He had a thought and sat up suddenly, nervously eyeing his chamber door. “Tamen…what if I fled?”
Tamen stopped packing his clothes and looked up, placing his hands on his hips. “Fled where, exactly?”
“Away from here. Into the Seat. Surely Father would not waste much time looking for me. I could vanish in the streets, and visit the Academy after they left. Mayhap they would take me, and I could begin my training, late in my life though it is.”
Tamen sighed and placed a hand over his eyes. “Ebon, you know you cannot do that. The Academy charges a steep tuition, and though you may have some coin upon you, you could not pay your way for long. And besides, where do you think your family would look for you? And you know I am honor bound to your father. I would have to tell him what you told me, and his wrath would be terrible once he found you.”
Ebon slumped back in the chair again, pouting. “I should have run, and said nothing to you.”
“You would not have escaped, and you know it.”
Ebon looked away, refusing to answer.
Soon all his things were packed, and Tamen summoned servants to carry them downstairs. Ebon forced himself to his feet and made his way downstairs, moving slowly as though his boots were lead. Tamen walked beside Ebon, not hurrying him. Many crates and bundles were stacked in the manor’s front room, ready to be loaded onto carriages and driven to the docks. It seemed to Ebon that they were leaving with even more than they had arrived with, though he had not seen his parents buy anything new.
He made his way out the front door and into the courtyard where he found a surprise: Halab had come to see them off. Mako stood beside her, with the main carriage in the middle of the courtyard, in which he would ride with his parents to the docks. They were there, Shay engaged in some conversation with Halab while Hesta stood quietly nearby. Ebon could not hear the words, but his father looked angry, making many sharp gestures. He stopped once he saw Ebon emerge from the manor, his face going stony. He turned from his sister.
Halab greeted Ebon with a smile. “Good morrow, dear Nephew. Did you rest well?”
“I did, Aunt. It will pain me to leave you, and the days will seem long until again you grace us with your presence.”
“Such manners,” said Halab, going to Ebon and taking his kisses on her cheeks.
“A silver tongue he has indeed,” said Mako, grinning at Ebon over Halab’s shoulder. Ebon tried to still a shiver of unease. His aunt he would miss, but he was glad to be leaving Mako behind.
Halab drew back and looked past Ebon, to where Tamen held a satchel filled with some of his clothing. Her eyes widened, and her full lips parted. She looked back to Ebon. “But my nephew, why does your retainer carry your possessions? You look as if you are making ready to leave.”
Ebon stopped short, brow furrowing. “I am. I had heard our trip here was finished, and we were leaving now.”
“You cannot tell me you thought you were going. Surely your dear parents told you that you are staying?”
At first, Ebon could not put meaning to the words. He looked past Halab to his parents. Father’s face had darkened, his eyes drawn together in a squint, a vein throbbing in his forehead. But Mother had turned her face away from him, and upon her lips Ebon thought he saw a tiny smile trying to burst free.
“I…I do not understand,” he said lamely.
Halab gripped his wrists tighter. “My dear nephew. How plainly must I state it? You will be staying upon the High King’s Seat, to attend the Academy.”
His knees did not seem capable of holding him up, and he grasped for something to steady himself. Tamen took his hand. His other hand tightened on Halab’s arm until he realized he might hurt her, and quickly loosened it. He opened his mouth, but a lump in the back of his throat kept him from speaking.
It seemed that Father had kept his peace as long as he could. He stepped forth angrily, spittle springing from his lips. “If you think the Academy to be some lark, then you are an idiot. You are four years too late. You will look like an infant in a king’s finery. And never will you be a great wizard, as you no doubt dream.”
Ebon choked back angry words, biting his lip to keep them from spilling forth. Halab looked back at her brother, and Ebon saw a cool anger smoldering in her eyes. But when she turned back, they were kind, and she squeezed his arm in reassurance. “The choice is yours, of course. I would never dream of forcing you into such studies, if they are not what your heart truly desires.”
