The Academy Volume One

by Maxine Mansfield

  Adan shuddered, unable to listen to another word. For him. Because of him. All the evil done to Lizbeth had been due to his mother and this crazy, wicked old man’s misguided loyalty. No wonder Lizbeth didn’t trust him, couldn’t trust him. He was surprised she didn’t hate him. VoT, she probably did. Would he ever be able to earn her trust, her love? He didn’t think there was a grain of hope.

  Pesky moisture dripped down his cheeks, and once more, he swiped at it with the back of his hand. Here he had gone and allowed himself to fall in love with his wife, and now it was all for naught. Lizbeth was more essential to his well-being than his next breath. And not just her, but now their child, their son. And their relationship was doomed.

  He shook his head. Oh, God Draka, because of him.

  No, he could no longer blame Lizbeth for not trusting him. And he certainly didn’t blame her for seeking some kind of magical protection or for keeping secrets. He didn’t even blame her if she never wanted to lay eyes on him again. He knew he’d have a hard time looking himself in the mirror come the new day.

  He stood and straightened his tunic. Though morning was all but upon him, he had to get back to the Academy, back to Lizbeth as quickly as he could. He wouldn’t let her down this time. Even if he arrived late, he had to be there when she took her end-of-semester exam. Then, he’d find a way somehow to begin making up for the injustices she’d suffered because of him. Even if it took the rest of their lives, he vowed he’d prove to her he was worthy of her trust and, hopefully, her love.

  He looked one last time at the man he’d once so admired and a bone deep coldness filled him. “Don’t be here when I return, or I’ll kill you with my bare hands. I don’t care where you go or what happens to you when you get there. Just make sure I never again set eyes on your face again.”

  Master Seiger gasped. “What? I don’t understand. Why would you be angry with me? Everything I did, I did for you. You can’t send me away. I have nowhere else to go.”

  Adan turned and tripped over the edge of a rug he didn’t notice. Since when had Alaria become so VoT damp? Especially this time of the year. Usually by now, the entire countryside was frozen solid. Moisture once more dripped down his cheeks, and he wiped it away.

  “For me? You did this for me?” Adan shook his head. “Perhaps that was your intention, but what you did, you did more because you and my mother are sick and you both enjoy torturing those too weak to defend themselves.

  “I don’t care where you go,” he shouted. “I’d better never again hear your voice or see your face. For if I do, I swear, I’ll shove your stupid ass into one of those fucking trunks and lock it down tight. The only difference being, that even after you shit and piss yourself, I’ll be nice enough not to open it and let you out only to repeat the process over and over again. I’ll simply bury your filthy carcass so deep, even a sick prick like yourself won’t be able to claw his way free.”

  Adan’s last thought before bounding up the stairs and heading back to the portal was With as wet as this night has become, it’s a good thing full-grown barbarian men don’t cry.

  ****

  Her eyelids opened to the sensation of sandpaper scraping raw flesh. The bright sunlight burned her retinas, but Lizbeth forced herself to squint and face the morning anyway. Her head pounded, her throat hurt, her stomach threatened to empty itself, and every muscle in her body ached.

  Sunshine, really? The windows of Adan’s chamber were inundated with the bright stuff. How could the sun dare shine today of all days when cloudy rain filled skies would be so much more appropriate? As if to prove her point, tears flooded her eyes, spilled over her lids, and made a path down her cheeks. Somewhere in the distance, Lizbeth heard the first rumblings of thunder.

  She sighed as dark clouds obscured the offending sun. With a hiccup and a groan, she gave in to her sorrow and allowed it to take her where it would.

  After the evening before, Lizbeth was surprised to find she still had tears left to cry. Last night hadn’t been the first time in her life she’d cried herself to sleep, but it had been the first time she felt truly and totally alone in the world.

  She indulged her self-pity, and the tears fell fast and hard. Her parents were dead. Her brothers were miles and miles away, and Adan, no matter where he was, was now beyond her reach. He didn’t believe her, he no longer wanted her, and he hadn’t bothered to return to his room for a single moment since the door had slammed closed behind him. Even though in the end, she’d done as he asked and waited.

