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

by David Tallerman

  Not able to express what he'd been thinking—that he was surprised to see Tia helping others—Durren mumbled instead, “Have you been up long?”

  Tia's response was to place her pile of wood beside the fire and a finger to her lips, with a nod towards the two sleepers. Another surprise; Durren would have imagined she'd have been the one insisting they set off with the first light.

  He crouched beside her. She was already teasing at the embers, stirring them into fragile life. As he watched, she drew her hood back and leaned forward to blow softly at the fire's base. After a moment, tender flames began to lick about the twigs she'd placed.

  Durren, however, found that he was paying more attention to Tia than to her handiwork. This was the first time he'd really seen her face up close, without her hood drawn up. For that reason, he'd never entirely realised how striking her features were. He wouldn't have used the word beautiful, and pretty was hopelessly unsuitable, but there was something about her that made him struggle to look away.

  It was her intensity, he thought, at least in part. Even with this trivial task, Tia seemed utterly focused. Then there was the way that her dark grey skin resembled stone come alive, so that every slight movement surprised him. The word he was looking for, Durren decided, was interesting; here was a face he couldn't imagine ever growing bored by.

  Tia's eyes flickered his way—and Durren looked aside quickly.

  “You could try helping,” she suggested.

  Of course, Durren reminded himself as he began hurriedly feeding wood onto the reviving fire, finding someone's face interesting wasn't at all the same as thinking they were attractive, let alone liking them.

  The others woke soon after that. Tia didn't seem inclined to go out hunting again, so they breakfasted on their rations, which were every bit as dry and unappetising as they'd been the day before. As soon as they'd all finished eating, they set out, Pootle dancing ahead, Blackwing still happy to troop along with them so long as Arein was by its side and Tia leading it by the nose.

  By early afternoon, Durren could tell that they were drawing close to their destination. The mountains beyond Black River had been growing steadily clearer all day, and by then he could also make out craggy foothills, at the base of which the academy lay. Tia, who seemed to know the area better than any of them, confirmed that they were less than an hour away.

  Durren watched as the huge old fortress rose beyond the treetops, its back set to one rugged cliff. The building looked every bit as ancient as that precipice; indeed its stones had surely been quarried, long ago, from the rock face.

  And, Durren thought, to call it a building was misleading in itself: the Black River Academy looked more as though a dozen edifices of various functions had been thrown together, castles and libraries and temples and halls tumbled one upon another. Wings had been built and rebuilt, entire sections had changed hands or purposes, and no new Head Tutor felt that they'd made their mark unless they'd added a tower here, a spire there.

  The closer he drew, the more Durren felt a surge of pride. What an extraordinary place this was! Luntharbour might have more than its share of grand architecture, but nothing there conveyed such a sense of raw and teeming history, of stories and grand deeds stacked from floors to rafters.

  However, as they drew near, a more troubling concern presented itself. Durren hadn't given much thought to what would happen when they finally got back, but it struck him now that they could hardly just march through the front gates. If nothing else, he had difficulty imagining the unicorn staying so calm if they tried to drag the beast through the main courtyard. What if one of the classes was training? Given the creature's hostility towards all things male, such an encounter could easily end in a bloodbath.

  Fortunately, though Cullglass's instructions had been vague on the matter, it seemed the storesmaster was nevertheless watching over them. Today as yesterday, Pootle had been charting a route that kept them well clear of inhabited areas and major roads. Now, the observer began upon another diversion, drifting in a direction sure to avoid the academy's main entrance.

  There was no choice but to trust the diminutive creature and follow. Eventually Pootle's route brought them to the long shadow of the walls. Close up, Durren could see where a narrow path ran off to the right, in the direction of the river that gave the academy its name. Soon they found themselves on a rocky outcrop, with the high walls ascending to one side and on the other a steep drop to the dark water below, which coursed in falls and flurries along its ebon bed.

