by C. A. McHugh
Raimel ran his hand along Ceryst’s back until he found the source of the bleeding. A long gash ran along the knight’s side, stretching from the back of his ribs to edge of his flank. It was deep enough to make Ceryst bleed like a stuck pig, but not necessarily fatal, especially if he could stitch it up with a healing spell.
He focused his magic on the wound and cast the spell.
Nothing happened.
He risked casting it again, doubling his efforts.
All he got was a fresh gush of blood on his hand and bone-zapping exhaustion. “It’s not healing.”
“What do you mean?” Ceryst asked through gritted teeth. “I thought you were a mage.”
“I am a mage.” Anger roared through him with such fury, he bordered on unleashing the darker side of his nature. He took a second to draw in a calming breath, before he made matters worse by losing control of himself, and took a closer look at the wound. “This is different.”
“It was a sword,” the knight snapped back. “How different can it be?”
“Because most sword wounds are easily healed.” He tore a strip off his already worn cloak and pressed it against the wound to staunch some of the bleeding. When he pulled it back, he noticed something black lining the raw edges of flesh. A swipe of his finger revealed it to be thick and sticky, like tar. His mind flashed back to the demons’ swords, and another curse flew from him. “Poison.”
“What?” Ceryst tried to rise to his feet, but his face turned ghostly pale, and he sank back to his knees.
“Not that kind of poison.” Although this could be equally as deadly. He’d read about an ancient substance that would keep a wound from healing, but he’d never encountered it until now. And he had no idea if there was an antidote.
He scrambled to his feet, the room spinning from the sudden movement. He staggered for a few steps and pressed his hand to his forehead. “I need to get Master Binnius.”
“How?” Ceryst flinched as he tried to get to his feet. “You look as bad off as me.”
And he sure as hell didn’t have the magical reserves to teleport the two of them to Arcana. But he could get a message to the headmaster. He had paper in his saddlebags, but a second later he realized that they’d left everything with the horses, and he cursed again. He searched the barren room for a scrap of anything he could write on.
“What are you doing now?” Ceryst asked as Raimel tore a strip of dirty linen from the knight’s shirt only to realize he didn’t have any ink.
“I can send a message to him.” He found splinter of wood that would work for a quill and dipped it into the pool of blood on the floor. “Of course, when he sees it written in your blood, he’ll realize how dire things are.”
“Be honest with me.”
Raimel waited until he got all the necessary information on the small strip of fabric and cast a spell to send it to Master Binnius. Then he whipped off his cloak and started to tear long strips from it to make a bandages. The blood would probably just soak right through them, making them as useless as he felt, but the compression they’d offer might keep Ceryst alive until he heard back from the master mage. It was all he could do to save his best friend for now. “How do you feel about fertilizing flowers?”
Ceryst scooted across the floor and leaned back against the wall. His color was already fading, and despite the chilliness of the underground quarters, sweat ran down the sides of his face. “I was afraid you’d say that.”
Chapter 9
Aerrin ran toward the headmaster’s office, climbing the stairs two at a time. When he got to the door, it swung open before he had a chance to knock. As always, Master Binnius had been expecting him.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he asked from his desk, peering over the rim of his glasses at him.
“I need to talk to you about something that just happened.” He closed the door behind him, not wanting anyone else to know he’d allowed another student to turn him into a dog. “Did you know that Seroney is capable of transformation spells?”
“Indeed, as she should be as a fifth-year student. After all, turning a potato into pea pod is a first-year spell.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.” He paced the length of the room, his ears burning from having to share how he’d been duped by the new girl. “I’m talking about transforming humans into animals.”
He turned, expecting to see shock or disbelief or maybe even anger on the headmaster’s face.
Instead, Master Binnius gave him an amused smile that reminded him too much of the one Seroney had worn earlier. “On herself or others? And are you sure it wasn’t the other way around?”
His patience had reached the breaking point, and his anger boiled over. “Damn it, Master Binnius, she turned me into a dog.”
“And how did you like it?” he asked, his voice both calm and curious.
“What?” He stumbled back a step. “Did you hear me correctly?”
“I heard you say Seroney turned you into a dog. Was that correct?”
“Yes, and you—you’re—” He waited for the headmaster’s expression to match his own, but it never faltered from that inquisitive amusement. “Aren’t you going to punish her for that?”
“It depends.” The smile disappeared under his beard, and he sat up straighter in his chair. “Enlighten me as to the circumstances of this transformation.”
“I was having trouble with the mist form spell, and she offered to help, but when I tried it, I panicked, and she picked up on it and offered to help me overcome my fears and then turned me into a dog.” His explanation rattled off on the fury of one deep breath, and by the end of it, he was panting.
“And did she give you a reason why she turned you into a canine?”
“She claimed she was trying to see if I feared being transformed.”
“And did you?” Master Binnius leaned back in his chair with his hand folded over his stomach.
Aerrin gritted his teeth before he lost his temper again. He should’ve known Master Binnius wouldn’t give him a straight answer. He always deflected a question with another question. But years in the royal court had taught him that two could play this game. “That’s beside the point.”
