Knights Magi (Book 4) (16 page)

“As long as someone you trust verifies her work, Head Master, we have no objection,” Rondal said, quickly.  “No offense, my lady, but . . .”

“None taken,” she dismissed.  “I . . I’d be mistrustful, too, after something like this, with something that powerful.  That’s the sort of thing that inspires people to do . . . well, anything.  I’m sure your master is
not
going to be pleased,” she said, looking at Tyndal sympathetically.

Crap.  What would Master Min have to say about this fiasco?
  Tyndal did not look forward to that conversation. 

“That is likely the biggest understatement of your life,” Tyndal said, shaking his head quietly in misery.  “Master Min will think of something particularly nasty to torment me with in punishment.”  That was probably an overstatement - it hadn’t been his fault - but would his master see it that way?

“We’ll find it,” Rondal assured him.  “
Before
we have to report it to Master Min.  It can’t have gone far.  No one was moving within two miles of the campus, and I’ll know if anyone does.

“So let’s go over what we know: we have a five-foot-five male with Talent, a knowledge of shadowmagic, and a knowledge of herbalism,” Rondal said, ticking off the clues.  “How many students fit that description?”

“Herbalism is a common class, a prerequisite for most advanced Alchemy classes,” Estasia said.  “And just about anyone could look up Bardain.  Surgeons use it when they operate, sometimes.”

“But Shadowmagic,” Secul said, shaking his head, “that’s a different story. 
No one
teaches Shadowmagic . . . anywhere.”

“Anywhere
legitimate
,” Galdan reminded him.

“It is an obscure discipline,” Alwyn agreed in his creaky old voice.  “Hardly respectable, for all of its utility . . . to
some
folk.  If Shadowmagic is taught these days, it is usually taught secretly.  Someone who has a secret patron, perhaps.  Or someone who learned it within their family.  Some families have their own grimoires,” he reminded them.  “Secret spells they only pass down from generation to generation.”

Tyndal recalled that Lady Pentandra had a store of those herself, ‘special’ spells that had been proscribed by the Bans . . . but that she had learned from her father.  Master Min had a few books he wouldn’t let anyone else look in.  Secrecy was the prerogative of the mage.  “Then whoever the thief was comes from a magical
family
,” he reasoned.  “How many does that narrow your list down to, Ancient Galdan?”  He watched the man figure in his head.

“Twenty.  No, nineteen.  Maybe eighteen, depending on whether or not . . .”

“So twenty,” Rondal repeated.  “Twenty suspects.  Progress.  That’s not too many to question.”

“If they know Shadowmagic, they will likely be able to conceal themselves from detection, even in an interrogation,” Master Secul observed. 

“But they aren’t
adept
at Shadowmagic,” Rondal pointed out, “or Tyndal would never have guessed their height as he did.  Someone who has an imperfect understanding of the discipline might be vulnerable, if we’re subtle enough.”

“Or they might just get nervous enough to reveal themselves under pressure,” Tyndal agreed.  He began to walk back to his room, resolutely.

“Where are you going?” Secul called after him.

“To get my mageblade, Slasher,” Tyndal growled.  “It’s time to play to my strengths.”

*                            *                            *

The boys stayed up all night, working with Galdan, Estasia, and Master Secul to manage the crisis.  Rondal suggested that they spread the rumor that someone had tried to steal Tyndal’s mageblade as a prank.  That was plausible enough - pranks at magical academies were legendary.  Tyndal displaying the allegedly-stolen- and-recovered blade was enough to put an end to the rumor.  No one outside of the investigation knew the true scope of the crime.  If the thie didn’t remember stealing the stone, then it was best not to alert him prematurely.

They came up with the best possible plan, under the circumstances.  The next morning at dawn, twenty boys were summoned to the rarely-used Enchanter’s Hall for “special examination”.

Rondal thought that this would make the thief suspicious, but he was assured by Master Secul that such sudden and unexpected tests were a common thing at Inarion.  Students could be summoned for all sorts of reasons, and often were gathered together without being told why, to avoid any chance of impropriety.

The twenty boys who milled around the old hall, the fire smoldering in the fireplace, were a little nervous but mostly bored, Tyndal could see from the convenient peep-hole in the next room.  The ones who were supposed to be in class seemed happy to have been called away, while the ones who were out of class were grumbling about disturbing their sleep.

“I was up all night studying thaumaturgic theory!” complained Kaffin of Gyre, tiredly to no one in particular while they were waiting.  “I have a test this afternoon!  Making me stay awake on my morning off is cruel!”

“You think
you
have it bad?” moaned another boy – Taris of Dardendal, Master Secul whispered to Tyndal as he watched through the peep-hole – “You’re a good student, you’ll do fine!  I’ve got a test in Practical Spellcraft this morning I’m missing, and I still haven’t read the last third of the text!  Now I’m going to have to skip lunch to make it up!”

“You should have prepared more, then,” taunted another one – a bookish lad who reminded Tyndal more of Rondal than anyone else.  Jesden of somewhere.  “That test has been on the calendar for weeks!”

“I just want to know why we’re here,” complained another – Bandran of Gars, Secul supplied, though Tyndal remembered the boy.

“We all know why we’re here,” Daris of Holden’s Mead said, gravely.  “Someone was clearly caught cheating.  I trust each of you will exercise due restraint,” he added, warningly.

“We
don’t
know why we’re here,” Kaffin said in disgust.  There was a murmur of agreement.  “If it was cheating, then I’m not even in the same level classes as most of you,” he pointed out.

“I think we’re getting drafted,” Jesden said, suddenly terrified.  “There’s that war,
and those two warmagi—”

“
Knights
Magi,” Kaffin said, earnestly.  “And don’t you forget it!”  Tyndal was surprised to hear such a defense coming from a boy he’d beaten so soundly.  Maybe these academic magi weren’t so bad after all.

