45 Summer, 511
Syllke stood before the unassuming edifice, squinting up at its one squat tower, the afternoon sun already beginning its descent in the bright blue sky. It would be a slow ride down the paths of heaven, and an incomplete one at that, for during these days of summer, the fiery celestial orb would merely teasingly dip beneath the horizon for a few short hours. In Avanthal, for a few weeks it was if the sun, jealous of the short time given her to bring some small modicum of warmth to the frozen land, tried to prolong every precious minute. In the middle of the season, she never once set even a toe down into the sea, and danced contented in the sky, daring the moon to try to usurp her brief reign. Syllke wondered how different the seasons and lengths of day would be here, further south. He wondered more how the light that graced Denval would play on the surfaces to be found here, and in the depths of its various substances. For now, though, he was thinking of the rumbling in his stomach and the need for some place to stow his gear, if not actually to rest his head. He could sleep anywhere, literally. His was a mind blessed with the gift of easy slumber, and his body and brain were equipped to deal with the harshest of outdoor environments – at least northern ones. But, he wasn’t here in Denval to take to the hills and live like a wild animal. As much as he craved to explore and know his physical environment, he craved the company of his fellow man in equal measure. He needed a place to live, and a means of maintainning himself. So, the first order of business, now that he was here, was to seek out the one at the Lyceum to which he had been referred, many, many months ago.
The Denvali merchant who had been invited to eat with his family had been a well educated man. He was greatly intrigued by all the various artwork produced by the Skyglow families, and had spent some time admiring Syllke’s carving and sculptures and jewelry. An offhand comment had sparked the young man’s nearly constant dream of leaving Avanthal and going south, to explore the rest of this alluring, amazing world. If you’re ever in Denval, the merchant had said, be sure to stop by the Lyceum. They’re always looking for teachers – might be they could use a man like you, teaching art and Vantha culture to . . . whoever might be interested. Worth looking into anyway, if you’re ever down that way. We are a community that’s anxious to relearn what was kept from us for so very long.
And finally, here he was, standing before the modest institute of learning. Not a grand center of study and scholarship, by the standards of some of the other regions of Mizahar, according to what Syllke had heard. But still, as he looked at its quaint stone construction, he smiled. It seemed quite . . . homey, even though he had never laid eyes on it before. With a spring in his step, he approached the large wooden doors and knocked briskly using a heavy brass knocker.