A Dead God's Tear (The Netherwalker Trilogy) (23 page)

"Well, I was thin
—oh bother!" Dentaige exclaimed as they opened the door to the next hallway.

A maze of thorny hedges greeted them, the sides twice as tall as they were, adorned with wicked looking barbs, all within a windowless, but well lit with no noticeable light source, room about fifty yards in length and width. It certainly had not been her
e mere moments before, but neither Denician nor Dentaige was truly surprised with that particular fact.

It was an odd and annoying habit of the Academy to change its form and layout, seemingly without pattern or plan. Doors would appear that lead nowhere, w
alls would spring up, the very inside the building would change drastically from week to week. One day a particular hallway would be straight and narrow, with luscious red carpet paving the way, the next day, it could be a maze of cold stone walls, or a massive marble tunnel lined with mirrors and various doors that opened to blank rooms or simply didn't open at all. The possible variations were as numerous as grains of sand in a desert, and about as comfortable to navigate. Never was the decor change overtly dangerous, but it still didn't stop a few apprentices disappearing without a trace every few years or so.

For whatever reason, and Denician suspected it was some powerful enchantment cast by the original founding cadre of wizards, any room that was clai
med by a person remained unchanged. So people could live and study within the Academy without fear that they find all their belongings gone, but it didn't stop the building from making the route there difficult, nor did it change the fact that it could shift the location on whim.

Denician was still privately hoping that it would shift his own office closer to ground level sometime in the near future. It was such a bother to have to go to the fifth floor every time he had business to do, or wanted a spell b
ook from his study.

One could not gate within the Academy in order to avoid traveling the auspicious hallways. The swirling energies that surrounded it made it dangerous to even attempt, playing havoc on the precise spell work needed to achieve even small
distance travel. One thing even the best minds of the Academy could never understand was why the energies only affected gating and similar spells. Everything else could be cast with nary a hitch. As if the very building itself deliberately blocked such attempts for the sole reason that it could force the occupants to 'enjoy' the fruits of its labors.

Most visitors questioned as to why they continued to study and live at such a troublesome place, if they didn't run out screaming in superstitious panic first,
that is. The typical response was that the nexus of energy was perfect for the wizards. Nowhere else in all of known Faelon was there such a high concentration of it, so the occupants of the building tolerated the eccentric nature with little more than a consenting nod and wry grin.

Though Denician often found himself pondering that very question from time to time. Was the advantage of such a buildup of nether really
that
essential? Sure, it fueled the myriad of experiments practiced within these walls, and it most certainly made spell casting a relative breeze, but Denician came to believe it was more than that. The wizards had become used to the peculiarities, that much was true, but somewhere along the journey of familiarity they had all come to consider this their home. A place where they could mingle with others of like mind, without worry of the mistrust and rumors of the common folk that nipped at the heels of wizards like angry dogs.

Still, as Denician ran his fingers through his shortly cropped blac
k hair, looking at the room they had to get through made him question it all over again. His initial reaction was to torch the maze to the ground or enact a flying spell to soar over it, but knowing the damnable unseen hand that made such things, it was probably immune to common practices. He would have to do it the hard way. He had painfully learned long ago to forget most thoughts of an easy direct solution to such things. "Care to do the honors, Headmaster?" Dentaige said with an upraised eyebrow, the veteran wizard probably came to the same conclusion he had.

He nodded, taking off the pendant that hung about his neck. It was a simple looking thing, barely more than a milky red stone strung through with a thin, black rope coated in wax. But the innocuous
object was essential to every member of the Academy, for they all had one on their person, the enchantment contained within was too useful to ignore. This was the secret to how they navigated the ever changing building, for contained within was a rather clever spell that always allowed the wearer to instinctively know where their destination was.

Allowing his eyes to become attuned to the nether, he gently added energy to the stone, as one might scoop up sand and pour it into an hourglass. Slowly it began t
o glow a light blue color, a gentle pulse rocking the jewel from its depths. Once he was satisfied that it was sufficiently charged, he dropped the nether sight. Holding the necklace up by the rope, he gave it a gentle tap with his finger, causing it to swing softly like a pendulum. He held it so that the arc of the swing reached its apex toward the maze entrance, the pendant gave a bright, but brief, flash of light, indicating that the holder should head in that direction. It would allow Denician and Dentaige to navigate the maze with unerring ease.

"Seems to be working. Shall we?" he asked the older wizard, indicating the maze with a flourish. Dentaige was quick to nod his agreement, and thus they set off, following the instructions of the aptly named True
Sight Pendant.

"So, my friend, care to finish up what we were discussing before we ran into these
. . . complications?" he asked conversationally after they spent a few minutes within the mysterious confines of the maze.

"Ah, well, truth be told, I'd rathe
r just formally pen up a request for what I have in mind. I just wanted to present the idea to you myself. You know, get your expert opinion and such. Make sure I wasn't chasing dragon feathers," Dentaige responded brightly, though Denician noticed that the older wizard seemed to be deliberately avoiding eye contact.

He is lying,
came the mental voice of Yhgolanic, the feeling of distaste lacing the familiar's words.
He's not even good at it,
the drake added with an offended huff.

He agreed with his familia
r's observation, but decided not the press the issue. Most likely the only reason the older wizard even sought him out today was to convince him to agree to the project before he officially requested the go ahead, which no doubt meant leaving out certain crucial things that he knew Denician wouldn't like.

Denician was patient though. As the Headmaster, all things eventually had to go through him, so he could afford to sit back and wait in a lot of cases. Still, he made a mental note to keep a close eye on
this nubile project, and that was only if he even gave permission at the end of all this word play.  He was not above taking back promises when it concerned the safety of the Academy's members and charter rules.

