She turned to him. “What?”
That wasn’t the reaction he had hoped for, but at least she had stopped.
“I hurt my foot,” Sam said. “I need—”
“I can get somebody from the infirmary,” she said, her voice dripping with irritation as if he had somehow made a mess of her day.
She didn’t offer to help move him and didn’t try to get him up, which he felt like she could have at least tried. Instead, he lay on the ground. He heard one of the class bells ring, and knew that he would be late for his next botany session, though that wasn’t the worst thing in the world. But it seemed an impossibly long time before anybody came for him. It was long enough that he had begun to question whether she was even getting help for him. And if she wasn’t, then what?
Sam allowed himself to think through his options. Crawl, or wait. If he were to crawl, he might be able to get to a section of the floor where he could stand on his good foot and hop, but there was the possibility that he still wouldn’t be able to bear enough weight on his leg to make it very far.
Somebody loomed over him, a shadow that came drifting toward him. “What is this… oh.”
Sam looked up. He didn’t know the medic, a professor by the name of Thorn, other than having seen him in passing.
“I fell down the stairs,” Sam said. “And now I can’t move.”
Professor Thorn frowned, pressing his lips into a tight expression as he leaned closer. He scooped Sam off the ground with surprising strength. Sam hadn’t expected the medic to be able to lift him quite so easily, but he quickly hoisted him and then carried him down the hall. It left Sam feeling both thankful for his arrival and the help that he was going to offer but also feeling self-conscious about being cradled by a tall, thin, bald man who clutched him up against his instructor’s robes.
“There isn’t another way to bring me to the infirmary?” Sam asked.
“There would be, but everyone is in class.” Professor Thorn carried Sam until he reached the door along the hall, which he then pushed open with his foot. He gently settled Sam down onto a bed and waited for him to scoot back.
He turned, heading to a line of cabinets behind him.
“Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
What happened was that Gresham had used the arcane arts on him to knock him down the stairs, though Sam couldn’t just say that to Professor Thorn. He would have to take care of Gresham in his own way, or maybe he should just leave him alone. Somebody like Gresham would not let anything go. Sam knew that. He had encountered people like that too many times while living on the streets. And it posed a danger for him, and anybody cared about if he were to keep pushing.
But it got underneath his skin to just let it go. He knew that it shouldn’t and knew that it shouldn’t matter, but it just ate at him.
“I slipped,” Sam said, hating himself as he said it.
“The stairs can be dangerous,” Thorn said. “Especially when running in between classes. Students don’t need to hurry, though. No one is going to fail you if you are a minute late to one of your classes.”
“You don’t know Professor Havash, then.”
Thorn paused, holding his hands above Sam’s ankle, a bandage soaked in something that stunk of mint wrapped around his palm. “I know him.”
Sam wasn’t sure what to make of that comment, other than it sounded as if Thorn didn’t necessarily care for Havash.
“He doesn’t like it when students are late to class,” Sam said, wincing as Thorn’s hands wrapped around his ankle. He bit back a cry and instead made a point of focusing on how Thorn used his angulation to push power out from him so that he could begin to wrap it around his foot, and then pushed it up and through Sam.
In doing so, he felt a surge of cold washed through him.
It was different than how Tara healed him, but there wasn’t the same shock, nor was there the same startling pain. There was just cold.
“There it is,” Thorn said. “A simple enough manner to sort this out. Now, you will find yourself hungrier than normal. Your body has simply escalated the healing cycle, so you will need to feed it to ensure that you…” He frowned, looking at Sam. “What am I telling you this for? From what I hear, you probably know as much as anyone.”
Is that what they’re saying about me?
He didn’t necessarily want rumors spread about him, but if there were going to have to be some rumors, they might as well be ones like that.
“I haven’t studied much on healing,” he said. “Maybe I should.”
“It is one of the advanced angulation techniques,” he said. “You will have to wait until your third year. Or perhaps your second, if the Secundum takes an interest in you.” He frowned. “Forget that I said that.”
“That’s okay,” Sam said.
“No,” Thorn said. “I shouldn’t speak on the Secundum.”
“I was there,” Sam said. He knew the stories were going through the instructors, so he might as well face them.
“That is what I heard,” he said.
“I don’t know why. I think he was just helping his brother.”
Sam didn’t know why he was offering that up for Thorn, other than the fact that it seemed like Thorn had liked the Secundum. For that matter, Sam had too.
“Perhaps that is all it was. When Ferand was a student here, there was a group of them. I never thought much of it, and I didn’t make the connection between him and the Secundum. Perhaps I should have.”
“I suspect most have questioned whether they should have noticed something.”
“There was another young woman that was with them. Clever, I remember. I was still a student then.”
He looked over to Thorn. “How many were working with him?”
Thorn frowned. “I shouldn’t even be talking about this. None of it matters anymore.”
“Well, it matters in that they were willing to attack the Academy.”
