by Deck Davis
Worse, perhaps they’d want to make an example of him. Make him help groundkeeper Nipper, or something.
Whatever; as long as he got through the next hour and got away from this room, he didn’t care.
He opened his bag, took out a bundle of papers, and set them on the table in front of him. He’d been as chronological as he could, setting events out in order of date and time, everything referenced and cross-referenced. Whatever they wanted to ask him he was ready, right down to what minute of the day he’d decided to take a piss.
“What’s this?” said Irvine.
“Notes about the mission.”
“You need notes?”
“This is an inquiry for the truth, isn’t it?”
“This looks like a script, young one,” said Henwright. “Truth doesn’t require rehearsal.”
So he couldn’t even keep his notes with him. Great.
He guessed he could live without them. It wasn’t that he needed them to remember everything; instructor Irvine himself had taught Jakub mind palace techniques, and his memory was sharp and he could access whatever he needed.
It was more that the notes gave him reassurance. He wasn’t allowed to bring Ludwig in here, and it seemed Kortho wasn’t coming, so he just needed something to cling to so he could calm himself down. And he couldn’t even have that.
This wasn’t an inquiry; it was a railroad. They wanted someone to blame, and they’d chosen him.
“Let’s start with Master Kortho’s injury,” began Irvine. “He was impaled by a mother wyrm’s thorn, I believe?”
“We needed to gather soul essence, so we went hunting. We thought the wyrm was dead, but she must have clung to life. A thorn shot from her side and went through Kortho’s chest. I withheld administering restoration potion because after assessing the wound I decided that it would close around the thorn and cause more damage.”
“So, the mother wyrm wasn’t dead before you approached,” said Irvine. “Failure to check that death had occurred, hmm. Interesting that a necromancer would misread the signs of death.”
“It wasn’t like that. She-”
“What of the traitor? It was a simple task; you were to recover his body and bring him to the academy so we could resurrect him and find out what secrets he told the Baelin Empire. His body isn’t in our possession, is it?”
“He wasn’t really dead. He’d taken a pill from an alchemist, he only wanted to look dead. The whole thing was set up from the beginning. He-”
“Let me clarify this; the traitor not only isn’t here, but he is alive and free to go back to the Baelin, or go to ground. Needless to say, we won’t find him now that he knows the eye of the queendom is on him.”
“Are you going to let me answer one question before you start the next?” said Jakub.
Henwright leaned forward. “Insolence won’t help your case, young one.”
“You’re asking me questions and you aren’t letting me answer.”
Cool it, he told himself. He couldn’t let them push him around, but he couldn’t afford to get fired up, either.
“And then there is necromance Ryden Renault,” said Irvine, “banished from the academy and yet he was, according to the statement you gave us, hunting for the body of the traitor, too. He offered you a bargain; if you let him go, he would resurrect Kortho.”
“I couldn’t let Kortho die. His resurrection window was almost closed, and I would never have gotten him back to the academy in time.”
“Duty above self, duty above love, duty above all,” said Henwright.
“Bullshit.”
Gods damn it. He knew he’d done it then, but he couldn’t help it; the word slipped out.
“I beg your pardon?”
Well, it was all or nothing now. He’d messed up, so he might as well try and get them to understand.
“You’re telling me that you would have refused the offer?” said Jakub. “You’d let Kortho die just so you could bring the necromancer back here?”
“Ryden Renault worked with the Baelin. According to your statement, he was in a bad way; you would have been able to bring him back here so we could find out what he had told the Baelin, too. Not only that, but we would then have a dangerous necromancer safe in our mana-cells. Instead, not only did you heal him, but you let him go.”
“And you wouldn’t have done the same?”
It was a stupid question to ask, because he knew the answer. The academy instructors lived and breathed its duty motto, and he knew they’d have put the needs of the queendom over one of their most practiced necromancers.
Maybe that was why, ten years from now, Jakub wouldn’t be one of the most regarded necromancer in the academy. If he didn’t feed into their bullshit, he’d never advance.
Well, if he couldn’t repeat their mottos back to them, he’d prove himself another way; earn distinction in the field.
Just get me out of this room, punish me, and then let me get back to work.
“You derelicted your duty to save a friend,” said Irvine.
“To save a master necromancer.”
“You didn’t save Kortho for his use to the academy; you were thinking about a friend, not an instructor. Don’t lie to us, Jakub.”
“I’ll ask you again; what would you have done?” said Jakub.
“We will ask the questions, novice.”
And so they did. Hours of them, each worded in a way to make the failures of his assignment look they were his fault.
Without Kortho, without his notes, he could only answer from his heart.
Then, when the inquiry was finally over, he hoped he’d done enough.
“Wait outside please,” said Irvine.
Jakub went back into the hallway and waited. It was empty now; classes were over, and the other students had gone to their dorms, where some of the would study, others would laugh and talk and play games.
Instead, he waited for the instructors to decide how harshly they’d punish him.
