From the contract between the Saberwyn Empire and the Saberwyn Academy, renegotiated by Jacques Savard, the thirteenth Academy Prime of the Saberwyn Academy and Oliver McAlister, The nineteenth Emperor of the Saberwyn Empire: “The Empire will exempt the Academy from all forms of taxes including income, property and otherwise as long as the following conditions continue to be met.”

  Jacques Savard opened the letter addressing him by name, a rare thing since he became the Academy Prime and moved into Prime Tower and the unnecessarily cushy offices of his predecessor. Jacques didn’t blame the woman, money and power came with the title and not many could resist indulging. After all, this was the peak of one’s career.

  She retired, presiding over an unprecedented period of peace in the Empire, but that peace came at a cost - one he now had the responsibility of mitigating. Nay, the duty.

  The Academy students were soft now, not at all like they were when he came through as a Sensory Phantom. These dough-bellies had the best of everything, clothes, instruction, hospital care, even their living quarters had undergone a noticeable upgrade in comfort, a parting gift from the retiring Prime that he was powerless to stop. Even thinking about the obscene overkill of the shower renovations made him ill.

  They were at war. Days went by when he felt like nobody else but him understood that, the former Prime least of all. People were dying. The Rot crept up to every doorstep every single day.

  While he had no choice but to concede that the idiot woman led them through a peacetime, she did so by ignoring most conflicts and allowing the Rot to insert its tendrils further then ever.

  A knock on his door interrupted the Prime’s reading.

  “Enter,” he called, not removing his concentration from the words in front of him, committing its contents to memory. He hadn’t made up his mind on how he’d interpret the letter but that never bothered him. Things happened on his schedule, no one else’s.

  His bright-eyed executive assistant poked her head in cautiously. She’d sure look a lot better if she stopped wearing her auburn hair in that ridiculous ponytail and maybe smiled more but oh no, he didn’t dare say such things these days, that could bring the woman to tears and then she’d be useless the rest of the day. God forbid.

  He hardly recognized the world today.

  “Sir, the Academy Second sent a runner, she is going to be ten minutes late to your scheduled appointment. Shall I accept this change?”

  “Fine, Dina, fine. And Dina? Maybe tomorrow let’s only try five pounds of makeup instead of the usual ten, okay?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll try,” she answered, tucking her head back out the door.

  Kids these days. He kept his hair close cropped and his face clean, was it too much to ask for a similarly professional appearance? For his assistant to be nice to look at?

  The Prime offices were located on the topmost tower in the entire castle, useful for the Prime to shout without anyone hearing, or peering across the grounds to see things he otherwise wouldn’t be able to. The former Prime decorated the cavernous space ostentatiously, fresh flowers brought in by the Life Witches and Wizards each day based on the season, lush couches with seats for more people then would ever occupy the room at once, fine carpets and draperies, expensive paintings, scented firewood for the hearths plural, high-end wines and a fully equipped wardrobe in case she wished for a midday change of clothing.

  Jacques ripped all that shit out with prejudice.

  The first thing he did with the space was cut it in half, finding it still too big, besides. The one half remained an office, though one stripped bare - a simple desk and black furnishings the only adornments of note - but the other half of the office had been partitioned off with simple stonework and a wooden door that only had one key.

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  Behind the door were his battle plans and a foldable cot. The plans were laid out on a large table that could fit representatives of every affinity around it comfortably as well as a scaled replica of the Empire’s Rot defenses. He’d had to place an angry pink replica Rotden right in the middle of Saberwyn City, a fact that still burned him so badly some nights he couldn’t sleep. Traditionally, the Academy Prime had a simple role in war planning, they were to provide a central location for everyone to meet and arrange an internship of sorts for those close to graduation.

  But with a few well placed - bribes wasn’t the exact right word - perhaps targeted gifts and pointed intimidations fit better, Jacques had a far more active hand in their Rot response. The way he saw it, he knew better than they did.

