by David Debord
Oskar felt his spine stiffen as Whitt continued to explain proper conduct and forms of address for the masters, the proctors, the guardsman and his lieutenants, even the prelate. Oskar had always been one to put his boot in his mouth on occasion, so a misstep was inevitable. He just needed to keep them to a minimum and hope none were too egregious.
They found seats at the far table. Oskar dug into his bowl of stew. The meat was stringy and the vegetables undercooked, but after weeks on horseback, with only a few stops for proper meals, it tasted delicious. When he finally sopped the last morsel from his bowl with a crust of bread, he looked up to see the others staring at him.
“You might want to slow down next time. There are no second helpings.” Naseeb gestured with his spoon. “And you wouldn’t want Master Moylan thinking you a glutton.”
“Does he really pay attention to how fast a person eats?”
“He pays attention to everything. Here, you can have the rest of mine.” Dacio slid his bowl, still half full, over to Oskar.
“Thanks.” Oskar decided conversation might help him eat slower. “So, what lessons do we take?” His new friend explained that there were seven courses of study: History, Logic, Wisdom, Alchemy, Combat, Magic, and Sorcery. There were no courses on Seventhday, and while Sixthday mornings were devoted to either Combat or Sorcery, the remainder of the day was theirs.
“You’ll need that day,” Dacio said, “for study.”
“What’s the best course?”
“Combat,” Whitt said, as Dacio and Naseeb answered “Logic” and “Magic” respectively.
“Can we at least agree History is the worst?” Whitt looked at his friends, who nodded.
“I love history.” Oskar thought of the hours spent hidden away, reading Lord Hiram’s books. “At least, I love books of history.”
“It’s not the subject; it’s the teacher. Master Sibson once bored a student to death. I mean he literally died of boredom in the middle of a lecture.”
Oskar looked for signs of jest in Whitt’s eyes but saw none.
“He didn’t die from boredom.” Naseeb was doing tricks with his spoon- rolling it between his fingers and flipping it around his thumb and back again. “He died because his heart stopped beating.”
“Because the lecture bored it to death.”
“You’re both wrong,” Dacio said. “He tried mixing his own dream elixir, but he made it too strong and it stopped his heart.”
“And why did he take the elixir? Because he couldn’t stand Master Sibson’s lectures.” Whitt folded his arms across his chest and rocked back in his seat, waiting for Dacio’s rejoinder.
Dacio rubbed his long nose thoughtfully. “Fine, but the boredom didn’t literally kill him.”
Oskar had to laugh. He already felt at home. Before he could ask about the rest of the teachers, someone called his name.
“Oskar Clehn?”
He turned to see a brown-robed man standing behind him.
“Yes?”
“Proctor Basilius wishes to see you. Follow me.”
Puzzled, he collected his spoon and bowl and rose from his seat, but froze when he saw the frightened looks on his friends’ faces.
“What does Basilius want with you?” Naseeb whispered. “He’s...”
Whatever Basilius was, Oskar didn’t find out because the man called his name again.
“We’ll take your bowl,” Dacio said. “You’d better go.”
Oskar turned and followed his guide, wondering what, exactly, a proctor could want with him.
Chapter 5
Proctor Basilius stood with his back to the door when Oskar entered the office. Hands folded behind his back, he stared out the window. He was a broad-shouldered man with thick, yellow-white hair that hung to his shoulders. When he finally turned around, he arched an eyebrow at Oskar.
“Why did you not announce yourself?”
“I didn’t want to interrupt.” How had he already managed to run afoul of the man?
“What, pray tell, was I doing that you thought you should not interrupt?”
“Thinking? I think.” He forced himself to meet the man’s green-eyed stare.
Finally, Basilius’ stony expression cracked and he twitched his cheek in something less than a smirk. “Don’t mind me, boy. It’s my duty as a master to take the measure of our novits. I merely wanted to see how you comported yourself.”
