The Mindmage's Wrath: A Book of Underrealm (The Academy Journals 2)

by Garrett Robinson

  Kalem looked at Ebon, his brow creased with doubt. “That seems a far reach, Theren. What student would dare risk such a thing? Even Academy faculty might think twice about trying to breach the vault’s defenses.”

  “Yet many of us are more powerful than our instructors,” said Theren. “I am stronger than any mindmage here, especially now that Cyrus has vanished. Lilith is at least as great as any firemage on the faculty—though, I say that without knowing the new Dean’s measure. He may be a great firemage, for all I know.”

  Talk of Cyrus had begun to make Ebon uncomfortable, so he steered the topic away. “I hear little evidence beyond ‘It could be so,’ Theren. And I do not know if even that is true, for Lilith was far away when the attack occurred. How could she have carried out such a theft from another kingdom?”

  “She said she left the Academy, yes,” said Theren. “But what if she lied? What better alibi?”

  “Ebon is right,” Kalem said. “If that is your only proof, it is flimsy indeed.”

  Theren frowned. “It is at least a place to start.”

  “To start what?” said Ebon.

  She looked at him with wide eyes, as though the answer was obvious. “Why, to find the thief, of course.”

  Kalem gawked. “No. No, we are not engaging in another mad scheme, Theren. If the theft is indeed a matter of great worry, then let us—”

  But just then the bell rang, and the dining hall filled with the sound of scraping benches as students stood from their meals. Almost chipper, Theren jumped up to bring her dishes to the kitchen. Kalem growled and followed her.

  Ebon went with them, but he stopped and looked over his shoulder one final time. Credell stood in the doorway of the dining hall, looking about with a faraway gaze. One hand stole up to scratch at the skin beneath his collar. He shivered as though cold, and then vanished into the hallways.

  It is no matter, thought Ebon. You have left his class, and he is no longer your concern.

  Yet a chill crept up his spine as he followed his friends to the kitchen.

  four

  LATER, IN THE LIBRARY, KALEM and Ebon introduced Theren to their nook on the third level. Predictably, she seemed to think it boring. She dragged another chair over to join them and draped her feet across the table in their midst. Kalem snatched books from beneath her shoes with a scandalized expression, and soon both he and Ebon were grinding their teeth as they tried to read, for Theren seemed far more interested in talking. Though they tried to give her only short, one-word replies, and thus dissuade her from speaking, Theren refused to take the hint.

  Soon Ebon felt himself at the breaking point. He leapt to his feet and scuttled away towards the bookshelves, muttering something about finding another reference book for a report he was writing for Instructor Jia.

  Once safely ensconced in the bookshelves and out of earshot of Theren’s endless chatter, Ebon sighed in relief. Leaning around the shelf’s edge, he saw Theren still going on animatedly to Kalem, while the poor boy shoved his nose very nearly into the spine of his book. Ebon chuckled and ducked out of sight.

  “How heartwarming to see the three of you united in your pursuit of wisdom.”

  The words made Ebon jump, but then he recognized Mako’s voice. He softly chuckled and turned to find the bodyguard behind him, leaning against one of the shelves. Mako was clad all in black, black shirt beneath an even darker leather vest, and tight leggings that paraded his wiry muscles. Black, too, were the scabbards at his waist, where his long and cruel daggers rested.

  “Mako. It has been some time since last you visited me.”

  “Well, war blazes across Underrealm.” Mako waved an airy hand. “I have been here and there and most places in between.”

  “And now you return. To what do I owe the honor?”

  “To this,” said Mako, reaching within his vest and producing a letter.

  Ebon shook his head and took it. He had never fully understood Mako’s role within the Drayden family’s business, and it still confounded him every time he saw the bodyguard running messages like a simple courier. The letter bore his family’s seal, and Ebon’s heart skipped at the thought that it might be from his father. But no, Shay Drayden had a personal seal. Ebon peeled the letter open.

