Chương 14: Academy of Practical Thaumaturgy

Massive iron gates were the first thing Mark saw of the Academy. Their surfaces were covered in runic patterns that shifted whenever Mark tried to focus on them. He gave up when the effort made his eyes water. An arch above the gates bore letters taller than Mark: THE ACADEMY OF PRACTICAL THAUMATURGY As with the dimensional-pouch placard, the script belonged to no alphabet in Mark's memories, yet he understood it without effort.

Beneath it, in letters only slightly smaller, was what he assumed to be the Academy's motto: THROUGH KNOWLEDGE, DOMINION Wow, that sounds ominous.

"Why does the gate say through knowledge, dominion?" Mark asked Wes as they passed through the giant gate into the academy courtyard.

"That is our Academy's motto. Non-wizards sometimes claim it means we're planning to rule the world, but that isn't what it means. Knowledge of magic allows us to supersede the laws of nature. With enough knowledge and power, a mage can alter reality and impose dominion over it. It isn't about ruling people." The distinction did little to reassure Mark. A monopoly on rewriting nature sounded threatening enough even without plans for world conquest.

The central building of the academy climbed at least fifteen stories and was topped with a faceted glass dome that caught the orange-tinged sunlight and refracted it into shards of light much too bright for Mark's sensitive eyes. Smaller towers flanked it, their spires reaching skyward. The southern tower was the one closest to the entrance and it had not one spire but five, each curved slightly inward like fingers grasping at something in the heavens.

At the edge of Mark's widened vision, one of the spires appeared to flex, but when he looked directly at it, all five were stone-still. The Academy's courtyard was the size of multiple city blocks from Mark's memories. While it could easily hold thousands at full capacity, currently it was mostly empty with just a few students and familiars crossing the grounds. Mark paid close attention to a centaur who cantered past with a stack of books, her hooves clicking a rhythm against flagstones.

Three elves that Mark mostly identified due to their pointed ears were clustered around a fountain comparing their schedules.

"How many students are there?" Mark asked.

"Last I heard about nine hundred full-time students," Wes said, steering them toward the eastern side of the courtyard.

"All of the students are split across seven years, though most won't graduate as there is just such a huge dropout rate." They passed a bulletin board ten feet tall, its parchment layered so thick the oldest notices had gone soft and yellow underneath.

Dungeon expedition postings caught Mark's eye: 'Seeking healer, must be Level 8 or higher, previous cave troll experience preferred,' along with missing familiar notices and warnings from the administration about 'unauthorized transmutation in residential halls,' which Mark suspected was wizard-speak for don't turn your roommate into a newt. According to Wes, today was the first day of the new academic semester but even so most classes didn't start until next week.

Out of Wes's classes only this familiar class was starting this week. The system was quite different from Earth's universities as students usually had just one class each day which they took once every week. Conveniently the week was seven days just like Earth. However classes according to Wes could last several hours. Wes warned Mark that they would likely be here most of the day even though it was just one class. The Academy truly seemed to be created by minds that believed in their motto.

There were impossible angles, walkways between towers that seemed to defy gravity, and random floors in the middle of towers that looked as if they had been inserted years later due to different materials used than the surrounding ones. Mark's mind kept trying to resolve the architecture into something sensible, and failing.

"The Academy of Practical Thaumaturgy was founded twelve hundred years ago by Archmage Veroxian," Wes said, pride entering his voice.

"Every building is infused with permanent enchantments. The complex exists partly in this dimension and partly in several others, which is why it looks so strange. Its geometry is deliberately wrong." Pocket dimensions clearly existed. That was not the same as proving that an independently inhabited world like Earth existed, but it made Wes's certainty that no other world could exist seem remarkably narrow.

"Why would you deliberately make geometry wrong?" Mark asked.

"To remind students that reality is negotiable," Wes said.

"It's our motto in action, and why I told you before that your physics concept was so limited. The most advanced minds are here rewriting natural laws rather than just discovering limitations for the masses." Through knowledge, dominion, indeed. Standing among the strange giant buildings, in a place that had spent over a millennium teaching people how to rewrite reality Mark had never felt so small.

Technically in his new kobold body he probably had never been this small since toddlerhood as a human but that was beside the point. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Wes said. His face was full of awe, as if the academy were holy ground.

"I'd say intimidating," Mark corrected.

"The word you're looking for is intimidating."

"Well, yes," Wes admitted.

"That too." Mark's fingers closed around the coin through the cloth. It was nearly worthless, but it was the first thing in this world he had found and claimed for himself. The eastern tower loomed ahead. There were four major buildings stationed on the outside of the courtyard and the largest building sat in the middle. Currently the eastern one where they were headed to appeared to be the most active tower, with more students outside of it than any of the others.

Through windows in the eastern tower, Mark glimpsed lecture halls, laboratories with colored smoke billowing from ventilation shafts that looked far closer to Earth chemistry labs than he had ever expected, and a miniature shooting range that appeared to be devised for long-range magical spells. The most incredible sight was what appeared to be an entire greenhouse somehow suspended between the seventh and eighth floors of the tower which defied both gravity and common sense.

