Only they were staring at him now, and his pause had gone on for a very long time, the silence it left growing unbearable. “I saw my father,” Durren said, “coming to take me home.”
“What,” Arein asked, “like, for a holiday? Are you scared of holidays? I don't get it.”
It was her obliviousness more than any desire to admit the truth that dragged the words out of him. “Look—I'm not supposed to be here, all right? Do you really think that Urden Flintrand, the wealthiest merchant in all of Luntharbour, would allow his son to go off and train to be a ranger? Let alone at the lowliest, most notoriously dangerous academy in the entire kingdom?”
“It's not that bad!” Arein said.
Durren frowned at her, confused.
“I mean, maybe Black River isn't the best academy, but I'm sure it's not actually the worst. And it isn't that dangerous; I've heard it's much safer than it used to be. They say nearly eight out of ten students only ever suffer minor injuries—”
“Arein,” Tia said patiently, “I think you may be missing the point.”
Arein paused, blinked. “Oh. Am I?”
Tia looked to Durren, and he felt that those pale eyes of hers could see right through him. “The point,” she said, “is how Durren is here without his parents' permission, when having that permission is a prerequisite for enrolling in the academy.”
Arein's brow furrowed. “That's true,” she agreed thoughtfully. Then, to Durren, “So, how are you here?”
“I forged my father's handwriting,” Durren said. “I wrote a letter pretending to be him and asking for the admittance paperwork. Normally they don't let anyone enrol without a visit first, but because the person asking was the great Urden Flintrand, and because the letter said he'd pay all the fees in advance, it turned out they were more than happy to bend the rules. When the answer came, I stole the parcel from my father's office before he had a chance to look at it and filled the papers in myself. Then I stole the gold I'd need to pay for my tuition and came straight here.”
Arein looked as astonished as though he'd claimed to have grown wings and flown all the way from Luntharbour. “But didn't they think that was strange?” she asked. “I mean, you arriving with so much money like that?”
“Probably they did,” Durren admitted. “But then, five years' worth of tuition fees is an awful lot of gold, and maybe they decided not to question too hard.”
“I'm still not sure I understand,” Arein went on. “Why are you so afraid of your father coming to get you? Surely, for all he knows, you could be anywhere?”
Having come this far, there seemed no point in hiding any of what remained. In fact, it felt good to be finally telling someone the truth. “The thing is,” Durren said, “that my being here only stays secret so long as no one from the academy writes to my father. And they write to a student's parents under two circumstances: when they've done something terribly wrong or something exceptionally right. Once I realised that, I knew the only way I could stay here until I graduated was to be the most average student they'd ever seen.”
“But you must have realised that word was going to get back to your father sooner or later?”
Durren shrugged embarrassedly. He hadn't. But he could see now that he should have, could see too just how much effort he'd made to hide the truth from himself. “I suppose I thought that after a while he'd just forget about me. I mean, he was always forgetting I existed, even when I was at home; there didn't seem any reason to think he'd pay more attention when I wasn't around. Anyway, all I need is a couple of years and then I'll be of age. Maybe he can try and make me pay his gold back, but he can't make me go with it.”
At that, Hule laughed loudly. When Durren glared at him, the fighter declared, “Your scheme is stupid and you sound like a child.”
Durren would have liked to protest. But Hule was their resident expert on idiocy, and if even he thought a plan was stupid, then there could be no doubt that it was. Durren had felt so brave at the time, walking away from everything he'd ever known. Yet what use was half a plan? Especially one that left you in perpetual fear of discovery? No, Hule was right; he'd behaved like a child, and a foolish one at that.
“I didn't feel like I had any other options,” Durren mumbled, sounding sulkier than he'd have liked.
“At least you've finally admitted the truth,” Tia said.
Her tone of voice surprised him. “You say that you like already knew.”
“I knew there was something off about you. Nobody tries so hard to be useless, not without good reason. I'd have worked it out eventually, but I'm glad you saved me the wasted effort.”
As so often seemed to be the case, the fact that Tia was blunt beyond the point of rudeness didn't actually make her wrong.
“Look,” Durren said, “you have to promise me…no one can ever know about this. I realise I haven't come up with the best solution. I need to put a lot more thought into it. And I know I've been making things difficult for the rest of you. I won't do that anymore, I promise; I can keep my head down without being entirely worthless. Only, if word of this got back to Borgnin, if my father found out where I am…”
He shuddered. For an instant, the memory of his vision had been painfully clear: Urden Flintrand towering over him, the disdain dripping from his voice. And only then did Durren realise that the encounter hadn't altogether been a product of his imagination. Rather, his mind had assembled his father's words from a dozen occasions, a dozen times when he'd been told off, or ordered about, or made to feel small.
“I won't tell,” Arein said quietly.
Durren smiled. “Thanks, Arein.”
“Neither will I,” Tia told him. “You have my word.”
“Thank you, Tia.” Then, abruptly reminded of how this conversation had begun, Durren blurted out, “So are you going to tell us what you were so frightened of back there?”
