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

by Garrett Robinson

  “What?” The dagger tickled harder. “What stone?” he cried.

  “The floor. Shift it. And I would advise you to be quick.”

  Ebon reached for his power, and the library grew lighter as his eyes began to glow. The floor rippled and twisted under his palm. The stone flew out from around his hand, creating an indent.

  “Now,” said Mako. “Put it back.”

  “I have told you, I cannot,” said Ebon. Mako’s grip tightened on his hair. “I swear! I have not learned it yet!” He was whimpering, but did not care.

  “I can shift it!” said Kalem. “I can put it back. I will do what you want—only let Ebon go.”

  “No royalty,” said Mako. “You have done your part, goldshitter. This is a Drayden matter, and a Drayden will solve it. Or—”

  Ebon felt the dagger’s tip nick his skin. At the edge of his vision, a red droplet splashed onto the stone.

  “All right!” He tried to still his mind—not an easy thing with Mako’s dagger so close—and focused on the stone. He gestured, trying to move it. But it only flew away from his hand, not under his control.

  “Not good enough, boy,” Mako sneered. Ebon heard his fingers tighten on the dagger’s leather handle.

  Ebon tried to focus. And as he did, he saw something ... a sort of glow, surrounding the stone as it flooded like water.

  The magic. His magic. The magic he used to shift the stone.

  He focused, gripping it in his mind. The stone went rigid, molded like clay at his thought.

  A long sigh escaped him. He scooped the magic back into the hole, and the stone went with it. In a moment it was done, and the hole was gone. Ebon released his magic, and the glow faded. The stone looked terrible, like a hole in a wall poorly plastered over. But it was back in its place.

  “Well done, little Ebon,” said Mako softly. “That will do well enough. I will come for you tonight. Be ready.”

  The pressure vanished from Ebon’s back all at once, and he gasped. Kalem seized his arm and helped him to his feet. By the time they stood, Mako was gone.

  thirty-three

  AFTER MAKO’S THREATS, KALEM STRONGLY urged Ebon to reconsider working with the man, and Ebon could hardly blame him. He tried to defend the bodyguard, though he thought his arguments were made less effective by the hand he pressed to his neck, staunching the nick in his throat.

  “It was only a bit of motivation,” said Ebon, trying to smile. “And it worked, did it not?”

  “He is a madman. I do not know what he has planned for the two of you, but I do not like it.”

  Ebon shrugged. “Remember, he has already saved our lives once—and mayhap the Academy. He is a hard man because he must be, but Mako means us no harm.” But Ebon wondered if even he believed the words. He had heard the malice in Mako’s voice.

  At last Kalem gave up trying to convince him, though Ebon was certain the boy still had his doubts. He wished Theren were there. If she had been present, he doubted Mako would have made his threats. She was powerful in her magic, and could have sent Mako flying with a flick of her wrist. But also, Theren could now help him reassure Kalem that working with Mako was the only way forwards.

  And it was the only way forwards. Ebon was certain.

  The rest of their study period passed quickly, if uncomfortably. It felt odd to Ebon, sitting there and trying to read, pretending that nothing untoward was occurring. How could he read tales of history, even those of the Wizard Kings, when his life promised such danger in the here and now?

  As the final bell rang, they made their way out of the library. By unspoken agreement, they passed the dining hall. Ebon had no appetite, and doubted Kalem did either. Instead they made their way into the garden, where the sun had just begun to kiss the top of the Academy’s outer wall. Cool air seeped into their bodies as they walked the grounds. There was no one to be seen; everyone was inside having supper.

  When the sun’s final sliver vanished from sight, Ebon felt a presence and turned to see Mako lurking in the garden a few paces away. The bodyguard waved them forwards, and Ebon led Kalem into the shadows.

  “Scuttle off now, royal boy. It is bad enough Ebon must see where we are going. No one else can know.”

  “Where are you going, exactly?” asked Kalem, folding his arms.

  “Look at the spine this one shows,” said Mako, arching an eyebrow at Ebon. “Perhaps I should rip it out, that we might see it more plainly.”

