“I am here,” said Ebon, stepping in beside her to fill the gap. “Keep your eyes to the fore. He is beyond your help.”
Her eyes glowed as she touched her magic again, but her voice shook when she answered. “What do you hope to do with that little pigsticker, goldbag?”
Ebon had to laugh. “Not much. But mayhap I can take a blade instead of you.”
“See that you do.” She struck at another soldier, knocking him away.
Their foes were finally forced to retreat under the onslaught, ducking behind the edges of buildings and hiding from sight. Many of their corpses lay littered about the street. But Ebon also saw bodies in black robes, and more in the dark grey of instructors. He was relieved to see that Jia was not among them—she had retaken human form and was once more directing the withdrawal.
Now the last few students were passing through the doorway that had been carved in the wall. A few more instructors held back, hands held up warily and eyes glowing in readiness for another attack. Ebon’s eyes roved, searching for danger.
But then, between several buildings and at a great distance, he saw a flash of dark grey.
An instructor?
He took a cautious step forwards, squinting. The figure passed into view again.
Not quite an instructor—the dean. He was fleeing south and east, away from the fighting, and away from the rest of the Academy. But it was not the sight of Cyrus that stopped Ebon’s heart. It was the girl at his side: a girl in fine blue robes and soft shoes. A veil covered the bottom half of her face, but he knew her at once.
Adara.
“Ebon, watch out!”
In his distraction he had stepped into the open. Two soldiers in blue sprang from behind a shop. They came for him, while a third fired an arrow from behind them.
Ebon flinched as it struck him—only, it did not strike him at all. It froze in midair mere fingers away, and then Theren was there by his side.
Before he could so much as raise his heavy sword, she battered one of the soldiers aside. But the other struck too quickly, and his sword tore into her arm. Theren cried out and fell to the ground.
With a scream, Kalem leaped forth. He seized the man’s breastplate, and it turned to stone. The man swayed back, off balance. Theren fought to her knees and punched the empty air. As though she had struck the man himself, he flew up and off his feet, crashing into the archer. They landed and lay still.
“Theren!” cried Ebon, falling to his knees beside her. “I am sorry. Are you all right?”
“It is only a scratch,” she said. But she grit her teeth hard, and her face had gone pale.
“Come, let us get you to safety,” said Kalem, helping her the rest of the way to her feet. Ebon lent her a hand—but his eyes had turned to the east again.
He could no longer see the dean, but he had seen which way they were going.
He looked back. The last students were gone, and the instructors after them. Kalem was helping Theren through the wall, and Jia was there, the last to leave.
She looked past them for a moment and saw Ebon. Their eyes met. Her brow furrowed, and she opened her mouth to call to him.
Ebon whirled and vanished into the streets, chasing after the dean.
THERE WAS NO FIGHTING IN this part of the city, and so Ebon was able to move quickly. Before long he spotted Cyrus again. The dean walked fast, but was not quite running. Adara walked freely by his side. Every once in a while Cyrus would take her arm, but to steady her, not to drag her along. Ebon guessed that he had already threatened her to get her to come with him.
He still carried his blade, but he did not know what to do with it. He was not willing to kill the dean, even if he doubted Cyrus would show him the same courtesy. But Ebon had to know where he was taking Adara, and for what purpose. Did he mean to flee the Seat? Or did he have some deadlier goal in mind? Ebon only knew that he could not abandon Adara to Cyrus’ company, for the dean had shown himself to be half a madman already.
Before long Cyrus reached the wall, and now he moved along it as though searching for something. They passed some towers with doors leading in, but Cyrus passed them by. Ebon doubted the dean would enjoy the idea of climbing down with a rope. He probably thinks it beneath him, Ebon thought bitterly.
At last Cyrus reached a tower and went inside. Adara followed close behind. Ebon thought it looked just like the other towers, and so for a moment he waited and watched. But when neither of them reemerged, he stole forwards to the door.
