others who had returned to Rowan from the inland settlements. The goose Hannah had to chase down Honk after the willful gosling went tottering after them. Madam Petra was gazing down from a prime perch atop Old Tom’s steps, as were many of Max’s former classmates. But the greatest joy Max felt was when he saw Bob standing near the front with Sarah, Cynthia, and Lucia. His helmet and cudgel had been put away. Bob wore a cook’s apron once again and his favorite blue-striped shirt. When Max passed by, the ogre bowed his head.
The Promethean Scholars stood behind the Director, as did the senior faculty and several leaders from the refugees. The Red Branch flanked the Director and Max’s focus quickly zeroed in on Scathach. She returned his smile and quietly urged him to pay attention as YaYa came to a halt before Ms. Richter.
At Tweedy’s coughing cue, Max leaned the
Just David and Mina stood before the Director now. Each was holding something. Mina’s object was clutched and hidden by both hands, but David was leaning upon a very powerful and familiar item.
It was Prusias’s cane—the very prop that contained a page from the Book of Thoth. Whenever the demon was in his serpent form, the artifact was embedded in one of the crowns that had shattered. Once Mina discovered her charge, David had gone looking for the cane and found it wedged among the briny rocks along the shore.
When Ms. Richter addressed the crowd, her voice also issued from hovering glowspheres stationed about the Old College and all of Greater Rowan. She spoke of honor and sacrifice, the appalling losses, and the great victory that had been achieved. Max listened dutifully, his gaze straying occasionally to Scathach or the gargantuan war galleons anchored in and about Rowan Harbor. There were twenty of them, twenty crimson galleons that were far larger and more formidable than any ships Rowan possessed. Once Prusias’s army had been destroyed, Rowan had captured and claimed the vessels as they tried to escape with mere skeleton crews.
“But that victory is not complete,” continued Ms. Richter, reclaiming Max’s attention. “We have turned back Prusias, but he is not yet defeated. He sailed to these shores with but a fraction of his forces and he will not underestimate us again. And thus, Rowan must ask more of you. I must ask more of you as we pursue this enemy to his own gates and stamp out this threat once and for all. If we do not, if we succumb to debate and delay, then his armies will surely return with greater wrath and numbers. This is not the end of the war; it is the beginning.”
Ms. Richter smiled ruefully and acknowledged the crowd’s stunned silence.
“My message today is bittersweet,” she confessed. “I know that many of you had hoped to put the sorrows and toil of war behind you. Many of you had looked forward to a quiet life in which you could enjoy our hard-earned freedom and independence. Nobody wants that more for you than I. But we are not there yet. In the coming weeks and months, Rowan may call upon you once again. And I know that you will answer.
“But Rowan will not call upon you alone. We have not merely turned back an enemy; we have gained credibility. Those who could not aid us or feared to do so may now feel otherwise. We will seek their help. We will ask others to strengthen our cause and share our sacrifice. But let me be clear: Rowan is no longer desperate for aid or charity. We are no longer a quaking country hoping to escape the notice of its neighbors. The founders of this school were refugees themselves. They, too, fled an enemy to these shores and sought to rebuild and regain their former strength and dignity. For over four centuries, Rowan has engaged proudly in this struggle. But Rowan has also always dwelled in the shadow of her predecessors; she has been a mere echo of a grander, more storied past. Those days are over.
“Today, Rowan enters a new phase of existence—one that embraces the best of her legacy even as she rises up to break new ground. There have been many schools of magic, but Solas was the finest mankind has ever known and its high tower was a symbol for all that could be achieved. Solas may be gone, but Tur an Ghrian shall rise again.”
