Magistrate Vawn stood at the front of the academy’s main lecture hall, his hands clasped neatly in front of him as he listened to the proctor call roll.

  Today was a big day for the academy. Prospective Adventurers from all across the Riverlands had gathered here to take the first of two examinations. They were the best the province had to offer, and every one of them was seeking the same thing. The ability to earn their badge and become an Adventurer.

  It was one of his favorite events of the year. Not because of the bright eyes and bushy tails of those would-be Adventurers. But because of the opportunity they brought with them. Namely, the opportunity for profit.

  “Counselor Vawn,” simpered a man in his late forties. He was dressed in high fashion, though his clothes were a little dated for Vawn’s taste. Still, he fashioned a smile on to his face a held out a hand.

  “Aaron, is it?’ he asked, sweetly, intentionally misremembering the man’s name. Amos’s confident smile slipped a little.

  “Amos,” he said. “Amos Giltrow. I believe you know my cousin, the Baron of East March.”

  Of course, I know your cousin, you pompous fool. You think name-dropping a distant relative is going to impress me? I’ve dined at the table with the Grand Duke himself.

  “Yes, yes,” he said, squeezing Giltrow’s hand a little too hard to be polite. “I’m sure we’ve met.” Amos’s smile slid further as he realized his attempt to ingratiate himself with the magister was failing. The man licked his lips, glancing over his shoulder. His daughter, a prospective adventurer with an affinity for archery, was climbing the pews, waving to friends as she took her seat.

  “Magister, I don’t mean to overstep it only…. I know the Academy has a long and storied history. Its selection process is strict and legendary, with a focus on pedigree. Which is one of the reasons I intended to come here today.” Vawn stayed silent, letting the man squirm.

  “It was,” said Amos at last, lowering his voice so as not to be overheard. “My understanding is that the academy favors those who can trace their lineage back to the founding saints. Why just-“

  “The academy doesn’t have favorites,” said Vawn, cutting him off. Amos’s face went white.

  “No, no,” he said, scrambling to fix his error. “No, of course not, please forgive my ignorance. I merely wondered if… if there might be an avenue available for discussion regarding certain,” the man licked his lips nervously. “logistical matters.”

  For a moment, Vawn stared at him, enjoying the way the man shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. The room behind him was filling up, and exam roll call would soon be over. Sighing inwardly, Vawn knew he had to wrap this up.

  “You must understand Mr. Giltrow, the Academy prides itself on itself on being an institution of equal and unbiased consideration. It is, after all, a tenet of our very mission itself.”

  Giltrow’s face fell but Vawn wasn’t finished.

  “There is of course, the matter of how we function. An academy this large has faculty, guards, facilities, and many other attributes that draw the best and the brightest to our campus to study and train. Our facilities both house and train prospective Adventurers who show certain promise, on behalf of the Guilds. You know all this, I’m sure. What you don’t know is just how costly those endeavors can be. We cannot, at least as an entity, persist entirely off of charity from the Imperial Capital. Each year, our expenses grow as the demand for Adventurers rises. I’m sure a man of your station can appreciate the certain… demand our campus faces.”

  He paused, watching the gears turn behind the man’s eyes.

  Come on, you absolute oaf, I haven’t got all day.

  “Oh!” said Giltrow, his eyes lighting up. “You’re right, counselor, I completely understand. It’s been a while since the Giltrows donated to the funds of the Academy, but It would be my honor to aid in the support of its mission. Quite generously, of course.”

  “Of course.” Vawn’s smile wasn’t fake anymore. “It seems we understand each other perfectly then. I’m sure your daughter will find that there’s a place for her here.”

  Giltrow walked away with a bit of a spring to his step, and Vawn resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The nobility were all the same. Believing the power of who they knew and not what they knew alone would guide them. But this world was changing. Noble houses still wielded immense power, but there were other players on the field now. And they were called new money.

  “Thompson, Dean?”

  Vawn’s attention snapped back to the present, and he glanced over at the proctor to see her taping her cedar clipboard.

  “Is Dean Thompson present or not?”