It opened easily, and he poked his head inside. There was only a nondescript guardroom—yet in the floor a wooden hatch lay open. Stairs led down into the darkness, and no torches lit the way.
Ebon gulped. But Cyrus and Adara must have gone into the hatch; there was nowhere else to go. He crept to the edge of the hole. He could see to the bottom of the stairs, where a stone corridor ran away beneath the ground.
There was nothing for it. He took one step down, and then another. His sword shook in his hand. When he reached the bottom, he had to put a hand on the the wall to guide himself. But fortunately the passage ran straight and true, and he was able to edge his way along without much trouble.
Suddenly there was a terrible, shuddering groan, and Ebon ducked back. But then he saw a light far, far ahead—the bright blue light of day. He had to squint against it for a moment. Two figures appeared in silhouette and then vanished, leaving the door open behind them.
Ebon moved faster now that the way was lit. Soon he saw that the passageway ended in a door leading outside. There was a small platform, and steps heading up to the left. But beyond the platform was only empty space, and he could hear the roar of waves.
When he reached the end, he could see why: he had emerged into the cliffs on the south of the Seat. Along the island’s southern coast, sheer rock faces provided no easy way to climb down and reach the water. The stairs to his left lead back up the wall to the top of the cliffs high above. Cyrus was nowhere to be seen.
Ebon climbed the stairway. There was no handrail to steady him, and so he leaned against the cliff wall. Once he reached the top, he spotted them again: Cyrus in his dark grey robes trimmed with gold, and Adara in blue. He began to run, for they had built quite a lead. They made for a break in the cliffs far ahead, which opened like a rent cut by some great axe.
He began to close the gap, but not quickly enough, for they reached the lip long before him. But just as they reached it, Adara happened to glance back over her shoulder. She froze in shock, her mouth falling open in a perfect circle.
“Ebon!” she cried.
He stopped short, now ten paces away. The dean turned in surprise. When he saw Ebon, he gave a small smile. But then Adara broke away from him and ran for Ebon, and Cyrus’ lips twisted in a scowl. He reached forth a hand, eyes glowing, and unseen bonds snatched Adara where she stood. She turned her head back to him with a frown.
“What is the meaning of this? Release me at once.”
Cyrus shrugged and obeyed her. But she did not run for Ebon again, and the dean looked at him with a sneer.
“Why have you followed me, boy? Should you not be with the rest of your sheep?”
“What are you doing with Adara?” said Ebon. He tried to keep his voice steady, as well as the sword in his hand. “Leave her be.”
“Leave her …?” Cyrus threw back his head and laughed. “You foolish boy. She is coming with me, away from this place. I have hired her.”
Ebon could not put meaning to the words for a moment. When he finally looked at Adara, he saw she wore a sad smile. “Is this true?”
“I am a lover, Ebon,” she said. “I told you once not to dwell on the others I spend my time with.”
“But with him?” cried Ebon. “You do not know what a monster he is.”
He took a few cautious steps forwards. Now he and Cyrus were only a few paces away from each other, and Adara to the side between them both.
Cyrus waved a hand. “Save your whimpering. I know now that I
struck at you in error. Our family has abandoned you here to your death, as they have done with me. But you should count yourself fortunate to have found me. I will let you come along if you wish, for I could use a servant as I travel.”
“Servant? For you?” Ebon’s hands shook, not with fear now, but with rage. “Do you think I would lift so much as a finger to help you? You nearly killed me.”
Adara turned to Cyrus, fixing him with a steely gaze.
“I thought you were in league with our clan,” Cyrus snapped. “But they have outwitted us both, and used us as pawns. Now we have only one chance: to flee to the outland kingdoms where no one will find us. I have paid for Adara’s entertainment, but I can take you as well. You will need my protection.”
“I need nothing from you!” cried Ebon, taking another step forwards. He still held his sword, and was almost angry enough to use it. “I would not accept any gift from you, no matter how freely given. I would take my chances against all the wildlands between Idris and Calentin before I took one step by your side.”
