by Tony Donadio
He wasn’t certain what made him approach with stealth, rather than simply walking in and greeting them. He came to the door and quietly opened it a crack. It was just wide enough to peer through, and to hear what was being said. He stood there, watching and listening.
“Dennis is still missing, his cousin Lemma said. “And Orion. What about them?”
“Your brother was at the docks working the shipment from Port Tiberax,” his father replied. “Everyone there was killed in the massacre.”
“And Orion was at the Grand Academy,” his mother added. “He’s either taken or dead.”
“And Claudia?” Lemma pursued.
“There’s nothing we can do for her,” his brother Jeremy said angrily. “The Hellmen are serious about their rituals. She was swept up in this ‘taking’ of theirs and that’s the end of it.”
Orion shut his eyes. Claudia was his younger sister, and like most of his siblings she’d never much cared for her scholar brother. She’d thought him stuffy and boring, and had frequently said so. Despite their less than close relationship he felt an intense stab of empathy for her. Perhaps if he could find out where she was, he could come up with a way to rescue her …
“There’s more to it than that,” he heard his father saying. “Trying to intervene for her would jeopardize the family’s standing. Orion as well, if he’s even still alive. It would attract negative attention at the worst possible time. Our future prospects depend on being flexible, adaptable, and cooperative with Zomoran’s new order.”
There was a murmur of assent from the assembled group. Orion gripped the edge of the door, eyes widening in anger and disbelief.
“Edward is right,” his mother said. “The coup is a golden opportunity for us. We need to seize it. Danor’s ‘reforms’ were about to gut our business, losing our family charters it spent generations acquiring. Zomoran’s regime will rebuild the Trade Guild. If we play our cards right we can become an important part of it.”
“How?” Jeremy asked. He sounded intrigued.
“By finding out who is going to be in favor in the new order,” his father replied. “And exploiting — or making — contacts and alliances with them. And by distancing ourselves from whoever is not.”
“How will we know which is which?” Lemma asked.
“It won’t be hard to figure out,” his mother said. Her voice was sly and confident. “Start by assuming that whoever was close to the old regime is out, and whoever they were in conflict with is in. Baronet Kuhl, for example. I’ve already heard through my contacts that he was the first of the High Council to swear to Zomoran. We’ve had profitable dealings with him in the past and he knows he can count on us. That’s an alliance we need to strengthen at once. I’ve already sent a courier to him with a message …”
Orion let go of the door and stepped back. He was shaking.
They’re going to ingratiate themselves with the Warlord’s regime, he thought numbly. They’re actually working out a deliberate plan to sell out to the Black Magus and his demons.
It was a moment of brutal clarity for him. He had felt like an outsider in his family for most of his young life. Up to now, though, he’d thought it due to a passion for scholarship that they didn’t share. Despite his uneasiness at their frequent lack of scruples, he had tried to respect what he believed was their differing but still legitimate dedication to the family business.
What he was seeing now was wholly different. It was the basest kind of dishonor, and it went far beyond a mismatch of interests. It was a profound clash of ethics, and it stripped away the over-generous excuses he had always made for them. And for the first time, he saw without doubt that this was the root of his lifelong disconnection with his family.
Eyes narrowed and convictions hardened, he turned on his heel and returned the way he’d come. He left his childhood home behind and, without looking back, set out on a brisk walk toward the Grand Academy.
The New Curriculum
Orion sat in the classroom by the garden in the Grand Academy. He noted, with an overwhelming sense of irony, that it was the very same one in which he’d begun his career as a teacher the day before.
About a dozen people were seated around him. He recognized many of the names and faces from the department of philosophy. Most were fellow instructors, and some had even been his professors. A few others were among the more advanced students. All of them wore expressions with various levels of worry, ranging from haunted to clearly terrified.
An elderly Hellwoman in a professorial robe stood by the podium at the head of the class. As with the Hellman clerk he’d encountered earlier it was a deep green. It differed only in the addition of a bright yellow trim around the collar and cuffs. It was cut to be rather less modest in style than was customary for the Grand Academy.
“I am Dame E’lath,” she was saying. “The new head of the Department of Philosophy. You will address me as ‘Mistress.’ Do you understand?”
She waited as the group exchanged nervous glances. Her eyes hardened.
“I said, do you understand?” she demanded. The menace in her voice was unmistakable.
This time, they did. “Yes, Mistress,” they replied together.
“That’s better. No doubt you are all wondering why you’ve been assigned to this meeting tonight. The answer is simple. You are the members of my instructional staff who remain after yesterday’s Taking.”
Her gaze swept slowly around the room as she spoke, settling on each of them in turn.
“Warlord Zomoran fully intends to return the Grand Academy to its rightful role as Carlissa’s — and indeed, Kalara’s — premier center of learning,” she went on. “This will be done largely with new teachers, many from my own people, who will be brought in to fill its now vacant roles. You are the members of the prior instructional staff fortunate enough to have been assigned to assist in that noble task.”
Her eyes again took on a hard look.
