A Different Lesson

Xandra was seriously contemplating setting the instructor for her pickpocketing class on fire just to see him burn as she sat in class the next morning. She doubted it would get her out of the lesson. She quelled the temptation, and instead awaited the opportunity to ruthlessly prove her talent.   Strutting like a preening peacock, Edawn Graytree walked up and down the rows of desks, prattling on about how he stole from this noble or that, and how it took years upon years to perfect the trade. It was all Xandra could do to not break out into laughter.   She had learned to pick pockets when she was five years old. The following year, she had helped her brother steal from a nemesis of her great-grandfather’s businesses without being caught. That job had included breaking into the merchant’s safe. Of course, she had learned from some of the best the city had to offer: her parents who were living legends and her godsparents who were renowned and feared in their own rights. Xandra had also learned from her great-grandfather from the moment she could walk.   She had a plan that she hoped would serve two purposes. The first being to prove her skills at pick-pocketing. The second being it would, hopefully, get her out of the class for the rest of the semester.   Edawn Graytree passed by her, with his hands flailing in the air as he gestured wildly as he spoke his tales. Xandra turned towards him like a dutiful student. Unlike a dutiful student, she snapped her hand out and deftly removed his coin pouch and the set of lock picks attached at his right hip as he passed by her desk. Just as he did every time he was regaling the class with a past exploit, Graytree turned towards each side of the rows. First to his right and then to his left, reminding Xandra of an actor performing for a crowd rather than an instructor who was supposed to be teaching his students an important skill.   Not that she was going to complain, when his loud boasting allowed her the ability to lift his possessions from his body with silent, swift accuracy. As he swept past her desk, he dropped his hand in extravagant wave, allowing Xandra to slip one of Graytree’s rings from his hand. Leaning back in her desk, she turned the sparkling ruby and diamond ring in the flickering torchlight of the room. As large as a fat grape, it was probably worth several thousand gold pieces; though she did notice a slight flaw on one side of the oval ruby. Not that she was a professional at telling a gem’s worth, but she knew how much some of her mother’s jewels were worth.   “Xandra,” a voice hissed. Xandra turned to find one of her closest classmates, glancing furtively from her to Graytree and back again. “What are you doing?”   Segav, two years her senior in age, sat across from her, his golden eyes filled with a mixture of awe, worry, and concern. She’d had a crush on him from pretty much the moment she entered the guild, not that she’d pursued her feelings. Xandra knew all too well that drawing unwanted attention to an unworthy suitor could result in the death of the possible beau.   She tossed the ring to Segav, who caught it deftly before hiding it between his hands. He stared at her in disbelief.   She leaned towards him, whispering, “I’m doing exactly what we’re being taught to do.”   This brought an amused snicker from behind her and she glanced at one of her other classmates. Bright blond hair cut in a page-boy style with laughing blue eyes and a never ending grin, Sydrin had a quick wit and even sharper tongue. He sat behind her and she’d always considered him a friend.   Sydrin leaned forward in his desk, muttering softly, “Graytree is going to have your hide when he realizes what you’ve done.”   “I’d like to see him try.” Xandra purred the words, completely unaware of the cold threat that crept into her voice.   “I can’t believe you did that,” Segav moaned softly. “Then again, yes; I can believe it. Here,” he said, tossing the ring back to her. “A pity there isn’t an artist here to capture his expression when he finds out.”   “That’s okay, Segav,” Sydrin, whispered cheerfully. “I can sketch out a fairly decent replication for you.”   Xandra and Segav snickered. Xandra was about to speak up, when Graytree let out a wordless bellow of outrage.   “Sounds like he realized you took his pretties,” Sydrin murmured in Xandra’s ear.   Xandra gave a slight nod as Graytree glared around the classroom until his gaze fell upon her.   “You! Where have you magic’ed my items?” Graytree demanded as he stormed across the room to her.   “Magic wasn’t needed to acquire your items,” Xandra replied, not the least impressed by the instructor attempting to intimidate her. Graytree’s anger was nothing compared to her parents or great-grandfather. She paused dramatically and glanced down at his belt. “Oh, my! You also seem to be missing other items, as well. Such as your lock picks and money pouch.”   