Still, perhaps the Cullglass-thing would have freed itself eventually, had Tia not appeared just then with a length of rope, presumably recovered from the half-demolished stores. She bound its legs, and Durren, Hule and Arein worked together to tie its arms and wrists. All the while, the creature snarled and spat, its wordless rage only encouraging them. By the time they'd finished, the shapeshifter looked more cocooned than bound.
Just as they were finishing, Durren heard the creak of the great door. When he looked up, there in the opening stood none other than Adocine Borgnin himself, surrounded by a coterie of the academy's highest-ranking staff; Durren recognised Eldra Atrepis close behind the Head Tutor.
Beside Durren, Arein gasped. When he glanced back to see what had startled her, his own reaction was the same—for, in the instant they'd been diverted, the shapeshifter had resumed its charade. Their captive was now, to all appearances, Lyruke Cullglass.
For a moment, Durren's heart sank. Could it really be that, after everything they'd been through, the monster would trick its way free? But then, behind the Head Tutor's shoulder, he saw the real Cullglass, scruffy and emaciated. He was watching his imposter with an expression of the most pronounced loathing—and Durren knew that, finally, their battle was over.
19
F
our of the burliest tutors carried the shapeshifter away. It didn't try to resist. Durren had no idea where they'd take it or what they intended to do, and found that he didn't much care. Whatever happened now was no longer his problem, and he was glad of that fact—for he was suddenly aware of just what he'd put his body and mind through in the last minutes. The one thing he wanted, very badly, was to sit down.
He looked around at the others. Hule had perched himself on the edge of a table and was massaging one arm. Arein and Tia were fussing over the unicorn; the beast was obviously uneasy at the presence of so many people, but stayed calm so long as they kept near.
At first none of the tutors paid them much notice. The safe removal of the thing that until recently they'd all believed to be Cullglass absorbed everyone's attention. Everyone's, that was, except for the real Cullglass; to Durren's surprise he seemed eager to ignore his imposter. Instead he wandered about the stores, alternately chuckling like a child reunited with his favourite toys and frowning at every patch of damage and disorder.
Once the shapeshifter had been safely bundled out, the tutors turned their focus upon Blackwing—and at first it looked as though the unicorn would pose the more difficult problem. However, once Arein had explained that the animal didn't get on well with men, one of the female tutors stepped in, a young woman in wizard's robes whom Durren didn't recognise. After a minute of soft whisperings and coaxing, the unicorn decided it trusted her sufficiently to allow itself to be led away, presumably in the direction of the stables.
Only with those two immediate dangers safely dealt with did Borgnin acknowledge the four students waiting nervously to discover their fates. The Head Tutor looked severe as he strode over to them—but then, Durren reminded himself, he always looked severe.
“Storesmaster Cullglass told me he'd sent you here to keep his doppelganger talking,” Borgnin said. His eyes roved across the destruction that had claimed whole portions of the stores. “It seems to me you did rather more than talk.”
“We had no choice,” Tia said. “It was that or let him escape.”
Borgnin sighed. “Then you should have let him escape. You had no right or mandate to brawl in academy premises. What you did put your own lives and the lives of everyone in this establishment in grave jeopardy.”
The Head Tutor's stern gaze examined each of their faces, and Durren fought the urge to avert his eyes.
“However,” Borgnin continued, “you've also shown remarkable courage. Especially since Storesmaster Cullglass assures me that you braved great perils to rescue him. And there's no question but that you helped root out a formidable threat to Black River's security. Therefore, I thank you.” Borgnin cleared his throat. “Now, I'll have to ask that you each take a few minutes to speak with your class tutors and give them your accounts of what occurred here.”
As Borgnin turned to beckon the group of academy staff milling around the entrance, Durren took the opportunity to sidle closer to Tia. He felt that there should be a lot he wanted to say, but nothing in particular came to mind. “I suppose this is it then,” he said softly.
Tia smiled. “You're such an idiot.”
“What's that supposed to mean?” Durren snapped, too stunned to be properly angry. Then he saw Eldra Atrepis, summoning him with the brisk wave of a hand. He almost said, I'll see you around, realised that in all likelihood he wouldn't. “Well…goodbye.”
And before Tia could answer, Durren had hurried over to Atrepis and was letting her lead him away.
For two days Durren had been confined to his dormitory.
This time he had no desire to be anywhere else. He didn't want to go to classes or lectures. He would have liked to see Arein, Hule and Tia, but even then he didn't altogether mind that he couldn't. After all, what was there to say? Only more goodbyes—and those were better left unspoken.
He would be leaving soon. And perhaps that was all right; perhaps he could finally accept the fact. He'd had three months at Black River and, now that he looked back, they'd been three good months—without doubt the happiest time of his life. He'd made friends, and he'd been part of a quest that would go down in the academy's annals, all the more so because it was one they'd set themselves. He'd helped save a man's life, and to vanquish a real and genuine monster.
Maybe his father could keep him locked indoors for the rest of his years, could force him to study nothing but how to use money to make yet more money. But he couldn't take what Durren had accomplished in these last weeks away—and that was worth more to him than any mountain of gold.
