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

by Richard Denoncourt

  Artemis shot her a serious look. “We’d be sacrificing the lives of over three hundred thousand people. I wouldn’t stand for it. Would you, Cali?”

  She looked down at her plate. Of course not. But what if some people had to be sacrificed for everyone else to live? Better not to raise that issue. Plus, what did she know about it?

  “When that tower is complete, the first thing Kovax will do is pick a town at random. He’ll destroy it to show his might and the reach of his weapon. Then he’ll issue a threat to all Valestaryn. Any town or city harboring members of the Forge will be destroyed in a similar fashion. People will shun our soldiers, and we’ll end up having to go underground.”

  “We’ve been underground before,” Tomin said.

  “I mean deep underground, Tom,” Artemis said, leaning over the table to emphasize his point. “Where we can be protected against that tower. We would have to build out a whole new infrastructure close to it, and right now, we simply don’t have the resources.”

  “What about Milo and Emma Banks?” Calista ventured.

  “They’re just kids,” Tomin said. “They’d wet themselves trying to go through a mission like this.”

  “You’d be shocked,” Calista said, surprised to find that his remark had offended her as much as it did. “Milo is already casting Tier Four spells. And Emma just finished growing a pair of golden wings.”

  Tomin frowned and looked at Artemis. “Demigods are so full of themselves. Look at the Champions. Where are they when we need them? I’ve given up dreaming that someday those half-god bastards will save us.”

  “Watch your language,” Athenara said.

  “What? She can handle it.” He thrust his chin at Calista. “If she’s going to join us, I need to make sure she’s got a spine made of Tiberian Steel. If she can’t handle a bit of foul language—”

  Calista leaped up from her seat. “I can handle it, horsebreath.”

  The others were stunned—except Artemis, who sat back and chuckled.

  “Finally. Now you’ve all met the Calista I remember.”

  THEY SLEPT that night on straw mats Helena prepared for them.

  Because Calista and Lance were the youngest and therefore—according to Tomin—the softest, they got to sleep on the couches. Lance took the one against the window in case someone tried to break through in the middle of the night. Calista took the one against the wall.

  She couldn’t sleep, and neither could Lance.

  “Hey,” Lance whispered to her.

  Everyone else was snoring. Calista doubted anyone would be disturbed by their voices, but she whispered anyway. “What is it?”

  “Tell me about your training with Artemis. He never talks about it.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  She could barely see him in the starlight streaming through the window, but she could sense his alertness, his thirst for a good bedtime story. Some things never changed.

  “What happened to you?” Lance said. “Why did you go to Taradyn?”

  “To find you.”

  “That can’t be right. Our unit was attacked a year after I left. You trained with Artemis for two. He must have told you about that.”

  Calista kept silent, unsure whether to continue. Her reason for leaving Valestaryn all those years ago was a painful one. Talking about it might even bring back the nightmares.

  “Lance,” she said.

  “Listening.”

  “Okay. I’ll tell you what happened, but I don’t want you to think less of me. I made mistakes.”

  “You were just a cub, Cali. How bad could it be?”

  “Do you promise?”

  “I’ve been in war, remember? I’ll understand.”

  After a moment of silence, Lance finally said, “I promise.”

  Calista began the story in which she, not Marcely, became the reigning beauty queen that year in Peleros, and in which too many people had had to die as a result.

  CHAPTER 19

  L ife at Theus Academy was as regimented and detail-obsessed as—well, a military academy.

  Milo had never been to one, on Astros or back home, but he knew enough about the rigor, routine, and repetition of military life from reading books and watching TV shows back home. He had also pored over Theus Academy culture and history—had obsessed over it, really—during the two-and-a-half years he’d spent in his uncle’s vault.

  It was Risenday morning—Monday, here in Astros—which meant the fun of the weekend was over and the reality of being in the army had begun.

  “Everyone get up,” his uncle said, knocking on the orphans’ doors as he made his way down the hotel corridor. “Time for drills.”

