“Theren!” Ebon fell to his knees beside her. “I am sorry. Are you all right?”
“It is nothing,” she said, gritting her teeth hard, her face going pale.
“Come, let us get you to safety,” said Kalem, helping her the rest of the way to her feet. Ebon lent her a hand, but his eyes had returned to the east. He could no longer see the Dean, but had noted the direction of his flight.
He looked back. The last students were gone, and the instructors after them. Kalem was helping Theren through the wall, and Jia was there, human again. She looked past them to Ebon. Their eyes met. Her brow furrowed, and she opened her mouth to call to him.
Ebon whirled and vanished into the streets, chasing after the Dean.
thirty-one
THERE WAS NO FIGHTING IN this part of the city, and so Ebon was able to move quickly. Before long he spotted Cyrus, moving quickly but not quite running. Adara walked freely by his side. Every once in a while Cyrus would take her arm, but to steady her rather than drag her along. Ebon guessed that he had threatened her already.
He still carried his blade, but knew not how to use it to best effect. He was unwilling to kill the Dean, though he doubted that Cyrus would show him the same courtesy. But Ebon had to know where he was taking Adara, and for what purpose. Did he merely mean to flee the Seat? Or did he have some deadlier aim? Ebon only knew he would not abandon Adara to Cyrus’ machinations, for the Dean had shown himself to be half a madman already.
Soon Cyrus reached the wall, and moved along it as though searching for something. They passed some towers with doors leading through, but Cyrus passed them. Ebon doubted the Dean would enjoy the idea of climbing down with a rope. He probably thinks it beneath him, Ebon thought bitterly.
At last Cyrus reached a tower and entered, Adara in tow. Ebon thought it looked like any other, and watched for a moment. But when neither of them emerged, he stole forwards to the door. It opened easily, and he poked his head inside to see a tower guardroom like any other—yet in the floor, Ebon spotted an open wooden hatch, with stairs descending into darkness, and no torches to light the way.
Ebon hesitated, for the hatch was too dark to see inside. But Cyrus and Adara must have gone that way—there was no other way to leave. He crept to the edge of the hatch and spied the bottom of the stairs, where a stone floor ran away underground, but nothing else.
He took one step down, and then another, the sword shaking in his hand. At the bottom, he had to put a hand to the wall to guide himself. But fortunately the wall ran straight and true, so Ebon was able to edge his way along without much trouble.
Suddenly there was a terrible, shuddering groan, and he ducked back against the wall. But then he saw the bright blue light of day far ahead. He squinted against it and spied two figures appear in silhouette. Then they vanished, and left the door open behind them.
Ebon moved faster now that the way was lit, and soon saw that the passageway ended in a door leading outside. There was a small platform, and steps heading up to the left. But beyond the platform was only empty space, and the roar of waves. He reached the end and saw why: he had emerged into the cliffs on the south of the Seat. Along the island’s southern coast, sheer rock faces provided no easy way to reach the waters below. Stairs to his left lead back up the wall to the clifftops high above. Cyrus was nowhere in sight.
Ebon quickly climbed the stairway, leaning carefully against the cliff wall, for there was no handrail to steady him. At the top, he spotted them again: Cyrus in his dark grey robes trimmed with gold, and Adara in blue. He ran, for they had gained quite a lead and were making for a break in the cliffs, opened like a rent cut by some great axe.
He began to close the gap, but not quickly enough, for they reached the lip long before him. And as they reached it, Adara happened to glance back over her shoulder. She froze in shock, her mouth opening in a perfect O.
“Ebon!” she cried.
He stopped short, now ten paces away. Cyrus turned in surprise and saw Ebon. He smiled, small and cruel. Then Adara broke away and ran for Ebon. The Dean’s lips twisted in a scowl. He reached forth a hand, eyes glowing, and unseen bonds snatched Adara. She turned her head back to him, frowning.
“What is the meaning of this? Release me at once.”
Cyrus shrugged and obeyed. But she did not run for Ebon, and the Dean stared at him with a savage, almost brutish expression.
“Why have you followed me, boy? Should you not be with the rest of your sheep?”
“What are you doing with Adara, Cyrus?” Ebon tried to steady his voice, along with his sword. “Leave her be.”
“Leave her…?” Cyrus threw back his head and laughed. “You foolish boy. She is coming with me, away from this place. I have hired her.”
Ebon swallowed and looked at Adara to see her smiling sadly. “What? Is this true?”
“I am a lover, Ebon. I told you not to dwell on those I spend time with.”
