“Students,” said Jia. “Students, assemble. Together, please. Quiet!”
Her final bark threw them all to silence, and every eye turned to her.
“Now,” she went on. “A terrible tragedy has befallen the High King’s Seat. Thank the sky, the Academy suffered less loss than we might have. But all of Underrealm is reeling from this attack, and I will not bandy words with you: these are uncertain times. Many of you will likely be called home by your families. Try not to blame them if they do so. They seek only to ensure your safety.”
Ebon felt eyes upon him. He looked to his right, and through the crowd he saw Lilith staring at him. The moment he met her gaze, she ducked her head as if ashamed, but then quickly looked back at him defiantly. He turned away.
“Now, Dean Cyrus of the family Drayden has been missing since the attack. It is presumed he fell in the fighting. We will respect and honor his noble memory.”
Kalem snickered. Theren elbowed him hard. But Ebon flushed deep crimson. He had not told his friends what happened to Cyrus. Only Adara knew the truth. He wondered if that would always be the case.
“With the Academy resuming its normal operations, a new dean is required. And it is now my duty to present him to you. He is an accomplished wizard, who I am certain some of you will already have heard about. Please show him your utmost respect.”
She stepped down from the stairway. A man went to take her place. He was thin and gaunt, and his black hair hung limp and stringy about his face, almost reaching his shoulders. He had a grim look, with thin lips pressed tight together and dark eyes that held neither humor nor warmth. And yet Ebon thought he felt something noble in the man, something in his bearing that commanded respect and attention, like a general returned home after a lifetime campaigning—though this man looked to be hardly older than Ebon’s father.
“Well met,” he said, his thick, rich voice rolling forth to echo around the entry hall. “I am Xain, of the family Forredar, and I pledge myself to your learning, and your safety, for as long as duty may require of me.”
ONCE, A NEW INSTRUCTOR AT the Academy would have been the talk of the school for days, but now the count of corpses made her unremarkable.
Indeed, Ebon only knew about Perrin, of the family Arkus, because he was to be her pupil. A woman named Lupa had once taught second-year alchemists, but she had perished in the attack upon the High King’s Seat, falling beneath the blades of the grey-and-blue-clad warriors who had struck from the west, who some said were called Shades.
In the weeks since that battle, Ebon was surprised to see how quickly the Academy had resumed its routine. But repetition could not entirely wipe away the memories. Meals were now muted affairs, and students whispered to each other beneath nervous eyes. Too often, instructors mistakenly called upon students whose seats were empty, and classrooms fell to mournful silence. Too often, Ebon passed other students in the common room, tucked into a corner chair, weeping beyond comfort at the loss of a friend.
Too often, Ebon’s thoughts drifted back to the day of the attack, and he saw flesh turn to stone beneath his fingers.
The High King had tripled the guard upon the Seat, and watchfires never ceased their burning in the towers that looked west and east across the Great Bay. The larger part of the Selvan army was now stationed upon the island. Once that would have filled it to bursting, but now there were many empty buildings to house them. Droves of students had been called home despite the increased guard, their parents no longer confident in the strength of the Academy’s granite walls. This despite the fact that the Academy had largely been untouched in the fighting. Only one other structure had stood so firm: the High King’s palace, bloodstained but unbroken.
“I heard that the High King slipped through the Shades like a thief in the night and led the escape to Selvan’s shores,” Kalem murmured. He, Ebon, and Theren sat in the nearly-silent dining hall, eyeing their food without eating it. The boy’s copper hair stuck out in all directions, for he had roused late that morning.
“And the Lord Prince with her, thank the sky,” said Ebon. He had heard the same tale. These days, rumors flew like wind through the Academy halls. It had begun to weary him. He picked at a stain on the table, causing grime to collect beneath his fingernail.
“Thank the sky,” echoed Kalem, who seemed not to notice Ebon’s mood.
“If you say so,” said Theren. She rolled her shoulder and slowly moved her arm in a wide circle. It had been injured in the attack and was only recently free from its sling. Sometimes it still pained her. “Yet she could not stop the sacking of the island, and still she has not struck back against Dulmun. Her flight could be taken for cowardice.”
