The Black River Chronicles: Level One (Black River Academy Book 1)

by David Tallerman

  He spied the unicorn first, as a splash of brilliance amid the forest gloom. Next he saw Tia and Arein; the dwarf girl had caught up and was pacing along on the beast's far flank. Lastly, Durren noticed Hule, over to their left and keeping a careful distance. Hule was staring at Tia and his face was plastered with the most absurd grin Durren had ever seen.

  “What's so funny?” Tia asked him sourly.

  “Taming a unicorn,” Hule called. “Everyone knows that's something only virgins can do. So that means you're a virgin.”

  The look Tia gave him would have turned the finest wine to vinegar. “That's right, I am,” she said. “And so are you. The difference is that you'll stay that way.”

  Before Hule had had time to think that one through, she'd marched on, unicorn in tow.

  Durren did his best to suppress a snigger at Hule's expense. Then, watching Tia's retreating back, a thought occurred to him: how exactly were they meant to find their way back to the academy? Theoretically the responsibility should fall to him as the party's ranger, and he hadn't the faintest idea of where they were or of what direction they were travelling in.

  Fortunately, it seemed that Cullglass, at least, had given the matter some consideration. For, at that moment, their observer dropped into view and began to zip and twirl, as though mapping patterns in the air. After a few seconds of that, Arein suggested, “I think Pootle wants us to follow.”

  The observer nodded, or rather bobbed, and then sped off ahead. An instant later it was back, though still keeping its distance, floating backwards in a constant line. It didn't seem concerned that it couldn't see where it was going; whenever a tree threatened to block its path, the little creature would slip aside at the last instant and continue on its way.

  After a few minutes of following along in silence, Arein blurted, “I think we should call him Blackwing.”

  In response to their puzzled expressions, she explained, “The unicorn…I think we should call him Blackwing. When I was little, I had a giant bat named Blackwing.”

  Durren hadn't the heart to point out that Blackwing was the most ridiculous name he could imagine for a unicorn, or that there was no good reason for them to give the beast any name at all when in a day or two they'd be rid of it for good. “Why not?” was all he said.

  The going was hard through the deep woodland. In theory, Durren's particular training should have made him most suited to negotiating the maze of low branches, treacherous stubs of rock and roots placed perfectly to catch unwary feet. As it was, the others all seemed more confident than he felt. Tia stepped almost as lightly as the unicorn itself did, treating the rough ground as though it were no more cluttered than a royal highway. Hule, meanwhile, simply barged his way through, as though the thick woodland was a busy tavern and he was trying to force his way to the one empty table. Even Arein was managing, by staying close to Tia and the unicorn and following in their wake.

  Watching them, Durren wasn't certain who he was more intimidated by, the rogue or her new pet—Blackwing, insisted a voice in his head that sounded a lot like Arein. However, finally he decided that he'd worked up the courage to ask Tia the question that had been bothering him all this while.

  Durren sidled as close as he felt he could without drawing the beast's ire. When Tia glanced his way, he asked, “Tell me, how did you know it wouldn't just kill you?”

  She considered him coolly, those pale eyes of hers impossible to read. “I didn't…not for sure. Only, after the second time he charged you, it seemed to me that if he'd wanted you dead, then you'd have been dead.”

  “And you thought you'd test your theory by standing in front of a charging unicorn? How did you know it would even be able to stop in time?”

  Tia shrugged. “I had a hunch. If I was wrong, I was confident I could get out of the way in time.”

  Durren couldn't help thinking that for once her self-assurance was misplaced; she couldn't possibly have cut her brush with oblivion much closer. “Well, you scared me half to death,” he complained.

  She gave him a crooked half-smile. “I didn't know you cared.”

  He was surprised by the heat that flushed his cheeks. “We're never going to get promoted if one of us dies,” he muttered.

  Tia's smile vanished as abruptly as it had appeared. “I promise you,” she said, “if any one of us should die, it certainly won't be me.”

