Podor looked to Amber more like a golden prison than a city of learning.

The city was surrounded by high walls manned by armed guards. Its four gates were likewise guarded, and no one got in or out without being questioned and registered by the city watch. Inside the walls, the streets were unnaturally clean, uncluttered, and quiet. The buildings gleamed with white-wash and polished stone. The spires of the three great academies—Goresh, Qotar, and Braal—towered over the rest of the city. Scattered beneath them, like seedlings from ancient oaks, were the smaller towers of the lesser academies.

Traffic was light. Small groups of children and teens hustled efficiently down the streets, murmuring quietly, and always accompanied by at least one professor. As a group of older students walked past on their way to or from class, a shaggy-haired blond boy slowed, then stopped to take a closer look at Amber and Simeon.

“Professor Simeon?”

Simeon smiled awkwardly. “Um. Hello… Marko… right?”

Marko’s face split into a grin.

“It is you! We thought you were dead or something! But they woudn’t-“

Marko’s professor laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. She was a leathery-faced corpse of a woman with permanently-pursed lips. She shot Simeon a look of pure hatred.

“Come along, Marko,” she hissed. “Ten demerits for dawdling—and another ten for every moment you spend talking to this deviant.”

Simeon sighed and looked up at Amber.

“Well, the headmasters know we’re here now.”

The headmasters of Potor held court in the ancient black building known commonly as the “monk tower.” A squat, wide two-story affair, it was hardly a tower by any definition, but still the name stuck. It was the first building constructed by the monks who founded Potor more than four hundred years ago. It served as the school, dormitories, and living space for the monks who taught here. While the academies grew from one to three, and the minor schools by the score, the monk tower remained the heart of the city.

Today, the black building was mostly offices. The headmasters of Potor’s 52 schools found it efficient to consolidate their administration—and in Potor, efficiency was very important.

After stabling her horse, Amber accompanied Simeon into the monk tower. Simeon was right; they were expected. They were greeted in the entrance hall by a pair of swordsmen wearing ornamental armor. They moved to seize Simeon, but Amber stepped in front of him.

“Not yet,” she said with a thin smile. “Not until I get paid.”

“You’ll be paid before sundown. You have my word.”

Amber turned to see Headmaster Turrin striding down the hallway towards her. He was a tall, reedy man with a long, crooked nose. Braal Academy was currently the top-ranked school in Potor, which effectively made Turrin, its headmaster, the city’s current mayor.

“Turrin. Good to see you again.”

“That’s Headmaster Turrin, if you don’t mind. And it’s good to see that you have returned our wayward professor.”

“Good afternoon, Headmaster,” said Simeon.

Turrin sniffed.

“The other headmasters have been called for an emergency council,” Turrin said, turning his attention back to Amber. “They are gathering in the judgment chamber and should all be here momentarily. After we have dealt with… our problem… we shall make arrangements for your payment.”