  Vawn suppressed a smile. Without Baron Forsa to stand between him and justice, that brat was no doubt learning a hard lesson – probably from somewhere in a cell. It had cost him, of course; hiring a squad was never cheap. But the academy did have a reputation, and Vawn had always considered it his duty to maintain its high standards.

  Maybe he’ll learn from this experience. A few bruises and scrapes, perhaps the odd broken bone. Nothing like pain to help a lesson really stick in your memory.

  “Last call, Mr. Thompson. If you do not present yourself, then on behalf of the board of Adventuerer regulations, I will be forced to strike your name from our records.”

  Some of the students were muttering now, and Vawn watched as one stood. He was tall and wiry, and his curved ears made several people around him look twice. A half-elf? Vawn narrowed his eyes. How had that slipped past him?

  “Forgive me, proctor, but I believe Dean is on his way. He has a father way to travel then most, coming all the way for lower city. Is there any chance we can wait for him? Even a few minutes?” His accent was thick and lilting but the proctor seemed to understand him well enough.

  “Finnegan, is it? I’m sorry, Finn, but the rules are plain. Though I sympathize with your friend's position, I’m bound to uphold imperial rules and regulations. The exam will begin in two minutes, and if he isn’t here by then, there's nothing more I can do.”

  Finnegan’s shoulders sagged.

  “Yes proctor.”

  “There’s no need to delay, Proctor,” said Vawn smoothly, lacing his fingers behind his back. “The exam can begin at any moment. Mr. Thompson will just have to wait until next year.”

  As if I’d ever let that little rat set foot in this campus again.

  The proctor glanced at him, her eyebrows furrowing.

  “He’s got one minute left, based on my clock. Rules are important, magister, I’m sure you of all people know that.”

  Vawn resisted the urge to grind his teeth. What was it with proctors these days? It used to be that fancy accommodations in the academy’s visitation rooms, and a small bribe were enough to establish a healthy rapport with a proctor from the board. These days, though…

  A sound from outside interrupted his thoughts. It was a wet slapping sound, and it was coming from beyond the door. Vawn turned to see a figure striding down the hall towards them, leaving behind him a trail of water droplets.

  “What in the name of..” Vawn trailed off, his jaw dropping open as the figure slicked back his dark, wet hair.

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  “Please pardon my tardiness, proctor. I was… otherwise detained.” Said Dean Thompson.

  “Mr. Thompson, I presume?” The woman rummaged in her robe pocket, checking her pocket watch a moment before giving a reluctant sigh.

  “With twenty seconds left on the clock, you must be blessed by the gods. Although your appearance is… unusual.”

  “Sorry,” said Dean. “I fell into some water on the way here. Bad stroke of luck.”

  She glanced down at the water dripping between his boots, then shrugged. “Next time take nore care to look where you are going, Mr. Thompson. Now take your seat among your peers so that we can begin this exam on time.”

  Vawn finally found his voice through the initial shock.

  “Proctor you cannot be serious. This boy shows up in disgrace to an official examination! He’s hardly in compliance with academy dress standards.”

  “And yet,” said the Proctor, rounding on him with a flare of annoyance. “It is my standards, or more accurately the boards standards, that matter here. Take your seat, Mr. Thompson, and don’t make me tell you again.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  Dean ran a hand through his damp hair and flashed Vawn a smirk as he made his way towards the steps. Vawn was seething but he knew better than to pick a fight here. Other students eyes were on him, and a few were whispering.

  “Of course,” he said, once again putting on his polite mask of innocence. “I meant no offense.”

  “None taken. Now, if you don’t mind, I have an exam to conduct. Close the door on your way out, if you’d be so kind.”

  By the time the door shut behind him, Vawn was practically shaking with rage. He turned on his heel and stormed towards his offices, his robes of office flapping behind him. The boy was playing him like a fiddle, and what was worse, he was doing it right under the proctor's nose. This couldn’t be allowed to stand, and by the Gods themselves, he intended to set it right.

