Everyone except Adam wanted to look around this prosperous city. Compared with the Southern Seaport City, Cold Maple City in the Northland was a country town, and young people always yearn for the bright lights.
No plan survives contact with reality: before any of them could set off, the main gate of the Duke's mansion swung open and a party of people came out.
The Duke appeared to be a middle-aged man. He came over to Mage Blake and performed a standard noble's salute. "Honored Mage Blake, welcome." Then he made a hugging gesture toward the six apprentices. "And welcome to you too, little apprentices."
Everyone returned the courtesy. Chuckling, the Duke led them into the mansion. "You have come at just the right time—the banquet has only just begun to be prepared. The other honored Mages and their apprentices have already arrived."
Mage Blake smiled. "Oh? That's good to hear. It seems we can set out earlier than expected. I have been away from the Mage Continent too long—my body is beginning to feel the strain."
The Duke professed his regret. "So soon? I still have so many questions I was hoping to ask."
"Nothing to be done about it. This time is different from the usual—as you know, the academy is in a hurry..."
As they talked, they arrived at the banquet hall. Many people were already seated around an enormous round table, two men and one woman seated at the two ends of it, chatting among themselves; when they saw Mage Blake they all rose to greet him. "Mage Blake, you are a little late."
Mage Blake greeted each in turn. "Mage Robert, Mage Jerome, and the beautiful Mage Irene—you must remember that I am in charge of the far-off Northland. Naturally I cannot get here as quickly as the rest of you."
Adam and the others bowed to the three unfamiliar Mages and took their seats. Apart from them, there were thirty-four apprentices, all about the same age—only they did not seem very friendly toward Adam and his group.
The Duke reappeared in a bulky, sumptuous formal robe, standing in the doorway in person to direct the servants as they carried in plate after plate of food too exquisite to bring oneself to disturb, while bucket after bucket of strongly fragrant wine flowed into the cups as though it cost nothing, and then beautiful maidservants decanted it with their own hands and set it before the guests.
Ophelia's face was grim; she looked deeply embarrassed. Set beside the Duke's banquet, Count Johnson's hospitality truly did not bear comparison.
Cristel and the three male apprentices were dumbstruck. One was a commoner and three came from minor noble families, and living as they did in that barren Northland, they had never seen such a lavish banquet.
The Duke announced the start of the banquet in a booming voice, then went over to the side of the Mages; the apprentices, naturally, were left to be served by the servants.
"Gulp."
Sam Aiden could not help swallowing audibly.
Adam's attention was not on the food. In the Northland, noble and commoner alike lit their nights with oil lamps, but here Adam found the lighting came from devices like electric lamps—yet he could detect no trace of electrical power in use.
Is this an alchemical product? The power of magic? Burning with curiosity, Adam stared at the lamp and would not look away.
They were just about to enjoy the food when an obnoxious remark drifted over and ruined their mood: "Heh, what's the matter, never seen a banquet of this class before? Small wonder. I hear you are from the Northland? Do the people up there live with wild animals? Tsk, tsk, how pitiful. You had better eat up while you can—there won't be another chance after this."
The Northland apprentices whipped their heads around in fury to look at the speaker. He was a pomaded fop with his hair slicked back without a strand out of place, unhurriedly toying with the food on his plate with knife and fork, and he had not even lifted his head as he spoke—the height of rudeness. Only when he felt their gazes did he look at the Northland apprentices, and then he sneered, "What's the matter, everyone? Am I wrong? If I am, I shall be glad to apologize on behalf of the nobles of the civilized world."
Sam Aiden shot to his feet, and, in a manner that defied explanation, produced a glove from inside his coat. In a voice of utter fury he said, "Tell me your name, and apologize at once, or you will bear the wrath of the Aiden family."
The pomaded fop remained dismissive. "So I hit a nerve, did I? The Aiden family? Haha, never heard of it. Did you get your title by running your mouth?"
The Duke and the Mages paid no mind whatsoever to the conflict unfolding under their noses. The Duke merely remarked mildly, "Just don't break anything," and washed his hands of it.
Most of the other apprentices were watching the show, especially hoping to see the Northlanders make fools of themselves.
A faint ripple of blood-qi rose around Sam Aiden. Brandishing the glove, he roared, "Tell me your name, coward! Don't tell me you dare not?"
Adam was puzzled. Perhaps he had met too few nobles, but even Marshall and Dennis had never, it seemed, done anything so stupid; Sam Aiden and the others had cooled toward him somewhat after learning that he was a commoner, but they had never been rude. Why is this fellow in front of me so stupid?
