In the evening, around nine o’clock, I made my way toward the beach. I reached a low mound of earth, less than a hundred steps from the shore. From its height I had a clear view of the place where the Academy’s gathering was to take place.

  I had no wish to spoil the students’ party, but I had little choice. I was cornered and needed, more than air itself, to win tomorrow’s contest with the least effort possible—ideally without any real fight. After all, with the number of festivities held at Wyrmlithus, one fewer would hardly leave a scar.

  The “little party” Elesya had mentioned counted at least three hundred souls, mostly first-years. Eight great bonfires had been lit along the strand, and around each had gathered noisy bands of students who had brought food and enchanted drinks to fuel their merriment.

  A student disguised as a faun—horns on his head and a false beard hanging from his chin—leapt into a dance of exaggerated bounds around the flames. He was soon joined by a girl draped in diaphanous veils, embodying the nymph Syrinx. Both belonged to the Academy’s troupe of actors. Their performance seemed to be some adaptation of the myth of Pan.

  The faun took up a set of pipes, pausing now and then to recite verses of love, all while circling ever closer to the “nymph.” She feigned shyness, attempting to conceal a flower in her hands from his prying eyes.

  The play dragged on for ten long minutes—utterly tedious to me. At last the faun reached her side and, with a deft motion, snatched the flower away. The crowd erupted in cheers, as if this trifling gesture were the climax of high tragedy.

  He kissed the flower, raised it aloft in triumph, then tore the petals off with his teeth and cast the stem to the ground, trampling it underfoot. The nymph pretended to weep, but the faun comforted her by pressing a gold coin into her palm, then shoved her lightly into the throng of students, shouting: “She is ours now! She belongs to the Academy!” A storm of applause confirmed that the initiation rite was concluded and that the true feast might begin.

  Hidden behind a shrub, I carefully surveyed the ground. After a few minutes I managed to catch sight of Elesya, in the midst of a group of students by the nearest bonfire. I scarcely recognized her, so transformed was she by her attire and makeup.

  Elesya wore an exceedingly short black dress. Her chestnut hair, usually straight, had been worked into curls. The firelight was deceptive, but it was clear that she hadn't been stingy at all with powder, mascara, and lipstick. She looked entirely different from her usual self: from a diligent student she had become the sort of shallow girl whose sole concern was to draw every eye upon her. In my humble opinion, it suited her ill.

  Elesya was beautiful when she kept her natural look, but now she had exaggerated with her clothes and makeup, achieving the opposite effect. I was deeply disappointed by the change; still, it was not my place to interfere. I was there with a precise mission, not to evaluate how she looked at the party.

  Warmed by the enchanted liquor they had been drinking, the students broke into song, accompanied by a few stringed instruments resembling guitars. They were the sort of student ballads devoid of all artistic merit, yet easy for anyone to join in, no matter how poor their musical gifts. One of them went something like this:

  I loved you, but you forgot, maybe it’s your fault,

  I can't give my love for naught, now it must be bought.

  For that girl you've lost your mind, leaving all behind,

  Seems that your love was blind, she is not your kind.

  For her you spent your gold, for me, just lies you sold...

  The verses were trite, but the melody lively, and its rhythm quickly caught on. Elesya sang with all her might alongside the others, caring little about how ridiculous the stanzas were. She seemed to be enjoying herself thoroughly in the company of the students—practically, she had melted seamlessly into the atmosphere of the campus.

  An hour had already passed since the revelry began, yet only now came the part everyone awaited. Each girl was expected to dance a few minutes around the fire, under the admiring eyes of the young men. The upper-year students, in particular, were eager to see what new girls had arrived at the academy. With their seasoned gaze, they scrutinized the “fresh offerings.”

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  Then came Elesya’s turn. With one hand on her hip and the other raised in the air, she began moving around the fire to the beat of the music, with the grace of an oriental dancer. A drum throbbed in a brisk tempo, while a flute wound around it with strange melodies—at times buoyant, at times mournful. The whole group of students watched her intently, spurring her on with cheers and admiring whistles. By dancing, Elesya was making her true debut in the world of student parties.

