The ancient Elf took a deep breath, sighed, and leaned back. He kept his strange eyes fixed on Vincent the entire time. “None of us had foreseen this. To us you were someone of little note, someone we had once granted admission out of pity. We can see now that you are much more than you appeared to be. Perhaps you are even qualified for pursuits more challenging than you have been given in the past. Unfortunately, your reliability still bears scrutiny.
“This inquiry was never about your loyalty or commitment. It is your ability to abide by the chain of command that we question. If you can learn to follow the orders you’ve been given diligently, we may yet have further use for you in the future. Unless this council has any further objections, you are hereby sentenced to two weeks in the penitentiary, sufficient time for you to reconsider the choices you made.”
“I have an objection!” Vincent voiced immediately, not waiting for or caring if any of the other members were about to do so. Their eyes all stared raptly at him. “You ignored the deaths and suffering of hundreds!” Tears formed around his eyes and his voice broke slightly, but his anger was unrestrained. “Mothers cried over lost children while you sat back and did nothing! And because my attempt to help had a result you didn’t like, you now have the gall to put me on trial!” He swept a finger across the air at them. “I charge all of you with the crime of ‘negligent leadership!’”
Tears went down the side of Vincent’s face and his breathing was not as calm as he wished it would be. Aside from this sound, the meeting chamber was filled only with silence. Treyfon regarded him with an even gaze that bore only the most perceptively small hint of dissatisfaction, his head tilting to the side only the slightest bit while he considered. Master Anthony’s expression was similar, only laced with less confrontation, and his posture was straight. Clemens eyes slowly shifted back and forth as though regretful of what Vincent was accusing him of, and Master Magnus, who sat left of Treyfon was the least reserved of all. He looked on at Vincent with a sneer that made the tightlipped left half of his mouth look like it was actually smiling. Vincent thought that he was perhaps delighting in this, pleased that the loss of detachment might make Vincent look worse in some way. Whatever his reason, it was strange; Vincent thought that he would have been made more angry by this challenge.
Stacy stood silently at his side, her dimmed eyes occasionally blinking. Left of her, Karl still had his arms folded and looked from one side of the room to the other, appearing more bored than ever. Vincent heard a cough past him that came from Rick.
Treyfon’s visage did not change nor did his strange Elf eyes break away from Vincent the entire time. When he at last spoke, it was not in reprimand of Vincent’s outburst. “What you have said contains some elements of truth. This incident may indeed be a symptom of our failure to give this crisis the attention it deserves. Take heart in the fact that we shall not make that mistake again. Because we must assume some measure of responsibility, I am going to move that we truncate your sentence to only one week in the penitentiary. Understand that we are not your enemy. We do not enjoy punishing you; our intention is to help you.”
“This is how you help me? By locking me up? And what about the cult! After you hide me away in your closet, I won’t be around to be a painful reminder of your shortcomings! What do you plan to do then? Ignore these fanatics and pretend everything is fine?”
Treyfon closed his eyes briefly and sighed. “A new commission headed by Master Anthony is already looking into that matter…”
Karl, who usually preferred to remain quiet, interrupted, drawing the Elf’s gaze. “Then the four of us should be a part of it! Not scrubbing pots or rotting in a cell!”
“Are you volunteering for something?” Master Gautrek asked. Karl responded to the green robed Dwarf with only a low, aggravated groan.
Vincent would have been more inclined to go along with this procedure instead of agitating them further if he didn’t think it was a huge waste of time. The verbal reprimand he received seemed enough. “I swore to defend the academy, and on the night in question, I was doing just that. We were faced with another intrusion and I obeyed my duty as a guard to take up arms against it.”
Treyfon countered him with calm incredulity. “An intrusion of the keep? Really? And whom else did you alert to it besides the other three people standing here?”
“Who else would have helped me!” Vincent responded, standing his ground against this reproach. “There was no time for that!”
“Even though you may have had just cause, you still deserted your post and left The Crafters’ Vault vulnerable to a second attack. As a guard, you cannot leave your position undefended anytime it pleases you.”
Rick, who like Vincent was also a member of the Academy Guard, began to add his own protest. “This is absurd! First you ask us to fight for the keep! To defend it from its enemies! And then you punish us for doing what you ask!”
Treyfon’s voice became uncharacteristically stern. “That will be all. The punitive sentences are to be carried out immediately.”
Vincent took in a deep breath and straightened up. “I left to fight the keep’s enemies after another robbery had taken place. I could do no less.”
Grandmaster Treyfon appeared to be losing his patience. “Vincent Faren, I offer you one of two choices: either spend one week in the penitentiary or face an immediate discharge from our service.”
Silence.
“I will do as you say,” Vincent at last conceded.
Treyfon seemed to relax slightly, his ancient Elvin gaze remaining fixed on Vincent as he took a breath of his own. “Perhaps after you are released, we will put your restless abilities to better use elsewhere. For now you must all carry out your sentence.”
Movement at the right caught his eye when Vincent noticed two seats down from Clemens, between the Seeress and the Illusionist, the Master Cerebist in a gray hoodless robe getting up before they were dismissed.