  Dearest Brother,

  There are not words in all the tongues of the nine lands to describe how angry I am with you. Why is it that the first letter I received from you did not come until the High King’s enemies had invaded the Seat? Two months you had to write me a letter, and yet you did nothing. You are an inconsiderate lout and a brute besides.

  That said, I am, of course, so very glad to hear you were not harmed in the fighting. But only one way may you retain my good humor towards you! If you write me back, at once and without delay! I know nothing of your time at the Academy so far and it is unbearable.

  Of course, your letter may very well find me upon the road, rather than at home. For yes, we are traveling, dear brother! Even now, we make ready to travel to the Seat to visit you. (Well, we do not come only to visit you, but of course we will visit you while we are there.) Are you not excited? It will be wonderful to see your face again, inconsiderate and selfish as you might be.

  Write me at once, dear Ebon. Send it back with Mako if you can, but send it quickly in any case. And be ready to visit me on the Seat, for I have a thousand and one questions.

  With love,

  Albi

  Ebon was weeping almost from the moment he recognized his sister’s frenetic scrawl upon the parchment, and he laughed with every insult, for he could almost hear the way she would deliver them. Her nose would be scrunched up tight, as it was when she grew angry or excited, and her brow would be furrowed, and she would plant her fists on her hips just so, moving them only to brandish them before his nose as if ready to strike him.

  But though his heart sang at the thought of seeing Albi again, it darkened, too, at the thought of his family. If the Draydens were returning to the Seat, his father would be there as well. Shay had been against Ebon’s coming to the Academy from the first. Might he use the attack as an excuse to withdraw him?

  Ebon turned to Mako. “Albi says they are coming to the Seat. Do you know when they will arrive?”

  “Some time before Yearsend, certainly,” said Mako.

  “But that is just around the corner.”

  “Of course it is.” Cruelty lurked in Mako’s grin, buried behind an indifference that Ebon thought must be feigned. “That means they will be able to celebrate the holiday in your company. Perhaps they can even meet your little Academy friends—though no doubt there are some other, more private friends you would rather keep hidden.” His grin widened.

  Adara sprang to mind, and Ebon felt color in his cheeks. “I ... am surprised they would wish to visit the Seat so soon,” he said, changing the subject for his own benefit as much as Mako’s distraction. “Many think it dangerous here. Some parents are even bringing their children home.”

  “The attack upon the Seat was a tragedy, no doubt.”

  “As you say. But that begs a question: how did you learn of it in time to warn me?”

  Mako shifted on his feet, uncrossing and recrossing his arms through a moment of silence. “How do you think I learned of it, little Ebon?”

  Ebon felt his pulse quicken and his breath came shallow. “Was it someone in our family?”

  Mako snorted. “A Drayden? No. This may shock you, Ebon, but I have friends outside our clan. Well, I say ‘friends,’ of course, though they might not agree. But in any case, brigands and ne’er-do-wells are of a kind, and through us news may travel from one end of Underrealm to the other, faster than a bird’s flight.”

  That was not quite an answer, Ebon realized. “Did the family Drayden have aught to do with the attack?” he pressed. “I ... just before that day, Cyrus confronted me in a rage. He seemed to think Halab was plotting—”

  “If he spoke those words, then he was a fool in truth,” said Mako vehemently. �
�For years I called him scum, and untrustworthy. Halab would not listen. She tried so hard to see the good in him, when I knew there was only pettiness and selfishness and greed. Mayhap even a touch of madness.”

  Ebon thought of when Cyrus attacked him in the garden, and a phantom pain flared into his ribs. Then his thoughts went to their battle on the cliffs, and he shuddered. “You may be right about that,” he murmured.

  “To accuse Halab was to prove his ignorance. There are reasons for that, which I cannot explain now, though perhaps the day approaches when I shall. Your father, on the other hand ...”

  He trailed off, and when Ebon looked up he saw the man regarding him with a keen glint in his eye. “What of him? He was the one who had me deliver the parcel to that inn upon the Seat. Are you saying that played some role in the assault?”