  I waited a few minutes until her dance neared its end. Then I rose to my feet from behind the shrubbery, now certain Elesya could spot me with ease. I lifted my hand and made the agreed-upon sign. It was the signal: the moment to act had come.

  Elesya froze mid-dance and, glancing my way, pressed her hands to her mouth to stifle a cry of terror.

  “Wait!—” she shouted, her voice trembling. “I’ve just seen him! We’re in danger!”

  The music broke off abruptly, and the crowd of students erupted into murmurs.

  “Who did you see? Who are you talking about?” several bewildered voices asked.

  “You know very well who I’m talking about!” she cried, her voice trembling with pure panic. “He’s here, on the ridge above us. I saw him just moments ago. It is him—I feel his presence…”

  “Surely you don’t mean the mad mage?”

  Smiling to myself, I thought that the reputation of being “the mad mage” had its advantages. True madmen are unpredictable. And indeed, I was about to attempt things none of the students could possibly expect.

  “It is him!” she screamed. “I don’t know what he intends to do. But we are in grave danger!”

  Elesya hadn't taken acting lessons, but she was extremely convincing. It was my turn now to enter the stage.

  I had placed two small torches to my left and right, so that I might be clearly seen by those at the gathering. I raised the ritual blade—its edge enveloped in flame—and made it levitate. Then I traced a vast pentagram in the air. Without pause I went on with other symbols, meaningless but ever more elaborate. A few students began to curse, grumbling in protest that I had chosen that very place for my magical exercises. They did not suspect in the least that it was no coincidence. Others shouted at me to begone.

  “Do not disturb him, he is in a trance!” cried Elesya. “He hears and sees nothing. If you wake him, it will be even worse. Surely, he is now invoking demonic forces. If we leave quickly, we still have a chance to escape unharmed.”

  A few tense moments followed, and Elesya began to weep as though crushed by terror. Was she using magic to sink so deeply into her role? Or was it a native talent and she could act with ease?

  “Please,” she said through her tears, “you must leave right now!”

  An uproar broke out among the students on the beach. Some, frightened, began hurriedly gathering their belongings, while others stood their ground, shouting. Their fear was not yet strong enough to drive them away.

  With the flaming sword in my hand, I began tracing through the air a symbol resembling the mathematical sign of infinity. With each cycle, my movements grew swifter.

  “No!” Elesya shouted. “He will do that dreadful thing again. Go now, or you risk death!” She snatched up her belongings from the sand and ran down the beach as far as she could. Her panic was very convincingly played.

  I judged it was time to act. I began to summon a small water spell. In rapid succession, I sent streams of water shooting toward the campfires, extinguishing them.

  The wood hissed and cracked, belching up clouds of steam into the sky, and the beach sank into darkness. Panic erupted among the students. Only the pale light of the moon and stars kept the place from falling into total obscurity.

  It was not the moment to let them recover their wits. At once I cast a sound-spell that rolled thunderclaps across the beach, as though a storm were breaking directly overhead.

  Then I unleashed Spell No. 55. What followed was a terrifying spectacle.

  A moving curtain of fire formed before me and began to glide through the air, a few meters above the students’ heads. It did not glow only with the familiar orange-red, but with deep violet and a brilliant white, like the blaze of a welding torch. I could compare it only to those wildfires that devour drought-stricken forests—save that here the fire was born directly in the air, needing no fuel.

  It was no ordinary flame, but an essence of pure fire, drifting implacably through the night sky. Its glare was brighter than the campfires that had burned before, casting students’ shadows to dance wildly across the sand.

  Screaming in terror, the students threw themselves to the ground, pulling their clothes over their heads for fear of being burned. Fortunately, there was no real danger for them. I had taken care to work this magic from atop the ridge, so that the fiery curtain would pass several meters above without harming anyone. The drain on my energy was so great that all four crystals I carried grew hot from the discharge. After a few hundred meters, the fiery curtain reached the waves of the sea and was quenched with a sinister hiss, plunging everything back into darkness. The spell from Vabazon’s book had once again done its work.

  I returned quickly to my room, leaving behind tumult and cries of terror. The next day I had a full schedule, and I needed perfect rest. In any case, I was certain something would happen. Either the teams would retreat as I hoped, or the enraged crowd would lynch me.