  A fluttering like butterfly wings from inside stopped the tears, and brought a small smile to her face. Lizbeth placed the palm of her hand across her slightly rounded tummy. “Guess I’m not totally alone, after all, am I? It’s you and me, little Spiritmaster. Time to stop this foolishness, get out of this bed, and get on with our lives. We have an exam to take.”

  ****

  She followed a group of frazzled-looking students up two flights of stairs and around a corner. Lizbeth had never been on this floor or even in this part of the castle. There had never been a reason before today.

  The hallway was long and winding, the walls a warm butter-cream, the carpets below her feet a rich walnut. Soft, lilting music flooded her senses and, like a drug, filled her with the beginnings of serenity and contentment, calming for the moment her frayed nerves. Then, she saw the notices on each door, and her heart rate and breathing sped as if she were in a race. The doors were plainly marked. 502, Mystic finals. 504, Minstrel’s finals. 506, Sorcerer finals. 508, Warrior finals. 510, Healer finals.

  She hesitated for a moment between rooms 510 and 512, where Wizard finals were in progress, and contemplated going inside even though her own Wizard final wasn’t scheduled until tomorrow. The thought of either Briar or Lark giving her a smile of encouragement, if nothing else, was almost irresistible. To disrupt another class’s finals would draw even more attention to herself, however, and after last night, attention was the last thing Lizbeth wanted.

  On down the hallway she went, and the further she walked, the harder her heart pounded. At room 514, where Rogue and Ranger finals were taking place, she broke into a sweat. By the time she walked the few steps to room 516, the Druid finals, she was ready to turn and bolt, but stubbornly put one foot in front of the other.

  Finally, she stood in front of the door to room 518 and stared at the Enchanter finals placard for the space of seventy-four heartbeats and six breaths before she could tell herself, I can do this, and believe it. Then, she mustered her courage and stepped inside.

  A moment later, she truly did almost turn and flee. At the front of the room, seated beside Headmistress Seychelle, was Queen Allanna Hammerstrike herself. A backdrop of floor-to-ceiling windows illuminated her every feature. Today, as was her custom, she was dressed in all white. A smirk hardened her features as her eyes met Lizbeth’s.

  The sight of Queen Allanna’s impressively swollen nose told Lizbeth in no uncertain terms there would be VoT to pay. Shivers skittered down her spine. What retribution did the Queen have in store for her? For Lizbeth would pay, of that she had no doubt.

  There was no more time to contemplate the matter, however, as the Headmistress spoke. “Welcome to Enchanter 101 finals, class. As you can see, four stations have been set up and you will be taking turns performing today’s enchantment.”

  Lizbeth glanced at the tables, and her name was on the third one. She groaned. She had hoped to have been in one of the later sets of students. It would’ve been nice to have had the chance to watch at least one full group perform the spell before her turn.

  The Headmistress’s next words made her forget about turns. “Queen Allanna was gracious enough to come early and set out all the materials you’ll need for today’s exam, except of course for your dragon’s scale. For doing this task for you, please show her your deepest gratitude when the exam is over.”

  Ray chose that moment to jump up and down with his tongue lolling to and fro, but luckily he didn’t shout his f
avorite phrase. The class giggled at his antics, but sobered as Headmistress Seychelle merely patted him on the head and continued.

  “One more comment before you begin. This enchantment recipe is very specific. When it says one pinch of this or a certain number of drops of that, it’s extremely important you use only what is called for. As with all magic, there can be disastrous results if you don’t follow the spell’s directions precisely. And you will most assuredly fail this exam. It is imperative you pay attention to detail.”

  The Headmistress clapped her hands. “Come now, first group to your stations. Let’s not keep the entire class waiting.”

  The smooth, wooden table was just a little higher than her waist, and Lizbeth marveled at the array of ingredients neatly situated on its surface. One by one, she examined them.

  First, a small amber bottle with a label that simply read Manna Oil caught her eye. She picked it up, felt its warmth, and set it back in its place. Next, there was an olive green decanter labeled Essence of Life. She tipped it and shiny silver flakes floated into the palm of her hand. Lizbeth quickly put them back.

