A School for Sorcery (Arucadi Series Book 6)

by E. Rose Sabin

  The students were slow to stir. Clearly, they wanted to see the outcome of Oryon’s bold challenge. It took some time for the five faculty members, prodding and pushing, to move them through the doors. Kress’s and Oryon’s five companions slunk away with the rest.

  Rehanne broke away from the departing crowd and ran to Headmistress. “I won’t leave,” she said. “Not until I know what you’re going to do about Gray. I came with him, so I’m involved in this.”

  Headmistress frowned and shook her head, but Veronica walked up to them and lightly touched Headmistress’s elbow.

  Headmistress gave Veronica a swift glance and turned back to Rehanne. “Very well, if that is your wish.”

  Tria wondered what signal had passed between Headmistress and Veronica.

  Lina stood beside Tria. “I don’t like this,” she whispered.

  Oryon continued to regard Headmistress with a supercilious smirk, while Kress glowered at her.

  Headmistress stepped back. Her gaze scanned the faces of all five students, lingered on Tria, then fastened on Oryon. “Mr. Brew, professional ethics prevent me from merely dismissing your challenge. I am obliged to address it, though I need not accept it. First, I must offer you the opportunity to revoke the challenge. If you do not, you will have no right of appeal. Upon your defeat, you will be stripped of your power and banished from this school. You will also be held legally accountable for any injury suffered by Mr. Becq and Mr. Riverman, so that you may face imprisonment for your crime. Do you understand this?”

  “Of course I understand it,” Oryon growled. “You’re stalling.”

  “Not at all. I am following the code of conduct that you spurn. You have stated before witnesses your full awareness of the consequences of your action. What of Mr. Klemmer?” She fixed her gaze on Kress. “Do you also understand?”

  Beads of perspiration lined Kress’s upper lip. He answered too loudly, “Yes. I understand perfectly. Get on with it.”

  “I shall, although this unfortunate matter is not one which can be quickly resolved.” Headmistress sighed and looked down at Veronica, who nodded as though another signal had been exchanged.

  “Mr. Brew, I cannot accept your challenge. Though you doubt it, I have access to power much greater than yours. The contest would be most unfair.”

  Weak-kneed with relief, Tria waited for Headmistress to restore Wilce and Gray and wreak the promised punishment on Oryon and Kress.

  She did not. She paused and said, “I shall not dismiss your challenge. I shall transfer it to Miss Mueller and Miss Tesserell. And Miss Zalos.” She nodded at Rehanne. “They are your peers, and they have strong cause to desire your defeat.” She looked at the three girls. “Do you accept?”

  “And what will happen if we don’t?” Tria demanded indignantly. “Will you abandon Wilce and Gray?”

  Before Headmistress could answer, Lina said, “We accept.”

  Headmistress said, “I cannot bring your two friends back. I can only punish these two who are to blame for their loss. If you wish their restoration, you must accomplish it yourselves.”

  So! Headmistress confirmed her lack of power. At least to some extent she was a fraud. Wilce and Gray were lost if Tria didn’t accept this dangerous and possibly futile quest. Lina had agreed, not out of concern for the lost ones, Tria felt sure, but out of pride. Tria cared nothing for her pride. But she could not abandon Wilce and Gray. “I accept,” she said, her voice steady.

  “And you, Miss Zalos?”

  Rehanne inhaled audibly. “I accept, too,” she said.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THEFT OF THE BREYADON

  Heedless of her lovely ball dress, Tria leaned against the side of her desk and frowned at Lina. The catgirl perched on the edge of her trunk and tapped her long nails against its metal band.

  “There’s nothing we can do tonight,” Lina stated in a flat voice. “Our power is at low ebb; we’re worn out, and we have nothing here to work with.”

  “We can plan,” Tria insisted, refusing despite her weariness to admit that Lina was right.

  Lina snorted. “What kind of plans are we likely to come up with when we’re both too tired to think straight?”

  “I wouldn’t be able to sleep. Could you?”

  “Certainly. It’s the logical thing to do. We’re confined to our room; Rehanne can’t join us, and she should be in on any plans we make. We have a whole year; we can afford one good night’s sleep before we launch our attack.”