“On the contrary.” The smile reappeared. “If I know her as well as I think I do, she meant no harm. You asked her for help, and although her teaching methods are a little… outside the box, let’s say, she did help you discover if it was your fear of becoming something else that was holding you back from casting the spell. Am I right?”
And once again, the old man proved he knew more than he let on.
Aerrin slumped into a chair and crossed his arms, his pride still stinging. “Isn’t that spell against the rules?”
“Only if it was cast without permission, which you had given to her. Besides, did you keep your hands?”
“Yes.”
“Then, obviously, she didn’t transform you into a dog since they don’t have hands. Therefore, she didn’t cast the spell you are accusing her of casting.”
Which meant Seroney wouldn’t be punished for her actions. But he wasn’t going to give up. “I still think she was being malicious.”
“You are welcome to think that, but I must admit, I am impressed that she chose to employ such an unorthodox teaching method. I heard from your professors about your frustrations with this particular spell. I suspect that she might be the one person that can help you. And this is how you repay her kindness?”
Aerrin let the idea roll around in his mind. Maybe Seroney could help him, but after tonight, he still wasn’t sure he could trust whatever her teaching methods held next. “What can you tell me about her?”
“Have you considered asking her yourself?”
“Not when I have to worry about her turning me into a dog.”
The headmaster’s lips twitched, only to fall into a frown when an object appeared out of nowhere. A strip of material floated down to his desk.
Aerrin jumped up from his chair to get a closer
a look, only to have his breath catch when he realized there was a message on the fabric. It was written in blood.
A shiver rattled through him as he read it. Lone Wolf wounded. Poison prevents healing magic. Send help to my quarters in Dromore. R.
All Aerrin’s life, he’d been told Sir Ceryst of Klone—aka the Lone Wolf—was the Raven Bringer and his parents’ murderer. Ceryst had become the scapegoat who bore the blame in a time when the kingdom lay paralyzed with fear and mourning. But even while shouldering the burden of a crime he didn’t commit, he still upheld his vow to protect the royal family.
Even now, when he was bleeding somewhere under the city.
“What is this about?” Aerrin demanded. This time, he refused to let Master Binnius talk circles around him. He was the king, and one of his trusted servants was injured. He wouldn’t quit until he wrenched every last detail from the old man.
“If you have to ask that, then you aren’t as bright as I thought you were.” Master Binnius rose from his desk and grabbed a staff, walking with an urgency that always surprised Aerrin in a man of his age.
Aerrin trailed after him. “He’s behind this, isn’t he?”
He didn’t have to name names. In truth, he was glad he didn’t need to utter the name in public. People would panic if they knew the Raven Bringer was back. Preventing chaos and hysteria were the two reasons he’d kept this information private.
“It seems the reports of his activity in Edensdowne were correct.” The headmaster quickened his pace down the spiral staircase. “Where did you last see Seroney?”
Aerrin paused and shook his head, wondering if he’s heard Master Binnius correctly. Ceryst was bleeding, and he was venturing off to tend to another matter. He caught up to headmaster. “I think the matter with Seroney can wait, don’t you?”
“On the contrary, I think we need to find her, and quickly, before things get worse.”
The old man was back to talking in riddles, but this time, Aerrin decided to play along. “We were practicing in the fencing pit.”
“Very good.” That was it. No questions as to why a girl would be in a fencing area. No sharing of his plan. No explanation on why he was diverting them to this matter instead of tending to the more pressing need.
They literally ran into Seroney as she was rounding a corner.
“Un—” She shifted her gaze to Aerrin, and her surprise melted into caution. “Excuse me, Master Binnius, Your Majesty.”
“What felicitous luck finding you, my dear.” The headmaster pulled her aside, ignoring the way she nervously kept glancing to Aerrin. “I have a problem that you might be able to solve with your wondrous knowledge of alchemy.”
“How so?”
Aerrin didn’t miss the guarded tone in her voice, nor the way her posture stiffened.
“Have you ever heard of a poison that prevents wounds from being healed by magic?”
Her brows drew together for a moment before she sucked in a breath through her teeth. “The Azheckborn’s poison. But what—”
This time, it was Master Binnius who wordlessly cut her off with a sideways glance to Aerrin. Whatever she knew about this poison, the headmaster didn’t want him to know about it.
Which only doubled his frustration. Now they were both hiding something from him.
“And is there an antidote for it?” Master Binnius asked.
She nodded, but didn’t give the answer. Instead, she kept staring at Aerrin as though she were asking the headmaster permission to share her secret in front of him.
“Then tell me, girl. A man’s life depends on it.”
Worry replaced her caution, and Aerrin caught a glimpse of another facet to the new girl. She might be hiding something, but she had no problem sharing her secrets when needed. “Hykona leaves. Place them in the wound, and they’ll absorb the poison. Replace them as they blacken.”
“Thank you very much, my dear. Aerrin, let’s make a side trip to the greenhouse.”
Seroney stepped back to let them pass, her face scrunched up in confusion. Now she was the one with questions. Now she was the one left in the dark.
Aerrin like having the tables turned on her for once. And more importantly, Master Binnius wasn’t shutting him out. But it wasn’t until they reached the greenhouse that he realized one important detail he’d missed earlier. “Why did you seek her out about the poison?”
