Coming Home

Ben guided his horse through the crowded city street, watching the passers-by eye him warily as they got out of his way. He was the only rider on the street; most people were walking, the few other horses all hitched to carts or wagons. He and William had only gotten into the city half an hour ago and he hadn't felt like fighting the crowds on foot. On horseback people got out of his way. The great sword he had slung over one shoulder likely helped, as did his barbarian leathers and fierce scowl.

He finally stopped by a small shop on one of the side streets. Above it was a sign that read 'Cromwell Silversmiths, Est 5310', marking the shop over four hundred years old, though the fresh paint and polished wooden counters visible through the glass front hid its age. The small display shelves in the windows showed a collection of finely made jewelry.

He dismounted, looping the horse's reins through a ring on the mounting post in front of the building. Small bells chimed softly as he opened the shop door. Behind the glass-topped counter was a thin blonde boy, perhaps thirteen or fourteen. In front of him were a half dozen exquisitely crafted silver figures, five men at arms and a barbarian on horseback. The figures moved on their own as he stared at them, one of the men at arms advancing stiffly on the mounted man, the other four circling around. There was a faint clicking from their metal feet on the glass, and the horse whinnied as it reared up.

"Get 'im! Capture the... Aaaah!"

Whatever he was going to say got cut off by the shriek he let loose at the sight of Ben. With his head close to the top of the doorway, shoulders so broad they almost brushed the sides, wearing only a loincloth, tattoos and some metal armbands, the hilt of a sword sticking up over his right shoulder, Ben was the boy's barbarian come to life.

"Don't... don't come near me," the boy said, his voice unsteady and cracking. Looking around wildly, the boy grabbed a dagger from a shelf behind him. As he held it in both hands and waved it at Ben he said "I know how to use this."

Ben scowled, though that didn't make things any better. Neither did the growl in his voice. "Put that away, boy."

The boy didn't take Ben's advice. Instead he edged around the counter, keeping the small blade focused on Ben as he moved. "You can't just come in here and take--"

The clang of Ben's sword against the dagger stopped him before he could say any more. Almost too fast to see, Ben's sword had flashed out, knocked the blade from the boy's hands, and slid back into its scabbard. The dagger hit the floor and bounced once to land in front of Ben. He stepped on it and gave the boy a glare strong enough to dissuade him from trying to retrieve it.

"Getting into trouble again, Steph?" asked a voice from the doorway.

The boy's eyes darted to the two figures standing behind Ben. On the left was William, as tall as Ben though lithe to Ben's solid muscles, white hair long and loose to Ben's tight black braid. William had his arm under the shoulder of a second man. His clothes were torn and dirty and his face bruised, but he had a rakish grin and bore a striking resemblance to the boy.

"Michael?" Steph whirled around. "What did you do to my brother?" he demanded.

"Oh, good grief," Ben grumbled. The boy either had no fear or no sense, he wasn't sure which.

"Saved me from a beating on the road," Michael said.

"And retrieved a thing or two from that doxy who'd rolled you," William added cheerfully. He set a leather satchel on the counter. It was a courier's bag with the shop's mark branded on it, filled with something heavy.

Steph groaned. "Not another innkeeper's daughter. Michael, Mother warned you about that when making deliveries."

"She wasn't!" Michael protested.

"Wainwright's," William added helpfully.

"Like that's better," Steph snorted.

"I like him," William said to Ben. "Kid's got fire."

"You would," Ben replied. He had to admit, grudgingly, that he did too. The kid reminded him of William. Clearly he was going to be trouble.

"So who are you?" Steph asked.

"William and Ben D'auberville, at your service," William said, sketching a small bow as he did.

Ben noticed the lack of a surname and raised an eyebrow at William.

I'm going incognito, he sent back, his voice echoing in Ben's head. One of the pleasant side-effects of the curse that bound them together, he and Ben could speak to each other without words. Useful when hiding from wraiths, sneaking past bandit camps, and complaining privately when stuck in the middle of exceedingly dull parties.

Ben snorted. You just like the theatrics, he replied.

That too, William agreed with altogether too much cheer in his mental voice.

A sudden motion in the air near William caught Ben's eye. He spun, his sword stabbing the shape he saw coming up behind them. Impaled on his blade was a piece of parchment and Ben frowned as he pulled it off. The thing had been moving with purpose, which meant magic. They'd been in the city less than an hour, far too little time for anyone to know they were there.

The parchment was folded in thirds and sealed in the center with a blob of blood red wax. In the center was a glowing silver seal in the shape of an eagle, the mark of the Chancellor of DuLac University, now neatly bisected. 'William vonTraptsber' was written across the front in a fine flowing hand.

"What's that?" William asked.

"It's for you," Ben answered, handing the letter to William. He broke the seal and read.

The chancellor of DuLac University requests the honor of your presence at your earliest convenience.

"That was quick. I guess the vacation's over," William said, suppressing a shudder. Eight months ago he'd led a small expedition, one the University had co-sponsored, to the far badlands in search of griffons. The griffon had found them instead, and in thirty seconds of mid-air violence shredded the flying carpet they'd rode on and killed every member of the expedition but him. If Ben hadn't found him he'd be dead too.

Despite that, the past eight months had been the best time of his life. The implications of the letter were clear, though. He was back, and he had responsibilities. No more playing adventurer, no more freedom. It was time to be prince again.

William caught the tension in Ben's face. "Sorry," William said. "They're insisting."

"Insisting for you," Ben said. He felt a little hurt that he wasn't mentioned. He'd been gone for eight years. Eight years, with no contact but for occasional correspondence. William had been gone for far less, and he got summoned before they even managed to find a room.

"I was the one who led the doomed expedition. More importantly, I'm the one who came back and can pay for the doomed expedition," William said.

That was probably true. The university administration was legendary in their skills at extracting money from anyone unwise enough to have it around them. "Probably want a wing," Ben said. William saw the faintest hint of a smile on Ben's face.

"Not a chance. I draw the line at a Chair," he said.

Ben looked a little nervous. "I don't think we have enough for that."

William hefted the money pouch at his side. It jingled faintly, the sounds of thirty gold crowns muffled by the velvet lining. It was an insane amount of money to carry around, more than most people made in a year, and only a small fraction of what they had stashed safely in their bags. Not to mention the assortment of gemstones and interesting artifacts they'd collected on their long trip back to the city.

They had more than enough. Even without it, he was a prince. His stipend had covered the foolish expenses of the idle rich with plenty to spare. He'd missed eight months of indulgent parties, card games, horse races, and evenings at the theatre. Money wasn't a problem.

"Don't worry about it," William said. "I'm sure we'll come to some accommodation. We can always wash dishes in the cafeteria."