Wes followed Mark's gaze to the greenhouse and decided to explain.

"That's for Herbological Studies. Magical plants grow better when they're not technically anchored to the ground. Don't ask me why. That's fourth-year material. I only know the suspension uses the runes on the ceiling below and the floor above. We will be in this tower but below the greenhouse so we won't need to take the teleporting stairwell to skip the greenhouse gap." They still had plenty of time, since Wes's fear of being tardy meant they were arriving nearly an hour early.

Entering the eastern tower, they passed a small cluster of students who were all comparing schedules, and a dwarf student who was arguing with what Mark thought may have been a sentient suit of armor about what sounded like library fines. They were standing next to a giant marble staircase. Mark quickly discovered that stairs built for human legs were considerably harder to climb when he stood less than three feet tall. By the midpoint of the first flight, Wes had pulled well ahead without noticing his struggle.

Mark swallowed what remained of his dignity and dropped to all fours. Using both hands and feet made the climb much faster, and he soon caught up despite his coin pouch swinging rather annoyingly from his neck, often bumping into his chest. The improvement in speed did nothing for his dignity. Another sprite, much like the one Mark had seen in town, flew up from the ground floor with a high, chiming laugh.

Once it reached several floors above where Mark and Wes had climbed, it dive-bombed toward the floor below and landed between the ears of a massive wolf-headed student, perching there like an absurdly tiny rider. The strange sight of this werewolf-like student on the ground floor with their sprite familiar caused a brief yip of laughter to escape Mark before he could suppress it. He quickly composed himself and started climbing the stairs again.

In between the second and third floor coming down the stairs a narrow black shape slid down the outer wall toward them. It resembled a snake's shadow, although there was no snake to cast it. Stranger still, it kept to the illuminated stone, bending around every ordinary shadow in its path. A woman in Academy robes followed several steps behind. As they drew level, Mark rose from all fours. Curiosity overcame his better judgment.

"Excuse me. What is that creature called? I've never seen anything like it." The woman stopped and Wes grimaced when he heard Mark speak. The creature slithered from the wall onto the stairs and flowed toward Mark. When it reached Mark's shadow, its head disappeared into the darkness beneath him. A moment later, that same head rose from the floor, gaining depth and substance until a narrow black snout hovered only inches from his chest. The woman addressed Wes rather than Mark.

"Your familiar is remarkably inquisitive. Teach it not to address its betters without permission. I am already late because I entered the wrong tower." She lifted her chin and continued downward. The creature lowered its head, flattened into Mark's shadow, and slid back across the stairs to follow her along the wall.

"The only person being rude was you," Mark muttered. He wasn't sure if he did or did not want her to hear that response. After that confrontation Mark had fully expected Wes to be irritated and tell him that the woman was right that Mark needed to be quiet and not speak to other students. Instead Wes looked at Mark and just looked tired. He did not appear the least bit angry to Mark which was a relief. Wes watched her disappear through the doorway below.

"That was an umbrophis. It is a shadow creature that exists naturally on illuminated surfaces. When it enters an ordinary shadow, it can take on a solid form. That's what you saw when its head rose from the floor.

"As you can probably guess, many wizards believe it's rude for familiars to speak out of turn. The wizard you just met was Gemma. Her family has produced high-ranking mages for generations, and she thinks applicants should have to prove a family history of magic before the Academy admits them. If she had her way, I wouldn't be here."

"You're my familiar, but that doesn't mean you need my permission to speak. As far as I'm concerned, you have as much right to address someone here as I do. I would still avoid Gemma, though. She is unlikely to be kinder the next time you see her." Some of the tension in Mark's shoulders eased. Wes had not defended him to Gemma's face, but neither did he expect Mark to silence himself merely because other wizards considered that appropriate. Wes remained his legal owner.

Even so, it mattered that he did not seem eager to act like one. When they reached the fourth floor, Mark stood and brushed dust from his palms. Wes glanced at his trailing tail.

"I should warn you to be careful around doors. A few years ago, an elevated monkey got his tail caught in one. His wizard had placed a detachment charm on it as a safety measure, but the monkey didn't know that and panicked when the tail came off."

"I suspect knowing in advance would only have helped so much."

"Probably. The charm allowed it to regenerate. You don't have one, so if your tail were severed, the damage might be permanent." Mark immediately wound his tail around his left leg, took one step, and nearly tripped over it realizing that having it in that configuration made it impossible to walk. He reluctantly let it uncurl. Beyond the fourth-floor landing, they continued down the corridor and Wes eventually stopped at a large wooden door that was decorated with lots of incomprehensible symbols and runes.

He then straightened his robes, checked his wand pocket twice, and smoothed a wrinkle that immediately returned. Afterwards he took out the white stone from his robe pocket that he had fidgeted with at his home. Mark stood beside him, one hand pressed against the pouch which was hanging down to his waist. For better or worse, it was time for Dr. Mark Wright to get registered as Makriss the familiar.