  “Two hundred years of proud history,” Vawn hissed under his breath as he rounded the corner. “And it all amounts to piss all if vagabonds and thieves are allowed to sit the exams. I will be damned if I allow the reputation of this sacred-“

  “Is something the matter, counselor?”

  The voice that cut through the air snapped like a whip, interrupting his tirade. Vawn glanced up, his heart leaping in his throat when he realized that he’d been ranting aloud. Maxim Cole stood in the door of Vawn’s study, his shoulder braced against the frame. What was this welp doing here?”

  “Uh,” muttered Vawn, straightening his robes as he cast around his mind for a plausible response. Then an idea struck him, and he glanced back at the Adventurer.

  “Cole,” he said slowly, and Maxim’s eyes narrowed at the lack of use of his father's title.

  “You’re familiar with some of the newest prospective Adventurers at the Guild training hall, no?”

  Maxim arched a perfectly trimmed blonde eyebrow.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific, sir.”

  The sir was more of a sneer than anything, but Vawn was hardly paying attention.

  “I mean to say,” said the magistrate, glancing around to confirm the halls were empty. “Are you familiar with the newest registrant. The one that the Guilds have been claiming is a classless.”

  Maxim’s bright eyes narrowed.

  “Ah,” he said. “You’re referring to Thompson. The trainee, my dear cousin, seems convinced will be the next prodigal son. I did have the misfortune of making his acquaintance.”

  “And?” asked Vawn, struggling to keep his voice neutral. Maxim shrugged.

  “Believe me when I say he’s nothing special. Incredibly lucky, and suitably arrogant for one of his…” he curled a lip. “Station. But if brute force were enough to earn a badge, then every thick-headed peasant in the land could call themselves an Adventurer.”

  Maxim Cole calling someone else arrogant? Oh, Irony, my old friend.

  Vawn managed to keep his thoughts contained even as his mind raced ahead. Dean Thompson was a problem -one that he had believed he could solve easily on his own. But like a cockroach in the kitchen, the street rat had simply refused to be stomped out so easily. It was time Vawn took matters into his own hands. Or at least, into someone else's. Straightening, he swept past Maxim and into his office, ushering the boy to close the door behind him.

  Vawn came to stand behind his desk, his eyes straying almost involuntarily to the round window, out of which a full view of the Academy grounds could be seen. His academy.

  “I assume I know why you’re here, Mr. Cole.” Said Vawn suddenly. A flash of irritation played across Maxim’s face, and Vawn almost smiled.

  Still haven’t learned to control your facial expressions. You’ll have to do better if you want to survive in the world of aristocracy.

  “Lord Cole,” he said, but Vawn only raised an eyebrow.

  “Lord Cole would be your father, and, if I’m not mistaken, your Elder brother who achieved the rank of Platinum not three seasons ago. That would make him among your father's most favored. His rightful heir and Lord apparent to the entirety of the Cole estate. Tell me, young master, where does that leave you?”

  Maxim’s eyes flashed with anger.

  “You overstep, counselor.”

  Vawn paused, meeting the boy’s gaze with a small smile. The game was dangerous, but he had been playing it since long before this welp had been born.

  “No, I don’t think I do. See, I’m aware of the hierarchy of the nobility of the realm and the.. nuances of social currency. A family like yours wields power and influence, but unlike the main branch of your family, that position is not static. Your father holds neither title or name. He worked hard to gain his position among the Imperial Knights – a feat lesser men have tried and failed to achieve. And I would assume he expects the same from his children.”

  Vawn paused again, letting his words sink in. When Maxim remained tensely silent he continued.

  “There is pressure on you, is there not? You are expected to not only succeed as an Adventuerer but to excel beyond the means of most of your peers. And yet, you’re only a Iron Ranker. One that failed to ascend to Bronze only months ago, if my memory serves me. Am I wrong?”

  A war of emotion played across the young noble’s face, and for a moment Vawn wondered if anger might win. Then the youth’s face smoothed and he straightened.

  “You aren’t wrong, Masgister.” He said resentfully. “It is as you say. I failed to ascend not once, but twice. The Guild’s assessors did not deem me worthy, and neither did the board.”

