The Academy Journals Volume One_A Book of Underrealm

by Garrett Robinson

  “You seemed to enjoy it well enough tonight,” spat Ebon, and drained his brandy in one savage pull. But it was a petulant thing to say, and he knew it, for he could hear some sense in Mako’s words. And it spoke to a truth he had begun to suspect: that though Halab was as kind as he had always thought her, at her core there was inflexible steel. He had seen it when Matami had tried to have him and his friends beaten, when Halab herself had struck him down.

  But he could not forgive Mako so easily. He had not asked to be dragged into the sewer to witness a murder. So he reached across the table and took Mako’s glass, and drained what remained of his drink. Then he held both glasses high, dangling them loosely between thumb and forefinger. “Do you mean to fill these again?”

  He half hoped the bodyguard would answer in anger or accusation. Instead Mako silently refilled both glasses from the bottle. It was half empty now. “Halab is no wanton killer. Rather than order an obstacle removed by violence, she will exhaust every other possible solution. And no one is put to death unless she knows something dark about them, something the constables have never caught wind of, or at least have never proven. In the circles of power where we walk, such darkness can be found more often than not.”

  “And Matami?” said Ebon. “What was his darkness?”

  The bodyguard lowered his gaze. “When you and I first began to suspect him, I wondered that same thing. So I had him watched, to see what might be seen. But I found nothing, and yet I was certain he had something to do with the attack upon the Seat. And so I brought my suspicions to Halab. With tears in her eyes she told me the truth—something she had kept hidden for many long years. Once, almost a decade ago, he took a man without leave.”

  Ebon froze in his seat. His fingers shook on the glass. “That cannot be. Halab knew of this? And did nothing?”

  “He was her brother, Ebon,” said Mako softly. “You can blame her if you wish. But you know better than most the bonds that can exist between siblings, no matter the circumstance. The man was well paid, and remains so to this day, tucked in a corner of Idris and supported by our coin. This Halab did in some token of repayment—and to pay for his silence, in hopes that Matami would be safe from the constables’ blades.”

  To learn that Halab knew of such evil, and had then gone to such length to hide it … Ebon’s heart twisted in sickness and impotent anger. Was the Drayden name so cursed that even she, his favorite, must deal in darkness and vile misdeeds?

  But then his thought turned in another direction. Albi came to his mind, and then Momen. Could he have turned them over to constables, even after such a heinous crime? He wondered. And wondering, he turned his eyes back to his glass.

  “So you see,” said Mako. “She sat with that shame—his shame—for so long. But when she learned he and your father may have had something to do with the attack … it only proved to her that he was rotten through, and had suffered no momentary lapse in judgement.”

  “And so she ordered you to kill him.”

  “No,” said Mako. “That was my choice. She will wonder where he has gone, of course. She may ask me, and if she does, I will not lie. But she may not. Sometimes it is easier that way—she knows, and I know, and we both stay silent in our knowledge.”

  “What of my father? Will you kill him, too?” Even as he asked, Ebon wondered how he would feel if the answer was yes.

  But Mako shook his head. “Your father is different. He is dearer to Halab. And he is your father. I have no wish to cause you grief, Ebon.”

  “Do you think that would grieve me? To see him killed?”

  Mako stared into his glass. “No child loses their father without tears. Not even the worst child. Not even the worst father.”

  Ebon sighed, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I am exhausted, Mako. None of your words have changed my mind. I want nothing to do with any of this. My father has cast me out of my inheritance. I cannot say I am glad for it, but I thought I was free of his legacy forever.”

  “And you can be, if you wish. Yet still I must do my duty. And that means protecting Halab. Just now, it seems I am protecting her from Shay himself. Can you withhold your hand from that cause?”

  For that, Ebon had no easy answer.

  “As I thought. Now, we must find proof of Shay’s involvement in the attack upon the Seat. And to do that, we must find the murderer in the Academy.”

  “How can we do that now? It seems the only one who knew anything was Matami, and he is now in the Great Bay.”

