Sorcerer's Academy

by N. A. K. Baldron

I’ll continue to focus on two things: improving my craft as an author, and increasing my production speed.

  Thank you for joining me on this journey and I look forward to the next adventure.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  MY LOVING FAMILY, ESPECIALLY SABETHA! It takes a tribe to publish a book, and there’s no better tribe leader than Sabetha. It’s entirely based on her hard work that Aconite Cafe has a thriving tribe of readers on Discord, and on behalf of us all: thank you!

  To the Reader Tribe, thank you! Your encouragement when I post my word counts for the day, or when I share that I’m not feeling my best means the world to me. Knowing I have you waiting to read the next book keeps me from disappearing to the dark place for days at a time. You’ve given me purpose, and made it possible for me to turn writing into my career! I’ll never forget it.

  To Amanda, Jess & Zach - You are the cornerstones to all Aconite Cafe is becoming. I can’t thank you enough for the work you’ve put in to building this community and supporting me as an author.

  And Ryn, you’ll always be a dragon no matter how many times Sabetha changes the title.

  ARCHAMETHYST’S SECRET

  Chronicles of the Seventh Realm Book 6

  Academy 2

  By NAK Baldron

  Archamethyst’s Secret by NAK Baldron

  Published by Aconite Cafe

  P.O. Box 63

  Marble Falls, TX 78654

  www.AconiteCafe.com

  www.NAKBaldron.com

  © 2019 NAK Baldron

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions contact:

  Staff@aconitecafe.com

  Cover by Aconite Cafe.

  PROLOGUE

  TRADITION MUST BE ADHERED TO. Council meetings took place on the 46th floor of the tower, four floors beneath the top platform. Richard remembered how he felt the first day he arrived in the Amethyst Nation, with the eleven other apprentices. It had been a glorious day for the Pearl Nation, but the glory had since faded to shame as his former home failed to produce another sorcerer.

  “The Onyx Nation is encroaching on the southern cities of the Emerald Nation,” Councilor Fyodor said.

  Decorum broke and councilors began to yell at one another about the validity of Fyodor’s statements.

  “War mongers!”

  Richard feared some of the council members were corrupted by the fortunes flowing through the Onyx Nation.

  “Free trade. . .”

  He didn’t know how they managed it, but they’d develop into an economic force without using the resources of the Amethyst Nation.

  “Open borders!”

  “Closed borders!”

  In fact, the Onyx Nation refused all attempts at formal diplomatic relations. Richard had sent a formal request yearly since he took over 83 years ago.

  “Bloodshed. . .”

  Richard’s attention returned to the present issue—how to keep the younger council member’s emotions out of the debate. It was hard to focus on such trivial matters, and with a third of the 387 council members missing it was apparent he wasn’t the only one that felt this way. Even one of his own advisors hadn’t thought it important to be present, instead choosing to sit this meeting out at home in the Pearl Nation.

  “Passivists. . .”

  The councilors in attendance insisted on long-winded speeches that lacked direction and a point, thus leading to shouting matches. He thought they were more interested in hearing themselves speak, than coming to a consensus to solve a problem. Even universally agreed upon decisions required multiple speeches before they could hold a vote.

  “Trade embargos lead to sta--”

  “Military force. . .”

  Being that a sorcerer couldn’t land a council seat without being a grandmaster, the average member was 185 years old. Though some truly gifted achieved their seats far younger—Richard was only 85 when he became a grandmaster.

  The 46th floor consisted of a single circular room for the council to meet in-person—telepathy grew confusing with large crowds. At the head of the room Richard, and three of his four advisors sat at an oak table facing the rest of the council. Rows of oak tables stretched from Richard to the far back, where a single set of double steel doors with sigils etched across every surface, remained closed. The doors led to the stairwell—not that the council members walked to the meetings—but sometimes pupils would be called in for trials. He desperately wished to walk out them and leave the fools to their debate. The solution was obvious in his mind, but alas being Archamethyst didn’t bestow unlimited authority upon him. Only the recognition that he was the strongest sorcerer amongst them—sometimes an arbitrator, but still only one voice among peers. Not that it mattered, explaining all that he knew to a room of tradition ridden council members would only end in further uproar.