“This assignment is a great honor,” she continued. Her voice was stern. “One that will afford each of you significantly greater privileges in the new order than will be enjoyed by your fellow Carlissans. As long, of course, as you act accordingly.”
She smiled as expressions of relief washed across many of the faces around him. Orion forced himself to suppress the sick feeling in his stomach — and slowly, cautiously, and very deliberately, faked a similar expression of his own. As Diana had said, they would have to lie their way through whatever was expected of them, at least for now.
“My job — our job — for the next few months will be to see that you are trained in the new curriculum. Some of you, and particularly those instructed by Professor Zomoran, may already be familiar with a portion of the material that we will be covering. Because of the propaganda stranglehold your “Covenant” has had on Kalara’s eastern continent for so many centuries, however, you will all require extensive re-education before being ready to assume your new duties.”
Orion fought to keep his face calm. Cautiously, he let a subdued look of curious interest show on his face. It turned out to be one of the most difficult things he had ever done. He had been a student in then Professor Zomoran’s class on Society and Culture, and knew the outlines of what to expect from Dame E’lath’s “re-education.”
The memory brought a stab of pain as he remembered a classmate who had been killed the day before. Aron Killraven had been in that course with him. The prince had been in his last year at the academy, and Orion in his first.
Zomoran had made it a requirement that his students form teams with the responsibility to argue for both the Light and the Dark. They had been paired for the task, and had worked diligently together to prepare their case. And they had earned top marks by handily winning both sides of the debate.
Part of the reason had been due to Aron’s overwhelming power as an orator. As the only freshman in the advanced class, Orion was certain that Zomoran had teamed them precisely to compensate for the prince’s advantage. But the choice had undere
stimated them both. Aron had a first-class mind, in addition to being an outstanding speaker. And Orion had turned out to be a much better debater than his typically shy demeanor would have suggested — even to himself.
They had rarely seen each other afterward, and he had never told the story to his family. Now he suddenly found himself wondering whether the experience had anything to do with his subsequent career, and with the Archmage’s interest in him as a student. Why had he received that unexpected invitation to apply to the Silver Star a year ago? Had he actually managed to impress the elder prince enough to tell his grandfather about him?
He shook his head to clear it. He would never know the answer to that now.
“Your new curriculum has already been planned,” Dame E’lath continued. “And outlined for you. You will begin these studies right away, beginning tonight.”
She held up a book, and gestured around the room to where a copy of it sat on each of their desks. It bore a plain title on the cover: Basic Curriculum in Philosophy for the Grand Academy of Lannamon. The editions were brand new. Orion opened it and glanced at the pages, immediately recognizing the distinctive look and smell of a recent magical printing.
“You will each take your copy when you leave. Tonight, you will carefully read the first chapter. When we meet here again tomorrow morning, you will be prepared to discuss your understanding of that material in detail. Those of you not prepared to do so with the scholarly rigor expected of this institution will have cause to regret it.”
Her eyes narrowed in a threatening expression, underscoring the meaning of her words.
“We will repeat these seminars with new reading assignments every day until we have covered this introductory course. At that time you will take an exam to evaluate whether you are qualified to continue your studies. Those who demonstrate an ability to understand and embrace the new teachings will be permitted to do so. Those who fall short will be dropped from the program.”
Her eyes glinted. A barely restrained smile broke across her normally harsh features.
“To encourage your commitment,” she continued, “Lord Zomoran has declared that those who fail the exam shall be eligible for the Taking. As your instructor, I will have first pick of any who do. I trust that will give you a sufficient incentive to impress me with your scholarship and initiative. If you can do that, then you will have a valued place in our new order.”
Her restraint vanished, and her smile broadened into a look of anticipation.
“If you cannot, then I look forward to carrying on your education in a different form.”
Orion fought to keep his face calm. A student to his right — a shy young woman he’d remembered from one of his ethics classes — closed her eyes and shuddered. He saw Dame E’lath note her reaction with a casual glance and a flicker of amusement in her black eyes.
“Until you pass your qualifying exam, you will be quartered on the academy grounds,” she concluded. “A space in the dorms has been designated for you. You will find your room assignment written in your course book. Go there now to begin your studies. You will report here tomorrow morning by the ringing of the ninth bell.”
A New Friend
Katarina Dal Meara met her daughter when she arrived at the Cathedral Hospital. They embraced tearfully, heedless of the blood staining the woman’s surgical gown. When they parted she took Diana’s face between her hands and held it.
“Bran brought me word that you had returned home,” she said. “And that you were hurt. Do you need me to see to your injuries?”
Diana tried to shake her head, without success. The two laughed.
“Later,” she said. “They’ll be fine for now. Father helped me re-bandage them. I was able to eat and bathe, and get a few hours of rest.”
Her mother frowned. She didn’t stop until Diana had described her injuries and how they had been treated. She looked deeply into her daughter’s face.
“You had some good luck finding those medicines,” Katarina offered. “Not to mention that resourceful young man you mentioned. You look well, and your eyes are clear —”
They were interrupted by the sound of screaming as two men carried an injured soldier into the ward. Diana paled when she saw that his leg and abdomen were soaked with blood.