  A small, dark, and intricate box sat next to the decanter, and she picked it next. Etched into its surface were the words Blood of the Ancients. She opened it and peeked inside. Small grains of what looked to be red sand shifted back and forth. She snapped it shut and put it down.

  Finally, only one ingredient remained, and Lizbeth lifted the tiny burlap bag of Spirit Herbs into her hands and held it to her nose. The pungent smell of Bohe and Muxiang made her sneeze. She set it back in its place. Taking the midnight blue scale from the pocket of her tunic, she put it with the other ingredients.

  Turning over the single sheet of parchment on the table, Lizbeth began reading.

  To Bring a Scaled Creature Back to Life.

  1: Grind a small section of the creature’s scale with your pestle until it is a fine powder and set it to the side.

  2: Into the mortar, add—

  Lizbeth squinted her eyes. The parchment was smudged, and she couldn’t tell for sure if it was three or eight drops of Manna Oil she was supposed to add.

  3: Mix in twenty...

  Lizbeth blinked twice and tried again but couldn’t tell if the recipe called for twenty-three or twenty-eight grains of Blood of the Ancients. She looked toward her mother-in-law, and from the evil smile she was granted, Lizbeth had no doubt her recipe had been tampered with. She shivered though the room was extremely hot. How was she going to accomplish this task if she couldn’t even read the spell? She coughed once and cleared her throat.

  “Headmistress Seychelle, would it be possible to get a new copy of the spell please? It seems this one is smudged, and I’m having difficulty making out ingredient amounts.”

  Seychelle opened her mouth to speak, but the Queen beat her to it.

  “Always wanting special consideration, aren’t you, Lizbeth?” Queen Allanna Hammerstrike sighed. “I swear, Seychelle, my dear friend, if she weren’t my very own daughter-in-law, I don’t know what I’d do with her. I realize you probably only allowed her in this class in the first place out of consideration for me, but I won’t permit her to take advantage of your kindness.”

  The Queen turned until she was looking directly at Headmistress Seychelle. “I set out those ingredients and spells with my own hands. There was nothing wrong with hers. She most likely spilled something on it, clumsy girl. There’s a reason barbarians don’t make good enchanters. I say make her use what she was given like everyone else or accept her failure.”

  Headmistress Seychelle nodded. “She’s correct, Lizbeth, everyone was given the same materials to work with. I can’t show favoritism. You’ll have to use what’s before you.”

  Lizbeth gulped and glanced back at the parchment.

  4: Add a generous pinch of Spirit Herbs to your mixture.

  5: Quickly stir in one tablespoon of ground creature scale.

  6: Into your hand, sprinkle flakes of Essence of Life and gingerly, so as not to bruise them, and one at a time, add—

  Again Lizbeth fought to see the real number under the smudge. It was either a three, an eight, a nine, or even a two. Tears threatened, and she swiped them away before they had the chance to fall.

  She concentrated hard on the last part of the spell.

  7: Mix together thoroughly while chanting these words.

  Though from scales of time or creature scales, bring forth life and let it not fail.

  Essence and oils, herbs and sand, sprinkle of scale dust held in your hand.

  Life for a moment or life everlasting, it’s the choice you make while you’re casting.

  Off to her right, Lizbeth heard a whoop and quickly looked in that direction. There, floating no more than a few inches above the dark-elf student’s mortar and pestle was a tiny pink dragon. It flittered one way and then another until, finally with a poof, it was gone.

  Headmistress Seychelle clapped her hands. “Excellent, excellent. That’s precisely what I’m looking for, good job, Deedra. You pass.”

  Lizbeth looked back at the table before her, picked up her scale, and got busy grinding. She heard the door open and close and, for a moment, didn’t bother looking up from her spell. Then, a shiver scampering down her spine and a sudden ache filling her chest told her all she needed to know.

  Slowly, she lifted her face and turned to gaze at her husband. He had come to her exam. Why? He looked as if he hadn’t slept any more than she had, and even though she doubted he would welcome it, she longed to go to him, wrap her arms about him, and kiss his worry lines away.

