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

by Garrett Robinson

  “Do you care for a cup, Ebon?”

  “I do,” said Ebon. He snatched the bottle from her hand. “Though I will pour it myself. And you may carry on with what you meant to say, Fa—er, my lady.”

  Farah raised an eyebrow. “A quick study. That is good. I have little to say, but much to hear. Tell me what you have seen of the girl Isra, and what you have not seen but have heard about. The more you know, the better. The less you guess at, the better.”

  Ebon was about to speak when Theren took her first sip. She slurped at the cup and smacked her lips when she was done. “Mm. You goldbags drink the finest stuff.”

  At the word goldbag, Farah’s nostrils flared. Kalem’s glared deepened. “Enough, Theren. We all know of your disdain for the wealthy, and if our host did not know it before, she knows it now. Consider your point made.”

  Theren’s eyes widened, and she pressed a hand to her breast. “Me? I am wounded. And besides, our host has been most clear that she wishes for no names to be used—including mine. Please, I ask that you honor her wishes.”

  “My apologies for my companion,” Ebon interjected. “We will tell you what we know and be as thorough as ever we can.”

  He proceeded to tell her everything they knew of Isra—that is, the “official” version of what they knew of Isra. Of course he told her nothing about Xain’s home, nor about the amulet of Kekhit. But he told her about their fight in the kitchens, painting it so that it sounded like Theren managed to catch Isra by surprise.

  When he said that, Farah’s eyes drew to pinholes. “Very fortunate,” she said. It sounded as though she meant to say more, but she did not.

  “Fortunate indeed,” said Ebon, meeting her eye without flinching. Then he went on to tell her all the rumors that had floated about the Academy since—including a rumor that the faculty were investigating to see if anyone were helping Isra from within. Lilith seemed surprised at that. Of course, that was not truly a rumor, but something they had learned from Dasko.

  When they had finished, Farah pursed her lips and steepled her hands. She sat that way for a little while, reaching for her wine cup every so often, her eyes studying Ebon’s. Ebon tried not to look uncomfortable, though he was not quite sure he succeeded.

  “Our family’s particular trade goods have been on the move recently,” said Farah, speaking suddenly and from nowhere, in a tone that suggested she was answering a question, though no one had asked. “They were long held in reserve, for no one wished to traffic them after the attack. Now they move again, though slowly, nowhere near so brazenly as they once did.”

  Theren leaned forwards. “And where are the mage—”

  “No!” barked Farah, scowling at her. “No, we do not discuss them. They are our family’s particular trade goods. That is all they are to me, and to you, or this conversation is over.”

  “We understand,” said Ebon. He fixed Theren with a look. “And we will take that into consideration as we ask our questions.”

  He could see the visible effort she exerted to keep from rolling her eyes. “And where are your family’s particular trade goods being moved to?”

  “Here. There. It is never wise for them to move always from one place to another, for that makes them easy to find. Predictable. But someone is moving them, and some are disappearing. Those, I would imagine, are what you seek.”

  “Where are they disappearing to?” said Lilith. “I would not imagine they could simply vanish without repercussion.”

  “Not unless those who mete out punishment for such things know where they are going, and thus restrain their hand,” said Farah. “That, I think, is what goes on here. I spotted it, of course. I saw that the numbers did not add up, that one hundred packets would leave and only ninety-five packets would arrive. But when I told them—the ones who mete out punishment for such things—they thanked me for my diligent work. And then they told me to return to it. And no punishment was meted out.”

  “Yet you do not know where,” said Ebon.

  “I do not know where,” said Farah. “But that is not the right question. There are five questions, only five and always five, and one leads to the next.”

  “Where,” said Lilith. “When, how, why, and who?”

  Farah sniffed.

  “Who, then?” said Theren.

  “A name,” said Farah. “The only name, tonight. A name banished by the family, and then reclaimed. A name that renounced another name to regain favor in the eyes of the King’s law. A name that has used that favor to violate the King’s law again, thereby putting our clan in danger once more, as though he did not learn the lesson the first time. Gregor.”

