The Thorn of Dentonhill by Marshall Ryan Maresca Page A

Knights were going to be badly outnumbered if they pushed.
    â€œMaybe we should—” one of the Knights said.
    â€œDon’t think Fenmere’s just gonna hit us, Prince,” the Knight captain said. “If he’s on our block, he’ll be on every block.”
    With that, the Knights backed off down Vine.
    Hetzer snickered and turned back to the corner. “Blazes of a day, ain’t it, cap?”
    Jutie looked over to Colin, who shoved his knife back in his coat and stalked off.

    Crossing his way over the lawn to Alimen’s office, Veranix glanced at the south wall of the campus. The wall was low here, made of crumbling stones. One could easily see over it, where there was a line of trees, and Lilac Street on the other side.
    One of the trees had two cloths tied around a low branch, a red one and a white one. Most people, passing in a hurry across campus, wouldn’t notice them. Even if anyone did notice them, they wouldn’t think anything of them.
    Veranix knew exactly what they meant. The white cloth was a signal from Colin, letting Veranix know that they had to talk.
    The red cloth meant Colin was angry.
    Colin was going to have to wait until lunchtime, though. After dozing off in lecture yesterday, Veranix couldn’t miss a practical. Professor Alimen wouldn’t stand for that, no matter how much he liked Veranix.
    Alimen’s office was at the top of Bolingwood Tower, as were his personal apartments. It was the traditional place for the University’s Egracian Chair, the position Alimen held as the head of the Magic department at U of M. It held quite a bit of prestige, even if the department only had two other faculty, and at most twenty students at any given time. Bolingwood was the tallest building on campus, which meant that Veranix had to race up seven flights of steep stone stairs to reach the office.
    â€œOnly five minutes late, Mister Calbert,” Professor Alimen said. “For you, that’s something impressive.” Alimen was not alone when Veranix entered. Two other men were in whispered conference with him. Despite being here for his appointed time, Veranix had the distinct impression he was interrupting something.
    â€œMy punctuality would improve if we held lessons on the ground floor, Professor.” Veranix gave his best winning smile.
    Alimen chuckled warmly. “The stairs help keep my students in top condition. You’re the only one who comes in here not winded, Mister Calbert.”
    â€œI must be living right, sir,” Veranix said. The two men were looking at Veranix with dark, disturbing eyes. Veranix didn’t like them at all. “If you’re indisposed, Professor, I could return later.”
    â€œNonsense. These gentlemen are here to observe the lesson. This is Wells Harleydale, from the Circle of Light and Stone and on my right is Fenrich Kalas, from the Blue Hand Circle.” The two men couldn’t be more different. Harleydale, despite his age, wore little more on top than a garish yellow vest, so the lighthouse tattoo on his chest was plainly visible. His hair was a wild mop of gray curls. He would have fit right in with the clowns from the circus. Kalas, though, was dressed in a deep blue gentleman’s suit—an expensive one, with silver clasps on the jacket and waistcoat—including matching gloves and coach hat. His dark hair was cropped short, and he sported a disturbingly tiny mustache. Veranix found both of them disturbing.
    Veranix buried those feelings and straightened his posture, reaching out to shake hands with the two men. “Veranix Calbert,” he said. “It’s an honor to meet you both.” Harleydale returned Veranix’s handshake with warm vigor, but Kalas acted as if the physical contact was an imposition he had to endure. A memory sparked, and he turned to Harleydale. “Light and Stone. You were involved in—”
    â€œThe Circle Feuds a few years