“War has come,” he said.
“War has been here awhile,” said Theren. “Now comes justice.”
“I am not so sure,” said Kalem. “But now, I think, must come sleep, or we shall all regret it in the morning.”
Ebon sat up in the water. “Please, stay. I will be quick, but … after tonight, I do not want to be alone.”
Kalem lowered his gaze. “Of course. I did not think of that. Forgive me.”
And so they stayed, until the water was tepid and Ebon lifted himself out of it, and they all went to bed. But the moment they parted ways at the dormitories, Ebon felt a chill steal over him, and no matter how long he sat before the hearth in the common room, he could not dispel it. He went to bed at last a long time later, drifting off with his thoughts haunted by a pair of soulless grey eyes.
A HUSH HAD SETTLED OVER the Academy the next day. Ebon felt it from the moment he woke, the way no one spoke as they dressed themselves and left the dormitory. The threat of war had hung in the air ever since the attack on the Seat; now the threat was over, for war had arrived. He did not know what they all expected to be different, for they all knew the fighting would take place far away. But he could feel the expectation, in himself as well as the other students, that something must happen.
They muddled through their morning classes, but by the time his lesson finished, Ebon felt the need for fresh air. He pushed against the crowds of students headed for the dining hall and went outside instead.
His steps carried him to the grounds where the alchemy students practiced their spells, and where he had once seen them stop arrows in mid-flight. A rack of weapons, all of them either dull or padded, stood against the wall. He ran his fingers over them, lifting them a bit only to let them clank against the rack again. How long would it be before he studied here, learning his own spells of defense? How long until he could defend himself if he landed in a fight, as he had the night before?
He heard only a single footstep on the grass behind him. Then a hand snatched his neck and whirled him around, slamming him into the granite wall of the citadel. It clutched at his throat, stifling his yelp.
“Why must you be such an abominable idiot?” growled Mako.
Ebon slapped futilely at the man’s forearm. His breath came in rasps, and only just deep enough to keep stars from dancing in his vision. It was a moment before Mako released him, and Ebon fell gasping to one knee.
“If you die, I will soon follow,” said Mako. “I may have no wish to see you dead, but I value my own skin more than yours. Halab is not bloodthirsty—never that—but should I fail to look after you, she will not tolerate my failure. You and I may both thank the sky that I posted guards over you.”
“I am thankful,” Ebon said, the words rasping from his throat. “And your gratitude seems clear as well.” He got slowly to his feet.
Mako pushed him again—harder this time. “Do not be flip with me, boy. Why have you been poking about the family Yerrin? You should leave that to those who are practiced in such things, and will not draw the eye of murderers.”
“We think they may lead us to Isra.” Ebon paused, unsure of how to proceed. Theren had been adamant that Mako not know they were working with Lilith.
“That is another thing,” said Mako. “You should not be bandying about with that Yerrin girl. They are not to be trusted, not even in the smallest of matters. Certainly not in the search for Isra.”
Ebon’s heart sank. Mako knew, then. It had been foolish to imagine he would not learn of it, when he seemed to know everything Ebon did. But if that knowledge now lay bare, then so be it. “You forget what happened to her,” said Ebon. “Isra took control of Lilith and caused her to be thrown to the Mystics’ knives. We may have no common ground with the family Yerrin as a whole, but we do with Lilith.”
“You can trust no word from a Yerrin, nor can you believe they will keep your confidence. What happens if she tells someone of the amulet your little friend carries?”
That stopped him. Ebon stared at his feet. “We have not told her of the amulet.”
To his surprise, Mako grinned. “Well, now. It seems you are not such a fool, little Ebon—not such a complete one, anyway.”
“Mighty praise, I suppose,” said Ebon. “Now, do you wish to know what we have learned, or not?”
Quickly he laid it out—what Farah had said of Gregor, and what Adara had told him about where the bodyguard had been spotted. Mako’s eyes lit when he heard that. “That is something valuable indeed. Sky above, Ebon. You have fumbled your way through this dance of shadows better than I would have given you credit for. Though one of my men died in the process, and that I will not quickly forget.”
Ebon lowered his eyes. “Nor will I. I will be forever grateful to his memory. Did … did he have a family?”
At first Mako only glared. But after looking into Ebon’s eyes for a long moment, the glare softened. “It is wiser not to ask such things. But at the same time, I cannot fault you, for that is the sort of question that Halab might ask.”
Ebon tried very hard not to let that compliment, small as it was, go to his head. “Very well. Now that we know where Gregor lurks, we must go after him.”
“We shall do nothing of the sort—but I will, when the time is right.”
“That is not good enough,” said Ebon. “Every turn of the hourglass is another chance for Isra to strike the Academy, leaving more corpses in her wake.”
“Do not worry yourself,” said Mako. “Since last she appeared, my people have been watching every way into the citadel, the passages known and unknown. They will see her if she tries to enter.”
“By the time they do, and send word to you, it might already be too late. You must search for Gregor now, without delay.”
He wondered if the words sounded as hollow as they felt. They must have, for Mako looked skywards, as though trying to choose the best way to countermand the shrill yapping of an infant. But after a moment he met Ebon’s gaze and shrugged.
