The Alchemist's Touch (24 page)

He flew a pace away from the wall and then came crashing back. His head struck the stone hard, and stars exploded in his vision.

“Impudent whelp. Did I not tell you? Did I not ask you, ever so kindly, to tell me if you spoke to our family? I did, and yet you disobeyed. I knew you were in league with them. I knew you had the ear of your precious aunt. Tell me why they have cut me off. Tell me why they no longer answer my letters, no matter how many I send.
Tell me!”

Again he slammed Ebon into the wall, and then the invisible strings vanished. Ebon fell forwards, so senseless he could not even break his fall. The grass cushioned his landing, but still it felt as though he had been punched in the chest. Barely able to see, Ebon pushed himself up to his elbows.

“She told me nothing,” he said, voice coming thick and bubbly through the blood gushing from his lip. “She said nothing of you. I do not know what has—”

His limbs were seized, and Ebon rose into the air, not too high—no doubt the Dean feared to lift him into view of any students who might be in the training grounds—but he could go much, much higher if Cyrus so wished it.

“You lie. You are in league with them. You were sent here to spy on me!”

“I was not,” Ebon said, now sobbing. “I do not know why I was sent here. Halab said nothing to me of you. I swear it. She asked only after my studies.”

“Tell me the truth, or I will throw you over the wall, and let you splatter to soup on the pavement beyond! This is your last chance. Tell me what you and Halab spoke of.”

“I swear it! I swear it to you!” His guts churned in shame, but Ebon could not stop himself from crying, crying as he had not since he was a little boy, and word had come of Momen’s fate; killed in some far-off land, a battle far from home and family. Now Ebon faced the same fate.

Cyrus studied him, his face twisted in fury. Then he relaxed and lowered his hands from where they had been twisted to claws before him. The glow died from his eyes. Ebon crashed back to the dirt, and lay there shaking.

“A pathetic boy you prove indeed,” snarled Cyrus. “No subterfuge can be that complete. I wager if I stepped closer, I could smell that you have soiled yourself.”

Ebon offered no answer, pressing his face deeper into the grass, groveling. He waited for Cyrus to continue, but no words came. After a time he looked up, only to find that the Dean had vanished into the darkness. His face fell back to the ground, and Ebon wept until his tears had soaked the grass, mingling with the blood still flowing freely from his mouth.

He heard quick footsteps growing louder, before hands seized his shoulders and rolled him onto his back.

“No! No, please, I swear I know nothing!”

“Shush!” Theren dragged him to a sitting position, and then pulled him close. There she held him, his face pressed into her shoulder, uncaring of the blood and tears soaking into her robe. “Shush,” she repeated, now rocking him like a mother to her babe. Ebon clutched Theren like a wall in an earthquake, and sobbed.
 

It was a long while before his tears finally subsided. When they did, he sat back, and to his shock saw that Theren, too, was weeping. She tried to hide it, swiping a sleeve across her cheeks, but Ebon could see where her tears had left their marks, and the red of her eyes in the moonslight.

“I saw him,” she said, her voice shaking. “I saw it all. Forgive me, Ebon. I wanted to intervene, but I was so afraid. He is the Dean…he is more than a match for me, and I…forgive me.”

She clutched at Ebon again, and he found himself comforting her in turn. “I forgive you,” he murmured. “I would have been just as scared.”

“You are not even a wizard yet. I am a mindmage. Mayhap I could have stopped him. If he had tried to send you over the wall, as he threatened, I would have torn down the Academy to stop him.”

“I know you would,” Ebon said, pushing Theren back and looking into her eyes. “I know it. You are my friend, after all, are you not?”

She gently pounded his chest with hers. “A terrible friend I have proved to be. Too craven to stand in your defense, and too arrogant to believe what you said about your family.”

“Ah,” said Ebon, forcing himself to smile. “So at last you believe me when I say I am no pampered, favored son of the Draydens?”

“I should say so.” She laughed despite herself, and swiped at her nose with a sleeve. Then her tears welled anew, and she looked away, as though unable to meet his eyes. “Ebon, I wanted so badly to help you. But I would have been expelled.”

“Yes, you would have. As I said, I might have done the same.”

“No, that is not all I meant. Ebon, leaving the Academy would be the worst thing that could happen to me. I doubt the Dean could have killed me, but he could have sent me away. And I fear that more than death itself.”

Ebon frowned. “Why?”

Theren stood instead of answering, and then helped Ebon to the bench nearby. Together they sat. Still she said nothing, her hands pressed together, gaze far away, as Ebon’s had been before the attack.

“When I discovered my gift,” she finally said, speaking slowly, “I was living on the streets of a city called Cabrus.”

“It is in Selvan, is it not?”

“It is, and no decent place for an orphaned girl. I fled the orphanage when I was young, for the matron there was cruel to us. But on the streets I found someone far worse: a weremage who tried to kill any urchin girls she found. I avoided her as long as I could, hoping to one day find passage from the city and finally out of her grasp. That is when I learned of my gift, and before long, word reached my patron.

“She is a woman named Imara, of the family Keren, and I think she earnestly believes that all things in Underrealm exist to serve her—to be either amusing, or useful. She saw me as some mix of both. She had me tested, to confirm my gift, and then offered her patronage. I accepted, though I greatly disliked her, for my only other choice was to remain an urchin, and someday die. If I ever return to Cabrus, I shall be her lackey for the rest of my days.”

“Can you not earn your way out of her service? There are laws.”

