The Academy Volume One

by Maxine Mansfield

  Out of the corner of his eye, Sarco watched as Cyrrick stepped up and tried in vain to regain some semblance of order. He cringed as his brother was almost trampled by a rush of barbarian guards.

  Before Sarco could get anywhere near Cyrrick, table after table toppled like dominos. Food of all shapes and sizes went flying.

  As if in slow motion, a bowl of steamed carrots flew through the air and landed squarely in the middle of Headmistress Seychelle’s lap. She jumped out of the path of flying food, slipped, landed on her ass, and slid right through a pile of buttery mashed potatoes.

  Hands grabbed at the back of his robe, and Sarco twisted, trying to free himself.

  Sherman shouted, “This way, sir.”

  Sarco shook his head. “I will not run.”

  Uthiel grabbed his shoulder. “It is better to remove yourself for now. If you don’t, I’m afraid there will be bloodshed on both sides. Go, and let this calm. I will come for you.”

  Though he didn’t want to, he followed the halfling through the crowd and out the door. Uthiel was right. He had no idea what he’d done wrong, but the one thing Sarco did know, his continued presence was making the situation worse.

  Taking in deep gulps of air, he rushed from the hall. He had to decide what to do. He had to think. He had to find out what went wrong. He had to talk to Lark.

  He took the steps of her tower two at a time, pausing halfway to catch his breath and ease the pain in his chest. His gasps had far less to do with exertion than with the events of the past few minutes. Tonight’s ceremony was definitely over and almost before it had begun.

  How had everything gone so horribly wrong? One moment he’d been standing before King Alfred and the council, his voice ringing out, and the next moment there’d been total bedlam.

  Finally, he reached the top of the stairs. He had to see her. He had to explain before she heard it from anyone else. Sarco pounded on the heavy wooden door with a soul-deep sorrow. How could he have made such a mess of everything?

  The door opened and there she stood, eyes swollen from what looked like hours of crying, her hair mussed, her nose red. The most beautiful sight he had ever beheld.

  “Lark,” his mind screamed.

  She held out her arms as she answered, “What’s happened, Sarco? What’s wrong? Oh my God Draka, you’re bleeding.”

  She touched her fingertips gingerly to the spot on his neck still slowly oozing blood.

  “Don’t worry about that. It’s nothing. Just a scratch.”

  “Let me look at your wound at least.”

  He shook his head. “There isn’t time, Lark. Please, just listen to me.”

  Lark grasped Sarco’s arm. He knew she only meant to help steady him, but he knew he wasn’t even worthy of that much.

  “It’s over, Lark. I’m not sure how I did it, and it certainly wasn’t on purpose, I swear, but I’ve somehow ruined everything. There isn’t even a hope left of fulfilling the prophecy. And even worse, it means I’ll be responsible for a war between our families. Only time will tell the level of destruction I have brought upon our heads.”

  He heard Lark’s gasp, but couldn’t bring himself to look at her, not wanting to see the same disappointment in her eyes he had so recently seen in the shocked gazes of her family.

  Her soft hands comforted him, however. She placed them on his face and tipped it toward hers. When he finally had no choice but meet her gaze, the love and acceptance radiating in Lark’s eyes calmed and humbled him as nothing else in the last few hours could have.

  “It can’t be as bad as all that. You’re an honorable man, Sarco Sunwalker. Now tell me what happened, and we’ll figure this out together.”

  He drew the worn leather volume she’d given him almost a season ago from a pocket deep in his robe and tossed it on a nearby table. “That happened, I think.”

  Lark shook her head, not understanding, as Sarco paced. His face took on the appearance of a man who’d been delivered a great, shocking blow, and words tumbled faster and faster from his lips.

  “I swear, I memorized that passage exactly the way it’s written on the page. Maybe I got the dialect wrong or mispronounced something, I don’t know. Or perhaps the book itself has a mistake in it. There must be an error of some kind. I didn’t do this on purpose, I swear. I didn’t know what I should do, so I came here. I had to see you, to be the one to tell you. I didn’t want you to hear this from anyone else.”