Oskar felt he’d made a poor showing, but merely nodded. He and Basilius took seats in front of a cold fireplace, and Basilius stared at him far too long for comfort. Finally, the proctor broke the silence.
“Tell me how you came to the gates.”
“Aspin brought me.” This was one of the many areas in which Aspin had coached him not to reveal too much.
“I understand he sees great promise in you.” Another twitch of the mouth. “Where did the two of you meet?”
“In Lothan.” Wait! Was that the story he was supposed to tell, or should he have said they’d met in Galsbur? He’d been forced to learn so much in such a short time, that he couldn’t possibly remember it all.
“A dangerous place. What is a young Galdoran doing down there?” Basilius kept his tone conversational, but his gaze hardened.
“I’m ashamed to admit it, but I left home seeking adventure.” He hung his head, hoping the prelate wouldn’t see the lie in his eyes. “I didn’t know where I was going and, next thing I knew, I was in Lothan.”
“I understand that the clans have united.” Basilius stood, moved to a corner cabinet, and withdrew a bottle of wine and two glasses. “What is your assessment of the situation?”
“I don’t know. Aspin found me and I traveled with him.” He accepted a glass of red wine, but did not drink. As he gazed down into the depths, the deep crimson put him in mind of blood. “We saw lots of clans traveling, but that’s all I know.”
Basilius took a long drink, letting the silence hang in the air. Finally, he set his glass down. “Where were they traveling?”
“I’m not sure. Aspin talked with them. I tended the fire, practiced...” He realized he was providing more information than the prelate had requested, and fell silent.
“It’s not unusual for a saikur to begin a novit’s education before he is officially enrolled at the gates. What did you practice?”
This was not consistent with what Aspin had told him, but the proctor didn’t seem bothered. “Some weapons training, quarterstaff mostly.”
“Sorcery as well?” Basilius’ smile calmed the wave of anxiety that rolled over Oskar. “I can sense it in you.” He sat up straighter and smoothed his robes. “One of my areas of responsibility is to oversee Master Ashur, who teaches sorcery. I take an interest in novits who show a pronounced ability. I’d like to assess you.”
Oskar’s heart raced and his throat was tight, but he choked out a reply. “I haven’t learned much.”
“Relax. I am not testing you. I only want to measure your capacity for channeling power. All right?”
Oskar felt anything but all right, but he nodded and straightened in his seat.
“Look directly into my eyes.” Basilius’ voice was velvet. “Allow your focus to narrow until all you see are my pupils. Black circles in a haze of gray.”
It was an odd feeling, looking into the man’s eyes like this. Aspin had never used this technique with him. As the proctor guided him, he relaxed and opened himself to the energy all around him.
It started as a trickle, and then a flood. Power rolled through him, sharpening his awareness, intensifying his senses. As he gazed into Basilius’ eyes, his pupils seemed to grow, until, suddenly, Oskar was engulfed in blackness. He tried to look away, or even close his eyes, but he was entranced.
And then the first memory came.
Drifting up like bubbles from the bottom of a pond, came a series of disjointed images: riding through the forest with Aspin, his first sorcery lesson, practicing the quarterstaff with Allyn. He tried to control his thoughts, but someth
ing seemed to reach inside his mind and draw them forth: Shanis holding the Silver Serpent aloft, Khalyndryn’s lifeless eyes.
With a cry of pain, he broke free of whatever power gripped him. Basilius jerked back as if he’d been struck a sharp blow. They stared at one another, Oskar panting from the effort, the proctor looking bemused.
“Sorry,” Oskar finally said. “I don’t know what happened.”
“It is all right. You are a novit after all. I shouldn’t keep you any longer.” Basilius rose, strode to the door, and opened it for Oskar. “Sleep well. You’ll want to be ready for your first day of training.”
Oskar mumbled a hasty word of thanks and bowed his way out of the office. He’d paid little attention on the way here, and had to ask directions twice before finding his way to his room. When he arrived, he found his roommates all still awake.
