The Academy Journals Volume One: A Book of Underrealm (The Underrealm Volumes 3)

by Garrett Robinson

  “Allow me,” said Xain. He whispered as his eyes glowed, and a small ball of flame sprang up before them and between them. Ebon held his fingers out towards it.

  “Thank you,” he said softly.

  Xain nodded. Then he sighed, as though preparing himself for a most unpleasant task. “I am not skilled in such things, and so I will be brief: I was wrong to think so poorly of you simply because of your family name. I treated you worse than I ought, and that was my error. It does not excuse what you did, but mayhap my own ire made things worse than they might have been.”

  “Worse than you ought?” said Ebon, arching an eyebrow.

  Xain’s jaw clenched. “Much worse, I suppose.”

  But Ebon only shrugged. “In all honestly, I am rather used to such treatment by now.”

  His words earned another sigh. “I suppose you are right. Many of us, it seems, are accused of crimes these days in which we were blameless.”

  Ebon gave him a look. “You mean what happened between you and Drystan, and Cyrus as well,” he said.

  Xain’s easy look darkened: not, Ebon felt, out of anger at him, but rather at a memory. “I suppose everyone here knows something of that, do they not? I do not know if you had any love for Cyrus, but I—”

  “I killed him.”

  Xain went very still. He stared at Ebon for a long moment. “Say that again.”

  “I killed Cyrus,” said Ebon. “It was the day the Seat was attacked. I saw him sneaking off through the streets. I followed him to the cliffs on the south of the island, and there he attacked me. I turned his feet to stone, and then I cast him into the water, where he drowned.” Tears stung his eyes, and his breath came short in his chest.

  “If that is true, why would you not tell the King’s law?” said Xain. “If you defended yourself—”

  “I do not fear the King’s law,” said Ebon. “But do you think my family would feel the same?”

  The dean’s lips twitched. “You should not be telling me this. Why would you?”

  “Because I need you to understand,” said Ebon, his voice cracking. “I could have stopped Isra when we fought her in your basement. And I could have stopped her last night, before you arrived. Only … only every time she was at my mercy, and I could have taken her life, or allowed it to be taken by another—I saw Cyrus, I heard his screaming, the way I do in my dreams, over and over again—”

  He broke off, for his voice would not last much longer, and he turned away so that Xain could not see the tears in his eyes.

  Now you have done it, you fool, he told himself. Now Xain will reveal you, and your life will be forfeit.

  Let it.

  “It was my fault your son was taken,” he whispered. “I thank the sky that he survived, but he might not have. Because of me.”

  He still faced away from Xain. But behind him, he heard the dean sigh.

  “It is no ignoble thing to stay the hand from killing,” said Xain softly. “I have taken my share of lives. My share and more. Yet someone wiser than I am reminded me in recent days that it is not for the living to lightly mete out death.”

  When Ebon looked again, Xain’s eyes were far away. “Then you will reveal my crime to the constables? I would not blame you.”

  Xain snorted. “Your murder of Cyrus? Hardly. I knew the man—likely better than you did. I am not so reckless about killing as I once was, mayhap, but I will not mourn his passing.”

  Shaking, Ebon let loose a long sigh. “I am … relieved to hear it.”

  “I imagine you are,” said Xain, fixing him with a stern glare. “But your relief may not last long. For I heard what Theren said to you, and I agree with her. If you seek redemption for what you have done, you cannot look to your past, but to the future. And not just your future—but the future of all of Underrealm.”

  The air had grown thick with tension, so thick that Ebon found his breath coming shallow. “What do you mean?” he said.

  “You must leave the Academy, yet I do not think you wish to return to your home of Idris,” said Xain. “What if I could arrange for you to stay here upon the Seat? I could even arrange for you to have a private tutor—an instructor who would continue your training in magic.”

  Ebon’s heart thundered in his chest. “You would do that?” he said, managing little more than a whisper.

  “Yes. But not for free.”

  “What, then? I would pay a hefty price for such a gift.”

  Xain shook his head. “I do not want your coin. Rather, I want what your coin has secured: your family’s influence and power across the nine kingdoms.”

  Ebon blinked. “I do not understand. What do you mean?”

  Xain hesitated. “I only share this with you because you have proven yourself to be … something nobler than your kin. I know the Drayden name and the darkness that surrounds it, and you do as well. Yet as a Drayden, you have access to resources I could never hope to muster on my own.”

  “I thought you were favored by the High King herself.”

  “So I am, and we work together in this,” said Xain. “Yet the High King Enalyn walks in the light of her own laws. The Draydens often dip into the darkness beyond those laws. That is where I think you might help me. All sanctioned by the High King. You will face no blame for any help you give us.”

  Fear thrummed in Ebon’s chest, and he felt himself standing on the edge of a precipice. “You do not make this sound like any light matter, Dean.”

  “Nor is it. You are about to learn something known only to a handful of people across Underrealm. You are going to help me find the Necromancer.”

  HALAB LOOKED UP FROM HER wine as Mako opened the door. He stepped into the drawing room and then stood aside, holding the door open.

