Savant & Feral (Digital Boxed Set): Books 1 and 2 of the Epic Luminether Fantasy Series

by Richard Denoncourt

  Way to go, sis. Milo couldn’t help but cheer silently.

  Garig smiled. He must love this kind of challenge, being the arrogant cadet that he was. A thick layer of muscle at the base of his neck told Milo he might be a Sargonaut, which made even more sense; the only other person who could match his epic level of cockiness was Sevarin.

  “Wait, don’t tell me,” Garig persisted. “You’re Emma Banks, daughter of Zandra.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You don’t know me, but you will very soon. In fact, next time I see you, I’m going to ask you out on a date. And you’re going to say yes.”

  Emma let out a chuckle, which faded quickly when she realized Garig hadn’t been joking, that even his friends weren’t laughing.

  “You can’t be serious,” she said.

  By now, an aisle had cleared in the crowd so Garig could better shout his pathetic comments. He took the opportunity to approach. Milo’s hand tingled again, stronger this time.

  Fireball.

  No—not here, not now.

  Someday, though…

  Garig kissed his fingers and blew the kiss over to Emma. She only stood there, mouth slightly open in shock and disgust.

  Sevarin caught the invisible kiss instead. He had stepped in front of Emma and was now glaring at the cadets, his fist held aloft.

  “Don’t ever let me see you do that again,” Sevarin said.

  Garig’s face brightened in amusement. “Then you keep it. I could tell you wanted it for yourself. That’s the last one, though. Next time, I’m going golden.”

  To the laughter of his buddies, Garig spun on the heels of his boots and crossed the street with his arms stretched out like wings. Like he was gliding on his newfound love for Emma.

  Sevarin, his face purpling, seemed to be gliding on rage.

  “Stupid son of a—”

  “Behave,” Emma snapped at him. “I’m not letting you get kicked out over some stupid fight with an idiot like him.”

  Veins had risen along Sevarin’s brown arms, the muscles like oversized rocks about to burst out of him. Milo put a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

  “He’ll never get through us, right? Right?”

  Sevarin nodded steadily. “Not unless he plans to go to graduation in a casket.”

  A horn blew in the distance, turning heads everywhere. The crowd cheered in response. Swarms of magical confetti shot into the sky, undulating like ocean waves, sparkling with amazing colors and light.

  “Look,” Gunner said, pointing.

  The western end of the street opened to a narrow view of the ocean. Above that block of blue sea, a group of carriages pulled by levathons flew toward the city. The distance made it difficult to identify them, but Milo could tell by the waving, blue-and-gold banners that people of importance were about to land. Wardens had already begun to wave and push the crowd back to the sidewalks.

  One of the carriages was longer and wider than the others, more a platform meant for show than daily transportation. Four enormous gold wheels flashed on each side. The outer walls of the carriage were even more impressive, covered in curling vines and leaves of solid gold. The entire thing was large enough to require ten levathons in two staggered rows to pull it.

  The wheels landed with a noisy clatter against the pavement. Once grounded, the carriage made its way up the street to the approving roar of the crowd. The rest of the carriages followed closely behind.

  Milo forgot all about Garig as he studied the trio of people standing at the forefront of the large carriage. There was a middle-aged man who waved lovingly down at the crowd; a slender woman beside him who flapped her right hand as if greeting old friends; and a tall young man in a princely uniform who wore a smile on his handsome face as he looked over the heads of those gathered below.

  Milo recognized their faces from newscasts back in the vault. The older man ran this city much like a mayor might do back in the human realm—but unlike a mayor, this leader reported directly to the Hiarch of Lightonia, the nation’s president, thanks to Theus being the capital and oldest city.

  “That right there is the second most powerful man in the country,” Milo said.

  “The Archon,” Owen said respectfully.

  Milo glanced back at his friends and saw his uncle standing among them, arms crossed in his usual serious manner. His eyes were trained on the Archon and no one else. Strangely, he looked upset, as if he had expected to see someone else at the forefront.

  An anthem began to play, and the cheers rose to a level that made Milo’s ears ache. He turned his attention back to the carriage, which was close enough now that he could make out the glistening sheen of sweat on the Archon’s brow.

