A Clash of Magics by Guy Antibes (read this if txt) 📕

Trevor heard people behind him groan with disappointment. He might have groaned himself had he known his name wouldn’t be called for another hour, but then he followed the secretary into Master Borziz’s office.

“Des Boxster. That isn’t a Maskumite name.”

“My father was a Fulerian,” Trevor said. “I grew up in the mountains.”

“Figures. I wondered where your height came from,” Borziz muttered, half to himself. “Magical ability?”

“Mostly defensive,” Trevor said. Potur had told him that he had to show some ability. When they talked about his lack of magic, Potur came up with the idea that he could call his immunity a kind of magic and probably get a few levels of interviews while he learned more about all the cabals in the enclave.

Borziz twisted the end of his mustache. “What defenses can you demonstrate?”

“All spells,” Trevor said, “without using charms.”

The master laughed. “All spells? You know that is impossible.”

Trevor cocked his head. “You can test me.”

“We will. We will,” Borziz filled out a form and took a pencil, and rubbed a facsimile of his token on the page. He pointed to another door. “Your journey in the enclave starts right now. Follow the white line.”

Trevor wanted to ask the man questions, but it was apparent that wasn’t going to happen since he had already barked for the next applicant out to his secretary.

He walked down a corridor, and the line turned a few times, but Trevor memorized the way back. He was getting a bit more anxious with his failure to obtain any kind of information from his first encounter. Trevor’s foray into the enclave could blow up at any minute.

The white line led to a bench in front of an alcove. Only one other applicant was sitting before him, but six doors were leading out.

“Next,” a white-robed woman said. She took the other applicant, leaving Trevor alone in the alcove.

“You there,” a red-robed man said as soon as he opened the door. “Come into my lair,” the magician said dramatically. “Paper.”

Trevor handed the magician what Borziz had filled out.

“Hmmm. A defensive specialist?”

Trevor nodded. “I’m terrible at everything else.”

“That is an unusual talent. How do you propose I test you?”

Trevor shrugged. He hadn’t expected that question. “You can shoot some fire at me or wind. I won’t burn or be knocked over.”

“Let me check for charms. The magician ran his hand along Trevor’s neck. “No amulets.” He patted down Trevor. “No charms on your body. Is that a ring on your finger?”

Trevor waved his fingers at him. “I believe it is.”

“I’ll do the joking,” the magician said, frowning. He clutched Trevor’s fingers. “Odd feel to that ring, but it is no charm. Stand there.” He pointed to a spot in the middle of the room and floated a ball of magic light at Trevor. As it hit him, it popped and disappeared.

The magician blinked his eyes and performed the same spell. “No one has had a defense against my sparkle trick.” He tried wind and fire and finally shot a thick rod of white lightning at Trevor’s head. The magician’s jaw dropped. “I just tried to kill you!” He walked over and poked his finger at Trevor’s throat. “Just in case that leather armor that you wear was charmed, I aimed a bolt at your head. I had expected you to die.”

“You do that for a screening test? There won’t be many successful applicants that way,” Trevor said drily.

“I told you, I do the jokes, but that wasn’t a bad wisecrack.” He scribbled something down on the paper. “You’ve passed. I’m sending you on. Where did you learn this magic?”

“It is a blessing from Dryden,” Trevor said.

The red-robed man laughed. “Dryden.” He shook his head. “I suggest you don’t use that name anymore. There are those here who hate Dryden. I may not be one of them, but you will never know.” He handed the paper to Trevor. “Through that door and follow the blue line.”

Trevor entered a corridor. Different colors were painted on the floor, including a light blue with barbs to indicate direction. He walked outside, where the line led him to the next building and upstairs, ending up at a bench against a wall facing double doors.

He took a deep breath. The red-robed man really would have killed him. It confirmed to Trevor that Maskumite magicians possessed little restraint and lacked consideration for others. He knew that Maskumites and, even more so, those in Khartoo weren’t the most honest of people, but the Maskumites he had met in the streets didn’t display the same disregard for people that he had seen in his short encounter with the enclave, but he needed to learn specifics.

Trevor wondered if he would fail at this step. He was prepared to do that since he didn’t think he would get away with being a defensive specialist forever. The door opened, showing three magicians sitting at a table. The person opening the door had ink stains on her fingers, indicating she might be a scribe of some kind.

“Paper, please.” She held out her hand for Trevor’s score sheet. He stood up and walked into the room. He felt their eyes considering him, and it made Trevor uncomfortable.

“You are expecting to use the sword?” one of the magicians said.

The others jeered at Trevor.

“My talents are defensively-oriented, and I have found that I can wield a blade to make up for my lack of offensive spells.”

The three magicians laughed.

“At least you’ve made our evaluation duty a little more interesting,” a magician with a thick curly black beard said.

They asked Trevor general questions about magic, theoretical questions that exhausted all that Trevor knew, but he realized that his travels had helped educate him in magic. He was woefully ignorant when