Graytree’s eyes widened as he suddenly slapped his waist with both hands, feeling for everything that had once been attached to his belt. “How dare you mock me and this class by using talentless magic to steal by?” Edawn Graytree railed, upon realizing his prized tools were missing. “Even with this latest effrontery, young lady, you might be fortunate enough to remain inside this guild’s walls as a student. However, I will assure you that your punishment for mocking me and this class, not to mention this lesson, will be long and arduous.”   Xandra slid effortlessly from her desk, glaring at Edawn Graytree. “Magic is not ‘talentless’, not that I needed it to take what I wanted from you.” She lifted her head, as she gestured towards the items sitting on the top of her desk. “You prattle and preen like a strutting peacock trying to lure in a mate. I learned how to pick pockets and locks from several of the living legends that dwell within Fellhaven before liberating merchants and nobles, alike, of their products and purses.”   “I care not what lies you spew,” Graytree growled as he snatched up his missing items from her desk. He turned and stalked to his desk, where he proceeded to snatch up his quill and ink bottle. “No child could possibly have done what you claim you accomplished without the use of magic.” He spat out the word, and Xandra couldn’t understand why he hated magic so much. Not that she cared when Graytree was intently writing on a piece of parchment.   The daughter of a powerful, magic-loving former ranger and great-grandchild to an even more powerful necromancer, Xandra refused to allow Graytree to slander magic. Let alone, call her a liar. Oh, no, that simply would not be acceptable. Besides, she had permission from the owner of the guild to teach Graytree a lesson he wouldn’t forget.   “That, sir, and I use that term very lightly, was not magic.” Xandra stated, standing tall and proud, hands held slightly out to her side, her palms facing the ceiling. “That was skill and years of honed talent. This… now this is magic.”   Like a grand stage performer, Xandra threw her arms up into the air, lifting her chin as she murmured a spell she had been taught two years prior by her mother.   Green fire flashed from Xandra’s hands, casting the room in a sickly shade as the temperature rose a few degrees. The flames from the torches bent towards her, dancing wildly as though drawn to her and the magic she cast as a thick gray fog grew from the floor. Leaking into the room, it swirled and reached upwards as though the tendrils of smoke were hands grasping for freedom. Once the fog reached the height of the desks, four black forms solidified from the murky grayness. The moment the forms completely solidified, the fog slithered back into the tiled floor, leaving behind the distinct smell of brimstone and smoke.   Xandra dropped her hands to her side, stepping forward until she stood between two felines the size of tigers with sleek, black hides. Glimpses of orange twinkled into sight before vanishing as the creatures looked around the room before turning their fiery red eyes back to the human standing before them.   “I am far from ‘talentless’,” Xandra snarled. “Simply because I was skilled enough to steal from you, you wish to punish me. So be it, but I’ll take a piece of your hide before you even attempt to take some of mine.”   Without a spoken word to the felines, the hellcats lunged forward. Leaping across the desk, the cat at Xandra’s right landed square against Graytree’s chest, slamming him against the wall. She could hear her classmates gasp, but none made any other sound. A small part of her felt their fear and was thrilled by it.   Despite the growling, snarling faces of the hellcats that were poised to rip out Graytree’s throat, Xandra had to give her instructor a small amount of admiration for not weeping or fainting in fear.   Hands flat against the wall, with a hellcat face mere inches from his, Graytree didn’t whimper or whine. Instead, he swallowed hard, sweat beading along his hairline, and said, “Remove these cats before I have you expelled for attacking an instructor!” “As you wish,” a cultured voice responded.   A voice Xandra recognized. She had a very bad feeling about what was to come.   The hellcats vanished from sight and Xandra slowly turned towards the being who had spoken. Like the rest of her classmates, Xandra stared at the figure standing in the doorway. Unlike the rest of the class, she was very familiar with him.   She hoped she wouldn’t get into trouble for her method of dealing with him.   Hands clasped characteristically behind his back and wearing an ebony robe, stood her great-grandfather. Silver hair fell down his back and wrapped about his shoulders as though it were a cloak. The effect was odd to the eye, for he also wore a cloak darker than a raven’s wings. The blood red lining of the cloak, just visible below the mane of silver, gave a temporary illusion of the hair bleeding into the fabric. Orange eyes glittered from a chiseled face that many would classify as handsome. His skin, unlike the majority of his race, was ebony as well. All in the classroom would recognize him for the docelfar he was and none would gainsay him. Few dared argue with a docelfar: the race of elves known for treachery, malevolence and a distinct lack of mercy.   Arguments with a docelfar frequently ended in the other person’s death.   