Delgar sat on the hill in the center of the courtyard, his arm around Jenara. The two rested, sharing each other’s warmth in the cold night. Above them, the stars progressed slowly through their eternal course.
    “There’s the Great Dragon,” Delgar said, pointing. “It just looks like a snake to me.”
    Jenara laughed, the music in her voice bringing a blissful smile to Delgar’s lips. “And how do you know that Dragons don’t look like that?”
    “The only Dragon I’ve ever met didn’t look like that. It had wings.”
    Jenara slapped him playfully. “Oh, come on! You haven’t met a Dragon.”
    Delgar chuckled. “Sure I have. I told you about how Daelyn found me after my village was destroyed, didn’t I?”
    Jenara nodded. “And you wandered through most of Nordland and saw a battle.”
    “Yes, well, I didn’t tell you where he found me.”
    Jenara looked at him sternly. “You aren’t really going to tell me he found you in the cave of a Dragon?”
    Delgar nodded. “In the cave of the oldest Dragon. His name was Fleot’heortan.”
    Jenara sat up and turned around to face him, her hands on her hips. “Okay, so what did this Dragon look like?”
    “Well, he was big,” Delgar recalled. “And he had black scales, and huge wings. I didn’t see that much of him; he spent most of his time buried in his treasure.”
    Jenara blinked. “You aren’t making this up, are you?”
    Delgar shook his head, and then looked up. Some clouds obscured one of the constellations, and a chill wind blew between the buildings.
    “I think it’s going to snow,” Delgar said, wrapping his cloak around him. “The season is right for it. And we both have work to do.”
    “You said you’d help me with making the fern grow,” Jenara stated. “We’ll do that first, mister big-time third year student.”
    Delgar groaned. “Do you have any idea how many times Archmage Velnan had me practice on that fern last year? Even while I was learning how to manipulate air forces last year, he was making me play with the fern.”
    “Well, you can do it one more time for me,” Jenara said, an impish grin on her face.
    Delgar shook his head. “Very well. Fun with the fern.” He stood, offered Jenara his hand, and helped her up.
    “Master Delgar!” a harsh aristocratic voice called. “Might I have a word with you?”
    Delgar turned to find a thin, tall, clean shaven man regarding him. “Do I know you?”
    “Perhaps by a poorly earned reputation,” the man said. “But we have never met in person. May I have a word?”
    “I can meet you in the residence,” Jenara offered. “Right in the ante-room.”
    Delgar nodded and turned to the strange man. “I guess I have a couple of minutes.” Behind him, Delgar saw Jenara making her way towards one of the ivied buildings.
    The man nodded, and the torchlight from the nearby buildings reflected off his jet-black hair. “Master Delgar, I am Archmage Ignar, of the combat magic faculty.”
    Delgar drew in a deep breath. “I have heard of you.”
    Ignar smiled. “No doubt you have. People tend to see me as rather out of control; my students tend to have a great deal of fun around me. No doubt that is why the rest of the faculty dislikes me; can’t be having fun in school.”
    Delgar chuckled. “True. What do you want?”
    “I have heard of you, Master Delgar,” Ignar said. “You are becoming the talk of the faculty, do you know that? Sadly, they don’t tell you everything you need to know.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Haven’t you ever wondered why you are being taught by the most prestigious Archmage in the school? Not even Vice-Chancellor Vertanus is as renowned as Velnan. And they are keeping you very carefully placed in natural magic. Almost as if they are afraid of you.”
    Delgar nodded. “Go on.”
    “Master Delgar, I teach combat and control magic,” Ignar said. “Control magic deals with summoning, and occasionally actual power. If an exceptionally gifted student came through the school in such a powerful discipline, the Mageschool might consider that very dangerous. Now, you are allowed to transfer into another field before your final year, and I would be happy to instruct as gifted a student as yourself.”
    “You want me to transfer into combat and control magic,” Delgar stated.
    Ignar nodded. “I can teach you things they won’t dare to.”
    Delgar shook his head. “I don’t think I’m interested.”
    “Think of what you can do, Delgar,” Ignar said. “The world can be yours.”
    “I don’t want the world,” Delgar pointed out. “I already have the little part I want.”
    Ignar shook his head. “What a shame,” he said, and began to walk off. Then he turned. “Master Delgar, have they ever told you about your wyrd?”
    “I’ve heard it mentioned.”
    “Anybody who knows how to look can see it quite clearly,” Ignar said. “Have they told you what it is?”
    “No.”
    “It’s in the shape of a Dragon,” Ignar stated. “If you want to transfer, my office is in Deltran Tower.” With that, he disappeared into the darkness.
    Delgar stood in the pale torchlight for a moment, at a loss. His wyrd was in the shape of a Dragon. For a moment, the vision he had seen last year came back to him with crystal clarity.
    A glacier destroying all before it, and a sky filled with Dragons.


The summer sun shone down on the Mageschool courtyard as Delgar, Jenara, and Melina walked into the city of Taerra. The bustle of the town rose around them, and they finally made their way into one of the local taverns, The Farmer’s Lot.
    The Farmer’s Lot was a small tavern, but popular with the students. It showed in many ways: on the wall was a large sign forbidding fireballs, and on the roof there were several scorch marks. Tomlin stood up from a table close to the back, calling them over.
    As the three students sat at the table, a barmaid brought them their usual drinks. Tomlin raised his glass and shouted out: “To surviving a third year!”
    Delgar, Jenara and Melina raised their glasses and drank deeply. Around them, Delgar could feel some of the other patrons stare at them for a moment and then return to their drinks.
    “Tomlin, you started early, didn’t you?” Delgar asked, a smile on his face.
    Tomlin raised his glass. “My father sent word: he’s proud of me. So, I had to celebrate. Had to start early, so that I could be warmed up. Now I’ll be able to get really drunk!”
    Delgar laughed and looked at his companions. “That’s Tomlin.”
    “Now watch,” Tomlin began. “You see that fly on the ceiling? I can burn it right up.”
    Melina shook her head. “Dear, don’t do that. Last time we got thrown out.”
    Tomlin held up his hand, displaying a second ring on his finger. “But you see this? I have to show off now. Otherwise the engagement is off.”
    Delgar grinned. “So that’s what the mysterious ring is all about. When were you going to tell us?”
    “Later,” Melina said. She looked at Tomlin. “Much later.”
    Tomlin called for another drink. “It’ll be great. I’ll freelance, she’ll do...whatever she does, and we’ll do it every night.”
    Jenara blinked. “How much of a head start do you have?”
    “A couple of hours?” Melina said. “Tomlin, how long have you been here?”
    Tomlin leaned forward, his half full drink in his hands. “Do you and Jenara do it every night?”
    Delgar shook his head as Jenara turned beet red. “We’re nice and proper.”
    Tomlin swallowed the remains of his drink and called for another one. “Shame. Less fun that way.”
    “So, where are you working this summer, Tomlin?” Jenara asked.
    “Not,” Tomlin replied, waving for another drink. “Getting married and traveling instead. You two?”
    “We’re both at the library this year,” Jenara said.
    Delgar leaned back and put his arm around Jenara. He had one more year to go, and then he would be a Mage. He rolled the idea around in his head. And then he would have another four years of training, but he’d be where he wanted to be. The woman he loved was beside him, his friends were around him, and he felt at home.
    Delgar raised his glass. “To another great summer, and one more year!”