Ben shuddered. "I'd rather clean the rats out of the basement."

"Yeah," William agreed. "At least the rats die when you blow them up."

* * *

William stared at himself in the mirror of the room he and Ben had hastily rented, fussing with the last of the buttons of the dark green velvet doublet. It was brand new, purchased less than an hour ago, and it didn't fit him at all right. It was snug in the shoulders, tight across his chest, loose in the waist, and too stiff to move well in. He didn't dare take a deep breath for fear of tearing the seams in the back.

That didn't matter. It looked good, and expensive, and that's what was important. He had to be a prince again, for real. He knew his place, what he was supposed to do, and even if he hated it he could play the part. He had for almost twenty years and he'd been good at it, if there was anything good about being decorative. William hadn't realized how pointless his life had been until he'd met Ben and everything changed. And as he fastened every clasp and buttoned every button he felt like those eight months were being stripped away, putting him right back where he'd been before he'd left.

Useless.

It didn't matter. Three people had died. It hadn't been his fault, but it was his responsibility. And as much as he wanted to bolt for the far realms, he couldn't. The men who'd died deserved better.

Behind him he heard the door to the room creak open. William gave a little smile as he caught sight of Ben. He was dressed much like William, only where William had a green doublet with brown hose and cloak, Ben had a brown tunic with green hose and cloak. Ben's clothing looked to fit better than William's.

"I can guess what you were out doing," William said.

They'd both ducked out without a word to the other after reading the letter. William had wondered what Ben had been up to as he shopped for something new. They'd picked up a collection of clothes during their travels, but they were more costumes than clothing, designed to impress or mislead people they were never going to see again. Nothing was really appropriate to wear to see the head of the most prestigious magic school in the dozen surrounding realms.

Ben had the same idea, apparently.

"At least I can breathe," Ben teased. Ben almost never did, and it brightened William's mood.

"Hand me my sword?" William asked as he brushed the nap of his cloak.

Ben just raised an eyebrow.

"If you think I'm going to walk into the Chancellor's office unarmed you're insane. Besides, you are," he said, waving at the weapon Ben had slung over his shoulder. The cloak he wore did nothing to disguise the thing.

"Bodyguard, remember?"

William snorted. "That was only for convenience, and you know it." William also knew Ben used it as a way to keep people at a distance. The scowl and the sword had been effective more than once in keeping trouble at bay when they'd traveled.

"Then if you think I'm going to walk onto a campus full of magical undergrads unarmed you've gone mad."

"That," William allowed, "is a very good point. Walk, or shall we take a carriage?"

* * *

The carriage let them off in front of the entrance to the main hall of the University. Sited across from a vast park in the heart of the city, the building was made of black marble and fronted with columns a hundred feet tall. It was huge, running the full length of the city block and sat atop a small mountain of steps.

The front entrance was thirty feet of open space, spelled to keep the weather and vermin out. On either side of the entryway was a stone statue of a lion, each taller than a man, and on pedestals that left their paws level with most people's eyes. School legend had it that they were home to guardian spirits that would leap to the defense of the university if the need arose.

Walking into the building gave both men pause. The entry hall was huge, the shiny black stone walls stretching up to the ceiling that arched high overhead. In the center was a giant dome of stained glass that let beams of multicolored light fill the space. Dead center was a circular desk, the top made of snow-white wood, the base made of a deep navy blue obsidian. The space made the desk look small, the man behind it look tiny.

It had been more than eight years since Ben had been here. That last time, he'd entered the building as the most promising wizard the university had seen in more than three hundred years. He'd left two days after, his Sight destroyed in a lab accident. Wizards that couldn't See couldn't do magic, and wizards that couldn't do magic died. Horribly. He still wasn't sure why he'd lived, but the man he'd been was certainly dead.

He'd run away, far away, from the life he'd lead and the person he'd been. He never expected to come back, honestly not expected to live a month. And now, here he was, but there was no way he could be the man he used to be.

He shook his head, trying to clear out the memories and the wave of melancholy. The past was gone, and the present was insisting on some attention.

"Hi," William said, stepping up to the reception desk and dropping the letter on the counter. The perkiness was an act, but well practiced. "I believe I'm expected?"

The clerk, an ancient emaciated man with a noticeable tic and deep vermillion hair, took the letter and squinted at it.

"Oh, it's you," he said, his voice filled with the sort of contempt usually reserved for vermin and undergrads. "The Chancellor is in, you can go and wait." And with that William was dismissed.

"Uh, right, I guess I'll go see the Chancellor. D'you want to come?" he asked Ben.

Ben thought about it briefly, then shook his head. The last time he'd been in the Chancellor's office had been the day he left. He'd been there just long enough to stammer out his resignation before he'd bolted.

"Probably for the best," William said. "No reason for us both to face the wrath. You certainly didn't do anything wrong."

* * *

While William tended to business, Ben wandered the university halls. Nothing had changed in the time he'd been gone. That didn't surprise him, not really. The main hall of the school was eleven hundred years old, and had seen countless people pass through it. He had no doubt that a thousand years from now things would look the same; he doubted if even the scorch marks would be much different.

His feet had found an old familiar path, and had led him to the classroom wing. The rooms were smaller and more intimate than the larger lecture halls, and not nearly as well equipped as the labs. Places for theory and discussion, they were where the best part of teaching happened. In a room with a dozen students he could connect with them in a way the anonymity of a lecture hall, or the stress in a lab didn't allow.

Ben couldn't do that any more. The accident that destroyed his Sight had stolen that from him too. He'd been able to See almost everything, not just the magic around him but also the auras of the people and places and things. The world has been alive and vibrant. He'd never needed to guess how people felt; he could See it in the colors that shifted around him. Happy, sad, angry, confused, it was all there spread out and open for him.

It was a gift that had served him well as teacher. Now that it was gone the world was grey and lifeless, the people cloaked in mystery. Everything was alien, and terrifying. He'd run because of it, run away from the life he'd lost and the lover who'd been killed in the backlash of the failed experiment. He'd run away, expecting to die. Hoping to die.

He hadn't. And now he was back. He took some small comfort in that, and in the familiarity of the halls.

The door to one of the rooms was open, and Ben caught sight of the equations on the blackboard as he walked. Someone was doing the calculations for a summoning, but they'd gotten it wrong. He wasn't sure where, as only half the board was visible from the corridor, but the equations he could see didn't make sense.

He stopped in the doorway and took a better look.

The room was one of the smaller classrooms, well appointed with blackboards, desks, and buckets of sand and water to put out fires. The ceilings were high with short windows running along the top of the outside wall. Small glowing globes were fixed at the four corners of the room, and gave plenty of light.