Thorn’s face hardened. “Unfortunately, they chose power over serving.” The hard edge to his face softened for a moment. “You should know that most of us within the Academy are here because we recognize the need to help the next generation of users of the arcane arts. Hopefully, you will feel the same when your time comes. We could use more bright minds within the Academy.” He smiled again. “Now. Put some weight on it.”
Sam swung his legs over the edge of the bed and tentatively pushed a little bit of weight onto the injured ankle. He was happy to note that it didn’t hurt as it had. Professor Thorn just tipped his head in a nod.
He left the infirmary and started toward his botany classroom, not wanting to miss any of his classes, even if he wasn’t going to learn that much when he heard a voice behind him.
“Samran Bilson.”
He spun at the soft voice, startled.
The Grandam was behind him, dressed in a long robe that brushed the ground with a medallion that glowed with a soft white light around her neck. Her mouth was pressed into a tight frown.
She was an older woman with graying hair and severe features. She had thin lips that seemed to be frozen in a perpetual frown. She watched him with eyes that seemed to take in everything, faint wrinkles along the corners of them. He didn’t know the Grandam too well. As far as he had seen from other students in the Academy, no one really did. How could you know someone who stayed as mysterious as she did?
He tipped his head politely to her. “Good evening, Grandam.”
“You are not studying.”
He shrugged. “Since the attack in the library, I find it a little more difficult than it had been before. I’ve offered my help and reorganizing the library, and see if I might be able to clean anything there, but seeing as how I’m not a professor…”
He watched the Grandam. It couldn’t hurt to put in a word on his behalf. Maybe she would help.
Instead, she shook her head. “The librarians, and the professors, can manage quite well.”
“I understand,” he said.
&
nbsp; “And how have you gotten on since the attack?”
Sam frowned for a moment. “About as well as I could expect.”
“I don’t mean the attack in the library.”
“About as well as I could expect,” Sam said again.
She regarded him for a long moment before nodding to him. “Come with me, Mr. Bilson.”
She marched through the halls, climbing the stairs, and reached the second level. In one direction, he could head straight ahead and find the great hall, and another, he could find several of the classrooms, but she took him to his left, toward the quarters of the instructors. She paused at her door before pushing it open.
Like Havash, she had a large outer room, with the table, rows of shelves, and books stacked everywhere. It was a mess, and with as many books as were here, Sam couldn’t help but question whether they had been claimed from the library while it was being rebuilt. He saw books on all different topics, though there was a disproportionate number on alchemy.
Considering what he now wore and that Ferand had attacked the Academy to obtain a divisive alchemy, he understood that.
She motioned for him to sit. He did so, looking up at the walls. There were a series of portraits hanging there, some with a severe expression, all of them older and distinguished appearing.
“Those are the prior Grandams,” she said.
His gaze skimmed across the row of portraits, and with a start, he saw Havash. He was younger, beard shorter, and eyes less wrinkled, but it was the same man. Sam was certain.
“Wait…”
The Grandam smiled slightly. “You didn’t know?”
He turned to look at her. “Havash was Grandam?”
“For a time. And then he decided to depart the Academy. Most who serve as Grandam recognize that it is not a life sentence. It is for a term of service and an opportunity to serve the next generation.” She glanced at one of the stacks of books that were for alchemy. “And those who study other topics.”
“I didn’t even know,” he muttered.
She chuckled again. “And then there is that device that he has permitted you to keep.”
“Only because he can’t take it off.”
“Hmm.” She studied him a moment before turning away and heading along the hall. She pressed on a section of the wall, which slid to the side. There was a faint grinding sound, then it ended. A dancing light on the other side of the doorway waited for them.
“After you, Mr. Bilson.”
Sam took a hesitant step. The other side of the door was a large room. The light he’d seen came from a fire within a hearth that put out a warm glow. A pair of chairs were arranged around a small table in the center of the room, near the hearth. Another table was behind that, pushed up against the wall. Items were stacked on the table precariously as if they were going to spill with the slightest breeze.
A dozen strange pictures hung on the walls, all of them with stern faces that looked down at him. Sam didn’t recognize any of them from elsewhere in the Academy, though they had to be significant.
“You don’t care for my artwork?” the Grandam asked as she sealed the door closed again.
Sam hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “They’re intense.”
“The artist has always depicted them as unforgiving. These days, it’s done out of tradition, but I can only think it was done that way originally to remind us of the seriousness of our task. Leading the next generation of magical users is no small assignment.”
They were all Grandams? The portraits all had a stern appearance, and many of them looking impossibly old. He had no idea how many had served, though the Academy itself wasn’t that old.
At least in this iteration.
Tara had told him that the Academy had been built upon the bones of something else. Maybe that was what she meant. There truly was something else here before.
“Take a seat,” she said, motioning toward the table.
Sam did so carefully, heading to take one of the wooden chairs situated around the table. It was uncomfortable, but he had the sense it wasn’t designed for comfort. She stopped at the table along the wall before circling the inside of the room, finally sitting across from him. She crossed her arms and leaned slightly forward, looking at him.