  Even though she realized it was shock fueling his rambling speech, frustration got the better of her as she stood and grasped his arm. “Stop. I don’t care about any of that. Tell me what’s happened?”

  His look of total despair had her heart contracting painfully in her chest.

  Sarco sat. “I have no idea. I said what I was supposed to say and then all VoT broke loose. Your sister screamed, your parents wanted me killed, and your brother, Adan, tried his level best to accommodate them. Someone, your father, I think, was yelling for war. My mother was crying, Cyrrick was almost trampled to death, and I still have no idea why any of it happened.”

  It was Lark’s turn to pace. “I’ll admit, this sounds bad. We can fix it, though, I’m sure we can. I don’t know how yet, but we can. There must be a way. What exactly did you say to my father, Sarco? Word for word?”

  Sarco picked up the book and flipped it open to a worn page. He took a deep breath, sighed heavily, and repeated the passage.

  He glanced at Lark. “It means, King Alfred, your daughter, Aryanna, has won my heart and I request her hand this day in marriage.”

  Lark grabbed the volume from Sarco and stared at the page. “This can’t be right. It’s been altered.” Her voice trembled when she spoke. “What you really said to my father is…King Alfred, your daughter Aryanna, is a most hideous pig and I demand recompense if her hand this day I must take in marriage.”

  Sarco jumped so quickly the chair toppled over with a thud. “I said what? I’d never insult your sister. And…and…and the very last thing I’d suggest would be some kind of…of…payment to marry her. This can’t be. How could this have happened? Who would’ve changed the words, and why?”

  Lark shook her head. “I don’t know. I wish I did.”

  She couldn’t bring herself to look Sarco in the eye as she fought to find the words to gently explain just how dire the situation now was. She settled for staring at her feet and wringing her hands. “How well do you know our customs, Sarco?”

  She chanced a quick glance at the man she loved when no answer was forthcoming. His head was bowed and his skin was turning an ugly hue of green.

  Finally, he looked at her with resignation in his eyes. “I know there is no greater wrong you can do a barbarian than to insult one, especially to insult a member of his or her family. Wars have been declared for much less. Lives have been demanded as payment. I expect no less from your father, and I’ll do whatever I have to do to prevent the bloodshed of my people.”

  Lark knelt in front of Sarco and took his cold hands into hers. “We’ll find out together who did this. Somehow, we’ll make it right. I don’t know how yet, but we will, I promise. I won’t let this happen, Sarco. I can’t.”

  She stood and entwined her arms about his neck as Sarco’s arms encircled her waist and hauled her against him. Their lips met in desperation and need, both seeking a reassurance they knew would be fleeting. It didn’t matter. The desire to mesh into and draw from each other’s strength was stronger than the panic of the moment. The kiss deepened. Their tongues probed and caressed. Time stood still and the world held only two.

  The door banged open with the resounding boom of a cannon, followed by the unquestionable thud of many feet stomping up the stairs.

  “What the protruding prostate of an overzealous troll were ya thinking, lad? Hurry, hide! Ya can’t be found here, of all places.”

  Lark and Sarco jumped apart as if burned and turned toward the open door.

  Another voice froze them to the spot.

 
“Didn’t I tell you we’d find him here? I knew she was behind this debacle and would be harboring him. Where there is deceit and disloyalty, there has always been Lark.”

  She didn’t want to look. She knew what she’d see. She could already hear it in the venom of her mother’s voice. There was no choice, however. Lark stepped in front of the man she loved, held her head high, lifted her eyes, and faced the room, ready to do battle.

  Chapter Fifteen

  If ever a man was less deserving of the predicament he found himself in, Lark knew in her heart, Sarco Sunwalker was that man. Why then, would he not, in his stubbornness, stay safely behind her, but instead push her aside as if she were no more than a pesky fly?

  The small room quickly overflowed with people, and it took all of Lark’s self-control to keep from summoning forth the storm howling outside her window. At least the tower would be cleared of its unwelcome guests.

  She refrained though. Such action would be futile. Some things simply couldn’t be put off and dealing with this situation was one of them. Instead, she stood her ground and braced herself for what was to come. She didn’t have to wait long as a rush of voices drowned out the thunder crashing overhead.

