The old longing swelled within Stevic’s chest as he took in the scene—a wistful longing to be a student here, himself. He hadn’t the wealth when a youth to study at Selium. Indeed, his family had dragged what meager living they could out of the sea. At a young age he could master a sloop and haul weighted nets alongside his brother and sisters. As he spent a portion of each day gutting or scaling fish to be dried, he dreamed—oh, how he dreamed—of the Golden Guardian searching in his poor village for hidden talent, and finding it within him.
Alas, it remained a dream, for the Golden Guardian had never come to his obscure village. Stevic saw the life of a fisherman as the bleakest possible future, and no longer able to endure the stink of dead fish and their scales clinging to his skin, he ran away.
Instead of a refined education immersed in the arts and history, he was educated through life experience in the employ of various merchants. He learned to read and tally figures—his first employer had seen to that—and traveled to places he could never have imagined, but he missed a classical education.
In the midst of the conviviality of Selium’s main thoroughfare, and absorbed by his own regrets, he almost forgot the unpleasant summons that had brought him here. The charges against Karigan were preposterous, of course, and he planned to straighten it all out with Dean Geyer. If nothing else, currency would convince the dean of his mistake.
Pink apple blossoms drifted into the street, filling the air with a far sweeter fragrance than the corpse down by the gates. Stevic had traveled lightly, though tempted to bring along a caravan of goods now that the spring trading season had opened and people were in the mood to buy. However, his daughter’s plight was more important, and he made what speed he could, bringing along Sevano, who was talented with a sword despite his age, and welcome company. Up the Grandgent River they had sailed from Corsa, on one of Stevic’s own cargo barges. They had left it unburdened of goods for speed. From the river, it was a two-day ride to Selium.
Stevic sent Sevano to arrange for rooms at the Harp and Drum, where he stayed whenever he was in town. The inn was clean and tapped into the city’s famous hot springs. Each evening, students performed in the common room. The inn provided an opportunity for aspiring minstrels to practice their craft in a real situation, and to earn coppers and silvers for tuition at the same time.
Stevic had hoped Karigan would take a liking to music making, but it appeared she hadn’t the aptitude for it. Exactly what she had an aptitude for remained a mystery, though Dean Geyer hinted in his letter that it was for nothing but trouble. Stevic had crushed the letter in his fist and thrown it into the fire. His daughter was headstrong, but she was also intelligent. One just had to know how to direct her energies.
The closer Stevic got to campus, the quieter the street became, as the mercantiles, inns, bathhouses, craft booths, and tourists fell behind. Grand houses now huddled close together on both sides of the street. They were old and similar in style to the academic buildings with pretentious columns supporting overhanging roofs of red clay tile. Sharp angles and corners cast stark shadows against pale walls. Scenes carved in relief ornamented entryways. Over one door, the god and goddess glowed in the sunlight. Narrow, tall windows remained darkened by shadows like empty eye sockets.
Though the houses were similar in style to the academic buildings, the academic buildings were even older. The city had grown up around the school, and the name Selium was interchangeable between the two.
Stevic rode beneath the P’ehdrosian Arch which marked the entrance to campus. He admired the scroll work and detail carved into its marble facade. On the keystone was a half-man, half-moose creature blowing on a horn. His features were scrubbed away by hundreds of years of harsh winters, and his body, like the rest of the arch, was splotched with lichens.
Was the p’ehdrose a mythological species, or a lost race? It was like asking if the god Aeryc rode the crescent moon in the evening. He couldn’t see it happen, therefore he could not know in truth. Once he had thought Selium contained the answers to all such questions, but time and maturity had taught him the answers were all open to interpretation. If he believed the p’ehdrose existed, did it make it so?
His fingers dragged along the inscription inside the arch as he rode beneath. He couldn’t read the ancient Sacoridian script, but he remembered that the words roughly meant that knowledge brought peace. In fact, the school had risen from the ashes and death of the Long War with the optimistic goal of ending all war with knowledge. A lofty ideal? Not really, considering Sacoridia had been a relatively peaceful nation for hundreds of years. Other countries, once members of the League that had crushed down the dark forces of Mornhavon the Black, were less peaceful than Sacoridia, but still sent children to be educated here. A sign of hope for future generations not to be discounted.
At the school’s stables, Stevic handed the reins over to a boy and tossed him a copper.
“Thank you, my lord,” the boy said in astonishment. Evidently tips were uncommon.
“I am no lord, boy. Remember that.”
“Y-yes, my . . .Yes, sir!”
Stevic strode toward the administration building, with its golden dome and marble colonnade, his royal blue cloak flowing behind him. Well over six feet tall, he was an imposing man with a set chin and wide shoulders. Brown hair, flecked with silver, hung long and loose.
Despite his rich silks and the presumed leisure which accompanied wealth, he wasn’t in any way soft. His body, for all its height, was hard and compact from years of hoisting cargo. Most merchants of his status sat in their offices counting their currency, but Stevic was different. He would not make his men and women do what he himself could not do. It wasn’t uncommon to see him on the docks, sleeves rolled up, throwing heavy kegs up to a cog’s crew.