  Lilith sucked in a sharp breath. But to Ebon, the name meant nothing, and looking at Kalem and Theren, he saw they knew nothing more than he did.

  “What is it?” said Ebon. “Who is Gregor?”

  “She will tell you later, for we draw near the end,” said Farah.

  “But wait,” said Lilith. “I thought he was banished, along with—”

  “Only one name, tonight,” said Farah. “Only one name, now, that matters.”

  “Very well, but in any case, he was exiled.”

  “He returned and threw himself upon the High King’s mercy. He told her … things. Things that seemed of great value in the coming war. Did he tell her the truth? How can we know, unless we, too, know the truth? But it earned him forgiveness. And now, when I see one hundred become ninety-five, I see also the name of Gregor.”

  Abruptly she pushed her chair back and stood. “Thank you for your words, and for the meanings behind them. I hope you have found my words as valuable. But now we must leave, and I doubt we shall ever speak again.”

  Ebon found his feet at once. “Thank you. We will breathe no word of this.”

  “If I thought you would, I would not have come,” said Farah. She looked hard at Lilith for a moment. “You did right to come to me. Make sure you never do it again, or both our lives may be forfeit.”

  She swept past them with the billowing of a green cloak and left them looking at each other around the table. Theren noisily swallowed the last of her cup and moved to pour another.

  LILITH LED THEM BACK TO the street and then southeast towards the inn where she kept her room. The moons had risen high now, and the sunlight had almost faded in the west. They walked in a mostly silver light that reflected into their eyes from the snow. They were all silent, staring at the ground, except for Kalem, who looked at the stars. After a time, Ebon raised his head.

  “Thank you, Lilith, for helping us.”

  She shrugged, not meeting his gaze. “It is the least I could do, I suppose. What do you plan to do now, after what you have learned?”

  “I have friends who can find Gregor. They were already looking for Isra, but she must be in one of the darker holes upon the Seat. Let us hope Gregor is not so well concealed.”

  “He most likely is,” said Lilith. “Gregor is a man of both means and wit—not the clever kind, but the cunning, ruthless kind, the kind that leaves corpses in its wake. I think he will be much harder to find than some student exiled from the Academy.”

  “I also have some people of means and wit,” said Ebon, a little annoyed.

  “Mayhap, but you do not have Gregor.” Lilith shivered, though they were tramping doggedly through the snow and their blood was up. “I have heard only a very few tales of him, and yet they paint him as more of a monster than a man. Once he accompanied a caravan through the Spineridge. They were waylaid there by a storm, a freak summer snow that forced them to take refuge in a little town. Somehow, during their stay, the townsfolk discovered the magestones they were transporting. Some curious child poked their nose into the wrong wagon. When word got about, Gregor spoke to the townspeople, promising to pay them to keep their silence. The townsfolk agreed readily enough, for the Yerrin party already paid well for their food and lodging. So for a week the caravan remained in the town. The guards slept in the town’s inn and drank in the town’s tave
rn. They likely bedded some of the townsfolk.

  “At last the storm abated. Gregor brought all the folk into the town hall to receive their pay. He waited until they had all arrived, for he had promised them all a gold weight, even the children. First he gave them their money. Then he locked the front door and burned the hall to the ground. He and his men stood watch to make sure no one escaped through the windows. When at last the flames died out, he made his soldiers search through the corpses to recover every bit of gold he had paid out.”

  Ebon did not remember when they all stopped walking, but at some point they had, and now they stood in a little circle watching Lilith in horrified silence. Now he felt sick, as though he might retch into the gutter, and he knew the chill in his bones was not from the cold air.

  “That is monstrous,” said Kalem. “It must be false. Surely the High King would not stand for such an act.”

  “What makes you think word of it ever reached her ears?” said Theren, spitting the words. “Do you think her courtiers let such troubling rumors invade the royal court? It is easier for the merchants and the royals both if they do not discuss such things. And after all, it sounds as if there were no witnesses.”

