The Academy Journals Volume One: A Book of Underrealm (The Underrealm Volumes 3)

by Garrett Robinson

  Ebon was about to ask her what she meant, but she jerked his arm to the left and down a side street. “Quickly. This way. We do not want to miss the beginning.”

  “The beginning of what?”

  But before she could answer, the thunder of trumpets and bells tore the air asunder. The sound made Ebon nearly jump out of his skin, but Halab stood steady, as though she had expected it. Looking around, Ebon realized they stood scarcely a street away from the High King’s palace. They were at the mouth of a main thoroughfare where it met the Seat’s greatest road, the one that ran straight west and east from the palace to the wide gates at either end of the island. A crowd had formed around them. As Ebon looked up at the palace, resplendent in white and gold, its great gates began to swing open.

  An army marched forth. First Ebon saw many soldiers on horseback, their mounts’ hooves dancing gaily as they bounced in parade march. Behind these came more on foot, striding easily even in full plate. All of them wore tabards like Ebon had found in the Shining Door: white with gold edges, and the four-pointed star in the center. The sigil of the High King.

  After a time, the High King’s army had passed. But after them came still more troops. These were tall and stern, their finely-crafted armor polished until it shone, throwing the sunlight in Ebon’s eyes. And all of them wore red cloaks, though their hoods were cast back.

  “They are Mystics,” said Ebon, voice hushed in wonder.

  “Indeed,” said Halab. “This is the greater part of all the Mystics here upon the Seat. They march at the command of the Lord Chancellor himself, and he at the command of the High King.”

  “But where are they going?”

  “They go to join the war in Wellmont, in the southwest of Selvan. Or, it is more correctly put, they go to put a stop to it. The High King has at last decided that this border squabble is unseemly, and aims to halt it by strength of arms.”

  “Can she not simply command them to cease their fighting?”

  “Oh, dear nephew. The minds of kings are stern and stubborn and difficult to sway. She might issue such a command, of course, but Dorsea might not listen. And even if they did, resentment would burn like a bonfire in their hearts, only to erupt again into war, and mayhap a worse one. At times, soft words may serve for diplomacy. But a wise ruler knows when to use an ironclad fist instead. Come.”

  Though the march was not yet over, she turned and led him away. Ebon cast one last look over his shoulder at the red-cloaked soldiers marching by, but they were soon lost to sight through the crowd.

  She led him unerringly through the streets, and soon he recognized where they were: the neighborhood that surrounded the Drayden family manor. Before long he saw it, standing two stories above the surrounding buildings, its stones painted gold like their homes back in Idris. His steps faltered, and he felt as though a cloud had passed over his heart.

  “Come along now,” said Halab, tugging at him playfully. “Your father does not wait within. Today it is only you and I.”

  He smiled and tried to deny that that had been his thought, but she waved him to silence. They found the gates open and waiting, and when they climbed to the smaller dining hall on the fourth floor, a feast had been laid out for them. From the way it steamed, Ebon guessed it had been hastily uncovered the moment they had arrived.

  His weeks at the Academy had nearly caused Ebon to forget how well his family ate. He feasted on lamb and figs and fine spiced soup, and salad dressed with oils that teased his tongue delightfully. Though he never went hungry at the Academy, now he ate like a man famished. When at last he could not down another bite, he sighed contentedly and sank back into the plush cushions of his chair. Halab had finished some time ago, and now she watched him over steepled fingers, a small smile playing across her lips.

  “Should I investigate the Academy for starving you?”

  “Not at all. It is only that they have so many to feed, and cannot prepare the food so fine as our servants can,” said Ebon. “I am ever grateful, and will remember this meal for many months to come.”

  She reached for her wine goblet and took a delicate sip. That reminded Ebon of his own cup, and he took a deeper pull. “Remember it indeed, and in good health. And now, my nephew, tell me. You have spoken much of your time at the Academy. Have you enjoyed your time here, and your new friends? Truly?”

  Ebon frowned. “Of course. Does it seem otherwise? I am happier here than ever I was at home.”