“I’m fine, Mother,” she said impatiently. “And the people here need our help. What can I do?”
Katarina smiled at her. “Yes, of course,” she said. There was an unmistakable hint of pride in her voice.
“We’ve made a list of those in greatest need, and you’re better trained than a lot of these Carlissan healers are. Come on. Let’s get you prepared.”
The hours that followed became a blur in Diana’s memory. She and her mother worked tirelessly into the small hours of the morning, cleaning and suturing terrible wounds, fighting a too often fruitless battle to save the lives of the injured. Many were soldiers who had been mauled by rampaging demons or cut down by the swords of the Hellmen. They raced against time to mix and apply a set of special medicines that only her mother — and to some extent she, thanks to her training — knew how to prepare. There were never enough ingredients, and they sent a constant stream of messengers to scour the city with desperate calls for anyone who might have them.
It wasn’t until four in the morning that she found herself with time to catch her breath. Her mother had left an hour earlier to return home to rest, her healing magic taxed well past the point of exhaustion. She’d helped the doctors attend to the last of the patients who appeared to be in immediate danger, and had taken a short meal to refresh her strength.
She was beginning to feel light-headed, and knew that she would have to follow her mother soon or risk taxing her own injuries. Before she did, though, she wanted to review the less urgent cases. She was worried that some of them might be missed with the morning’s shift change.
The third patient she checked was a young woman with red hair in a guard lieutenant’s uniform. She was lying in a corner of the ward, apparently overlooked by the staff as they struggled to save the more obviously and gravely wounded. No one seemed to have tended to her injuries. Her eyes widened, and she cursed, when she saw the blood staining the bedding beneath her.
Then she was struggling desperately with the guard’s unconscious body, trying to turn her over, to unbuckle and remove her armor. Her breath hissed when she saw the large welt on the back of her head, and the leather on her back hanging in loose, bloody shreds. It looked to have been rent by the strike of an enormous claw.
When she finally succeeded in getting the girl’s clothes off, she cursed again. The entire back of her body from shoulders to thighs was bruised a deep blue, as though she’d been thrown by a giant against a stone wall. The only breaks in the dark coloring were the badly clotting punctures and lacerations that had started to flow again. They were already showing signs of infection.
She went to work. The woman had lost a lot of blood, and she marveled that she hadn’t already bled to death. She had only a little of the medicines left that she and her mother had mixed, and she would need all of them to save the guard’s life.
She washed and treated the gashes in her back with the same mixture she had used on herself and Orion the day before. She saw the girl flinch in her sleep as the Deathsbane seeped into the wounds, and sighed with relief. She was unconscious, but didn’t seem to be insensate. That probably meant she was recovering from her concussion. She’d be all right once she was properly cared for …
She was still bandaging her wounds when the guard’s eyes fluttered open. They settled on her with a disoriented look, and then spurted tears. She gasped.
“Easy,” Diana said. “I know it hurts, but try to hold on. I’m almost done with your back, and then I can give you something for the pain.”
The guard stared at her, wet eyes wide with fear and agony. She made an attempt to nod, and then winced.
“Try to keep still,” Diana said. Her voice was soothing. “You’re pretty bang
ed up.”
“You seem young for a doctor,” the girl croaked. Her voice was dry and raspy, and she could barely get out the words.
Diana chuckled. “You seem young for a guard lieutenant.”
The girl tried to smile. “Fair point,” she whispered, through gritted teeth.
Diana worked in silence. When she was done with the bandages she took a small flask of liquid from a bag she was carrying. It was water mixed with regenera, the last she had. She added a brown powder and began to stir it.
The woman lay on her stomach, head turned to the side. She watched Diana with patient stoicism, tears streaming down her face. Diana held up the flask when she was done.
“This will ease the pain,” she said. “And help you to heal. It’s strong, and it’ll need about five minutes to take effect. You’ll get a bit giddy and start to feel very good. Don’t be alarmed by it.”
The girl smiled wryly. “Alarmed by feeling giddy, good, naked, and not in pain?” she rasped. “You give strange warnings, doctor.”
Diana grinned. “So what’s your name, lieutenant?”
“Larissa Kay. Most everyone just calls me Kay.”
Diana held the flask carefully to her lips. “Drink it slowly, Kay,” she said.
Kay did, and grimaced. The medicine clearly tasted awful, but she drank it obediently.
“I’m Diana. I’m not a doctor, though. As you can imagine they’re in short supply here today compared to the patients. Fortunately I know enough about healing to help out.”
Kay gulped, slowly swallowing the medicine. Her brown eyes met Diana’s green ones with a look of desperate trust.
“You’re going to be really sore for a few days,” Diana went on, “but I think I got to you in time. You’re going to make it.”
“Thank you,” Kay said, when she’d finished the flask. “I thought I was dead.”
Diana took a tissue from her bag and started wiping Kay’s tear-stained face.
“No wonder, with wounds and bruises like that. What did you do, try to take on the whole Horde by yourself?”