“That’s just it, there’s really not much to go off of,” the human said, pulling a folded piece of paper from a satchel under the table. “Most of my research came up with some ancient video game, but some of it actually gave me something interesting. I found a really old passage, written by Emily Gerard for a publication from the eighteen hundreds. It reads: ‘As I am on the subject of thunderstorms, I may as well here mention the Scholomance, or school supposed to exist somewhere in the heart of the mountains, and where all the secrets of nature, the language of animals, and all imaginable magic spells and charms are taught by the devil in person. Only ten scholars are admitted at a time, and when the course of learning has expired and nine of them are released to return to their homes, the tenth scholar is detained by the devil as payment, and mounted upon a dragon he becomes henceforward the devil's aide-de-camp, and assists him in 'making the weather,' that is, in preparing thunderbolts. A small lake, immeasurably deep, lying high up among the mountains south of Hermannstadt, is supposed to be the cauldron where is brewed the thunder, and in fair weather the dragon sleeps beneath the waters.’ Pretty interesting, isn’t it?”
“All imaginable spells and charms?” Adrian asked. “Sounds like exactly what I need. But ‘taught by the devil in person?’ That sounds a little farfetched, and to be honest, not really the type of magic I need.”
“And what type of magic do you need?” Chorió implored, leaning forward in his seat. Adrian could see the man’s mind working out a puzzle, and since he was himself not entirely forthcoming with information, there was the possibility that the ugly human was trying to come up with a way to inconvenience him. “I imagine you would have access to whatever magic you would need, being the prince of Hell and all.”
“I need human magic,” Adrian admitted. “Demon magic won’t work for what I need, and no angel will do what I want to be done. Plus, human magic is neutral in nature, so it has the best chance of working as it is. Happy?”
“What is it that you need done?” Chorió grinned. “You haven’t told me that yet. Hell, you haven’t even relaxed enough to remove your cloak. What are you hiding?”
Sensing he would get no further with the impish human if he did not give something up, Adrian raised his left hand and unhooked the clasp of his cloak. He let the garment fall to the floor, revealing the fact that he no longer had a right arm. Chorió clapped in glee, and laughed at the assassin.
“So,” Adrian breathed, “tell me what I want to know.”
Chorió sat back in his seat, grinning from ear to misshapen ear. “Well, you see, it isn’t really the devil, or so I imagine, or else you would already know much more about it. However, there is this nice tidbit of information I was able to learn: The teacher, whoever he is, takes on only ten students every ten years. After that, supposedly only nine reemerge from the school. Legend has it, the teacher keeps the tenth student as payment.”
Adrian felt his patience growing even thinner. He was getting more useless information again. “Where is it? You said Sibiu, but the passage you read said Hermannstadt. Which is it?”
“They are one and the same. Sibiu used to be called Hermannstadt, but it was renamed. Now, it’s just another town in Romania. You can get there by taking a plane. According to the men I sent out there, the town actually has a pre-war international airport that still functions. At least part of the journey should be easy, right?”
“Right. Plus, some of the locals might know more. You did well, Chorió. You get to pick two rewards.”
“Well, I would really like for you to not kill me. And you’ll probably sleep with my sister anyway, so definitely don’t talk to my mother. She’s such a sweet woman, if a little addled by dementia.”
Adrian nodded. “I will stay away. Now call off your goons so I can leave.”