  Mako laughed, but softly, for they were still in the library. “Your question is absurd. Not because of its premise, but because you think I would tell you if you were correct.”

  “That is no answer.”

  “It is not meant to be.” Mako pursed his lips at Ebon’s scowl. “Oh, very well. Enough games. You wish for more certainty? Then think upon what you know. Cyrus was a madman. Quite useful to the family, yes—yet prone to baseless fears of being undermined.”

  “Then he was lying.”

  “The family Drayden had an agent at the height of power within the Academy. The Dean has the ear of the High King herself, and a place upon her council. Would your father leave such a resource upon the Seat to die?” His dark grin returned. “You, mayhap, he would allow to perish. But not Cyrus.”

  “Very well,” Ebon muttered. “I believe that—not for your words, but for the truth you speak of my father.”

  Mako gave a mocking bow. “You are too gracious, little lord goldbag.”

  Ebon felt as though a great weight had lifted from his shoulders. If the Draydens had no hand in the attack, then he had played no part by delivering that parcel for his father. But with that worry removed, Ebon’s thoughts ran to a more pressing concern.

  “I must ask you something else,” said Ebon. “What do you know of the Academy’s new Dean? The replacement for Cyrus?”

  The bodyguard’s countenance darkened, his upper lip curling in a snarl. “That meddlesome fool. You would do well to stay away from him.”

  “That choice may not be mine. He has seen me already, and from the moment our eyes met, I felt that he hated me. His malice was like a physical thing, reaching out to grip my throat.”

  Mako snorted. “How poetic. Yet if I were there, I might not doubt your words. Xain of the family Forredar has much cause to hate the family Drayden. And as it happens, your woes with this Dean stem from his troubles with the former.”

  Ebon blinked. “With Cyrus? What has he to do with this?”

  “Everything. You know the Dean spends much time within the High King’s court. Upon a time, Xain was often in that court as well. Always they were at odds, for both were powerful wizards of mirror branches, and Xain always gave counsel against Cyrus’ advice. They had been rivals even from their Academy days, yet it was not until they were both grown that their rivalry blossomed into violence, invited by Xain’s own arrogance. There was a duel—a wizard’s battle. When it was finished, someone lay dead, but it was neither of the contestants. Xain’s magic spun out of control, killing a bystander with no stake in the fight.”

  The blood drained from Ebon’s face. “He ... is a murderer?”

  “Oh, yes. Constables pursued him across all the nine lands. Now the High King herself has pardoned him for reasons beyond understanding. Something to do with this war that now engulfs Underrealm, though I have not learned any more details than that. And now that he is ensconced in power again, he hates the family Drayden. He blames us for his own failures, his own weakness. Thus if you have earned his ire, I warn you: hide. He is an eagle, and you are a mouse. Do not provoke him. Do not even speak with him, if you can help it.”

  “I have no wish to spend any more time with him than I must,” said Ebon, shivering. But he was thinking of Xain and Cyrus, and their duel. What might Xain think if he knew Ebon had killed Cyrus in the end? But now Mako was looking at him keenly, and he forced himself into a steady calm. “But this is an unreasoning cause for hate. I am not Cyrus. What happened to Xain had nothing to do with me.”

  Mako shrugged. “You are a Drayden, even if not by your choice. Every great family has some dark deeds to their name. And your best intentions do not pardon the actions of your kin.”

  Ebon sagged against the bookshelf, his head lolling back to strike the leather spines. Another Dean whose hatred of him he could neither explain nor hope to alleviate. His life seemed a sad mockery, a jester’s play. His hands clenched at his sides.

  Mako, for his part, seemed to be reveling in Ebon’s discomfort. He smiled again, and then straightened. “Well, I came only to deliver a letter. Now I must be on my way. Unless you wish to reply to Albi?”

  “It would take me time. I will send it by regular courier. I am grateful for the letter—and for the truth about Xain.”

  “It was my pleasure, truly,” said Mako with a flash of his teeth. But then his eyes drifted past Ebon, and he grew somber. “As for your other question—about the attack on the Seat. You know the Draydens are not the only wealthy family in Underrealm.”

