Chapter 157: Branch 4: Tharick

---D-Day+100, Dherus 7th, Saturday Afternoon---

---Kashiwa Hall, Rectory---

Light shines through the clean and clear western windows.  Setting the man seated in its path aglow.  Even sitting you can tell he is very tall.  Well over six feet, in fact.  What you can also tell is that he is old.

Like, really old.

Super duper freakishly ancient looking.

Rocks see this guy and say, “grandpa?”

*ahem*

Long straight white hair frames a lengthy face with thin lips, hawkish nose, and black eyes under sharp eyebrows.  Eyes that are often narrowed to examine, question, or even interrogate.  The ivory hair and beard contrast sharply with black Stormgarde teacher’s robes he wears.

Pale skin covers a thin, almost emaciated looking, body.

*puff* *puff*

While one gnarled skeletal hand follows exotic looking script on a scroll in front of him.  The other holds a calabash pipe.  Smoke rises from its conical bowl as the aged educator idly draws it in.

“Hmm…”

Before the Rector of Stormgarde Academy is a large desk made of red wood.  Its four corners held up on legs sculpted into beasts of myth and legend.

Ornate designs are carved along all of the desk’s corners and edges.

Of course the surface is covered in books and scrolls.  Reports, recommendations, and requests, from the faculty and beyond.

Surrounding the desk is an office where you can feel the weight of centuries.  Every inch of the wall, covered in bookshelves and paintings.  Sprinkled between are various pedestals and stands.  Each having a priceless or curious artifact mounted for display.

Only a path to the door, and a sitting area with high backed chairs in front of a small fireplace, are clear of the obstructions and distractions.

The scent from the limestone walls and marble floors is completely overpowered by stained wood and inked paper.  A hint of burning logs added by the in use fireplace.  Which warms the air and helps keep it dry.  Even a bit dusty.

All beneath an exquisite chandelier hanging from the peaked ceiling.

A calm atmosphere dominates.  Undisturbed by the hubbub and chatter of students.  Dignified.  Stately.

So, naturally, it's doomed.

*slam*

“Tharick Kana Habriel!  Have you lost your mind?!”

The heavy oak door violently swings open and hammers into the wall beside it.  A high pitched voice, from the small calamity responsible, demanding attention.

Minor only in size, not ability.

Just three and a half feet tall, the midget scourge of closed doors everywhere, is often mistaken for a gnome.  Though, in truth, she is actually an elf.  A four hundred plus year old elf.

Also dressed in the black robes of a Stormgarde teacher, she stomps down the carpeted path leading from the forcefully opened entrance to her target’s desk.

A curly mix of blue and silver cascades about her shoulders.  Bouncing in time with her angry steps.  Alternately revealing and hiding pointed swept ears.

Fair colored skin shows off a heart shaped face.  With pouty lips, a button nose, and light blue eyes.  Small a-cup breasts on a thin rectangular body leaves her nearly, and tragically, curveless.

*rap* *rap* *rap*

The small wand she carries knocks on the top of the red wood.  Scattering snowflakes and frost along its edge with each strike.  Sadly a good deal of the tantrum’s intimidation is lost.  Since only some of the girl’s head is tall enough to see over the desk.

The ancient instructor tuts at his cutely outraged subordinate.

“Dean Frost, please, such behavior is not good for the young one growing within you.”

If the diminutive educator is dissuaded?  There is no sign.

“Benny, shujin gives me regular check ups and fixes any problems right away!  Besides, we are not here to talk about me!”

Rector Habriel looks up and motions a hand forgivingly at his apologetic secretary.  Struggling to close the office door and give her boss some privacy.

“Franziska, you may run your department like your own private kingdom.  But employment decisions are my domain.  You may recommend, only.”

*phew* *clink* *ting*

A beautiful smoke ring promptly freezes, drops, and shatters, as it strikes the desk.

“Hiring her will bring disaster.  That thing only leaves ashes in its wake.”

Tharick, “Benny,” looks at the pint sized ice mage and pauses to repack the tobacco in his pipe.  Then holds up a hand and begins counting with his fingers.

“He’s suborned the Adventurer’s Guild and Thieves Guild.  Crushed House Gilend, effectively conquering the county.  Brought ruin to House Chastel, and a succession war.  Repeatedly slaughtered Metia’s followers, whether deserved is not in dispute.  And, Photius preserve us, attracted two more outworlders.”

Finally getting enough purchase to climb on top of the desk, the Dean of Magic Studies opens her mouth to speak her piece but, her employer holding up his other hand stalls her.

“And, beyond all the other issues.  Your boyfriend has somehow made the undead.  The enemy of all life.  Violations of the natural order of this world…”  An almost never seen look of confusion covers his face.  “Respectable?”

This time a hard glare interrupts the girl’s, now standing on Tharick’s desk, attempt to speak.

“Do we need to mention this morning’s disaster?  Hmm?  Brawling with a yanese dragon magic user, of all people, and levelling a couple square miles?”  One hand back to holding the pipe as the other massages his forehead.  “The nobles are scared, Franziska.”  A sigh.  “Admit it, my friend, your plan has failed.”

*tap* *tap* *tap*

The littlest water school user taps one of her feet on top of some papers, with her arms crossed, staring back at her old, very old, ally.  A perturbed loli pose.

“Can I speak now?”

*puff*

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“You really don’t mind?”

“No, please continue.”

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“Thank you, sensei.”

“You know I hate when you use their language.”

“Yep.”

“...”

"Ready?"

"Of course."