“But with him?”
Now Adara was glaring at him. “With him, and with many more.”
Ebon took a few cautious steps forwards. Now he and Cyrus were only a few paces away, Adara to the side, between them both. “You do not know what a monster he is.”
Cyrus waved a hand. “Save your whimpering. I know now that I struck at you in error. Our family has abandoned you here to your death, the same as me. But you should count yourself fortunate. I shall permit your company, if you wish, for I could use a servant as I travel.”
“Servant? For you?” Ebon’s hands shook, with rage rather than fear. “Do you think I would lift so much as a finger to help you? You nearly killed me.” Adara turned to Cyrus, fixing the Dean with a steely gaze.
“I thought you were in league with our family,” Cyrus snapped. “But they have outwitted us both, and used us as pawns. Now we have only one hope: flee to the outland kingdoms where no one will find us. I have paid for Adara’s entertainment, but shall take you as well. You will need my protection.”
“I need nothing from you!” Ebon took another step forwards. He still held his sword—almost he felt ready to use it. “I would not accept any gift from you, no matter how freely given. I would take my chances against all the wildlands between Idris and Calentin before taking a single step by your side.”
“Very well. Come, Adara.” Cyrus sneered. “We shall leave this simpleminded fool to his own devices.”
“No.” Adara folded her arms. “I will not go with you.”
Ebon caught the flash of something evil in the Dean’s eye. “What?”
“If you attacked him, then you and I are no friends. You will go on your way without my companionship.”
“Friends?” Cyrus jeered. “Friends? You are a lover. I have paid you already. Now come. Your guild’s laws are very strict, after all.”
“Take your coin and be damned, you bleating steer.” From her dress Adara pulled a handful of coins and flung them at his feet. “My guild’s laws are very strict indeed, and very clear. I will not take one step by your side more than I wish to.”
Cyrus’ face changed, twisting into a mask of fury. A glow crept into his eyes. “You are mine until I say otherwise.” A claw-shaped hand came towards Adara, and an unseen force hoisted her into the air. “Always you whine to see me cast some spell. Well, here is your spell, woman. Do you like it?”
“Stop it!” Ebon raised his sword and attacked.
The Dean reached with his other hand and caught Ebon. Though only a pace away, he was frozen, unable to move a muscle.
“What do you hope to do with that, boy?” The Dean chuckled. “Your gift is an utter waste. Look at how you squander it, batting at me with simple steel. You have not even glimpsed the power of magic, and doubtless never will. Your father was right to hold you back.”
While still keeping Adara suspended, Cyrus pushed with his power, and Ebon was thrown upon his back. The sword sailed from his hand across the dirt. Ebon flew upwards again, came crashing down on his face, and loudly cried out.
“Yes, whimper and whine, little pup. You refuse my hospitality? Very well. I shall not kill you, for you will die if you stay here regardless. And what would the family think if I slaughtered one of our own?” He gave a cruel smile. “But then again, perhaps your father would even reward me, if I were to rid him of his worthless son.”
The Dean loomed over him. His glowing eyes grew brighter, and brighter still, until Ebon could not look for fear of being blinded. The force holding him against the ground increased, pressing him down into the dirt, crushing the breath from his body. He fought for a death gasp, his head twisting as it was shoved against the ground. His eyes fixed on Adara. There she hung, watching him die, weeping in fear. No, not fear, he saw, for her eyes never left his. She wept in grief. For him.
Something rose within him—like the whisper of a familiar voice that he could not place. The world grew brighter, though he knew not why. Was this what it was like to die? A bright light seeping into the world, banishing shadows and turning the sky to a blinding fire?
No, came the whispering voice. It is your magic. Your eyes are glowing.
Ebon looked at his hand, twisted where it was crushed against the dirt. And he felt his magic, the way he had felt it on the docks the night before. Power emanated from his hands, and all the strength of his will was turned to wizardry.
He reached out despite the crushing force and seized Cyrus’ ankles. Ebon felt the cloth under his fingers, and the flesh beneath the cloth, and through his fingers he saw them—as they appeared, and then as they truly were, all the fibers and tissues and specks of dirt, their essence laid bare before him, awaiting his command.
His eyes flashed brighter, and the Dean’s feet turned to stone.
The force pressing Ebon into the dirt ceased immediately. He looked up and saw that Cyrus’ face was a mask of frozen horror. The Dean screamed, a horrible, screeching wail, cutting through the air to turn Ebon’s stomach. Frantically Cyrus tried to take a step backwards, but now his feet were weights he could not hope to move.