It made him sick; the failures of his assignment weren’t all down to him, and they knew it. They just needed a scapegoat so the queen wouldn’t look badly on the academy, so she wouldn’t cut their funding even more.
So, he’d take whatever punishment they wanted to give him. He just hoped it wouldn’t be more than a few months before they let him go out into the field again.
“Come in, Jakub,” said a voice.
Pushing back the dread in his stomach, Jakub went back into the room and faced his three judges.
Madam Lolo shuffled the papers in front of her, but Irvine and Henwright stared at him, their gazes cold.
“Novice Russo,” said Irvine. “This inquiry finds that not only did you fail in your field assignment, but you derelicted duty, broke the codes of our academy, and worse, put the queendom in unnecessary danger. We hereby expel you from service to the academy.”
The words bore deep into him, down into the pit of his stomach.
He sank back into the chair, cold, unable to believe it.
Not just a punished, but expelled. How? How could they do this?
“Get Kortho here. He’ll tell you-”
“Enough. You will be escorted to the dorms to collect your belongings. Hand your soul necklace and academy robes to the quartermaster,” said Irvine.
Madam Lolo looked up. He saw pity in her eyes again. “You can take whatever gold and items you looted in the field,” she said. “That will get you a room in town, until you find work.”
The three spoke at him, but he didn’t hear their words anymore. Instead, all he heard was expelled, expelled, expelled.
He took out his soul necklace and threw it to the floor. The crystal shattered, and the precious essence dispersed into the air.
As Irvine shouted something to him, Jakub left the room.
6
Ten years of work and study taken away in an hour. They hadn’t been interested in what he had to say; the whole thing was a pre-determined slapfest the second they invited hi
m to it. They’d drawn him down a dark alley and then leapt out of the shadows, knives drawn.
It had all happened so quickly, too. It took time to get anything worthwhile. Study, practice, work. It didn’t matter if you were training as a blacksmith or nurturing a relationship, it took persistence, and things didn’t come quickly.
But when they were taken away from you, it was barely a blink.
One sudden injury to his hands could end a blacksmith’s career. An accident or an illness could take away your relationship.
Anything worth having was hard to get, and anything worth having could be lost so easily.
He shouldn’t have thrown his soul necklace, he knew that. It was petty behavior, and it’d hardly make Lolo and Henwright look at him better.
Irvine, though, well he didn’t care about Irvine. The guy had taught Jakub a lot over the years, but he’d only done that for Kortho’s sake. He’d had it out for Jakub from the start.
He needed a beer. Ten beers. Maybe a bottle of whiskey. He’d looted a fine vintage of Gremlin Lout whiskey on his mission, but he’d given it away to a teen named Rud.
Rud…he hoped he was okay.
Probably doing better than me.
The necromancy hall door opened and the three instructors strode out. Lolo and Henwright looked surprised to see him; maybe they’d expected him to have left by now, and they had waited in the hall just long enough to avoid an awkward encounter.
Lolo and Henwright went down the opposite side of the hallway, away from Jakub. Irvine, though, approached him. Wearing his denim and his shirt, if you took Irvine out of the academy he’d look like a regular guy. No way you’d think he was a master necromancer.
Jakub had to clench his fist inside his pocket as Irvine approached. This man had put a stick of dynamite up his ass and blown his future to a thousand pieces, all because he’d failed an assignment.
He turned away and started to walk. There was no telling what he’d say to Irvine right now, and he didn’t want to lose his cool again. One act of petulance was enough for today. He was at least mature enough to know that was what throwing his soul necklace had been – something a child would do.
Kortho would have chewed him out until he was all gristle and crumbs.
“Jakub,” said Irvine.
Irvine had bags under his eyes, and his breath smelled like tobacco.
“What is it?” said Jakub.
“Best not to leave with anger churning in your gut. Sometimes the sun peaks from behind the darkest clouds, and you just have to wait for them to move a little.”
“I need to think about where I’m going to stay tonight, otherwise those clouds are going to piss all over me.”
Irvine held out his hand. There was a rectangular glass token in it.
“Give this to quartermaster Tomkins. Instructors get one of these a month; just a perk of the job. It will get you a few coins from my expense allowance.”
Jakub wanted so badly to take it, because it would help. But if he did, he’d be reaching up to grab the hand of the man that had pushed him off the cliff in the first place.
Although he wanted to leave the academy with as much dignity as he could, the academy lessons of practicality were still deep in him. These were the same practicalities that said there was nothing immoral about drawing soul essence from the dead, nor from looting possessions from a corpse.
The same lessons would surely say taking the token was more important than his dignity.
He took it. “Thanks,” he said.
“Some things are personal, but others are just business. I hope you see that, Jakub. With the queendom the way it is, standards have to change around here. Failure used to be tolerated a learning exercise. Now, when one institution fails, another sees its chance to gain favor. Gold answers a lot of questions, so the academy can’t afford to be seen in a lesser light.”
“This was about money?”