  “Matami knew nothing. Shay was too smart for that. He used Matami for messages, small tasks, but kept the more important ones from him. He must be using someone else—someone like your cousin, the mindmage—for the murders. He uses many hands, and none of them know the parts the others play, so that none may reveal the whole scheme. Indeed, he was foolish to let Matami know where his orders came from. But your uncle was foolish, and mayhap would not have otherwise obeyed.”

  “Then we are no closer to catching the murderer.” Again Ebon rubbed at his eyes. “You have done nothing to make me less tired.”

  “That is the brandy. You must have patience. We will discover the truth. We have done much already, whether you think so or not. And you have proven your mettle, far beyond what could have been expected.” Ebon scowled, but Mako raised his hands. “I speak the truth. And this, too, is true: never will I make you part of something like that again. I only thought it was time you knew the truth so that you could face it with both eyes open. Can you forgive me?”

  Ebon held his scowl, but felt some of the fire die in his heart. “It is a bit early to speak of forgiveness,” he muttered. “But mayhap I can understand you.”

  Mako smiled, and Ebon thought he looked genuinely pleased. “Good. Then let us get you back to your Academy. Curfew, I am afraid, is a long-forgotten memory.”

  THE NEXT MORNING, THEREN AND Kalem found Ebon in the dining hall. Kalem was glad to see him safely returned. It took Ebon a moment to notice Theren—he had forgotten she had gone with Lilith. As she told him of Lilith’s recovery, he gave a weak smile.

  “What is wrong, Ebon?” said Kalem. “What happened last night?”

  “Last night? What about last night?” said Theren.

  Ebon shook his head. “I cannot speak of it now. Not here, at least.”

  They tried to press him at first, but he waved them off, and at last they left him alone. But as he ate his breakfast, he decided to confess that afternoon in the library. He owed them that much, at least. He would not deceive his friends again.

  His morning class was torturous. Now that he had learned counter-magic, Perrin wished for him to focus on the other spells. Mists seemed simplest, and he did not have to interact with any other students, or with Perrin herself. So he sat there, spinning his mists, trying to push them farther and farther from his skin. But in fact he found his spell weaker than the last time he had practiced. It was as though he had forgotten a piece of his magic—or mayhap it was only the distraction of the night before, the way he could not stop hearing Matami’s screams.

  THOOM

  An explosion rocked the classroom, and Ebon fell to the floor in terror. Then he realized the blast had not come from within the classroom, but from beyond the door.

  He scrambled to his feet and fled the room, a dozen other students on his heels despite Perrin’s shouted orders to stay. Other classes joined them in the hall, running for the entryway where the explosion had come from. Ebon wondered what they were all doing. Hearing a blast or scream in the Academy had become almost commonplace by now. Surely they all knew to run, to flee the other way. Why, then, was he racing towards the sound? Why were the others?

  Then he realized—he was going to help. He was sick of the attacks, sick of the wanton death that had plagued the school for months. If the murderer was there, and wanted to strike again, let them try. Ebon was not alone: an army of students stood behind him.

  Together they flooded into the front hall, and dozen
s of eyes blazed with magelight as students reached for their spells.

  But no one stood in the hallway. There were only the forms of students and instructors, lying on the floor as they twisted and moaned in pain. They all pointed outwards from the room’s center, as though a blast had thrown them towards its edges. But where the blast had come from, there was no sign, for no one was burned or singed.

  Near the front, one seemed worse off than the rest—and Ebon recognized the creaking old form of Cratchett, the instructor who held the front door whenever Mellie slept.

  “Help him!” said Ebon, running forwards to follow his own advice. Half a dozen others rushed forwards to do the same. The rest fanned out, helping students to their feet. The fallen students were older, all in later-year classes. He saw Nella, eyes lolling in her head as she tried to gather her bearings, and Isra, groaning on all fours. They and their classmates fought to regain their feet, helped up by the younger students who had come flooding out from the Academy.