  Durren had no answer to that, except to acknowledge that quite probably she was right. So he dropped back again, returned his attention to the challenge of walking in a straight line without being whipped by branches or stumbling over every dip in the uneven ground.

  Whenever his concentration wasn't occupied with not tripping, however, Durren kept one eye fixed on the unicorn. He was finding it harder and harder to believe that the beast was the same one that only minutes ago had been intent on taking his life. With Arein next to it, sometimes patting its flank, and Tia guiding it by her improvised bridle, the unicorn seemed utterly content. Maybe, he thought, there was some truth to what Hule had said in jest. If nothing else, the creature certainly seemed to prefer the company of women to that of men; whenever he or Hule strayed too near, it soon began to grow skittish again.

  So the day passed, with Pootle leading and the five of them tramping behind, through what Durren was beginning to imagine as endless tracts of forest. Had there been anyone to see, they'd have made a curious sight: four teenagers, a floating eyeball and an inexplicably tame unicorn. Even Durren had to shake himself sometimes to escape the sense that this was all some odd dream he'd eventually wake from.

  Once or twice they realised they were nearing a road or a village. But Pootle seemed to understand enough to adjust its route accordingly, even if that meant leading them through dense underbrush or, on one occasion, a shallow river. Eventually Durren became aware that the air was growing cool and the shadows large. When he looked up through a gap in the canopy, he could see that the sun was close upon the horizon.

  “I think we should stop,” he proposed. “It's going to get dark soon, and we don't even have tents.”

  The scowl Tia gave him suggested that she'd rather walk all through the night than spend even a minute camping out here with him.

  “Also,” Durren added, “we're not going to be able to follow Pootle once the light's gone.”

  He wasn't sure how true that was; it was hard to miss a large flying eyeball, and in any case there was that faint glow coming off the unicorn, which for all Durren knew would be sufficient to see by.

  However the point seemed enough to persuade Tia. “I suppose you're right,” she said grudgingly.

  Still, she kept on for a while longer, and Durren didn't have the heart to argue. He was grateful, though, when he realised she'd simply been hunting for a sheltered spot in which to make their camp. That should have been your job, ranger, he pointed out to himself, but Durren wasn't at all convinced he'd have chosen better. She'd discovered a narrow glade, sheltered on all sides, and he could hear the chuckle of a stream running nearby.

  Only as they came to a halt did Durren fully appreciate how weary his feet had grown. They'd been walking for almost the entire day, with only a brief stop early in the afternoon to eat some of the supplies Arein had discovered were in their rucksacks: dried meat and fruit, and biscuit so hard that he'd been fearful of breaking a tooth.

  Durren had been wondering what unicorns ate—perhaps some mysterious substance he'd never so much as heard of—and was a little surprised when Blackwing seemed satisfied to lower its head and begin cropping the long grass. The beast appeared to have grown completely accustomed to their company now, or at the least to have absolute trust in Tia and Arein; Durren still had his doubts as to how it would react if he or Hule got too close.

  Watching the unicorn eat, Durren noticed something he couldn't believe he'd missed before. The creature was standing with its left flank to him, and he could see now a pattern of marks beneath its pallid coat, some fine and silvery, others broad and fain
tly pink. They could only be scars, the vestige of wounds long since healed. Maybe they were claw marks, inflicted by some savage forest creature; however, it seemed to Durren that they could as easily have been the work of men. Was that why the beast had grown hostile? Had it once been hunted? That would explain a great deal.

  “Make a fire,” Tia demanded of no one in particular, shaking Durren from his thoughts. “I'm going to find us something for dinner.” And with that she had vanished back into the trees.

  Glancing about, Durren saw that Hule had already made himself comfortable against a trunk and apparently settled down to nap, while Arein was tending to Blackwing. Clearly, the task of firewood-gathering fell to him.