Kalem’s hand tightened to a fist, and he glared at her. “You would rather she had fallen in the palace? Then Dulmun would have won, and there would be no rebuilding now. The nine kingdoms would be in chaos.”
Theren tossed her short bob of hair. She had not renewed its dye in some time, and her dark roots were beginning to show. “Dulmun did win. And do you mean to say that the kingdoms are not already in chaos? Half seem to waver on the brink of joining the rebellion.”
“If the other kings have no wish for war, that does not make them cowards, nor traitors.” Kalem lifted his chin, freckled nose twitching. “And besides, we from Hedgemond have pledged our strength to the High King.”
“Your kingdom sits a half-world away. It could not be farther from the war,” said Theren. “Not for nothing is Dulmun’s army so feared. If your king shared a border with them, he might not be so eager. I fear the others will join Dulmun before taking up arms against them.”
“Hist now,” said Ebon, stabbing a spoon into his porridge. “I grow weary of war talk.”
But that was not the truth. Ebon hated any reminder of the Shades’ attack. Not because of the carnage they had wrought, but because of his own battle, alone save for Adara, on a cliff at the Seat’s southern shore. Again his mind showed him flesh turning to stone. The porridge soured in his mouth.
He had not told his friends the truth of that day. Instead, with Adara’s help, he had concocted a well-crafted lie. For how could he tell them that the day the Shades attacked the Seat, he had killed the dean—former dean, he reminded himself—and his own kin besides?
That truth would not go over well with the King’s law or the Academy’s faculty. Neither, Ebon suspected, would his friends find it easy to forgive.
“What else would you discuss?” said Theren. “War is all about us.”
“Yet it need not consume our lives,” Ebon said. “We still have our studies. Today I shall finally leave Credell’s class behind.”
“And you have my congratulations,” said Kalem. “Almost any instructor would be better than he has been to you. If Lupa were still alive, I should say you would be lucky to fall under her tutelage.”
The boy fell silent at the mention of Lupa, his eyes cast down. Theren put a hand on his shoulder, but furtively, as though it were an inconvenience. “Try not to dwell on such thoughts. Let us be grateful for those of us still here.”
“As long as we are here,” Kalem muttered. He froze and darted a quick look at them, as though the words had been an accident.
“What do you mean?” said Ebon, frowning.
“Nothing,” said Kalem, staring very hard at his breakfast.
Theren narrowed her eyes and then reached over to pinch the back of Kalem’s neck, as though she were a mother cat and he her kitten. “Kalem. What troubles you? Tell me now.”
“Ow!” Kalem cried out, batting at her hand. “Leave me be, witch.”
Ebon leaned forwards. “Tell us, Kalem.”
Kalem sighed and looked at them uneasily. “It is nothing. I will make sure it is nothing. It is only … my parents wish to bring me home. Back to Hedgemond.”
“What?” said Ebon, eyes widening. “You cannot leave!”
“That is what I have told them,” said Kalem. “And so far they have listened. It is only that �
� well, after the attack on the Seat … they no longer consider it safe.”
“But only the parents of the smallest children are withdrawing them,” said Theren scornfully. Then she gave Kalem a sidelong glance. “Although, now that I think of it, your size—”
Kalem swung a fist, which she easily blocked. Ebon gave her a dirty look. “Stop it.”
She grinned. “I am sorry. The temptation was too great.”
“In any case,” Kalem continued, still glaring at her, “thus far I have managed to convince them I am safe here. Indeed, I feel safer at the Academy than I would in my family’s own home, what with the war brewing.”
“And does your family agree?”
“For now, at least,” said Kalem softly. “I am not leaving just yet.”
“I wish others’ parents would pull them from the school,” muttered Ebon. Across the dining hall, Lilith’s malicious gaze had caught his eye.
Something had changed in Lilith since the attack on the Seat. Before she had seemed to take Ebon for a joke and had mocked him with open scorn. But now she seemed truly hateful. He knew not why she despised him so, nor what he could do to mitigate it—and he feared what might come of it if he did nothing.