“No. I'm not.” Tia sounded angry at the mere suggestion—but, more, she sounded afraid. Whatever she'd seen, it had obviously shaken her badly. Durren struggled to believe that anything could scare her so, but her expression was enough to dissuade him from pressing the point.
Hule stood up, stretching and cricking his neck. “Hule says it's time we got back.”
“He has a point,” Durren agreed. Now that he'd had a chance to stretch his own deadened limbs, he was beginning to notice the nip in the evening air, and the fact that he hadn't eaten a thing since that morning. Anyway, there was every chance that the priests were only taking a break from their hunt, perhaps returning to the monastery to gather lanterns. Durren couldn't persuade himself that they'd abandon so precious a treasure without the utmost effort.
“Wait,” Arein said. Her voice was small and cautious, yet at the same time determined. “There's something else. Something important. And we can't go back, not until we've discussed it.”
Durren sighed inwardly. Was this like her fixation with the unicorn? What was she caught up on this time? “We can't return the stone,” he said, “if that's what you're thinking. I know that strictly speaking we stole it, but only in a good cause.”
“No, that's not it.” Arein's cheeks reddened. “I mean…maybe partly it is.”
“Arein,” Durren said, “The academy wouldn't send us on a quest just for their own amusement. And they certainly wouldn't have us take something if they weren't confident it was in the wrong hands in the first place.”
“I know all that,” she told him. “Only—why could I take the Petrified Egg? Why didn't its powers work on me?”
That stopped him in his tracks. Hadn't he briefly wondered the same? But the question had seemed less than important when he'd been expecting to be turned inside out by the mad priests, and by the time he'd plummeted from a building and almost drowned, he'd forgotten altogether.
“It was probably some magic thing,” Durren tried, though he knew as he spoke what the answer would be.
“Magic isn't…it just doesn't work like that. It's not some special key t
hat fits every lock. And I told you, I'm not magical just because I can do magic.”
“All right then,” Tia cut in. “Obviously you have an explanation. So what is it?”
Arein looked suddenly shy. “It's to do with fear,” she said. “It's to do with what I'm afraid of, and what I'm not afraid of.”
Hule grunted irritably. “Hule is bored and cold and wants to go home! Will you give a plain answer, dwarf girl?”
“I'm trying to! Look—it's like I told Durren. The one thing that scares me most is the unbalance, and the thought of something I did making it worse. That's why I try not to use magic unless I absolutely have to. And I think that was what allowed me to take the Petrified Egg; I think that was its protection. Only, if that's the case, then why weren't the priests themselves affected?”
Hule opened his mouth to answer, but Arein cut him off. “Yes, I know, magic! And I told you, magic doesn't work that way. Even if there was some kind of a counter-spell to resist the Egg's effects, I was watching them and nobody cast anything. They were just as vulnerable as the rest of us, yet all of them seemed fine. I've been thinking, and as far as I can see, there's only one explanation.”
Durren understood. He wished he didn't, but he did. “They're afraid of the same thing you are.”
“Exactly!” Arein looked pleased that he'd worked it out. “It's the perfect defence mechanism; the only ones who can go near the Petrified Egg are wizards who appreciate how terrible it is to abuse the unbalance.”
“Or ones who just don't care,” Tia suggested—though there was doubt in her voice.
“That wouldn't work. We know the Egg picks up on your darkest fears, so not caring wouldn't be any defence at all.”
“So what you're saying is…” But Durren let the sentence trail away. He understood precisely what Arein was saying, Tia's scowl made it clear that so did she, and even Hule looked mildly contemplative.
“We'll talk to Cullglass,” Tia said. “That's all we can do.” If her tone was firm, she still sounded less certain than usual.
“She's right,” Durren put in. “Just maybe it's possible that the academy made a mistake, that this was all somehow a misunderstanding. But we can't just assume, Arein. And we can hardly wander back into the monastery and hand them the Egg as though nothing's happened.”
“No,” Arein agreed, “I understand that. Only—” Though she looked sheepish, Durren was coming to learn that she wouldn't let her anxieties stop her, not once she had her mind set. “We have to promise, all right? That we'll do the right thing, if it comes to it?”
Durren's heart sank. Already today he'd revealed the secret he'd intended to admit to no one, and now here he was, being asked to commit to something with the potential to cause no end of problems. Of all the possibilities likely to draw attention, he had no doubt that openly contradicting a member of the academy staff was high on any list. Still, he knew Arein wasn't about to take no for an answer—and he wasn't sure he blamed her. “I promise,” he said.
“You have my word,” Tia agreed.
“Fine,” Hule said. “But surely we're done now?”
Arein merely nodded. Durren could tell that being the centre of attention for so long had taken a great deal from her.
He tried to examine his own thoughts. It was as though what Arein had said had scraped at a healing wound he'd previously been able to ignore, and now the itch was inescapable. One thing was for sure, there was more going on here than the facts they had could explain. Were it not for Cullglass's warnings, Durren would never have imagined the priests were other than what they seemed: a secluded commune given over to pursuing their good works in peace. So either Arein was right and this entire quest had been a mistake, or the priesthood was up to something even more insidious than Cullglass had led them to believe—a plot monstrous enough to warrant such a grand charade.