  Strangely, the man had stopped waving and smiling. Instead, he was staring at someone to Milo’s right—staring through an expression of confusion and surprise. Then his face split into a smile.

  “Emmanuel.”

  Like a kid spotting his estranged father among the crowd, the Archon shoved his wife aside and climbed down the front of the platform, drawing surprised looks from his family. The crowd’s cheering intensified in appreciation of the Archon’s enthusiasm, then died down as they could only stand and watch their leader shoulder his way past stunned citizens on the sidewalk. A pack of wardens tried their best to keep up.

  “What’s he doing?” a woman next to Milo said.

  The Archon appeared in front of the orphans. He was breathing heavily and grinning, but the orphans were not his intended targets. With a delighted cackle, he rushed past Milo and threw his arms around Emmanuel, who awkwardly returned the embrace.

  “Emmanuel, my kin,” the Archon said. He patted the magician’s arm, then grasped one of his hands and lifted it in a display of alliance. “Emmanuel, son of Sargos, everyone!”

  The silence died in a sudden explosion of cheers. Emmanuel nodded and smiled, embarrassed by the praise. Weren’t they friends? He also seemed uneasy by the Archon’s close proximity. He glanced now and then at the man as if surprised at an enormous physical change in his appearance.

  “Why is Uncle Manny looking at him like that?” Emma said.

  Milo shook his head. “It’s like he’s surprised by something none of us can see.”

  The Archon turned to the orphans. He spoke with the loud, theatrical voice of a drunken uncle at a party. “And these must be the orphan heroes of the Battle of the Ranch I’ve heard so much about. I am Raston Rogarth, Archon of this fabulous city. This old magician used to be one of my professors. Can you believe how time flies?” He gazed affectionately at Emmanuel and gave him a hard pat on the shoulder. “Come,” he told him, and then he addressed the entire group of orphans. “Please. Follow me.”

  He motioned for them to follow him to the platform. Milo looked at his uncle for approval. With a single, resigned nod, Emmanuel gave them the go-ahead.

  When Milo and his friends were all aboard, the carriage resumed its procession with a clatter of levathon hooves. Milo glanced at the Archon’s son and caught a look of disapproval on the young man’s face, as if he had just watched a group of dirty refugees board his expensive, private yacht.

  His smile returned—the proud, confident one from before—though this time it didn’t reach his eyes. It looked as fake as a plastic mask.

  “Come on, Milo,” Lily said. “Wave. This is our moment, too.”

  Maybe she was right. His friends were all waving and looked happy. He gave it a shot, turning to face the crowd with a smile as fake as the one he had just witnessed. He lifted his right arm to swing it over the sea of admiring faces, until he felt like he was being carried through the air on a gentle breeze, like the very spirit of the city itself.

  CHAPTER 6

  T he Archon invited Emmanuel, Andres, and the orphans to his home for lunch. The man’s enormous mansion was built on a tall foothill nestled against the mountains, offering them a full view of the impressive city and the ocean beyond. The carriage took them there after the Archon’s long-winded but inspiring
speech about the history of Theus and the glory the next ten thousand years would bring.

  By the time they arrived, Milo and his friends were hungry and exhausted but also burning with a twitchy energy that made them burst into laughter at even the lamest of Sevarin and Owen’s jokes. The Archon’s son remained silent, occasionally glancing over at the orphans in apparent disgust.

  The Archon led them through the mansion’s front entrance, past two wardens standing guard with casters in hand. His eager smile, which he kept flashing at Emmanuel, seemed to promise marvelous things inside.

  Upon entering, the orphans gasped at the sight of an immense foyer with staircases that curved along either side and leveled off to form a balcony overlooking the room. Everything was made of a pale, glittering stone that looked soft enough to carve with a butter knife.

  Beneath a sparkling, multi-tiered chandelier dripping with diamonds, the floor was an immense map of Ayrtoros, drawn with such a degree of colorful detail that Milo could pick out individual forests, rivers, and villages beneath each passing step.

