Quill

2. Scarecrow

An unfamiliar sound woke Martel. Not the noise of siblings, the roar of the forge being lit, or the neighbour's rooster greeting the sun. A bell, tolling loudly.

Likewise, he did not recognise his surroundings as he opened his eyes. Clothes lay on a stool. An ink set rested atop a small desk. An unlit candle and an empty bowl stood on a commode. Strangest of all, he was alone. He smiled as he surveyed his fiefdom, all his.

He washed and put on the brown robe issued to him as a nov...

1. Fire-touched

Martel stared at the battlements that for centuries had surrounded the seat of magic in the Empire. Every mage of worth had learned their skills in this hallowed place. To enter the Lyceum meant tutelage, recognition, and power; rejection meant ignorance, ignobility, and the end of dreams. The gate to the castle stood open, always; any hostile power would be repelled by a far greater force than weaponry or masonry. With an ounce of trepidation, Martel crossed the threshold.

Beyond the g...