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

by David Tallerman

  “We need to hurry,” Cullglass said. Even his voice sounded firmer. “It's possible and even likely that my imposter set wards on my cell to alert him if I should ever manage to escape. If he's to be brought to justice, the sooner his presence is made known, the better.”

  Durren nearly pointed out that they could make far better time without the storesmaster in tow. But it would have been cruel indeed to leave Cullglass alone after everything he'd been through, and nor could Durren imagine any of them wanting to stay behind to escort him.

  He shared a glance with Tia, and knew she was thinking the same. Yet all she said was, “You're right, sir. We'll have you back at Black River as soon as we possibly can.”

  Just as Durren had suspected, the return journey with Cullglass accompanying them took considerably longer than trailing his imposter in the other direction had done. The storesmaster did his best to keep up, aided by the restorative of some bread and cheese that Tia had brought along in case of emergencies. But he had been confined for weeks or months, and his muscles were wasted from disuse.

  Eventually, the forest pathway deposited them back on the edge of Olgen. Durren nearly suggested that they attempt to hire a horse and cart, but he didn't know if anyone had any money, and given the time they'd take to find a seller and haggle and explain why they were accompanied by a half-starved man in rags, he suspected it would be quicker simply to walk.

  At any rate, the last stretch through the forest proved even slower. Cullglass was hobbling by then, but—aside from the loan of Arein's staff, which he took gratefully—rejected all offers of help with a stubborn scowl. As the walls came finally into sight, evening was drawing in, bathing Black River in lurid rose and amber light.

  Immediately, Durren noticed a problem he hadn't considered: the two night guards on the gate. “Should we go around to the side?” he asked.

  “Of course not!” snapped Cullglass. “Since when does Black River's storesmaster have to sneak into his own academy?”

  Since he was replaced by a shapechanging duplicate, Durren resisted pointing out. Instead, he tried to indicate with his eyes alone why the appearance of an inexplicably emaciated, shabby, bearded version of the storesmaster might raise difficult questions.

  In the end, Cullglass registered how Durren—and by then, Hule and Tia as well—were looking at him. He glanced down at himself, acknowledged the filthy robe that hung from his wasted frame. “Ah. I take your point. Still, we are in a hurry.”

  “I think I can manage this,” Tia said. “Only, what I'm going to do—perhaps you could not tell anyone about it afterwards?”

  Cullglass seemed surprised by the request, but all he said was, “You may rely upon my discretion.”

  As they approached the two guards, who were by then watching them with unveiled interest, Tia reached within the folds of her cloak. She drew out a square of parchment, which she unfolded and held up before her.

  “Tia Locke,” she said, “from the rogue class. These are my companions. We've been on a special rescue mission, but our observer is malfunctioning. We've had to walk back.”

  One of the guards studied the document she was holding in front of his nose. “Fine,” he grumbled, and nodded to the other, who opened the small side entrance beside the main gate. Tia marched through, and the rest of them hurried along behind her.

  Fortunately, the yard beyond was empty at this late hour, so there was no one else around to be curious about their strange party. As soon as the door had closed behind them and he was confident the guards were out of earshot, Durren asked, “All right—what was that?”

  “A special dispensation to travel outside the walls, signed by Borgnin and Head Rogue Lune Torr,” Tia said. It was the first time Durren had heard her sound even slightly smug.

  “But how did you convince them to—” Arein began. Then her face lit with comprehension. “Oh. You didn't.”

  By then, Cullglass had caught them up. “I'm as good as my word,” he said. “However, I must ask you to promise that in future you will not cozen academy staff with forged documentation.”

  Tia sighed. “I promise.”

  “Thank you,” the storesmaster said. “Now, I have a request to make of the four of you. I'm going to talk to the Head Tutor and explain the grave danger in our midst. But Adocine Borgnin is a thorough man, and I don't expect him to accept what I tell him lightly, nor to act without due preparation.