*hop* *hop*

“What plan!?!”

Her light blue and white tartan skirt plus black robe fly up.  Intermittently exposing lace panties as the short, but senior, elf jumps up and down on the Rector's desk.  Shooting papers off in every direction.

Her arms wave about as the outburst continues.

“Who knows what shujin would have done if he found out how Detlev learned that spell?!  Learned who gave him that broach?!  Distracting him was our best chance!”

Tharick tsks.

“Hmph!  It was a perfectly valid experiment.  Almost complete too.  So much research lo-”

*stomp* *crack*

A sudden chill drops the room’s temperature as one tiny shoed foot strikes the desktop, much harder this time.  Interrupting the old man and leaving a spit in its once unblemished finish.

“Do not lie to me, Benny!”  A small dainty hand points a finger.  “Detlev was out of control and you know it.  How many lives did he ruin?  Only your fear of exposure kept us from acting.”

Mana stirs in the room as the Rector’s voice gains a deeper pitch.

“Fear?  Me?  Be warned water waggler, I do-”

Interfered with and answered in kind.

“I said to not lie to me, ojisan.”

The desk, and papers on it, rumble as both elemental magic users muster their strength.  Finally, with another sigh.  The Rector of Stormgarde Academy releases his mana and slumps back in his chair.

“Fine.  What occurred was… regrettable.”  Waves down another potential outburst.  “Alright, yes, mistakes were made.  Professor Wepper was a bad apple and cost me… a lot.”  Chuckles to himself.  “If the inquisition was not so focused on your boyfriend?  Those templars would have been coming after me instead.”

Dean Frost poses again.  This time with her hands on her hips, legs spread, and partially leaning over.  Like she’s lecturing a junior.

“And when was the last time anyone in the west got their hands on a dragon?”  Her boss nods, reluctantly.  “Not just one, by the pit.  Four!  Dean Rufio is still practically glowing.”

“Very well.  I agree he has done some good.”

The ice mage stands straight.

“Some, Benny?  Who finally brought that granyan bitch to justice?  For the many children she tainted and twisted over the last couple hundred years.  Who cured the Lady Blue?  Most beloved noblewoman in the county.  Who saved that yan princess?  Broken by another of your proteges.”

The rector raises both hands.

“Stop, Franziska, I surrender.  I am willing to accept that his performance has been… mixed.”  Ignores his ally scoffing.  “But who killed an influential aquecian exile?  On her first day.  You know how hard it's been to find replacements after Professor Wepper’s scandal.”  It's the ice mage’s turn to reluctantly nod.  “And who killed a duke?  Photius help us, a duke!  In public!  Then raised him as some undead abomination, in public, and executed him again!”

Dean Frost raises a finger to counter but then moves it to her chin and ponders some more.  Letting the school’s head continue.

“And by the mana spring, who let him deflower a yanese princess?”  Points to the ocean behind him.  “We are lucky it was only one ship coming over the horizon and not an entire fleet!”  Scowls at the tiny elf’s surprised look.  “Come now, I’m an archmagus.  Do you really think I would miss a virginity seal, that strong, being broken?”

The head of magic studies does not answer.  Instead she starts avoiding eye contact and idly pivoting one of her feet.  The rector continues.

“The world has rules, Franziska.  Both written and unwritten.  The Twelve Tables and Eight Virtues from the First Citizen may not carry much weight in Tourin compared to Aquecia.  But they still apply.  Has anyone taken his measure?”

The ice mage’s sudden shyness and quieter words are telling.

“Th-there hasn't really been any time.  So m-much going on.  Sister Lilias keeps trying to but something always c-comes up.”

Her employer’s look softens.

“The nobles and church are already uniting against him.  And now he’s woken up that thrice damned warmaster’s golem?”  Another sigh.  “Your beast is out of control, Dean Frost, and I need reins put on him before it is too late.  Before Sayo’s Dream is risked.”

That snaps her attention back to the old man.  Now with fear in her eyes.

“No.  He would never…  I would never…”  She places a hand on her belly.  “Damn you, Benny.  That’s not fair.  I will not choose one over the other.”

*puff* *puff*

A disappointed look crosses the rector’s face.

“I know, Franziska, and so did she.  That is why protecting her vision was left in my hands.  Not yours.”

A more subdued looking elf now has both hands on her belly.

“Be careful, Tharick.  Jon’s even stronger now.  Those yanese girls are teaching him dragon magic.”  Old eyes open wide.  “I will not risk my child.  She is what matters now.”

*puff* *exhale*

“Yes, I understand.  Sayo’s Dream was never yours.  She was your dream.  And now that outworlder has given you the miracle you wanted.”  Checks some papers still on his desk.  “Professor Iterol will take over during your… sabbatical.”  A slight bow.  “I wish you well, spellmaster.”

The Dean of Magic Studies nods and gracefully hops off the Rector’s desk.  Walking towards the again open exit.  Much slower and humbler than her entrance though.  She stops and looks back at one of her oldest allies, if not, exactly, friends.

“And I, you, castmaster.  Never trust her, Benny.  Ever.  I did, once, and she broke my heart.  The Alvingham’s did, and she broke their House.  I fear what she will do to Sayo’s Dream.”

The aged man sits up straight.  Looking confident.  In control.

“Do not fear, Franziska, I am well aware of her history.  I know what I am doing.”

The now sad elf wizardess shakes her head slowly as she exits the room.  Leaving her employer with parting words as the door slowly closes.

“So did they, Benny.  So did I.  We still lost… everything.”

*clack*

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