  Her gaze was fixed on his, and her eyes had grown sharp. “Yet it seems to me I hear something behind your words, some source of discontent that troubles you. Do my senses deceive me?”

  He balked at that. She was right, of course. But how to tell her of the errand he had been sent on? Though he felt that he owed his father little in the way of loyalty, still he did not wish to trouble Halab with such matters. Shay was her brother, and it was not well to speak ill of kin to kin.

  Halab sighed and put down her goblet. “I see you do not deny it, but are reluctant to speak of it, which I understand. Let me, then, hazard a guess, for recently I have spoken with Mako.”

  Ebon knew the blood must have drained from his face, and fear put a tingling in his fingers. If Halab knew what Ebon had been up to, mayhap she meant to withdraw him from the Academy. Was that her true purpose here?

  But Halab pressed on before he could answer her. “He has told me that your father sent instructions, through Mako himself, to deliver a parcel for him. I know nothing more than that, for neither did Mako. Is this true?”

  “Yes, Aunt,” said Ebon. His voice betrayed him and broke.

  She leaned forwards and patted his hand. “There, nephew. Do not worry yourself about such things. Though we may never know the truth behind your errand, do you truly believe your father would use you for some evil end? Surely you cannot think that badly of him.”

  “Of course not, Halab,” said Ebon. The words sounded hollow even in his own ears, and from the look in her eyes, she heard it.

  “Shay has always enjoyed his little schemes, even when we were children,” she said. “They may be cloaked in secrecy, but they are always harmless. And if he should send Mako to you again, you should not hesitate to obey him. After all, it is by your father’s grace that you are able to attend the Academy at all. I spoke on your behalf, of course, for he did not welcome the idea. But if Shay insists, he could withdraw you from the Academy and have you brought home. I do not believe either one of us wishes that.”

  “No, certainly not,” said Ebon, shaking his head quickly.

  “Good. Then serve your father as he wishes you to. It is a small price to pay. Now. I have had the gardeners carefully tending the roses, and they have bloomed most admirably for winter. Let me show them to you.”

  Ebon rose to follow her down and into the garden. But though he smiled and spoke with her through the day, as the sun gave way to dusk and then to moonslight, he thought hard upon her words, and wondered when Mako might come for him next.

  The next day, as soon as Ebon could find Kalem and Theren together in the dining hall, he told them what had happened. At first they were both keenly interested in the High King’s army marching forth, but as he went on to tell them of Halab’s words, their moods dampened. Kalem looked only bemused, but Theren looked troubled.

  “I take this for good news,” said Kalem. “If you have done nothing wrong, then you have nothing to fear.”

  “A foolish notion,” said Theren. “Many heads have rolled free from bodies that committed no sin. I take this as a sign that something evil has indeed transpired, and your aunt seeks to distract you from it.”

  Kalem looked confused. “I thought you said your aunt was one of the kind ones in your family.”

  “She is,” said Ebon. “No worse than me, certainly. Therefore I think you are half-right, Theren. I think my father works some dark plot, but keeps it concealed from her. She is, mayhap, too loving, and cannot imagine any dark motive on his part. I only wish I knew what he is up to.�
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  “You do not suppose anyone in your family knows what we have done?” said Kalem, voice quivering. “If that truth becomes known, I do not think that any of us will remain students here for very long.”

  “If they knew what we did and meant to expel us for it, it would have happened already,” said Theren.

  “Unless they cannot prove it,” said Kalem.

  Theren scoffed. “Since when have the rich needed proof or just cause to punish those who displeased them? Certainly they would not hesitate to cast me from this place, though I do not doubt Ebon would remain.”

  Ebon frowned. “What? Why me?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Come now, goldbag. You are a Drayden. The dean is a Drayden. He has even begun to take meals with you. Surely you cannot still think to deny you have his favor?”

  “He has not ‘begun’ to take meals with me,” said Ebon angrily. “He ate with me once, and only to obtain information. I tell you, my family cares nothing for me—except Halab. Why do you still take me for a favored son?”