“Very well. I will begin at once, and search for him on the west end of the Seat.”
“Mayhap we should come with you,” said Ebon. “Theren and her amulet are your only hope against Isra if you should come upon her.”
“No,” said Mako, and there was no arguing against his tone. “That would place you in danger, and that is the very thing my duties compel me to prevent.”
“But what if Isra is with him, and the strength of magestones behind her?”
Mako was silent for a long moment, gazing into Ebon’s eyes. Ebon felt a chill steal across him. Isra had had the strength of magestones the last time Mako had fought her, yet she could not touch the man. Ebon tried not to cringe.
At last the bodyguard spoke. “Look after yourself, and do not fear for my ability to do the same. And do not put yourself in peril chasing after secrets all on your own.”
“I will not,” Ebon mumbled.
“Good. I will find Gregor, and likely Isra in the same place. The Seat may be the High King’s in name, but in another sense it belongs to those like me. I know its dark holes and the bodies within them, the gutters and the blood running through them. But while I busy myself with Gregor, you can make yourself useful as well: keep your eyes and ears open when you are with that Yerrin girl, and see what else you can learn of their deeds upon the Seat.”
Ebon frowned. “That is not why we are working with her.”
Mako grinned. “Good little Drayden boys can always do more than one thing at once.”
He slipped into a nearby hedge and vanished.
Ebon heard nothing from Mako the rest of that day. It troubled him, though he chided himself, for he should not have expected Mako to find anything so soon. When he woke the next day he strode out upon the Academy grounds, even turning his steps towards the secret door in hopes that Mako might find him to report back. But the grounds were empty. Ebon left a scribbled note beneath the alabaster—Have you found him?—and went to class.
At h
is desk, he fiddled with the flower for a time, trying to see the parts of it with his mind’s eye. But his thoughts were much occupied with Mako. What if the bodyguard had found Gregor already? What if something had happened to him? Ebon wished he had been able to come along. Even danger would be better than not knowing anything of what transpired beneath the streets. He pictured Mako down in the sewers, just like the night he had killed Matami. Only now the bodyguard was beset on all sides by Yerrin swords, green cloaks covering mail as they pressed him back, back into the darkness.
That made him shudder—and, too, it turned his thoughts to the night before last when he had been attacked. And he thought of the training grounds outside where advanced transmuters practiced their spells.
Ebon turned in his seat and raised his hand until Perrin came towards the front of the room to find him. “What is it?”
“I have been wondering,” said Ebon. “Once, when I first came here, I saw other alchem—that is, transmuters, casting spells of defense. I saw a girl stop an arrow in mid-flight, turning it to a puff of smoke.”
“Yes?” said Perrin. “What of it?”
“Could I not practice such magic? I have made little progress with my flower, and as you have said before, I might stretch my mind by turning it towards other things.”
Perrin chuckled. “Other things, yes, but nothing so advanced. You are a long way off, I am afraid, from such magic. Also, you saw those spells ages ago. Why the sudden interest now?”
“No reason,” Ebon said quickly. “Only … I have just learned to counter another wizard’s magic. I thought I might learn to defend myself against other things, like a fighter with a sword.”
Her brows rose. “Have you found yourself pitted against fighters and swords?”
Ebon blanched but tried to appear calm. “Not at all. It is just that, with the attack on the Seat, and now with war in Feldemar … it seems the sort of thing that might be useful. I am sure I am not the only one who feels the war hanging over us all.”
The classroom had gone curiously quiet. When he looked about, Ebon saw that all the students had stopped in their work and were watching the two of them. Perrin looked at them all, and her stern countenance softened.
“I cannot blame you all for thinking such thoughts,” she said. “It is only natural that you do. But I urge you not to worry yourselves overmuch. Every member of the faculty here values your safety above all else, and we will let no harm befall you.” Her look returned to Ebon. “That said, I will not hold it against you for wishing to learn spells that can keep you safe. But in ordinary circumstances, you would not even begin to learn them until your third year—if then. Know that the required spells are many, and they must be learned one after the other, and they are not easy.”
“Have any of my spells been easy thus far?” said Ebon.
At that she smiled. “I suppose they have not seemed so. Very well. First learn to turn a stone to ice, and then to water. Once you master that, do the same with metal, the more difficult cousin of stone. Then learn to turn it faster and faster. In time you may be able to stop a sword even as it hacks at you. Anyone coming at you with a blade will only find themselves wet. But I say again, you will not learn these spells quickly.”
“I know it, Instructor.” Ebon bowed his head. “And thank you.”
She trundled off towards the back of the room again, and Ebon returned to his flower. Astrea sat beside him, as she usually did. Her eyes were fixed on her own rose, and he wondered if she had paid any attention at all to what had been said. But he did not wonder long, for she spoke after a moment.
“I wonder if I could do it,” she muttered. “Turn stone to water, I mean.”
Ebon shrugged. “She said it was an advanced third-year trick. It would be a great surprise if you could.”
Her gaze rose to the classroom and then turned to him. “I do not mean now, of course. I mean if—mayhap I could learn it—oh, never mind.”