  Nella stepped into the room. Her gaze flew everywhere, and Halab could see at once how the girl was overwhelmed by the finery. Not a merchant child, though Halab had heard she was friendly with the Yerrin girl.

  Mako closed the door with a soft click. “Tell her what you told me,” he said gently.

  The girl looked up in fear, meeting Halab’s eyes for the first time. Halab smiled at her. Nella gave a little smile back, seeming to draw some comfort from the gesture.

  “I … I told him about the day the Seat was attacked. I saw Ebon slip away from the other students.”

  “This has reached my ears already,” said Halab. “Did he not run off trying to help a student who had become lost, only to discover she was a handmaiden from the palace?”

  “That is what he told everyone when he came back,” said Nella, nodding. “But it is not the truth. He and I were fighting together. We battled those—the grey-and-blue clad warriors, the ones they call Shades. So when he ran off, I ran after him a pace or two before I turned back. And I saw where he really went.”

  Halab took a sip of wine. Then she shook her head. “Sky above, forgive me, girl. My manners have fled me. Would you like a cup of wine?”

  Nella swallowed hard. “I might. I can finish the story first, if it pleases my lady.”

  “Oh, I am no woman of nobility,” said Halab, smiling graciously. “And there is no hurry. Mako, pour her a cup. You may take the chair beside me, girl.”

  The girl nodded and came forwards to sit in the chair. Mako had a cup in her hand in the space of a heartbeat, and she sipped at it. Her eyes widened, and she took another, deeper sip.

  “That is the best wine I have ever tasted,” she said.

  Halab’s smile grew. “We keep fine vintages on hand. Now, please continue.”

  “Well—and now, understand, I only glimpsed them for a moment—I saw Cyrus. Cyrus of the family—well, your kin. He was the dean before the new one, that man Xain with the dark eyes.”

  The room went quiet. Halab looked from Nella’s face over to Mako. The bodyguard’s expression betrayed nothing.

  Nella felt the tension in the room, clearly, for her next sip of wine was timid. “That … that is who Ebon went after. Not some palace woman. He went after Cyru
s. What happened to them both after that, I do not know.”

  Halab had not taken her gaze from Mako. “Does this mean what it sounds like it means?”

  Mako shrugged. “Mayhap. Cyrus is dead; that much we know. If he were not, I would have found him. Ebon might have killed him.”

  Pursing her lips, Halab stared into her cup. She took another sip. Beside her, Nella’s eyes had gone saucer-wide. She drank a heavy gulp of her own cup.

  “Halab.” Mako’s tone had become worried, reluctant. “This throws everything into disarray. Cyrus should have died in the fighting, so that others would think he perished heroically upon the Seat. The fact that everyone thinks he fled has been a serious blow to our standing, and now, to learn that Ebon might have killed him …”

  She flung her glass goblet into the fireplace. The glass smashed, and the wine hissed in the flames. “Do not lecture me about what this means,” she snapped.

  “Of course,” said Mako, bowing his head.

  “How could this happen?” she shouted, letting the fury show in her voice. It was rare that she let it out, for she had learned long ago that rarity gave it strength. “How could we not have learned this already? It is your job to know such things.”

  “I learn what I learn in just this way,” said Mako quietly. “From the right questions put to the right people. I could not have known that I should have asked this exact girl this exact question. Meaning no disrespect, of course.” He inclined his head towards Nella.

  Nella still sat frozen in her seat, looking afraid to move. At Mako’s words, she shook her head quickly.

  “If Cyrus knew of our involvement with the Shades …” said Halab.

  “He did not,” said Mako at once.

  “Pardon me if I do not put complete faith in your word just now,” spat Halab. “What if he did, Mako? What if he told Ebon?”

  Another long moment of silence passed. Mako sighed. “I can … I can remove the danger of this situation.”

  Halab glared at him sharply. “We have already had to kill one of Shay’s sons. We will not kill the other. We will not. Do you understand me? Ebon may yet be molded. And I love him, Mako. He is not Matami. Am I completely understood?”

  Mako bowed again. “Of course, Halab.”

  Now Nella’s face was covered in sweat, though she still feared to move. It was as though she thought that, if she only remained still, they would forget she was there. But as the silence now stretched for longer than ever before, she at last mustered a small, squeaking voice. “Should I remove myself?”

  Halab sighed and put her hand over the girl’s. “Child, no one must know about what we have spoken of here. You understand that.”

  Nella’s eyes filled with tears. “Of course I understand that. I will never breathe a word of it.”

  Slowly, sadly, Halab shook her head. “We both know that that is not what I meant.”

  Mako drew his dagger across the girl’s throat. Halab withdrew her hand before the blood could splash upon her fingers.

  THE MAGIC OF UNDERREALM

  Less than one human in a hundred is born with the gift of magic. There are rumors that things are different in other parts of the world. Tales speak of the lands far to the east of Idris where entire populations are gifted with magic, but in small degree, and nothing so impressive as the blasts of an elementalist. But these people are understandably wary of their western neighbors, and thus little is known about them.