Cyrus sneered. “How dramatic. Very well. Come, Adara. We will leave this simpleminded fool to his own devices.”
“No,” said Adara. She folded her arms. “I will not go with you.”
Something evil flashed in the dean’s eye. “What?”
“You heard my words. If you attacked him, then you and I are no friends. You will go on your way without my companionship.”
“Friends?” Cyrus jeered. “Friends? You are a lover. I have paid you already. Now come. Your guild’s rules are very strict, after all.”
“Take your coin and be damned, you bleating steer.” From her dress Adara pulled a handful of coins and flung them at his feet. “The King’s harshest law is strict as well, and very clear. I will not take one step by your side more than I wish to.”
Slowly Cyrus’ face twisted into a mask of fury. A glow crept into his eyes. “You are mine until I say otherwise,” he hissed. A hand leaped forwards, shaped like a claw, and Adara cried out as she was hoisted in the air. “Always you whine about your wish to see me cast some spell. Well, here is your spell, woman. Do you like it?”
“Stop it!” Ebon raised his sword and attacked. But the dean stretched out the other hand and caught him, too, with magic. Though only a pace away, Ebon was frozen still, unable to move a muscle.
“What do you hope to do with that, boy?” said the dean, chuckling. “Your gift is an utter waste. Look at how you squander it, batting at me with steel. You have not even begun to glimpse the power of magic, and you never will. Your father was right to hold you from the Academy.”
While still holding Adara suspended, he pushed with his power, and Ebon was thrown upon his back. The sword flew from his hand across the dirt. Then Ebon flew upwards again and came crashing down on his face. The pain of the last beating redoubled, and he cried out.
“Whimper and whine, little pup. You refuse my hospitality? Very well. I will not bother to kill you, for you will die here regardless. And what would the family think if I slaughtered one of our own?” Then he gave a cruel smile. “Although mayhap your father would reward me if I rid him of his worthless son.”
The dean loomed over him now. The glow in his eyes brightened, until Ebon could not look into it for fear of being blinded. The force holding him against the ground increased, pressing him down, down into the dirt, crushing the breath from his body. He fought for even a death gasp.
His head twisted as it was shoved into the ground, until his eyes fixed on Adara. There she hung, watching him die, weeping in fear. No, not fear, he saw, for her eyes never left his. She wept in grief. Grief for him.
Something rose within him, like the whisper of a familiar voice he could not place. The world grew brighter, though he knew not why. Was this what it was like to die? A bright light seeping into the world, banishing the shadows and turning the sky to a blinding fire?
No, came the whispering voice. It is your magic. Your eyes are glowing.
Ebon looked at his hand. It twisted where it was crushed against the dirt. He could feel the power emanating from it, the strength of his will turned to wizardry.
With a cry he reached out despite the crushing force. His fingers clutched at Cyrus’ ankles.
Ebon felt the cloth beneath his fingers, and the flesh beneath the cloth. Through his fingers he saw them—saw them as they appeared, and then saw them as they truly were, all the fibers and tissues and specks of dirt. Their essence was laid bare before him, awaiting his command.
Change it.
His eyes flashed brighter, and Cyrus’ feet turned to stone.
The force pressing Ebon into the dirt ceased. He looked up. Cyrus’ face was frozen in a mask of horror. Then he screamed, a horrible, screeching wail that cut through the air and turned Ebon’s stomach. Frantically the dean tried to take a step backwards, but now his feet were weights he could not hope to move. He wavered.
Ebon heard quick footsteps running towards them. Adara came from nowhere, and with both hands she shoved Cyrus in the chest.
The dean tumbled backwards, struck the edge of the cliff, and slid off it.
Ebon scrambled forwards to look over the edge. Cyrus plunged, still screeching, into the water of the Great Bay. He vanished into the waves.
A long moment passed while they sat there, looking at the spot where Cyrus had vanished. The water churned, with not so much as a ripple to mark his passing.