“We
could
be getting conscripted,” Daris agreed, his eyes darting back and forth in a calculating manner.  “I heard the Knights Magi were headed to Relan Cor after this.  They
might
be recruiting.”

“Oh,
shit!
” moaned Jesdan.

“Oh,
relax
,” Bandran of Gars insisted, leaning back and closing his eyes.  “Just appreciate the fact you’re not in class right now.”

“That just means more reading later!” someone else moaned.

“What a bunch of whiny little girls,” Tyndal whispered to Master Secul in amused disgust.

“Do you recognize any of them?” the master asked.

“Well, yes, I’ve seen most of them around campus.  But can I tell who did it by looking at them?  No.  He wore gloves and a mask.  He didn’t speak.  He was enshadowed.”

“Did any of them seem suspiciously guilty?” offered Secul.

“No,” shrugged Tyndal.  “But they’re in their teens.  You don’t feel guilty about
anything
in your teens,” he grinned. 

Master Secul rolled his eyes.  “Very well,” he whispered.  “I had hoped to spot the miscreant before we addressed them, but . . . that, young man, gave me an idea.”

A few moments later Secul and Tyndal walked into the room, each of them holding a roll of parchment.  Tyndal did his best to appear his normal self.  He liked this idea.

“Gentlemen,” he began.  “As you are aware, there is a war on.  The King has requested that the Arcane Orders identify young, talented magi still in academy for potential military training.” There were gasps and oaths from around the room.  “To this end,” Tyndal continued, pleasantly, “we’d like you to write down in your own words what kind of service you could foresee yourselves doing, based on your own assessment of your Talents and skills.”

“Are we getting graded on this?” moaned Kaffin.

“
Ishi’s tits!
  Are we going
tonight?
” Bandran said, anxiously.

“I’m too young to die!” Jesdan squealed.

“Calm down, gentlemen,” Tyndal continued, “there are no immediate plans to conscript you – we’re merely preparing for the possibility.  And hearing from yourselves how you think you would best serve your King and country is the place to start.  If you
don’t
think you’d make a good warmage, tell us why.”

“I’m going to need more parchment!” wailed Jesdan.

He passed out the sheaf of parchment and provided ink and quills to the students, then . . . then sat back and watched.

“What are you watching for?” Master Secul whispered.

“I have no idea,” Tyndal said, confidently, his voice hushed.  “But the Psychomantic grimoires I’ve read have stressed the importance of keen observation of human behavior.  Since that’s about what I’m left with . . .”

Master Secul nodded.  But as Tyndal sat and watched the boys struggle through their military assessment, his heart sank.  If any of them were guilty of the crime, they were hiding it splendidly.

One by one they blew their parchments dry – or used magic to dry them, if they were skilled enough – and then put them in Tyndal’s hand.

“I don’t want to die,” Jesdan said, in a daze as he handed in his short assessment.

“That’s an outstanding attitude for a warrior to have,” Tyndal nodded, sagely, as he took the bookish boy’s parchment.

“
I’m
not afraid,” Kaffin of Gyre said, boldly, handing his in next.  “I fear nothing!”

“That can
also
be an asset, for certain missions,” Tyndal admitted.  Not the kind of missions Tyndal liked.

Bandran scowled as he turned his in.  “I’ve a lucrative prospect as a resident adept, if the war doesn’t get in the way,” he said, angrily.

“No one has asked you to do anything but write,” Master Secul pointed out.

“It’s not that bad,” Daris of Holden’s Mead said, trying to appear casual.  “But I’m not cut out or army life.  My uncle was killed in the battles last year.  Torchwood?  Torchmont? Someplace like that?”

“Timberwatch,” Tyndal corrected.  “I’m sorry.  I was there.”

“Never liked my uncle much,” shrugged Daris, handing Tyndal his sheet.

“So,” Master Secul said, as the last boy reluctantly turned in his paper and then filed out of the Enchanter’s Hall.  “That seemed a waste of time.”

“Not necessarily,” Tyndal said as he rifled through the parchment scraps.  “If the thief is among them, then they saw me here acting as if nothing was wrong, not acting in the panic I
really
want to indulge in right now.  That has to be confusing.  And if not . . .”

“Yes?”

“Then think how happy the warmagi at Relan Cor will be that I got these self-assessments from the rising class at Inarion,” he said, smiling weakly.

“Yes, one never tires of the prospect of hearing of some bright young mind you’ve nurtured and instructed for years go off and get slaughtered,” the master said, sarcastically.

*
                            *                            *

“Any luck?” Tyndal asked hopefully, when he returned to his room. 

“The thief did not leave the premises with the stone,” Rondal declared.  “Of that I am certain.  And if he tries to move it away from here, I’ll know about it, since I warded every possible travel route.  Apart from that, I can’t tell you anything.”

“What?”
Tyndal asked, his eyes wide.  “It’s still
here?”

“It hasn’t been removed from within a mile, I should say,” Rondal said, stretching out on his bed.  “So it’s still close-by.  But shielded.  It took all morning to figure out that much.”

“But if it’s here, then . . . well,
someone
is hiding it!”

“Yes, when you cannot find something that someone took,” he reasoned with exaggerated patience, “it’s usually because
someone is hiding it
.  Damn clever of them, too.”

“All right, enough abuse,” complained Tyndal.  “Of
course
they’re going to hide it—”

“No,” Rondal interrupted.  “I mean they really
were
damn clever.  Wherever they stashed it, it’s hidden from simple scrying. And it’s hidden from intensive scrying.  In fact, I can’t even find it in the Otherworld.  It’s cloaked.”

“You can’t?” Tyndal asked, confused.  “But . . .”