by Sam Ferguson
To Janik, it seemed little more than a hollow victory. The very stones of the building seemed to laugh at him now that he knew the truth. If the others knew what he knew about Cyrus, the school would rip itself apart in a new war. The darkness had never been defeated entirely, it had only been pushed out to hide under new rocks. Hiding, waiting, biding its time until it snaked back into its rightful home.
He glanced up to the nearest banner, studying the marks of dust accumulating upon the fabric. The stinking banners would have to be taken down and cleaned before the last day of summer term in preparation for the masses of students and parents who would descend on the school for the orientation ceremonies in August. That was a task that could wait for a couple of months though.
According to his list of chores, today he would need to meet in the steward’s quarters with the kitchen head, the stable master, and the grounds keeper to listen to the steward deliver the monthly demands from the headmaster. These demands would be in addition to the normal chores doled out by the steward. Janik was certain he would receive more than his fair share too. The steward would ensure that.
At least one benefit to Feberik being such a wunderkind was that Janik had great hopes that one day Feberik would become headmaster. Then perhaps Janik could have this steward retired, and he wouldn’t have to answer to him anymore.
Cyrus had told him he would look into that. Janik would have to remind him of this the next time he saw the wizard.
Within a few more minutes he was in Feberik’s office. It was much nicer than the man deserved. After all, Feberik had never slain a vampire. As it was, he was barely known as a warrior outside of his home lands.
Sure, he had accomplished a few things, and he certainly had the talent for more, but Feberik had not actually attained any sort of real success that one would expect from a master at Kuldiga Academy. Had Cyrus not been pulling several strings, and throwing in gold through various channels, Headmaster Herion never would have agreed to take on Feberik and Janik.
As Janik limped toward the desk, he had to wonder if Kyra was worth all of this trouble.
He opened the book to the most recent page. There, in the middle of the page, between two sentences, was the mark. It was simple really, but a foolproof mechanism for ensuring Feberik’s pliability. The mark consisted of a capital letter ‘T’ with a hook drawn on either side of the cross line, and a heavy, sharp point at the bottom so that it almost resembled a sword without a proper handle. If Feberik was fully under the influence of Cyrus’ magic powder, then the mark would be complete. If the influence was waning, then the letter would look like all the other capital Ts that Feberik wrote, and that would be the signal to add another drink to the regimen.
Janik left the bottle in his pocket today. The mark was complete.
Now off to meet Cyrus before the morning training began.
Chapter 5
Kyra walked in that night, exhausted from her hours-long training session of trying to dispel illusions with Cyrus, to find Linny standing in the middle of the bedroom. All the furniture had been cleared from the floor, pushed up against the walls as much as possible. Linny’s ebony wand was held firm in hand, and she was aiming at a drawing of some sort of strange creature that was tacked to the wall.
“What are you doing?” Kyra asked.
Linny nearly jumped, her sandy hair bouncing into her freckled face. “Oh, I was just practicing my homework.” She pointed to the paper on the wall. “I am supposed to hit it with a fireball.”
Kyra nodded with a smile. She remembered doing similar drills with her mother when she was younger, only the spells she was taught to throw were more akin to darts made from magic than large fireballs of any sort. She walked into the room and lazily flung herself onto her bed, keeping her eyes on Linny and watching the young girl practice.
“Am I doing it right?” Linny asked as she flicked her wrist toward the paper.
“What spell are you trying to cast?” Kyra asked in turn. There were numerous ways to conjure a fireball, and it wasn’t as if knowing one of them instantly gave the caster access to each of the others. Each spell required mastery.
“The book is on the bed,” Linny said as she pointed to her bed.
Kyra, despite the fact that her body wanted to slump into the mattress and remain there, rolled off her bed and went to pick up Linny’s book. She smiled when she read the instructions. It was a spell specifically suited for wand users. Kyra hadn’t used a wand for some time now, but she understood what to do. She turned to Linny and reached out for the wand.
Linny hesitated for a brief moment, as if the wand was all she had left in the world, but then she gently placed it into Kyra’s hand. Kyra looked and found a brown spot on the wall. She pointed to it.
“I’ll hit that mark there, so as not to destroy your paper.” Kyra gripped the wand in her left hand and set her left foot forward. “Stance is key. When you use magic, you are calling upon the essence of Terramyr. You can control it, and even amplify it with your own energy. Feel the power coming up into you. As you focus on the spell, imagine that force is going through your body and into your wand. Then, you simply give the wand a single shake, like so, and release the energy.” Kyra sent a single fireball out to the wall. It crashed into the stone with a noisy pop! Then it faded away.
Linny reached over and took the wand back. She planted her right foot as she held the wand in her left hand.
“No, no, whichever hand you hold the wand in, your lead foot should match,” Kyra said quickly, pointing to Linny’s left foot.
“Right,” Linny said as she shifted around. When she was set in place, she turned back to Kyra for an approving nod. “Like this?” she asked when Kyra was half a second too slow to approve.
“Like that,” she replied. “Now, call the essence up into your body and let it gather into the wand.”