At the front of the room was a man in the carmine robes of a second year lecturer. Short, pudgy, and balding despite his relative youth, the man was gesturing at the equations on the board. A dozen students were scribbling down notes as fast as they could.

"...and of course the warding circle must be properly attuned to the summoned creature to be effective. The resonant bands provide--"

"Those are wrong," Ben said, pointing at the blackboard.

Everyone looked up and stared at him, standing in the doorway. There were some low mutters amongst the students. The fact that he was wearing pants was enough to set him apart from the faculty, who tended towards the robes that were traditional for academic wizards. That he was tall, tanned, well-muscled, wearing a sword, and scowling made him even more unusual. He was clearly not a wizard.

"Excuse me?" The lecturer glared at Ben.

"Those equations. They're wrong," Ben repeated, walking towards the board. "And your initial condition," he waved at the left side of the mass of formulae. "You mis-copied something, they don't make any sense unless you're trying to get yourself killed."

Ben grabbed an eraser and a piece of chalk as he spoke, and rubbed out the middle part of the board. "You need to re-solve at the end when you have the right initials, but in here these are generic transformation terms, but you mixed up tangent and cotangent, so this is all incorrect." He started to write, the chalk clattering on the board as he re-wrote the formulae he'd just erased.

"Enough!" the instructor shouted. Ben felt himself yanked into the air, hoisted in front of the lecturer, who was by now red-faced and blustering. "I don't know who you are or what you think you're doing, but I don't need some ruffian coming in and disrupting my class!"

"But--" Ben started. He realized, perhaps too late, that he'd overstepped his bounds. The lecturer probably didn't appreciate being corrected in front of his class. Ben had found it immensely difficult to judge most people's moods since the accident that drove him into hiding all those years ago, but he was pretty sure the man was peeved.

"No. You have no business here. Begone!"

And with that Ben was tossed into the hall by unseen hands, and the door slammed behind him. He rolled with the impact and ended on his feet, for whatever good it did him.

The man was right. He didn't have any reason to be there. Not any more.

* * *

"Your Highness, please, come in."

The words immediately put William on edge. That was a title he'd only used for show as he and Ben traveled, and he found that he preferred it that way. He'd been an utter, worthless ass as a prince, arrogant and frivolous. He wasn't now, and didn't particularly want to go back.

Regardless, things needed to be said, arrangements made, details finished, and it was the prince who needed to do them. Carefully, as the chancellor was rumored to be a truthseeker. Inconvenient, to be certain, but William had more than enough experience with diplomats and advisers that it wasn't so much a problem as a challenge.

More importantly, the last time he'd been here he'd acted the idiot. Been an idiot, really, it wasn't much of an act. Not then, at least, and that could work to his advantage now. He didn't need to leave a bad impression with the chancellor. He just had to work with the one he'd left before.

"Chancellor," he replied, pasting on his best vapid smile. "So kind of you to see me so soon after I arrived." The smile and practiced arrogance fell into place with disconcerting ease.

"We do our best to make our benefactors feel welcome," the Chancellor said.

That one statement told William what he needed, and annoyed him no end, though he didn't let it show. Other than the one expedition, and tuition fees paid a decade ago, he'd never given money to the school. That, apparently, was about to change.

"Your expedition didn't go as well as might be hoped?" the chancellor asked. It was a question William was sure he already had the answer to. "There were some reports, but nothing substantive."

"Alas not. We had some trouble, as I'm sure you know by now. I was left without means to send more than that on." That was as close to a lie as he could manage. It was true, he'd lost nearly everything when the griffon had shredded the carpet and killed his guides.

It was also true that it wasn't two weeks after that he and Ben had enough money to send a full report, and two weeks more that he could've paid for a portalcall and spoken directly to the chancellor or hired a skyship and been back in ten days. True, but... he didn't have to say it.

"I wrote a paper," William said, dropping a leather folio on the Chancellors' desk. "Hardly compensation for the university, I understand, but it will, I hope, help avoid any unpleasantness for the next expedition."

The chancellor opened the folio. Inside was a stack of parchment pages. The top one read, in Ben's clear, bold hand,

Observations on the habits of western badlands griffons
W VonTraptsber
B T D'Auberville

"You got a... co-author. How nice," the chancellor said. William knew what he really meant. Someone else wrote it, and William got to put his name on because he'd paid for it. That stung. He and Ben had spent many nights on the road working on it, as well as on a travel diary they'd kept. He'd put a lot of work into that paper, and it had been dismissed. Out of hand.

He couldn't really fault the man. It was a reasonable assumption, given his history. That didn't make it hurt any less. He'd be damned if he let it show, though.

"You encountered Professor D'Auberville?" the chancellor asked as he flipped through the pages. It was more than a simple question, and William took some pleasure in giving just a simple answer.

"Yes, I did. He was most helpful," William said, keeping his voice cheerfully bland. The chancellor wanted something, and William decided to figure out what. He wasn't sure if he'd give it or not.

"The professor is affiliated with the university. Some of his papers have been quite well received," the chancellor said.

"He'd made mention of a text he'd written on ectoplasmic ecology. I do remember that. Interesting stuff, really, all creatures and magic and whatnot," William replied.

That had been the first book Ben had written after he'd left for the wilderness. That and the crossword puzzle had made William realize the man who'd rescued him wasn't an ignorant barbarian. Given the power games the chancellor played as head of the university, William didn't think he cared much about Ben's papers on wildlife.

"Yes, that," the chancellor said. From his tone, it was clear he wasn't impressed. "He had a somewhat... sporadic correspondence with Professor Halpern, something about the Borman lectures," the chancellor continued. "We've lost touch, and he has been concerned. If you've been in contact recently, the university would appreciate if you'd let us know."

William, oddly enough, did know what the Chancellor was talking about. A few times on their journey Ben had mentioned the letters, but he'd talked about the Brogan Conjecture. There was math and spaces and topiary involved, or something like that. Meaning of the Universe stuff. Ben tried to explain it once, but William's head had started to swim after thirty seconds of explanation.

"I've been in touch," William said, keeping his voice breezy. The carefully off-hand way the chancellor had mis-remembered the subject of the letters made him distrust the man's motives even more than he had. "I'll try to remember to let him know you're interested the next time I see him."

"Still, there is the matter of your guides, who so tragically lost their lives in service to the university. And the equipment, some of it quite unusual and difficult to replace."

William had no doubt which was more important. The chancellor would've cheerfully traded a score of men for the carpet that had been destroyed. Men were replaceable, but the secrets of weaving flying carpets had been lost centuries ago. William disagreed, but this wasn't the place to discuss it. He could set the stage to get the information he needed, and that was good enough.

