People keep secrets for a reason, Farai found. Things that were too terrible to remember, things that were too painful to think about, much less to have a young, odd girl tell you. She didn’t make many friends, no, but she was too useful to ignore or drive away.

She focused her attention onto the man speaking, and when her eyes landed on him information flooded into her head. Things she had no right to know.

His real name wasn’t Karos, it was Ruum Ai-Bodah. He was originally from New Auk. He was wanted in New Auk. He was wanted for stealing. He stole from his family — but he felt justified. He hated eating greens, but his wife could convince him to if she put forth an effort. He didn’t trust Farai. She was looking at him far too intensely. He thought she was seeing too much—.

She shook her head and focused, sharpening her Command to a fine-pointed sword, focusing on what he was saying, the fidelity of his words.

He was telling the truth. He would transfer Dendarra her goods by the end of the week, if she paid up front. Farai closed her eyes, letting the thoughts drain from her head, leaving behind a throbbing, warm pain that she was familiar with.

One tap on the soft fabric of Dendarra’s skirt, underneath the table — the agreed-upon code for trust. But Farai wasn’t done yet. With a deep breath, she opened her eyes and Scried Dendarra.

Dendarra had driven away her competitors by force when rumors hadn’t worked. A hired mercenary here, a cautiously purchased bar fight there — and now she was running the town. She didn’t trust Farai any further than their agreement forced her to. She would pay less than the agreed-upon sum. She could be convinced, if Farai prodded for the right thing to say.

Farai closed her eyes. She was burdened with knowledge, as she put it. It allowed for her lavish lifestyle, but she lived to use, and to be used in turn. Nobody trusted anyone who knew too much — and she knew far, far too much.

After all, people keep secrets for a reason.

Once she had finished with the test, Farai left the foyer and snuck back around. The entrance to the back room was surrounded by vivid green shrubbery, smelling of plant life. A benefit of being near Lysselia, the plants would likely manage to weather the oncoming winter far better than those outside of the Forum.

Nobody had noticed her leaving. Nobody ever did. She made sure that she didn’t stand out. She chose to think of her blandness as beneficial, rather than a drawback.

She entered the back room. It was cozily warm, heat wafting in from the floor beneath. Farai rubbed her hands together, thankful for the Forum’s heating system. It was remarkable, but as always, it was all the more remarkable when the winter chill was oncoming.

Archmagister Lysselia sat next to two other Magisters, Lrfshmn and Aethyn. Farai took the final seat, completing the quartet of people.

“Good crop this year?” Farai asked, hoping to drum up a conversation.

“Aren’t you supposed to tell us?” Aethyn asked. Lrfshmn cackled, then glanced at Aethyn and shut his mouth, his scarf shifting as he did so. The two were feuding. Lrfshmn thought Aethyn didn’t deserve to hold the same position as he himself held. Lrfshmn sometimes caused explosions on purpose. He thought they were funny. He tried not to hurt anyone when they happened, but sometimes it was unavoidable. He…

Farai closed her eyes. A deep breath in, a deep breath out. She had more control now, but still not as much as she would prefer. It was a nuisance, but it was better as a nuisance than an unstoppable tic, an uncontrollable aspect of her life.

“Having a conversation can be much like swimming, don’t you think so?” Lysselia asked. “One ought not jump right in, else they might shock themselves with frigidity.” She turned toward Farai. “Though one might think that having more applicants is better, it is unfortunately not the case. We will likely have a similar number of entrants as in years prior. Of course, that all depends on what you have for us.”

“Just because one can bring themselves to the Forum and take a test does not mean one is clever enough to join.” Aethyn interjected.

“Oh, have some faith,” Lrfshmn snapped at the young elf. “None of us were clever enough to join at first. No matter what Aethyn might think. What we care about here is potential.”

“Quite,” Lysselia responded. “So, Farai, what did you see in them?”

Farai paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts.

“One of them will be reasonably adept at Satisfaction’s magic, for a neophyte. They won’t demonstrate any great degree of skill, but they could take hints and learn by example.”

“Any claimants?” Lysselia asked.

“Did the magic-user fit my qualifications? If so, I’ll take them on.” Lrfshmn shrugged.

“I imagine nobody fit your qualifications, Magister,” Aethyn responded. “At least, assuming we still have an intact testing room.”

“Aethyn,” Lysselia’s voice now carried an undercurrent of warning. “I think all of us would like to finish the process quickly. Unless, perhaps, you’re volunteering to lead the testing for the next crop?”

The elf winced and fell silent.

“Unfortunately, no,” Farai continued. “They were all a little…staid for your particular brand of magic.”

“Hah! You mean they’ve all got sticks so far up their bums that they could use them as foci?”

“I would recommend,” Farai went on, studiously ignoring the goblin. “That Aethyn take the user of Satisfaction. He’s the most experienced with Satisfaction’s school, and the elf is a quick learner. I believe his Command was Evoke.”

Aethyn nodded.

“I accept this recommendation. Magister Aethyn will sponsor Evoke as an apprentice.”

“This sponsor is noted and accepted,” the others responded in unison.

After a brief pause, Lysselia looked at Farai.

“Anybody else?”

“There was one. Not adept at magic, per se, but unusual enough to be worth notice despite that. An orc, by the name and Command of Learn.”