“Because she has an extensive background in alchemy.” Master Binnius lit the crystal embedded in the top of his staff and used the soft blue light to navigate the darkened rows of plants.
“Including poisons?” Suspicion tinged Aerrin’s question.
“And their antidotes, which is far more important in this circumstance.” He paused in front of a bush with long, flat leaves. “Ah, here we are. Will you be so kind as to help me gather some of the leaves?”
Aerrin grabbed them by the handfuls and stuffed them him his pockets. The headmaster gave him a questioning glance. He responded by issuing his own challenge. He refused to stay behind at a time like this, especially when Ceryst and Raimel both had news about the Raven Bringer. He was the king, and he refused to be left in the dark about this matter.
Master Binnius seemed to read his mind and gave him a smile. “So you’re determined to see this to the end?”
Aerrin wasn’t sure if he was referring to Ceryst’s injuries or the Raven Bringer, but he nodded. “It’s my duty.”
“Then follow me to the edge of the Academy.”
The grounds of the Academy were guarded by multiple spells, including one that prevented teleportation. The older students who could perform the teleportation spell and the master mages all grumbled about it, but it meant that mages with ill intentions couldn’t appear and disappear on the grounds and threaten the safety of the students.
“Have you mastered teleportation yet?” Master Binnius asked once they’d crossed the magical boundary.
“That’s a seventh-year spell.”
“Indeed, but some younger students master it sooner.” He gave Aerrin a nod that told him he had the headmaster’s permission to learn it now.
Of course, before he could learn to teleport, he had to master a simple mist form spell.
Master Binnius doused his light and placed his hand on Aerrin’s shoulder. “Very well, if you insist on coming along.”
A shock raced through him that set every hair on end. Aerrin felt as though he’d been launched up into the air by a catapult. His stomach lurched, and his vision blurred. The open countryside and spring-like climate of Arcana vanished to be replaced by narrow stone walls and dank air. The ground hardened beneath his feet, and when his sight cleared, he found himself in a dark tunnel.
“Where—”
Master Binnius pressed his finger to his lips. Wherever they were, they needed to be silent.
A new wave of trepidation trickled down his spine as he followed the headmaster around a corner and down an even darker tunnel. If he hadn’t grabbed hold of Master Binnius’s cloak, he would’ve lost him completely in the blackness. Yet the old man appeared to know exactly where he was going. Eventually they drew to a stop.
“Now, what was the password?” the headmaster mumbled. He followed this with a series of soft knocks on a wooden door.
A few seconds later, another series of knocks answered from the other side.
Master Binnius gave a timed sequence of five more knocks, and the door opened.
Raimel stood in a dimly lit room carved out a stone, his face a perfect representation of relief. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“The urgency of your message was apparent even without the added theatrics.” Master Binnius pushed through and knelt beside Ceryst, who lay slumped against a wall, blood dripping from the bandage around his side.
“Blood was all I had.” Raimel ran his hand through his long, disheveled hair. “Even though no one’s claimed this place, it didn’t keep them from picking it clean. You know how thieves are.”
Aer
rin ducked inside before Raimel closed the door and trapped him in the dark. He suspected they were in the underground tunnels of Dromore. But the door looked sturdy enough to protect them from unwanted company.
He joined Master Binnius and took the blood-soaked strips of material as the old man unwound them. The knight almost appeared gray from the blood loss. His eyes remained halfway closed, and his arms hung limply by his side. He didn’t speak, didn’t moan, didn’t protest as the headmaster worked. If it weren’t for the rise and fall of his chest, Aerrin would’ve sworn he was dead. “What happened?”
Raimel looked to Master Binnius as though he was asking permission to share what he knew.
The headmaster remained focused on the now exposed wound. “First the hykona leaves, please.”
Aerrin pulled them from his pockets, and Master Binnius began stuffing them in the gash as Seroney had instructed. Once the antidote was in place, the headmaster nodded at Raimel. “Now, enlighten us both as to what occurred tonight.”
“It was an ambush.” Raimel paced the width of small room, his expression as tense as his shoulders. “He sent a small group to test us and wear us out before surrounding us with an even larger force.”
“How large?” Aerrin swapped a supply of fresh leaves with the blackened ones Master Binnius was already pulling from the wound.
“I didn’t have time to count. I was too busy trying to get us the hell out of there. I didn’t even know Ceryst was wounded until we got here.”
“And why didn’t you take him to the Academy so we could tend to him there?” Aerrin was watching every pained breath the knight took.
“Because I’d already overextended my abilities,” Raimel snapped. For a split second, Aerrin could’ve sworn his eyes had a red glow to them. “Besides, the wards prevent me from teleporting into the Academy, and I couldn’t take him to—” He cleared his throat. “I did the best I could.”
“Which was good enough,” Master Binnius replied in a calm manner. “And it appears we’ve soaked up all the poison”
Aerrin peered over his shoulder at the green leaves protruding from the wound. Now that the bleeding had slowed, he got a glimpse of the long, ragged gash that ran from Ceryst’s back to his side.