  Ebon reached Cratchett and tried to help the old man up. But Cratchett cried out in pain the moment they tried to move him, and screamed louder when they tried again. He was old; Ebon guessed his bones were brittle, and some might have broken when he fell.

  The old man’s eyes fixed on his, and he tried to speak. “She … tried to leave,” he croaked. “But when I stopped her—”

  His eyes bulged in their sockets, and his body jerked like a marionette’s. Cratchett flew into the air, arms twisting horribly. But he uttered no sound—even when his bones began to snap, even when an unseen hand clamped hard on his neck, crushing it to a pulp. Blood spattered Ebon’s cheeks, making him flinch. The corpse tumbled back to the ground amid the students’ screams.

  “Back!” cried a commanding voice. “Back into the citadel!”

  Ebon turned and groaned. It was Dean Forredar, ushering the students out of the front room and back into the Academy’s hallways. He helped the last few of the older students to their feet one by one.

  That half-heard voice screamed in the back of Ebon’s mind again, warning him of something. He looked at the students who had been struck in the attack. He recognized them all—not their names, or their faces, but one place he had seen them all before. The Goldbag Society Lilith had started. Not a student present now had been absent from that assembly.

  Yet someone was missing.

  But then Xain saw him, and Ebon’s attention was drawn back to the present. The dean’s eyes blazed with fury, and he pushed through the teeming crowd towards Ebon.

  “Drayden! Standing in the midst of another attack? This time—”

  But then Perrin was there, stepping up by Xain’s elbow. “I was teaching my class when we heard the explosion, Dean. Ebon was at his desk.”

  “Ebon!” He turned to see Kalem and Theren running out of the hallways towards him. He gave them each a swift embrace, but then turned his attention back to Xain, who still looked darkly upon him.

  “What happened?” said Perrin, seizing one of the students who had regained her feet. “Who did this?”

  “I do not know,” she said, shaking her head. “Our instructor was bringing us for some excursion out upon the Seat.”

  “Upon the Seat?” said Perrin. “That is not done.”

  The girl frowned. “It seemed odd to me. But she was our instructor. So we made for the front hall, but Cratchett tried to stop us. He and one of the students began to argue, but then—” She shook her head. “I barely saw what happened.”

  “You say Cratchett argued with a student?” said Ebon. “Who?”

  The girl stared vacantly, as though searching for a long-distant memory, instead of something that had happened only moments ago. “I … I cannot remember,” she murmured, and then eyed them all in terror. “Why can I not remember?”

  But Ebon scarcely heard her. For the whisper in his mind now screamed, its words ringing with clarity for the first time. He stepped back, hoping not to be noticed, and took the sleeves of Theren and Kalem, drawing them close as they turned.

  “The front door,” he whispered. “It is open.”

  “What of it?” said Theren.

  “The murderer escaped.”

  Kalem looked uneasy. “You cannot know that. They could have remained inside.”

  “I know it,” said Ebon. “Because I know who it was.”

  Theren jerked in surprise. “You do? Who?”

  “In a moment. We must go after them.”

  Kalem groaned. “Ebon …”

  “They are not watching us. Go … now.”

  He ran for the door, and his friends came behind him. No one saw them, no one shouted, and then they were in the city, fleeing through snow to the east of the Seat.

  “We will most likely be expelled now,” Kalem panted at Ebon’s side. “So will you please tell me, Ebon, what we are doing?”

  “All this time, we have been searching for the power behind Lilith. We wondered who held her under mindwyrd—and she was under mindwyrd, but other times, she was not, though we believed that she was.”

  “What?” said Theren. “Your words are senseless. Were you struck in the head?”

  “A moment.”

  Ebon stopped at the corner of a building and looked back, to where he could just see the Academy entrance many streets away. But no one had pursued them. The street was empty, and the doorway remained clear.

  “They are not coming after us,” he said. “That is good. I think. Come.”

  And Ebon ran on. They followed him, east through the streets, through alleys and busy marketplaces. At last he skidded to a stop, doubled over with his hands on his knees, breathing hard.

