The Mindmage's Wrath: A Book of Underrealm (The Academy Journals 2)

by Garrett Robinson

  —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.

  Then Ebon looked to the front of the room, and his heart skipped a beat. There behind the lectern was, quite simply, the most massive woman he had ever seen. Her shoulders seemed to stretch as wide as Ebon’s arm span, and though the ceiling was at least a pace above her head, her stature made it seem that she might bump against it. Huge hands gripped the lectern’s edges and nearly enveloped it, and her dark grey instructor’s robes strained mightily to contain her frame. Her eyes seemed small compared to the rest of her ruddy features, yet they sparkled with interest even when the sunlight missed them. Ebon thought this woman looked nothing like a wizard, but rather a mighty warrior of campfire legend, stripped of armor and shrouded instead in cloth, against which her body tried to rebel.

  “This is the new one, then? Well, come in, boy. I am Perrin, of the family Arkus. Let us get your test seen to, for I was just introducing myself to the other students.”

  “Erm...ah...yes,” said Credell, quaking as hard as he ever had when confronting Cyrus, the former Dean. “E-E-Ebon, here you are. T-take it.”

  Ebon took the wooden rod, which Credell had extended in trembling fingers. He brought it to Perrin and waited.

  “Well? Go on. You’ve done it once already—or should have, before you were brought here.”

  Ebon nodded, at a loss for words. He turned to the class and held the rod aloft. This time, shock at Perrin’s appearance kept his thoughts from drifting to Cyrus. His eyes glowed, and stone rippled along the rod.

  “Good!” said Perrin. She clapped her hands, and the sound was like thunder. “And can you change it back?”

  The blood drained from Ebon’s face. “I—what? No, I only—”

  “Oh, calm yourself,” said Perrin, waving him off. “I only asked from curiosity—it is not a requirement. Now, be seated quickly. Or, no, that is not right. Remain here. There is the ceremony, is there not?”

  She stepped out from behind the lectern—revealing boots that Ebon could have fit both feet into—and approached Credell. The craven little instructor quailed as Perrin thrust the rod towards him.

  “Do you vow that you have instructed this pupil to the best of your ability, in judgement as well as in skill?”

  “I...I so vow,” whimpered Credell, taking the rod. He made a brave, but ultimately futile attempt to straighten his shoulders. “Do you vow that you will continue his instruction, in judgement as well as in skill, to the best of your ability?”

  “I so vow. Now, as I said, I have scarcely been able to speak to my new students. If you do not mind.”

  Perrin reached out and threw the door open. Then quickly—but not unkindly—she ushered Credell’s class through it. Ebon caught one last glimpse of Astrea waving him a happy good-bye before the door shut between them.

  “Well, then. Find yourself a seat. There are many open benches—too many, it is a tragedy to say. Sit near the front, for I shall have to work with you first, or else you will no doubt wander like a hatchling without its mother.”

  Ebon nodded and made for a seat. One bench in the second row was entirely unoccupied, and he slid onto it. Perrin returned to the lectern and cleared her throat into a meaty fist.

  “Now, then. Welcome, ah...hrm. What was your name?”

  “Ebon, of the family—” He stopped short. He had not meant to mention his family name. But now Perrin was peering at him, and he could feel the other students’ curiosity at his pause. He gritted his teeth. “Of the family Drayden.”

  If Perrin thought anything of it, she gave no sign, though Ebon thought he felt several students stiffen. “Well then, welcome, Ebon. I will say to you what I told the class before your arrival: I do not know you, and you do not know me. Yet I knew something of your former instructor, Lupa, for she was only a few years behind me when I myself studied here. A good woman. But you are left with me, for which I apologize. You deserve someone wiser, more powerful in transmutation, and certainly a good deal more patient. Those things I cannot promise you. But this I can vow: I will do my best to make of you what I can, and help you along your road to knowledge. And I can promise you what the High King Enalyn, sky bless her name, has promised us all: I will keep you safe with my every breath. I will serve you to the limits of my power. And I will—”

  A sharp rapping came at the door, and Perrin stopped short. She glowered, hands gripping the lectern tighter for a moment. “Come in, and be quick!” The bark in her voice made every student in the room jump.

  The door swung open, and in swept the Academy’s new Dean, Xain of the family Forredar. He was a lank man and pale of skin, with thin black hair hanging down to his shoulders. His dark grey robes bore no ornamentation as the former Dean’s had, and yet somehow Xain looked far more impressive in them. It was something in his eyes, Ebon decided. They were haunted, yes, and yet they bore also a steely resolve. Though his frame was slight, and could have appeared frail, there was a set to his shoulders that spoke of grim determination.

  It was a moment before Ebon realized that Xain was not alone. Beside him was a boy who could not have been more than ten years of age. Ebon wondered if he was a new student at the Academy—until he saw the boy’s dark eyes and pinched nose. They were the same as Xain’s. He had to be a relation, perhaps even his son.

