Arch-Mage (Arch-Mage Trilogy, #1)

I. Arrival

Peaceful.

That's what they said about the great and wonderful College of Winterhold. Peaceful and beautiful. A fantastic place to learn and perfect the art of magic, where concentration was the least of one's worries.

That was probably because there was nothing else to do in Winterhold.

Rowlen had seen small towns, had walked through plenty of them in his lifetime. But this...this place was miniscule. Even little Dragon Bridge would be large compared to this tiny hovel.

It took Rowlen approximately four minutes to walk through the entire town, and he counted six buildings in all, not including the ones that had fallen apart. Meanwhile, the College of Winterhold towered over everything, a shadow of the might that had once blossomed there.

He reached the bridge that connected the town to the College. It sat on a cliff, overlooking the vast Sea of Ghosts just north of Skyrim. The bridge was built at a slight incline before leveling out and snaking dangerously over these waters, supporting its own weight. Years and years ago, the town had been a bustling city of merchants and mages, and the cliff did not exist. That had been before the Great Collapse.

Dismounting from his horse, Padmera, Rowlen began the trek up the bridge's short incline. Before long, an archway came into view. Underneath was a high elf—an Altmer—looking slightly irritated though unfazed by the blizzard around her.

"Cross the bridge at your own peril!" she called out. "The way is dangerous, and the gate will not open! You shall not gain entry!"

Rowlen scowled at her. "May I enter the College?"

The Altmer woman's annoyance disappeared, replaced with surprise. She looked him up and down, calibrating. "Perhaps," she said, much more gently. "But what is it you expect to find within?"

Rowlen thought for a moment. He fixed the elven woman with a determined gaze. "I want to learn."

The Altmer lifted her chin and raised a brow, although Rowlen swore he saw more pride than disdain. "I see. Interesting. Well, I can guarantee that this is the place to do just that." She gave him a knowing smile.

Rowlen knew that look well. Aela wore it when she spoke of the hunt.

"It would seem that the College has what you seek. The question now is what you can offer the College. Not just anyone is allowed inside. Those wishing to enter must show some degree of skill with magic. A small test, if you will."

Rowlen tensed. In the last test he'd endured, he'd had to retrieve one of the fragments of Wuuthrad, the double-bladed axe that was once wielded by Ysgramor himself. It hadn't been easy. Still, he was resolute in his decision to join the College, so he stayed his ground and swallowed his fear. "I'll take your test."

The woman smiled. "Excellent. The Magelight spell is useful to any mage, not just those specializing in Alteration magic. Cast one on the seal under my feet."

A large seal, perhaps four or five feet in diameter, was embedded into the stone floor, depicting an eye surrounded by points of a star. Rowlen recognized it as the symbol of the College of Winterhold.

Rowlen had read the spellbook on the Magelight spell ages ago, it seemed. He prepared the spell in his hand before focusing on the seal. A light grew within his palm, reaching out with its ethereal blue-white tendrils. Before it could expand into nothingness, Rowlen cast it towards the seal, stretching out his fingers as he extended his hand. The ball of light made contact with the seal, which subsequently glowed in harmony before the spell was made manifest, hovering just inches over the ground. Rowlen looked expectantly back at the elf woman, who was watching his spell with obvious interest.

She looked up at him, seeming impressed. "Well done, indeed. I think you'll be a superb addition to the College. What's your name?"

Rowlen smirked. "Rowlen Mabierre."

"Welcome, Apprentice Rowlen. I am Faralda, Master of Destruction magic. I'll lead you across the bridge. Once you're inside, you'll want to speak with Tolfdir, our Master Wizard. Follow me." She turned and began walking.

The bridge to the College of Winterhold was occasionally interrupted by short, cylindrical pits, similar to fireplaces, except that these contained no ash, no coal, no wood. Instead, Faralda lit them all as they passed using the same spell Rowlen had just been tested with. The bridge had fallen apart in a few places, and Rowlen was mindful of where he placed his feet lest he go plunging off the side to meet his watery end.

It was difficult to see very far ahead due to the constant snowstorm, but eventually the College's front gate came into view. The eye symbol was again displayed in its wrought-iron bars. Faralda opened it to reveal what appeared to be a commons area, circular in shape with doors—safely covered by a stone awning—dotting the side walls. A walkway led straight through the center of the round area, where a great statue of a mage towered in front of a massive double door, robes billowing backwards and hands outstretched mid-spell.

Rowlen had heard whispered rumors of the goings-on within the College, and judging by them he had imagined the interior to be ill-kept, similar to the Ratway of Riften. Needless to say he was shocked at how clean the place was. Magelight gleamed against the polished stones, and though there was no shortage of snow pelting the ground here, none of it appeared to linger for very long.

He was beginning to understand why people spoke of its peacefulness.

Faralda gave him a parting nod before wandering off, exiting through one of the doors on the side. Rowlen strode toward the statue.

"That is Shalidor, the very first Arch-Mage of the College."

Rowlen spun around. Where but moments ago there had been no one now stood an old man, with long grey hair and a pointed beard. He looked at Rowlen with twinkling grey eyes of wisdom, smiling warmly.

The elderly Nord continued. "He is believed to have constructed Labyrinthian, the great ruin, and use it to hold an artifact called Glamoril, the secret of life, which was said to be stolen from Akatosh himself. It is also said that he created Winterhold with nothing but a whispered spell, though whether any of it is true depends on how you look at it."

Rowlen smirked. "It does seem a bit far-fetched."

The old Nord tilted his chin up. "Indeed. I am Tolfdir, Master of Alteration and Master Wizard of the College."

"You're Tolfdir?" The old man nodded. "I was told to speak to you. My name is Rowlen Mabierre."

Tolfdir raised his brows. "Another new student! How wonderful! Well, first you'll need these," he said, bringing new robes from seemingly out of thin air and holding them out. Rowlen took them with a respectful incline of his head. "While you're not required to wear them," Tolfdir continued, "you may find them more to your liking than your, erm, current clothes."' He looked disdainfully at Rowlen's prized steel armor, a parting gift from Aela. Though it had been brand new when he had left Whiterun, it was now dented and scratched and covered in dirt and dust. "I'll give you a brief tour, and then we'll get you to your first class. Are you ready to begin?"