  Fortunately he didn't have to go far before he found a ready supply. He stumbled back to their makeshift camp with arms laden. And fire building, at least, was one task Durren's lectures had prepared him for. Minutes later, when Tia returned, carrying two large hares by their ears, he already had a good blaze going—enough that Durren thought he read a hint of grudging approval in her expression as she set about skinning her unfortunate prizes.

  Night had fallen in earnest by the time their scanty dinner was prepared, spitted and roasted. The little glade was a bubble of warm amber light, with utter darkness about its edges and an awning of scintillating stars overhead. Blackwing's bulk was visible by its own faint glow, like another patch of moonlight, and every so often the unicorn would remind them of its presence with a snort or a pensive whinny.

  Durren was half convinced that they'd spend the entire night in silence until Arein piped up, her voice wavering with nervousness, “So what are everyone's plans for after we graduate? Why did you all come to Black River?”

  Obviously it had taken her a great deal of courage to ask the question, and Durren felt sorry for her as it became apparent that no one was willing to answer. He'd have liked to say something, but at first he could think of no response that wouldn't reveal far more than he was willing to. Then, as the hush grew painfully long, he blurted, “What about you, Arein? What are you going to do?”

  Durren realised immediately that all he'd accomplished was to make her feel even more uncomfortable. “Oh,” Arein stammered, “well, I mean…it's complicated.”

  He thought she meant to leave her answer there, but, with a deep breath, she began again. “The thing is,” she said, “there just aren't dwarf wizards. Or at least, occasionally there are, perhaps one every fifty years or so. But in general we're just not a very magical people. And, you see, no one really knew what to do with me back home. I think maybe they were even a little afraid.” A shadow crossed her round face. “I mean, nobody ever said anything, but…”

  Her words trailed away to nothing, and once again Durren realised it fell to him to coach her into conversation. “So what will you do once you graduate?”

  “I'd like to go back home,” Arein replied earnestly. “Just because dwarves have never been wizards, that doesn't mean they can't. It's a hard life up in the high mountains, and maybe magic could make things easier. And then, if someone else happened to turn out to be attuned, well, they wouldn't have to be alone. So,” she concluded, “that's what I'll do.”

  Feeling that this time Arein had reached a genuine end, Durren glanced towards Tia instead. He found himself suddenly curious as to what her answer would be. “What about you?” he asked, half certain she'd simply ignore him.

  She did at least look his way, though the shadows never left her face. “What about me?”

  “Why are you here? What is it you want to be?”

  “I'm a rogue,” she said, as though that were all the answer he could possibly need.

  Durren nearly left the question there, but his curiosity gave him unexpected courage. “I know what your class is,” he said. “That's not what I meant. You've come a long way to be here; I'd heard that dun-elves never left Sudra Syn without a good reason.”

  “You know your geography.”

  Durren almost said, My father often traded with the southern continent, caught himself at the last moment, and instead muttered, “I liked to listen to sailors' tales as a boy, that's all.”

  The way Tia looked at him gave Durren the uncomfortable impression that she'd seen right through his clumsy lie. But all she said was, “When I graduate I'm going to the capital, to work in politics.”

  Durren understood her meaning. Politics was the trade all the best rogues wanted to end up in, and the word meant something very different for them than to practically everyone else. Between the wealthy families, the various military factions, the guilds, the wizard communes and the king's court itself, there were no end of opportunities for someone willing to steal, cheat and blackmail on command—or worse. Many a body had been found floating down the river because of politics, and many an academy trained rogue had dealt the blows that put them there.

  But was that really what Tia intended for her future? Durren didn't know her, of course, not even slightly. Yet he struggled to imagine her slitting innocent throats in dark alleys just because some rich lord told her to. Maybe she was simply posturing then. However, he wasn't convinced that was something she'd do either; it wasn't as though she seemed to care what anyone thought of her. Then again, the only other explanation was that she simply didn't want to tell the truth. Either way, Durren could think of no more questions to ask. There was just no tactful way to enquire how someone felt about the possibility of killing strangers for coin.

