A School for Sorcery (Arucadi Series Book 6)

by E. Rose Sabin

  “And that bothered you?” Tria shifted, looked him in the eye.

  He nodded. “I always liked to test my limits, and often I did things I knew I shouldn’t. But I didn’t mean to hurt people. I was greedy for power, I admit that, but I wasn’t deliberately cruel. Well, I got the power—or, part of me did. I don’t have it. My other self took it all and gave none back, as far as I can tell. He also took all the evil and left me with the conscience.”

  “So if we could find a way to get back, to reunite you with the other Oryon and me with the other Tria, we could resolve our differences and persuade Oryon—that Oryon—to undo the things he’s done.” Excitement gave Tria renewed strength. She jumped to her feet and extended her hands toward him.

  He shook his head. “Not that simple. For one thing, we’re locked here, outside our world—outside all the worlds. Without power we have no hope of getting back. For another, it isn’t likely that we are the only duplicates of our originals, and we don’t have any way of contacting the others or of knowing where they stand. Nor is it likely that they know we exist.”

  Her hands fell to her sides. He was right; they were merely powerless shadows. What could they do?

  She couldn’t give up. Maybe if she knew more … “How did Oryon—you—learn about using reflections to gain power?”

  “Taner told me. She was teaching me her tribal lore. She spoke of it casually, not as a thing she’d tried herself, but as something she’d heard from the clan elders. She is not a curious person, and I don’t think it occurred to her that I might experiment with the idea.”

  Tria’s hopes fell even lower. “Taner has left school and returned to her home. We have no way of contacting her and learning how to reverse the process.”

  “Taner left school?” Oryon lurched to his feet and clutched his rags about him. “Why? When?”

  As Tria started to answer, he shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. We aren’t in the school. If it is possible to contact her at all, it’s possible wherever she is. I don’t think we have any hope of succeeding, but if you want to try, I’ll help.”

  This time he reached toward her, and without flinching she clasped his filthy hand with its open sores. “We’ll try,” she said. “Between us we may have a bit of power left.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  SEARCHES

  Tria’s footsteps echoed in the long, empty corridor. She tried walking more softly and heard her pounding heart echoing louder than her steps. Its beat drummed in her ears, urging caution, urging retreat. But she couldn’t go back where Oryon waited. And Veronica had told her to use the stairs, implying that they led to a place of safety.

  Where was she? The hall stretched on and on, making her feel small, insignificant. She had walked too far to be still within the school. Anyway, the school building had only three floors, and the stairs had led upward from its third floor. This must be another dimension, but it was unlike anything she had studied in Aletheia’s class, and nothing like the paths through which Aletheia had led her. If this was not the school building, it was a building of some kind. She trod on a highly polished parquet floor of natural woods in a wide range of colors. No harsh electric light robbed the corridor of its mystery. In their reflective bronze sconces tapers burned slowly with a sweet floral scent. The walls gleamed in the candlelight in a way the school walls never could. The rich paneling’s deep sheen revealed meticulous care. It was the kind of hall Tria imagined in a governor’s mansion, even in the Palace of the Triumvirate in Tirbat.

  She had walked a great distance, and the Breyadon had grown heavy in her arms when at last the hall ended in beautiful oak doors covered with elaborate carvings. She halted before those massive double doors and stared at the scenes consummately executed in high relief. They were—she was sure they were—the same scenes that were barely visible on the school’s battered front doors. She had polished those doors when she and Lina were assigned to work with Veronica. Her efforts to make the neglected carvings visible had not been entirely successful, but she had dug out enough dust and grime to recover vestiges of the original form.

  Reluctantly she tore her gaze from the panels, gathered her courage, and knocked on the doors. They swung open, revealing a large room lit by candles set in a magnificent crystal chandelier. Under the enormous chandelier, at the head of a large rectangular table, sat Headmistress. The six faculty members sat three on each side of the table. The foot of the table was unoccupied, and no chair was placed there.

