George and James had been sneaking up onto the roof of their school and hiding behind the parapet since they were in kindergarten together, even in the winter, when it was cold and sometimes icy up there. They could peek over the parapet and have a good view of Sutter’s Village since the school was one of the tallest buildings in the community.Years had passed since kindergarten. George and James had grown much older. They were about to graduate from school. George would test at the Magic College of Praxis in Capitol City the next day, a very prestigious honor that George would have on account of his family heritage. James, born to a lesser bloodline, would be apprenticed to a local wizard right in Sutter’s Village. The two youths didn’t really expect to see each other much after they parted ways, so they were enjoying one of the last times that they thought they would ever hang out together.That day, they were in for a real treat, a rare spectacle. Below them, in the town square th

On campus, George came out of a washroom, fresher and a little less nervous about what was to come. After all, he’d already overcome one of the worst things he had ever heard could happen at the Mage College of Praxis. He wondered what James would have thought of him this morning both during the walk to school and of the consequences afterward. George hoped that James would get an adequate education from his local master there in Sutter’s Village. Of course, it would never be as broad or deep an education as George would receive here at the College of Praxis, but some things could not be changed, and one’s born station in life was one of them.George thought about the evil scientists who had spread the corrupting scientific knowledge that had eventually ensnared a nice lady like Mabel the washerwoman. Why couldn’t these science-mongers just accept the natural order of things, that in this life, people were either born with the Gift of Magic or they weren’t. This was simply the way of

George Fothergill Sr. rose from the desk, his long formal test proctor robes flowing around him. He indicated a pedestal in the room with some of the magical equipment on it and beckoned his son, Geroge Jr., to follow him to it. A moment later, they stood facing each other across the pedestal gazing down at a small wooden circle with multicolored patterns on it, about the size of a large serving platter. The wood comprising it was three inches thick. George Jr. thought the designs on it looked such that if it weren’t laid horizontally upon the top of the pedestal, it could have been a dart board if hung vertically on a wall. In the center of the circular wooden board was a pretty, red, translucent stone, about the size of a human heart. Concentric circles with measurements in inches were marked in the board to show how far the red stone might be pushed off center.“Move it with your magic, George,” his father said.“Yes, Father.”George had done things like this before in his classes

Three days later, George stood on the docks of Leeward, a small port town on the coast, miles and miles away from Sutter’s Village. The main road through Leeward ran right down to the docks, the same road that ran three days journey back inland to Sutter’s Village. George looked at the road, a little muddy from a recent rain and rutted from countless wagons carrying cargoes to and from the docks at all hours of the day and night.George’s mother’s tea from far away lands came up that road to Sutter’s Village. George’s mother had cried during George’s final farewell with his parents. George’s father hadn’t cried aloud, but George had seen one single tear fall down his father’s cheek. George honored his father’s stoicism by ignoring it as his father ignored it.The only one who seemed upbeat at the parting was Starstorm, his father’s bonded p’ckit dragon. P’ckit dragons were normally monochrome, but Starstorm was a deep midnight blue with white speckles all over him. A mere five inches

I am good at something! I wonder if there’s some way to turn throwing accuracy into a profession, George thought as he beamed proudly at the third bullseye in a row (and there had been many others as well) that he had thrown in the dart game with the Fae-bloods.“You’re really good, my friend,” said Jetsam, the fae-blood who had originally approached him about playing darts. With a warm smile, the elf-blooded sailor tried to hand George another drink. George waved his hand at the mug to politely decline.“Are you sure, my friend? It steadies the nerves.”“My nerves are already steady, thanks.”George was beginning to wonder if Jetsam and his friends were trying to get him drunk. And Jetsam’s smile, which at first had seemed friendly and warm, was starting to get a little creepy. George thought he needed some air. Thinking of the outside made him think of…The Fairweather, his ship. He couldn’t miss his ship!“What time is it?” he asked Jetsam.“What does it matter? We’ve got all night,