  Elves, of course, are in full command of all magics, but seem to use mentalism above the other schools. They also possess a magic that has been little studied, since it never manifests in humans, and Elves of course are far too perilous to inspect. Scholars have somewhat ineptly labeled it “soulspeech,” and it may be likened (again, ineptly) to an advanced form of telepathy. To the knowledge of Underrealm’s best scholars in the time of Ebon of the family Drayden, no human has ever displayed this skill—though that knowledge is not, in fact, correct.

  Of the one-in-a-hundred people who can use magic, less than a quarter are born with abilities that anyone would consider impressive. But many with weaker magical abilities are able to use them in very clever ways. The infamous wizard Auntie, for example, who was the bane of Theren’s youth and who also tormented the Nightblade, could change her skin color, hair color and appearance—handy for one who was both a thief and a murderer.

  Though one is born (or not) with magic, it is not hereditary, and therefore the magical percentage of the population never varies to any great degree. Wizard Kings would sometimes engage in selective breeding policies, trying to create more wizards for their armies, but all these attempts failed. Some were so horrific that they formed part of the brutal basis for the Fearless Decree, which barred any wizard from taking a throne.

  It seems that whatever force has bestowed magic upon the world does not wish to see it wax or wane in power.

  Magic is always an innate ability one is born with, but beyond that, the branches differ in their application.

  OF ELEMENTALISM

  If one were to ask any child in Underrealm what magic a wizard can perform, they would likely hear about feats of elementalism. Called “firemagic” by the uneducated, elementalism is perhaps the most visibly impressive and certainly the best-known branch, and powerful elementalists have been the stuff of legends since the time before time.

  Common folk and early scholars in the subject often bear the simple opinion that elementalists can control fire, lightning, water, and air. While this is certainly true, it ignores the true heart of this branch. Elementalists, in fact, control energy.

  With fire, they generate combustion in the material to be burned—or in the air itself, though this is far more difficult, and when a wizard does so, an outside observer knows little of the internal strain on their psyche.

  Lightning is much easier to summon, but far more difficult to control. Painful or damaging electrical shocks are common among burgeoning elementalists, and it is one of the chief duties of their instructors to prevent such accidents, for just as with any branch of magic, elementalists are far from immune to their own powers.

  When it comes to water and air (or, indeed, any gas or liquid), elementalists control the highly volatile potential motion energy of these substances. The more energy that already exists, the easier it is to control. This is why it is less strenuous for elementalists to redirect the flow of water or wind than to create such a flow in the first place. Inertia plays a large role in the powers of an elementalist.

  A strange quirk of elementalism is that the presence of life is a complete block to the wizard’s powers. While elementalists can easily manipulate the energy of the physical universe, their influence ends when it comes to a living body. Thus an elementalist cannot boil the blood in a person’s veins, nor ignite a small fire in their belly.

  This has always been a mystery to scholars of magic. Life, of course, is one of the most energy-abundant forces in the universe. It would seem, at first glance, to be the perfect playground for a wizard who can control energy. But life is anathema to elementalism, and it always has been. Even plants resist their magic.

  The clever elementalist can find ways around this restriction, however. It is not necessary for them to set a fire in an opponent’s skin—they can create fire from the air, and their foe will burn all the same. They may not be able to create lightning from the energy of an enemy’s body, but a bolt summoned from the sky will have much the same effect.

  Elementalists require verbal commands to cast their spells. Their commands may be given in the common tongue of Underrealm, but they are far more powerful when given in an ancient tongue, the origins of which have long been lost to history. No one fully understands why this ancient tongue seems to hold so much more power than modern speech, but it appears to have always been so. Many elementalists also use hand gestures as a mental crutch to help visualize their spells, though this is not required.

  The most effective way to neutralize elementalists is to gag
them—or, for a permanent solution, remove the tongue.

  OF MENTALISM

  The branch of mentalism is perhaps less visually impressive than elementalism, but it is no less useful. Indeed, to those who have a simple understanding of magic, elementalism and mentalism are commonly held to be the more “powerful” branches, and wizards of either branch are much sought after by kings and lesser lords to serve them or fight in their armies. This view, of course, grossly undervalues the complex and subtle powers of therianthropy and transmutation.

  A mentalist is able to affect their surroundings by envisioning force and then exerting that force. This force can go in any direction, and its strength (or lack thereof) is limited only by the mentalist’s own abilities.

  As with elementalism, this magic can be present in greater or lesser strength. There are (very rarely) mentalists who can break down a castle wall if it has not been enchanted, and then there are mentalists who can barely lift an apple off a table. It is not that the weaker mentalist cannot envision the force required, but only that the gift has manifested itself in them less strongly.

  Mentalists require line of sight to their target. They must see an object and visualize the force they would place against it. This is what prevents them from casting their spells inside a body, for example, although very powerful mages can obviate the problem by forming knives of pure will and slicing the target open—at which point, further internal damage hardly seems necessary.

  This restriction presents some very interesting challenges to the mentalist. They can, with very little training, push an opponent away from them, but it requires some very clever thinking to pull an opponent forwards, since the mentalist cannot usually see their back in order to place force against it. Different mentalists solve this in different ways: Theren, for example, often grips the front of her foe’s clothing, which she can see, and uses that to pull them towards her; Isra, before she perished, would grip their hands or face.