  Milo slipped out of his warm blankets and sat up, wiping at eye crust. Sevarin was still snoring in his bed by the window.

  It was still dark outside. What time was it?

  “Hey, Sev,” Milo said. “Get up.”

  Sevarin awoke with an abrupt snort. “What time is it?”

  Milo checked the vintage wooden clock on his bedside table.

  “Oh man. It’s four thirty.”

  Sevarin frowned at him. “For real?”

  “Get up!” Emmanuel was still shouting, probably annoying the hotel’s non-cadet residents. “Let’s go. Shower, then breakfast, then line up outside. You have thirty minutes!”

  Milo reached for his towel. It was slung over the board at the foot of his bed—or at least, it had been. Sevarin ran toward the bathroom, Milo’s towel slung over his shoulder.

  “Hey,” Milo shouted.

  “Sucker,” he called back, grinning.

  Milo couldn’t resist a smile. He would have to get used to this. Supposedly, pranks were abundant at Theus Academy, with first-years as the main targets.

  Over the next twenty minutes, all the orphans managed to grab a quick shower and dress themselves in the plain, gray uniforms worn by all first-year students. The outfits included green sashes that went from right shoulder to left hip. For this reason, first-years were known as “greenies.” The sash reminded Milo of something a Boy Scout would wear. Hopefully, he would soon earn some medals and badges to spruce it up.

  The orphans lined up outside the hotel, shouldering backpacks. By now, the sky was a rosy orange color and the only activity in the street was from vendors opening their shops. As they stood digesting the liquid breakfast Emmanuel had handed out in mugs—a weird blend of oatmeal, egg, and vitamin powder that tasted chalky—Milo watched his uncle pace, hands joined behind his back. He was studying them the way a drill sergeant would.

  “What’s this?” he asked Emma, pointing at her shoes.

  Milo looked over. Emma stared down at her sandals, then looked up at her uncle again.

  “Wow,” she said, grinning. “Guess I totally spaced on that one.”

  Emmanuel frowned behind his sunglasses. “You spaced? That’s how you talk to an officer who catches you wearing sandals instead of boots?”

  “Huh?” Emma frowned back at him.

  “Drop and give me ten.”

  “Huh?” Her mouth fell open. “Are you serious?”

  “Are you serious, sir,” he corrected. “And yes, I am serious. All of you have to get used to military life. Drills, line-ups, getting scolded and berated in front of your friends. What did you think this was, a resort?”

  Emma sighed and lowered herself to the ground, looking disgusted at having to touch her bare hands to the sidewalk. She managed a single, trembling push up.

  “You can do it, Emma,” Milo said.

  The others joined in.

  “Show him,” Sevarin said. “Do thirty instead.”

  “Oh, clam up, Sev,” Lily said, crouching next to Emma. “You can do this, sis.”

  Emma grunted up at Milo. “Can you—cast a—levitation spell or—something?”

  Milo thought about it, but he didn’t relish the idea of doing his own pushups as punishment. On Emma’s tenth, Milo almost jumped for joy. His sister smiled at him, then brushe
d her hands at her uncle as if to show how easy it had been. Emmanuel’s stern look remained unchanged.

  “I’m not impressed. An academy officer would have made you do twenty, and then you would have kissed the dirt. Now go get your boots.”

  Emma rolled her eyes and turned back to the hotel.

  When she returned, Emmanuel motioned them toward Kenalight Castle. It was located at the other end of a long stretch of road that crossed a moat filled with water that sparkled in the dusky sunlight. The ancient walls encircling the academy’s original campus seemed huge and forbidding in the distance, covered in vines and moss like something out of an epic poem.

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” Milo said to Lily. She was walking beside him, a bounce in each step. She turned her smile on him, and Milo suddenly felt like he was walking on clouds.

  “Why can’t you?” she asked him.

  “If you knew where I came from, you’d understand.”