  Theren shrugged. “All sons are favored whose cribs are lined with gold.”

  Ebon slammed his bowl down. The tables around them grew silent. “I think I have had quite enough of your small-minded scorn, Theren.” He stood and swept away, leaving his dishes behind.

  Let her clean up after me, for once, he thought.

  THE NEXT TWO DAYS WERE terrible, as he was forced to avoid Theren in the dining hall and in the passageways of the Academy. Whenever he saw her heading towards him, he would turn away and hurry past her without speaking. Theren seemed content to ignore him as well, though he thought he saw her smirking whenever he happened to glance her way.

  He still spent his time in the library with Kalem, for he had no gripe with the boy. Kalem seemed nearly as miserable as Ebon. Again and again he urged Ebon to reconcile with Theren. Only to himself would Ebon admit that he was sorely tempted; Theren and Kalem were his only friends here. But no matter what they went through together, it seemed she would never see him as anything more than some rich and pampered child, worthy only of her scorn. It seemed that nothing he said would convince her of the truth: he only wished for his family to leave him alone.

  Where once he had visited Theren and Kalem in the common room outside of Kalem’s dormitory, now he spent most of his evenings wandering the training grounds. They were expansive enough that he could go for hours without seeing another soul, if he was careful. There were hedges and bushes, planted for the purpose of separating different training grounds, into which Ebon could lose himself easily.

  As moonslight lit the grounds on the second day since his fight with Theren, Ebon was sitting on a bench near the Academy’s outer wall. It was nowhere near the sheds Theren used to sneak out at night—he had made certain of that. He rested upon a bench, leaning back against the granite wall and picking at his fingernails. But his eyes saw nothing, for his thoughts were far away; he thought of Albi back home, of the subtle scorn in Theren’s eye when he saw her now, and especially of Halab and Mako and his father.

  A sound drew his mind back to the present: the snap of a twig in a nearby bush. His gaze drifted to the sound, and he sat forwards. “Who is there?”

  No answer came, but he thought he heard the rustling of leaves. His pulse quickened, and he pushed himself up from the bench. His hands clenched to fists, but he hesitated. Mayhap he had not heard anything after all, and was now being ridiculous. This was the Academy. Who would attack him here?

  An unseen force picked him up from the ground and launched him through the air. He slammed into the outer wall. All his breath left him in an instant as he fell to the grass.

  Before he could find his feet, the unseen force struck him again. This time it was a hammer blow to his face. His teeth stabbed into his upper lip, and blood spattered the granite wall.

  “What—” he managed to stammer, before another invisible blow struck him in the gut. He cried out, tears spilling unbidden from his eyes. At last he recognized it for mind magic.

  Theren?

  It seemed impossible. She was angry with him, but not this angry.

  The force lifted him up to press him against the wall, and this time it held him there. Though glazed eyes he looked down. But it was not Theren before him. It was Cyrus.

  “You saw her,” rasped the dean. Though his eyes glowed, Ebon could see his fury in the twist of his brow. “You saw Halab. You spent the better part of a day with her, and yet you did not tell me.”

  Until this very moment, he had utterly forgotten the dean’s request to inform him of his dealings with the family. Now his mind spun, confused, clouded by pain.

  “I … what?” said Ebon.

  He flew a pace away from the wall and then came crashing back. His head struck the stone hard, and stars exploded in his vision.

  “Worthless whelp. Did I not tell you? Did I not ask you, ever so kindly, to tell me if you spoke to our family? Yet you disobeyed. I will be kind no longer. I knew you were in league with them. Tell me why they have cut me off. Tell me!”

  Again he slammed Ebon into the wall. Then, abruptly, the invisible strings vanished. Ebon fell forwards, so senseless that he could not even break his fall with his arms. The grass cushioned his landing, but still it felt as though he had been punched in the chest. Barely able to see, he pushed himself up to his elbows.

