Angel of Storms (Millennium's Rule, #2)(43)

The old man nodded and resumed eating.

“Who is this Raen?”

“The ruler of worlds.” Tarren glanced at Tyen. “Could you go to the meeting and tell me what happens?

Tyen nodded. The room was quiet now. Many had resumed eating. Some looked pleased, some worried. A few regarded their plates as if suddenly nauseated by what they saw. Tyen picked up his utensils, though his appetite was not what it had been, and began his meal. The prospect of Liftre closing sent a shiver of apprehension through him, and he realised he had taken its safety and the companionship of fellow sorcerers for granted. He wanted it–perhaps needed it–more than he’d believed.





CHAPTER 2





Liftre’s corridors hadn’t been so crowded and noisy since the last founding anniversary celebrations. Clusters of teachers, students and servants formed suddenly and broke up as quickly, slowing traffic only briefly. While most conversations were held in low voices, shouts cut over them as people sought and found friends and relatives.

Tyen saw people appear and disappear. Some he recognised as parents of students, no doubt come to collect their offspring. Some were teachers. A few held items he suspected belonged to the school, and he wondered if they’d bothered to ask for permission to take them.

One of the younger teachers nodded to Tyen and, as he was about to pass, slowed.

“Are you going to the meeting?”

Tyen nodded. “Are you?”

“No.” The young man stopped. His attention kept shifting, drawn to every movement in the corridor. “The Heads will either tell us to leave, or wait, or fight. Fighting would be suicide, waiting might be fatal if the Raen decides to make an example of us, and the sooner we leave the better chance we’ll reach safety.” He frowned. “Have you got somewhere to go? Your home is a dead world, isn’t it?”

“A weak one,” Tyen corrected.

“Well, if you can’t go back you’ll need time to find somewhere safe. Don’t wait for permission. Go.” He grimaced. “Good luck.” He hurried on.

Tyen had only walked a dozen or more steps further when another teacher stopped him. She only wanted to thank him for his lessons on mechanical magic and wish him luck. Soon after, an older sorcerer, now retired, repeated the advice to leave now. Tyen wished the man well, but only changed his course towards the meeting hall. At the rate he was moving through the crowd it would take him as long to get there as it would to get the rest of the way to his room.

When he finally stepped inside it was a relief to enter a space of comparative quiet and stillness. A few teachers were present, and twenty or so students. A large group of servants milled to one side. The last detail brought the first true tingle of anxiety. Servants never attended meetings.

What would they do, if the school closed? They were not sorcerers, so he guessed they were safe from the Raen. But they depended on the school for their income. Was somebody going to transport them to their home worlds, or to a new home? And what of the town outside the walls, that had grown so large only because of the school?

More sorcerers and students trickled into the room. When the three Heads arrived, it was to an audience Tyen estimated was a quarter of the size it ought to have been. He watched the Heads closely as they waited, noting how they fidgeted and whispered to each other. Head Lerh spoke to those gathered to say they’d wait a little longer to see if more people arrived. When a couple of teachers rose and hurried away soon after, he returned to the podium to say they could wait no longer. He looked down at a piece of paper, then shook his head, folded it and put it away in his clothing.

“We are here to confirm that reports of the Raen’s return are accurate,” he began. “Assuming the old laws are to be reinstated, we see no alternative but to close Liftre. Any students requiring assistance to return to their families should remain here so arrangements can be made. My colleagues will also be taking servants to their home worlds. Also, volunteers are required to remove…” The rest of his words were inaudible. The audience, not waiting to hear him finish, had begun to hurry out of the room. Head Lerh stopped and looked back at the other two Heads, who shrugged. “Travel only as much as you must,” he called out above the noise. “May you reach your homes safely.”

Tyen watched the exodus in disbelief. When the last of the sorcerers had left he wandered out. The corridors seemed colder, somehow. He made his way up to the teacher’s level, but the route to his room was still crowded. He took a different, circuitous path to the far corner of the school instead.

Tarren, having been one of the Liftre’s founding sorcerers, had claimed one of the towers of the abandoned old castle long ago. Tyen’s knock brought Cim, the old man’s servant, to the door. The woman’s calm demeanour was a welcome contrast to the rest of the school’s occupants’ and he could almost believe he had dreamed the announcement in the hall. She led him up the stairs to the study.

Tarren was bent over a desk, a large brush in hand, painting elegant glyphs on a length of fine white fabric, apparently oblivious to the chaos below.

“So the school is closing,” Tarren said.

Not so oblivious after all, Tyen mused. “Yes.”

The old man nodded to a second desk. On it lay a sheet of paper, bowl of ink, water cup, cloth and brush, ready for use.

“Sit.”