This time even Ophelia could not hold back. "To insult a noble and then refuse to give your name and answer a challenge—I never knew there were nobles as cowardly as you."
Heartened by Ophelia's support, Sam Aiden grew bolder still, and flung the glove hard into the pomaded fop's face. "Duel me, coward! Only one of us walks away alive."
The glove slid off his face, and the pomaded fop could no longer keep up that sneering, goading look. He turned to his companions for help—and found not one of them paying him any heed.
At that moment a young man whose bearing was much like Ophelia's rose to his feet. "That's enough, Tom. I never knew since when a commoner was entitled to speak for the nobility. Now—apologize, and sit down."
The pomaded fop—no, Tom—stared at the young man in disbelief. "No, Mr. William, I only wanted to teach these yokels a lesson. You cannot do this. I—"
William Alfred—that was the young man's name: the Duke's own son, the most dazzling talent in the south, outstanding in spiritual power, and blessed with a soul inclination toward fire element affinity. Mage Irene took a delicate sip of wine and said, "Congratulations, Duke Alfred. Your son is more gifted than you were. There is a very good chance the Alfred family will produce a formal Mage."
The Duke grinned so wide his mouth would not close; clearly he was immensely satisfied with his son. Even so, he said, "You flatter me. William still has a great deal to learn."
Mage Irene waved it off and asked her colleagues, "And you? Did any of you turn up a good prospect?"
Mage Robert, who was in charge of the west, grumbled, "Everything was too rushed this time; there was no way to organize a larger-scale test. The apprentices I brought are all quite ordinary—only one showed a faint curse affinity."
The other Mages expressed their sympathy. Ever since the Mage Revolution succeeded, most curse spells had ceased to work, and curse affinity was truly a path with a very narrow future.
Mage Jerome, who was in charge of the east, said, "The east did well enough. Several have excellent spiritual power aptitude, and one commoner apprentice named Quentin has a talent for life-force affinity."
"And you, Blake? The Northland is barren—I imagine the pickings were slim?"
Over there the Mages were conversing; over here, the apprentices' conflict was not yet over.
Ophelia saw through William Alfred's game at a glance: first he let his companion provoke them, and when his companion could not hold his ground he stepped in to smooth things over. Nothing came that cheap. Soldier to soldier, general to general—Ophelia rose and said, "Since when does a commoner get to insult a noble and settle it with a single apology? Is that the custom in the south? Sam has already issued his challenge, so this commoner either accepts it, or compensates Sam with enough to cover the price of his life, or becomes his slave."
Tom was thoroughly frightened. Trembling, he begged, "Mr. William, please, I cannot—"
William ignored him. A man must pay for his own stupidity. Had this not been such an occasion, had the man not been a southerner, William would have been delighted to watch him come to grief.
"Would this beautiful young lady do me the honor of telling me her name?" William asked Ophelia with a slight bow.
"Ophelia Johnson."
"I have heard your name—the Valkyrie of the Northland. An honor to meet you." So saying, he drew a ring from his hand and set it before Ophelia. "This is a magic item; it stores a zero-rank spell, Fireball. I believe it is more than enough to make up for Tom's offense."
Hiss.
A chorus of sharp intakes of breath went up; not even Ophelia and Sam had imagined that William would produce something like that as compensation.
The apprentices, having just witnessed the marvels of the Mages, had zero resistance to the prospect of owning a magic item right away. Sam 'forgave' the commoner's rudeness on the spot, nodding repeatedly at Ophelia's questioning look.
Seeing this, William smiled. "Then it's a deal."
Sam picked up the ring in a flurry of excitement, and after struggling with himself countless times in the space of a few seconds, handed it reluctantly to Ophelia. "Miss Ophelia, I think this ring ought to belong to you."
Ophelia wanted it badly too, but she had no intention of taking the ring for herself. She shook her head and said nothing more.
And so the conflict came to an end. At this point Mage Blake spoke up: "It seems my luck was not bad after all. I only took six apprentices, but three have soul inclinations. Ophelia's talent for body refining is astonishing, the other girl shares my own affinity, and the last one has amazing aptitude—as for his inclination, well, I cannot quite make it out."
The Mages offered him their congratulations. Once they returned to the academy, the Headmaster would pay out a reward according to the number of talents each had recruited—though it was better than nothing, and not by much.
Duke Alfred, however, took those words to heart.
A transitional chapter.......