"I had been considering setting up a scholarship fund? In memory of the men who perished, you understand. I can have someone discuss the details with the Bursar later. Oh, and a Chair, I hear the university does something with those. Maybe a comfy one, with tassels? That would be nice." William had half-hoped the chancellor wouldn't let that one go, not assume he was that stupid. He was disappointed.

"I'm certain that something can be arranged that's satisfactory," the Chancellor said. William noted that the word 'mutually' was missing from that statement.

"Oh, I'm sure," he said. The smile on his face never wavered. William had no doubt that the arrangements would be quite satisfactory for the university. All he was getting was naming rights for a chair. One more piece of fluff for an empty legacy.

* * *

Ben was standing in the middle of the corridor feeling desperately out of place. He'd never felt like that here before, not even the first time he'd walked them. He'd been fifteen then, and so far away from home he knew he'd never return. That time he walked the halls knowing he was going to be a great wizard.

Now he walked them knowing he never would be again.

There were echoes down the corridor, the sounds of ritual words, the first things taught to new students. The words were meaningless, powerless, but they helped focus the mind. That's what was important. Focus. Talent. Skill.

In one of the rooms was a group of students, the oldest barely able to shave, the youngest not even touched by puberty. They were standing in a circle, chanting odd words, each with a finger of flame dancing on an upraised palm.

Ben grimaced. He'd first played with fire when he was five. It had scared his older brother near to death, finding Ben sitting on the hearth of the family's inn, throwing handfuls of orange flame around the room. Making them dance.

Now he stared at his own hand. He muttered the words he knew he didn't need, tried to shape his mana, tease out a single orange thread. Just a simple circle, and he'd have a flame. It should have been easy. He could almost feel it, the tingle and the little rush, the feeling of magic.

But... nothing. Just memories of things he used to be able to do. He could call a flame now if he must, with chalks and words and so very much time, drawing out the shapes, trails of colored dust and second-hand magic. Hedge wizardry. How the mighty had fallen.

He shook his head and slapped his hand across his thigh, trying to brush away the flame that wasn't there. The noise echoed loudly, but nobody noticed. But, then, why should they? They were wizards. And he wasn't.

* * *

When William had left the chancellor it had seemed like a good idea to go see Ben's old office. Now that he'd gotten there, he wasn't so sure. None of the trips he'd ever made to see a lecturer had gone well, not when he was a student. It had been a decade or more since the last time, but that little bit of fear he felt was still there.

The place was empty, that was something at least. This portion of the building had the offices clustered together, four for each secretary. William wasn't sure if that was to protect the professors from the students, or vice versa. Regardless, the unoccupied desk was dark wood, huge and scarred from decades of use and abuse.

Off to one side, by the lone window was the largest blood spider plant William had ever seen in captivity. A good three feet across, its fleshy leaves were a green so dark they were nearly black. Hidden amongst the foliage were flowers, red blossoms with thin spiky petals. The whole thing was moving ever so slightly, as if a very light breeze was blowing across it. The effect was disconcerting, and more than a little creepy.

William didn't trust plants that moved on their own, and definitely not ones with a taste for flesh. Nothing good ever came of them, or the people who tended them. And this plant looked very well tended. For a moment his palms itched, and he wanted to drop a few balls of fire into the thing.

He didn't. It was undignified. Unbecoming. Inappropriate. Tempting.

Instead he looked around. On the walls on either side of the entrance were portraits of the staff who held the offices. William remembered those paintings from his time as a student, a perk of the job. They were always pictures of men and women dressed in the traditional wizard robes and in their prime. The pictures almost never, in his experience, matched the actual people. Tenure at the university was for life, and that was often a very long time for wizards.

Ben's though... William just stood and stared at it. The man in the picture looked so different from the Ben that William knew, young and proud in his robes, smiling with one hand upraised with a flame dancing in his palm. His black hair was short and unruly, his skin milk pale, and he looked so gawky it was almost funny. The picture could've been of Ben as a teenager, a richly robed stick with extra elbows and knees.

The eyes, though, those were the same. Dark and intense, they blazed with passion and intelligence. William knew what it was like to have that focused on him, and the thought made him shiver a little. He couldn't wait for the day to be over and to get Ben back home where they belonged.

The offices were all marked, each door with a brass nameplate. The second from the right was Ben's, the plate reading 'B. D'Auberville, PhD, ThF, Lec Ma'. William squatted down on his haunches, letting his fingers trace the letters engraved into the metal. William was impressed. Ben hadn't spoken much of his life before he and William had met, but William could do the math; Ben had been twenty-eight when he'd left the university, and by then he'd gotten his doctorate, was a Thaumaturgic Fellow, and a professor.

That brought a smile to William's face, and a surge of pride. His Ben, so accomplished so young. At twenty-eight William had been deciding whether it was worth investing in a stable of race horses.

"Excuse me, can I help you with something?"

The voice startled William enough that he spun around, almost losing his balance. There was a woman standing in front of the secretary's desk scowling at him. She was pinched and grey, grey hair and grey clothes, of an indeterminate age somewhere past grandmother, though for all William knew she could've been with the University since it had been founded. William wasn't quite sure what he'd done, but whatever it was her disapproval of it was palpable.

"I was just looking for Professor D'auberville. I thought I might wait in his office until he got back." William tried a jaunty smile, hoping a little charm would help.

It didn't. "Professor D'Auberville isn't in at the moment," the woman said, her voice prim and noncommittal, as if Ben hadn't been gone for years. "And you are?"

"William vonTraptsber, at your service, madam," he said, giving her a sketchy bow.

"I remember you," she said, glaring at him. "Always up to no good."

William blushed. She didn't look familiar, but that didn't matter. He'd had run-ins with much of the staff, more than enough that he was sure word had spread to the rest. There was a long and glorious, or perhaps ignominious, history of princelings at the university. He'd done his part to uphold the traditions.

"Perhaps you confuse me with someone else," he said, gamely trying to rescue a reputation that he knew full well he deserved.

She gave him a long, measured look. "I don't think so. Just another pointless prince making trouble for those of us with real work to do."

He had a flare of temper. How dare she? He was a wizard, and a prince. She was a nobody, a department secretary.

But... she was right. He had been worthless. At the school reluctantly, a third son with no prospects. His eldest brother was crown prince, his middle brother the merchant prince. All he had was a scant talent for magic, and he'd paid no attention to it. He'd treated school with contempt, the students with disdain, and the staff as servants beneath his notice.

He'd been a fool. Probably still was.

William sighed. "You're right, I was an ass. I've gotten better," he said with a crooked smile.

She looked at him warily, clearly skeptical.

"No, really," he protested. "But anyway, Benjamin D'Auberville? I--"

The rest of his sentence was cut off by an ear-splitting klaxon.