  “It’s a search, not an attack,” Tria countered. “And I can’t bear to think of Wilce and Gray in the clutches of those horrid things a single night. Of course you don’t care; Wilce means nothing to you.”

  Lina pushed herself away from the trunk. “That’s precisely why I can think more clearly than you can.” She unfastened her gown and stepped out of it, leaving the stylish green confection puddled on the floor. “You’re crazy if you think the rescue is going to be so easy you can accomplish it tonight.” In her underclothes she marched past Tria, sat at the dressing table, and brushed her thick, dark hair.

  Tria turned and glared at Lina’s mirror image. “I’ve got to try. I’ve got to do something.”

  “Tria, think!” Lina wielded the brush vigorously as she spoke. “Oryon is clever, and he’s tremendously talented. He has to be utterly sure of himself to have done what he did—challenging Headmistress, giving a whole year to find Wilce and Gray. He thinks he has a foolproof scheme. I’m betting he’s wrong. He’s overconfident, and whatever secret ritual he used we can discover. But I don’t think it’s going to be easy or that we’re going to do it right away.” She set her brush down and met Tria’s gaze. “I’d guess it’ll take weeks, maybe months. After all that time in the Dire Realms, Wilce and Gray, if they’re still alive, will be changed into something you might not want back.”

  Tria shuddered. Tears welled in her eyes. “I can’t let that happen. That’s why I can’t wait.” She rose and stood behind Lina. “You know, neither Wilce nor Gray have talents that will help them fight those creatures. How can truth-reading or peace-bringing help Wilce escape Dire Women? And Gray! He only uses his power to create fleeting works of art. Maybe that’s why the Dire Women chose them: they knew they couldn’t fight back. Lina, we’re their only hope!”

  Lina sighed. “Well, I’ll tell you this, if you haven’t already figured it out for yourself. Kress is the weak spot in Oryon’s design, as Kathyn so dramatically pointed out. I intend to work on him, find out what he knows, get him to change sides.” She stood and stretched. “So you have my plan. That’s all you’ll get from me tonight.”

  In brooding silence, Tria watched her roommate finish getting ready for bed. Lina turned off the overhead light and her desk lamp, leaving only Tria’s lamp lit. She snuggled under her quilt and settled on her side, her back to Tria. Minutes later her slow, deep breathing showed that she slept.

  Slowly Tria removed the blue chiffon gown. Hating the sight of it, she hung it in Lina’s chifforobe and put on her nightgown, lay on her bed on top of the blanket, and tried to think.

  Her thoughts flew about like frightened sparrows, converging, scattering, swerving, swooping down on an idea only to flutter off in another direction.

  A word popped into her mind and her errant thoughts swarmed onto it. “The Breyadon,” she said aloud, earning a sleepy grunt from Lina.

  The mage’s book, she thought. The verse. I have to remember the verse. If I can get back to the crystal place, the wise man will tell me what to do.

  She sat up and tried to remember the words she had repeated after Mistress Dova, whispering them, not wanting to wake Lina. “Bororave Anthrillosor.” She remembered clearly that first line. “Laysa Grilden Madramor.” She thought she had the second line right, but she wasn’t sure. “Vernee …” She couldn’t remember the rest of the third line. She tried several combinations of syllables, but none sounded quite right. Did it matter? Could it be that only the final line, the one she’d mixed up
in class, provided the key?

  She tried repeating that line. “Reven Misi Ish Shathor.” No, that wasn’t it. “Renev Simi Shath Ishtor.” No, not that either. “Vener Simi Ish Thator.” Wrong.

  She tried all the combinations she could devise. One of them must be right, but nothing happened. Each failure brought her closer to tears.

  Finally, shivering with cold, sobbing from frustration and exhaustion, she crawled under her covers and huddled in sleepless misery. A single thought consoled her. Tomorrow I’ll find Mistress Dova, tell her the truth about what happened that day, and persuade her to show me the book. She’ll help me; I’m sure she will.

  The day after the Midwinter Ball marked the beginning of the three-week winter holiday. More than half of the first- and second-year students left to spend the holiday at home, and four of those gave notice that because of the disaster at the ball they would not return for the second semester. The third-year students carried on as though nothing of consequence had occurred. And why shouldn’t they? Tria thought bitterly. They would complete their studies and be graduated before the year’s span of Oryon’s challenge ended.

