Kalem nodded sagely. “Ah, I see. I suffered much the same fate when I studied with him, though not so bad as you make it sound.”
“Did you? Why?”
Once again the boy’s cheeks flushed, and he lowered his gaze. “I imagine you must not know much of the kingdom of Hedgemond. We Konnels are of the royal family there, a smaller clan, yet still holding close to some power. You must be royalty as well if Credell is so frightened, though from your look I would guess you are from Idris. I suppose that makes us kin, though no doubt very distant?”
Ebon let that pass without correcting him. At last it seemed he had met a friendly face here, and he would do nothing to drive the boy away with the name of Drayden. And if he invited scorn by befriending Kalem, what of it? It seemed that to Lilith he was already a laughingstock, and to the other students he was someone to be avoided. Kalem’s friendship could hardly hurt. “How, then, did you deal with Credell? For you said you took to your lessons quickly, or at least quickly enough that you eventually graduated his class.”
Kalem did not seem to notice that Ebon had avoided his question. “I did the best I could, listened when he instructed the others, and practiced in my every spare moment. Once you pass the novice test, you will move to the second class.”
“What is the novice test? No one made mention of it to me.”
Kalem gawked at him. “Indeed? You must be of much higher birth than me, if Credell is that scared of you. The novice test is to turn a rod of wood into one of stone.”
Now Ebon understood the wooden sticks he had seen in the hands of the other students in his class. “Turning wood to stone? Is that possible?”
“Have you really never seen such magic?” The boy smirked, but quickly hid it. “I am sorry. I cannot imagine what it must have been like for you, being so sternly kept away from what should have been a great joy.”
“My father thought magic was … unseemly.”
Kalem drew back and narrowed his eyes. “Are you—are you, by some chance, your father’s eldest child?”
Ebon felt he had drifted upon some dangerous ground, but he did not know what it was. “I am. I had an older brother, but he was killed.”
“You are the heir, then? The next head of your family?”
He swallowed hard, wondering how long he could maintain the deception of being royalty. “I am my father’s successor, yes.”
“Do you think your father meant to keep your talents hidden, and try to put you upon the throne?”
Ebon blanched. “No one would try to put a wizard upon a throne. That would invite the High King’s wrath. You know this.”
“I do,” said Kalem, looking at his fingers where they toyed with each other in his lap. “Yet I have heard rumors that some have tried it. Always they are found and put to death, by the Mystics and the King’s law both. Yet still some try.”
“That was not my father’s aim, I promise you. He would sooner see me in exile than holding any power, I think.”
Kalem looked at him. “I am relieved to hear it, though it is a sad thing indeed. My father never had to worry about such—my sister waits to take his place at the head of the family, and I have two older brothers besides. Also, we are far removed from the line of succession to Hedgemond’s throne. Sometimes I think my father scarcely notices me. And he is …”
He blushed and looked down. Ebon leaned forwards. “What is it? You may tell me.”
The boy was silent a moment. “He is more concerned with our coin than with me, I think. We do not have the wealth we once did, and sometimes I have heard him and my mother speaking of what they might have to do if our coffers should run dry. I sometimes wonder if they will be able to keep paying for my teachings here. I do not know what I would do if they could not.”
Pity flowed through Ebon, much to his surprise. Of all the many causes for concern his family had often given him, worry of their wealth was not one of them. It seemed that the Drayden accounts were bottomless. And with that thought, he had a flash of inspiration. He turned his chair to face Kalem and leaned forwards intently.
“Then let me make you this bargain, Kalem of the family Konnel. I will learn nothing while I am under Credell’s tutelage. So you shall teach me instead. If you do, I shall give you a portion of my allowance. You can save it, and if your family cannot pay for your schooling, you will do it yourself.”
Kalem looked at him, eyes shining. “You would do this? Why?”
Ebon shrugged. “Coin is of little concern to us. I am much more worried about how fast I shall learn my spells. It seems that each of us may solve the other’s problem. What do you say? Is the bargain struck?”
