Back at the Academy of the arts, a curious and delinquent Ovydd had discovered something truly humbling about the written word.
Moore had been scheduled for his Ogham quiz at the hands of his mentor Fyrrdin, who stood watch at the Firewise branch of the Rootworld Library during his lunch breaks. The academy was built right on top of the tunnels, and its entrance was only half a kilometer beyond the Earthwise walls—nothing a little charm couldn't speed him along to. Also, he knew of a crumbled section of the barrier that would serve as a shortcut since he had stayed after class to talk with Tess.
The weight of Tess's heavy scifocals reminded him that it was worth the sacrifice. Perhaps it would counteract the need for another hole in his belt. He just hoped that he would get a chance to use them. He'd had to skip standing in line for his bagged lunch to get them, but man, she looked like she was going to smash the things!
He felt a bead of sweat start to form on his brow as he neared the downed section of the wall. Boy, he really could go for a bag of Flam's and a diet Ecko right about now! As he climbed over the rubble, he wondered how Tess walked around with these things all day. They were exhausting! He'd heard she had an aversion to magic of any sort, but she must have had a shadow spell on these things. Telling himself that made him feel better. And with that, he cast one on the scifocals himself, then on his backpack and body for good measure. Climbing down from the pile of rubble and onto the trail, he untucked his jersey and let it hang over his ponch. Now that he only carried his body's water weight, he glided off toward the library at an easy trot. If he was lucky, Fyrrdin would have snacks again.
Generally, it was Moore's Law that the amount of chips he could fit into his mouth nearly doubled every two years. It had held firm since he was old enough to spell.
A thick fog fell as he neared the sanctuary and caught the lick of flames rising from the perpetual stone fires. Moore tiptoed across the elaborate rock garden, following the swirl, but stopped when he realized Fyrrdin was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Brian the bard had his blue robe pulled up in a curtsy as he squatted in the glistening green grass, involved in a deep investigation.
Moore released the magic, now feeling hungrier than ever.
"Ah," said the bard, after he heard the crunch of pebbles under Moore's approaching footsteps. "You're just in time."
It appeared he had a substitute.