  She didn’t do that though. Instead, his angry words of the night before came rushing back to haunt her, and her feet refused to move. She forced the sob threatening to burst from her chest back down where no one would ever hear it and concentrated on the work before her.

  He didn’t believe her, he didn’t trust her, he didn’t want her, and he would never truly love her for who she was. He had probably only come here today to watch her fail. Well, she wouldn’t give him or his mother the satisfaction.

  The way things stood right now, the most she could hope for in life was to become the best enchantress she could be, and that meant successfully completing this spell. It had to be enough to make up for the coming years of her lonely, loveless marriage.

  Taking a deep breath, Lizbeth said a quick prayer to Lord Draka and decided more was hopefully the better choice as she settled on what amounts of what she’d use.

  Her hands were shaking as she allowed eight drops of Manna Oil to drip into the mortar, and she held her breath as she carefully counted out precisely twenty-eight grains of Blood of the Ancients and added them.

  The human to her left shrieked, jumped backwards, lost her balance, and landed with a thud on the floor. Above the frightened girl’s mortar and pestle floated a blob of green flesh with a head that looked somewhat dragonish with razor-sharp teeth, two tails, and six legs. It spun around three times as if seeking its creator, snapped its jaws loudly, then poofed.

  Lizbeth trembled and let out the breath she’d been holding.

  Headmistress Seychelle pointed to the still cowering girl. “Students, now that’s what we call You’ve failed Enchanter 101. When I said precise measurements, I meant just that. If there’s room, perhaps you can retake my class next semester. For now, please remove yourself from my sight, young lady. ”

  The girl scurried away, the sound of sobs fading in her wake.

  Lizbeth fought the urge to follow her classmate through the door, wishing to be anywhere but here. Staring at her mortar, her pestle, and her spell, she sighed and did the only thing she could think to do. She continued.

  Into the mixture of Manna Oil and Blood of the Ancients, she added a pinch of Spirit Herbs and quickly stirred in a heaping teaspoon of creature’s scales. Next, and one at a time, she added six flakes of Essence of life. The mixture began to swirl and boil.

  Lizbeth chanced a quick glance over her shoulder at Adan, an
d the thumbs-up and smile he awarded her not only surprised her, but caused her eyes to mist with tears. With a new lightness to her heart and a flick of her wrist, she grasped the pestle and began stirring as she quietly recited the words of the spell.

  “Though from scales of time or creature scales, bring forth life and let it not fail.

  Essence and oils, herbs and sand, sprinkle of scale dust held in your hand.

  Life for a moment or life everlasting, it’s the choice you make while you’re casting.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The hair on the back of Lizbeth’s neck stood, and her fingers tingled as her entire body felt electrically charged. She tried to let go of the pestle but her fingers wouldn’t—or couldn’t—obey her command. Then, with a loud pop, followed by gasps throughout the room and finally stunned silence, it was there.

  Her mouth gaped open as she slowly backed away from the table. It wasn’t a dragon, or at least it didn’t look like any dragon Lizbeth had ever seen. The only thing familiar about this creature was its color. A very deep, dark, midnight blue. The same blue as the scale she’d used. And it had those same scales now covering it from head to toe.

  It was the head to toe part of the beast that really surprised her. It stood at least a head taller than the loftiest barbarian she’d ever seen. Thick, huge horns curled up and out from the top of its head, ending in needle-sharp tips.

  The thing’s face appeared almost humanoid, except its eyes were wide set with wild-looking, blood-red, bulging orbs. At the same time, its nose was not much more than two gaping, nearly flat, slits. Its nostrils flared as it sucked in air, and a growl constantly rumbled through its bared, fang-like teeth.

  Its shoulders were broad, its arms muscular. Both hands boasted sharp, talon-like claws, and its long legs ended in cloven hooves. A whip-like, demonic-looking tail flicked to and fro from its backside, making a whooshing sound, as scale-covered wings, so long they dragged on the floor, protruded from between its shoulder blades.