Following this statement, the Director and scholars and everyone else moved away from David and Mina so that the two were left alone in a broad circle. Max and everyone else watched nervously as Mina approached the cliffs, her Ascendant’s robes trailing her upon the grass. Those who were close enough and at a proper vantage might have seen that the girl was holding a small, charred rock. Given a closer look, some Rowan students might have recognized it as the Founder’s Stone. Normally, the object was hovering behind glass—one of Rowan’s six great treasures. But now it was resting in Mina’s cupped hands as she walked toward the cliffs’ farthest point opposite the Manse. Kissing the stone, she laid it carefully on the ground and walked back to David.
When Rowan’s sorcerer touched his cane to the ground, Max shivered as Old Magic saturated the air and caused it to shimmer. The earth shook and the crowds surged back as a great tower grew around the stone, rising up from the very cliffs where Gravenmuir had been thrown into the sea. Higher and higher it rose, until the gulls that circled around its gleaming spire were distant white specks. And as the dust settled and the afternoon light turned its pale stone to gold, Ms. Richter announced that Tur an Ghrian—the Tower of the Sun—stood once more.
Back in the Observatory, Max exhaled and sat in his armchair, staring up at the dome’s slowly wheeling constellations. He was no longer wearing ceremonial armor but the simple uniform of the Red Branch and some well-worn boots. From the upper level, he heard a sudden rip of fabric followed by a startled oath. The second tear was more pronounced, as was the swearing. The third tear was longest of all, but no cursing accompanied it. Instead, both halves of David’s ceremonial robes were tossed over the railing. With a sidelong glance, Max watched them float down like two silken streamers.
“Don’t you have to return those?” he called.
“I won’t!” yelled his roommate, now flinging down a starchy shirt and a pair of black socks.
Glancing up, Max saw Rowan’s sorcerer—the very prodigy who had raised Tur an Ghrian—standing at the railing in his underwear. The boy’s face was even paler than usual.
“How much time do we have?”
“They said they’d be here at seven,” replied Max.
With a groan, David disappeared. Two minutes later, he stood at the railing wearing leggings and a blue tunic. Max shook his head.
“You look like a page boy. And those leggings keep no secrets.”
Mortified, David vanished again. He appeared three more times at the railing, but each outfit was even worse than the last. When there was a knock at the door, David gasped and drew the curtain around his bed.
“Keep them busy!” he yelled. “I just need a few minutes.”
Trotting up the stairs, Max opened the door and invited Scathach and Cynthia in. They both looked lovely: Scathach wearing a dark gray dress with a silver belt and Cynthia in her viridian robes with a white daisy in her hair.
“David needs a moment,” said Max, giving them a significant look and leading them downstairs.
“Take your time,” called Cynthia, scrutinizing the remains of David’s robe on the floor. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go to the celebration dinner?”
“Oh no,” wheezed David, evidently straining. “Those formal things are always so stuffy. And you’ll love the Hanged Man! Marta’s been cooking all day to get things ready. Have you ever had sweetbreads? I haven’t, but Marta’s a genius at desserts.”
Cynthia turned pale.
“Hello, Scathach!” called David pleasantly.
“Hello,” she replied, walking around the lower level and gazing about. She stopped at a runeglass case and peered closely at it. “Is this one of those pinlegs Max told me about?”
“Yes,” said David. “I spent so much time with it, I thought I’d hold on to it as a keepsake. I call him Chester. He just seems like a Chester.”
Scathach raised an eyebrow at Chester’s gleaming carapace, lethal pincers, and weakly undulating legs. “And so how did you manage to take control of those dreadnoughts?”
David finally emerged from behind his curtain, having opted for a wooly brown robe from the hamper. He beamed at Cynthia, who smiled weakly and said something about him looking “very comfortable.”
“Oh, Marta doesn’t stand on ceremony,” he replied, standing on tiptoe to kiss her cheek. “Anyway, Scathach, it was really pretty straightforward once I realized that the dreadnoughts had a fatal flaw. The spirits that controlled them were not only relatively weak, but they were also damaged. I no longer required their truenames to unlock them; I just needed enough power to kick down the doors. And Max helped provide it.”