  Just as Durren was beginning to wonder where the path could possibly lead, they arrived at a small door set into an archway. The portal was bound with strips of iron, and would probably have required a battering ram and an afternoon's solid labour to open had it been locked—which, fortunately, when Durren tried the handle, it turned out not to be. The door opened onto a small courtyard that he'd never seen before.

  From their route and what he could see of the nearest wing, he reasoned they'd arrived somewhere in the rearmost corner of the academy. The yard gave the impression of being rarely used; a few empty barrels were stacked in one corner, some filthy straw heaped in another.

  Presumably here was a back way to Cullglass's stores—for Pootle was already hovering near another door on the far side. Durren was about to follow when he realised Arein had stopped ahead of them, her arms folded across her chest.

  “Are we really going to do this?” she said.

  “Do what?” Durren asked—though he thought he had a good idea of what she meant.

  “Are we really going to hand over Blackwing? We know he wouldn't hurt anyone.”

  “I don't know that,” Durren told her. “I know it tried to run me through with its horn and nearly chopped down a tree to get at me, that's what I know.”

  “That was a misunderstanding. He was scared.”

  “Certainly,” Durren agreed, “that would explain it. I must have been an intimidating sight to a giant horse with a spear on its forehead.” He realised even as he spoke, though, that the words didn't sound half as biting as he'd intended. His heart wasn't altogether in this argument. He couldn't help remembering the sight of those scars lacing the beast's pearly flank; probably it really was afraid of people, and had learned to be so in the worst possible way.

  But Durren should have realised he had no say in the matter. “Yes,” Tia said, “we're handing over the unicorn.” Her voice was steely. “We're going to complete our quest, and the three of you aren't going to hold me back from reaching level two.”

  And with that she was leading Blackwing past Arein, without so much as a glance at the dwarf girl.

  Three passages later, they turned a corner to find Cullglass waiting for them before yet another door, this one standing open in anticipation of their arrival.

  Seeing them, the storesmaster clapped his hands gleefully. “Well, well!” he said. “The conquering heroes have returned—and with their prize in tow.”

  At that, Blackwing whinnied nervously, and scratched at the slabs underfoot with its front hooves.

  Here was another problem that none of them had anticipated. Was Tia going to stay with the unicorn forever? If not, then someone was likely to get hurt, and sooner rather than later. Durren found that he'd already tensed, ready to spring aside if the beast should return to its old habits and charge back down the narrow corridor.

  However, Cullglass didn't appear overly concerned. “Bring him here, my dear,” he addressed Tia.

  Though she didn't look impressed at being called my dear, Tia did as she was told—and so did Blackwing. The unicorn kept near to her, its eyes huge and white. Durren found it strange to see the animal, which only a day before had nearly impaled him, behaving so meekly. However, the closer they got to Cullglass, the more the unicorn looked as though at any moment it might try to bolt.

  Yet it didn't. And as they drew within reach, the storesmaster revealed an item that until then he'd been concealing behind his back. It was a length of
cord, fine as braided hair and glowing with a pale light not dissimilar to that cast by the unicorn. The cord ended in a loop, which Cullglass proffered to Tia. “If you'd be so kind…”

  Realising what was being asked of her, Tia took the loop and lowered it first over Blackwing's horn and then around its neck. Immediately the beast grew still; its eyes took on a dreamy aspect and the tension left its body.

  Cullglass breathed a faint sigh of relief. In answer to Tia's questioning look, he said, “As I told you, there are a very few items in existence designed solely for the purpose of catching unicorns. Would that our Head Tutor had acceded to letting you use this; no doubt your mission might have been accomplished at considerably less risk.”

  Cullglass gave the cord a tentative tug, and Blackwing took an unresisting step closer. Satisfied, the storesmaster led the unicorn towards the open door. Glancing over his shoulder at Pootle, he added, “Please guide our young friends upstairs, won't you?”