  “He means to lead me out of the Academy,” said Ebon. “Is that right? You mean to take whatever path lets you get in and out without anyone seeing.”

  “Very clever, Ebon. Now tell your lover to leave us, lest I make him vanish permanently.”

  Kalem did not seem eager to budge, but Ebon gave him a nod. With a final reluctant look, the boy left. Mako gave him a little wave, twiddling his fingers in the air, just before he was out of sight.

  “Now then,” said Mako. “Come and learn something you should not.”

  To Ebon’s surprise, Mako did not lead him deeper into the garden, but instead towards the citadel. The bodyguard ran quickly from bush to bush, each time looking in every direction to ensure that no one could see.

  Near the front of the Academy, the front of the citadel joined the outer wall. There Mako went to a particular section of black granite, though Ebon saw nothing remarkable about it. He had to wait as his eyes adjusted to the shadows. In that moment, Mako did something that Ebon could not see. But when he was done, a section of the wall turned inward to reveal a hidden door, so narrow that Mako could barely fit his broad shoulders inside it. But Ebon followed him in, and then Mako swung it closed behind them.

  Utter darkness lay beyond. Ebon could see nothing, and could hear only his own ragged breathing. When Mako spoke, his mouth only a finger’s breadth away, Ebon jumped. “Come along, little Ebon,” the bodyguard whispered. “Not too far to go.”

  After a moment, Ebon could feel that he was alone in the passageway. But there were no footsteps, no faintest sound to follow. He was forced to put his hand on the wall and use it to guide himself along. A sudden, terrible memory gripped him: the passage beneath the watchtower on the south of the Seat, where he had followed Cyrus and Adara during the attack. It had been very much like this tunnel, and then, as now, he had been unable to see where he was going.

  A slight grinding sounded from ahead, making him jump. Then Mako’s hand clamped firmly over his shoulder to drag him forwards. Now, at last, there was some tiny shaft of light, and his eyes drank it in. They were in some sort of shed, with stone walls and a wooden roof. There were all manner of tools hanging on the walls—rakes, brooms, and shovels. Ebon thought they looked vaguely familiar. Then in a flash he recognized where they were.

  “This is one of the outer sheds.”

  “Indeed,” said Mako, who Ebon now saw stood just beside him.

  Ebon spun to look the way he had come, but the wall was solid. “Where is the door? How did we get here?”

  Mako’s grin spread wider. “There are still some secrets I deem you unworthy of.”

  Ebon shook his head. “It is not only that. If I cannot find the door, I cannot come back to the Academy this way.”

  “Imagine the depths of my dismay.” Mako’s face was a mask of stone.

  “Very well,” said Ebon, glaring. “Let us get on with it.”

  Mako took him out of the shed and into the streets. The moons had not yet risen, but dusk’s fading light let Ebon see well enough. Yet that was little help, for their route was so wild and winding that he was soon hopelessly lost. He searched for a landmark, such as the High King’s palace towering over the buildings, but saw nothing. It seemed almost as though Mako was taking him down the narrowest streets, the tightest alleys, so that he could not hold his bearings for even a moment. And the pace soon had Ebon heaving and sweating in his robes.

  “Where are we going, Mako?” he wheezed between breaths. “I cannot remain out all night. There is a curfew.”

&nb
sp; “I doubt we will be that long,” said Mako, who of course was not winded. “And if we are, you can simply tunnel in through the Academy’s outer wall, little alchemist.”

  “It does not work like that. The walls are enchanted.”

  Mako shrugged. “I fail to see how this is my concern.”

  Ebon stopped and glared. “If we do anything questionable tonight, and it is noted that I returned to the Academy past curfew, will that not level suspicion at me? And might that not be traced back to you and the family?”

  He was gratified to see Mako pause before turning back to him with an appraising look. “Clever, little Ebon. Very clever indeed. Have this vow, then: if we are out past your curfew, I will see you safe inside the Academy walls. Agreed?”

  “Thank you,” said Ebon.