Within a few hours, Adrian had stowed away on an airplane, hiding himself in one of the storage cabins under the passengers. He hid among the luggage and actually managed to take a short nap along the way. When he awoke five hours later, the plane had just landed, and the luggage was being pulled off the plane. Adrian felt more than a little embarrassed to realize he had not thought far enough ahead to adequately prepare for this step of the journey. As much as he wanted to keep a low profile, he would have to risk capture just to get away. Pulling a knife from his belt, Adrian prepared to escape. He tamped his feet, planting himself against the plane’s floor and coiled his legs for a leap. As soon as the hatch opened, he launched himself forward, angling himself to slip through the opening. There was a shout from the human opening the hatch, but Adrian paid it no mind. He felt fingers clamp down on his right shoulder, which prompted him to jab the point of his knife into the back of the human’s hand. It was not enough to seriously injure the human, but it was enough to get him to let go. Adrian ran as fast as he could for the edge of the tarmac, sprinting northward toward the nearest large building. He knew there would be security in the airport proper, so he avoided that, preferring to lose any pursuit in another building. Logically, Adrian knew the humans would be too surprised to mount any kind of real chase quickly. They would first see to the first human’s wound, then, seeing it was superficial, would call security, who would take some time to ascertain the situation, then commit to a search. By then, Adrian would be far from their perimeter and hidden from sight.
Once the demon had found a proper hiding place, he sat and calmed himself, letting his breathing return to normal. He found himself momentarily confused by the lack of any kind of weariness, but soon came to the realization that, without a heart, there was no blood pumping through his veins, therefore no need to oxygenate his blood to work his muscles harder. He soon came to the conclusion that his heavy breathing was just out of habit, and he was able to breath normally without any real effort.
“Huh… I don’t get winded anymore,” he commented to himself. “That should come in handy.” He took in his surroundings, and, seeing no pursuit coming for him, left his hiding place. He brought the hood of his cloak up and pulled the rest of the garment over his shoulder and sword, doing his best to hide his entire right side. The walk into town was short, only two and a half miles in, and Adrian was impressed by how little the war seemed to have touched the place. It seemed as if every building was original, with only minor restoration or expansion. It looked to him to be much like it must have been before the bombs fell. Even the people looked less world weary than in other places he had been. They were friendly and greeted Adrian with smiles and nods, despite how he was dressed. He realized early on that he must have looked like a homeless vagrant, wandering in search of his next meal or place to rest. In truth, he felt a little akin to that kind of person. He did not know what he was becoming, knowing that he could not have been a demon anymore, judging by the fact that his own magic, demonic in nature, had tried to kill him. He was only partially conscious when Zhun and Kizrack were with him in the training hall, so he only understood part of what the computer was telling them. He did, however, understand that there was something very wrong with him.
He was definitely far from home, and felt guilty for leaving his team to handle a mission he had planned to lead himself, but there was no way he would have trusted himself in a fight without his dominant hand. It did not matter how much he trained himself to be ambidextrous, he just did not have quite the skill with his left hand that he did with his right. Which brought him to his current mission. He needed a practitioner of human magic to help him, and the best lead he had was to find Scholomance. Part of that mission, he thought, would be to find out where exactly it was, and to do that, he needed to find out if anyone had ever been there. His gut feeling was to find the local library or a museum. If the place existed, there would be artifacts or leftover items that would have to have been found by now. Local explorers, archaeologists, or children stumbling over rocks in the mountains would have to find something over the centuries.
It took little more than an hour of wandering to find signs pointing to the l
ocal attractions, particularly the museum complex in the heart of the city. Adrian made his way to the museum of history, hoping to find something linking Scholomance to reality, or someone who knew something that might help him. He climbed the steps and entered the building, taking care to keep his sword hidden. He was met with several stares, whether in judgment of his apparently inferior appearance, or simply with pity upon seeing someone so out of his element. Inside, he glanced around to get his bearings and walked up to the front desk. The receptionist greeted him warmly and with a smile, which made the demon feel a little more at home. He was glad someone, at least, would act like he was not unwanted. Adrian knew it was simply the man’s job to be friendly, but it was still nice to see someone smiling at his approach. It was a rare occurrence.
“Buna. Bine ați venit la muzeu,” the receptionist said.