  The observer appeared to understand. It veered away again, and the four of them hurried after. Durren couldn't but notice, though, how Arein dragged her feet and kept peeking back towards Blackwing, even as Cullglass manoeuvred the unicorn the last distance through the doorway.

  Soon they were at the main entrance to the stores. There must be even more to their layout, Durren realised, than the one huge room they'd seen. Tia knocked, but there came no answer. When a minute or more had passed, Durren found himself wondering whether Cullglass hadn't fallen foul of Blackwing's temper after all, magical cord or no. However, when Tia knocked again, he heard the muffled rap of footsteps and the great portal swung inward.

  Cullglass beckoned them with a wave of a hand. He looked immensely pleased—with himself or with them, or both. Rather than lead the way to the portion of the room that served as his office, the storesmaster began talking almost before the four of them had had time to enter.

  “Let me begin by saying how very proud I am, not merely of your success but of the courage and fortitude with which you accomplished it! I will consider it an outrage if the Head Tutor doesn't look more fondly on our little party from now on. In fact, I'd be surprised if all of your statistics haven't improved by the end of this week. And after that, promotion must surely be close.”

  Pleasing though it was to hear, Durren couldn't help wondering if such effusive praise was altogether deserved. After all, what had they really accomplished? His contribution had been to nearly get skewered, Hule's to wave his sword about, and Arein's to hide behind a tree. Just as in the rat-kind village, Tia was the only who'd actually done anything, and even then only by acting alone and endangering herself. On the whole, Durren felt that their success owed a great deal more to luck than judgement.

  Still, there was no denying that they'd brought the unicorn back, or that all of them were still in one piece. And if they hadn't exactly managed to work together, they'd at least succeeded in having something approaching a civil conversation. Compared to the utter disaster of their first quest, that still felt like an achievement of sorts. Anyway, if Cullglass wanted to be impressed by mediocrity, if he wanted to commend them to Borgnin for it, then certainly that was no bad thing.

  “What's going to happen to Blackwing?” Arein asked. Her voice was quavering, but there was a stubborn note there. However, the words were barely out of her mouth before she realised that Cullglass had no idea what she was talking about. “I mean,” she stammered, “to the unicorn? What's going to happen to him? Will he be hurt?”

  “Hurt?” repeated Cullglass. “Why, my dear girl, of course he won't be hurt. A unicorn, even a mad and violent unicorn, is a rare, precious creature.”

  “He didn't seem very mad or violent,” Arein pointed out.

  Cullglass fixed her with his gaze. “With all due respect, there are many poor villagers who would tell a different story.” The storesmaster steepled long fingers before his nose and looked grave. “Those who lived to tell any tale at all.”

  Durren was certain that would be the end of the discussion, and nothing could have surprised him more than the fact that Arein didn't back down there and then. “But maybe,” she suggested, “we got the wrong unicorn?”

  Cullglass shook his head. “The chances, I'm afraid, are miniscule. Anyway, the beast you delivered matches the description given to the academy perfectly.”

  “Then,” Arein said, “perhaps they were lying? Did you see those scars? Someone's hurt Blackwing; perhaps it was the villagers, and now they want him out of the way to hide what they did. Maybe he just never knew until now that there were any kind people in the world. Or…”

  Cullglass held up a hand, and Arein reluctantly let her sentence fade. “My dear young lady, I admire your compassion; rest assured that my own is barely less. No harm will come to your precious Blackwing, I assure you of that. And if a way exists to rehabilitate the beast then I'll take full responsibility in finding it. Or, if there has been a mistake…” The storesmaster looked troubled. “Well, I won't pretend that such things have never occurred. If such is the case then there too I'll hold myself responsible. In fact, I will take your concerns this very afternoon to the Head Tutor. Would that suffice to put your mind at rest, Areinelimus?”

  Arein didn't look altogether reassured. Nevertheless, she nodded and said, “Yes, thank you.”