Kyra watched as Linny poised herself. A few seconds passed and then Linny flicked her wand. It wasn’t as refined a technique as Kyra’s, but it did the job. A yellow mass of flame shot out and devoured the paper.
“I did it!” Linny exclaimed. “Again!” She turned and pulled another paper out, hastily tacking it to the wall without bothering to draw an imaginary enemy this time. She got into position, and then closed her eyes as she drew in a loud breath, holding it for just a few seconds before exhaling.
Kyra noted something different about Linny this time. Somehow, she seemed larger, or perhaps stronger. Kyra wasn’t quite sure, but something was different.
Linny mouthed something and then flicked her wand, much more controlled this time. A great, green light rose from the base of the wand and a massive mess of golden flames erupted from the end of it. The air around the girls crackled with energy and the room turned hot as the fireball expanded to twice the size of a man’s head before slamming into the wall.
Kyra gasped when the stones in the wall relented under the spell’s force, and shattered outward. As Kyra was housed in a tower, this part of the wall actually separated her room from the outside.
The two girls stood there, too stunned to move until they heard the crunching and cracking below.
Kyra ran to the hole in the wall and poked her head out just in time to see a few of the shattered stone bricks slide off the lower roof and thump into the grass below.
“I think we had better not practice in here anymore,” Kyra said. She pulled her head back in and turned to see that Linny was as flabbergasted as she was. The young girl panicked and threw her wand onto Kyra’s bed as if it had been responsible for the mishap.
“I didn’t mean to do that!” Linny said as she backed into the opposite wall and held her arms down at her sides.
Kyra smiled. “It’s all right, it just means that you have more talent than you thought,” she said softly. “Come on, let’s see if we can fix the wall before someone notices,” she added.
“How are we going to fix the hole?” Linny asked. “It’s a hole that is at least two feet wide and a
lmost the same height.”
A puff of gray smoke erupted in the room followed by yellow sparks that flowed outward.
Linny screamed and fell back, Kyra instinctively prepared a spell to attack with. Fortunately, it was Headmaster Herion.
“Are you all right?” the old, beardless wizard asked.
Linny nodded, but her words had not yet returned to her.
“We were working on an assignment she had,” Kyra replied.
Herion turned around and inspected the hole in the wall. Kyra wasn’t entirely sure if he was admiring it, or disappointed by it. “Which one of you did this?” Herion asked.
“I was trying to help her focus,” Kyra said quickly. “Perhaps I…”
“I did it, Headmaster,” Linny said as she regained her composure. “I didn’t mean to do it, but I am the one who did it.”
Herion’s eyebrows shot up at that and he glanced between the two young ladies. “Well, isn’t that interesting,” he said with a slight frown. “Well then, let me just…” Herion’s words trailed off and his eyes caught sight of the black wand on the bed. “Kyra, is that yours?” he asked.
“It’s mine, sir,” Linny replied.
Herion walked over to the wand and picked it up in his hands. “Well,” he started as he turned it over and inspected it, “I would appreciate it if you are a little more cautious in the future.” He turned and handed the wand back to Linny. “I’ll have to ask you both to sleep somewhere else tonight. It is already too late to have the hole repaired. I’ll have it fixed by tomorrow.”
“Can’t you put it back with magic?” Linny asked in a mousy tone. Her eyes shifted to the floor when Herion gave her a quizzical look.
“I could indeed,” Herion replied evenly. “However, I am not the one who caused the damage. The two of you will fix it tomorrow, with your hands. Janik will show you where the materials are in the morning, and he will supervise your work to ensure it is done properly.”
Linny nodded.
Kyra turned back to look at the hole. “We could do it tonight,” she said.
Headmaster Herion shook his head. “No, the mortar needs to be set in the daylight, while it is warmer.”
“We could use magic to warm the mortar,” Kyra replied.
Herion shook his head and then looked to her sternly. “A sorceress should learn that not everything can be undone with magic. No, you will use your hands, and no magic whatsoever. I want you both to appreciate the work that goes into building a wall. That way, you will have all the more respect for something before you destroy it.” Herion leaned in to Kyra and then whispered, “I am glad you are all right.” Then he straightened up and poofed out of the room in an eruption of gray smoke that left the two of them coughing and waving their hands futilely.
*****
Normally, Cyrus would be meeting with one of the warlocks in the outer part of the cave at a stone table. This was the first time he had been brought in through the door from which he had always seen them emerge. Whether that meant they trusted him more, or perhaps suspected his involvement in Bothias’ death, he wasn’t sure.
He followed the warlock in front of him, trying not to look over his shoulder at the one behind him as they moved through a long hallway hewn and polished from the very mountain they were inside of. Had he not known any better, he might have thought that this lair had been created by the drow tribes that inhabited parts of the Middle Kingdom. They were second only to the dwarves in their ability to create an inhabitable subterranean settlement out of solid stone. However, like the dwarves, the drow also were fond of embellishment. Had this been their handiwork, there would be runes etched into the walls as well as murals painted along the great, straight expanses of tunnel. There was nothing here but smooth, naked stone.