  “Assuming that my doppelganger hasn't already departed, will you keep him occupied until I can join you with sufficient strength to subdue him? I realise I ask a great deal, but you should be in no real danger. The creature hasn't any reason to suspect you, and certainly won't wish to give himself away.”

  Durren was startled by the request—but only a little. They had already explained on the way from Olgen that the false Cullglass had been acting as their mentor. As such, though he might not like the real Cullglass's logic, he couldn't altogether fault it.

  The four of them exchanged glances. Arein, at least, looked every bit as nervous at the prospect as Durren felt. But none of their faces suggested that they were willing to turn down the storesmaster's request—and, Durren realised, neither was he. Because Cullglass was right: delaying the imposter for a few minutes might prove crucial, and no one was better suited to doing so than they.

  However, as was often the case, it was left to Tia to speak for all of them. “We'll do our best,” she said.

  All the way up to Cullglass's stores, Durren could tell that something was going on in Hule's mind. Finally, as they turned into the last passage, the fighter announced, “This talk of being a distraction is nonsense. I say we deal with him ourselves.”

  “No!” Arein looked appalled. “Hule, you don't understand what a shapeshifter is. The most powerful wizards in history spent centuries trying to eradicate these creatures—and now we know that even they didn't succeed.”

  “We do have one advantage, though,” Tia said thoughtfully. “Assuming he didn't see us following him—and I'm certain he didn't—then, like the real Cullglass said, the imposter has no idea we suspect him. You're right, Arein, he's dangerous, and he may already be wary. If a dozen tutors burst into his storerooms and start making accusations, that could end very badly. Whereas the four of us just might be able to capture him before he ever realises what's going on. Can it be done?”

  Arein looked as though she would much rather not be made their expert on the subject of apprehending shapeshifters. “I suppose so,” she said. “I mean, there must be limits to how much they can change themselves. If we could tie his arms and legs, or just pin him down, then in theory…” She let the sentence trail off, perhaps unwilling to sound too certain.

  “I bet they'd make us at least level two if we captured a shapeshifter that had been hiding right under their noses,” Hule said. Then, realising how they were looking at him, he added, “What? You were all thinking the same thing.”

  Durren would have liked to contradict him. Yet, while it hadn't occurred to him until just then, there was no denying that this might be his only opportunity to win his way back into Black River and Borgnin's good graces.

  Still, that didn't make the prospect any less intimidating. “We have to take a vote,” Durren said. “This is too big a risk, unless we all absolutely agree.”

  “I don't like it,” Arein said—and Durren couldn't resist a slight surge of relief, until she added, “But I think Tia has a point. I don't want other people to get hurt just because I was scared.”

  “You know what I think,” Hule said. “I don't see what's so dangerous about a shapeshifter, anyway. If it's got a face, then I can hit it.”

  “My opinion hasn't changed in the last minute,” Tia said. “It's the right thing to do.” Her gaze fell on Durren. “So I suppose the decision is up to you.”

  Durren's chest tightened. He didn't want this to be his responsibility. The fact was, they had no real idea what the shapeshifter might be capable of; all of their knowledge cam
e from Arein's vague recollections. Yet Tia's argument was persuasive. The four of them were better placed than anyone to catch the imposter Cullglass unawares.

  “I think that if we have the opportunity, we should take it,” Durren said. “But no unnecessary risks, all right? I'm looking at you, Hule. And if it seems as though he suspects anything, we make our excuses and get out of there—even if that means letting him escape. Is everyone agreed?”

  The other three all nodded.

  “Fine,” Durren said. “Then let's talk about a plan.”

  Tia had knocked four times, and her fist was hovering for a fifth. Durren had just persuaded himself that the door wasn't going to open, that Cullglass—or the thing pretending to be Cullglass, he tried to remind himself—was long gone, when the portal swung inward.

  But only a sliver. From that gap, Cullglass peeked out. “My young friends,” he said. “This is surprising. Could it be that I summoned you here and then forgot? I confess, my memory isn't always the most reliable. Whatever the case, I'm afraid this isn't the best of times.”