Adrian’s pleasant feelings were instantly taken from him. He forgot that he was not anywhere that would initially speak a language he understood. Trying to remember the general geography of Romania and where it was in relation to the other European countries, he tried to figure out which of the few languages he spoke would work best. It was yet another moment that made him desperately wish his magic still worked for him. He knew how to cast a spell that would help him understand any language and speak it as if he were fluent.
Deciding Russian to be the nearest language at hand, Adrian asked “Do you understand me?”
The receptionist frowned, obviously not understanding. Adrian began to feel as if this whole idea was flawed from the start. Trust his luck to fail the mission simply because he was unable to understand anyone. He heaved a sigh of defeat and swore to himself.
“I understand English,” the receptionist offered, apparently hearing - and understanding - the words Adrian had used.
The assassin felt a weight lift from his shoulders. “Oh, what a wonderful thing to hear,” he breathed. “I’m looking for local artifacts, preferably from the area south of the city near a lake. It seems odd, I know, but I’m doing research and need whatever information I can find.”
The receptionist found his smile again, which Adrian was beginning to recognize for the facade it was, and punched a few keys on his computer’s keyboard. “That will be twenty lei, please,” he said cheerfully, but with just a subtle hint of an expectation that Adrian would not be able to pay it.
In truth, the demon had not considered there would be a charge for admission, but upon looking above the receptionist, he noticed a sign stating the various rates. Feeling sheepish, he thanked the receptionist for his time, mentioned something vague about needing someone to exchange his currency, and left the museum. Outside, he sat on a bench and watched the locals go about their business. Some walked by, headed for destinations known only to them, while others seemed to take in the sights. They looked like tourists to Adrian, and tourists typically had extra spending money on them. He watched the tourists for several minutes, keeping a close eye on those who seemed to spend more cash. Then, he found his mark. It was a middle-aged human wearing loose fitting shorts with more pockets than needed, a button-up shirt, and a pouch that held his money and other documents that hung from his waist. Adrian caught a quick glimpse of the man’s identification card and spotted the Russian colors. Finally, some small amount of luck. The human stuffed a wad of cash into the pouch, but refrained from pulling the zipper shut. That told Adrian that he planned on shopping some more. The demon stood up, making his way casually across the square in the human’s general direction. When he got close, he used his dirty, dingy look to his advantage and started to stumble. He ‘accidentally’ bumped into the human, easily slipping his fingers into the pouch and sliding the wad of money out in one fluid motion, all while muttering a quick apology in Russian. The human helped steady Adrian, saying it was no problem, and to have a nice day. The demon almost felt ashamed of stealing from the man, but if he was going to get anywhere in his mission, he would occasionally need money. He slipped into an alley and hid among the shadows to count his earnings. He had made off with a lot more than he had figured, counting more than a thousand total lei. He felt it was a good take, but in truth, he had no idea if what he had was a substantial amount in any way. But it was enough, at least, for the museum admission and food during the time he would be spending in Romania. The fact that he was still hungry felt odd to Adrian. He had no heartbeat, therefore no real blood flow, but he still got hungry. It was clear to him that he was still using energy to move around and be alive, but it only seemed to be partially physical, and mostly magical in nature. It was all too much for him to figure out, so he pushed it to the back of his mind, preferring to deal with the things he could actually do something about.
He walked back into the museum, paid the receptionist, and began to roam about the exhibitions. He kept his hand respectfully to himself, knowing a security guard was likely nearby or watching him on the cameras. In his roaming, he viewed the human art from the area, marveling at the intricacy. Hell’s art was almost all he had ever seen concerning art in general, so he was intrigued by everything in the museum. He stopped in the hall of arms and armors and admired the craftsmanship. Adrian’s awe grew as he wandered through the exhibits, so much so that he nearly forgot why he was there in the first place. But eventually, he saw it: a piece of a building with letters carved into it. The slab of stone had Latin words inscribed, detailing the sightings of dragons and unholy creatures.