“Tell me about yourself, Mr. Bilson.”
Sam looked up. “What’s there to tell?”
“I would hope to hear more about you than I have learned from accessing the record of your admission to the Academy.” She pulled out a slip of paper, setting it on the desk. “Found in the Barlands. And with a sharp mind but limited potential.” She looked up at him. “Is that accurate?”
She leaned back, watching him. There was something in the way she regarded him that left him unsettled, though Sam couldn’t quite pinpoint the reason. Maybe it was the intensity of her gaze.
The key started to pulse, which he found strange. It had been doing that more often of late.
“I’m from the Barlands. And I like to think that I have a sharp mind.”
“Your test scores would agree with that,” she said.
“And I also have limited potential.” He held her gaze again. “I’m determined to prove otherwise, though. I just haven’t unlocked it.”
She tapped her fingers on the paper. “There are many who would say that there are none from the Barlands with any real potential. That appears to be untrue. Then again, it is odd to think that there would not be. If you don’t learn to control arcane arts, it would be dangerous.”
“Why would it be dangerous?” Sam hadn’t heard that before, but if there was a danger in Mia not mastering her arcane arts, he was even more thankful that she was here now.
“It is the nature of the arcane arts. Imagine if you have a river running through the city that never had a chance to flow. If it were dammed up before reaching the city, what do you think would happen?”
Sam frowned at her. “The river would dry up for it came to the city. There wouldn’t be a river.”
“There wouldn’t. But that is not the only concern.”
“You are implying that if you don’t use your arcane arts, you will lose the ability.”
It didn’t seem dangerous to him. Sad perhaps, especially knowing Mia’s potential.
“And what do you think would happen outside of the city?”
“I suppose the water would pool somewhere.”
“It would. In the city would be deprived. Now the riverbed would become dry and cracked, but that is not the danger.”
Sam leaned forward. “What’s the danger then?” He didn’t know what she was trying to tell him, though he imagined there was some purpose.
“The pool became something it was not meant to be. In some cases, that pool spreads as the land adjusts. In others, the river finds a way around the dam.”
“So you’re saying that had we not come to the city,” he said, careful to include himself, “we would have adjusted or learned magic anyway.”
She drummed her fingers on the table. “Possibly. There have been many cases where such things have occurred, though we’ve gotten skilled at identifying those with the potential. The dangers of the last possibility are too great if we don’t.”
“What’s the last possibility?”
“Think of the river again. What you think would have happened if that river burst through the dam?”
“I suppose it would flow outward.”
“With force.”
Sam understood now. “And the city would be flooded.”
“Or destroyed. Magic is similar. There is a source, much like the river has a source. It flows through those with potential. Some have potential that is little more than a stream.” She watched him and smiled slightly. “They can learn to control it, but their connection to the source is limited. Others have potential it is more like the river. Those are the ones we fear overlooking. If they never learn to master that connection and learn the control they need, their connection will change. The powe
r they can reach will change. Perhaps it will pool harmlessly. Perhaps it will find a way around, seeping out in unexpected ways. It’s those who destroy the dam we fear.”
Sam nodded. “It’s good that we came here as my sister has definite potential,” he said. He wanted to make sure the Grandam knew that Mia had potential. Especially as he didn’t know if he would be able to stay at the Academy. He continued to hope that he would be able to, but there remained the possibility that he couldn’t. If he couldn’t prove that he had some connection to the arcane arts, the key might not be enough to protect him here. “Why would some think that my home of Erstan would be any different than any other place within Olway?”
“Seeing as how Erstan wasn’t a part of Olway until recently, most would question that.” She pressed her hands together. “It might explain why you were not surprised to learn of Nighlan involvement.”
“We have always known the Nighlan are more than just scary stories.”
“Then you have known something that the rest of Olway is only beginning to learn. It is unfortunate, though, especially as we should have ways of ensuring the safety of those within the city.” She looked down at his hand. “We once had other ways of protecting the city.”
She meant the almanac.
She knew about it.
Why would he think that she wouldn’t? She was the Grandam, after all.
“I don’t know how much Havash has shared with you about the key.”
“He has shared what I need to know.”
“Including that it’s bonded to me, and I can’t remove it?”
She arched a brow at him, watching him for a long moment. “Not so minimal potential as you say.”
Sam looked down at his hand, twisting the key. He couldn’t remove it, though he no longer knew if he wanted to. A part of him was tempted to take it off, but there were other parts of him that wanted to keep it.
“I don’t know what it means,” he admitted.
She smiled at him. “It means that you won’t take off the key.”
Sam pulled on the device. Frequently throughout the day, he found himself fidgeting with it. At least he no longer had to keep it a secret. Enough people now knew he had the device and could use it that he didn’t need to hide it anymore. “It’s more a matter of can’t.”
Alchemist Assault (The Alchemist Book 2) Page 9