Cyrus assumed that the warlocks had found this place, for he had never known any of them to be fond of working with their hands. Most had neither the temperament nor the skill to do so. More than likely there had been an animal here before them. They had probably either killed it, or enslaved it.
A great worm of some sort, perhaps, or possibly it had even been a naturally occurring network of caves that had formed either with lava or water. Whatever it was, there was no sign of the cause now.
Normally, focusing on such a mundane topic as the original builder and inhabitant of the cave system would have taken his mind off the fact that he was being led somewhere like a slave. It didn’t help today.
“Where are we going?” Cyrus asked. He had already asked his guides, but since they had refused to say anything in response, he felt he could press them again.
Unfortunately, his inquiry was met with the same results.
The two warlocks guiding him through the tunnel were silent, and there was nothing to answer his inquiry save for the rustling of cloth as their long robes brushed against the floor with each step, and the soft pit-pat of their leather-soled shoes.
He hated not knowing the answer, but he remained calm. The riddle would be solved soon enough. Then, he would not only know their destination, but what they had planned for him. If they were going to betray him, then these two would die first.
They walked for another five minutes through the dark corridor before stopping at a large, wooden door fastened to the stone with great, iron hinges. The door opened and the smell of food tickled Cyrus’ nose. His guides led him into the room and then broke off to sit at a large, round table.
Cyrus counted seven chairs around the table, and noted that there was one empty seat after his guides had taken their places at the table.
A warlock stood up on the far side of the table. His hood was overshadowing his face, but Cyrus could feel the man’s eyes upon him.
“Come and sit,” a raspy voice called out from under the hood. It was not a warlock Cyrus had heard before.
As he moved to take his seat at the empty chair, he realized that upon the wooden table was drawn a seven-pointed star. Each chair was positioned so that each person at the table sat at one of the points.
Am I to be interrogated? Or is this an initiation?
“One of our order has gone missing,” the standing warlock said. “It has been made known to me that he is dead.”
That was faster than I expected. Cyrus could barely control the smile that wanted to come out onto his face at hearing those words. Fortunately, he had decades of experience in such situations, and was able to stare back at the standing warlock without betraying his satisfaction.
“In seeing your dealings with the girl, we thought we might extend an invitation to you,” the warlock said. “What do you say?”
Cyrus shook his head. “Our arrangement remains unchanged,” he replied evenly. “I will uphold my end of the bargain, and you will uphold yours. Once our business is concluded, I will travel my own path.”
Some of the other seated warlocks murmured or let out sounds like snarling lions, begging to be unleashed upon him for his insult. It was not likely that anyone had ever refused such an offer before, and if they had, they had most certainly not lived to speak of it, but Cyrus was not just any wizard. More than that, the group sitting around the table needed him. He could provide them with something that no one else could.
“Pity,” the standing warlock said. “I had hoped that once you saw our trust in you, you would have come to see us as potential brothers.”
Cyrus toyed with the idea of asking how many of them knew of Bothias’ plot to take the dagger for himself, but he immediately thought better of it. He reached out toward a bowl of fruit and took an apple from it. He raised it to his mouth, but he was already casting spells and counter charms to ensure it wasn’t trapped, poisoned, or otherwise tainted by the warlocks. When he took the first bite, he smiled. He loved sour apples the most, and this one was extremely sour, almost like a crab apple, but with just a hint of sweet, instead of the bitter aftertaste left in one’s mouth by a crab apple.
His eating insulted the others further.
Good. If any of
them were involved with Bothias, they might break their silence if I continue to offend them.
“Will you not reconsider?” the warlock asked.
“No,” Cyrus replied. “I will ensure the girl becomes an ally of the coven, or that she is no longer a threat to you. That is the end of our bargain.”
“She knows about the dagger,” the warlock said. “More than that, others know of the vampire. You were supposed to keep things quiet.”
Cyrus stood up from the table and smiled confidently. “No one knows of your dealings. To the world outside of this room, there is no Order of the All-seeing Eye. Don’t concern yourself with news of the vampire. Severin is seen as an enemy, but there is no connection back to you.”
The warlocks were all quiet then. Cyrus could feel their eyes upon him. He knew most of them were likely trying to calculate their odds of defeating him in a magical firefight. He had already decided to break this order of warlocks when he was done with them. For now, he needed their gift. One thing he was not adept at was seeing into the future. While this coven of warlocks was not infallible with their visions, they did have something to offer him in that area. Still, he saw no harm in poking the bear a bit.
“Besides, why would I join you?” Cyrus asked. “You are supposed to be able to see the future, yet you have lost one of your brothers and you don’t know where he went? Sounds to me that either you have killed him, and are trying to hide that fact from me, or that perhaps you were blindsided by the development.”
A couple of the warlocks stiffened at that last jab.
“Ah, so that’s it, then, isn’t it?” Cyrus pressed. “Not one of you soothsayers caught even a glimpse of his departure. Tell me, did he take something from you all then? Is that why you are quick to replace him with another?”