Still, by the end of the second day, the isolation was starting to wear upon Durren's nerves. It was impossible not to notice how the other ranger students had grown wary of him, how they glanced his way and whispered among themselves. Now not only was he the student who'd tricked his way into Black River and been expelled for his efforts, he was confined to dorms amid rumours that he and his party had inexplicably decided to demolish half the stores. He was already a legend—though for all the wrong reasons.
On the morning of the third day after their clash with the shapeshifter, Eldra Atrepis came for him. This is it, Durren thought, as he saw her there in the doorway—and he couldn't tell if what he was feeling was sorrow or relief.
“Durren Flintrand,” Atrepis said, “will you come with me, please?”
Her face gave away nothing of her thoughts. Still, it was easy enough to guess where they were headed and what awaited him. Perhaps Borgnin wouldn't feel quite so good about ejecting Durren from the premises now, but rules were rules, and Durren hardly blamed the Head Tutor for having to enforce them. After all, he'd begun to realise over the last couple of days just how wrong he'd been to fake his way into Black River—and, ironically, it was their run-in with Cullglass's imposter that had made him understand. No good could come, Durren saw now, from pretending to be something other than what you were.
He was surprised to see that Hule, Arein and Tia sat waiting on the bench in the passage outside Borgnin's door. He nodded to them, and Arein smiled back. Then Atrepis was knocking on the door, opening it and ushering him through.
Borgnin sat behind his desk, which was clear but for a single, furled scroll. “Young Master Flintrand,” the Head Tutor said. “I trust you're recovered from the recent excitement?”
In truth, Durren had bruises he suspected might take weeks to heal, and even lying perfectly still was enough to make them ache—but there was no need for Borgnin to know that. “I'm fine, sir,” he said.
“Excellent.” Borgnin hemmed into his fist, with uncharacteristic awkwardness. “Well, as you know, before this recent incident I wrote to your father to notify him of your presence here
. His return letter arrived this morning. And Durren, your father's response is…I suppose the word I'm looking for is 'disappointing'.”
Durren hadn't the faintest idea what to make of that word, or of the fact that Borgnin's manner seemed almost apologetic. They were already off to a stranger start than he'd expected, and the only reply he could manage was, “I'm sorry to hear that, sir.”
“Yes,” Borgnin agreed, as though Durren had said something genuinely perceptive. The Head Tutor considered, chin resting upon steepled fingers. “Perhaps,” he decided, “it would be easiest if you were to read the communication yourself.” And he indicated with a tilt of his eyes the document resting before him on the desk.
Durren took up the scroll. He felt a strange, fluttering sensation in his chest, as though something were trying to escape from inside him. He realised with sudden alarm that this was the first contact he'd had with his father since that day all those months ago when Durren had vanished without trace or explanation. He couldn't altogether persuade himself that he wanted to read what lay within; but Borgnin was watching expectantly, and Durren realised he had no choice.
The seal was already broken, so he unfurled the scroll. He recognised immediately the cramped handwriting as his father's. There was not a needless stroke anywhere, the sign of a man who resented even the tiniest waste of his time and considered most things as falling within that category.
The letter read:
Head Tutor Borgnin,
Regarding your recent communication and the matter of my ungrateful offspring: since he is already in your care and you advise me that your grossly inflated fees have been settled until the termination of his schooling, I can only conclude that he is now your problem and not mine. I have no wish to see him back here, where he would no doubt only cause further embarrassment. My sole requirement is that, amid the nonsense you fill his mind with, you try and inculcate a greater esteem for other people's money than it would appear he currently possesses. Other than that, I ask only that you never again waste my time with trivialities such as this. I assure you that, short of dying or admitting the copious error of his ways, there is nothing my son can do while at your so-called academy that will interest me in even the smallest way.
Signed in all sincerity,
Urden Flintrand
Durren read over the single paragraph again, and then rerolled the scroll and placed it back where he'd found it. The handwriting had undoubtedly been his father's, and there was no question but that the signature was his. For that matter, the tone was so precisely the one his father liked to employ that Durren could almost hear the bitter words falling from his lips.
Yet something about the letter just didn't feel right. Perhaps it was simply that Durren couldn't imagine Urden Flintrand, however angry or indignant he might be, tolerating his son's presence in a place like Black River.
Still, there was no point in saying such a thing to Borgnin—who, Durren realised, was once more waiting for his response. “I'm sorry, sir,” Durren tried. “My father…he doesn't have a great deal of respect for…” He wanted to say, Anything that isn't himself and his greedy merchant friends, and even them he only tolerates because they're useful. Instead he said, “Well, he doesn't have a very high opinion of education.”
“It would appear not,” Borgnin concurred.
The Head Tutor was giving nothing away. With no idea what was expected from him, Durren decided he might as well ask the one question he urgently wanted an answer to. “Sir, what happens now?”
“You read your father's letter,” Borgnin said. He still seemed uncomfortable—and only in that moment did it occur to Durren that perhaps the Head Tutor might simply be feeling some sympathy for his plight. “As he notes, your tuition fees have been paid in full. Since he also confirms quite explicitly that he's willing for you to study under our care, I can see no further objections to your presence. That is, Master Flintrand, assuming that you still desire to be trained at Black River?”
