“Are you afraid...?” Beölí asked. Liébo shook his head. “Of course not.” “Then why are you trembling?” Silence. From anyone else, there might have been challenge in the question, but from Beölí, there was only a rakish, innocent curiosity. He stood beside Liébo, pale in the smoky-gray drape of his student's robes. In the westward cast of sunlight, his snowy-pallor took on a ruddy, buttery tinge. His hair, like a drape of gold tinged with snow, flew in a playful tousle thrown by the wind. The world, however, fell—slowly—into shadow, and so, the definition of his half-elfin features stood in the sharpest relief. Though the light was brighter, it as Beölí's face was lit by a single, small candle in a room troubled with darkness. To the west, clouds at varying altitudes caught the diminishing light, or swallowed it, hungrily. The air was hot with the crackling scent of aerostats tuned arcane spectral frequencies. There was a mass of omens, suspended just above the clotted, tumultuous veil of clouds—two or more of them were sure to descend. The first scents of rain blew in from the west. Behind darker clouds, a vast thunderhead loomed in all of the colors of sunset. This is our day... Beölí's and mine, Liébo thought, hugging himself against a chill and squeezing his hands beneath his armpits for warmth. It was a warm day, but he felt a chill. Something akin to fear, but not as profound a discomfort. The door behind them was sealed. There was no retreat from the castle balcony. Rectors waited behind the closed door, watching through spy-holes and listening. The tools of an aeromancer's trade lay on black cloth before them: the planospheric astrolabes, the telescope, and the field-counter wands, charged with strange energies that stank of thunderstorms and the crackle of lightening. Those were the honored tools of an aeromancer's trade, and Liébo felt a twinge of pride as he spied his own notebook, crammed with lecture notes, diagrams, and the first letter from his brother. He smiled, inwardly, if not literally, at that small assertion of vellum, scrawled with news in Líesh's clumsy, angular hand. I wish you were here, Liébo thought. I wish you were here.... He tore his thoughts away from brooding nostalgia and glanced directly ahead. The city lay in stark silhouette beneath the fire of cloud-clotted sunlight. Something moved in that light; Liébo found hints of it, like minnows swimming through buttery haze. Omens! At least a dozen of them! “We should start,” Beölí said, quietly. He'd seen them too. Liébo nodded, taking in the troubled wonder of the western sky before focusing on his tools and the task at hand. The approaching mass was sure to spawn at least a complex tangle of omens. Today's test was to read only one. Accurately. And Liébo, in his gray robes and sandals, stood—as any true aeromancer might—in quiet anticipation for what the sky might yield. * * * * The Czech Republic offers some of the most dramatic skies I've ever seen. Maybe it's the presence of the grand, rambling castle on its hill, overlooking the city. Maybe it's the way everything falls into sillouhette at a precise moment, every day. Now, I am in the smaller town of Český Krumlov, a gorgeous town known for it's distinct vibe—people come here and they don't leave. The castle here is incredibly large. It isn't impossible to walk from one side of the old center to the other without leaving the castle itself. It is an amazing place. *** As always, thank you for viewing, reading, and commenting! Hopefully your weekend is going well.