  “Come in,” Headmistress called as Tria stood gawking at the unexpected scene. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

  Tria stepped forward, hugging the Breyadon. She was suddenly aware of her disheveled appearance, her dusty and ill-fitting red dress. In a state of shock, she stumbled over the fringe of the lovely tapestry rug. When she recovered her balance, Headmistress beckoned her onward until Tria stood at the foot of the table, the focus of seven pairs of eyes.

  Unable to endure that silent scrutiny, Tria settled her own gaze on Mistress Dova. Holding out the Breyadon, she said, “I’ve brought back your book.”

  Mistress Dova, seated in the middle on Tria’s left, merely nodded. It was Master Hawke who reached out to take the book from Tria’s shaking hands and place it on the table in front of Mistress Dova. A low cough drew Tria’s attention to Aletheia on her immediate right. The Transdimensional Studies instructor gave her a curt nod, turned toward Headmistress, and nodded again.

  Headmistress folded her hands on the table in front of her. Her ring sparkled in the light of the chandelier’s array of candles. “Miss Tesserell,” she broke the silence at last, “congratulations. You have attained the third level.”

  When the unexpected announcement penetrated Tria’s consciousness, she leaned heavily on the table and wished for a chair she could sink into before her quivering knees betrayed her.

  Master Tumberlis beamed nearsightedly in her direction from his place at Headmistress’s immediate right. “It has been most gratifying to watch your rapid ascent through the first two levels,” he said. “I had feared that your difficulty in mastering Logic would prove an insurmountable barrier, but you seem to have been guided by a certain innate logic of your own.”

  Master San Marté cleared his throat and adjusted his cravat before addressing Tria as though delivering a lecture. “You made several wrong turns in your journey along the ethical way before selecting the way of the wise. You caused us grave concern, most grave indeed. But aided, I trust, by my instruction, you found the way at last. Not, of course, that you have arrived. Oh, no. The hardest part of your journey lies ahead, and the danger of diverging from the right path will increase as you push onward. You must fortify yourself with the lessons I have taught. You must never lose sight of the principles which I—”

  “Come, man,” Master Hawke interrupted. “Save all that for your classes. Miss Tesserell will have the benefit of at least two more terms of instruction; you’ll have better opportunities to review the principles of Ethics.”

  Master San Marté glared at his colleague but did not speak again.

  “I am grateful for the return of the Breyadon,” Mistress Dova said, patting the book’s leather cover. “I understand, however, that Mr. Brew claims to have broken the code and intends to use the book’s magic despite my warning.”

  Tria nodded. The speeches had given her time to calm herself and gather her courage. “He was chasing me. I ran up the stairs to escape him.” She paused, wondering how much of what had transpired in her room was already known to the faculty.

  “Please tell us about it.” Mistress Blake’s request, delivered in a soft, musical voice, ended Tria’s hesitation. She launched into a description of the evening’s events while her audience of seven listened intently but asked no questions. Perhaps they did know all that had happened but wanted to hear it from Tria’s point of view.

  When she finished, Headmistress rose from her seat. “So,” she said, “Mr. Klemmer must be added to the list o
f those to be recovered. And Miss Mueller, trapped in panther form, is wandering lost in the night. She must be found, Mr. Brew must be stopped from using the illicit knowledge he has gained, and the missing ones must be restored. It appears you have gained the third level none too soon.”

  Headmistress spoke as if reaching level three solved everything. But Tria felt no different. She had no more wisdom, no more power than before. “What level has Oryon reached?” she dared to ask.

  “He, too, has achieved third level,” Headmistress acknowledged. “He seems to have gone beyond that level because he is drawing on power not his own.”

  “That still gives him the advantage over me.” Tria’s complaint sounded whiny to her own ears. Her conflict with Oryon had left her weary, and she dreaded the prospect of having to go back and face him again. It was unfair for them to force her to struggle on alone.

  “You are not alone,” Aletheia answered Tria’s thought. Tria waited, but the wraithlike woman said no more.