Durren found it hard to say which possibility unsettled him more. However, there was no use worrying now, and for once Hule had a point: it was high time they headed back.
Glancing round for Pootle, Durren discovered the observer perched high upon the rocks above and watching the four of them steadily. Only then did it occur to him that he was glad the creature had no ears; though, now that he thought, the observer did seem to respond to spoken commands. Yet even if it had heard his secrets, surely it had no means to transmit them back to Hieronymus. At least, Durren had to hope that was the case.
“Come here, Pootle,” he said—and sure enough, the observer understood enough to descend towards the centre of their group.
Durren glanced from face to face. Was it only his imagination or had something changed between them over the course of the day? For the first time, they actually felt to him like a party, rather than simply four people pressed unwillingly into each other's company. Despite everything that had happened and all he now had to worry about, Durren found the idea appealing.
He nearly asked if everyone was ready, but Tia and Hule's expressions of impatience and the way Arein was shivering against the evening chill answered that question.
“Homily, paradigm, lucent,” Durren said, and the world began to melt.
11
D
urren had never thought he'd be so glad to see Hieronymus's transportation chamber. The day had been long and arduous, and only now did his body seem to be registering those facts. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to curl upon his hard, straw-crammed mattress in the rangers' dormitory, and sleep until the worst aches had abandoned his body.
That wasn't going to happen, though—at least not yet. Their quest wouldn't be done until they were rid of the prize they'd been sent for.
It occurred to Durren that they might have asked Hieronymus about the Petrified Egg. But nothing in the old wizard's expression of drowsy disinterest suggested he'd be likely to know anything useful or, knowing, be prepared to share. Maybe they'd be better to start with another wizard then, one with specialist knowledge on the subject of enchanted items? There was sure to be such a person among the faculty, and likely Arein would be familiar with them from her lectures.
Only, how would that look? If instead of returning to Cullglass with the object of their quest, they were to start interrogating the academy staff about its secrets? No, Cullglass was their mentor, and it wouldn't do to go behind his back.
Anyway, the choice was already out of Durren's hands. Tia, having muttered a brief “Thank you” to Hieronymus, was heading towards the door, and the other two were following in her wake. With a final glance back at the old wizard, Durren hurried after.
Tia led the way through the corridors, guided by her unerring sense of direction. Soon they were at the entrance to Cullglass's stores and she was rapping out three sharp knocks upon the blackened planks.
“Come in!” came the muffled reply.
When Tia tested the door, sure enough, it was open. Cullglass was perched on his stool, within the central area that served as his office. A lantern hung from a stand close by, but other than that the room was sunk in shadow, so that it seemed as if the storesmaster was the lone shipwrecked survivor upon an island of light amid a sea of darkness.
Cullglass waited patiently as they threaded their way through the maze of shelves and tables. When they were close, he steepled his long fingers before his even longer face and announced, “Here you are, my young friends. What a long and no doubt trying day of adventuring you've had. But a successful one also, I do believe. Let me see what your diligence has won.”
Arein stepped forward. She didn't look at all comfortable as she reached into her robe and drew out the Egg. Durren was certain he could see her fingers shaking as she placed the curious object into Cullglass's outstretched palms. And was it Durren's imagination or did it seem that, just for the barest instant, the Egg reacted? He could have sworn the swirling patterns within its surface sped up as though agitated.
“Ah!” murmured Cullglass. “So this is what a Petrified Egg looks like. My, but what a curio! An object
of dark and wanton power, to be sure.”
There was a wooden box on the nearest table, lined almost to the brim with straw. Abandoning his stool, Cullglass placed the Egg within, as carefully as though he were handling a newborn baby.
“And what an achievement,” he continued, “to snatch so remarkable an item from beneath the very gaze of its masters! My pride in you knows no bounds.” Cullglass clapped his hands. “Well, I can only imagine that the four of you must be exhausted. As much as I'd like to hear the day's events in your own words, I won't be so thoughtless as to keep you from your rest.”
Arein shuffled her feet. “The thing is,” she began, “those priests…they weren't quite what we were expecting.”
It was hardly the most persuasive of beginnings, and Cullglass certainly didn't look impressed. “Is that so?”
“Only,” Durren cut in, before he was able to restrain himself, “they didn't seem all that evil at all. In fact, they were just like perfectly normal priests.”
“But is that so surprising?” the storesmaster asked. “Should anyone gain the faintest inkling of what they were truly up to, reprisals were certain to be forthcoming. Had this academy not been first to investigate, it would have been the Brazen Fist, or else interested parties from among the wizard communes. At any rate, their only hope of continuing their fiendish practices unmolested was to maintain the persuasive illusion of innocence.”
“That's true,” Arein agreed. “Only, there's more to it than that.”
Cullglass hesitated. “Is that so?”
“The Egg was projecting a fear spell. The only ones it didn't affect were those whose deepest fear meant they'd never try and abuse its power. That's the only reason I managed to touch it. But if that's the case, then how could the priests be evil? Unless their intentions were pure, they couldn't even enter the same room as the object they used to focus their power.”
The Black River Chronicles: Level One (Black River Academy Book 1) Page 13