Theren followed his gaze to Lilith, and her countenance grew hard. Turning back, she leaned in close to speak in a low voice. “That reminds me. Have you heard about the vaults?”
Ebon frowned, but Kalem leaned in closer. “I have heard only a rumor.”
“It seems something was stolen from them,” said Theren. “Though we are not yet certain if it was taken during the attack, or some time after the students returned to the citadel.”
“That is like what I heard,” said Kalem. “But why do you say we?”
“Did you not know? I conduct my servitude in the vaults.”
Kalem’s eyes widened. But Ebon raised a hand to stay them both. “A moment. As far as I am concerned, you are both speaking in tongues. What servitude? And what are these vaults you speak of?”
“Every student in their sixth year embarks upon servitude in the Academy,” said Kalem. “It is meant to teach us the value of simple work in the service of others. Also we are paired with advanced wizards with many years of experience, so that we may learn from them.”
“And what are the vaults?”
“They are rooms buried deep within the Academy’s bowels,” said Theren. “Within them are contained magical artifacts of thousands of years of history. Some predate the Academy itself.”
Ebon opened his mouth to ask another question, but Kalem spoke first, and eagerly. “What was it that the thief stole?”
“An artifact, but which one, we do not know,” said Theren. “I have spent the last several days trying to find out. But I cannot find the records for the room where the theft occurred.”
“What are these artifacts?” said Ebon. “What do they do?”
“Wizards of great power can imbue objects with magical qualities,” said Kalem. “These can perform some small bits of magic even without a wizard’s power. Some are little more than baubles. But others, especially older ones, often carry the power of the Wizard Kings.”
“And that is what made me think of the theft when you were staring your daggers at Lilith,” said Theren. “You see, she—”
But just then, the bell tolled, signaling the start of morning classes. Theren looked across the dining hall, where Lilith was collecting her dishes for the kitchen.
“Damn. We should speak more of this, for there is much to tell. This afternoon, in the library.” She shot to her feet and scooped up her plates with a simple mindspell, suspending them in the air as she weaved her way through the dining hall.
“The library? But …” Kalem’s voice trailed away, for she was already gone. He and Ebon rose more slowly, scooping their dishes up with their hands. But as Ebon found his feet and turned, he ran hard into another student, and all their dishes fell to the stone floor together.
“Sky,” spat Ebon, trying to brush remnants of egg and porridge from his sleeve. Then he looked up and blanched. He stared into the dark eyes of a girl he had met before. He had seen her in his common room on his first day in the Academy. When he had tried to befriend her, she had crushed an iron goblet before his eyes.
“I am sorry,” stammered Ebon.
“Why should you be?” said the girl, her voice an apathetic monotone. “It was an accident. I was behind you anyway.”
Her eyes glowed, and Ebon braced himself for a blow. But instead, his dishes sprang up from the floor and into his hands, while the girl’s flew into her own. She sauntered off without a word. Ebon let out a sigh.
Kalem snickered beside him. “I was afraid you would soil your underclothes. Why are you so afraid of that one?”
“I met her the day I arrived. She was … much less friendly, then. She crushed a goblet of iron like it was parchment, and I thought I saw ill will in her eyes.”
Kalem shrugged. “Well, she is a powerful mindmage, and no mistake. Isra, I believe her name is. But she is not so fearsome as you make her out to be. And after the attack on the Seat, I think any ill will between students has fled the Academy’s halls.”
“Not so with Lilith.”
“No, I suppose not.”
They shuffled with the other students towards the kitchens to discard their bowls, and then the assembly passed muted and mournful into the halls. Theren joined them outside the dining hall, and just before Ebon left for the first-years’ classroom, he gave his friends a wan smile.
“Wish me good fortune,” he said.
“You do not need it,” said Theren. “Or if you do, then you should not be graduating in the first place.”
“That is not helpful,” Kalem said, scowling at Theren. “Good fortune, Ebon.”