  “But that is not the conduct of the wealthy—it is the atrocity of a monster.” Kalem sounded indignant, but he could find no sympathy in Theren’s face, nor even any understanding. “You cannot think all merchants are that way. Certainly not the royalty.”

  “Oh, you think the royalty are exempt?” said Theren. “You know how Isra became an orphan as well as I do.”

  “But that … that is one king,” said Kalem.

  “You are no fool, Kalem, and only a fool thinks any goldbag in Underrealm has entirely clean hands.”

  Kalem opened his mouth to object again. Ebon spoke first. “Let it be, Kalem.”

  Kalem gaped at him, astonished. “You cannot say you agree with her. I know your family and Lilith’s have reputations, but—”

  “I said let it be.” Ebon could not meet Theren’s eyes, for he could almost feel the fury glowing off her. And when he once would have agreed with Kalem, that her hatred of the rich and the powerful was misguided at best and born of jealousy at the worst, now he could not put fire in such a belief.

  “It grows late,” said Lilith, rubbing her arms. “We should move on.”

  They took her advice, pressing on through the light snow that had begun to fall. Theren was the next to speak, after a long silence. The white-hot anger had gone from her voice, but Ebon still heard it smoldering—quelled for the moment, but not gone.

  “Why is she waiting? She has more artifacts. We know she took them from Xain’s house. Why delay?”

  They kept walking in silence, for no one had an answer.

  The next morning, Ebon sent a letter to Adara, asking her to search the lovers’ guild for news of Gregor. He was not sure what to expect—after all, he had already asked her to seek for Isra, and that had returned nothing yet. But the very next afternoon he received a letter in response, asking him to come and see her at once in her home. It was Sunday, and he had no other demands upon his time, so he fetched his winter cloak and set out into the city. The snow that had been falling for the last few weeks had subsided at last, and though the air was still sharp with winter’s chill, the sky above was a deep and pure blue. It stood in stark contrast to the snowy roofs of the city’s buildings, and the sun leaped bright from every surface, so that Ebon had to shield his eyes.

  Adara answered his knock almost at once and led him upstairs after he stamped his boots free from snow. She had set out a small tray of figs, cheese, and bread, and at first they ate in silence. But soon Adara leaned back in her chair, dabbing at her lips with a napkin.

  “I have found your man,” she said. “Yet I hesitate to tell you where.”

  Ebon blinked. “Why? What is wrong?”

  She studied him for a moment, lips twitching towards a frown. “Why do you seek Gregor at all?”

  “He is the one moving Yerrin’s magestones. He is our best chance to find Isra and capture her.”

  “I have heard many stories of this man, Ebon. He is a fell and grim warrior, prone not only to violence, but to cruelty when he kills. The family Yerrin is known for ruthlessness, but his reputation sets him above even the rest of them.”

  Ebon shivered. “Well, I mean to set Mako upon him, and so I suppose we will find out who is the more terrible.”

  Adara shook her head. “Do not pretend that you will be free from danger in this. Why should I put you in harm’s way? You are already Isra’s enemy. Must you add Gregor’s name to the list of those who wish harm upon you?”

  That forced a grim laugh from his gut. He spread his hands. “When that list is so long, what is one more entry?”

  She sighed. “Very well. He has been seen on the western end of the Seat, going in and out of the sewers that may be found there. Some whisper that the family Yerrin conducts its smuggling through some hidden port, though no one knows exactly where it may be found.”

  “That is good,” said Ebon. “Mako knows the sewers well, and doubtless he will be able to find their hiding place. I am surprised you learned this so quickly when your connections have still been unable to find Isra, wherever she may be lurking.”

  Adara frowned. “I, too, have been troubled by that. Gregor has all the backing of Yerrin at his disposal, as well as their considerable coin. I cannot think how Isra has concealed herself better than he has, especially after she was spotted within the Academy itself. That should have sent word rippling through the streets, like a stone dropped into a calm lake.”

