Free Lesson of the Fire by Eric Zawadzki

the woman who had been there for nearly eight
years.
    “Does he ever let us leave?” Sven asked
her.
    “Oh yes,” she said with a toothy grin. “Some
get boots in just a few days. Some in a month or two. An’ he keeps
the Law, too. The ones who came before me went free, an’ soon I’ll
be free, too.”
    Sven grew more thoughtful as the days
passed. Through the windows, he could watch the regular hustle and
bustle of the compound. It was like the cities in some of Sveld’s
stories — hundreds of buildings, most of them larger than any in
Rustiford. As Sven began to place voices with names, people would
leave. New ones would replace them. Many of them wore bright green,
though an equal number wore black. There were dozens wearing
auburn, and several in blue. Occasionally, a cyan- or
lavender-garbed Mar passed by, carrying heavy books and talking
ferociously to the air. Sven puzzled over the strange flow of
people for days before he came to a clear conclusion about his
enslavement. It took another day for him to make his decision.
    On the eighth day, Nightfire returned,
entering Sven’s room without so much as a knock.
    “Have you completed your tasks? I understand
you spent quite a bit of time helping the others.”
    Sven nodded confidently.
    “Show me,” Nightfire said, motioning for
Sven to lead the way.
    Sven retraced his steps precisely, pausing
outside each room to recite its assigned task. The wizard offered
no comment, but he looked suitably impressed when Sven
finished.
    “How did you remember?”
    “I can remember anything said to me.”
    If Sven had not been watching the man’s
green eyes, he would not have seen the surprise that vanished as
quickly as it appeared. He nodded. “Seruvus’ memory. That is quite
a gift.”
    Sven took a deep breath and blurted, “I
passed your test, didn’t I?”
    “What test?” Nightfire asked, feigning
confusion badly.
    “The test to see if I’m worthy to be taught
your secrets.”
    Nightfire closed the door. “Explain your
reasoning.”
    Sven took a deep breath, composed his
thoughts.
    “Well, the house of slaves doin’ nothin’
useful helped a lot. Why keep slaves if you don’t use them for
anythin’? Then there’s the people outside wearin’ colors too bright
to be anythin’ but wizards. Plus ev’ryone here is youn’ except you
an’ a few others who’re dressed in lavender or yellow. You make me
remember a really long list of jobs just to see if I can. Put it
all together, an’ I know I’m in a magic school, an’ you make the
slaves who pass the test your apprentices. Am I right?”
    Nightfire leaned against the door and took a
deep breath before responding. “You have not mentioned that most of
my apprentices come to my Academy willingly in search of an
education. But you could not have drawn that conclusion based on
the information you have been given. You have quite a talent for
drawing reasonable conclusions from incongruous information.”
    “What?” Sven asked. It had sounded like a
compliment, but most of the words were new to him.
    Nightfire smiled patronizingly. “Sorry. I
forgot myself.”
    “You haven’t answered my
question.” I think you haven’t. “At least not directly.”
    “You are right. This is the most prestigious
academy teaching the art of magic in Marrishland. Every magocrat
would gladly pay the considerable tuition to send his children to
study here, but we only accept the most promising students.”
    “Tuition?” Sven asked, repeating the
unfamiliar word precisely.
    “Something of value they give us in exchange
for receiving our knowledge.”
    “Like metal an’ food? Or coins?”
    “Something like that,” Nightfire said with a
slight shrug. “It is our tradition, though, to enroll a small
number of gifted youth from rural villages.”
    “Your slaves,” Sven said, surprised by the
anger in his voice.
    Nightfire’s eyes glittered with fire for a
moment and then cooled. “Magic is a secret knowledge.