  She shrugged happily. “Maybe someday you could show it to me. I’ve never known the human realm. I mean, I was born there, but I never lived there, know what I mean?”

  “You’re not missing out. It’s nothing compared to this place.”

  “So you don’t—miss home at all?”

  A memory struck Milo of his mother tending her garden behind their old house in Dearborn, wearing that big hat and those ridiculous yellow boots.

  “I miss my parents,” he said. “But this is my home now.”

  “Have you ever talked to anyone about it?”

  Milo frowned in confusion. “About what?”

  “About your parents. They died in front of you. Have you ever, you know, talked to someone about it?”

  Milo shook his head. “I don’t need to. I just need to kill Kovax and Iolus.”

  Lily said nothing. Milo glanced at her and saw a downcast look on her face.

  “Sorry, what I meant—”

  He didn’t have a chance to finish. A bell tolled inside Kenalight Keep, causing Sevarin to let out a loud whooping noise and jump six feet above the ground.

  “Military school, here I come!”

  Owen threw his backpack at him, hitting Sevarin squarely in the face.

  “First lesson,” Owen called out, chuckling. “Learn to catch.”

  Sevarin lunged at him, and the two raced up to the mouth of the stone bridge that arched across the moat. The gates of Kenalight Keep had begun to split open with a groan.

  “The main administrative buildings are in Kenalight Castle,” Emmanuel explained as they walked. The bridge was broad enough to accommodate two lanes of carriages, though mostly Milo saw riders flying levathons directly into the inner campus, and a train in the distance letting people off at a station inside the walls. The opening of the gates must have been a formality or ritual. “There’s something I need to take care of first thing.”

  “Is there a problem with our applications?” Milo asked when he saw his uncle’s concerned look.

  “We’ll see,” Emmanuel said grimly.

  When they were past the gate, Milo swept his gaze across Theus Academy’s hallowed courtyard. This part of the academy was ten thousand years old. The rest had been built in more recent centuries.

  Opposite the gates, nestled against the mountains, Kenalight Keep was a looming, dark shape covered in lively green vines. It stood over a plaza that seemed almost too wide, especially since it only contained one object—the fountain Milo had seen in the hologram on his uncle’s shuttle, complete with the golden statue of the winged woman floating a fireball toward the sky. Streams of water arched all around her.

  “Let’s wait against the wall,” Emmanuel said.

  “Wait for what?” said Emma.

  But he never answered. Wearing a small, almost secretive smile, he gazed at the courtyard like an old man seeing his childhood home for the first time in years.

  Oscar’s ears perked up. “I hear people marching. This way.”

  Milo heard nothing except the tweeting of birds perched on the fountain, though he would always trust a Feral’s hearing over his own. Soon, he heard a man’s voice barking orders.

  “Through the gates, cadets. Single file!”

  He looked on as cadets filed past the gate in neat columns. The lines of marching bodies seemed endless. Greenies appeared, grouped into four lines and led by an officer with long hair pulled back into a ponytail. There must have been over three hundred in attendance. Older cadets appeared in similar groupings, but these were second- and third-years. The specialized programs probably had their own morning rituals.

  Not surprisingly, there were more greenies than second- and third-year cadets combined. This was the academy’s attrition rate at work—not everyone made it into their second year, and even fewer made it to their third.

  The courtyard filled with lines of cadets—lines that radiated from the statue like spokes on a wheel. That was why this yard was so enormous. Every Risenday morning, the academy’s entire population of first- through third-year students met here.

  When the formation was finally complete, an officer wearing a pristine white-and-red uniform with a scarlet cape stepped toward the fountain, flanked by two subordinates dressed in dark green. He extended his right hand toward the fireball floating above the statue and zapped it, sending it shooting straight up. It hung against the morning sky for a moment before exploding with a loud burst.

  Immediately, another fireball blossomed from the statue’s fingertips to replace the first. The officer nodded to his subordinates and began to circle the fountain.