  A few students remained at school throughout the holiday period—Tria, because she could not afford the trip, and Taner, because she lived too far away to make the long journey. Lina and Rehanne cancelled their plans to return home. Oryon and Kress were staying, and Kathyn also decided to stay, explaining that she was too shamed by Kress’s behavior to face their parents.

  Some faculty members spent the vacation away from the school. When in the early morning Tria visited the faculty residence hall to arrange an appointment with her, Mistress Dova had left. Also gone were Master Hawke and Mistress Blake, the instructors Tria considered most likely to provide assistance in the search. Aletheia was not to be found, and no one seemed to know whether she had also left on vacation or had never returned after her disappearance from the ball. Tria left a message requesting an appointment with her, should the Transdimensional Studies mistress return.

  Not knowing what else to do, Tria went to Headmistress. After only a few minutes’ wait, she was admitted to the second-floor office. Headmistress was seated behind her cluttered desk and, as before, the sparkling gem in her ring was her most visible feature.

  She spoke from the shadows. “I trust, Miss Tesserell, that you have not come to withdraw your acceptance of Mr. Brew’s challenge.”

  Taken aback by the unwarranted suspicion, Tria spluttered an indignant denial.

  Headmistress cut her short with a wave of the ringed hand. “Very well. Your loyalty to Mr. Riverman is admirable. I should not have questioned your resolve. I must tell you, however, that I can offer you no help on your quest. Much as I wish you well, I have agreed not to interfere in any way with the contest between the two factions.”

  Tria dug her nails into her palms to control her fury. Headmistress was making this affair sound like a sports event. “I came only for information.” Tria fought to keep her voice level. “I need to know where I can find a copy of the Breyadon. I went this morning to ask Mistress Dova for permission to look at hers, but she had already left.”

  “May I ask how you expect the Breyadon to benefit you? You surely cannot read it.”

  Headmistress’s cold tone fueled Tria’s anger. The woman should realize that she was doing her best to save Wilce and Gray, and that if she failed, Oryon and Kress might well carry out their threat to destroy Headmistress and her school. Tria refused to confide in someone with such an insufferably arrogant attitude. “I need it,” she snapped. “If you can’t interfere in the contest, that’s all you need to know.”

  “You are correct, Miss Tesserell,” Headmistress said in a warmer tone. “I’m sorry that it must be this way. You have undertaken a daunting and lonely task. I once faced a similar mission; I do understand. But I can give you no aid. I do not own or have access to a copy of the Breyadon. Mistress Dova’s copy is the only one I know of in this area. It is her prized possession. The original is kept in a vault in the Shrine of Lady Kyla at Hillcross, where the Guardian alone has access. You will have to await Mistress Dova’s return and make your request to her.”

  “But she won’t be back for three weeks,” Tria objected, her heart sinking. “And I only want to look at the book; I won’t take it anywhere. Can’t you let me into her rooms? You must have a master key.”

  Headmistress stood and frowned down at Tria. “I have no right to allow you to enter someone else’s private quarters. Nor should you request such a thing, Miss Tesserell. You and Mr. Brew are closely matched in power, but this contest is more about moral values than power. Your hope of victory rests on your maintaining the ethical advantage. I charge you to keep that truth firmly in mind.”

  Tria was not convinced that the good side would win, but she did not argue that point. Instead, she asked, “How can you say we’re closely matched when I’m only first level and by now he’s probably gone beyond second?”

  “The levels are not determined solely by strength,” Headmistress said. “You have achieved second level, and Mr. Brew, despite his arrogant claims, has not yet passed beyond that level.”

  Second level! That was something. But not enough, Tria thought as she left Headmistress’s office. Not nearly enough.

  Tria tried to find a comfortable position on the cold, hard floor. She leaned her back against her bed’s metal rim and cast a sorrowful glance at Lina’s carpet, rolled up between the desks. It would have provided a bit of warmth and softer seating, but comfort had little importance. Although it might take on greater priority if they had to sit like this for several hours, as Tria feared they would. None of them had worked this spell before—Tria had never worked any spell—but Rehanne insisted she knew how.

