. It had contained cold calculation and consideration, none of the humor and lightheartedness that had been characteristic of Dorian’s earlier demeanour. It was as Az had thought then; Dorian was playing a character. But why? What did he gain from concealing his true personality from a bunch of first year students? Unless… it was not them that he was hiding his intellect from, but someone else within the academy, or the city itself.

His contemplation was interrupted by Dorian calling an end to the class, “Well done my dear disciples, I shall see you all anon! Keep practising our little exercise; you’ll begin to reap the fruits of your labor sooner than you think!”

After that, the mage shouted “Hah!” at the top of his lungs, and with a puff of smoke and an explosion of red sparks, he vanished. Az stared at the spot he had been, as the class erupted into exclamations of surprise. What a strange man.

“Hey, Tantalus!”

Az shook himself out of his daze, and turned to see who had spoken to him. It was a boy he had seen a few times during his few days at the academy. He recognised him as a minor noble from one of the less influential families in Macedar. What was his name… Zole or something? A handful of boys and girls lingered behind him, watching the interaction.

Az rose from his chair to greet the other boy, “Hello,” he said politely, extending his hand.

The noble clasped his forearm in a traditional greeting, “Michael Zole, nice to meet you.”

Michael released his hand, continuing “Listen.. most of us aren’t really sure what is going on with this class, but we’re not sticking around to find out. That guy is… unstable. To be honest, he creeps me out smiling like that. Anyways, what do you think?”

Az blinked; why were they asking him? “Well, it is certainly unorthodox. I suspect Dorian possesses insight deeper than what is initially apparent. Still, I find myself uncertain. It is likely I shall depart this class for one that better suits my interests.”

Michael nodded sagely, “Exactly, exactly. I think most of us are going to do the same. Well, I’ll see you around.”

They exchanged goodbyes, and Michael rejoined his group who were waiting for him to leave. Az mused over the exchange; had they sought out his opinion due to his test results, or over something he had done since coming to the academy? Perhaps it was simply due to his heritage and status in the city. Another mystery added to the day’s growing list.

Still, he had spoken truly. He intended to visit Mr. Quark and formally request to swap electives. There was a class on pyromancy he had noted before. It seemed that it would likely be of more immediate benefit to him.

Pushing thoughts of the strange class and the even stranger Dorian out of his mind, Az left the classroom. He was starving; time to pay the cafeteria a visit.