Kalem grinned and thrust forth a hand. “It is.”
Ebon shook his wrist. “Done, then. And I propose that we celebrate our pact. Let me take you out upon the Seat tonight, and we shall toast our bargain until we cannot see to find our way home.”
The boy’s smile vanished, and his eyes grew wide. “Do … do you mean to say we shall drink?”
Ebon smiled. “As an alchemist you may be the master, but it seems I have much to teach you as well.”
THEY LEFT THE LIBRARY THE moment the bell rang. Ebon greatly wished for better clothes to wear out, but neither of them had anything grander than their simple black robes. But on the other hand, that meant there was no delay before their departure. He half thought that if Kalem were given any chance at all, the boy would turn tail and run as fast as he could.
“It is only that I have never had wine or ale before,” Kalem said, as Ebon practically shoved him through the Academy’s front door and into the street. “My mother and father viewed drinking much the same way your father, it seems, viewed magic.”
“Then they are all wrong, though for different reasons,” said Ebon. “There is much joy, and mayhap even some wisdom, to be found in the bottom of a cup, as you will soon learn. But we should find a place as far from the Academy as we can, so long as we can still find our way back.”
They were not the only ones leaving the Academy. All around them, students in black robes flooded the streets, all of them seeming to have the same intent as Ebon: to forget the day’s lessons and worries with the bounties of grape and grain. Ebon saw many taverns as they walked, but black-robed students entered all of them, and so he passed them by. Soon the streets thinned out, except for the Seat’s usual crowds: tradesmen bringing their wares home for the day, and merchants and the nobility traveling here and there to attend parties and balls. It was a chillier day than the one before, and as the sun lowered, a brisk breeze snapped at their ears. Ebon put his hands in the pockets of his robes to warm them.
He found he was much more comfortable than the last time he had walked upon the Seat, when Tamen had been at his side and he had worried that any misdeed might be carried straight to the ears of his father. Now he spun as he walked, looking all about him at the buildings. Some were tall and mighty, and others were small and modest, but all felt warm and comfortable.
“The Seat is nothing like back home,” he said, only half speaking to Kalem. “Even in the capital, all the buildings are made of white plaster, and they glare in the sun until they hurt the eyes. Everyone wears veils to protect themselves. Only the king’s palace is different—lavish, built from stone and steel, and shining with gold spires and great domes. It is a pretty enough sight, I suppose. But I prefer the Seat.”
“I still miss home,” Kalem said quietly. “Our king rules from Highfell, and that is certainly no place so mighty as the Seat. Yet though the buildings are simpler, they seem more welcoming, and though the palace is nowhere near so grand as the High King’s, still my breath was stripped away when I first beheld it.”
Ebon looked at him in surprise. The boy spoke with surprising passion. Ebon wondered what it was like to be homesick—truly homesick, not like his earlier vague desire to flee the Academy back to Idris. He imagined yearning for the place from which you hailed, rather than for a few people whose company you enjoyed ther
e.
They had not seen a black robe on the last many streets, and so Ebon cast his eyes about for a tavern. Soon he found one, a place with no door barring its entry and a wide window in the wall. He thought, with a flutter in his stomach, of the window through which he had spied a blue door. Had that really only been a few days ago? It seemed a lifetime. Well he remembered that place, far to the west of here, and in the back of his mind he decided that he might visit it again, if the chance arose. Had not Adara told him that she hoped he would return? They were the words of a lover, and mayhap spurred by coin. Yet now he could find out for himself.
But he drew his mind back to the here and now as he pulled Kalem towards the inn. “Come, we shall drink here. It seems a fine place—and just near enough that we shall not have trouble finding our way home.”
“Are you certain?” said Kalem, looking up at the sky. “Already the day nears darkness.”
“Then we shall walk home in torchlight. Come.”
They stepped in through the door. Ebon was gratified to see that no one gave them a second glance. He still feared that Kalem might try to escape, so he kept his hand on the boy’s arm on their way to the bar at the back of the tavern. There a stout man with great growths of brown hair on his cheeks surveyed them with a keen eye. His thick nose was red, and he wore an air that said he could be friendly enough, but would brook no disturbance of his domain. Ebon had seen it in many barkeeps over the years.