“…but this is still hardly fair to us,” Rick insisted, “we were only doing what…”
“This hearing is adjourned!” Treyfon stated firmly, slamming the metal ball one last time in finality, sending off a small spark. It was the first time Vincent had ever seen him raise his voice.
“Just for that,” Magnus said derisively with a smirk, “you’re going to spend your time cleaning the campus stables of manure.” Rick lowered his head and buried his face in both hands while letting out a frustrated sigh.
At first Vincent had thought that the Master Cerebist was being rude, but now he saw him bending down to whisper something in Treyfon’s ear. Whatever it was, it immediately got the Elf’s attention. “Open the door,” he called out to the two wizards standing guard.
Vincent turned around to watch them do as instructed. The two gray-iron doors swung open without being touched, a small clank ensuing when they did. Two people standing out in the hallway were immediately revealed. A young cerebist woman in a gray dress, who turned around and began walking away, her task of communing with her master complete, and a man in riding clothes and boots. A thick leather tube with a strap going across his shoulder let all know that he was a messenger. There was a pungent odor of Human and horse sweat coming from him even as he went around Rick, on the other side of Stacy and Karl, far to Vincent’s left.
He brought the container over to Grandmaster Treyfon, pulled off the cap, and removed its contents, a rolled up sheet of vellum, and placed it on the table before turning around and leaving hastily. The old Elf glanced at him as though finding this odd, and then took hold of the message, unfurled it, and began reading. Vincent heard and felt the presence of his two guards walking up to him on each side, and saw a small edge of their clothing in his peripheral vision.
“It’s time to go,” the one on his right reminded gently.
As he started turning to leave with them, Grandmaster Treyfon, who had been reading silently up until now became disturbed enough that he began muttering part of it aloud. It caused Vincent and his two
guards to become distracted.
“…this letter, which was delivered to me by unknown parties was infamously written in the ink of none other than the Arkiban Quill Pen, a treasure that was supposed to be under your protection. This outlandish insult demonstrates to me that your institution is either unfit for the endeavor of safekeeping it or that someone in your ranks has had a deliberate hand in this.
Regardless, I am most displeased with your inability to foresee such transgressions and halt them before they enter my home. Expression of my displeasure will come in the form of a cessation of royal payments sent to Gadrale Mage Academy for it’s continued upkeep and survival. Unless you can convince me otherwise, from this point on, only military personnel will continue on in my employ.
Your primary duty is to provide me with trained wizards to defend my kingdom from foreign rivals and foul miscreants who practice sorcery as black as this, and in case you’ve forgotten, I still have many fine talents as my personal retainers, any of which would make excellent administrators at another academy, one worthy of my confidence and gold.
If you cannot bring me the results I desire, I will find someone else who will.”
-King Glidewell of Ryga
The Arkiban Quill was what was stolen from the vault.
The vault he failed to protect.
Vincent forgot to breathe.
Treyfon let his hands holding the unrolled parchment slowly fall to the table, his face looking somewhat more pale.
From his side, Master Magnus, who had all along been looking at it with him flicked a glance toward Vincent, and realizing he was there, glared at him furiously. “Get him out of here!” He yelled to the two guards.
Vincent was still frozen in shock, and the wizard on his right had to put a hand on his shoulder and shake him to get his attention. “Come on,” he said.
He turned and moved woodenly. His heart had gone so cold that he had trouble putting one foot in front of the other, but did. A numb disbelief encased his senses as he was escorted through the outside hall, his eyes resting on the stone beneath him.
Chapter XVI
Stacy wiped a single drop of sweat from her brow as she continued sweeping with a broom the stone floor of the Tower of Prophecy. It was sometime late in the afternoon of the seventh day that she had been performing the arduous duties needed to clean parts of the keep. All week long she had endured from many the stares or the quiet, though highly noticeable, whispers of gossipers, talking amongst themselves about how the star pupil had been reduced to a maid. She was glad that the tower she was working in was currently empty.
Sunlight streamed in through the crystalline shards of the ceiling, casting in places bands of red, blue, and green. It was quiet except for the scratching of her broom’s bristles on the floor. The week had been unpleasant but not nearly as bad as it could have been. Master Anthony had given her time off to attend her classes as well as to return to the infirmary for additional treatments. She now felt fully recovered, minus the strain and tedium that countless hours of cleaning entailed.
Her friends had had it much worse. Karl hadn’t left the dining hall’s kitchen during one waking hour and was getting blisters from scrubbing clean hundreds of pots and dishes. Rick had been stuck with shoveling horse manure while smelling painfully the servitude; the stables were big and had quite a few digestively active horses. As far as she knew, he hadn’t been allowed to attend his classes either. Vincent perhaps had it worst of all. He had spent mindless hours deep within the bowels of the keep, smelling his own urine and feces that had accumulated in a heap in the corner of his cell. It contained no privy. She was quite certain that the masters were aware of this little detail of his incarceration and that it was intentional. They wanted him to learn his lesson. At least, she thought, her own punishment would be over before the time came for someone to clean up the penitentiary.