  He placed the letter among the stack of other things he had to do before retiring for the day, hence the cot so he could sleep in his office when work ran late, and frowned at the door. He was leaning towards that the letter delivered bad news.

  Dina poked her head back in, announcing the Second’s arrival.

  The Academy Second cut a large figure despite her thinness, her relative height and high cheekbones went along with the pointed cut of her slacks and the sharp cut of her blouse. She waited at the door to be acknowledged, showing proper deference to the Prime, only pulling up the familiar chair once the Prime waved his hand and allowed it.

  “Provide your update, Second,” the Prime ordered without preamble. Small talk wasted time. Wasted time allowed the Rot to spread.

  “I have a good idea of my selections for the Rotden, sir. As you instructed, I’m taking three of the best students from each affinity and the two most promising for a total of five per affinity and twenty-five total. The affinity heads have given their input and for the most part I’m willing to listen but your instructions were to find mental battlers and I’m yet to determine if some of the recommendations are indeed, er, animals, to use your phrase.”

  The Prime nodded. “That is the quality above all else that we must value.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Tell me about some of the new ones with potential.”

  “First is Florian Quinn in my affinity. I believe with the right guidance he could become extraordinary and I’m working with him in addition to his course load on a private basis to ensure he reaches this potential. Manolo Savona has taken to the Storm Sorcerer ways rather quickly and Professor Reese assures me he is of adequate mental strength. The Life Witches and Wizards have yet to separate themselves but I’m confident we’ll find difference makers.”

  The Prime took a gnarled hand and rapped his fingers on the desk, thinking. “What about my old affinity? And I noticed you’ve left out this Le Torneau girl I’m hearing so much about.”

  The Second flinched. “With respect, sir, the recent crop of Phantoms have left me wanting and it’s now to the point where I believe Professor Anguissa requires a demotion from affinity head or outright dismissal. I believe we are under performing.”

  “Noted.” Last year's crop of new students underwhelmed in all areas, another fact that burned the Prime. On more than one occasion he contemplated kicking the entire year from the Academy, an unprecedented move that he ultimately decided against. At the very least, that crop would be fine fodder for casters with actual talent. “What about Miss Le Torneau?”

  With a clenched jaw, Lawrence continued on. “She is fragile and not a good choice for this mission.”

  The Prime’s eyes narrowed. “That runs contrary to everything I’ve heard.”

  Lawrence bowed her head in deference. “Ultimately it’s your decision but at this time I’d strongly advise against it.”

  “Also noted. Perhaps I’ll come to their shield testing, put some pressure on her and see if she cracks.”

  “Great idea, sir. Professor Reese will be administering the test, perhaps a conversation with him beforehand would help steer proceedings in the direction we require.”

  “I’ll take that under consideration, Second,” the Prime replied. “Is there anything else?”

  “No, sir,” Lawrence replied. “Should I assume the position?”

  “Same as last week,” he ordered.

  Professor Lawrence stood up, unbuttoned her slacks, pulled the pants to her ankles then bent over the desk. The Prime stood, using a scarred hand to push himself up off his chair first for assistance and then for balance, walking behind the bent over Lawrence. He expertly unbuttoned his slacks, and exposed his rapidly hardening prick.

  “I gave this position to you when you were under-qualified and don’t you forget it,” he grunted, slapping a pale ass-cheek with his old hand. She bit back a yelp. “Every bit of power you wield is due to me. Say yes sir.”

  The normally imposing Lawrence looked anything but, elbows planted on the desk, looking down. “Yes sir,” she said in a wavering voice.

  He slammed into her, grunting and snorting, reminding of a farm animal. “You know why I like you, Betty? Because you’re willing to do anything to get what you want. We need more of that attitude around here.”

  “Yes, sir,” Lawrence answered.

  As the thirteenth Academy Prime took the first Academy Second roughly and without care, he decided the contents of the letter were good.

  Very good.