  Headmistress, however, walked around the table to Tria. “You willingly accepted the challenge,” she reminded her. “You must carry on to the conclusion of the contest.”

  “But Rehanne and Lina were to help me.” More whining. She couldn’t help herself.

  “So they were, and so they have. Nor, I think, is their part finished. That is why your immediate task must be to find Lina. After so long a time in the dark Dire Realm, she will not be able to resume her own shape. It would not do for a farmer or a hunter to spot her in her animal form.”

  “No,” Tria agreed with a shudder, recalling how her father had once lain in wait with a shotgun for a bobcat he suspected of killing their chickens. He’d spied the animal running away from the henhouse with a chicken in its mouth and blasted it to bits.

  Headmistress removed her ring and held it out to Tria. “I can give you little help, but I can lend you this. Wear it; it will provide a measure of protection.”

  Startled by the unexpected generosity, Tria took the ring and slipped it on her finger. It fit perfectly.

  “I will show you a way that leads directly to the garden,” Headmistress said. “It would not be wise to return to your room before beginning the search for Miss Mueller.”

  “But what of Oryon? If he can use what he learned in the Breyadon even though he’s lost the book—”

  “He can, and you must try to stop him. But not before you find Miss Mueller. Come.” While the rest of the faculty remained seated, Headmistress led her to a door at the rear of the room. The door opened onto a landing from which a stairway spiraled downward into darkness.

  “Good luck, Miss Tesserell,” Headmistress said. “I commend you for your courage.” With that she retreated into the room where the faculty waited, closing the door behind her and thereby cutting off the illumination that had shown Tria the landing and stairway.

  She groped for the banister, found it, and clung to it as she felt her way down the stairs. She shivered in a chill wind and glanced upward at a starry sky. So the stairway itself was outside. As her eyes became adjusted to the night, she could see the outline of the stairs and beyond them the shapes of plants and trees. No building was visible; the stairway seemed to come from nowhere.

  Tria reached the ground, stepped away from the stairs, and looked around, trying to get her bearings. She recognized her location: the far end of the vegetable garden. In the distance she saw the school buildings, mostly dark, with lights shining in two or three windows where students were studying late or had fallen asleep over their books.

  The stairway she had descended had disappeared.

  Shivering, she hugged herself and wished she’d been allowed to go by her room for a jacket. But such practical matters would not occur to Headmistress. At least the red dress, though it fit poorly, was of all-wool homespun material that provided some warmth.

  She had no idea how to find Lina. They should have sent out a search party. Nor did she understand why she had been sent on this errand when at any time Oryon might carry out his threat to make use of the Breyadon’s magic. Possibly he would, as Mistress Dova seemed to believe, destroy himself by that act, but he might also destroy the school and its students. The entire Community of the Gifted might be at risk. And she had been sent on a panther hunt.

  If only she had a lantern! She stumbled in the dark through the row of poplars that formed a windbreak at the rear of the school’s garden, then struck out across the fields. She had to pick her way over ground that was plowed and furrowed, prepared for spring planting. Except for the windbreaks, there were no woods in the area. Where would a panther hide?

  She could not escape the nagging thought that she’d been sent on a fool’s errand. Alone she had little chance of finding the black cat hiding in the night. Nor of capturing her if she did find her. She lacked the power to restore Lina to human form, and in her panther form Lina was less rational and would be less open to persuasion.

  She tripped over a rock and sprawled facedown in the dirt. Not trying to rise, Tria fought back tears of frustration and defeat. Third level! It meant nothing if it brought no added power. Never had she felt more helpless.

  She pulled herself to a sitting position and brushed dirt from her face and hands. Maybe she should go back to the school—except that she wouldn’t be able to get in. The doors would be locked and warded. Again she wondered why she’d been set this task instead of being sent to keep Oryon from using the Breyadon.