  “Archamethyst,” Mao said. “You should call for order, otherwise they will be at this for hours.”

  She was right, and it was one reason he selected her as an advisor. She helped make him look wiser than he was. Richard learned early on to surround himself with those smarter than him.

  “If you let them argue now, they’ll be inclined to discuss it civilly afterward,” Treasa said.

  Always one to argue the opposite.

  Between the two, he was guaranteed to come to a well-rounded decision. They both loved to debate, and by harnessing their nature Richard avoided the need to contemplate difficult matters alone. Leading was impossible without the support of others. He often listened to those he disagreed with for the sole purpose of learning.

  “Silence!” Richard’s voice—amplified by magic—bounced off the stone walls, creating a reverberation. Tradition permitted only the Archamethyst the right to magically amplify his voice, or else the room would become deafening.

  They finished the last insults as sorcerers took their seats—some had ventured across the room to argue with particular council members.

  “Councilor Fyodor has brought a serious issue before us,” Richard leaned forward in a threatening manner when it looked as though other councilors would speak. “Now is not the time nor place to decide our actions. We must send a team to investigate these accusations, and if they are found true, bring back exact numbers of the Onyx Nation’s strength. Far too long, have rumors of the Onyx Nation’s desire for war persisted. I’ll be damned if I let today be the day that rumor be allowed to replace facts.”

  Archamethyst! Marcel transmitted.

  Yes? And I’ve told you hundreds of times, Richard is fine.

  Apologies, Marcel transmitted. It happened again! Voidgate over the Ice Plains, on the outskirts of the city, near the shoreline.

  Marcel and Richard had been friends since birth—becoming apprentices together. If not for his utter lack of ambition, Marcel might have been Archamethyst. Instead he was Richards closest friend and most trusted advisor, committed to any task asked of him.

  Three councilors stood waiting on the Archamethyst to call upon them. No doubt to argue against his position.

  “I must leave,” Richard rose from his seat. “I leave the matter of creating the exploration team to the council to decide.”

  “You can’t—”

  “I can’t?” Richard’s voice echoed again.

  He walked toward the back doors, “My responsibilities exceed those of this council, and you would do well to remember that.”

  With his magic, he opened the double doors, and made sure they slammed closed upon his exit.

  Where are you?

  I arrived home only an hour ago, Marcel transmitted. I would have notified you sooner, but it took time to find the professor, and I didn’t want to bother you with another false lead.

  The travelers?

  A boy and his mother. The mother died, but the boy-

  Yes, Richard interrupted. We must have the boy.

  That will prove problemat
ic, Marcel transmitted. The professor intends to take him in, and then there’s the matter of strained diplomatic relations.

  Come back. I have a mission for you.

  What?

  You’re to be our new Pearl Nation diplomat.

  Richard was glad for the reason to leave—drawing up the diplomatic documents would take at least an hour, and promised to be more engaging than their drivel.

  CHAPTER ONE

  TINY TOWERS OF BOOKS were stacked throughout the office—nearly every flat surface was taken up: from the desk in the middle of the room, to the coffee table in front of Ren, and each small corner table between the leather sofas—laid out in a u-shape. Ren received a summons to the Archamethyst’s office—two floors below the top of the tower—there he sat waiting for ten minutes, admiring the beauty of the space, but resisting the urge to touch.

  This must be a test of my patience.

  The office took up half the floor—half as large as the ballroom—large enough to accommodate six offices comfortably. With the extra space, the Archamethyst created reading nooks in the two corners next to the wall separating the office from the hallway. Bookshelves wrapped the curved wall of the tower, except for two windows which spanned floor to ceiling. More than books were stored upon the shelves. Several artifacts—unrecognizable to Ren—sat displayed in otherwise empty sections. What looked like pieces of technology, took up an entire column of shelves behind the desk.

