28. Poor Concealment

28. Poor Concealment

Giles had to repress his excitement when, forty-five minutes later, Morgana set down her pen.

"Finished?"

"I believe so," Morgana said. She picked up the three papers, tapped them against the desk to align them, and hesitantly handed the exam to him.

In most circumstances involving a student passing over an initial appraisal, Giles would assume hesitation to mean doubt over how they had performed. Yet he didn't think that was the case here. That niggling seed of suspicion had only blossomed the more he thought about it. This young woman's explanation of her past—her lack of involvement with the Designers, yet obvious understanding of spell construction—was simply too unusual. Though the extent of her understanding was what was in question, and was the crux of everything. This exam would provide illumination, one way or another.

Giles set his spellbook aside and took Morgana's exam. His eyes ran across the first question. His expression was calm, politely curious—the expression Morgana would be expecting. In truth, he was fascinated and eager to drink in her responses, barely able to restrain himself. But he had no intentions of making it clear how intrigued he was.

Of course, he disliked the duplicity he was engaging in. This lack of straightforwardness was one of the reasons he hated the Auralis Court. Alas, it had left its mark on him, as all upbringings did. He couldn't help himself. He had to know more, and considering Morgana's cagey behavior, only a subtle touch would keep from scaring her away.

Before he digested the content of the first answer, Giles made an initial observation. The neatness of her writing. Clean, efficient, legible, and yet she hadn't spent overly long on each question. She was experienced with penmanship. Not something that could be taken for granted. It was always a headache dealing with a student, or gods forbid a colleague, with sloppy writing skills. Even the most insightful papers could suffer from illegible pen strokes.

The first question was simple, as far as questions on spell design went. Her answer was short, concise, and unimaginative. To be frank, Giles would have scolded another adept for presenting this sort of response. It stated plainly obvious truths behind the nature of runes, defined terms, how certain simple interactions occurred, and such. Despite the prompt specifically calling for personal speculation and insight on the subject, Morgana had provided only the lowest-level facts—essentially ignoring the more important half of the question.

Instead of being disappointed, Giles found himself giddy. Morgana was not a simpleton: she had read the prompt and understood it. But she decided against sharing insight. Any at all. Perhaps because she wasn't sure how to navigate such a topic without revealing something she didn't want revealed.

Still, the first response was useless. He found nothing of interest there, by pure objective content. Though even in her plain descriptions, she displayed a greater understanding than a mere novice. More importantly, Morgana thought this was an exam for a beginner applicant—yet had easily answered as an adept would, even ignoring the request for elaboration and insight. It all but confirmed his suspicions. She was downplaying her abilities.

His expression remained politely contemplative, and he rubbed at his beard as his eyes flicked side to side across the paragraph, re-reading it. Without comment, he continued to question two.

The next twenty minutes were some of the most surreal in his life.

It took every ounce of training from his years spent in the Auralis Court, groomed by his parents to act a proper noble, to keep the charade up. His eyebrow quirked in mild interest. A frown tugged at his lips. A noise of idle contemplation escaped him, followed by a few nods of his head. He was every bit the alternatively impressed and flummoxed professor Morgana would expect, should his theory be correct. In the rare glances he stole, she seemed almost relieved by his lack of meaningful reactions.

Inside, past the mask he wore, was a raging mix of emotions.

First, disbelief. Giles trusted Morgana when she said she knew little of the Designers. And yet she could produce such concise, accurate answers to a whole spread of spell architecture application and theory? Where in the world did she originate from? An hour ago, he'd have been certain that no other organization could come close to the Designers' level of scientific knowledge. Maybe he was wrong.

Secondly, amusement. He had to fight away twitching lips as often as raised eyebrows. There was something bordering on hilarious in the ridiculous mismatch between certain questions. She would answer with amazing precision once, only for the next response to be painfully simple. It was as if, truly, she didn't know which parts she was expected to know. Demonstrations of complex calculus mixed in with basic algebra.

Then, lastly, a sort of growing awe mixed with uneasiness. These answers...these were her attempts to conceal her knowledge. And yet he would easily have passed this exam, upgrading her to an adept among their ranks—something that would normally take a year of study for a proficient, eager learner.

Question fourteen, on the third page, upgraded wariness to unease. He stared at the response, the drawn diagram, with a chill going down his spine. Even for an adept's exam, the Designers normally refrained from including ground-up spell construction questions. The ability to create a functional spell was a serious undertaking, even one as simple as what Giles had prompted. He'd only included it because he wanted to see how far an applicant could get. There was plenty of insight to be gained from seeing how a student handled a problem they didn't have the proper tools to solve.

But here was a fact: Morgana was trying not to impress him, trying to hide her level of expertise. He'd deduced that with certainty by now.

And yet, she had created a spell he doubted he could improve upon.

He ran his eyes over the paper, then, scooping up the book, stood so abruptly he banged his knee on the table. Several pairs of eyes looked over at him, and he winced and waved a hand, making some inane joke to dismiss his behavior, feeling an odd sort of anger that he needed to keep putting on act during such a pivotal moment. He hurried over to the stairs descending to the reinforced practice room, but found himself running without intending, nearly tripping on the way.

Down in the practice room, he was alone. He said a prayer for that.

Summoning up his most recent design, Giles made the changes to [Gale Cyclone].

***

Spell design recognized as a variation of [Gale Cyclone].

***

***

Saved as default.

***

***

[Gale Cyclone]: ADVANCED. Summon a controllable tornado of aerokinetic energy.

***

Advanced.

A custom-created Advanced spell. It was an accomplishment that would send ripples throughout the community. Less than four dozen human spell designs had ever qualified as Advanced. At least to public knowledge. There was certainly no small amount of hoarding inside their ranks, Giles knew, antithetical to their organization as such behavior was.

A small part of him was disappointed he had appropriated a portion of the design, that it wasn't purely the fruit of his own labor, but the bulk of [Gale Cyclone]'s creation was his own; he had just borrowed a crucial small percent. Elation still washed through him, if perhaps not as potent as if the breakthrough had been his alone. Academic success was never purely 'one's own.' All progress was built on the backs of others. Collaborative. Hence the purpose of the Designers.

He basked in amazement for a few seconds before sending off the first of his improved [Gale Cyclones]. Wind tore through the small reinforced mage's bunker, at least a time and a half as potent as before—the upgrades between spell proficiencies were no small things.

After having his fun, he came to a contemplative silence.

Morgana.

That strange, brilliant young woman. Who was she?

It seemed, Giles thought, that he had a very important letter to send to his brother.