  Though Perrin had answered gruffly at Xain’s knock, she now beamed a warm smile. “Good morn, Dean Forredar. We are honored by your presence.”

  “No more than the Academy is honored by yours, Perrin. Instructor Arkus, I mean. Forgive me—my tongue has nearly forgotten the Academy’s courtesies.”

  He stepped forwards and extended a hand. Perrin clasped his wrist firmly.
“And mine the same. Though no great surprise, considering the years.”

  Xain nodded and turned to the class. His tone grew brisk, if not entirely unfriendly. “Greetings, students. You know who I am, or something of me, at least. But I would wager you have had little chance to know your new instructor, and thus you cannot understand the honor you have been granted. Perrin of the family Arkus is as good a woman as I have ever met. I hope you will afford her your utmost attention, and your most earnest effort.”

  “The Dean is far too kind,” replied Perrin, stifling a smile. “Though I will not deny you should heed his advice, if ever you wish to pass this class. And who have you brought with you? This cannot be little Erin.”

  “It is, though not so little anymore.” Xain beckoned the boy forwards. Erin came timidly, balking at the instructor’s great size. But Perrin stooped until she was nearly at eye level with the boy, and gravely reached for his hand.

  “It is my pleasure to meet you, young sir. And my heart is gladdened to see you by your father’s side again.”

  Erin smiled bashfully. “Thank you, madam.” His voice was so soft, Ebon could hardly hear it from where he sat.

  “I meant not to distract you all,” said Xain, his eyes roving the room. “I am only showing him about the Academy, and could not pass without stopping to see you. I expect you—”

  Xain’s glance fell upon Ebon, and there it stopped. He grew rigid as a board, hands tightening to fists by his sides. Ebon felt hot blood flooding his cheeks, though he knew not why.

  “You there,” said Xain, nearly spitting the words. “What is your name?”

  “E-Ebon, Dean Forredar.”

  “Your family name,” he snapped.

  The color that had flooded Ebon’s face drained away at once. “I am of the family Drayden, Dean.”

  Xain gave no answer. But his hand went to Erin’s shoulder and drew him close, as if to shield him. A moment longer he stared, and Ebon could not mistake the look in his eye: hatred, fiery and pure, more so even than Lilith had shown. Then at last Xain turned away.

  “Good day,” he said tersely, and swept from the room with his son in tow.

  Slowly, every eye turned to Ebon in wonder. Even Perrin gave him a hard look. Ebon’s gaze fell to his desk, and he stewed in a shame that he did not understand.

  three

  THE REST OF THE MORNING class passed quickly, if uncomfortably. Ebon tried to pay attention as Perrin laid out the studies he would need to complete, and he retrieved a book from the shelves at the instructor’s commands. But though he sat for hours staring at the first page, the words had become a blur before his eyes. He could see only Xain’s dark gaze, gleaming with unknown malice.

  When at last the bell rang for midday meal, Ebon shot from his bench. But just as he reached the door, Perrin bellowed to stop him.

  “Ebon! Return your book to its place on the shelf.”

  Ebon turned sheepishly to do as he was bid. Several other students had been about to leave their books out as well, but quickly they scrambled to return them. Though he might have imagined it, Ebon thought he felt Perrin’s careful eye upon him as he returned the book and fled the room. Only then did he break into a run, flying through the citadel towards the dining hall.

  He found Kalem and Theren standing in the food line and fell into place beside them. He had little desire to eat, but neither did he want to be alone. Something of his mood must have shown in his face, for Kalem frowned in concern.

  “What is wrong? You look as though you woke this morning to find yourself a wizard no longer.”

  “Oh, it is no great matter,” said Ebon bitterly. “Only that the new Dean seems to despise me even more than the old one, and just as with Cyrus, I have no faintest idea why.”

  “What?” said Theren, arching an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  Ebon told them all that had happened, doing his best to convey in words the hatred he had felt in Xain’s eyes. Kalem shook his head mournfully.

  “That seems ill fortune. I wonder what it is all about?”

  But Theren rolled her eyes. “I think you may be imagining things, Ebon. It seems far-fetched that he could so quickly detest you. Though I have no doubt he will learn to, once he knows you better.”

  “This is no jest,” said Ebon irritably. “You doubted me when I told you of Dean Cyrus’ treatment. Do you recall how that turned out?” His body still bore the fading bruises from when Cyrus attacked him.

  As Theren’s eyes fell in shame, Ebon’s guilt grew in response. She felt remorse that she had let Cyrus strike Ebon with his mindmagic. But she did not know what Ebon had done to the Dean on the day of the attack. That secret was his alone—and Adara’s, of course. His mood softened at that thought.