  A bright light startled Ren away from studying the room.

  “Thank you for waiting.”

  Ren turned to his left to find the Archamethyst sitting upon the sofa next to the one he was on.

  “How—”

  “Magic,” the Archamethyst said. “One of many such techniques I intend to help you discover.”

  Ren sat up straighter, and the leather cushions squeaked. That was exactly the kind of magic he wished to learn.

  As if reading his mind, the Archamethyst said, “First you’ll need to learn the basics. A child must walk before they can run, so too must a pupil learn to glide before they can voidwalk.”

  “Voidwalk?”

  “The process of leaving this space and appearing in another. What may appear instant to you on the outside, is actually an energy intense process. Though, it does save time by not having to climb stairs.” The Archamethyst began to laugh at his own perceived joke.

  The leather sofa squeaked as Ren fidgeted—unsure if the Archamethyst was mad or just eccentric. The man looked normal enough, though a bit older than the other sorcerers. But still, here sat the most powerful sorcerer in Fencura laughing at nothing.

  The laughed died in an instance. “Down to business then. You may call me Richard, and I’ve been made aware you prefer Ren to Henry?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “No need for all of that,” Richard said. “We’re all equals here, even if our abilities differ.”

  Ren nodded, unsure what he meant.

  “Before we start messing about with the deeper magics, why don’t we get to know one another better.”

  The leather squeaked again as Ren shifted uncomfortably in his seat. What did the Archamethyst want to know about him that he didn’t know already? The Archamethyst might be a crazy old man, but as long as he was willing to instruct him, Ren was eager to learn—he’d filter out the nonsense after the fact.

  “Tell me about your childhood,” Richard said. “Marcel informed me that you lived in an orphanage, but he didn’t share how you came to be there.”

  So that’s it. More pity for Ren the orphan.

  “I was two when the orphanage took me in, and I have no knowledge of where I came from,” Ren’s voice was flat and icy.

  What he didn’t share was how he could still remember the smell of his mother: lavender. How he cried himself to sleep until he was ten. “Ten was far too old for a man to be crying,” Mr. Griffin said. How he wet the bed at night, only to wake to Mr. Griffin beating him for it, and rubbing his nose in the wet spot as if he were a bad dog.

  No.

  Ren refused to play the victim—the mistreated orphan who needed the help of those around him if he were to have any chance to succeed. It may have been with the help of others that he made it to the trials, but he’d passed on his own merits, and saved Shaya in the process. It was one thing to be part of a team, but another thing entirely to be dependent upon the pity of others!

  Richard continued to ask probing questions, trying to tease out more information of his early days at the orphanage. Ren knew he was after something, but he was in no mood to be accommodating. After the better part of half an hour Richard changed tactics.

  “You have no memories of before you arrived at the orphanage?”

  “No,” Ren answered for what felt like the hundredth time. “Do you remember much of being a baby?”

  He’d not meant to be so rude, but the irritation of the questions got the better of him.

  Richard only laughed. Throughout the whole ordeal the Archamethyst maintained the same calm jovial manner he’d always shown Ren. Perhaps being as old as the Archamethyst offered a perspective which made life more comical.

  “How old are you?” Ren asked.

  Something in the back of his mind made him think the number was important.

  “Ah, well that cuts to the core of it, now doesn’t it.” Richard chuckled until he noticed the look on Ren's face. He waved his hand, “Oh no, I’m not offended. Just that I can’t answer without raising more questions.”

  Ren didn’t know what to say, but the feeling in the back of his mind grew stronger. Now he had to know.

  “I tell you what,” Richard said. “How about a trade? I’ll show you my acceptance to the Amethyst Nation, and in turn you show me your arrival at the orphanage. Fair?”