  Again it looked as though the conversation had come to its end. But then, out of nowhere, Hule declared, “Hule's family are warriors back to the twentieth generation. Hule's kin has the blood of trolls in it.”

  On the one hand, Durren could readily believe that. On the other, from what he understood of trolls, he wasn't certain how such a thing would work; nor did he want to give the problem more consideration than he had to. Either way, he didn't see how Hule's response answered Arein's question. “But what is it you want to do?” he asked. “These days, you can't just fight for no reason.”

  Hule looked smug. “It will be the Brazen Fist for me. Once I leave the academy, I can enter as an officer.”

  The Brazen Fist was the king's own military order, a group that theoretically existed to defend the capital but in fact ranged far and wide, even going so far as to hire out its services to earn a little extra gold. In truth, the Fist was a curious mix of national defence force and mercenary army, and Durren could see Hule fitting in well—though certainly not as any kind of officer.

  Still, Durren was willing to allow the fighter his delusions, if only because they hardly seemed worth arguing over. “That's a good living,” he acknowledged.

  “The best!” Hule asserted. “Who wouldn't want to be paid to wield a sword?”

  Durren couldn't bring himself to debate that point either. He was willing to let the conversation drop altogether when Arein cut in, “So what about you, Durren? Why did you come to Black River?”

  Durren froze. He realised he should have been anticipating the question, should have prepared a plausible answer. “Oh, you know,” he mumbled.

  But he wasn't going to get away with that. Arein was staring at him attentively, the firelight glinting from those oversized glasses of hers.

  “I don't really have any definite plans,” Durren tried. “What I mean is, I'm just glad to be at the academy. I haven't thought too much about what happens next.”

  “Ha!” Hule scoffed. “Of course you'd say that. What use would a Flintrand have for honest work? Once you graduate, your most taxing labour will be to choose which cushion feels softest beneath your overfed rump!”

  There was nothing confrontational in Hule's tone. Durren got the impression, in fact, that from his perspective he was simply stating facts. Still, Durren felt his blood boiling. The urge to plant his fist between the fighter's eyes was nearly uncontrollable, and all that held him back was the certainty that Hule would probably be quite happy with that. Even if he wasn't actively trying to provoke a fi
ght, Durren had no doubt that he'd make the most of an opportunity should one arise.

  So instead, Durren took a deep breath. “As I've said, I'm not one of those Flintrands. They're cousins…distant cousins.”

  Hule only laughed, as though the notion of a Flintrand that wasn't obscenely wealthy was too absurd even to consider.

  “Maybe I'll join the Brazen Fist, too,” Durren muttered.

  “I hear that if you only pay enough, you can enter as a provincial general.”

  “I wouldn't know about that.”

  Hule chuckled, obviously pleased with himself to have made Durren so uncomfortable.

  The fighter would keep baiting him for as long as Durren allowed him to. So, rather than respond, he yawned exaggeratedly. “Anyway, I'm worn out,” he said. “What with being chased up a tree by a unicorn and everything. Goodnight, everyone.”

  And before Hule could think up any more snide comments, Durren had rolled over in his blanket and travelling cloak and had closed his eyes.

  7

  T

  o say Durren woke early was to suggest that he'd actually slept—and though he felt sure he must have, at least for brief spells, both his body and mind were doing their best to persuade him otherwise.

  As he untangled himself from his cloak and struggled to his feet, he saw that, though Arein and Hule were still both fast asleep and snoring, Tia was missing. Durren's first thought was that he wouldn't put it past her to have gone on alone with the unicorn, perhaps intending to claim all the credit for herself. He was annoyed to realise that she'd only be telling the truth if she did.

  However, the unicorn was where he'd last seen it, loosely tethered to a tree. The animal didn't appear to have moved at all, leading him to wonder if it had slept either, and if so whether it did so standing up.

  Then, as he glanced around, Durren saw Tia too. She was approaching through the trees, bearing an armful of firewood. She must have registered the surprise in his face, because her own look was questioning in return.