Ebon frowned, for her tone struck him as odd. Then he saw the flower in her hands. It was ice—crystal clear and beginning to drip on the table.
“Astrea,” he said, eyes wide.
She frowned and looked down at her hands. With a cry she leaped up, away from her bench. The rose fell from her fingers and shattered on the surface of the desk.
Thundering footsteps sounded as Perrin ran towards them. “What is it?” she demanded. “What is wrong?” Then she saw the shards of ice on the table, already beginning to melt into droplets. “Astrea, did you turn the flower?”
“I … I suppose so,” said Astrea. “I was not paying attention. I did not mean to.”
“But this is no sorrowful news,” said Perrin, beaming. “You are progressing fast—far faster than is normal or expected. Well done. Now fetch yourself another and see if you can do it again.”
She put a firm hand on Astrea’s shoulder, giving it a little squeeze before she left them again. But Astrea did not go to fetch another flower. She only resumed her seat, splaying her hands out on the desk before her, and Ebon saw that her fingers were shaking.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“How could I do that without meaning to?” she whispered. “I did not even notice my eyes fill with light.”
“It might only have taken you a moment,” he said, putting a confidence in his words that he did not feel. “I know the first time I used my magic—the first time I really did, anyway, other than the testing spell—it came upon me all in a rush, and I hardly knew what was happening.”
“Yes,” she said, still in a terrified whisper. “Yes, that must be it. It must have happened in a flash.”
She met his look, trying desperately to smile. But Ebon saw the dread within her and felt it mirrored in his own heart.
THAT DAY, EBON FELT A creeping suspicion come across him. Kalem and Theren could see it in him when they sat together in the library, but no matter how often they asked, he only shook his head and held his tongue.
Before he went to dinner, he wrote a letter and placed it beneath the alabaster—where he saw that his note from that morning still waited, untouched by Mako. He took the morning’s note away and left the new one, which read:
I fear the threat has entered the Academy again. There are strange happenings afoot. Come and see me as quickly as you may.
He returned to the dormitories and sat long in the common room, brooding as he stared into the fire. Astrea did not act like one under mindwyrd—not exactly. But something strange was happening to her. And the last time Ebon had seen Academy students and faculty acting odd, it had been because of Isra, and then the killing had begun. He could not let that happen again.
The only thing that reassured him was that he did not believe Isra would harm Astrea. Everyone she had controlled before had been used to terrible purpose, and most of them had died in the end. But if Isra did not hold the girl in bond of mindwyrd, then what was going on?
Mako did not see him that evening, but Ebon thought he would hear from the bodyguard the next day. It passed, however, without word. And then most of the next day went by, and still there was no sign. Ebon spent most of the day scowling, and his mood was not improved when he went out upon the grounds at lunch and found that his letter was gone from beneath the alabaster. So Mako had received his message, and had not come to see him or left any message in reply. That made him irritable during their time in the library. At last Theren snapped her book shut and glared at him.
“Ebon, you are simply insufferable. I never thought I would say this, but if you cannot study in peace, go and take yourself somewhere else so that we may.”
Ebon knew he was in the wrong, and so he apologized and promised to be less grim. But that only meant he sat in silence while they read and did not answer when spoken to, and so it was hardly better. The moment the day’s last bell rang out, Theren leaped up and threw her book on the table between the three of them.
“I am taking you out,” she said. “Let us go to some tavern, where wine
and supper may ease your mood.”
“We cannot go,” said Ebon, aghast. “What if Gregor and his men are lurking outside the citadel?”
“Let him try to hurt you, or any of us,” snapped Theren. “I have a mighty need to use my magic upon someone who deserves it in all its strength.”
So he let her drag him and Kalem out into the streets, where they made their way to Leven’s tavern close by and soon had lost themselves in a bottle of wine. And just as Theren had promised, Ebon soon found his mood improved tremendously. After a time he held his cup aloft, thrusting it towards Theren as if in toast.
“To my good friend Theren,” he proclaimed, “who knows me for a happy drunk. And darkness below take Mako, anyway.”
“Darkness below,” said Theren, raising her own cup.
“That is a bit strong, I fear,” said Kalem, joining them in the toast. “But I will drink regardless, for good wine makes up for dark words.”
“It depends on the darkness of the words, as well as the strength of the wine,” said Mako.
Ebon nearly spit out his drink. The bodyguard had appeared at the head of their table as if by magic. He pushed Ebon hard to make room and then took a seat on the bench. Across the table, Kalem and Theren were staring—and after a moment, Ebon realized why. Mako had a nasty bruise under his left eye, and the black sleeves that now covered his arms had wet spots. They could have been water, Ebon supposed, but a voice in his mind whispered blood instead.
“Have you met your match in some barroom brawl, Mako?” said Theren. “That seems no great surprise—you have always been boastful, and such pride often precedes downfall.”
“Shut your flapping lips before I gut you,” growled Mako. “I am in no mood for jests tonight, especially after you have disobeyed my order and left the Academy.”
The Academy Journals Volume One: A Book of Underrealm (The Underrealm Volumes 3) Page 66
