An Adept in Mâvarin
Tower bell of Mâton’s Citadel College of Magic tolled the end of the
morning session. Magu Durtani had not quite finished his portal to the
Câlaren, despite the surreptitious help Darma had given him on the
definitional subrituals. Indifferent to the lesson, nine of the Master’s
ten morning students left immediately, but Darma stayed and helped with
the last incantation. The glow around the worn oak door brightened and
ceased to flicker. “Is it ready, Master?” she asked.
“You should know, Darma,” Magu Durtani said. “You did half the work. Open it. Quickly now, or you’ll be late for lunch.”
Darma opened the door into a flurry of snow and wind. Two peaks of the
Câlaren pierced the sky before her. The third was but a step away,
buried in snow. “Shall I go through, Master?”
“You can if you hurry. Don’t shut the door!”
Darma ran forward, and nearly fell as her feet touched the icy path
beyond the doorway. Recovering, she bent and scooped up a handful of
snow, the first she had ever held.
“It’s best if you pack it into a ball. Like this!” Magu Durtani’s eyes twinkled as he made a snowball.
Darma followed his lead. “What is it for, Master?”
“Why, for throwing at someone, of course! But not at me. Now, off to the
dining hall with you. I don’t want the Archmage in here claiming I’ve
“I wish you would,” Darma said, half seriously. “This is the most fun
I’ve had all week. Goodbye, Master!” Clutching her snowball from the
supposedly holy mountains, Darma left Magu Durtani’s rooms and stepped
out into the bright spring sunshine. Most of the students were already
disappearing across the school’s central quadrangle into the courtyard
that led to the dining hall, but Darma didn’t care. In a choice between
food and magic, Darma usually chose magic.
“Darma.” Startled, Darma took a step backward as Archmage Sunestri appeared less than three feet in front of her.