Knights Magi (Book 4) by Terry Mancour Page B

of this hell of parchment.”
    “Just think of the bright side – you only have to put up with me for two more,” Rondal observed.  “That has to lift a burden.”
    “You aren’t so bad,” Tyndal admitted.  “Even if—”
    “Let’s end your sentence there , shall we?” Rondal interrupted.  “I’m already irritated you’ve met Estasia and I haven’t, and any further discussion isn’t going to get the pages read.  It’s just another distraction waiting to happen.  Tyn, you’ve got to ignore everything else and just . . . read .  Study.  Ask questions.  You have a great opportunity here, and not nearly enough time to take advantage of it,” he finished, annoyed.  “That’s what Master Min wants you to do.”
    “Yeah,” Tyndal said, returning to his book with a sigh.  “I guess I’ve got to get committed.”
    *                            *                            *
    *                             *                            *
    The next few days were awful, for Tyndal.  While his exams might be, technically, over, the ocean of reading recommendations and practical exercises kept flowing in.  The only way to manage that as by pouring himself into studying, as lackluster as his performance was.
    It didn’t help that Rondal was flourishing, asking questions and trading ideas with some of the best minds in the duchies.  Tyndal was slowly making his way through his reading list, struggling through tutoring sessions, attending the odd lecture, and falling more and more behind where the masters thought he should be. 
    The only time he felt relief from the oppression of academics was when he took a break – no more than an hour, he promised himself – to go spar in the practice yard in the afternoon.  Apart from that, he was in his room, reading.  Or in the Main Library, reading.  Or sitting in the dining hall.  Reading.
    “It hurts less if you don’t move your lips,” a pleasantly amused female voice interrupted, as he was struggling through a Philosophy of Magic text in the library one afternoon.  Tyndal looked up to see Estasia grinning at him.  With the light behind her she looked adorable.  The same Imperial features as Pentandra, but younger and much more rounded.
    “I just learned I didn’t have to say the words,” Tyndal complained.  “I still have to sound them out.  Especially the Perwynese.”
    “Those are always hard,” she agreed, sympathetically.  “I suppose the question is, are you mastering the subject?”
    “Are you jesting?” he asked in frustration.  “I’m barely keeping my head from rolling off of my shoulders.  I’ve read two monographs on Thaumaturgy that I didn’t understand, and I keep forgetting the noble gasses in lesser elemental theory!  It’s just too much to take in!  Especially in the time I’ve got left!”
    “What?  You’re leaving? ” she asked, concerned.
    “Relan Cor War College,” he explained.  “That will be fun . . . but my master is paying a lot more attention to how I do here.  Four weeks.  Just over three, now.”
    “I suppose the life of a Knight Mage is busy,” she observed, sitting beside him unbidden.  She smelled lovely. 
    “This one certainly is,” agreed Tyndal, scooting over . . . mostly.  That left her side nearly pressed against his own.  He found he did not mind.  Their shoulders touched, now.
    “Your master is Minalan the Spellmonger?  The Magelord?” she asked, curiously.
    “Yes.  He attended this academy.  And no, I can’t get you a witchstone,” he told her.  “Don’t even ask.”
    “I wasn’t going to,” she said, shaking her head.  “In Alchemy there isn’t much use for them, anyway.  It’s not a power-oriented discipline.”
    “And you would know – you’re the great Alchemist, I hear,” Tyndal said, closing his book.
    Estasia made a face.  “Blow up one