The intimidating image of her great-grandfather was one Xandra had often loved and admired. Now, however, having it used against her, she understood the fear he instilled in those around her all too well. Yet, he rarely intimidated her parents. In fact, her father and Xantos were almost always at each other’s throats and her mother dared his ire frequently.   So much for keeping my family secrets hidden, she thought glumly as the brief feeling of fear passed and she realized rumors and questions of their relationship would now spread like wildfire in a field of dried grass.   Swallowing, she took a step forward, only to find Xantos’s hand snap up in a signal that ordered her still. It took a mere second longer for her to realize her mouth was open and she snapped it shut.   Xandra resisted the urge to glance towards Segav for fear of her great-grandfather turning his ire towards the one male she was developing a growing interest towards. Instead, she waited, in silence, for some word or signal that would allow her to either sit or leave with him.   Xantos turned his attention to the instructor, who had insulted his great-granddaughter. Worse yet, Graytree had insulted the lessons that he had personally taught Alixandra, the sole child whom he planned on molding into his heir. Each student he observed was watching him with a mixture of disbelief, horror, and fear. No doubt many of them were realizing that he was a docelfar. A race of elves rarely seen anywhere but in the Great Forest. It was unbelievable to many, Xantos knew, that one from such a race would be standing within the guild halls interrupting the class with such authority.   His gaze slowly traveled over the students, pausing only briefly upon Xandra. When his eyes fell upon Segav, they narrowed slightly and a small frown pulled at the corner of his lips. Segav met his stare and held it. Xantos bowed his head slightly and the frown vanished as he turned his attention back to the instructor.   The boy shows potential. Perhaps I should test him. It may prove amusing to see just how far he will go to earn my permission to court Xandra. Xantos thought as the instructor attempted to make himself more presentable, despite the claw-marked silk that had been his tunic. A cold, cruel smile curled his lips as he moved into the room. Xandra shows great potential but she needs more guidance.   “Perhaps my senses have dulled over the millennia,” Xantos began in the silken, soft voice that he knew would make the skin at Xandra’s nape crawl. “Or perhaps intelligence is no longer a requirement for instructors. I will have to confront the guild’s board members about their criteria for tenure.” His eyes locked onto Graytree. “More of my time wasted upon sniveling animals. There can be no doubt, however, that respect and wisdom are not applied within this room.”   Xantos pressed his fingers against the surface of the teacher’s desk. Graytree kept his composure, despite the beads of sweat trickling from his hairline. Xantos could smell the man’s fear regardless, but didn't care.   “One teaches first by example. A student that surpasses expectation is a prize rarely seen by those that instruct. A foolish tongue cannot aid its mewling owner after it has been torn from the mouth it calls home. Perhaps you, oh great scholar, have heard these pillars of truth?” Graytree nodded nervously once before attempting to stiffen his spine further and hold his head a little higher in defiance. The smile on Xantos’s face widened. “Let us take the rest of today’s lesson to concentrate on those first two truths. The third may be presented in today’s instruction.”   “This is my classroom-” Graytree began.   “Perfect,” hissed Xantos, his left hand rising suddenly and sliding in the air above the teacher’s splayed fingers. “We begin.”   Graytree yelped in pain. His right hand attempted to clutch his left, and then flew away in reflex. The man looked at the scorched areas on the palm of his right hand: Areas that were precisely spaced and sized to the rings adorning the left hand fingers of their teacher.   The metal of each ring on both hands were glowing. The smell of burning flesh, strong and pungent, filled the room, sinking into everyone’s nostrils immediately following the glow of the metal. Xantos knew from experience it would stay with them for days.   Xantos remained unaffected by the smell and throbbing heat emanating from the myriad rings Graytree used to decorate his fingers. The docelfar sprang from the desk, holding his arms wide as if preparing to embrace each child, his voice now the boom of a vengeful tyrant.   “Today’s example, good students: How one’s vanity and pride may be turned against him! See how a simple application of heat transforms petty decoration into a useful instrument of torture.”   He turned back to observe the teacher’s “progress.”   Tendrils of greasy smoke drifted from each finger. Graytree had thrown his hands wide apart in front of him. His head was tilted back, screams from his open mouth cutting the air.   