  “Where are we?” said Theren. “Why have you stopped here?”

  “To rest. But only for a moment,” said Ebon. “We will not want to be winded when we round the next corner.”

  Theren stood before him, hands at her hips. “Enough, Ebon. What is going on?”

  He grimaced. “We have no time.”

  She gave him a harsh look. “After we spent weeks pursuing Lilith, only to falsely accuse her, I think this time I would rather be sure before I follow you blindly.”

  Ebon gave a frustrated growl. “Very well. Last night, Mako took me out into the city. He said he needed my help, for he suspected my uncle Matami had a hand in Lilith’s deeds. But Matami knew nothing of Lilith.”

  “Are you certain?” said Kalem. “What if he lied?”

  “He did not,” said Ebon, his voice flat. “Mako put him to the question, and in the end, he slit his throat.”

  Theren’s face hardened. Kalem gasped and put a hand on the wall beside him to steady himself. But Ebon only shook his head.

  “I know your horror,” he said. “Know that I did not wish it, and tried to stop him. I will live with what I saw for the rest of my days. But that is a matter for another time. Mako thought Matami was ignorant of Lilith because my father, Shay, kept the truth from him. But Shay is not guilty of this—it was another student at the Academy.”

  “How?” said Theren. “We know Lilith was under mindwyrd, and so were several others. What student could have had access to magestones—except for Lilith and Oren themselves, who we know were not the culprits?”

  “Not magestones. Kekhit’s amulet. The book said it gave her the power to cast darkfire without magestones. What if that was not all it did—what if it acted as magestones for any wizard, not just a firemage?”

  Theren’s eyes widened. “A mindmage. They would have mindwyrd, with no need to consume the stones, and none of the evils such consumption would bring upon them.”

  “And their eyes would not glow when casting their spells,” Ebon said softly. “For that, too, was the power of Kekhit. Do you remember what the book said? She could hide the glow in her eyes when she cast her spells. And the logbook said that the amulet’s powers were hers. The wizard could have been right before our eyes, and we would never have known.”

  That sent them reeling. Theren paced and then
balled a fist to slam it into the home’s wall. A smattering of snow slid from the roof onto their heads.

  “But who?” said Kalem. “You said you knew who it was.”

  “Adara said the lovers have seen a girl skulking about the Seat,” said Ebon. “And only one girl was there during every attack.”

  Theren rounded on him. “Nella. Lilith’s so-called friend.”

  Ebon shook his head. “No. Her friendship is true. She could have done it—killing Credell after trying to breach the vaults, and then Oren once he realized what was going on. But Vali, too, was killed. And that was not part of stealing the artifacts from the vaults. That was because he was Astrea’s friend, and a goldbag.”

  “Astrea’s friend?” Kalem’s eyes went wide. “Sky above. Isra.”

  “Yes,” said Ebon. “Isra. She was there every time. I thought it odd that every death was so horrifying for Astrea, and that she was there for each of them. But she was only there because Isra brought her, so that she would have an excuse for being present.”

  “The conniving sow,” Theren whispered. “I will kill her.”

  “No,” said Ebon. “We must capture her and deliver her to the King’s justice.”

  “She deserves death.”

  Ebon lifted his chin, heart blazing with fury. “And she will find it—by the King’s law.”

  Kalem stepped between them to interrupt. “But Ebon, I still do not understand. Why are we here, and not in the Academy trying to find her? We should help.”

  “Because she is not in the Academy. I was a fool, and believed what Xain wanted me to. Dasko was not helping Xain move into his new home. He was helping Xain move artifacts out of the Academy.”

  Kalem gawked. “Into his house?”

  “Where no doubt he has all manner of magical defenses,” said Ebon. “They hoped to keep them safe, mayhap thinking the thief would not know where they had been moved. But do you remember what Adara told us, about the student who had been seen lurking about the city? I think that was Isra. If I am right, she makes for Xain’s house even now, to take as many artifacts as she can lay her hands on.”