  “An insult to our family has been leveled. As by barbarian right and law, I demand his life be forfeited. Nothing less will be accepted or war will be declared.”

  Lark glared at the smug face of her mother. She wanted to strike the woman who had always made it known barbarian customs were crude and below her station. Yet now she dared try and use those same customs to hurt the man Lark loved?

  Grandmother Ava sputtered, “Don’t be ridiculous, Allanna. Killing the boy won’t solve anything and neither will war. The prophecy must be fulfilled, or there will truly be a war to deal with. If you but give him a chance, I’m sure he has a perfectly reasonable explanation, and this matter can be settled.”

  Lark could have kissed her grandmother for those words.

  “Now, Mother Ava, I know you mean well, but if my queen says it’s the boy’s head, then that’s the way it must be. Prophecy or no prophecy, war or no.”

  Lark huffed. She would’ve let her father know in no uncertain terms what her feelings on barbarian customs were but just as she opened her mouth to speak, Sarco firmly clamped a hand over it and wouldn’t budge, no matter how much she struggled against him.

  Fortunately, the resonance of the words spoken next by Lord Tylindius Sunwalker served to calm her as no other could.

  “There must be some solution other than death or war to settle this to everyone’s satisfaction. I’m sure if we sit like rational men, we’ll figure this out and come to a perfectly peaceful conclusion. After all, these are modern days. We need to act civilized. I know my son to be a man of honor. He would never intentionally insult you, your family, or especially your daughter.”

  Lark still couldn’t speak with Sarco’s hand held firmly in place over her mouth, but she could nod her head in agreement with his father’s words, and she did. The next sound, however, sent chills scampering down her spine from the force of Wizard Arizon Windstrider’s authority.

  “There will be no murder or wars declared this day. Perhaps you should reread your history books and actually learn from them this time. I, myself, lived those long ago days. I spoke the prophecy that has brought us all together now. We’ll give the lad a chance to say his piece, or it’ll be my wrath you’ll feel.”

  Lark shuddered before the imposing sight and sound of Arizon, the High-Elf Wizard and leader of the Council of the Elders. Sarco’s hand slipped from her mouth and fell away. She chanced a glance back at his face. He was as much in awe of his uncle as she.

  “Do not dare think you can threaten me, you decrepit old elf. I’m Queen Allanna Zanlynn Calista Hammerstrike, and I’m within my rights to demand satisfaction. It’s my daughter whose name has been maligned, my family who’s been wronged. I didn’t become queen yesterday. I know the law, I know custom. I’ll have satisfaction.”

  Lark saw flecks of light before her eyes and realized she’d been holding her breath. She let it whoosh out in a rush and took in quick deep gulps of air. Her fingers tingled, and the hair on the back of her neck crawled of its own accord. For not the first time today, she was eternally grateful she’d declined the evening meal. If she hadn’t, Sarco would probably be wearing it right about now, along with all his other troubles.

  Sarco held the small leather volume in his hands. “If you’d but please give me a moment to explain. I’m sure we can settle this peacefully. I have no idea how it happened, but the words I was to speak became altered. No insult was intended.”

  Lark looked pleadingly toward the crowd, especially her mother. “Please, you must believe him. Sarco would never do this. I’ve been his…apprentice for the entire semester and I’ve come to know him well. He really is a good, honest, honorable man. Listen to him, believe him, I beg of you.”

  The cold, calculating smile that graced her mother’s face warned Lark louder than any words ever could have. It had been a mistake to try and defend Sarco, and especially against the queen herself. Her mother’s next words brought that lesson home in spades.

  “Apprentice, is that what they call platt-diggers these days, Lark? It’s obvious that’s what you’ve become. You, even more than this…this…this,” a perfectly manicured red nail shot out toward Sarco, “elf person, are an insult to our family. It’s plain even to a blind man you’re after the ladyship status you think this pointy-eared freak of nature can give you. It’s so like you to covet that which rightly belongs to your sister. That has been your history, after all, hasn’t it? On my life, I swear, you’ll never see the day you become his lady.”