  So they kept on, until stars shone bright in the sky and the faint glow of the moons at last shone from the east. Though Ebon was lost, he would have guessed they were somewhere in the city’s northeastern reaches. Mako turned down a final alley to a dead end. Ebon was about to ask if they had taken a wrong turn, when the bodyguard pointed to the cobblestones.

  “Now. Use your magic. Open a way through the street into the sewers below.”

  Ebon looked all around. “Here? Where are we?”

  Mako cuffed him on the side of the head. Ebon doubted the blow had all the strength held in those brawny arms, but it still stung terribly. “I have no time for questions. Do as I say.”

  Glaring (and trying not to look as though it were a pout), Ebon reached for his magic. He knelt, placing his hands to the street, and soon the stone rippled away from his fingers. It piled up in little ridges around the edge of a hole that grew ever deeper. At last he reached the open space beneath, and an uneven circle of darkness gaped up from below.

  “Well enough done,” Mako said, and then leapt inside.

  Ebon swallowed before gingerly lowering himself down. He clung to the hole’s edge with his fingertips, hoping his feet would reach the bottom. Of course they did not, and he was forced to let go. He landed with a splash and a curse, before gagging as the smell of the place wafted to him out of the darkness.

  “I think you should have worn more perfume, little Ebon,” Mako chuckled. “Now close the way behind us.”

  “It is too high,” said Ebon. “I need to touch it.”

  Mako growled, and then Ebon felt himself hoisted up by the waist. He stretched for the sewer’s ceiling and put forth his power again. He remembered the way he had done it in the library, and controlled the magic itself rather than the stone. Soon the hole was sealed, and though it looked a terrible job, one would have to look closely to notice. Mako dropped him without ceremony, and Ebon splashed noisily back into the sewer water.

  “Come now,” said Mako. “Only a little way farther.”

  He set off, the muck slurping and sucking at his boots with every step. Ebon cursed inwardly as he realized Mako had known they would go this way, but had not warned Ebon or had him bring better footwear. The bodyguard’s boots kept his feet clear of the mess and the stink, but Ebon could feel the filth soaking into his shoes and staining his skin. Again he tried not to retch, and forced his mind to other matters.

  The sewer itself was a grander space than Ebon had thought it would be. It was a true tunnel, round on all sides rather than the walls meeting the floor in corners. Holes in the ceiling occasionally led to gutters above, and splashing moonlight seeped through to guide the way. There were no platforms for them to walk, as in Idrisian sewers, and the walls were cut stone instead of brick. It had an ancient and unattended feel, as though ancient forebears had laid these tunnels here in days before history, and had then abandoned them, so that now no one on the Seat even remembered they existed.

  Ebon did not have long to reflect, for soon Mako stopped him. It had been some time since they had seen a gutter-hole, and only the faintest glow of moonlight allowed them to see. Mako pointed at the ceiling. “Here. Open the way for us.”

  “Where are we?” said Ebon.

  “What have I told you about questions? Do what I brought you here to do.”

  Again Mako hoisted him up, and again Ebon put forth his power. When he broke through the stones into the space above, he saw the faint glow of candles. A smell burst forth into the sewer, pleasant and familiar: perfumes of all the nine lands, in a heady mix that set his mind at ease.

  Then Mako shoved him up through the hole into the space above, and Ebon realized he was in a house of lovers. For a moment, panic seized him, thinking this had something to do with Adara. But he forced himself to remain calm. He might not know what part of the island they were on, but he was certain it was nowhere near Adara’s blue door. However, there were two sleeping forms on the bed, and Ebon dared not come any closer to see them.

  He did not have to. Mako followed him up through the hole, and in an instant the bodyguard crept towards the bed. Ebon wanted to follow, but he was deathly afraid; the fear was nameless, baseless, for he knew not what to expect, only something told him he would not like it.

  Stop being a coward, he told himself. He pushed up into a crouch and crept behind Mako. One of the figures on the bed—a man—was snoring, face down, his rear end exposed. Beside him lay another, younger man, smooth chest glowing in candlelight. From the beauty of the younger man’s face, Ebon guessed he was the lover.