Xantos leaned towards Segav, who was too fixated on the spectacle to notice. Grabbing the boy at one shoulder, Xantos pulled him closer to the writhing, crying figure behind the desk. He held the boy in place, and spoke to him in the calm, instructive tone of a teacher.   “What do you say, boy? Do you feel educated by this man’s example?”   Segav nodded, making a choking sound deep in his throat. Xantos knew at this closer distance, the smell of cooking skin was worse, pouring down the boy’s throat and threatening his breakfast with promises of an early dismissal.   “Excellent. What enlightenment can you share with the class?” Xantos prompted, still talking in the same, calm voice.   “Do… do not display your weaknesses to others. An enemy more powerful than you will turn them into weapons against you!” Segav choked out.   Gods be damned, Xantos wondered, I could learn to tolerate this boy.   Xantos pulled Segav back and turned him around. The horrified and stunned faces of his classmates now encompassed the boy’s vision. Xantos watched as Segav looked for Xandra. She was the only one watching him. All other eyes were cast above him towards their new instructor, or beyond, to the horror that suddenly had fallen silent.   “Shall we see if the teacher has been educated? Will he now lead by example? Has he taught all of you-” Xantos gestured to the class, “As his example has taught this boy?”   Almost the entire class was looking eagerly, frightfully, towards the desk to see what new macabre lesson might be forthcoming. Xantos followed their gaze to the thief.   Weeping in tiny, childish sobs, Graytree was staring at his hands, which were now less than a foot away from his face. The rings, his treasured tokens of success, were all twisted into ruin and barely recognizable. Clumps of melted gold, platinum, and silver ran down and disappeared into skin, and most of the precious metals had been polymorphed into iron.   Jewels that had sparkled and dazzled were now clouded or cracked. Graytree’s fingers, the skilled tools of a thief’s trade, were in front of the teacher’s eyes and he gawked at them as though they were possessions of another body.   The digits in front of him were withered, stripped of flesh in some places; two fingers on each hand were now almost completely black. When Xantos leaned over the desk towards him, Graytree shrieked and sank back into his chair.   “What think you, students?” Xantos asked. “Will the teacher be able to lead you in an example of showing respect?”   “You… you will be accountable for this… this… outrage!” Graytree croaked in a voice that betrayed a dry mouth.   The sigh that issued from Xantos was exaggerated, meant to sound tired, resolved to some unpleasant task. It was completely false and Xantos could sense that a part of Xandra dreaded what would come next while another part, the part that he had long nurtured and coveted, waited anxiously to see what new lesson he would teach her. It was like sweet nectar to him.   “I will expand your education further, children. I have displayed the properties of fire, the heating of metal, the price of arrogance without ability. Now, the lesson turns to magnetism!” Xantos lunged over the desk and grabbed the charred right hand of Graytree, slapping the damaged fingers and remains of jewelry against the instructor’s neck. Graytree managed a startled, strangled gasp.   “You understand the basics of magnetism, yes?” Xantos queried the class. He looked to a small girl with straight copper hair and a nervous smile. “You, child, tell me your name, and what you know.”   “I am Azmenda, my lord.” The child stopped, but Xantos smiled encouragingly. “When something is a magnet, it pulls metal towards it. The metal stops only when it connects with the magnet.”   Xantos nodded. Azmenda, he knew, was a quiet child that rarely showed promise or spoke in classes. She now beamed as if she had received top praises from the guild itself. Xantos turned back to Graytree and began to gesture slightly with his free hand as he addressed the class. “Suppose that many powerful magnets-” a different glow encompassed the sagging remains of the rings pressed against the flesh of Graytree’s neck, “-were to be in close proximity with an equally absurd number of metal objects… such as rings?”   Graytree’s left hand flew up and the barely recognizable rings dug into the left side of his neck. The warped and blackened metal bands pressed harshly into the flesh, eager to make contact with the now magnetized rings that were so close, ready to be touched, except for the obstacle between them.   As the rings pressed in, unable to deny the physical demand that they must make contact, the magnetized metal bands at the other side of Graytree’s neck began to press in as well, eager to complete the pattern demanded by nature.   Graytree began to gag. His face turned red as air was denied from his lungs and his larynx was crushed. The swollen length of his tongue popped out from between his rasping lips. Xantos motioned for Xandra to come forward. Xandra moved beside him and didn’t flinch when he gestured toward the gagging, gasping Graytree.   