“Show some wisdom for once in your life, and think ahead,” snarled Shay. “What do you think you can still learn, now that you are nearly full-grown?”
Ebon looked at him, and then back to Halab. His first instinct was to shout, with all his joy and fervor, that of course he would stay and attend the Academy. And yet, as they so often did, his father’s words wormed their way into his mind. What would it be like at the Academy? One thing was certain: he was here four years later than he should have been, and would certainly feel that deficit if he attended.
If? Finally he realized the foolishness of his thought. He had dreamed of nothing more in all his years. Now that the gift was finally presented, on a silver platter as it were, would he shrink from the offer? He had seen the Academy now, and knew what lay behind its granite walls. And he knew he had never longed for anything so keenly.
“I wish to attend the Academy,” he said, almost shouting. Then he leapt forwards, forgetting all his courtesy, and squeezed Halab in an embrace tight enough to hear the air whoosh from her lungs. “And thank you, Aunt. Thank you. This is a gift greater than ever I could have dreamed.” Tears sprang unbidden to his eyes.
“You are welcome, dearest Nephew,” she said, gently patting his back. At last he released her, and she fell a step back. “Now you are under but one obligation: to make your family proud to have sent you. Learn your magic well. Can you do this for us?”
He refused to look at his father, and so kept his eyes on hers. “Yes. I give you my oath.”
“I shall remember it. Now quickly—say your farewells, for you should make your way to the Academy right away. I have sent word to Cyrus already, and they are waiting for you.”
Ebon turned to look at Tamen. His retainer looked befuddled, as though he did not fully understand what had happened. He raised the satchel in his hand, then lowered it again, then looked helplessly back and forth.
“I…I do not know what to say, Ebon.”
“Say only that you are happy for me,” said Ebon in a low voice, holding forth his hand.
Tamen took it, grasping his wrist, and they shook. “Happier than you can know.” His hand came up to grip Ebon’s shoulder. “I am sorry I could not be a better friend to you in the years we have had. Mayhap another time will let me pay that debt.”
Ebon answered Tamen with a smile—then jumped as he heard a door slam behind him. He turned to find the carriage door had shut, with his father inside it. But his mother waited for him by the carriage, arms wide, a pleased smile upon her face. Ebon went to her and took her in his arms, breathing in the familiar smell of her favored perfumes.
“Go and make me proud, my son,” she said, scarcely speaking above a whisper. “I do not weep to see you go, for I know you are ready.”
“Then you know more than I, Mother,” said Ebon. “But Father…”
“Do not concern yourself for him,” she said quickly. “I know you cannot see it, but he, too, knows this is best. And mayhap the distance between you will mend what time never could.”
Ebon doubted that, but forced himself to smile as he gave her a final kiss on the cheek. At last he turned to Halab, who stood there beaming at him. Mako stood just behind her, but Ebon tried to ignore him.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” said Halab. “Go, or they shall mark you tardy on your first day.”
“Do well, little goldbag,” said Mako. Ebon’s skin crawled at his crooked grin. “I know you will be of great service to the family.”
Ebon held a smil
e for his aunt. But at the last moment, he turned towards the carriage. Its door had a window, and though a curtain was drawn across it, sunlight showed his father’s silhouette. The shadow did not move, even as it grew silent outside the carriage, and the others looked at Ebon expectantly.
Darkness take him, then, thought Ebon.
“Fare well,” he said, and though Ebon spoke to Halab, he knew his words would carry inside the carriage. “The next time you see me, I shall be a wizard true.”
He turned and left the courtyard, keeping his pace measured until he was out of sight. But the moment he turned his first corner, Ebon burst into a run.
seven
EBON WAS PANTING BY THE time he reached the Academy. He doubled over to catch his breath. Perspiration soaked through the back of his tunic, and he regretted his flight through the streets. He did not wish to appear for his first day stinking with sweat. But it was too late for such worries. He stepped forwards and rapped his knuckles sharply on the door.