“What did Basilius want?” Naseeb asked.
“I’m not exactly sure.” He gave a brief accounting of his meeting with the prelate. When he came to the assessment of his strength, he paused. “This is going to sound strange, but at the end, it felt like he was trying to draw memories out of me.” He let the words hang there, waiting for them to laugh.
But only silence greeted his words. Naseeb and Whitt exchanged a hasty glance while Dacio coughed and looked away.
“What?”
They all held their silence for a few moments, and then Naseeb sighed. “There are rumors about Basilius. It’s said he can read minds.”
Oskar considered this. It had felt like an outside force was thumbing through his memories like the pages of a book. If that was the case, then Basilius had known Oskar was hiding information about his time in Lothan. He took a deep breath and let it out in a rush.
“You said rumors. What else do they say about him?”
Naseeb shook his head. “Not tonight. It’s late and I don’t like talking about him.” His face brightened. “A page brought your things. I guess Darhon didn’t find anything that concerned him.” He tossed Oskar a brass key and indicated a wooden trunk in the corner. “That’s yours. If you lose the key, you’ll have to ask Darhon for a new one, and he’ll make you regret it.”
Oskar winced at the thought.
“Oh, and a saikur brought you this.” Naseeb handed him a canvas bag. Oskar opened it and smiled. It was his cloak the Thandrylls had given him. Aspin must have brought it to him. He felt a pang of disappointment that he’d missed him. He would have loved to tell Aspin about his meeting with Basilius.
Leaving the cloak in the bag, he went to his trunk and unlocked it. There were his belongings, such as they were. His clothing had been laundered and mended. A lump formed in his throat as he looked at the reminders of the time he’d spent traveling with his friends. He wondered how Shanis was managing in her new role as leader of the Lothans. Was Hierm a father yet? Had Allyn recovered from his ordeal battling with the spirit that sought to possess him? And how was Larris faring back in the palace at Archstone? Then he thought of Khalyndryn, and tears welled in his eyes.
“Are you all right?” Whitt half-rose from the edge of his bed.
“Yes, I just...” The words froze on his tongue. He’d just realized something was missing.
His book.
Chapter 6
Where is she going at this time of night? The cold, rough stone pressed into Allyn’s cheek as he hid in the shadows of the alleyway. The moon cast the street in silver light, but few were out this time of evening. It was an hour for thieves, and no time for a governess to be about.
Melina was apparently trying to move unseen and was making a poor job of it. She stopped and started, flitted from shadow to shadow, and kept looking all around.
Allyn would have laughed if the situation weren’t so grave. Larris needed to find out what had happened to his brother’s letter of abdication, and he was convinced Melina had something to do with it. He wondered if she had the letter on her person. Of course, accosting her would do no good. Even if she was the guilty party, he’d have to search her and, if she didn’t have it on her person, he and Larris would lose any chance of finding it and discovering who was pulling her strings.
“You have to be working for someone,” he whispered. “What use would you have for that letter?”
Melina turned onto a side street and Allyn had to hurry to catch up, moving along on silent feet. He peered around the corner and froze. She was gone! That couldn’t be. She had only been out of his sight for a matter of seconds. Gritting his teeth, he stepped out into the street and looked around.
His eyes fell upon a single door at the back of a massive building. That had to be where she had gone. Getting his bearings, his heart lurched when he realized where he was—The Temple of the Seven!
He moved with haste back into the shadows and caught his breath. His thoughts churned as he considered the implications. If Melina were here to visit the sanctuary, which was highly unlikely in the middle of the night, she’d have entered through the front door. This proved it. Someone in the temple was meddling in the royal family’s affairs, but to what end?
He considered returning to the palace immediately and reporting to Larris, but thought the better of it. Melina was very likely delivering the letter right now. If he could retrieve it, and find out for whom she was working, it would save a great deal of trouble. Steeling his nerves, he moved to the door and tried the handle. Locked. He’d have to enter by the front door.