When he'd attended the University they had regular emergency drills. That was only prudent, as the school sat on a wellspring of mana, and was filled with untrained people with varying magical talents and inclinations for correctness. Spells could, and did, go wrong with some frequency. Fires, earthquakes, the occasional flood, gasses of all sorts, random curses, and sometimes rampaging plant life. Usually the staff on-hand could handle whatever went awry, but the school had a warning system in place for more severe problems.

Unfortunately it had been more than a decade, and he'd been a lousy student. He had no idea what was actually wrong.

"What's that?" he shouted over the noise. The secretary was already grabbing her bag.

"Summoning failure," she yelled. "Demon!"

"Oh, Danae," William cursed, muttering under his breath.

He and Ben had encountered demons on their trip back. Evil creatures from outer realms, demons delighted in mayhem and went out of their way to cause as much damage as they could. They were nasty, vicious things.

The university had people monitoring the summoning rooms, and wizards trained to deal with summoned creatures. If it was something they could put down or send back, they would. Whatever it was must have been too much for them to handle, hence the klaxon, and the mass of people in the corridor outside the office. They were all running to the right.

William drew his sword and ran to the left.

* * *

William rounded a corner and skidded to a stop in front of a large metal door just as Ben came dashing around from the other end. There were two men standing in front of the door, wizards of some strength judging by the color of their robes. One was leaning heavily against the wall, his robes torn and smouldering. The other had his hands flat against the door, his eyes closed.

Ben raised an eyebrow as he saw William running in.

"This is not my fault," William said. "Really."

"Surprised to see you."

"Well, I hear the alarm and I just..." he trailed off. He really hadn't thought about it. "You're here too," he said accusingly.

Ben just gave a sheepish grin and shrugged.

William turned to the wizards. "What's going on?" he asked.

"There was a catastrophic summoning dysfunction," said the wounded wizard. "A class three extradimensional entity has broken loose. Primarily incendiary, though there were indications of electrostatic discharge in the mana signatures."

"What?" asked William.

"Fire and lightning," Ben said.

There was a loud bellow and crash, and the floor shook slightly.

"You're... Trachtenburg?" Ben asked, frowning at the man as he dug through his memories. "Grad student?"

"Full Summoner," the man said, drawing himself as upright as he could. "Fifth rank." He looked at Ben oddly. "Professor D'Auberville? Oh, thank goodness. Can you close the breach?"

Ben winced. "No. I'm not a wizard any more."

"But surely, in circumstances such as these..."

"No!" Ben barked.

"Summoning wasn't ever your area of expertise, was it Ben?" William asked. He knew it wasn't, the question was asked only to distract. Ben had rarely talked about his past as a wizard, but the first time they'd seen demons he'd shouted 'oh, shit!' and ducked for cover. Which, while sensible given they'd been fire demons, didn't speak of a deep knowledge.

He shook his head.

There was another crash from inside, this time accompanied by a muffled scream of terror.

"What was that?" William asked.

"The summoning rooms are extensively shielded against stray etheric vibrations, and to provide some measure of protection in the unlikely event that errors in the circle formulation invoke hostile entities. As a result the rituals must be enacted from within the protected areas."

"Tell me it's just the idiot who fucked up the spell," William spat.

"And his grad student, and two freshman observers," muttered the wizard at the door. Sweat was rolling down his face as he struggled to maintain the wards.

"Great. Just... great. Ben, did you bring your stuff?"

Ben frowned. The thought of his trinkets made him uncomfortable.

I have a few things with me, he sent to William.

William gave him a puzzled look. He hadn't expected Ben to be... circumspect. Certainly not about that. Good.

"They aren't dead?"

"Fully shielded observation areas are used by--"

Ben cut him off. "Safe room. Warded, armored, shielded."

There was another loud crash from inside the room. "Failing," Ben added.

"How long?"

"Two minutes," Ben said before Trachtenburg could reply. An enormous rumbling boom shook the building and William felt the hairs on the back of his arms stand on end.

"Maybe a minute," Ben corrected himself.

"We've got to get them--"

William was interrupted by a bang. With a bright blue flash the door slammed open, flinging the wizard against the far wall. The summoning room beyond was lit in flickering yellow and blue. The left wall was one big chalkboard, covered with equations and symbols. At the far left corner was a large wooden barrel, and on the right wall was a jut-out that had to be the observation room. A huge silver circle, inlaid into the floor, covered the back half of the room. There was something in its center, surrounded by clouds of light and making an unholy noise.

It was man-shaped, after a fashion, huge enough that it brushed the ceiling of the room. Where its head should have been was a fountain of almost liquid flames, and instead of arms it had tentacles, two on each side. It radiated heat, the air shimmering around it. The thing looked unreal, as if it wasn't quite part of the world.

Without even thinking, Ben and William charged in, Ben diving to the right, William to the left. Ben threw a small pellet at the creature, hitting it dead center in its chest. The thing's skin, if that's what it was, slowed the pellet but didn't stop it, and it burst inside, half-filling the demon with dark grey smoke.

"That didn't go as well as I might've hoped," William shouted as he spun a quick flame shield. A wall of orange discs appeared in front of him, humming a low clear C note. It wasn't much, a quick weaving and hardly counted as a real spell, but it had served him well enough in the past. He hoped it'd at least slow down any blast of fire the demon might throw at him. He was under no illusion that it would completely protect him, but anything would help.

Ben had hit the ground with his shoulder and rolled, coming to his feet by the door to the observation room. Made of silvery metal and three inches thick it was streaked with soot, the handle hot enough to burn when he reached for it.

Distract it for me, he sent to William as he wrapped his cloak around his hand and tried to open the door.

Sure, no problem! The sarcasm was clear, even in William's mental voice. He pitched a dagger at the demon. He didn't expect it to do anything useful, but he hoped it would at least catch its attention.

It did. The dagger lodged in one of the thing's tentacles, though with no apparent effect on the demon. A moment later, glowing cherry red, the molten remains of the dagger came flinging back at William, splattering against his shield. The shield barely held, but William hadn't waited to find out, instead diving to the side.

As he was doing this, Ben tried to get the observation room door open, but he was having no luck. The door had buckled and jammed, warped by the heat that had left the scorch marks on it. He couldn't get it open. It's stuck, Ben sent as he yanked at it. The handle, weakened by the assault of the demon, twisted and snapped off in his hand.

The ground started to rumble under his feet. Trachtenburg's voice, sounding tinny, echoed through the room. "Professor D'Auberville, you should hurry. The lockdown procedure has started."

"What does that mean?" William asked, shouting across the room.

"Means we have five minutes to get out or we don't."

"Swell," William muttered, then dove aside as the demon lashed out with a tentacle. It slammed into William's shield and shattered it into a thousand tiny orange discs.