“We take in twenty or so children a year. Some of them with families, but many without. Or, at least, without families who care for them; a family living hand-to-mouth will gladly sell their fourth child to ease the upbringing of their other three. So many children each year, it isn’t easy. They must be fed, given equipment, taught. That means more space, it means buying food, paying instructors, and sometimes, we must resort to employing men like Mason D’Angelt. Sometimes I feel more like an accountant than an instructor.”
“I don’t see how spending money on training me for ten years and then expelling me on my first failing is cost effective.”
“Where failure was once known simply a means of improvement, it is now seen as intolerable. The more assignments that are completed as the queen wishes, the more bargaining chips we have at the table of the nobles where gold is coveted and fought over.”
“Good to know I was chosen to set an example. Thanks for the token, Irvine, but I better pack my shit up.”
“The academy is open to you when times are rough. Come and see us if you are in trouble.”
“It warms my heart to know the academy always has my back.”
Irvine put his hand on Jakub’s shoulder. “They say that Ms. Marsh’s resurrection was a success,” he said. “But I wouldn’t advise anyone to try and sneak to the resurrection chambers, because it will be a while before she wants company.”
“What happened to her?”
“There’s a lot in the air. Truths, half-truths, suppositions. We’ll get the rest of it when the girl can speak. I only tell you this, Jakub, to warn anyone already in trouble from getting into more of it. Perhaps if such a person knew Abbie was back with us, they might not feel the need to break into a necromancy chamber.”
“Supposing a person just lost their access to the academy? How would they find out more about Abie’s recovery?”
“The Queen’s mail carriers visit the academy twice a day, and I usually complete my correspondence in the evenings. Take care,” said Irvine. He gave Jakub’s shoulder a squeeze and then left.
Alone, Jakub felt his throat dry up. It wasn’t the most necromancial thing, to get sad like that, but it was down to Irvine.
He’d been kind - that was the kicker. Jakub could deal with him being a bastard, but not with him being reasonable. That was what it was; his words made a horrible kind of sense. How broke the academy was, how the nobles in the queen’s palace bickered over funds. It was just a pity that a rookie necromancer had to take a slap in the face to spare the academy pain of its own.
No use dwelling. It was mid-afternoon now, so he needed to find a place to stay for tonight. He was going to have to head to the capital city of Dispolis, or maybe stop in a tavern on the way.
For that, he needed to go get his coins and his loot, and see how far it would take him.
That was only the short term, though. What was he going to do after that? What about the rest of his life?
Ever since he came to the academy, his future had always been so sure, so mapped out. It was a bridge stretching from his life to his death, hopefully years from now, and all he had to do was walk across it. He’d trained as a necromancer in the Queen’s academy, and that was what he’d be until his skin sagged and his hair began to grey. Now the bridge was falling apart, and he didn’t know which way to go.
Maybe he could go and see Kortho. Go to the Racken Hills and see his mentor and friend, and decide from there. Kortho’s wife, Wersini, said Jakub was always welcome, and she made the most amazing beef pies. There’d be a fire and beer, and he could listen to Kortho’s stories and let his mind wander until he knew what to do with his future.
Yeah, that was what he would do. First, he needed to grab his things.
7
Luckily for Jakub, he’d been given a private room in the academy back when he was a kid and he’d first he’d described some of his nightmares to Irvine.
These were nighttime visages of his family and of the things he’d seen them do. Whether he really believed it or just said it for show, Irvine thought it mad
e Jakub dangerous, and he’d told him to move to a private room.
Where once it had isolated him from the other students, now it meant he could leave without having to see them, without needing to answer their questions or react to their gossip.
There would be a lot of that – with nothing better to do when classes were over, the students who didn’t care about practice or extra study loved to talk crap about the rest of them.
He opened his private bedroom door only to stare at a fleshy, pale arse.
There was a guy getting undressed in there.
“The hell?” said Jakub.
The boy turned, his eyes lit in shock. He grabbed a pair of trousers and tried to put his leg in, but missed and then lurched forward, smashing his head into the wall.
“What the fuck is going on?” said Jakub.
“Oh, gods. My head.”
Jakub looked around. He saw a mage staff – the cheap oak kind they issued to novices – propped up by the bed, a stack of spell scrolls on the floor, and paper posters of a mage with red eyes and a thick beard on the walls.
Jakub knew the mage in the posters – he was Mage Wyrecast, a pretty famous mage, actually. That wasn’t the point, though.
“You’ve got the wrong room. Where’s all my stuff?”
“In your own room, maybe? You tried looking there?” said the boy.
He was an undergraduate by the looks of him, since his eyes were free from the black rings most graduates had after years of study. He was pale as hell, which meant a lot coming from a necromancer. His hair was short and looked like he’d cut it himself with scissors, and a faint coating of stubble covered his cheeks and jaws. It was patchy, the kind of two-day beard a teen would grow before he matured enough for a full one.
“I’ve had the worst day,” said Jakub. “How about you tell me what the hell you are doing in my room?”
“Huh? I just got transferred from Templeton Academy for Mages. They moved me in here today.”
“Who told you this was your room?”