Then, Adara reached down and took Ebon’s arm. She helped him up, clutching him tighter as he nearly fell back to his knees.
“Are you all right?” she said quietly.
“I am hurt,” he said. “He attacked me once already. This time it was worse.”
“I will help you walk,” she said. “But first, this.”
She seized his face and pulled him in for a deep kiss. Ebon melted into her, and it was as though a great weight rose from his shoulders. When she was done she pulled back, leaning her forehead against his, and he joined her in closing his eyes.
“I am sorry,” she said. “I did not know.”
“You could not have,” he said. “But come. We must flee. The Seat is lost.”
She helped him hobble to the edge. There he saw a staircase leading down, and far below a cove was waiting. In the wall of the cliffs was a cave, wide and dark, and a crude wooden dock had been built into its edge. Tied to the dock were three small rowboats.
“The final mark on the map,” said Ebon.
“Hm?”
“Nothing.”
With Adara’s help he lay in the bottom of one of the boats. Then she cast off the dock tie and began to row, and slowly they pulled away from the island.
“South and west,” he said. “We must make for the coast of Selvan, but not where the invaders might catch us.”
She nodded. “Who are they? What do they want?”
“I do not know,” he murmured. “I only wish I had discovered them sooner.”
Her eyes grew distant, looking past him and above him to the island they had left behind. “I doubt you could have prevented it,” she said quietly.
Though it was a great effort, Ebon lifted his head. Behind them the Seat was burning, burning with the fury of the sun, and black smoke drifted towards them on the wind. Tears spilled freely down his cheeks, and neither of them dared to speak as they left the flames behind them.
THE BUILDINGS THAT LINED THE streets were blackened and ruined, for the fires had run amok across the whole of the Seat. Ebon did not guess that more than one building in four could be salvaged. The rest would have to be torn down and rebuilt.
Only two structures on the Seat had withstood the sacking: the High King’s palace, bloodstained but unbroken; and the Academy, whose thick granite walls even the fury of the attackers could not cast down.
The invading armies had left before the sun set on the day of their attack. The fleet of Dulmun sailed east, returning to their kingdom. The blue-and-grey clad soldiers, who some were now callin
g Shades, vanished into the forests of Selvan. Rumors about the reason for their retreat abounded, and Ebon wondered if anyone would ever learn the truth.
A voice inside told him that someone already did know the truth, and that they were of the family Drayden.
For a week, the students and instructors of the Academy had stayed in Selvan, under the hospitality of that land’s king. But when the attackers did not return, and the High King’s armies marched hastily back from the war in Wellmont, they had prepared themselves to return home.
Now they stood before the Academy. Ebon stood amid the other students, and in a ring about them were the instructors. Every eye was turned skywards, where the peaks of the citadel loomed above them like an angry father—or, mayhap, like a tired old aunt, welcoming her nephews and nieces into her home, though she was weary to the point of death.
“It has not been touched,” said Kalem, voice hushed in awe.
“Good,” said Theren fervently. Her arm was still in a sling from her wound, though she swore every day she was going to throw the thing in a rubbish heap.
Jia stepped forth and threw open the front door. Slowly, and without a word, they all filed in.
“You!” shrieked a voice, the moment Ebon stepped inside.
He looked over in surprise. There was Mellie, sitting in her old chair by the front door as though she had never left. “You left without permission! You and your friends!”
Ebon could do nothing but smile. Jia arched an eyebrow. “Mellie, do you mean to tell me you stayed?”
The little old woman blinked up at her through watery eyes. “What is that supposed to mean? Where else would I go?”
Jia only shook her head and led them inside.
Once they had assembled in the entry hall and the doors had closed again, Ebon felt a curious peace settle over them all. Within the citadel, they could not see the destruction that had swept the Seat. The hall was unchanged, and he suspected that the dormitories and the classrooms would be the same.
The Academy Journals Volume One: A Book of Underrealm (The Underrealm Volumes 3) Page 23