The Akorell Break (The Mortal Mage Book 2)

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The Akorell Break (The Mortal Mage Book 2) Page 10

by B. T. Narro


  She growled rather than groaned. “You don’t remember? I just told you.”

  “I do remember, but I’ve never been in the castle before, so I want to make sure there’s nothing I forget.” If I get lost in there, it could be the death of all of us if Beatrix is right about her brother’s intent.

  *****

  When Desil was ready, the six of them left the strange wooden enclosure to walk back to where Basen’s portal had dumped them into the encampment in the first place. Desil went over in his mind Beatrix’s directions to the armory, but his curiosity piqued when Adriya asked Leida’s father how he was able to make a portal into the Kreppen encampment if the creatures had no power over bastial energy.

  “It has been gathered many times in that spot ahead of us, but not by Krepps.” Basen directed light onto a blackened wall that didn’t seem to be part of a building. It was the only stone structure in sight, and it seemed to have taken quite a beating from fireballs. “It’s where the Krepps were punished for breaking rules. As you can see, it’s quite public.”

  Leida made a sound of shock. “A lot of Krepps must’ve been burned for enough energy to be gathered for a portal.”

  “Thousands,” Basen said.

  “How many students at the Academy are punished for misbehaving?” Leida wondered. “I never thought to ask before.”

  “Want to guess?” Basen inquired with amusement.

  Adriya went first. “I say ten a year.”

  “I think it’s the same,” Leida agreed.

  “It’s more like one hundred students per year,” said Basen.

  Leida gasped. “They must be small offenses.”

  “Not always. I was shocked when I first became headmaster to find out that there are always vandals and thieves coming fresh into the Academy each year as well as graduating with their class after three years. Then there are the dolts who make a poor decision at some point but don’t have ill intentions. Even with psychics able to question them, you would be surprised how many attempt to lie once they’re caught. Some of them even get close to convincing themselves that their actions don’t warrant punishment.”

  “But none of them are expelled?” Desil asked.

  “A few have almost been removed,” Basen said as he turned his attention to Beatrix. “But only Micklin was expelled during my time as headmaster.”

  “What did he do?” Desil wondered.

  Basen let out his light as they stopped in front of the charred wall. “He was troubled—still is, though he would never agree with that statement. Micklin was twelve when he first got involved with the Academy. It was toward the end of the Takary War. Everyone in his family had been killed by enemies of the Academy. Naturally, he took refuge with us. None of us noticed anything strange from him. He was eager to help in any way he could, clearly wanting revenge, but he was too young to do anything besides run supplies from one area of the Academy to another. We did allow him to start training eventually, though, and he took to pyforial energy quickly. I was busy during and after the end of the war, so I had little contact with him.”

  There sounded to be regret in Basen’s voice as he continued. “He lived at the Academy and trained as if he was a new enrollee, but I believe now that he wasn’t ready, at twelve, to spend the following years living the life of a much older teenager. His only guidance came from our pyforial instructor, Neeko, and each lesson was nothing more than strengthening Micklin’s manipulation over the difficult-to-control energy. He became more powerful than he did wise over the years. By the time he was sixteen, the youngest age allowed to join the Academy, he acted as if he should’ve been the most revered student in the school. Neeko came to me with concerns, but both of us agreed there was nothing too alarming that required action. We watched Micklin more carefully.”

  Basen paused. “I suppose we were waiting for something to happen. It took three years, when Micklin was almost finished at the Academy, before he killed someone.”

  “Did you know any of this?” Kirnich asked Beatrix.

  “No. I never spoke about him with my father, and no one else in the castle seemed to know anything about him. Who did he kill?”

  “He got this idea that he was bigger than the Academy,” Basen said. “More important than all of us. He talked about the war often with Neeko and the other pyforial students. But it wasn’t just the frequency with which he talked about the war that made it seem as if he longed for battle. It was the way he seemed bored with the routine of the Academy. He’d already proven himself as the strongest pyforial mage, besides his instructor, and he seemed intent on making a name for himself the way some of us had through war. He set out one night, venturing into the capital to look for trouble. We questioned him later about this with psyche.”