SUBMIT TO MY WILL, MORTAL FOOLS!

The mental voice echoing through William's head felt like it had been driven in with a spike. The pain sent him to his knees, his right hand clutching at his temple. He hadn't expected that; all the demons they'd encountered on their travels were stupid things, all teeth and claws and viciousness.

That was bad. Stupid opponents were a lot easier to handle, especially when they had magic. Giant flaming monster demon or not, if it was stupid they might've been able to just chop it into harmless bits and be done with it.

The demon struck again. William focused everything he had into blocking the tentacle. His flame shield shattered and half his sword melted into uselessness, but he had lopped off a piece of tentacle almost as big as he was. It hit the ground and burst like a rotten egg. The backsplash burned holes in his cloak and pants, and left painful welts on his legs.

HUMAN DIE!

The mental voice was just as loud, but a little slurred. William would've thought about it but with no weapon and no defense he was too busy dodging, calling water out of the air in small handfuls and pitching them at the demon.

On the other side of the room, Ben could feel the walls closing in, almost literally. All the summoning rooms were designed with hollow walls, and spaces above the ceiling and below the floor. There were massive slabs of bauxite, chiseled out by hand and positioned on huge tracks. In case anything went wrong they could be slid into place, then locked together with binding spells.

The process was slow but inexorable, done with little magic. Bauxite, by its very nature, resisted mana flows and magic spells. When the slabs were in place no mana would flow into the room, and anything inside that needed mana to exist would starve to death or be weakened enough to be dealt with. The binding spell, one of the few things that worked on the rock, used the mana trapped in the room to hold things in place and strengthen the walls against physical attack. Once they were set they couldn't be opened, not until all the mana inside was gone. Not without weeks of work.

The process wouldn't be stopped unless the demon was bound, dismissed, or destroyed. It was too big to destroy, and Ben had never done much with summonings. That left binding. He could do that, or used to be able to. Even a demon this big wouldn't have been a problem; it was powerful but straightforward. Binding spells would be easy, just needing mana to build and strengthen them, and the room was awash in the stuff.

Before his accident it would've taken a minute. Two minutes, tops. Now he had five and a box of chalk, but no idea what it was he was binding, no handle on the resonances, the shapes, the colors, nothing to tune the bindings to.

There was no way he could do it. Impossible or not, it didn't matter; he had to try. There was so much power in the room, if they could slow the demon and tie it down, they might be able to conjure up enough food and water to survive until the room could be opened. Maybe. He grabbed his chalks and started tracing out patterns on the floor.

Across the room William was trying to keep the demon busy without getting himself killed. Not killed was the tricky part, the demon was otherwise very obliging in paying attention. The small handfuls of water he was lobbing at it helped, he was sure. They were easy to conjure up; the air was positively dripping with mana, and it only took the slightest twist to make it real. It wasn't much, any competent water wizard could have done better, but all the wizards with claims to competence were currently running away.

He needed to bind the demon and send it back. He knew it could be done; there were rituals and spells and formulae and procedures, wizards who spent years learning how it worked. All he could remember from his Introduction to Summoning class was a simple poem:

Cage of silver
cage of gold
wrap it up
in lines so bold

It was a stupid ditty, from a stupid class. It hadn't helped that the youngest kid in it had been fourteen and better than William. It was the only thing that had stuck, and it was all he had to go on.

He threw a quick Look at the summoning circle, but that didn't help. Looking at it from a higher plane, the circle was really a torus made of thick silver and gold bands of mana. The patterns were intricate, with knots and whorls far beyond William's meager skills. Inside the torus were little pyramids traced out of silver with blue and green knots writhing at their centers. They revolved widdershins, each lazily spinning out green and blue threads as they moved.

The threads wrapped around the demon, but they weren't strong enough to have any effect. With every move the thing tore the gossamer cage apart, the shredded fibers of the binding spell evaporating away to nothingness as they fell.

William had no idea what they were supposed to look like, but these things certainly weren't working. From the colors it was clear the magics they were weaving were plant and water ones, and he couldn't think of any way they could hold a fire demon.

He tried to make his own, duplicating the pyramids, switching in fire threads for the water ones, but that didn't work -- he made the final twist on the knot in the center and the construct dissolved with a noise that sounded like a goose being squashed by a cart horse. It was no wonder the demon had left him be as soon as he started spellcasting.

YOU WILL BE THE FIRST TO PERISH! Echoed the words in his head. It wasn't directed at him, though, it was directed at Ben, who was oblivious to the demon's voice.

It lashed out at Ben, two tentacles flying at him. William looked up as the words thundered through his head and saw the danger, though Ben didn't. Without thinking he pulled as big a blast of water as he could out of the ether and launched himself at Ben, tackling the man just as the tentacles slammed into the ground where he had knelt.

William landed badly, stunning himself for a moment. The demon didn't pause, its other pair of flaming limbs lashing at the pair. Ben snarled and, in one smooth motion, whipped his sword out of its scabbard and cut the last foot of the tentacle off. It fell to the ground and splashed into a shower of sparks that faded away in moments.

With a roar like the wind that whipped across a forest fire, the demon withdrew a step, pulling its limbs back.

Ben didn't give it a chance to recover. He leapt forward, right to the edge of the circle, his blade flashing out. Chunks of demon flesh flew everywhere, disappearing in a puffs of flames a they hit the ground. It wouldn't kill the thing, demons like this were far hardier than that, but it didn't matter. Maybe he couldn't bind it, but he could hurt it. He could take control. And he did. William was right beside him, his crude weavings shielding Ben from the worst of the demon's heat while he frantically pulled as much water from the air as he could.

They were fighting more than just the demon, they were fighting the clock too. They had at most three minutes before they were locked in

We need to finish this, Ben sent to William. Can you get the observation door open?

William looked over. He did small fire and water magics as well as anything, but had never been good with earth. The bare earth thread he managed bounced off the door. Not a chance. Can you build a binding for the demon?

I don't know what it's made of!

William glanced at the far wall, covered in thaumaturgic scrawl. Those formulas any use? William replied.

Ben looked at them and snorted. They were the same formulae he'd started to correct earlier. Clearly the lecturer hadn't taken the time to double-check his work -- they were as wrong now as they were when he'd first seen them. They're crap. There's no way... his mental voice trailed off. The work was nonsensical, but that didn't matter. The final formulae had been used to weave the circle and the summoning, and Ben could use that. Working backwards to figure out what was actually called was more than he had time for, and without Sight beyond him. But not beyond William. I need its colors. Can you do that?