“I do,” Durren said. There was more he'd have liked to say, much more, but he wasn't certain he could trust himself to make the words come out properly.
“Excellent.” To Durren's surprise, Borgnin actually did sound pleased. “Then perhaps you'd be so good as to call in your companions?”
As he crossed to the door, Durren couldn't bring himself to feel pleased, nor hurt by his father's callousness. He had a distant sense that both emotions would come in time, but just then they were drowned out by numbness; this was entirely too much to absorb. He opened the door, glanced out. Atrepis had left, but Arein, Tia and Hule were still sitting on the bench, and all looked up at the noise.
“Head Tutor Borgnin would like to talk to us together,” Durren said.
As the three of them trooped in, Hule and Arein both glanced at Durren curiously. But the look Tia gave him was altogether different. Was there something knowing in the slight smile that flickered across her face as she passed?
They lined up together before Borgnin's desk. Durren suspected that none of them quite knew what to expect. On the one hand, they'd certainly done the academy a service; on the other, they'd broken any number of rules in doing so, and Adocine Borgnin was notorious for taking rules seriously.
The Head Tutor's expression offered no insights. “This academy,” he said, “has been here, in one form or another, for a great many years now, and its affairs are well documented. Often my duty as Head Tutor is merely to consult the records and to rely on the wisdom of my predecessors. Rare indeed is the occasion when I encounter circumstances with no precedent.”
Unexpectedly, Borgnin stood, walked to the corner of the room and inspected a small painting that hung there. The image was of a man in antiquated-looking clothing, and the style and faded colours made Durren suspect that the portrait itself might be decades or even centuries old.
Borgnin's attention remained upon the painting rather than the four of them as he continued, “It's of the utmost importance that the imposter Cullglass's infiltration of this academy should remain a secret, at least until we've had time to conclude our investigations. As yet, we have only the barest understanding of the creature's motives. We know that its intention was to abscond with a number of magical objects—at least one of them, the item you know as the Petrified Egg, in itself most likely of shapeshifter origin.
“We suspect, however, that its plans ran much deeper. And of course, there remains the possibility that the creature had allies. For these reasons and others, I cannot publicly acknowledge the part you four played in defending Black River. Though you've done this establishment a great service, I have no choice but to conclude that rewarding you publicly would be an unacceptable risk. This disappoints me, as it must disappoint you.”
Durren had never once considered that they might be rewarded for anything they'd done, let alone that Borgnin would have given the question so much thought. Glancing at the others' faces, he could see they were every bit as surprised as he was.
In the end, it was left to Tia to say, “We understand, sir.”
Finally, Borgnin turned away from the painting that had been consuming his attention.
“Still,” he said, “there are yet further difficulties. It won't surprise you to know that the thing posing as Storesmaster Cullglass has not been keeping adequate records. Not only that, but these events have clearly had a detrimental influence on your academic progress, and on our ability to measure that progress. To be blunt, aside from the details you yourselves have given, we have no idea of what you accomplished on your quests—and therefore no grounds by which to advance you.”
A week ago, this would have been terrible news—worst, perhaps, for Tia, who'd always been so preoccupied with advancement. Yet now Durren found it hard to be concerned, and though Tia was frowning, that was her only reaction. So what if they'd need to undertake a few more quests before they reached the elusive level two? After surviving a booby-trapped dungeon and battling a monster out of ancient history, it was hard t
o imagine any challenge proving beyond them.
“As I say,” continued Borgnin, “an unprecedented situation. In such cases, it falls to me as Head Tutor to rely upon my own initiative, good judgement and conscience. And those faculties tell me that four young people who have accomplished what no level one students should be capable of cannot rightly go on being considered level one students.
“Therefore it's my pleasure to announce that, as of now, you have all ascended to the second levels of your respective classes. Congratulations, and I trust that this is only the beginning of what I expect to be four fine academic careers here at Black River.”
“Thank you, sir,” the four of them chorused—and they each sounded as stunned as Durren felt.
“Well,” Borgnin said, “I'm certain you'll have much to be getting on with; I won't keep you further. Except to say that my door is always open to students who need me.” Borgnin smiled—a wholly unexpected expression on those severe features of his. “Perhaps the next time you suspect misdeeds at my academy, you'll consider discussing the matter with me first?”
Durren had imagined that the other three would go their own separate ways once they left Borgnin's office. But they didn't, and though a part of him badly wanted to be alone to try and untangle the confusion of his thoughts, neither did he. With Tia in the lead, the four of them trooped through the passageways in stunned silence. The only one who spoke, after a minute had passed, was Arein—and then only to murmur, awestruck, “Level two!”
When finally Tia came to a halt, Durren realised she'd led them to the small garden where they'd interrogated Hule, what seemed half a lifetime ago. Even then, nobody said anything at first. Instead, the four of them stood awkwardly, barely looking at each other.
The Black River Chronicles: Level One (Black River Academy Book 1) Page 24