  Ebon thought of what Mako had said in the abandoned manor of the family Skard. “Ripples, you say. You are not the first to describe them to me. Yet she moves like a ghost, a specter already dead, and leaves no trace. And, too, she withholds her hand, though we do not know why. It has been a week since she revealed herself—more than enough time, it seems to me, to try again.”

  “There must be other things afoot, and mayhap Gregor has something to do with them,” said Adara. “Wondering about it may do little good. Be grateful instead, and act before it is too late.”

  “Too much later, you mean,” said Ebon. “It is already too late for Oren and Credell, and poor little Vali.”

  Adara nodded solemnly, and they let the names of the dead linger in silence for a while. Then she stood. “Would you have wine? It is a touch early, but when has that stopped either of us?”

  He grinned. “Do you mean to get me drunk again? I am not sure I can survive another night like the last.”

  She laughed. “No, not that. My head still twinges with pain at that memory.” She paused for a moment to look at him. “But I thank you for joining me in that. I know it was an odd request, and had its consequences, yet I do not regret it.”

  “Nor I,” said Ebon. She returned to the table, and he took his goblet. “And I will never forget the words we spoke—nor the promises I made to you.”

  “I should hope not. I very much intend to hold you to them.”

  His smile felt somewhat forced. “Yet near the end—the end of the drinking, anyway—I remember you told me something. Something about truth, and how it came hard to you even then.”

  Her smile grew careful. “Did I? Mayhap my thoughts grew muddled.”

  The words came easily enough, but he heard the warning behind them. Let it be. Please. “Mayhap it was my wits that were addled, not yours,” he said lightly. “You told me so many things, after all, that I had never heard before. I was honored to learn them—and would do so again, if you ever wished it.”

  Recognition dawned in her eyes, an acknowledgement of his unspoken invitation. “Thank you,” she whispered. And then she sighed, and straightened, and the moment passed them both by. She ran a finger along the rim of her mug. “I understand you have spent much time in Lilith’s company of late. More to the point, I understand Theren has, as well.”

  Ebon’s eyebrows shot up. “And who
have you heard that from?”

  “The guild carries many whispers, and I do not listen only for the ones you ask me to.”

  He sighed. “I admit Lilith still makes me uneasy. Theren seems to trust her utterly—well, better than I do, at any rate. But I do not know how much of that stems from good sense, and how much stems from her feelings.”

  “She still loves Lilith, then?”

  “I asked her that when Lilith was imprisoned, and she said she did not know. Yet her every action tells me that she does. It is not only the trust she places in Lilith. It is the little looks, the smiles and the half-hidden gestures. The way her hand moves towards Lilith’s, as though aching to hold her. I can scarcely believe the change in her demeanor, considering how she despised Lilith when I first met her.”

  “Often love springs forth unbidden,” said Adara. “When it does, it is rarely governed by sense.”

  Ebon smiled. “Do you speak of Theren and Lilith, or of us?”

  She kicked him beneath the table, but gently. “I think we are more sensible about things than many. Nor do I doubt Theren’s judgement in this. She is a passionate woman, governed more by her heart than by her head, yet she has wit enough to know evil from good. She placed her trust in you quickly, though she had more reason than most to despise a merchant boy. If you are grateful for that trust, return it now. After all, is Lilith not proving herself helpful?”

  He frowned. “Helpful enough, I suppose. Yet it is all in the service of catching Isra, whom she hates. And I have bitter memories of her treatment when I first arrived at the Academy.”

  “Children may be cruel without also being evil.”

  Ebon mock-glared at her. “She is older than I am. Do you call me a child?”

  She returned his frown, though her nose twitched as though she longed to smile. “You are newly come to manhood, Ebon, though you had little opportunity to ever be a child in truth.”

  That brought to mind a question he had never thought to ask, and he cocked his head. “How old are you?”