It did irk him though. Dentaige was the last
wizard he expected to act like this. He considered the wizard as one of the few members of the Academy who wasn't overly ambitious, instead, content with his station in life. Dentaige lived for his projects and research, the drama and backstabbing typical to the Academy was beneath him.  Even if this particular project would have been a bit risky, most likely Denician would have given the go ahead because he trusted the wizard. To have him try and use subterfuge and roundabout ways to get what he wanted. . . well that worried Denician all the more. Was it because it was far more dangerous than he let on, or did ambition finally find a chink in Dentaige's armor?

Whatever it was, lying didn't fit the personality of Dentaige at all.

The rest of the time spent working through the maze passed by relatively painlessly, and small chat dominated the conversation between the pair as they followed the necklace's instructions. Dentaige was in the middle of a particularly amusing story concerning a first year apprentice and a botched growth spell when they found themselves at the exit to the room, staring at a large, well burnished oak door, and thanks to the pendants, they both knew it was the hallway leading to his office.

"Well, Dentaige, it certainly was an invigorat
ing conversation. I do expect for you to finish that story later, but as for now, time is short so I must take leave. Thanks for the company, old friend."

"Not a problem, Headmaster. It was an honor. I will draw up a proposition on my idea today as well. I
t'll be on your desk come the morning," he responded, taking out his own pendant for the trip back.

Denician nodded. They briskly shook hands and he then left the wizard to find his own way back, feeling guilty at doing so. Nav
igating that maze alone would be such a chore. He walked hurriedly through the thankfully normal hallway to where he knew lay his office, the heels of his boots clicking loudly on the now brown stained tiles.

He paused before the mirror situated over his o
ffice door. Denician didn't consider himself an overly vain man, but that didn't stop him from being critical of the image presented within the reflected depths.

Light blue eyes sat within a rugged face, though lines of stress and dark circles under the e
yes could be seen marring the edges, testament to someone who maintained two important, often conflicting, positions of leadership. He wore his black hair short, in the traditional militaristic cut of the Morlian army, though he did allow the brief shadow of a beard to grace his face. Try as he might, he could never get it to come out uniformly, always cutting the ragged excuse for facial hair off, only to stubbornly try again.

Denician didn't look anything like someone in his late thirties, instead coming
off as a slightly worn younger man, a fact he attributed to his attire. He always preferred bright robes, awash with expensive blues and reds, ornately cut and of the finest fabric, such as the ones he wore now. It also did wonders to hide the fact that unlike most wizards, Denician was rather muscular from a life on the road, which certainly didn't do well for making him look like a venerable Headmaster, though recent years had indeed added a bit of flab to his frame.

Taking a weathered hand, he smoothed o
ver some imaginary wrinkles on his robes, then thinking about who waited for him within his office, he also realigned a few wayward strands of hair, feeling ridiculous at doing so the entire time. What would someone think if they walked in on the Headmaster fussing over his looks like some adolescent child? He snorted at the thought. Having finished, he gave one last glance over the image in the mirror; it was satisfactory.

You look fine. Stop preening yourself like a worried hen.
His familiar cut in, sarcastic as usual.

I am not 'preening' myself. I merely wish to present the best possible image to our guest.

The large drake coughed audibly in his head, to no doubt show his master what he thought of that idea.
Whatever, you could walk in after wallowing in the mud like a fatted pig and she would still like you as you were. She's smitten, and you're blind. A perfect match. You'd both be much better off if you dropped the pretense.

Yhgol
. . .
he responded warningly, anger starting to flare.

I know, I know. Kee
p my nose out of it!

He decided to ignore the drake, letting the anger at the words slowly ebb away. Everyone was a little self-conscious, so it wasn't too big of a deal. At least that's what he told himself to relieve the sting of the observant familiar's
words. Now that he was done up proper, he could finally turn his attention to getting into his office.

Denician never locked the door to his office. What normal locks could keep out a wizard anyway? The only locks on the rich redwood door were ones of com
mon sense, and if that failed, the exploding wards and other traps placed beyond the portal would be more than enough to deter the ones woefully lacking wisdom.

It did make getting into the room a bit troublesome though.

Delving into the nether, he attentively reached out to the runes and glyphs that adorned the edges of the door, ones that he himself had drawn and empowered. The symbols recognized the touch of their maker, the energy patterns were unique after all, and allowed themselves to be shutoff, making the door once again safe to pass through. He breathed a great sigh, for though it wasn't feasible, he always entertained the notion of what would happen if they didn't recognize him. There were no absolutes in the realm of magic. It was enough to make him cautious; picturing their splayed remains on the floor and wall usually did that to people, if not more.

Still, it didn't compare to the nervousness he felt now that the path was clear. There were butterflies fluttering about in his stomach, something
the powerful wizard was not used to feeling. He steeled himself, taking a few deep, steadying breaths. The words of Yhgolanic resurfaced in the back of his head at the posturing. The contradictory part of Denician bristled at the memory, causing him to stride forth suddenly though the door, full to the brim with confidence he didn't have.

The study was a moderate room, crammed full of far more things than it was designed to hold. Books and scrolls stole every inch of the wall and surrounding book cases, spi
lling over to form large piles of written knowledge upon the floor. Everything else was covered with the various knick-knacks and gifts one would expect from a Headmaster of a wizard institution. Staves, wands, and bottles of ingredients shared what little space was left, among stranger objects, such as the Minotaur horn standing alone among the papers like a lost child. A single desk, simple in design, stood proudly in the middle, the last remaining semblance of order amongst the chaos that had consumed the rest of the room.