William's grin was feral. No problem. His fingers flew, tracing seven pointed stars in the air. They were tracer stars, each of the seven points resonated with one of the seven types of magic, glowing with a shade and brightness that reflected close-by magic. It was one of the first spells new students were taught, and one of the first they discarded as they learned how to use their Sight.

It was the formal spell William was most adept at, first at school because his Sight was weak and later with Ben because it gave him at least some idea what magics were around. William could weave them without thinking, and he did, tossing them one after another at the creature as he dodged its flaming blows.

The stars flickered green and blue as they neared the creature, then flared bright red and orange. The creature was a demon of fire and air, the cage made of water and plant bindings. I told him he got his math wrong, the idiot, Ben sent.

D'you have it?

Think so, Ben replied. His sword flashed out, carving away another piece of the demon's tentacles, eliciting a screech that hurt his ears. I need to work out a few more pieces. Can you start in on the binding spinners?

The what?

Silver tetrahedrons. He could feel William's puzzlement. Pyramids. The silver pyramids.

Oh, right. Yeah, I can do them. He backed up a step. Ben moved forward, drawing the creature's attention while William worked. It took three tries to get the first tetrahedron to hold together, but he did.

Got it. You figure out what goes in the center yet? Should I put in nougat?

This isn't easy, William!

Come on, admit it. You always wanted to be a combat mathematician.

Ben just snorted, but William could feel a little smile there too. Ben might complain, sometimes a lot, but he enjoyed this just as much as William did.

Three twist Trevasier knot, fire harmonics in thirds, starting at seventeen, he sent.

I knew you already had it. But, uh.... What's it look like?

Ben didn't say anything, but a picture was suddenly clear in William's head. Like the constructs in the warding circle, only a brilliant crimson with a complex knot of silver and gold in its center. It was beautiful, and elegant, and far beyond William's talents to construct.

Got anything simpler?

Ben darted around, striking at the flailing arms as the creature attacked.

A different knot, this one a simpler double spiral in gold, appeared in the picture.

Four of those in gold, and four in silver. Alternate them.

William knelt down, trying to keep as low a profile as he could. Ben distracted the demon as he tried to work, desperately trying to build a construct that was at the edge of his talents.

And mind the ratios! Ben sent, as the William's first try dissolved.

How'd you know? William sent as he tried again, this time mindful of the dimensions of the center knot.

Everyone gets them wrong first time.

The second try worked much better, as did the third, and fourth. William pitched them into the warding torus, and soon red threads were covering the demon. Unlike the cage woven by the original constructs, these held.

It's not enough! William's mental voice was almost a shout. The cage his spells were weaving were slowing the creature, tying it down. They weren't stopping it, though.

Ben grunted. I know, something's wrong. It's been loose too long, gathered too much power. It's bound to the circle, but it's too strong.

DESPAIR FOR YOUR FAILURE, FOOLISH--

"Oh, shut up!" William grabbed at the mana filling the room and threw a handful of threads at the water in the barrel by the wall. There was no subtlety, no finesse, just raw power, but there was more than enough of it to use. He wrapped the spell around the water and heaved, pitching all fifty gallons of it straight into the center of the beast.

The water exploded into steam with a hiss so loud it was nearly deafening. It screamed as its torso evaporated with the water, leaving a gaping hole in its chest. William's head ached at the loud, meaningless babble the creature had been reduced to, its tentacles now flailing about aimlessly, all the more dangerous for their unpredictability.

"It's not enough. We have to get rid of it," William said. "We've maybe got a minute before it rebuilds its brain. Maybe two before the room's sealed."

"I can't bind it better, not in time," Ben admitted. "And I never managed summonings. That was one thing that always made my head hurt."

William's eyes widened. He'd just watched Ben do tensor calculus. In his head. While being attacked by a demon.

"We are so doomed..." he said. His voice trailed off as he Looked at the demon and the summoning circle.

Up until now he'd given it little attention, focused mainly on not getting fried. There was time -- just a little, to be sure, but time to get a proper look while the creature was stunned. He let his Sight fully slip in.

The air itself was glowing. He'd never Seen anywhere so filled with mana. He wasn't sure whether it was because of the demon, or if there was something special about the room, but he didn't care. That much free mana had made it easy for him to throw spells around, and he was grateful for it. It was a double-edged sword, since the demon could make better use of the mana than he could, but since right then he and Ben were swinging the sword he didn't care how many edges it had.

The circle stood out as he'd Seen earlier, a torus in golden threads with a complex weave. In the center, beneath the demon, was a flat, ragged-edged shimmer, like heat-distorted air. It had been masked earlier by the waves of heat the demon gave off. The circle had a dozen or more threads, tied at one end to the circle's weave, the other ends trailing off into the shimmer. William couldn't tell what color they were; he couldn't focus properly on them, which was very strange.

Stranger still was the demon. Only partially solid in the real world, when Seen from higher planes it looked more like a balloon filled with bright burning sparks. Sparks that were pouring into it from the other side of the shimmer.

William's eyes widened. "It's a gate!"

"What?"

"A gate, there's a gate in the center. The circle anchors it and pulls the demon through. We need to reverse it and break the bindings!"

"So do it!"

"I don't know how!"

"Dammit..." Ben started to swear, striking out with his sword in frustration. The blade left a shimmering trail of brown sparkles in the mana-laden air.

William's eyes widened. "Are you doing that?"

Ben waved the sword again, tracing a rough spiral just above the floor. There was an answering glow from the stone tile. It was magic. For the first time in eight years, he was doing magic.

"Reverse the gate," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "Reverse the gate, William!"

"I don't know how."

"Nobody does. Nobody can even see the things, William, but you do. Just... wing it," Ben ground out. That was hard to say. As much as he hated to admit it, that was the one thing about William's approach to magic that bothered him. William didn't cast spells, didn't build up the careful structures that produced the subtle effects that Ben had always found so fascinating. Instead he just... grabbed at things and hit them. Metaphorically, of course.

Usually.

No finesse, no planning, no design. It was instinct and brute force, and about as subtle as a kick in the crotch. Sometimes that was good enough to get the job done.

William grinned. "That I can do. Will the thing go back through?"

"Not without help. I'm going to help," Ben said, savage glee written across his face.

He grabbed a small water charm from his pocket and the red chalk out of his case, tossing the rest aside. He didn't have time to be fancy, and didn't have the coordination to use more than one color chalk in the time they had left, but that didn't matter. One was enough.

The tip of the chalk caught the mana in the air, leaving a thick, glowing line of red behind it. Ben started drawing. He needed something to weaken the demon, tie it up, and drag it through the gate to whatever hell spawned it. And he needed to do it in less than a minute, with a single color, and with a single line.