  “I'm glad,” Cullglass told her, with a fond if rather plaintive smile. “Well,” he continued, turning to the rest of them and brightening immediately. “It seems that once again our time together must conclude. I hope to see today's success reflected in your individual performance. And rest assured that I'll have another challenge worthy of your burgeoning abilities before too long.”

  The next few days were as busy as ever, if not more so. It seemed to Durren that, in the eyes of their tutors, learning a new skill meant only that you needed to be taught five more. Even when he felt he understood something, there was always a new subtlety to grasp, a fresh complexity that invalidated half of what he thought he knew. More and more, his memory teetered with the weight of fresh insights and techniques. By evening he was invariably exhausted, both physically and mentally, full of dread for the morrow and yet at the same time thrilled by its possibilities.

  Given all that, Durren was surprised by how often he found his thoughts drifting, almost against his will, to Tia and Arein. There were times when he even felt he might have been glad to see Hule. It wasn't that he'd enjoyed their last quest, exactly; he still had the bruises to remind him of just how unenjoyable certain parts had been. Nevertheless, he'd liked the freedom of being out in the endless-seeming wilderness, and, if he was honest with himself, he'd even appreciated the experience more for having company. Of course Tia was standoffish, Arein was hard work with her outbursts and her clumsy attempts of friendliness, and Hule was simply an idiot—but Durren had known worse people in his time. In fact, compared to the types who'd hung around his father's estate, the sons of merchants and wealthy lords he'd been forced to feign friendships with, he found that he almost liked them.

  More, though, Durren found that he could imagine a situation where the four of them might actually succeed in working together. What would it take, after all? Only for Tia to start communicating, for Arein to grow less distrustful of her own power, for Hule to pay attention and do what he was told. After all, they'd managed to capture a unicorn; not everyone could have done that. Perhaps their party might even be capable of something extraordinary, a grand quest that would go down in Black River's annals, to be gossiped about by generations of students for decades to come.

  And that would be disastrous for Durren.

  Even the thought made him feel trapped all over again, just as he had when their party was first announced. Maintaining a steady level of mediocrity had been difficult enough when he'd only had himself to think about; with the four of them together, the prospect seemed nigh impossible. And the worst thing was that a part of him wanted it to be impossible. That part liked the idea of them succeeding together,
of wiping away the dismal memory of their first failure with some spectacular show of prowess.

  The more Durren thought, the more he wondered if perhaps his approach hadn't been wrong from the start. Having set such a low standard, even a merely good performance would stand out now. Yet he was going to have to improve, or else he'd end up being the one to hold their entire party back. Already he could imagine the look Tia would give him, her disdain and annoyance. And Arein? Disappointment, probably, though she'd try her best to hide it. As for Hule—well, Hule would probably just punch him.

  The only possible solution, so far as Durren could see, was to begin discreetly improving. So that was what he set his mind and body to over the following days. He began with archery, since that was the activity he'd always found most difficult not to excel at. In the next practise, he placed every shot on target, and even a couple within the centre ring—though each time he was careful to look surprised. He had to fight the temptation to land one in the bull's-eye; he promised himself that in a week or two he would, once everyone had had time to accept his dramatic improvement.

  Sword and knife fighting were easier. He was genuinely no more than good at either, and the gap between his real ability and the pretence he'd been making was correspondingly narrower. It was no great effort to try a little harder, and he even found that he was enjoying himself. He won about half his practise bouts, but even his losses were close-run, and correspondingly exciting.

  In lectures, meanwhile, Durren made a point of paying more attention. He took diligent notes in place of the scraps he'd scribbled before, which half the time he'd been unable to decipher when it came time to write them up by candlelight. He began to ask questions as well, and was shocked by the extent to which subjects that had seemed dry and futile began suddenly to catch his interest.

  At the end of the week, Durren was surprised to find himself summoned into another meeting with Eldra Atrepis. He shouldn't have been due to see her for another three weeks. His first thought was that his worst fears had finally come true—though it was hard to think of anything he'd done either so unusually good or extraordinarily bad as to warrant special attention.