“Academy whelps,” he said. “And not ones I have seen before.”
Ebon felt a moment’s trepidation. “Is our coin less welcome here than another’s would be?”
The man shook his head. “Coin is coin. Only that boy with you looks a bit young.”
“I will care for him,” said Ebon, reaching into the purse at his belt. “And coin is coin, as you say.”
He flipped a weight into the air, and the man caught it easily. His eyebrows raised slightly, and he bit down on the gold. “So it is, young master. They call me Leven, and I am at your service.”
“Then let us have some wine, Leven; and make it something fine, from Calentin, but no cinnamon, if you please. I am Ebon, and my friend here is Kalem. I do not think we will drink enough for that weight tonight—but I ask that you do your best to help us try. If you do, I shall bring more of them.”
Leven nodded and turned to fetch a flagon from a shelf. This he gave to Ebon, as well as two goblets of pewter—finer things than the wooden cups held by most of the tavern’s other patrons. Ebon nodded his thanks and shoved his way back into the crowd, seeking an empty table.
Kalem was gawking at him. “A whole gold weight? That must be fine drink indeed.”
“Not so fine as the price I paid,” said Ebon. “But here is your first lesson of taverns, Kalem: pay the proprietor well when you can, and better than you should. If they are of a good sort, they will remember it when your purse weighs less. Now help me find a table—it is dim in here.”
The boy gulped and nodded. At last Ebon spotted one in the corner—a low table, with benches set to either side of it, and both of them shrouded in darkness. It was perfect. Even if another student from the Academy were to come, he doubted they would see Ebon or Kalem sitting in the shadows.
“Here, Kalem. This will do nicely—ulp!” Ebon shot up in the middle of sitting down, for his rear end had struck someone.
“What do you want?” snapped a voice. Ebon peered closer, and saw bright eyes peering at him out of the darkness. He had guessed right about the shadows—the girl had been invisible, so complete was her concealment. Then he leaned closer, and saw that there was still another reason for it: as well as her walnut-dark skin, she wore the same black robes as Ebon and Kalem and had her hood up. Another student from the Academy.
“I—er, that is, I did not mean …”
The girl only stared at him, and to his relief Ebon did not think he saw much rancor in her eyes. “Did not mean to place your fat rear upon me? I should hope not.”
Ebon swallowed. “I—we can find another table.”
She studied him for a moment. Beneath the hood, her hair was the color of sun-dried wheat, but he could see that it was dyed that color, and cut in a short bob. Her light eyes were sharp, peering at him over a thin nose. Slowly those eyes turned downwards, spying the flagon in his hand.
“You could sit elsewhere. But then how could two whelps like you hope to drink all that wine?”
Ebon looked to his right. Kalem’s eyes were fixed on the girl. Hoping her words were an invitation, Ebon nudged Kalem to take a seat on the other bench, and then slid in to sit beside him. The girl had a wooden cup before her, and Ebon carefully filled it before doing the same to the pewter goblets. Once the drinks were poured, he raised his and poked Kalem to do the same.
“To the hospitality of strangers in taverns,” he said.
The girl neither answered nor raised her cup. Instead she threw the wine back in one long pull and clapped the empty cup down onto the table. Ebon hastened to follow her, but he could only drink half his goblet at once. Kalem seemed to have forgotten he was supposed to drink his at all.
The girl closed her eyes, running a tongue across her lips. “Sky above, that is fine stuff.” Her eyes snapped back open, narrowing at them. “Fine indeed. The two of you are goldbags, then?”
Ebon balked. Mako, his aunt’s guard, had used the same word, but he had never heard it before that, and had not wanted to ask the man for its meaning. But beside him Kalem blushed and ducked his head.
“We do not use that word where I come from,” said Ebon, feeling the need to bolster the boy. “It does not sound very polite.”