  “She told me nothing,” he said, voice coming thick and bubbly through the blood that gushed from his lip. “She said nothing of you. I do not know what has—”

  Magic seized all his limbs at once. He rose into the air. Not too high—no doubt the dean feared to lift him into view of any other students who might be in the training grounds—but Ebon knew he could go much, much higher if Cyrus wished it.

  “You lie,” he hissed. “You are in league with them. You were sent here to spy on me!”

  “I was not,” Ebon said, sobbing now. “I do not know why I was sent here. Halab said nothing to me of you. I swear it. She only asked after my studies.”

  “Tell me the truth, or I will throw you over the wall and let you splatter to soup on the pavement beyond!” said Cyrus. “This is your last chance. Tell me what you and Halab spoke of.”

  “I swear it! I swear it to you!” cried Ebon. His guts churned in shame, but he could not stop himself from crying, crying as he had not even when he was a little boy, when word came back that his brother Momen had been killed in some far-off land, far from home, far from family. Now Ebon knew he faced the same fate.

  For a moment Cyrus studied him, face contorted in fury. Then he relaxed. He lowered his hands from where they had been twisted to claws before him, and the glow died from his eyes. Ebon crashed to the grass again and lay there shaking.

  “A pathetic boy you prove indeed,” snarled Cyrus. “No subterfuge can be that complete. I wager if I stepped closer, I would smell that you have soiled yourself.”

  Ebon gave no answer, but only pressed his face deeper into the grass, groveling. He waited for Cyrus to speak on, but no words came.

  After a time he looked up. The dean had gone, vanishing into the darkness that even now deepened in the garden. Letting his face fall again, Ebon wept until his tears had soaked the ground, mingling with the blood that still flowed freely from his mouth.

  He heard quick footsteps growing louder, and in a moment hands seized his shoulders to roll him over onto his back.

  “No! No, please, I swear I know nothing!”

  “Shush!” said Theren—for Theren it was.

  She dragged him up to sit and pulled him close. There she held him, uncaring of the blood that soaked into her robe as she pressed his face into her shoulder. “Shush,” she said again, and rocked him like a mother rocking a babe. Ebon clutched her like a solid wall in an earthquake, and his weeping redoubled.

  It was a long while before his tears finally subsided. When they did, he sat back. To his shock, he saw Theren, too, was weeping. She tried to hide it at once, swiping her sleeve a
cross her cheeks, but he could see where her tears had left their marks, and could just see the red of her eyes in the moonslight.

  “I saw him,” she said, her voice shaking. “I saw it all. Forgive me, Ebon. I wanted to intervene, but I was so afraid. He is the dean, and I … forgive me.”

  She clutched at him again, and he found himself comforting her in turn. “I forgive you,” he murmured. “I would have been just as scared.”

  “But you are not even trained,” she said. “Mayhap I could have staved him off. If he had tried to send you over the wall, as he said he would, I would have torn down the Academy to stop him.”

  “I know you would,” he said, pushing her back and looking into her eyes. “I know it. You are my friend, after all, are you not?”

  In frustration she pounded his chest with her fist, but gently. “A terrible friend I have proven to be. Too craven to stand in your defense, and too foolish to believe what you said about your family.”

  “Ah,” said Ebon, forcing himself to smile. “So at last you believe me when I say I am no favored son of the Draydens?”

  “I should say so.” Despite herself she laughed, and then swiped at her nose with her sleeve. But then her tears welled anew, and she looked away from him, as though she could not meet his eyes. “Ebon, I wanted so badly to help you. But I would have been expelled.”

  “Yes, you would have,” he said. “As I said, I might have done the same as you.”

  “No, that is not all I mean,” she said. “Ebon, leaving the Academy would be the worst thing that could happen to me. I fear it more than death itself.”

  Ebon frowned. “Why?”

  She stood rather than answering, and then helped Ebon to his own feet. With his arm over her shoulder she led him to the bench nearby, and together they sat. Still she said nothing, not for a time, at least. Her hands were pressed together before her eyes, and she slid them against each other slowly. Her gaze was somewhere far away, as Ebon’s had been before the attack.