  The Archon stopped them in the center, over a section of map that was mostly farmland.

  “Now for the introductions,” he said. He waved over the slender woman who had stood by his side throughout the parade. “My wife, Gardenia.” He took her hand and kissed it.

  Gardenia tilted her head at the orphans. “A pleasure,” was all she said. A strange blankness in her gaze told Milo she wasn’t interested in meeting them, or that she was simply exhausted from the parade. She waved for a uniformed servant to bring over the tray he had carried into the room. It held a single cocktail glass full to the brim with a sweet-smelling liqueur. She immediately took a sip and floated away toward another room.

  “And this is my son, Kellan,” the Archon said.

  Kellan gave a polite and easy bow, his smile just as plastic as before. His voice came out smooth and practiced. “Nice to meet you all. When you start at the academy, I want you to think of this place as your home away from home. Anything you need, even if it’s just a quiet place to study, you can find it here.”

  The orphans nodded and smiled warmly at him—all except Milo, who remembered Kellan’s disgusted look during the parade.

  “Of course,” the Archon said, “you’ll all be staying the night. After dinner, Kellan will show you to the bathhouse and your sleeping chambers while Emmanuel and I discuss boring political matters.” He wagged his eyebrows at Emmanuel. “Over a pipe and a few glasses of the finest Yltirian whiskey this side of the Nandos River, of course. How about it, Professor?”

  Emmanuel gave a grateful nod. “That’s exactly what I need after such a long trip. You have my thanks in advance, Archon.”

  “Please,” the Archon said, spinning around as if already drunk on the whiskey he had mentioned. “Call me Rogarth.”

  They followed him through the building, taking in over a dozen furnished rooms, many of which appeared to have absolutely no use except to entertain guests. The furniture was made of a pale wood as glossy as caramel candies. The seat pillows and rugs, more exquisite than any Milo had ever seen, could only have been made by the realm’s most expert Feral weavers.

  “It’s decadent,” Milo said. “Almost too good to be true.”

  Emma walked beside him. “He’s the Archon of the richest city in Astros. I almost think he should have more amazing stuff.”

  Lines of servants dressed in black and white suits bowed to the orphans as they walked by. Milo checked for tails, just to be sure, but these were average men and women receiving a wage for their services. No slaves here, which was a relief.

  They strolled past a swimming pool. Above it, a glass ceiling showed a full view of the mountain slope reaching up toward an overcast sky. Sevarin pretended to push Milo in. Milo responded with a flick of his wrist that sent a spurt of water all over Sevarin’s face. The others chuckled as the two traded looks of mock anger.

  The Archon and Emmanuel walked ahead, conversing about architecture and the origins of the furniture. Andres and the orphans trailed a few yards behind. They gaped at everything they passed, especially Andres.

  “Qué maravilla,” he said, turning his head every which way in admiration, as if he had just passed through the gates of Heaven.

  “Take it easy,” Oscar said in mild embarrassment.

  He shied away from his father as if from a bad smell he didn’t want anyone associating with him. Lately, Oscar had been keeping to himself, rarely joining in on jokes, rarely conversing. He just walked with his hands in his pockets and his head down.

  “You think the Archons take turns living here?” Milo asked Oscar, if only to take him out of his moodiness. “I mean, they are elected officials, so…”

  “I don’t know,” Oscar said glumly, with a shrug of his shoulders. “Maybe.”

  “If that’s the case,” Sevarin said as he came up between them and put his arms around their shoulders, “then I’m definitely gonna be Archon someday.”

  Owen scoffed. “You wish. Only Savants can run in the elec—”

  “Watch me,” Sevarin interrupted. “There ain’t nothing that can limit us except ourselves, remember?”

  “Hey, slowpoke,” Owen shouted, no longer paying attention to Sevarin. He was looking back at Gunner, who had stopped to admire an impressive aquarium built into the wall. “Come on or we’re gonna leave ya’ behind!”

  Gunner was too busy studying what appeared to be a jellyfish with no distinct form. It was just a shifting blob with a faint light pulsing in its center.

  “Guys, check this out,” Gunner said.