OLDER STUDENTS PEELED AWAY AS Ebon made his way towards Credell’s class, and the crowd around him grew ever younger. He quite looked forwards to having older classmates soon. Credell’s students were all first-years, children of ten or eleven. The next class would bring only one year’s improvement, but Ebon hoped he would look a little less out of place.
He reached Credell’s classroom and stepped through the door. The instructor had not yet arrived, but many students had, and in the front row he saw little wild-haired Astrea—the only student in his class to befriend him. She brightened at the sight of him and waved eagerly. He gave her a small smile and waved back, ruffling her hair and making her giggle as he made his way to the back row of benches.
More first- and second-years had been withdrawn from the Academy than from among the older children. Astrea was one of only six left in the class, besides Ebon himself. It made him wonder why they did not combine this class and the next into one. But then he realized Credell would teach him for two years if that were the case, and he shuddered.
Credell arrived at last. He gave the room a quick look, his eyes lingering for a moment upon Ebon. Since the attack on the Seat, Credell’s fear seemed to have lessened somewhat. Yet still the instructor jumped when Ebon spoke too loudly or moved too quickly.
“Well, ah, class. Ahem,” said Credell. “Normally I would have you all resume your lessons. But today we have a matter of ceremony we must attend to first. Ah, er … Ebon, would you please approach the front of the classroom?”
Ebon slid down his bench and went forwards, acutely aware of the other students staring at him. Many of them had been there months longer than Ebon, and he could feel their awe that he had graduated so swiftly. He wondered if he would have been ready for this first test so quickly, if it had not been for Cyrus.
Credell held forth a wooden rod, careful not to brush Ebon’s fingers with his own as he handed it over. Ebon turned to the class, holding the rod high. He felt the grain of it beneath his fingers, the tiny ridges and valleys of its form. In his mind’s eye, he peered into the wood itself, seeing its true nature, the countless tiny parts that composed it—
—his hand wrapped around Cyrus’ ankle, the spar
k of power within him, flesh turning to stone—
—he squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head to banish the images. They faded, but reluctantly. The rod was still wooden. Now Credell and the students were staring at him expectantly.
Ebon drew a deep breath through his nose and released it slowly from his lips. He focused on the wood again.
And then the room grew brighter—or at least it appeared to, for Ebon’s eyes were glowing. He saw the wood for what it was. And then he changed it.
Pure, simple stone, grey and lifeless and solid, rippled from his fingers. In a moment it was done, and the rod had been turned. Around the room, children reached up to scratch at their necks, or shook their heads as though repulsing a fly. Ebon knew they could sense his magic, though many of them had not yet learned to use it themselves. Wizards could always detect spells from their own branch, or from the mirror branch.
“Well done,” said Credell, his relief plain. Clearly he was as eager to be rid of Ebon as Ebon was to leave the class. He reached out and awkwardly patted the boy on his shoulder. Ebon returned the rod. With a flourish of his fingers, Credell turned it back into wood.
“Class, you have borne witness. Ebon has mastered the first test of the transmuter, and has moved beyond us. Rise now, and let us escort him to his new instructor.”
The children rose silent and solemn, filing into a line in the room’s center. Credell led them into the halls. They passed several doors—the first-year classes of the other branches of magic—before reaching one where Credell stopped. He tapped out a trio of soft knocks.
“Come in!” commanded a woman’s voice, thick and rich and full of power. Credell nearly dropped the rod in fright, so sudden was her call. But he swallowed hard and opened the door. Ebon followed him inside.
This room had a window overlooking the training grounds, and for a moment the morning’s light made Ebon blink and shield his eyes. Once they adjusted, he looked about. The room was much the same as Credell’s: two files of benches stretching from the front to the back, every one with its own desk, and a handful of students scattered among them. But many bookshelves were lined against the wall with the door, filled with thick leather tomes of every description. Ebon was surprised. He had not seen any other classrooms with bookshelves. He had thought the Academy’s books were all harbored in its vast library. The thought of yet more things to read set his head spinning.
The Academy Journals Volume One: A Book of Underrealm (The Underrealm Volumes 3) Page 24