The response was immediate, and he cringed at the sharp cry of the door’s hatch sliding open. There was the old woman, Mellie, her ghostlike eyes glaring out at him. She screamed, “The Drayden!” before he could open his mouth. Then she slammed the hatch shut. Ebon glanced over his shoulder. He had no wish for people to know his family name, if he could help it.
The door clanged open, and Mellie invited him inside with a sharp wave. She seized his wrist as he crossed the threshold, her fingers bony and frigid, but surprisingly gentle as she drew him up the great staircase dominating the hall. The door slammed shut with a heavy thud behind them.
I am in the Academy now.
It was a giddy prospect, and he fought the urge to burst out laughing.
Mellie took the stairs quickly, despite her age, and at the top she whisked him off to the right, stopping at the first room they encountered. Within were many shelves, running from floor to ceiling and covering every wall, all filled with folded black robes. Mellie ran along the shelves, brushing each one with her fingers as though she could see them by touch, glancing back often at Ebon.
“How tall do you stand?” she snapped.
“I—just under ten hands,” he said, squaring his shoulders. How did the Academy manage with such a madwoman serving for their chief attendant?
“Hah! I will give my good eye if you are above nine.” She scooped clothes from a shelf and threw them into his arms. He tried to catch them, but they came unfolded anyway, and one fell to the ground. He barely had a chance to scoop it up before Mellie had snatched his arm and drawn him out of the room again, screaming at him to Hurry! Hurry!
They did not have far to go; she took him across the hall, where he found a simple brick room and a large bronze tub. It was filled with water, and steam rose languidly from its surface.
“Clean yourself,” said Mellie, thrusting a gnarled finger at the tub.
Ebon shook his head. “I bathed just last night.”
Mellie glowered at him and said nothing, still thrusting her finger at the tub.
He swallowed. There was a bench on the side of the room. He carefully laid his new student robes upon it and turned to Mellie, waiting expectantly.
“Be quick!” she snapped. “I haven’t got all day to deal with new arrivals, you know.”
Ebon thought to himself that he did not know, since he had no idea what Mellie actually did. But out loud he said, “Are you going to leave?”
“Humph!” she said, placing her hands to her hips. “Do you fear an old lady leering? I will not leave the room only to have you take an hour to bathe yourself.”
“You expect me to disrobe before you?” Ebon felt color in his cheeks, and found himself growing irritated.
“Merchant children,” Mellie muttered, rolling her eyes. “You are a student here, and no lordling while within these walls, Drayden. If I turn my back, will that preserve enough modesty for your skin to find the tub?”
“Yes,” he said, relieved.
Mellie turned, and he quickly shed his clothes, fearful she would turn if he took too long. As soon as he splashed, she came and lifted his golden clothing.
“Wait! Where are you taking those?”
“To be burned, of course. No one told you? The clothes you bring are destroyed. While you study here at the Academy, you will wear only your student robes.”
“I did not know, and you cannot burn those! They are expensive.”
She appraised his clothing with narrowed eyes. “I have burned far better.” Then she vanished through the door.
He quickly bathed while Mellie was gone, and then jumped from the tub to throw on his robes. He had just covered himself again by the time she appeared, and seeing him dressed, she seized his wrist and drew him from the room. Now they ran back down the main staircase into the great hall, and then around to the right side, where Ebon entered the hallway opposite the one Cyrus had taken him down the day before. He remembered the Dean saying these were where the instructors had their chambers. Mellie stopped at the first door on the right and threw it open.
“New student!” she shrieked, before scampering back towards the front hall.
Beyond the door was a study. But this was no elaborate room filled with gilded ornaments like the Dean’s office. It was warmly lit by candles placed in the corners. A soft green carpet covered the floor. Bookshelves lined all three walls, other than the one with the door, and they were covered with books in barracks-neat rows. A modest desk stood proud in the room’s middle, a single leather tome to one side, and a stack of parchments in the center beside a pot of ink with a quill stuck in.