  He lifted his right hand and placed it flat against the glass. The jellyfish stretched a part of its own body and made it into a similar shape, which it smacked on the glass opposite Gunner’s.

  Gunner, totally absorbed now, did the same with his other hand. The creature responded with a second hand-shaped appendage. Then a third, a fourth, a fifth, a sixth…

  Ten seconds later, a dozen jelly hands obscured the view into the aquarium.

  “Enough messing around,” Sevarin said. “Get your butt over here.”

  Gunner ran up to the group, beaming with childish excitement.

  “So mighty,” he said.

  Lily, Emma, and Barrel were having their own hushed discussion about life in Theus.

  “I wonder what the students do for fun on the weekends,” Lily said. “Do you think they go out?”

  “Are they even allowed off base?” Emma said. “It’s a military school, right?”

  Barrel made a condescending humph sound. “The rest of you can stay indoors and study your brains out. I’m going to have a social life.”

  “I’m going to have a social life,” Sevarin mocked, daintily touching his chest. “I’m going to be so popular.”

  Emma smacked him with one of her wings. Barrel gave a triumphant laugh.

  Sevarin smiled viciously. “We’ll see how cool you look when I do this.” He picked Barrel up, slung him over one shoulder, and began to jump around, laughing like a madman.

  “Sevarin, put me down right now,” Barrel said, beating him uselessly with his fists.

  Emmanuel cleared his throat, having appeared in the doorway. The look on his face was deadly serious. Strangely, the Archon had disappeared.

  Sevarin lowered Barrel and turned his attention to the magician, as did everyone else.

  “Everything okay, Uncle Manny?” Milo said.

  Emmanuel’s voice was a low rasp.

  “We’re leaving.”

  With heated strides, he crossed the room as if he didn’t care who followed him out. The orphans followed, glancing at each other in utter hopelessness.

  “Are we leaving the city? Or just this house?” Lily asked.

  “We can’t be leaving Theus,” Oscar said. “Where would be go?”

  “I guess we’ll find out soon,” Milo said.

  When they reached the foyer, an old servant met Emmanuel and politely offered a carriage
to take them back into the city. Emmanuel mumbled something to the man, who gave a single, sorry nod before turning on his heels and hurrying away.

  “I’ll explain later,” Emmanuel told the group.

  Rain fell in cold needles outside the mansion. They waited for minutes that felt like hours, until finally a sleek vehicle floated down from the gray sky. The word WINGCAB was printed along the side in blue lettering, with stylized wingtips extending off each end.

  Emmanuel bent to speak through the passenger window, which had opened only a crack.

  “This one’s too small, I’m afraid,” he said.

  The driver was a white-bearded man too big for his seat. He leaned over to get a better look at the orphans.

  “I see, I see. Hold on, good sir. Let me make a call.”

  He tapped the dashboard to summon a tiny hologram of a woman wearing a blue suit and a matching cap. She stood swiping the air in front of her, a display they couldn’t see from their end.

  “District headquarters,” the woman said in a chirping voice.

  “Send a Wingvan to the Archon’s mansion, dearest. I have a stern-faced professor, by the looks of him, and…” He leaned again to count the passengers. “Make that two stern-faced gentlemen and eight kids.”

  The woman swung her fingers around, almost like an orchestra conductor.

  “Confirmed. Thank you.”

  The driver tapped the screen, gave Emmanuel a friendly nod, and was off. The Wingcab’s underside lit up—a smoky, bluish glow—as it accelerated toward its next fare.

  “Never seen a Wingcab before,” Sevarin said. “Only ever heard of ‘em.”

  “Might-tastic,” Owen said.

  Another vehicle—this one bigger and shaped like a minivan, with the word WINGVAN on the side—arrived ten minutes later. It dropped out of the sky and hovered a foot above the ground. By then, the orphans were soaked and chilled to the bone.

  “Get in before you catch your death,” the driver said through the open window. He was gruffer than the last one, with a black biker’s mustache framing his mouth.

  The side door folded up, revealing three rows of seats. Emmanuel motioned for the group to climb in.