A voice she knew all too well suddenly interrupted her sweeping. “That will be enough for today.”
Stacy turned and looked up to see Master Anthony standing there. Though he wore no smile, he had an almost imperceptible glow about him, an air of relief. She regarded him with a curious stare. “Not that I’m complaining, master, you’ve been most generous to me,” she began, “but isn’t it a bit early?”
He shook his head and dimmed his eyes for a moment. “You don’t need a few extra hours of pushing a broom to learn that you shouldn’t keep things from us. I think you’ve figured that out already. Besides, I want you to come with me.”
“Where?” She asked with a slight frown.
“To dinner, we’re having a celebration in the Masters’ Dining Hall.”
“A celebration? Why?”
“We’ve finally convinced his majesty the king not to bring the hammer of his purse down on us. Gadrale Keep will continue on in the same capacity as before.”
Stacy’s face brightened. “That’s wonderful!” Her memory suddenly took her smile away. “Oh but I shouldn’t come,” she said, looking down and away. “I’d be an embarrassment to you after what I did.”
“Nonsense. That was only a small lapse in judgment. We’re allowed to invite whom we please as honored guests. You’re still my most promising student. I’ve invited you, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.”
Stacy let out a breath while showing him a small smile. She knew it would be more of a disappointment to him if she refused. “Well…alright.”
He beckoned with his hand and she went with him. After she returned the broom to the store room, Stacy asked to excuse herself so she could return to her quarters on the fourth floor to freshen up first. Master Anthony told her that he would wait at the dinner for her.
Stacy climbed the stairs, went through the halls, and placed her hand on the flower-shaped metal receptor. The door became unlocked and she entered. She quickly took off her clothes and splashed herself in a few choice places with perfume before putting on fresh undergarments and another dress.
It was a blue one much like the other she normally wore, only it was newer, cleaner, and nicer than the other. After putting it on, she fluffed her brown hair out behind her neck with both hands. Fanciful clothing and lavish wardrobes were not a priority at Gadrale Keep; wizards and sorceresses had no use for it nor vast amounts of money for its purchase, and neither did she. That which denoted their profession was held in the highest regard and said more among them than what any lord or lady might wear.
She descended the stairs to the second level of the keep and approached the doorway to enter the Masters’ Dining Hall. She stopped suddenly as she was about to go in, her mouth agape at what she saw.
A celebration, well it was certainly that, she thought. The room was big, not quite as big as the central dining hall downstairs but big enough to accommodate the masters and nearly any amount of guests they might have. The stone walls were decorated with blue and white tapestries near the top, and all the circular tables where people sat were covered with white tablecloths. On top of each was a vase filled with flowers, a ceramic pitcher of water, and near each seat ceramic cups had been placed from which to drink from. Though no plates of food had been delivered yet, silverware was already visible in neatly set arrangements.
The air was abuzz with talking, and the guests wore robes of every discipline. Some hovered around the masters of their specialty; others stood in groups and mingled with people from various others. Few were actually sitting down. Those who had noticed her, stared openly for a short time before returning their attention to the people with whom they were speaking. Some, she could tell, made her the next topic of conversation when doing so.
Master Anthony approached without her noticing and startled her. “This way, Stacy,” he said. He then led her over to a group of chairs surrounding one of the circular tables. It appeared that every guest had been planned and accounted for, and each seat had been specially reserved, including hers.
Standing near the table were three other top students of atmomancy whom he h
ad also invited. They each wore the same blue robes and dress that she did, and Stacy recognized all of them. On the left was Jack Howard, an adorable man two years younger than her with dark hair and light blue eyes. She had known for some time now that he desired her, especially with how his words always stumbled whenever he asked her something. It wasn’t a severe befuddlement, and was sometimes cute, but there was another reason for her indecision: Frederick Hanson. Frederick was also quite attractive; he had a pretty face, nicely swept over blond hair, and like Jack, also seemed to yearn for her. Jack tried frequently to learn from her while Frederick was usually more inclined to try to do something to impress her. They were both charming in their own way, she supposed, and quite handsome.
Sometimes though, they competed for her attention. Stacy had trouble deciding which one she liked more and couldn’t seem to settle on a favorite. There were times when she felt her indecision was unbearable. To pick one she would inevitably have to hurt the feelings of the other.
Occasionally at night when she went to bed, her own darker desires would surface in her mind. Many times she had thought it would be better if she could just have both of them. Unfortunately, there would be no way to hide it from either. Another thought which had also occurred to her was that if there were a way, she would have done this a long time ago. She viewed herself as a nice person and didn’t want to hurt anyone, but sometimes maintaining that was excruciating. She just wanted it too much.
At the moment, standing between the two objects of her lust was a friend of hers, a girl named Jane Evans. She had long sandy hair, brown eyes, and was by no means ugly. Stacy sometimes practiced or studied with her, and had even talked with her about Jack and Frederick on many occasions. Jane was upset that neither expressed an interest in her, and Stacy was not unsympathetic. It was also a frustration for Stacy since if either one would, then it would only make things easier for her as well.
Storm of Prophecy: Book 1, Dark Awakening Page 28