Wartorn: Resurrection
had no ready response. Was he being complimented?
    "Your idea was a good one," the commander said. "As it happened, we had ... other means of quickening the speed at which we could move."
    Aquint noticed the officer give an involuntary, uneasy glance to the magician in the corner. So, thought Aquint, even this army's higher-ups hadn't enjoyed stepping through those portals.
    "Anyway," the commander continued, "this is a new means of transportation. I don't know how often General Weisel will want to make use of it, or even how reliable it is." Another look toward the corner, this one mildly defiant. "But I need transport officers in the regular ranks. These... mages might be able to send us magically through the air, but I'll wager they don't know how a convoy should be organized to pass most efficiently through those tight portals."
    Aquint blinked, still groping for a reply.
    He didn't get the chance to make one. "You have a background in freight hauling," the commander
    said. "You're not afraid to express your ideas. Fresh thinking is rare, and it's in our best interest to make use of it when we find it. I'm promoting you, effective when your paperwork is complete. That's all. You can return to your unit."
    Aquint was out of the tent and walking back to his unit when it finally, truly sank in that he was not going to be punished. When it did, he burst out in sudden, joyous laughter. Cat appearing at his side, peering at him with concern, only made him laugh harder.

PRAULTH (1)
    A SHEET OF parchment was whipped abruptly underneath her narrow nose, causing her to start violently and nearly spill from the high stool. Having her intense study so crassly interrupted made her bare her teeth in annoyance. Some prank? Some lower phase brat playing games with—
    'Tell me what you make of this by the end of the watch. Wherever I am, find me. Start now."
    With a rustle of his robe, Master Honnis glided past her desk, his shrunken body moving with its usual grace. The pure white fringe of what remained of his hair stood out starkly against his richly dark flesh. Master Honnis was the oldest individual at the University, one of the oldest people Praulth had ever met in her life. Yet within that small, bony shape burned an irascible vigor that had earned him a widespread reputation as a taskmaster.
    Praulth didn't entirely share that general view, though Master Honnis's fearsomeness was evident. His speech was often short, his manner curt. Yet she had gotten to know the old instructor—as much as anyone was likely to—and quite admired him. He had once told her that the reason for his brusqueness was that he simply didn't have time for social niceties. At his age there could only be so many days left to him.
    Praulth, a fourth-phase student of first ranking here at the University at Febretree, was twenty-two years old. Physically she was of average height and lean, with short blandly brownish hair. Her trimness wasn't due to exercise. She was slim only because her diet was poor; as an obsessive intellect she regularly overlooked meals.
    She was charting a course of academic excellence, one that was almost predetermined to secure her a post on one of the scholastic councils. Historic studies to be specific, since that was her field of greatest achievement. Another tenwinter of diligence, of honing her analytical faculties, and she would perhaps be
Mistress
Praulth. Would she then also be blunt? Intimidating? Intellectually ferocious? Just like her mentor, Master Honnis. Perhaps.
    Two other desks were occupied in the bleakly appointed study parlor by lower phase pupils, neither outstandingly bright; still, that they were here this late (it was nearing the mid of night) spoke of commitment. Surely not the same sort of commitment—
devotion
—that filled Praulth's every waking moment, but perhaps one or the other of these two would last long enough to reach third phase, which was the minimum achievement necessary to call oneself a

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