  Lark gasped, and tears filled her eyes. Her mother only smiled, however, as thunder filled the room. “I won’t let you get away with it. Make the thunder crash ‘til we’ve lost our hearing, the lightning strike ‘til the buildings burn to the ground, and the rain fall ‘til the valley floods and we all float away. You still won’t save him, Lark. You’ve wronged your sister who was more than willing to marry below her station for the sake of that ridiculous prophecy. And now, you dare defend the criminal.”

  The tears burned Lark’s eyes, but she refused to let them fall as her mother continued her tirade.

  “If the words were indeed altered in that stupid book, it was you who altered them. You’ve always been a manipulative creature. From the moment you opened those gray, soulless eyes I knew what you were. I should’ve had the fortitude to end it then and there. I should’ve dropped you from the tower the day you were born. The dogs could’ve devoured what was left and saved our family from the wickedness you’ve become.”

  Lark didn’t flinch. She was numb to it. How many times in her life had she heard basically this same diatribe from the one person who should’ve loved her?

  Lark, the evil spiritmaster, who should’ve been burned at the stake before being allowed to take a breath. Lark, the creature of dark magic whose soul, by virtue of the color of her eyes, was corrupt and beyond redemption. Lark, the monster, who’d been left alive by grace and pity alone. Lark, whose only purpose in life was to serve her family and who’d failed miserably. Lark, the mistake. Lark, the freak.

  She lifted her face to the crowd, not certain what she should say, just knowing she needed to say something.

  “Enough!” Sarco’s voice rang with a force that rattled the windows.

  Lark stared up at him, willing him to not make things worse for himself by trying to defend her. It was no use. She could feel his mind so filled with rage it was closed to her pleas.

  He stepped between Lark and her mother, his face red, his hands fisted. “You can say and think whatever you wish about me, Queen Allanna. After all, I made the mistake, and I’ll pay for it. But hear me well. I won’t tolerate one more insult to Lark. She has been nothing but kind. She is innocent in all this, and I’ll defend her honor.”

  The queen laughed, but it held no humor. “Lark, innoc
ent? There hasn’t been anything innocent about the girl from the day she was born.”

  Sarco opened his hand, and a ball of blue flames formed. “What did I say about one more insult?”

  The queen roared. “You dare threaten me, Elf? I’m a queen. I’ll have you flayed alive, your filthy blood poured out upon the ground, and your bones fed to the crows.”

  A sudden movement off to the side of the room caught Lark’s attention.

  “You call yourself a queen? You…you…you, are no queen. You…harridan.” Lady Jillian, with rage in her eyes, fought to get her hands on Lark’s mother, and the sight of Lord Tylindius trying to hold back his delicate, regal wife almost brought a smile to Lark’s face. It would’ve been humorous if the circumstances hadn’t been so grave. But all Lark could feel was hopelessness as the situation continued to spiral out of control.

  “Harridan? You dare call me a harridan, you…you…you anorexic, pointy-eared hussy.”

  Lark prayed for the floor below their feet to open and swallow them so she and Sarco could escape.

  “For the love of Draka, get control of your wife, man.” Her father’s words added fuel to the out of control situation. “Can’t you see my sweet queen is upset enough by your son’s treachery without your wife making matters worse?”

  “Sweet? My son’s treachery?” Lord Tylindius’s face turned a strange shade of ruddy purple.

  The elfin lord was almost across the room with both hands fisted, fire in his eyes, and murder obviously on his mind when Cyrrick burst into the room with Aryanna close on his heels. He was out of breath, his tunic askew, and a set of footprints crisscrossing his forehead.

  He intercepted his father and placed himself between the two men. “If you would but allow me the chance to speak, I believe this situation can be settled to everyone’s satisfaction. And peacefully, I might add.”

  All eyes riveted on Cyrrick as he dropped his arms, straightened his tunic, and walked nonchalantly to the middle of the room.

  Queen Allanna opened her mouth to speak, but Cyrrick held up a hand and, surprisingly, not a sound came forth.