  Basen fiddled with his wand. “We should’ve questioned him years earlier. After a painfully long interrogation, we got the truth. He walked through the streets at night, in places where he was more likely to be targeted for theft. Eventually someone with a knife wanted his money, and Micklin refused. The thief walked away rather than attack. I don’t know how many more thieves threatened him in the next few hours, but eventually one with a dagger didn’t back down when Micklin challenged him. It must’ve been easy for a pyforial mage like Micklin to kill the man, but he just as easily could’ve detained the thief or let him go after scaring him. Micklin was profusely proud of what he’d done. Eventually we got him to admit that he had planned to go back another night and kill other thieves. He claimed he would soon be called a hero by the people of Kyrro, putting an end to all robberies on the streets because thieves would be scared of running into him. But really he just wanted to kill and make a name for himself in the process. The interrogation proved this.”

  Basen laughed without humor. “He was surprised and furious when we came to the decision to expel him from the Academy, and even more shocked when he was taken to the castle so Fernan could figure out what to do. Imagine my surprise when I discovered later that the king had employed Micklin.”

  Desil looked to Beatrix. It was her father who’d hired Micklin, and now it didn’t seem as if Micklin would stop until she was dead.

  “Somehow my brother has gained his loyalty,” Beatrix said in a cold tone.

  “That means Micklin’s probably at the castle,” Kirnich told Desil. “Make sure he doesn’t see you.”

  Desil had already planned to hide from everyone he could, but rather than merely avoiding Micklin, it seemed prudent to prepare for the worst. “How can I beat him if he does find me?”

  “He won’t,” Beatrix ensured, “so long as you stick to the path to the armory that I told you.”

  “But if you do see him,” Kirnich countered, “you run. There’s no way to beat him without a team. Scream if you must. There must be only a few in the castle who know of Allephon’s plan to eliminate us. Others will keep you safe. I know my men—they’ll fight honorably. But you’ll need at least a few of them on your side to have any chance against Micklin, and even more if that mage is with him.”

  “Erwal,” Desil remembered. “Leida, you still haven’t told me what you know about him.”

  “Because it’s embarrassing,” she said.

  “I only need to know who he most wants to hurt so it will be easier to defend ourselves the next time he attacks with Micklin and Girgis. Is it…you?” Desil choked on the words before getting them out.

  “Probably not. I don’t think he’s chasing us because of me.”

  “Leida,” Basen scolded. “Why didn’t you tell me something happened with him?”

  “Like I said, it was embarrassing.” She looked up. “But it doesn’t matter. He’s a strong fire mage with no empathy. I’m sure he was hired by Allephon for the same reason as Micklin. He won’t hesitate to kill us, any of us, Desil. Beatrix might be their primary target, but from what happened at your mother’s tavern, it seems that we are all equally at risk. Are you sure the three of you should be going to the castle? Wouldn’t it be bette
r to stay with us until we have a larger group? The Wind Knights will be involved in this soon enough.”

  Beatrix and Kirnich shared a glance, neither of their troubled expressions showing even a hint of approval for the idea.

  “My father’s at risk,” the princess told Leida.

  Desil was surprised when that was all she would say. “Why?” he asked.

  “From Allephon,” she specified with a sneer.

  Desil felt disgust as he realized what she was saying. Fernan could already be dead. Desil was surprised he hadn’t considered the possibility earlier.

  But there would’ve been news if it were true. Desil’s mother would’ve heard it from someone. The king probably was still alive, but Beatrix was right. If Allephon was capable of killing his own sister, why not his father as well?

  “Have you figured out why he wants you dead?” Desil asked.

  “No. And I won’t know until I speak to him, which I’m not going to do until he’s locked in a cell.”

  “We’ve spent enough time delaying,” Kirnich said ominously.