  “I apologize,” Theren said quietly. “If you say that is what happened, I believe you.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Ebon muttered, unable to meet her eyes.

  “If Xain indeed has animosity towards you, there must be some reason,” said Kalem. “I will see if anyone knows what it might be. In truth, I know little of the man, beyond the fact he is favored by the High King herself.”

  “I shall ask about as well,” said Theren. “Though I do not have many friends.”

  They had reached the front of the line, so they fetched their food and sat to eat without speaking further. But Ebon’s appetite had gone from little to nothing, and he could not force himself to swallow more than a spoonful of soup. He gnawed at his bread instead, chewing it overmuch until it was a soggy mess in his mouth.

  Theren scooped up the last of her soup, slurping it noisily, and then shoved the bowl away. “A fair meal today. I think they have started cooking better since we returned to the Academy. No doubt in an attempt to raise our spirits.”

  “Or they are more liberal with their spices, since they have fewer mouths to feed,” muttered Kalem.

  Theren snorted and punched his shoulder. “Still such dark words! That sounds like something I might say. Here is something that might cheer you: I have changed my schedule. Hereafter, I shall spend my afternoons in the library with you.”

  Kalem grinned. “So that is why you said would speak in the library this afternoon. I had wondered.”

  Ebon, too, found his mood lifted. But then a thought struck him, and he frowned. “I thought you were no fan of book learning.”

  “Of course not,” said Theren, pursing her lips. “I am not joining you because I wish to study with you, but because I do not want my afternoons to be so incredibly dull.”

  Ebon and Kalem stifled groans as they looked sidelong at each other. Ebon would be glad for Theren’s company, but he enjoyed the peace of his time in the library. Many hours had he and Kalem whiled away, tucked into their armchairs with books of ancient lands and Wizard Kings.

  “Well, we will certainly enjoy your presence,” said Kalem. But Ebon could hear that his heart was not in the words.

  “Of course you will,” said Theren. “And that reminds me. This morning we were speaking of Lilith, and of the theft in the vaults. I meant to tell you that—”

  Someone stopped behind Ebon, abruptly enough that their shoes squeaked upon on the stone.

  “The vaults.”

  Ebon turned. Behind him stood Credell. The thin-faced, wheedling instructor wore a vacant look. He turned to them all, his eyes fixed on Theren. “The vaults,” he repeated.

  “Yes, Instructor?” She raised her eyebrows. “My servitude is in the vaults. What of it?”

  “I had almost forgotten.” Credell’s voice was absent its customary shake, and his nervous tics had disappeared. “I must enter the vaults. Give me your key.”

  Kalem looked uncertainly at Theren. She met the boy’s eyes and gave a barely perceptible shrug. “Instructor, I have no key. It is only given to me during my servitude, and only when I must enter the vaults themselves.”

  “The vaults,” he said, more urgent this time. “I must enter them. Give me your key.”

  No
w Theren was growing exasperated. “I do not have one,” she said, very nearly snapping at him. “Besides, you are an Instructor. If you have Academy business within the vaults, you can enter them yourself. Egil will admit you. But I do not have the key.”

  Her last words crackled, and Credell jumped at last. He blinked twice, and then looked down as if noticing Ebon at his elbow for the first time. He drew back as if from a viper, wringing his hands just under his chin.

  “Ah, yes, of course,” he stuttered. “Of course you have no key. Silly of me. I had forgotten. I do not know why ... why I thought you ... er, I am sorry. Good day.”

  He turned and left, winding away through the tables. All three of them kept their eyes fixed upon his back until he was out of sight.

  “That was most odd,” said Kalem.

  “Bizarre,” agreed Theren. “I wonder if he is all right. After the attack upon the Seat, I mean. War can break one’s mind, they say.”

  “He seemed well enough the past few days in class,” said Ebon quietly. “That was unlike I have ever seen him ... and yet, not worse. He was less frightened. More sure.”

  “Perhaps he is finally growing a spine.” Theren shrugged, and seemed to dismiss the matter. “In any case, I was speaking of the theft.”

  “Of course,” said Ebon. “What news have you?”

  “Well, few students perform their servitude in the vaults. But Lilith is another.”

  “The both of you?” said Kalem. “I am amazed the Academy is still standing, if the two of you have been in such close quarters so long.”

  Theren glared at him. “I can control myself when I wish to. And besides, we are rarely present together. The caretaker, Egil, almost never requires two students at once.”

  “Yes, well and good about all of that,” said Ebon, waving her words aside. “But what of Lilith? What does she have to do with it?”

  “I have had a thought brewing,” said Theren. “Mayhap it was some member of the Academy’s faculty who carried out the theft. But it could also have been a student. And if it were a student, who better than one who performs their servitude in the vaults? Such a one would know better than any other how to do it.”