“A pebbleskin?” Aethyn scoffed. “I see why you found it unusual, but being intelligent enough to find your way out of a desert and into the Forum does not make one magister material!”

Lysselia raised a finger. Before she could speak, Lrfshmn interjected.

“I want him.”

Lysselia paused.

“Magister, are you sure? We know nearly nothing about him.”

The goblin nodded.

“Yup. Two reasons. One, this is an orc with one of Satisfaction’s Commands. Helping him develop might be a once-in-a-lifetime look into how our divine bindings work. And, second?” He leaned back. “I want to see if having an orc in the Forum drives Aethyn to apoplexy. Magister Lrfshmn will sponsor Learn as a student.”

“This sponsor is noted and accepted,” Lysselia responded. They turned to face Aethyn, who inhaled and exhaled slowly. Finally, resignedly, he nodded. “Against my better judgement, this sponsor is noted and accepted.”

“Unless there is anything else, then?” The old elf said.

Farai paused. Lysselia was curious. She knew that there was something more. She could tell Farai was holding something back. She had fish for lunch earlier today. She sometimes had trouble sleeping, and was looking for an apothecary to fix it. She had…”

Farai shook her head.

“Yes, actually. Magisters, Archmagister — I believe that the orc could, with training, be capable of using Satisfaction’s school of magic.”

Lrfshmn cackled. Aethyn scoffed.

“What?” the young elf asked, incredulous.

“Surely you’re not serious?” Lysselia asked. Farai just nodded.

“He has enormous amounts of untapped potential, and he sees the world as something to be conquered, delineated and organized. His mind works with Satisfaction.”

Aethyn coughed. “But — but that’s not possible!”

Lrfshmn patted the young elf on the shoulder, causing him to flinch backward at the contact. The goblin shifted the scarf to cover more of his face — it had slipped during his convulsive laughter.

“Glad I got my hands on him, then. I do so enjoy the impossible, don’t you, my dear?” He asked pointedly at Farai.

“Wait — we really must stop and think about the implications of this.” Aethyn looked stricken. “If a pebbleskin can get in, where do we stop? Our foundation is one of prestige and academic rigor!”

“Well, it was inevitable,” grinned Lrfshmn. “Once we started letting in babes like yourself, it was all headed downhill.”

Aethyn’s face was red. Farai sighed. This was, unfortunately, not unusual for the two Magisters.

“Enough!” Lysselia’s voice carried a weight, despite its low volume. She tapped into her Command, seeming to grow larger in the small room. “Magisters, this behavior is unbecoming. The two of you are smart, capable Mages.” She turned eye toward Aethyn. “Magister Aethyn. Are you really implying that Farai scried improperly?”

“No, of course not.” The young elf started. “But — “

“The Mage’s Forum does not care about your personal opinions and prejudices. Once a mage, you are a mage, first and foremost. We all know this. Damnation, we all benefit from it. If Farai says that this Learn can be a mage, then he will be extended the same courtesy. His past will not matter. His race will not matter. Have I made myself clear?”

Aethyn nodded, speechless. Lysselia turned to the goblin.

“Magister Lrfshmn, I cannot let you disrespect a magister as openly as you have been. We are the unmoving foundation of this Forum, the soil in which our apprentices will grow. I will not tell you that you must respect Magister Aethyn, but please,” her voice took on a pleading, quiet quality, “keep it to yourself.”

Both would be silent for the time being, but it wouldn’t last. Farai didn’t need to scry to see that. They were too full of enmity for each other. Aethyn could not, would not give up those beliefs that let him think he was superior, and Lrfshmn would always look for a lever he could push, a valve to cause the young elf to explode. It was their natures.

“Farai, given this information, I believe it would be pertinent to sponsor Learn as an apprentice rather than a student, do you not?”

This Learn would have a difficult time. Aethyn would see to that — and Lrfshmn wouldn’t make it any easier. The goblin would be a tough teacher. He demanded the best. He expected the best from his students. He would care not for their trials and tribulations. He would be a good teacher, but he would not be fair. He thought there was a chance that Learn would die under his tutelage. He —.

Deep breath. Farai was stressed, as she always was during testing, and it reflected. Her control was slipping. She needed a good meal, and plenty of rest. She nodded.

“Yes. That would be the proper course of action, I think.”

“Very well. Given this, I will change my sponsorship as recommended. Magister Lrfshmn, do you accept? Magister Aethyn?”

“Gladly.” giggled the goblin. The young elf just sighed, and nodded after a moment of pause.

“Archmagister, magisters. If I may take my leave?” Farai let the question trail off. Lysselia looked at her, as if she had nearly forgotten the girl was there.

“Oh. Yes, of course my dear. As always, your input is invaluable to this institution.” The elderly elf rose from her seat in a smooth motion, robes rippling from the movement. Farai rose and accepted the proffered hug. Lysselia could be distant, but when she wasn’t, she was a distinctly comforting presence. When she released, she looked Lysselia in the eye and let her Command take over.

Lysselia was nervous. The orc made her nervous. She thought he was a scout. She thought he may be the first step of the orc invasion. She knew about their mass exodus from the Red Desert. She would watch Learn carefully — she would ask Farai to scry him periodically while he was learning, to make sure that there wasn’t anything that she missed.

Farai closed her eyes. Good. Lysselia would pay well for her services, and more casual income in between testing was always welcome.

She braced herself for the cold, and stepped out of the room.