  Vawn folded his hands in front of him.

  “And does your father know of these failures?”

  Maxim looked away.

  “No. I have… yet to inform him.”

  And just as easy as that, you fall into the palm of my hand.

  “Good, good,” said Vawn absently, his mind already working out a plan. “You need not inform him of your failure. I will speak to the Guild. Work something out for you that allows the perquisites of your ascension to, shall we say, be waved? You will ascend to bronze rank, your Guild will use discretion, and when your father arrives in three weeks time for the Autumn Banquet, you can inform him of the good news of your success.”

  Maxim’ eyes widened in shock but Vawn continued before he was interrupted.

  “If,” he said, sitting down in his high-backed chair. “You do something for the Academy in return.”

  Maxim’s expression was hungry even as he pretended to think it over. Arrogant the boy may be, but he was no fool. He knew the position this put him in. Vawn now held power over him, and he knew it. He also knew he had limited choice.

  “You could of course refuse,” said Vawn, smoothing his robes in a show of nonchalance. “Then again your father has never been known for his tolerance of failure.”

  Maxim’s hand jerked as he reflexively reached towards his collar. There was a scar there, a testament he didn’t doubt to Sir Cyrus Cole’s legendary temper. Maxim seemed to realize what he was doing and forced his hand back by his side.”

  “And what would you have me do?”

  Vawn leaned forward, his leather chair creaking.

  “I want you to be a thorn in the side of Dean Thompson. Thwart his every move, hinder his progress. And, if the opportunity arises to get rid of the problem, then you would have my endorsement, that is, the endorsement of this Academy to take care of the matter yourself.”

  Something flashed in Maxim’s eyes, and Vawn realized he had guessed right.

  Like father, like son. Have a rotten tree, and all the harvests yield black fruit.

  “And I could count on your discretion?” asked the boy. “In solving the academy’s little problem?”

  Vawn grinned.

  “You have my word.”

  Maxim straightened his lips pressing together in a tight smile.

  “Very well, Magister. I accept your offer.”

  That smile faded as he slowly forward. It was as if the very room had grown darker. Vawn blinked as he felt the weight of power hit him. It was small, nothing like he had felt from top rankers. But here and now in this room, the pressure of it was enough to make his throat bob.

  “You may have me on the back foot, but do not for a second believe that I am yours to command. Our deal is good so long as I decide to play your game. Do not forget that, should I wish, I could tell my father or any of Haven’s inner circle about your little request. I would be penalized, sure, but nobility is protected by Imperial law. You’re not nobility, are you? And what do you think the representatives of the crown might do if they learned just how corrupt this academies system is? Do you think the nobility would ignore such a thing? Would the Board?”

  Vawn felt a prickle of sweat at his temple as the Adventuerer loomed over him. Shadows seemed to shift in his eyes and Vawn wondered if he’d imagined it.

  “Are you threatening me?” he asked, keeping his voice calm even as his heart raced.

  The pressure of essence vanished, and almost instantly, light returned to room.

  “Of course not, counselor.” Said Maxim, his eyes glittering. Vawn opened his mouth, but moments later the door to his study burst open, and two gold cloaks clattered in.

  “Sir are you alright?” The lead guard swept into the room, glancing between them. “My apologies for interrupting your meeting Lord Cole. It’s only.. we thought we sensed some kind of essence signature.”

  Vawn’s eyes never left Maxim.

  “Thank you, Edric, we’re quite alright here. The lad was just giving me a demonstration. Return to your post, all is well.”

  So he sensed them even beyond the wards in the door. Interesting, perhaps I underestimated his potential.

  “I… are you quite certain, sir?”

  “Quite,” said Vawn, plastering on a fake smile. After a moment, the guards retreated, and Maxim turned to follow them.

  “As always, it was a pleasure, magister. I will be sure to update you on any developments.”

  The door snapped shut behind him, and Vawn was left staring at it. On one hand, he’d gotten exactly what he’d asked for. But on the other…

  Have I just made a deal with the Devil’s son?