“‘Do not venture beyond this place,’” Adrian read quietly to himself. “‘There are monsters in the mountains, dragons in the lake, and devils in the houses. God dies here.’ Well damn… That’d be a pretty good place to start, I suppose.” He walked back to the front desk, where the same receptionist greeted him again.
“How may I help you?” he asked in that falsely warm voice meant to please customers.
“Is there someone in today who can tell me about a particular piece?” Adrian inquired.
The receptionist nodded, reaching for the phone. He pressed a button and waited. “Da ... Este cineva care are întrebari. Foloseste engleza. Da... multumesc.” He hung up the phone and said to Adrian, “Our curator will be around shortly.”
Adrian smiled and nodded his thanks. He only waited a couple of minutes when a short, middle-aged man rounded a corner. He wore an olive colored sweater vest with a black chevron, khaki slacks, and round glasses that sat on the bridge of his nose. Adrian saw right through the human act. He was being greeted by a werewolf. The demon put on a smile and greeted the curator.
“Hello, sir!” the werewolf said, offering his hand for Adrian to shake.
Adrian awkwardly shook with his left hand, saying, “Hello, good sir. I had some questions about a piece in your museum.”
“Show me which piece.” They walked away from the front desk, and when they were outside of earshot of any humans, the curator turned to Adrian, recognition clear in his eyes. “Not very often we get a demon roaming our halls,” he said, his friendly demeanor gone.
“Not very often I get to chat with a wolf,” Adrian shot back.
“Yes, I can smell the blood of my kind on your hands.”
“They were enemies of my homeland. They needed to die to keep my family safe. You have no reason to worry about me today unless you force my hand.”
The curator scoffed. “I’ve faced demons before. I helped defend this world from your people. I may be older than I was then, but I’m still strong enough to take a demon down on its best day, let alone one without an arm.”
“Are you going to threaten me, or are you going to answer my damn questions?” Adrian spat. “I’m not here to fight you or any of your people. I’m here to get answers. To be honest, I didn’t even know about you until I saw you. I just need answers about a certain piece in your collection. It’s this way.” Seeing no retort forthcoming, Adrian led the werewolf to the piece in question. The assassin indicated it with a wave of his hand.
“What do you want to know about it?” the curato
r asked.
“Where was this found?” Adrian asked.
“South of the city, near a lake. It was found among the ruins of an old house. I imagine it was used to warn away curious bystanders.”
“According to the inscription, I’d have to agree,” Adrian replied thoughtfully. “What was out there that prompted such a warning?”
The curator shrugged. “According to legends, there was once a school of some sort out there, situated either in the mountains, or beneath the lake, depending on the story. The only thing that seemed to translate into every tale was the existence of a dragon and a demonic figure. No dragon remains have been recovered, nor have there been any sightings of any credibility, so no one is certain of the validity of the claims. There certainly has been no proof to suggest a demon was hanging around.”
“What was the school called?”
“Scholomance, I believe.”
Adrian smiled. “Do you have anything else recovered from that lake?”
“Don’t tell me you believe in this myth,” the curator balked.
“I have it on some kind of authority that it does exist. And I need to find it.”
“Well, you’re on your own, then.”
“That’s not really an issue for me. What lake am I looking for, and where is it?”
The curator removed his glasses and cleaned them with the hem of his sweater vest, an action born from frustration rather than any need for cleanliness. “The artifacts we recovered were from around Lacul Vidra, roughly thirty miles to the southwest. The roads will take you over a longer route, but travel time would be a lot less by car. Why do you need to find Scholomance?”
Adrian lifted the flap of his satchel and waved his right hand at the curator. Charred bits of flesh flaked off and floated to the floor with the motion. The werewolf stared at the appendage with mild disgust.
“I see. You’re looking for someone with the right magic to reattach that.” His bored, almost sarcastic, tone made Adrian want to hit the man with his severed limb. He subdued the urge and slipped the satchel back under his cloak.
The Assassin and the Knight Page 20