  For all his attempts to disguise the fact, Cullglass seemed genuinely flustered by their appearance. That was hardly unexpected, but it didn't bode well for their prospects of catching him unawares. A lot would depend on whether Arein could be convincing—and given how nervous she looked, Durren had his doubts on that score.

  She said, “It's just that we wanted to discuss something with you. I mean, we need to. Something important.”

  Cullglass considered her steadily. “Is that so?”

  “Yes. To be honest, we nearly went straight to the Head Tutor, but we thought it would be rude not to talk to you first. But if you're too busy—”

  “Not at all.” Cullglass's smile was probably meant to be reassuring. “After all, I am your mentor. All I ask is that you be quick; I really do have matters of the utmost urgency to attend to. Nevertheless, do come inside.”

  With that, the storesmaster opened the door further—but only enough for the four of them to squeeze through one by one. Durren realised that, rather than leading them to the central portion that served as his office, his intention was to speak to them here by the entrance.

  “Now,” asked Cullglass, “what are these concerns you're so eager to unburden yourselves of?”

  “Well,” Arein began, “I hope you won't be angry with me for bringing this up again, but we haven't heard anything about the issues we raised. I know you said you'd speak to us when we next had a quest—only it's been preying on my mind all this time. I mean, on all of our minds, really. We can't stop thinking about those priests worrying over their lost stone, and about poor Blackwing. Um…”

  Arein's eyes flickered towards Durren, and he could see the desperate question there: Aren't you supposed to be moving? This had all seemed so simple when they'd prepared it out in the passage. Arein would provide the diversion, the rest of them would edge closer, and once they were near enough it would only be a matter of leaping upon the storesmaster.

  Only, now that they were here, things weren't so straightforward. You didn't simply creep towards people, not without them noticing. It seemed that every time Durren so much as thought about doing so, Cullglass's gaze drifted in his direction. And Hule and Tia were having no more luck. That made Durren feel better in a way, for if Tia couldn't sneak up on someone there was certainly no hope he could. But it meant that their fragile scheme was falling apart moment by moment—and poor Arein was left trying to hold it together.

  “I know we're just level one students,” she continued, before Cullglass had had a chance to respond, “and I know no one owes us any answers. But the thing is—I also know that we have to be willing to own up for the things we do. Even if someone tells us to do them, that doesn't make the consequences not our fault. So, if anything bad should have happened to Blackwing, if those priests were really trying to help people and now they can't, that's as much our responsibility as anybody else's. And—I'm just afraid that maybe we've been a part of something we shouldn't have been.”

  Durren's heart was trying to hammer a path through his chest. This wasn't the speech they'd prepared—and it was dangerously close to what he suspected Arein had really been feeling. The idea had been to keep Cullglass talking, not to provoke him with the truth.

  However, the storesmaster looked merely concerned. “Areinelimus, all of you…you have my sincerest apologies. I see now that I was wrong to wait in addressing your doubts. Please believe me when I say that I've given them a great deal of thought over these last days. And I promise you that you'll have your answers soon—even tomorrow. But, I'm afraid, not now. I'm truly sorry, but the business I have to attend to is exceptionally vital.”

  Durren had managed to sidle a half step closer as Cullglass had been speaking. For the first time he had a clear view past him, to the centre of the room. The storesmaster's office was considerably more disordered than usual, the tables buried beneath an assortment of random-seeming clutter. The impression was that Cullglass had decided to inventory every last object in his storerooms, all at once.

  Prominent upon the nearest table was a long bundle of dark fabric. The package was bulky, misshapen, its outline suggesting that items of all shapes and sizes had been carelessly crammed together. Yet what caught and held Durren's attention was that, protruding from one end where the cloth had torn, there was a spike of some pale substance. At first he took it for a weapon. Then he noticed its curious pattern, the deep groove coiling towards the tip. Nor did the spike resemble metal. Though it had a certain lustre, it looked more than anything like bone.