Ebon heard quick footsteps running towards them. Adara came from nowhere, and shoved Cyrus in the chest. The Dean tumbled backwards, struck the edge of the cliff, and slid off. Ebon scrambled forwards to peer over the edge. Cyrus’ body plunged, still screeching, into the Great Bay, where his stone feet dragged him beneath the water.
A long moment passed as they sat there, staring at the spot where the Dean had tumbled to his death. Adara reached down to take Ebon’s arm and help him up.
“Are you all right?” she said quietly.
“I am hurt. He attacked me once already. This time it was worse.”
“I shall help you walk. But first, this.”
She seized his face and pulled him in for a deep kiss. Ebon melted into her, and it was as though a great weight had left his shoulders. She finished, pulled back, and leaned her forehead against his. He joined her in closing his eyes.
“I am sorry,” she said. “I did not know.”
“You could not have. But come, we must flee. The Seat is burning.”
She helped him hobble to the edge, and there he saw a staircase descending into a cove below. In the cliff’s wall was a cave, wide and dark, along with a crude wooden dock built into its edge, where three small rowboats were tied to the dock.
“The final mark on the map,” said Ebon.
“Hmm?”
“Nothing.”
With Adara’s help, Ebon lay in the bottom of one of the boats. She cast off the tie and rowed, slowly pulling away from the island.
“South and west,” Ebon said. “We must make for the coast of Selvan, but not where the invaders might catch us.”
She nodded. “Who are they? What do they want?”
“I do not know,” he murmured. “I only wish I had discovered them sooner.”
Her eyes grew distant, looking past and above him to the island behind them. “You could not have prevented it,” she whispered.
Ebon thought of the parcel, and wondered if it were true. Though it was a great effort, he lifted his head. Behind them the Seat was burning, burning with the fury of the sun, and black smoke wafted towards them on the wind. Tears spilled freely down his cheeks, and neither of them dared to speak as they left the flames behind them.
KEEP READING
You’ve finished The Alchemist’s Touch, the first book of the Academy Journals.
You can buy the second book, The Mindmage’s Wrath, RIGHT NOW.
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THIS IS NOT THE BEGINNING
You’ve finished reading The Alchemist’s Touch.
It’s the first book in The Academy Journals. But it’s far from the beginning of the tale.
Why did the family Drayden want Ebon to deliver a palace guard’s uniform? Who destroyed the High King’s Seat? And what did the Dean have to do with all of it?
All these questions and more are answered in the pages of The Nightblade Epic, the first series in the world of Underrealm.
Interested? You can read it right here:
GarrettBRobinson.com/nightblade
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DVD EXTRAS FOR BOOKS
Ever come to the end of a book and wish it wasn’t over?
That’s how I feel all the time.
I’ve created behind-the-scenes content for you to enjoy. You’ll get to hear about the creation process of the book, and watch the video diary of its creation from beginning to end.
(It’s worth checking back on the page from time to time—I plan to update it periodically.)
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Garrett Robinson was born and raised in Los Angeles. The son of an author/painter father and a violinist/singer mother, no one was surprised when he grew up to be an artist.
After blooding himself in the independent film industry, he self-published his first book in 2012 and swiftly followed it with a stream of others, publishing more than two million words by 2014. Within months he topped numerous Amazon bestseller lists. Now he spends his time writing books and directing films.
A passionate fantasy author, his most popular series is the Nightblade Epic. However, he has delved into many other genres. Some works are for adult audiences only, such as Non Zombie and Hit Girls, but he has also published popular books for younger readers, including the Realm Keepers series and The Ninjabread Man, both co-authored with Z.C. Bolger.
Garrett lives in Los Angeles with his wife Meghan, his children Dawn, Luke, and Desmond, and his dog Chewbacca.
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&n
bsp; epilogue
The buildings lining the streets were blackened and ruined, for the fires had run amok across the Seat. Ebon did not guess that more than one building in four could be salvaged. The rest would have to be torn down and rebuilt.
Only two structures on the Seat had withstood the sacking unscathed: the High King’s palace, bloodstained but unbroken; and the Academy, whose thick granite walls even the fury of the attackers would not cast down.
They had left before the sun set on the day of their attack, the fleet of Dulmun and the blue-and-grey clad soldiers who some were now calling Shades. Rumors of the reason for their retreat abounded, and Ebon wondered if anyone would ever learn the truth.
A voice inside told him that someone already did know the truth, and that they were of the family Drayden.
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