He paused on the front steps, lowered his hood and made sure his cloak covered his belt knives before entering.
Shadows cloaked the sanctuary, with only the meager glow of a few candles to light his way. Statues of the seven gods sat in alcoves on either side, their odd number giving the room a strangely unbalanced feel.
A fat priest sat dozing behind the altar rail. Allyn fished a coin out of his belt pouch and dropped it into the bowl. The priest started at the sound of clinking metal but nodded and closed his eyes again as Allyn lit one of the candle stubs on the rail and knelt to pray. Soon, the man was snoring again.
Allyn scanned the altar area and spotted a poorly concealed door set in the back wall. He rose, slipped over the altar rail, and crept to the door. Taking one last look to make sure the priest was still asleep, he opened the door and stepped inside.
“Very good.” Timmon smiled as he read Lerryn’s abdication letter. “You have done well, daughter. Your faithful service to the seven will not be forgotten.”
“I’m glad you are pleased.” The priest was the closest thing to a father Melina had, which was the only reason she had served as his informant on the affairs of the local family for all these years. She took a shallow breath and forced the words out. “Forgive me, but I don’t understand why the temple is interested in interfering with the line of succession. Larris is a reliable young man and will make a better king than Lerryn would have.”
“It’s not something that can be easily explained. And we do not intend to interfere. We simply need time to study the situation and make sure the outcome is what is best for the future of our nation.” Timmon folded the paper and tucked it inside his robe. “You need not worry. We have only Galdora’s best interests at heart.”
Melina jumped as the door behind her opened. She snapped her head around to see the king’s brother enter the room. “Lord Orman?”
He forced a smile, but not before a flash of anger mingled with surprise flitted across his face. “Melina. The hour is late for you to be at worship.”
“I was just delivering something. I should go now.” She took a step toward the door on wobbly knees, but Orman grabbed hold of her arm.
“No need to leave on my account. When I am in need of counsel, I prefer to visit when no one is about. The commoners do love to talk.”
“I imagine they do.” She’d never been so frightened in her life. Her head buzzed and she felt as if she were floating far above her body. Nothing made sense. Neither the temple’s interest in the business of the royal family nor their pre
viously-unsuspected connection to Orman, who had never, as far as she knew, shown any sign of being religious. She didn’t believe Orman was here for counseling, and they both knew it. She looked longingly at the door. Even if she could break free of Orman’s tight grip, she’d never get away.
Timmon stood and cleared his throat. “Melina was just leaving.”
Orman’s grip loosened as the priest took Melina by the elbow and guided her out.
As they navigated the silent halls, she permitted herself to relax if only a little. She’d escaped the situation, but what would happen when she and Orman were back at the palace? Would he suffer her to live now that she knew of his connection to the temple, or would he treat her as an accomplice, knowing she could not report his actions without admitting to treason? It was a knot she couldn’t untangle. She would have to flee; there was nothing else for it. She had a horse, a gift from the royal family, and enough coin to get well away from Archstone.
“Here we are. I fear I cannot offer you an escort back to the palace. You understand, of course?”
Melina nodded and embraced Timmon.
She didn’t see the dagger before he thrust it into her heart.
Allyn wound through the empty hallways of the Temple of the Seven. He moved silently through a corridor lined with empty studies, then through a dining hall and into the area which, by the snores he heard, housed the sleeping quarters. This was useless. He had no idea where he was going and, by now, Melina was likely long gone. His chance of discovering whom she was meeting and why was lost.
He retraced his steps, hoping he wouldn’t be discovered, as he could offer no believable reason for being here, and he really didn’t want to kill a priest.
Back in the sanctuary, he found the priest still snoring. Relief mingling with disappointment at his failure, he made his way back out onto the street. He took a deep breath of the damp night air and tried to sort out his thoughts. He felt as though he’d discovered something important, but he knew so little. At least he could point Larris in the proper direction.
