Description : The Fell Sword
Liviapolis – Morgan Mortirmir
As the Red Knight left the abode of the Wyrm of the Green Hills and rode south to the Inn of Dorling, Morgan Mortirmir, late of Harndon, sat in class in the Imperial capital of Liviapolis.
The classroom in which he sat was over a thousand years old; it featured dark oak benches and solid desks that sat four students per bench. The benches had, carved in so deeply you had to wonder how the professors and tutors had missed the vandalism, the graffiti of a hundred generations of would-be magisters in ten languages and in Archaic itself. The windows were mullioned and leaded and offered only the haziest glimpse of the outside world to the bored or frustrated mind.
Morgan shared his bench with three other students: two of the religious sisters from one of the great cities dozens of convents for women of noble blood, sisters Anna and Katerina, almost invisible in long brown gowns and wimples, and his sole near-friend, the Etruscan whose father was Podesta of the foreign merchants, Antonio Baldesce.
The logik master looked over the class.
‘Someone who is not Mortirmir,’ he said. ‘Tell me why.’
Sixteen students in advanced hermetical thaumaturgy squirmed.
‘Come,e, my children,’ Magister Abraham said. He was a Yahadut – the first Morgon had ever met. He was one of the kindest of the masters – until he felt he had been ignored.
His eyes locked on the young Etruscan. ‘Baldesce?’...