  Oryon had said he needed help in containing the power that would be unleashed. Tria had told Headmistress how Oryon had urged her to help him. Perhaps Headmistress had sent her out here to remove her from that temptation. Knowing that Tria was weak, her power drained, Headmistress might have wanted her well away from Oryon.

  It made sense. Tria hauled herself to her feet and shook dirt off her dress. Headmistress’s large gem snagged her skirt; she had forgotten she was wearing the ring. “For protection,” Headmistress had said. If only it would protect her from the cold.

  Somewhere off in the distance a dog barked, a deep baying magnified by the quiet night. A second dog joined in with a high-pitched, furious yipping. The cacophony jolted Tria out of her haze of exhaustion. The dogs could merely be barking at each other, but it sounded more like they had spotted an intruder. Perhaps had it cornered. Or treed.

  She had to have light. She risked enough of her depleted power to gather starlight and form a small light sphere. With the aid of that dim illumination, Tria set off at a run toward the source of the barking.

  Oryon backed away from the mirror, allowing Tria to step into the room. She looked all around first to be sure they were alone. “What have you done with Jerrol?” she asked.

  “He’s studying with Davy. They have papers due tomorrow in Mistress Blake’s class, and I planted the suggestion in their minds that they needed to work late into the night if they expected to pass the course.” He chuckled. “In Jerrol’s case that’s probably true. I may have saved his neck by making him worry about his grade. Have a seat.” With the wand in his hand he pointed at a desk chair.

  The room was as Tria remembered it from the time she and Rehanne had sneaked in to hunt for the Breyadon. It surprised her that the two young men kept it so neat. Both desk lamps and the overhead light were lit. In black shirt and trousers, Oryon stood like a dark shadow in the midst of the bright room. She went to the desk chair but did not sit in it; she did not care to be at a disadvantage while he stood.

  “I’ve invited you here to give you another chance to consider my offer,” he said.

  The statement puzzled her. “What offer do you mean?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  She frowned. “No. Should I?”

  “Apparently not.” He smiled as though she had passed some sort of test. “Please, sit down.”

  This time she did so, though she sat stiffly on the edge of the chair, her hands clenched in her blue skirt.

  He dropped into the other desk chair. “Did you know,�
�� he asked, “that I have succeeded in deciphering the Breyadon?”

  “I suspected as much.” Again she scanned the room. “Where is it?”

  “I don’t need to have it at hand to work its spells.” He leaned forward, his face eager. “But I do need an assistant.”

  “Why ask me? What makes you think I would ever be willing to help you?”

  “You want your boyfriend back. Wilce. And Gray, too, I suppose. I could arrange for that as your reward.”

  She shook her head. “I’ve seen what you’ve turned them into, and what your magic did to Kress. I want no part of any spells of yours.”

  “But I’m asking you to help me shape and contain the power the Breyadon can bring. If you work with me, you’ll get some of that power for yourself. Think about it. Think what you could do.”

  He meant to trick her, she was sure of it. He’d never willingly share power. But by pretending to help him, she could learn the Breyadon’s secrets for herself. She could wrest power from him, free Wilce and Gray, and set everything to rights. Of course, she’d be taking a terrible chance, but it was time to take chances. She’d dithered about long enough. This was what she had gathered power for.

  She did not want to seem too eager. She hesitated a while longer, asking questions, arguing, obtaining Oryon’s solemn promise, sworn on his wand, that he would not betray her. The promise was meaningless, she knew. Nevertheless, when he had given it, she agreed to help him.

  “I’ll explain what we need, and we’ll search out the right time and place,” he told her with a sly grin.

  The tunnel grew colder. Tria sat hugging her knees to her chest, trying to get what warmth she could from the brown wool skirt. Oryon, too, clutched his pathetic rags more tightly around him. The light was growing dimmer as well, Tria noted anxiously. As though everything was shutting down, fading out. She did not understand what this path was, whether it possessed independent reality or was a creation of Aletheia’s mind, an extension of her power. If it winked out, she and Oryon would wink out with it, shadow beings that they were.