  “I’ve been trying to formulate the portal entrance in my mind,” Basen said. “Like I told you earlier, I haven’t made a portal behind the castle for years. Give me a little while longer.”

  They moved away to let Leida’s father focus, separating into two groups. Desil went with Leida and Adriya.

  “My father misses the Academy,” Leida told them. “I can tell from his tone. I’m sure he misses my mother as well.”

  Desil hadn’t noticed any longing in Basen’s voice, but he trusted Leida to know her father. Desil missed his mother, but more so his father. Leida seemed to be waiting for Desil to say something, but he couldn’t focus past the tightness in his chest.

  Desil had never killed anyone before, but he felt that he would have to before the end of this. It would likely be Micklin, Erwal, Girgis, or all three of them. He needed Leida’s help with that.

  “At least tell me if there’s something I can use as a reason for revenge against Erwal,” Desil said.

  “Why are you asking so much about him?” Adriya asked, though without annoyance.

  It was difficult for Desil to say the truth, but if he couldn’t even speak the details, how did he expect to actually go through with it?

  “Because I might have to take his life with my sword, and I want a better reason than because he tried to burn me.”

  “He didn’t do anything to me that deserves death, Desil,” Leida said. “He just harassed me in the year we spent training with the Group One mages.”

  “You make his harassment sound like it was nothing,” Adriya said. “He terrified and distracted you for months.”

  “But it’s done, and nothing happened.”

  In the abrupt silence, it was clear Leida would rather not speak about it. Desil figured Erwal had obsessed over her. He was probably like some of the men Desil had met who believed they deserved a woman’s affection, therefore it should happen. Anger was usually the result when their expectations were not met.

  “The portal’s ready,” Basen announced, putting an end to any further discussion.

  CHAPTER TEN

  There was nothing but black within Basen’s wavering portal. Although Desil had gone through a few by now, he still wasn’t ready to jump in without inspecting the image for solid ground to land on. Here, he saw none.

  Kirnich leapt in without hesitation, then Beatrix followed. Desil ignored his fear and jumped into what looked like an abyss.

  He struck what felt to be tilted ground that he somehow began rolling across upward. Realizing his senses were mixed up, he put out his arms in hopes of stopping himself, but his momentum was too much. Something snatched him by his legs.

  The ground spun, but he could tell he had stopped moving. Kirnich was the one who’d grabbed hold of him; he could tell by the size of the warrior’s hands.

  “Careful,” Kirnich whispered. “You’re about to roll backward down a hill.”

  Desil felt the incline with the back of his head. He started to sit up, but Kirnich pulled him up hard enough for Desil to feel some air beneath his feet before he landed. It was almost as if the warrior wanted to show off his renewed strength.

  The caregelow must’ve worked well. Desil felt new confidence with Kirnich by his side. So long as I’m not alone if we encounter enemies, all will go well.

  The cuts on Desil’s knuckles stung as he put his hands against the stone. He hoped he would have time to heal completely after he got Beatrix in front of her father, though part of him wondered if that was a foolish notion. Desil dug his hands and feet into the softened wall to begin a slow and careful ascent.

  The wind cut at his ears halfway up. The castle was mountainous in height. It was said the king could see all of Kyrro from its top.

  Desil ensured he’d stay on the wall with strong kicks of his feet to make up for his bleeding knuckles. They stung worse the harder he grabbed.

  He reached the top, the wind pulling at him. The roof of the castle before him was a walkway that wrapped all the way around the keep. An assortment of towers crowded the middle, some reaching heights that would even make Desil nervous to climb. Mountains he trusted not to fall, but Kyrro’s castle had been rebuilt more than a few times over the centuries, mostly from the damage it took during war.

  Kirnich had predicted correctly. The one guard Desil could see from here was asleep in a chair in one of the corners. Fortunately, it wasn’t the corner where Beatrix had told Desil to enter. He went down the walkway until he came to the empty corner, then crouched over the closed latch. He pulled to open it, but it caught, locked. She said this would be open.