  He nodded, his gaze still fixed on something over Ebon’s shoulder. Ebon turned. There, a few shelves away, was Lilith, half-hidden by gaps in the books.

  Ebon turned quickly to Mako. “Are you saying Yerrin was behind the attack?”

  Mako shrugged. “I know nothing for certain. Only it seems unlikely that Dulmun and the Shades could have staged such an invasion without the coin of a great merchant house. I will say this: if Halab commanded me to investigate the attack, that is where I would start my search.”

  And Theren had believed that Lilith might be behind the theft in the vaults.

  Mako turned as if to leave, but Ebon reached out and gripped his arm. It felt like iron. Mako glanced down at Ebon’s hand. Ebon gulped, trying to hide it.

  “Thank you. I never said that after you saved my life. I may owe you the very beating of my heart, along with the lives of my friends. I have not always thought highly of you, but I see now that that was my mistake.”

  Mako looked almost startled, which in turn surprised Ebon; the bodyguard rarely showed anything other than contempt and condescension. But his wide grin slid back into place after only a moment, and he flicked two fingers in dismissal. “That is no mistake on your part. Few think highly of me, especially among the wise. And if I saved the lives of some within the Academy, well, then, it was an accident. I had only hoped that you would be around a bit longer, at least. You are so amusing, after all.”

  He stepped around the corner of the bookshelf and vanished.

  five

  Ebon returned to Kalem and Theren in their alcove against the wall. Kalem appeared to have given up trying to read, and was leaning back with his chin in his hand, listening to Theren as she went on about some new spell she was trying to master. They both looked up at his approach.

  “Thank the sky,” said Kalem. “It is my turn to go and look for a book.”

  “What do you mean?” said Theren, frowning. “You cannot tell me the two of you do not enjoy my company. I have changed my entire class schedule for you.”

  “Theren, I come here to read, not to speak,” said Kalem.

  She seemed about to reply, until she looked up and saw the concern in Ebon’s face. “Ebon? What is it?”

  Ebon glanced up at her, and then over his shoulder where he had been speaking with Mako. He shifted on his feet, the letter from Albi crinkling in his hand. “Er ... my family is coming to the Seat,” he said, holding the parchment aloft.

  Both his friends grew solemn. “Well. That is a pleasant surprise,” Kalem said, with visible effort.

  “Oh, do not be an idiot, Kalem,” said Theren. “When will
they come?”

  “Some time before Yearsend. But in fact, that is not what troubles me.” He sank into a chair between them, his mind racing at how he might tell them without revealing Mako’s involvement. “I have been thinking on what you said before. About Lilith being the thief who robbed the Academy vaults.”

  “Yes?” said Theren, sitting straighter. “Do you believe me now?”

  “Let us say that I did,” said Ebon. “What would we do about it? What do you know of Lilith?”

  Theren frowned. “What makes you think I know anything of her? She is a goldbag, like any other. Well, besides the two of you, perhaps.”

  Ebon rolled his eyes. “I mean, how might she have done it? Where might she have hidden what she stole?”

  Kalem spoke before Theren could answer. “I do not understand, Ebon. Why have you changed your mind so suddenly? Just this morning you agreed with me that there was little evidence pointing to Lilith.”

  “I have been considering the possibility,” Ebon said, hearing Mako in his mind. “And I think it is unlikely that Dulmun would risk open war against the High King, even with the alliance of these Shades—whoever they are—unless they also had the support of one of the great families. A royal family, for your strength of arms, or of a merchant family, for the depth of our purses.”

  “But there are dozens of merchant families across Underrealm,” said Kalem.

  “Few have purses deep enough for a civil war,” said Theren, leaning forward in excitement. “Only Drayden or Yerrin could do it. And Yerrin removed their children from the Seat during the attack, while you and Cyrus stayed here. I think I see your mind, Ebon.”

  Kalem shook his head. “All of this is still only conjecture. And I ask you both again: even if you are right, what do you mean to do about it?”