  “How can I show you something I don’t remember?”

  “Oh, you leave that to me. Do we have an accord?”

  “Yeah, deal,” Ren reached his hand out to shake.

  Richard clasped firmly to Ren’s wrist and pulled himself closer, so they were face to face—both on the edge of their sofa cushions. He locked eye contact with Ren and began to mumble under his breath. Ren found himself frozen stiff, unable to blink as the Archamethyst stared into his eyes—all the while mumbling.

  Ren’s vision blurred and when it cleared, he was no longer in the Archamethyst’s office, but instead floating over the central park of the Pearl Nation’s university. He recognized it from the few times Brandon had taken the club there.

  This can’t be today; the flowers are in full bloom.

  “You’re right,” Richard said. “This is my memory. Our minds are entangled. I’m able to hear every thought you have, and can see all of our memories as if they were a shelf of books. Even though they are less organized.”

  Ren looked around for the Archamethyst, but couldn’t see him. Instead, he watched as time seemed to whiz by, and the park filled with people. The source-light gliding across the sky, shrinking the shadows in the courtyard, until there were none. Hundreds of people stood in a crowd 80 feet beneath him, and he watched as sorcerers from the Amethyst Nation called forth prospects to face their trials.

  The vision was so vibrant it took Ren a moment to realize what it meant. Time stopped whizzing by and returned to a normal progression with twenty apprentices standing upon a stage. Twelve of whom were clearly from the Pearl Nation—toward the center stood a young man waving up to Ren.

  “I see you,” Richard said. “Do you see me?”

  “Yes . . .”

  The Archamethyst was from the Pearl Nation, he was part of the final twelve and over 300 years old.

  “337 years old, unless I missing a year somewhere in there,” Richard laughed to himself. “Okay, now hold tight.”

  Again, Ren’s vision blurred and when it cleared, he was floating over the doorstep of the orphanage, with Richard beside him. A middle-aged man walked through the front gate, holding a young child’s hand.

  “Is tha
t?”

  “Yes.”

  Ren leaned forward and found he could float down closer to the stranger and younger version of himself. Mr. Griffin opened the front door and the noise of children burst forth from inside. A beautiful woman standing behind Mr. Griffin asked who was there.

  “I’m Mr. Velden, and this is Henry, though I call him Ren,” The man bowed his head to Mr. Griffin, and scratched at his forearm behind his back.

  Mr. Griffin stepped aside to invite them in. Ren and Richard followed through the open door before it closed.

  Can we pass through walls?

  “Never tried,” Richard laughed, and for once Ren joined in, seeing the humor in the situation.

  In fact, the whole thing was deeply amusing to Ren, in a tragic twist of fate sort of manner. He obviously made it out okay, but it was funny to see his younger self being led into Mr. Griffin’s study. A room he’d learn to loath.

  “Please, sit,” Mr. Griffin gestured to a plush sofa.

  The same one was still there, but here it looked new and vibrant. There was no dust in the corners of the bookshelves. Mr. Griffin looked to be cleanly shaven, and the dark circles under his eyes were missing. If anything, he looked genuinely happy. Laughter from young children could be heard in the other room, as the woman read a story Ren couldn’t quite make out.

  Rather than yelling for silence, Mr. Griffin quickly walked to the doors of the study and slid them shut.

  “Sorry about that. The children are always full of energy after their naps.”

  “Not at all,” Mr. Velden said using the opportunity to scratch at his arm, sliding back his coat sleeve to reveal tracks of scabs from scratch marks.

  “I presume you’re here about the boy?” Mr. Griffin asked.

  “Time to go,” Richard said.

  Ren’s vision blurred again before he could protest, and by the time he was able to say no, they were back in the Archamethyst’s office.

  “Thank you for sharing,” Richard said.

  He stood up with a slight groan, and placed a hand on Ren’s shoulder, “But you can’t remember this.”