He drew like he fought, the tip of the chalk flashing and darting almost too quick to see. The spell was coarse and broad, a three foot diameter sphere made of interlocking spirals. A short loop dangled from the middle of each spiral, and in the center was a complex knot with a hole in the center that twisted in on itself.

Get ready, he sent to William as he tied the final knot.

William ran to the edge of the summoning circle. He took a deep breath, knelt down, and stuck his hands into the torus that made up the spell. Painful shocks ran up and down his arms as the mana in the circle partly discharged into his body. Gritting his teeth, he wrapped his hands and his will around threads as if they had substance and yanked. It was crude, dangerous, unsophisticated, and very effective.

The circle stopped, then spun wildly in the opposite direction. Go! He sent to Ben.

Ben stuck his left hand into the center of the sphere, the one that held the charm. There was a wash of cold air as the center knot changed from bright red to brilliant blue, but Ben didn't stop to admire his handiwork. He drew his hand back and threw.

The sphere arced up and over, a dead shot for the center of the summoning circle. The dangling lines stretched out as the sphere spun, catching the little bits of the demon that were everywhere in the air around them. When it hit the demon the center knot exploded in a spray of water, snuffing out another chunk of the creature. The red sphere stopped dead and the whirling lines, still attached, tangled themselves around the beast.

The charm fell through the center of the summoning circle and disappeared. The lines of the spell tying it to the sphere held and the reversed gate sucked at the thrashing remains of the demon. The summoning circle's rotation slowed as the demon was drawn through. When it was almost stopped William reached into it and ripped it apart. He was thrown backwards into Ben as the thing disintegrated with a mighty blast of hot air.

There was a moment of stunned silence.

"Y'know, I think we could have taken him," William remarked. Ben just smiled and shook his head.

* * *

Ben jammed the twisted remains of William's sword into the seam of the door to the observation room. The demon's fires had damaged it beyond repair, but it served as an adequate lever. The door protested with loud metallic groans, but working together, with William pushing with some of the mana that lingered, they forced it open.

As they looked inside, William was nearly tackled by one of the occupants, a young woman in journeyman wizard's robes.

"My hero!" she said, and planted an enthusiastic kiss on William.

Ack! Ben! Get her off! William sent, as he batted feebly at the woman hanging on him. Ben just snickered, which William thought was most unbecoming.

Behind her were two boys, likely first year students. "Professor Stephenson was right," one of them said. "When the instability passed the summoning circle reverted to its original state and the demon lost its foothold."

"If there was any instability," argued the other boy. "That guy said--"

A third voice came from the back of the observation room, cutting him off. "As I told you, in areas of intense mana there are occasional self-sustaining spell fragments that can interfere with even the most well-crafted weaving. All sorts of unpleasantness can happen temporarily."

Ben's eyes narrowed as he saw the owner of the voice. It was the man whose work he'd tried to correct, looking far more rumpled now, reeking of sweat and stale fear. He caught sight of Ben and stiffened.

"Idiot," Ben muttered.

Is he right? William sent. He vaguely remembered the warnings from his time at the school, but not the details. It hadn't been anything he'd ever dealt with, and he'd dealt with a lot of odd things since he and Ben had met.

Barely. He's never seen a spell fragment in his life, I can guarantee you that. You don't get demons, you get craters. Ben's annoyance was palpable.

"In this case," William said as he peeled the woman off, "the formulae were just wrong. Surely, Mister Stephenson, you don't think the university would let that sort of debris in here?"

"Professor Stephenson," he said harshly, correcting William's intentional error. "There was nothing wrong with the formulae."

William laughed. "Nothing right, you mean. If we hadn't been here you would've been dead. Or at least eaten," William said.

Behind him the door to the summoning room opened. Three guardsmen walked in, big brutish men armed with poleaxes whose blades glowed a sickly green. They were followed by a janitor, Trachtenburg, and finally the chancellor.

Stephenson saw the crowd and quickly gathered himself. "Thank you, but I assure you that none of that was necessary. I had the situation well under control. If you hadn't come bursting in, interrupting my spell, I'm sure none of this would have happened."

William gaped at the man's brazenness. He had been cowering in the back of the observation room, barely shielded from the demon's fury. The room's protection would have blocked any attempts he might've made to do anything, not that William judged him actually capable of anything.

Ben, though, was incensed. "You!" He yanked Stephenson forward, his fists balled in the man's robe. "You utter, useless, incompetent buffoon! Do you have any idea what you almost let free?" With each word Ben shook the man

Stephenson swatted uselessly at Ben's hands. "Put me down! I say," he said to William, "have your man unhand me!"

With a growl, Ben threw him aside. William cast two threads at the man, catching Stephenson with his spell before he hit the wall. He looped them around the man's feet and hauled him into the air to hang upside down. Orange disks ran up and down his legs, manifest effects of William's impromptu magics.

"He's not my servant," William said, straight into Stephenson's upside-down face. He snapped his fingers and let the spell dissolve. With a squawk, Stephenson crashed to the ground.

"No levitation spell?" William stood over the prostrate form of the pudgy man and tsked. "I expected better from a real wizard."

He turned to the doorway. "Chancellor," he said, giving a slight nod to the man standing there.

"Your Highness," the chancellor replied. His nod to William was much deeper, nearly a bow. "Professor D'auberville." Ben got a nod from him as well. The look on the chancellor's face was difficult to read, but as William watched him survey the mess he was pretty sure the man wasn't happy. Stephenson's startled look, on the other hand, made the whole fight worthwhile all by itself.

"I think the situation's under control," William said, glancing at Ben. "Yes?"

"For now," Ben said. "Someone should sweep the room, make sure there aren't any stray resonances. I'd ignore the equations, half of them are nonsense and the other half are wrong."

"It's good you were here, Highness. I didn't realize you had lent a hand."

William didn't laugh, though just barely. He was sure it was more the chancellor didn't realize he was competent to handle something like this.

Quick, Ben, what's the record for these rooms being sealed?

The one down the hall's been sealed for two hundred thirty years. Why?

"We're always glad to help when we can, Chancellor," William said, sounding innocent. "A useful thing, these summoning rooms. Out of curiosity, how much does it cost the university to maintain one of these? Over, say, two hundred years? It must be quite a bit."

He was hard-pressed to keep the innocent look when saw the chancellor wince, though he managed. Barely.

"It's... a not inconsiderable sum," the chancellor admitted with painful reluctance.

"Such a good thing this one wasn't tied up. I'm sure that would be terribly inconvenient. Still, no need to dwell on the unpleasant. Are we set, Ben?"

Ben nodded.

"Well, then, we'll be off. I'll talk to the Bursar in the morning; I'm sure we can come up with something that's... satisfactory." His grin was positively vicious. "C'mon, Ben, lets go house hunting."