A woman of middle years sat at the desk. Her hair was once flame-red, like a dancer from Dulmun Ebon had once seen, now flecked with many strands of grey. Her eyes were pale blue, and fixed on Ebon’s face with calm assessment. He noted that she wore dark grey robes, like the Dean, but hers had none of Cyrus’ gold brocade.
“Well, come in,” said the woman. “And shut the door behind you, if you would be so kind.”
Ebon stepped in, chiding himself for feeling so timid, and closed the door with a soft click.
The woman sat back in her chair, sinking into its soft, stuffed leather. She studied him a moment more before gesturing with an open hand to one of the two wooden chairs opposite her. “Sit.”
He did as requested, looking with interest about the room. He knew she was an instructor, but he felt none of the discomfort he had in Cyrus’ office. This place seemed warm, and gentle, if not entirely comfortable. She let him look about for a moment, her fingers steepled before her chin. He turned at last to look back at her, but she said no word, merely kept looking him over.
She must recognize me for a Drayden, he thought, heart sinking in his breast. Surely that explained her reluctance to speak. Ebon knew how his family was regarded across the nine lands. Would that legacy follow him even here? Deep in his heart, he had hoped to escape it at last, but that seemed unlikely now.
The woman spoke, but said nothing of his family. “How many years have you seen, child? Fourteen? Fifteen?”
Ebon breathed a sigh of relief. But that question presented another problem, and he answered reluctantly. “Sixteen.”
An eyebrow raised. “Indeed? Well, no doubt you think that is a terrible burden to bear. Do not worry yourself overmuch. I had seen fourteen when I came here. Perhaps not so grievous a situation as yours, but an annoyance all the same. You will find it difficult at first, but not forever.”
“I am relieved to hear that.”
“And your branch?”
Ebon blinked. “I am sorry, I do not understand.”
“Of magic. What is your gift?”
“Oh!” said Ebon, clearing his throat. “I am an alchemist.”
Her brows rose again, and this time they stayed there. “Indeed? I daresay we could use more of them.”
His brow furrowed. “I am sorry?”
“Never mind. It is of little consequence. You should know, though, that your b
ranch’s proper name is transmutation, and you would do well to start using that name immediately. The same goes for the other four branches. We do not speak with a commoner’s casual indifference in these halls.”
He nodded thoughtfully, finding himself growing curious about her. “And you? What branch are you gifted with?”
She smiled. Then her shape changed before him, and Ebon nearly jumped out of his chair. First her eyes glowed, and then her hair grew grey and stringy as she shrank in her seat. In a moment Mellie sat before him, still regarding him from behind steepled fingers.
Frantically he looked over his shoulder, to the door where Mellie had left him. But the old woman laughed, and swiftly changed back. “I am not Mellie, boy. That was to answer your question.”
At last he understood. “You are a weremage.”
“A therianthrope, but yes. Very good. And I have forgotten my manners entirely, or you have. Either way, my name is Jia.”
He noted carefully that she did not give a family name. Mayhap she was a bastard, but perhaps that was custom here. He hoped so. “I am named Ebon.”
“Ebon. A strong name. Well, Ebon, let us show you to your quarters.”
He scooped his robes back up from where he had thrown them in the other chair, and Jia stood to lead him from the room. Ebon remembered that the dormitories were on the second floor, and he expected her to bring him back out to the main hall to climb the wide main staircase. But Jia led him farther into the citadel instead, where he soon saw another staircase leading up. This one was a spiral, and very narrow, so he could easily touch both sides with his arms stretched out. Jia led him up, passing one landing but stopping at the second. They emerged into the hallway to find a door facing them on the other side. Jia led him within.
They entered a room with many chairs and couches set in small circles all about its edge, with a large open space in the center. Ebon scarcely had time to study it before Jia took him to a door at the back. Through that door was a long, low room with many beds, along with several cabinets and chests of drawers. She led him past these to a bed almost at the back, and waved a hand at the cabinet standing beside it.
The Alchemist's Touch Page 5