“That it is not,” said the girl. She reached for the flagon and poured herself another cup, draining it in another long swallow. Ebon expected her to explain further, but she spoke no word. Kalem still had not touched his goblet. Ebon nudged him, and the boy took a tentative sip. His eyes widened, and he looked to Ebon.
“That … that tastes wonderful,” he said.
The girl arched an eyebrow. “And this one is a goldbag whelp.”
Ebon found his hackles rising, but he tried to stay calm. “If you intend to keep calling us that, at least tell me what it means.”
But Kalem spoke before the girl could answer. “It is just what it sounds like. Goldbags—wealthy.”
Ebon blinked. The girl leaned forwards, smiling at him, but not very kindly. “Wealthy, eh? I suppose some would put it that way. Some others would say greedy. Sitting in your palaces and manors, hoarding your gold. What do you lot do with all that coin, anyway?”
He held her gaze. “Just now, we pay for you to drink a fine Calentin wine.”
She stared, and Ebon feared she might strike him—either with her first, or with magic, he was not sure, and did not know which would be worse. But then she burst out laughing and leaned back against the wall behind her.
“Fairly spoken, and more well-mannered than I have been. Never let it be said that only your kind are polite. I am Theren.”
Ebon noted carefully that she did not give a family name, but he did not think it wise to ask why—he thought he could guess. “I am Ebon,” he said, leaning forwards and extending a hand. “My friend is Kalem.”
“Of the family Konnel,” Kalem piped up. Ebon winced. Already the girl seemed irritated at their status. It seemed unwise to dangle their parentage before her eyes.
Sure enough, she sneered. “Oh, sky above, a royal goldbag.” But when Kalem flushed and looked back towards his lap, she snickered. “Come now, child, I mean nothing by it. Goldbags are all alike to me—I think only you lot hold royalty in higher regard than the rest of us.”
“You are a student, I can see,” said Ebon, hoping to move the conversation onwards.
“As are you.”
“Of what branch? And what year?”
“Inquisitive, are we? A mentalist, seventh year.”
Ebon glanced at Kalem, and saw the boy looking at Theren with the same awe Ebon was
certain must show in his own face. “You are nearly finished with your training, then?”
Theren shrugged. “Mayhap. They have not found a spell to teach me that I could not master. As long as they keep trying, I will keep learning, I suppose.”
Ebon thought of the words he had had with Jia earlier. “And then? What will you do after? Surely your patron must be eager to have you back.”
Her lip curled, and he knew he had made a mistake. “Of course you would assume I have a patron,” she said. “But then again, a goldbag would think that a common girl could not be at the Academy without the help of some wealthy lord.”
“I meant no offense.” He did not break her gaze, hoping she could see his earnestness. “I am unused to the Seat, and unused to the Academy especially. It seems I have much to learn before I can even speak without making a fool of myself.”
Her glower softened, and she turned away. “It seems so. And besides, you speak true. I have a patron, though I do not relish it. Not all of us have it so easy as you two, no doubt sent here with a mountain of your parents’ coin to waste. Though I cannot complain at how you choose to waste it.” She lifted her cup for emphasis, and then reached for the flagon again.
Ebon shrugged. “My family was not my choice, I assure you of that. Each life comes with its own struggles, and ours are no exception.” She snorted. He ignored it, though it rankled him. “But if I am not fond of where my coin comes from, and if you and I both appreciate good wine, then help me waste it, I say.”
She wagged a finger at him. “Now at last you speak wisdom. I suppose you are not so bad as all that—for a goldbag, at any rate. But if you mean what you say about being wasteful, we shall need another two flagons at least.”
Wordlessly, Ebon reached for his purse and produced another gold weight. She rose and took it, studying it in the lantern light for a moment. Then she looked up at him once more.
“Very well, Ebon,” she said. Ebon did not miss the fact it was the first time she had used his name. “Can you find it in you to forgive words harshly spoken? And you as well, Kalem?”
The Academy Journals Volume One: A Book of Underrealm (The Underrealm Volumes 3) Page 10
