Page 24 of Grave Situation

“No. With all due respect, there is no way I willeverteach a first year how to use magefire.” What is wrong with these people?

“Youwill not be teaching anyone anything,” Master Cranch snaps, his legendary calm finally shattered. “Youwill be seeking out the champion who can save us from this all!”

I grind my teeth, even as Master Samoine orders,“Stop. Choose your battles. We need every ounce of magical strength we can get.”

He’s right, I know he’s right, but… I can’t let this go.

“You’ll need to kill me and burn my body to ash before I allow you to put the students you entrusted to me in that much danger. I will fight you on this with every breath I have.”

Master Cranch takes a step back, shaken. I’m not usually so emphatic about things, but I stand resolute. My first years arebabies. I work hard every day to keep them alive, to getthem to the point where their magic won’t hurt them or anyone else. Teaching them magefire… It would be quicker and more merciful to stab them through their hearts.

“As much as I hate to say it, Talon and I are in agreement on this.” Master Eldridge comes forward, striding across the floor and stopping a few feet from the dais. “The first years are too unstable. If we were closer to the end of the year, I would consider it, but they have been here only a few months. It would be slaughter and would put the whole academy at risk.”

Master Leng still has the temerity to argue. “We need every mage. Every drop of Talent.”

I press my lips together. I’ve said my part. The dean can take up the battle of words, and I’ll save myself for the lambasting I’m going to get later.

“Perhaps a compromise,” Master Eldridge offers, darting a glance at me. “What if the first years were trained in support magic?” His lips twitch at the corners. “Would that be acceptable to you?” He’s looking at Master Leng, but I know he’s asking me.

I think it over. Support magic is exactly what it sounds like: providing your own Talent to another mage for them to direct. It’s tricky to learn when you’re the focus, the one directing the magic, but providing it is fairly simple. It’s normally taught in third year, purely because no student can resist the temptation to try to be the focus, and that leads to disaster.

But I’m confident I can scare my students enough that they won’t dare. Besides, they’ll be so busy sharing their Talent with more senior mages to use in training, they won’t have the time or energy to make trouble.

I tilt my head in the most subtle of nods, and the dean’s face relaxes slightly. In my head, the stone pulses approvingly.

“Perhaps that would be the safer option,” Master Cranch concedes, taking back control of the conversation. “MageSilverbright,” there’s an acid bite to his voice, “is it within their capabilities?”

“I believe so, with proper instruction.”

“Then while you are preparing for your journey, you will ensure your class is prepared for their new instructor.”

“Of course,” I manage, even though I feel like the bottom just fell out of my world. Because of course they’ll have a new instructor. I have other responsibilities now. But who can I trust to keep them all alive until I get back?

Master Cranch moves on, and I put the question aside for later. My new duties have already begun.

As the discussion about preparations continues, I return to my seat beside the dais, needing some space to think. Something squishes beneath my shoe, and I look down at the remnants of the tiny tart I dropped. I’d forgotten about it, but now pangs of hunger remind me that I was healed earlier and haven’t eaten enough to make up for it.

The stone nudges my mind with approval, so I haul myself out of my chair and go back to the refreshments table. It’s still mostly untouched, but this time, even though I’m hungry, nothing appeals to me. How can it, with the thought of a zombie war weighing on my mind? With the knowledge that I have to somehow, in all the millions of people on the continent, find the one who’s the stone’s champion.

A thought strikes, and I stare at the selection of meringues in horror. What if the champion isn’t from Vaderyn? I’ve never been the adventurous type. Crossing an ocean to visit unfamiliar lands with unfamiliar customs and people isn’t high on my list of fun things to do. It’s not on the list at all.

The soothing reassurance from the stone settles me somewhat, although I’m not sure if it means I won’t have to leave the continent or that I will, but it’ll be okay. Stupid stonewith its annoyingly dense means of communication. Annoyed, I randomly grab an assortment of food and take it back to my seat.

I work my way through the whole plateful, keeping half my mind on the discussion and the other half on planning the best way to prepare my students for a new teacherandlearning support magic. I’ll have to track down the dean after this and find out who he plans to give my class to, and it had better not be that imbecile, Torgid Hacke. He couldn’t teach his way out of a paper bag, and some of my sneakier students would run rings around him.

“…which I suppose brings us to the question of Mage Silverbright’s journey.”

I snap back to full attention at the mention of my name. Master Cranch has half turned in my direction, and Master Samoine is looking at me expectantly.

“Uh… yes.”

“Have you any thoughts on how you will manage this? Which way will you travel first?”

“South,” I answer promptly. Winter’s already set in at this elevation, and the northern countries will be cold as fuck right now too, but if we head south, the weather will be mild for at least a little longer. The farther south we go, the milder it will be, but my fervent hope is that I’ll find the champion in our nearest neighboring country, Lenle, and be back here before winter hits with full force. From the way my master’s mouth quirks, he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

That’s probably why he turns toward the stone and solemnly asks, “Should Talon go south first?”

Say yes,I urge the stone, even though I know I’ll go anywhere I need to.

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