  Durren felt himself rooted to the spot, all thoughts of getting closer to Cullglass vanished from his mind. He understood now that he hadn't altogether believed before, not really. Somehow he'd been hoping that everything would prove to have a reasonable explanation in the end, and even the fact that there were two Cullglasses hadn't quite overcome his stubborn resistance.

  But this did. Because there could be no question: that was Blackwing's horn, and it was most certainly not attached to Blackwing.

  Cullglass cleared his throat, and finally Durren managed to tear his eyes away from the bundle and its all-too-revealing protrusion. When he looked round, he could see that the storesmaster had followed his gaze—as had Hule, Tia and Arein, their faces registering various degrees of shock and horror.

  “Ah,” Cullglass said. “My going-away presents to myself.” His own expression showed conflicting emotions. There was annoyance there, frustration too, but was it Durren's imagination, or did he see an inkling of pity? “I had hoped,” the storesmaster said, “that you wouldn't see that.”

  Then, with a ripple like wind-stirred water, the thing that had been calling itself Cullglass began to change.

  18

  C

  hildren,” the creature that a moment before had been Cullglass said, “this is most unfortunate.”

  Its voice, now, couldn't possibly have been mistaken for anything that would issue from a human throat. The syllables had sounded like the rattle of iron nails in a lead pipe, with beneath that a faint serpentine hiss.

  Yet if its voice was strange, its appearance was much stranger. The thing was still roughly the same height that Cullglass had been. It had two arms, two legs and a head, and it wore his clothes—though they looked odd and ill-fitting now. However, its face was all but vanished, reduced to a thin slash of a mouth, two pinprick nostrils and wide eyes of solid white.

  Its skin was even worse. It rippled; it refused to stay the same colour. It made Durren think of the sea on a stormy day, patterns of light and dark flickering, spots rising beneath as though something alive was about to burst upon the surface. But, even more so, the shapeshifter's ever-changing skin reminded Durren of the Petrified Egg—and he remembered what Arein had said about where that object might have come from and whose hands might have crafted it.

  “This need not end badly.” The creature smiled a lipless smile. “Though it might. I'm going
now, with my possessions, and you'll not try to stop me. But first I ask you, who knows that I'm here? Has my former twin somehow freed himself? Tell me everything you know and tell it quickly, and you might yet leave this room alive.”

  “You should give yourself up,” Arein said. Her tone was surprisingly firm and tremor-free. “You're right, no one has to be hurt.”

  The shapeshifter eyed her with its head aslant. “So others are coming? Having used you children for a distraction?”

  “No one used us,” she said. “We made a choice, to do the right thing. And if that means we have to stop you leaving, we will.” Her jaw clenched, the very picture of stubbornness. “You shouldn't have hurt Blackwing,” she said. “Maybe if you hadn't done that, things would be different. But you did.”

  “Very well then.” It was almost impossible to read meaning into that alien, dissonant voice, but for a moment Durren thought that he'd heard something faintly like regret. Nevertheless, the creature raised its hand towards Arein, palm flat and fingers slightly clasping. “If you stand in my path, you leave me no choice.”

  At that same moment, Hule barrelled into the shapeshifter.

  The fighter had been working his way around while the Cullglass-thing had been distracted, and now he struck from behind. The one advantage Hule undoubtedly had on his side was muscle, and the shapeshifter didn't look strong at all; the way its skin shifted like water suggested that it might blow away in a strong breeze. Sure enough, taken by surprise, the creature staggered.

  But only for an instant.

  Then it had regained its balance, and Hule was the one looking surprised. For he was clearly pushing with all his considerable strength and the shapeshifter was moving not even slightly, but only gazing down at him with its lightless eyes.

  Before Hule had time to fully realise his predicament, the creature had clamped grey fingers around his throat and was plucking him from the ground.