  From a pocket in his vest, Mako drew forth a piece of black cloth. This he drew over his face, covering him from nose to chin so that only his eyes could be seen. From another pocket he produced a small vial. This he unstopped, and tipped its contents into his other hand. Ebon could see it was a fine brown powder.

  Mako threw the powder into the lover’s face. The man’s eyes flew open in shock, but at once he slumped back, senseless.

  Quick as a shadow, Mako stole around to the other side of the bed and reached for his dagger. Ebon’s heart raced as Mako snatched the other man’s shoulder and threw him over so he lay on his back.

  Matami started awake, blinking hard as he tried to get his bearings. Mako brought the pommel of his dagger crashing down, knocking Ebon’s uncle out cold.

  Ebon clamped a hand over his own mouth to stifle a cry. Mako took no notice, hoisting Matami over his shoulder and carrying him to the hole in the floor. Only then did he look at Ebon.

  “I will go down first. Shove him in after me. I will catch him and make sure he does not break his neck.”

  Mako vanished into the tunnel before Ebon could nod. Terror seized his muscles, and he knew not what to do. He could only look at Matami’s nude form, lying with his arm twisted beneath him.

  “Ebon!” hissed Mako from below. “If I have to come back up there, I will cut off one of your ears!”

  That made Ebon crawl forwards quickly. First he tried to push his uncle’s shoulders, but that only made him lurch slightly to the side. Grimacing, Ebon stood, hooked his hands beneath the man’s flabby stomach, and rolled him over. Matami’s head sank into the hole, followed by the rest of his body. Ebon was afraid he would tumble down into the darkness. But the fall stopped abruptly as Mako caught him. Slowly the rest of Matami slithered into the darkness to join his head.

  Ebon hesitated for half a moment, staring at the door of the room. He could slip outside, leave through the blue door and make his way into the streets of the city, finding his way back to the Academy. Someone might see him, but what of it? It must be better than following Mako into the dark and the stink, to who knew what end.

  “Come, little goldbag.” Mako’s voice floated up to him out of the abyss. “If you wish to save your Academy and all your little friends, there is work still to be done.”

  He warred with himself a moment longer. Then Ebon sat on the edge of the hole and dropped down into the sewer.

  thirty-four

  AFTER EBON HASTILY CLOSED THE hole behind them, Mako took him down the sewer—but they did not go back the way they came. Instead Mako led him farther onward, with Matami hoisted over his s
houlder like a sack of flour.

  More twists and turns passed, but Ebon had given up trying to determine where they were. Instead he stared at his feet while they walked, and wondered just what mess he had stepped into. When he had determined to prove Matami’s guilt, and therefore the guilt of his father, he had not imagined kidnapping Matami himself. He only hoped it would not get worse—yet something inside him promised that it would.

  They had been walking on a downward slope for some time, but now the sewer opened, causing Ebon to stop in his tracks. The ceiling rose abruptly to form a chamber many paces high. The sewer’s filthy, watery channel disappeared into the floor, and there was a sort of raised central platform in the center of the chamber. In the center of that platform was an iron chair, and Ebon could see that it had been bolted to the stone floor with great spikes. Chains were nailed into the chair, and there Mako brought Matami, lashing him into place tightly so that he could not move. Around the edge of the chamber were other doorways, leading to more passageways like the one they had come from. All led upward, and where they entered the room, their sewage flow vanished into a grate under the central platform, where Ebon could hear the sound of rushing water.

  “It is the central drainage chamber,” said Mako. “Or at least, it is one of them. There are several such across the Seat—though this is the most removed from the city above, and therefore the best in which to hide things.”

  Ebon tried to keep his voice steady. “And what are we hiding, Mako?”

  The bodyguard looked at him, but did not answer. Instead he went to one of the other doorways, where a torch rested in a sconce on the wall. This he took down and lit, before carrying it to the center of the room. He placed it on the floor less than a pace from Matami’s bare feet. They were lashed to the chair like the rest of him and now twitched from the heat of the flame. Finally Matami woke with a jerk, eyes wild as they had been in the lover’s room above. Immediately he winced at the lump blooming above his temple where Mako had struck him. He tried to raise his head to the lump, but found that Mako had lashed his wrists behind the chair.