  He looked over his shoulder. The sleeping guard was too far from this distance to see, which meant Desil shouldn’t need to worry about being caught if he hurried. He rolled up his sleeves and got to work.

  He set his mind on the inner workings of the stone. Something made it as solid as it was—the same power that determined just how much force would be needed to break it apart. He reached this power by grasping it with his mind and held on. He commanded the essence of the stone to alter, to weaken.

  Although this translated to him softening the stone, the specifics of it were more complicated. When Desil had first come to his ability to alter water, under the tutelage of his father, the obscurities of these powers hindered his progress. There were things he wished to know that neither he nor his father could figure out. As he now prepared to change the stone to a near liquid state, which he had never before been able to do on his own, he found himself once again searching for answers.

  The sheer force of his will wasn’t enough for him to thrust deeper than half his hand into the clay substance. He needed something beyond screaming at the essence of the stone. It was too strong. He needed it to submit.

  With land or water, it had always been more difficult for Desil to channel his spell deep in a narrow funnel rather than spread it across the surface. Stone was a stubborn beast in comparison to water, though. It resisted every change with impossible-to-break strength. Desil couldn’t overpower it, so he tried another method.

  He would have to work through the stone in sections. He’d already driven his fingers through the surface. Now he would let it harden as he put the full force of his mind behind weakening the bone-breaking hard surface at his fingertips. Even at the softest he could make it, he couldn’t move his fingers through without using his wrist or arm, so this next step would have to be done all at once.

  He ignored the rest of the stone he would soon need to get through, focusing on softening only the surface while using every muscle in his right arm to drive his hand down. His fingers slid into it but then jammed and shot pain up his arm. At least his whole hand was buried now.

  Stone didn’t revert back to its former state immediately after Desil let go of his connection with its essence; it took a few moments. With that in mind, he needed to soften three parts of the stone at intervals: the very surface
at his wrist, the middle at his hand, and the deeper part where he intended to push his hand…his bleeding hand. When he succeeded, there would then be four parts to worry about: the surface, the stone a little deeper where his wrist would be, the stone a little deeper where his hand would be, and even deeper where his fingers must go. When he moved again after that, there would be five parts to worry about.

  It was a slow process.

  He’d donned his thick gloves for this, as he didn’t need the same dexterity as he did while climbing, but the pain still sliced through him despite the protection.

  It took the better part of an hour before he had half his arm submerged into the softened roof of the castle. He feared Kirnich and Beatrix would worry when he returned to them later than they’d anticipated, which might lead to a poor decision on their part, such as attempting to come in through the front of the keep to look for him.

  Going deeper into the stone ground at this point was exponentially more difficult, as he could only soften two inches at a time. Every interval had to be done right after the other for everything to be soft enough to push his arm deeper.

  Finally, his hands broke through, the softened stone crumbling down through the newly made hole. Desil couldn’t see through the darkness as he heard the falling masonry splashing against the floor. He stuck his arm through the hole, down to his shoulder, and felt around the underside of the wooden hatch until his fingers came across a latch. He pushed it and heard the sweet sound of a lock sliding out.

  Desil threw open the hatch and climbed down the ladder. He made light for himself when he reached the bottom, walking across the chunks of stone on the ground that had reverted back to a solid state.

  There was only one direction to go, so Desil stopped gathering bastial energy for light and went at a quick pace. The castle was enormous, but it was important to note that it was taller than it was wide. At the very top, he had a long way to go to get to the bottom.

  After a short walk down a hall, he came out onto a walkway. A mere bannister was all that stood between him and a long fall to his death, reminding him how dangerous it would be to flee from someone in this dim place. This area—the great hall, he believed it was called—was large enough to fit many of his mother’s taverns, stacked on top of one another. The walkway encompassed the freefall, the faint glow of torches like stars on the other side showing Desil just how far it went. A sawtooth staircase descended into the depths of the keep, where everything blurred to gray.

 

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