  Milo and his friends watched in respectful silence as the officer addressed the gathered students. He began by reciting today’s date, followed by the number of days left until graduation. The greenies appeared nervous at this information, while the second-year cadets looked uncertain. The third-year cadets stole secretive smiles at each other, apparently confident and ready to progress into specialized divisions.

  As the head officer paced, he studied the various lines. There didn’t seem to be a single cadet out of place, not even a wrinkled uniform or a pair of unpolished boots. Even the wings and tails on the Acolyte and Feral students looked groomed.

  He continued what ended up being a very short speech about surviving the academy until graduation, respecting one’s elders, and always being true to the academy’s honor code.

  Milo knew the code by heart, but this was the first time he had heard it from an actual officer. He mouthed the words as the officer shouted them over the crowd.

  “I will be the blade that severs the lying tongue, the fire that burns the thieving hand, the wind that drowns the tyrant’s voice. I want to hear you say it.”

  The crowd belted the honor code in perfect unison.

  “May light guide your step, cadets,” the officer said at the end.

  “Light guide your step, sir!” the cadets roared back.

  Emmanuel let out a contented sigh. “They’ve done this every Risenday morning for the past ten thousand years.”

  The next part was the best, in Milo’s opinion. He listened with growing excitement as the officer led the students in song. They belted out the academy’s anthem, which began solemnly and then rose, the melody intensifying into what sounded like a battle chant. Milo’s chest expanded and his eyes welled with tears.

  Behind him, his uncle spoke softly, respectfully. “Soon, you will all think of this place as home.” The anthem faded into a solemn hum, and then to a silence that felt alive, powered by the hearts of everyone present.

  Milo took a deep breath and looked up at his uncle.

  This is home, he found himself thinking. It always has been.

  ONCE THE LINES of cadets cleared, the students having made their way to the train station next to the keep, Emmanuel handed out class schedules. Milo received his and studied it hungrily.

  “Seven thirty,” he read aloud. “Particle physics, level two. Uarth Agnaryn building. Room 305?”

  He glanced at the
other orphans, who were also struggling to make sense of their schedules. No maps had been provided.

  “Ah,” Emmanuel said. “Almost forgot. Come with me.”

  They followed him to a square-shaped console outside the nearest building. About three feet tall and made from what looked like lava rock, the device was not magical but mechanical—or possibly a combination of both. Emmanuel tapped it, and a hologram sprang to life. It was a miniature version of the entire campus. He spun it around with his fingers. The orphans crowded around to get a better look as labels popped up above the different buildings.

  “These are scattered around campus. You can use them to find your classes, check your grades on the latest exam, and send messages to your professors.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s fifteen until seven. I trust you’ll all be able to make your seven thirty classes on time and not a minute late.”

  “Our classes aren’t in Kenalight Castle,” Gunner said. “Why did we come here?”

  Owen elbowed him. “To watch them sing the anthem, dummy.”

  “That’s one reason,” Emmanuel said. “And because this is the safest place on campus. If any of you ever find yourselves in danger, this is where I want you to go. My office is right over there.” He pointed to a window on the topmost level of a nearby building. “Also, not all of you will be starting classes today. Oscar, I need you to come with me. Andres, you too.”

  Milo didn’t like the ominous tone in his uncle’s voice. Apparently, neither did Oscar or Andres. Father and son blinked at each other as if they had been accused of a crime.

  “Am I not going to be allowed to study here?” Oscar asked the magician.

  “Don’t worry about that. Come on, let’s go. Everyone else, get to class.”

  Milo gave Oscar a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

  “See you soon,” he told his friend, to which Oscar responded with a somber nod.

  The others did the same, clapping his shoulder and voicing words of encouragement. On his way out of the castle grounds, Milo glanced over his shoulder to see Oscar walking between Emmanuel and Andres toward the ancient keep, his quick steps like those of a high school kid on his way to detention.