  The floor between their outstretched legs was covered with a thick layer of dirt, dug secretly from under the snow in the garden that afternoon and stealthily lofted to the room in buckets by Tria’s and Lina’s power. The other materials had been easier to acquire. The candles and porcelain bowl they’d found in the kitchen. They’d broken icicles from tree branches and melted them for rainwater. For the gemstone, Lina provided a ruby earring. Rehanne found a supply of incense in the assembly hall. The sprig of mistletoe had come from the holiday decorations in the parlor. Tria wondered whether materials gathered from such mundane sources could work, but Rehanne assured her they would.

  “This spell doesn’t require exotic ingredients,” Rehanne said. “The key ingredient is our own breath. That and the rainwater. We’ll have no problem.”

  The spell was Rehanne’s idea, conceived when Tria explained her need for the Breyadon and described her unfruitful interview with Headmistress. Lina had suggested they sneak into the faculty residence hall and steal the book. But Tria reminded her of Headmistress’s caution about ethics, and when Lina ridiculed the notion, Rehanne sided with Tria. But there was a way, Rehanne said, of getting into Mistress Dova’s rooms, finding her copy of the Breyadon, and reading the incantation. They could perform a “spirit search,” working a spell that would allow one of them to go in spirit to Mistress Dova’s apartment, in that form find and read the needed spell, and then return to her own body.

  Tria questioned the morality of even that type of illicit entry. But her need and the enthusiasm of Rehanne and Lina persuaded her to agree to the attempt, despite her strong mistrust of spells.

  The room door was locked, the room warded. The mirror on the back of the door was covered with one of Tria’s heavy plaid headscarves. A black cape of Lina’s was draped over the dressing table mirror; a blanket cloaked the chifforobe mirror. Rehanne explained the importance of covering mirrors: “Mirrored reflections of the working of a spell can change its outcome, either reversing or doubling the effect.”

  They had spread the dirt out on the floor and smoothed it, painstakingly removing stones, pebbles, bits of sticks and leaves. Rehanne had drawn mystical runes in the cleansed sand.

  The preparations took all afternoo
n. They had worked through the supper hour. At last, all was ready; it was time to begin.

  Rehanne burned the incense, ladening the air with its cloyingly sweet smell. She lit the candle and set it in the center of the circle. Before it she placed the white porcelain bowl filled with rainwater. The ruby earring and the sprig of mistletoe lay beside the bowl.

  After turning off the room lights so that the only illumination came from the candle, Rehanne began to chant. Her voice rose and fell in hypnotic rhythm.

  “Hoos Husaroo Ushiu,

  Hoos Husaroo Avial,

  Koosh Illom Chucanel,

  Chitálcat, Shroocané.”

  Tria’s heart thudded; her hands were sweating. She rubbed them surreptitiously on her white dress. The little she knew of spells made her fear that her nervousness and qualms about ethics would hinder the magic. She tried to compose herself and blank her mind, letting the sound of the chant replace her thoughts. But a cramp in her leg defeated her attempt. She shifted her weight from one side to the other. Rehanne paused in her chanting and gave Tria a warning glance.

  I know, Tria thought. I’m acting like someone who never practiced meditation. I ought to be able to concentrate, especially when it’s so important.

  But that was the problem. This was no mere exercise, no class experiment. This was real, and so much hinged on it. If it failed, she more than the others would be responsible for the consequences, because reading the Breyadon had been her idea and she was the one too filled with impatience to await Mistress Dova’s return.

  She flexed her bare feet, stretched her toes, willed her leg muscles to relax. She listened to the chant.

  “Chitálcat, Chucoomakwic

  U-lu Mucamob, Shroocané.”

  The words were in one of the “hidden” languages developed by the ancient mages. Two or three of the better known languages were offered to the school’s upper-level students, taught by Mistress Dova or Master Hawke, but Tria did not think Rehanne had taken such a course. It must have been part of the lore passed on to Rehanne by her gifted grandmother. Tria envied Rehanne the experience of being encouraged and trained by a family member instead of being forbidden to use her powers as Tria had been, even by her gifted mother.