Graytree’s expression revealed he knew he may well die. Xantos considered if he would need to pry the man’s eyes open, but they stayed fixed on Xandra as her small, shapely hand come forward and firmly grasped his exposed tongue.   “Are you familiar,” Xantos began, “with the physical properties of a gargoyle? The horrendous faces, the intimidating wings, how large they can become?”   Xantos paused, waiting. When Graytree finally managed to nod his head once, Xantos continued. “Are you aware of the magical properties of gargoyles? How their organs and skin, once dried and grated, can be key components in certain spells? Especially spells used by necromancers?”   Graytree shook his head and the man blinked desperately, as though his vision was darkening and the blinking would improve his sight.   “Ah, your own education increases, as does the children. What would you say if I revealed to you that when she was five years of age, I would give my dear Xandra the task of removing the tongues from gargoyle cadavers that I had procured? Can you, without the ability to lie and brag about your own petty accomplishments, guess how my dear Xandra figured out how to remove them? I didn’t tell her how, oh no, I wanted to see what this promising child would come up with. My, I seem to be bragging about her. Now then, can you guess how she decided to remove the tongues?”   Unable to answer, Xantos presumed it was for fear of the truth, Graytree remained still.   “That is correct. Xandra would pull the tongues out with her bare hands. Sometimes, before she developed her strength… it was so endearing to watch… she would plant her feet on a gargoyle’s shoulders, and pull with all her strength until the tongue ripped free!” A child near the back of the group retched, and a wet splash was heard. Xantos ignored it as he asked, “Could you find the intelligence to respect such an amazing and clever child? A student that will find a way to please her mentor? Especially in your current situation?”   Tears rolling down the teacher’s face, the skin of his cheeks and brow turning purple, Graytree nodded, barely.   “Should this child… no, we must be fair, and courteous… should any child exceed your requirements for a lesson, could you find the intelligence to recognize and cherish that student? Show the proper praise?” Xantos was losing the calm, instructive quality in his voice. A growing anger and excitement had crept in, and was gaining dominance.   The suffocating teacher managed one more nod, this one even less perceptible than the last.   “Wonderful!” Xantos declared.   When his fingers touched Xandra on the shoulder, she released the darkening tongue from her fingers. A brief feeling of pleasure at the fact she did not wipe her fingers on her clothes flashed through him before he squashed it like a roach beneath his foot. Graytree’s hands immediately dropped away from his throat. The instructor inhaled a thin, shaking breath, then another.   “You have some unresolved business, then,” Xantos said, as he began to smile again. “I suggest you proceed immediately. You may spend the time until your next class arrives regaining your normal breathing.”   Taking the time for one more luxurious, compulsory breath, Graytree began. “Xandra… you have… exceeded… any expectations…” A harsh, shaking breath was sucked into Graytree’s lungs as he continued. “And taught me, today. Full marks for this class.”   “Class is completed for the day.” Xantos announced. He had slid back behind the children without any of them noticing. He stood near the door, hands behind his back, as he had been upon first entering the room.   Quickly the students gathered their respective supplies and began filing out. Xandra, Segav, and a few others were slower to collect and leave. Xantos moved again to stand in front of the desk and glare at Graytree.   “Do you require something to make the pain more tolerable until you can find the healers?” Xantos asked the instructor, who was still breathing in harsh gasps. The teacher’s burned hands were cradled against his chest. Graytree now looked shocked; a gleam of hope and gratitude appeared in his reddened and tearful eyes.   “If you would be so generous… yes, thank you,” Graytree half-whispered.   “Which hand suffers you the most? Place it on the desk.” Xantos offered in a dry, business-like voice.   From the corner of his eyes, he noticed Xandra tug on Segav's sleeve before attempting to pull him towards the door even as she whispered desperately, “We must leave. Now.”   His attention was pulled away from the pair as the instructor placed his left hand on the desk. Eyes brightening and glistening with renewed vigor, Graytree looked up at him.   Xantos pulled a large, ebony-bladed dagger from somewhere within his cloak. The dagger flashed above the docelfar lord’s head for a second, and then it flew down. The wet smack of the impact followed swiftly by a dull thud as the blade struck against the wood of his desk echoed throughout the near-empty room. The howl of pain and misery pouring out of Graytree’s mouth rang clearly throughout the room and hallways into the closer classrooms.   Before the classroom door closed, Xantos asked, “Now the pain of your left hand is gone. Do you require something for the right?”