Theren shook her head, the smile sad upon her face. “Spoken like a true child of wealth, though I hold no rancor against you for that. Laws can be bent, if not broken, and the wealthy have perfected the art. I could try to flee her service, of course. But if Imara is spoiled and vain, she is also spiteful, full of wrath for those who wrong her, whether she imagines it or no. And so I remain here. I could pass every test now; I have learned them all and done them in private to ensure that I could. But I wish to remain here as long as I can. I only…it is a terrible excuse, yet I needed you to know why I did not try to stop the Dean. He would only send me home…to
her.
”

Ebon looked at his hands, fingers braided tightly enough to bleach the knuckles. It seemed terribly unfair. Suddenly, even his own family seemed less onerous considering Theren’s circumstances.

“I wish I could help you. Only I do not know how. My family
could
help, of course—our purses are deep enough to pay off your service, with room to spare. Yet my father would never agree to it.”

An idea hit him, like a globe of fire igniting in his mind. Ebon’s hand moved of its own accord, gripping her arm. “Come. We must find Kalem.”

“What?” Theren frowned. “Why?”

“Trust me. Come, you will have to help me walk.”

He threw an arm over her shoulder, and together they hobbled into the Academy like wounded soldiers, up the stairs towards the younger children’s dormitories, careful to avoid any instructors—Ebon did not wish to explain why he looked as if he had been beaten by an angry mob. Soon they were in the hallway outside Kalem’s common room, and Theren left him leaning against the wall while she ducked in to fetch the boy.

When Kalem came out into the hallway with her, his eyes fell upon Ebon and widened with shock. “Ebon! What has happened to you?”

“Do not trouble yourself about it,” Ebon said. “But come with us.”

They made their way to the stairwell, stopping in between floors and sitting together on the steps. Ebon knew their voices might carry far on the stones, but then again they would be able to hear anyone coming well before they could be seen.

“My father is up to something,” he said. “We know that from the map. My aunt may think otherwise, but I believe she thinks of my father in his childhood. I have lived with him the last sixteen summers. He has some plot, and I believe it must be a dark one. I wish to learn what it is, and there is only one place where we can.”

A smile spread across Theren’s face. “The docks.”

“You want to go there?” Kalem whispered. “You cannot be serious. Ebon, we have nearly been thrown from the Academy, and killed. And besides, you look as though it hurts to walk.”

“I shall be fine,” said Ebon, forcing a smile. “I need only a bath and a night’s rest.”

“So, we learn what your father plans upon the Seat,” said Theren. “Then what?”

“We cannot just learn it. We must
prove
it. If we can bring proof to my aunt, she will deal with my father. Somehow.” Ebon frowned, for in truth he had not thought that far ahead. But he shook it away—Father had built this bed, and would lie in it of his own accord. “Then, mayhap I can convince her to help you. Or, if I find myself the head of my household, I can help you myself.”

Kalem frowned. “That seems a shaky plan at best. It requires overmuch on luck.”

“Yet it is all we have,” said Ebon. “Rest well tonight. We make for the docks on the morrow.”

twenty-six

EBON TOOK A LONG BATH and retired too early. He woke feeling refreshed in mind, but battered in body. Bruises covered most of his flesh, and the back of his head was still tender. But whether by design or fortune, the Dean had left his face unmarked, except for a deep cut on his lip. Though he walked tenderly through the day, neither instructors nor students gave him so much as a second look.

At the midday meal, he ate with Theren and Kalem. They spoke little, only a few muted words, and nothing about the evening’s plan. Ebon thought they must feel as afraid as he did. But he also felt a curious resolution. For once in his life he was taking a stand against Father, and he could not deny the powerful feeling that gave him.
 

When evening came, they snuck out into the training grounds. Again Kalem cast his mists, and Theren helped them over the wall. Ebon still found it a terrifying prospect, but did not have as much difficulty as before. Once outside the walls, Theren swiftly led them through the streets.

They had to cross most of the island, so they wasted little time talking. The moons hung almost straight above them by the time they finally reached the Seat’s eastern gate. They stopped between two houses, a stone’s throw from the wall. The gate stood nearly seven paces high, a huge portcullis wrought in iron with a man-sized door in the side.
 

“I have only snuck out once,” said Theren, pointing to the door. “It was difficult, but this time, Kalem’s mists should make it easier. I shall distract the guards. Once they are away from the gate, Kalem, cast your spell.”

Kalem nodded, his wide eyes shining in the moonslight. Though Ebon could see the fear in his face, but for once the boy made no complaint.

Theren raised her hands, and a glow lit her eyes. Ebon could see two guards, one to either side of the gate. They must have had little reason to suspect trouble, for they both leaned against the wall in positions of easy rest. All of a sudden, they both pitched forwards as if pushed, catching their feet immediately, hands flying to their swords as they peered into the darkness.

“What was that?” said one.

“I do not know,” said the other, leaning forwards and squinting into the darkness. “Who is there?”

Theren shoved them both again, away from the portcullis. They stumbled, and this time one tumbled to the pavement.

“It is some spell!” said the one still standing. The air rang as he drew his steel.

“Once more, and then it is your turn, Kalem,” Theren murmured.
 

Her hands twisted, and the guards stepped farther from the portcullis. Mist thickened the air, flooding the ground all around the gate, thick and soupy. Theren gripped his arm and pulled him forwards, dragging Kalem along with them both. The guards shouted in the fog, their voices far away. Together the friends found the wall, and then edged it until they reached the portcullis. The door had no lock, only a heavy latch keeping it from entry outside. Ebon lifted the latch as quietly as he could and rushed through the door. Theren and Kalem were only a half step behind, and Theren closed the door immediately.

They raced from the gate. The stone road soon turned to old, weather-beaten wooden planks. Theren pulled them to the side, where great stacks of crates and barrels stood in rows. Once they had vanished among the cargo, Kalem let his mists fall away. They had made the docks.

“A fine job,” said Ebon.

“It will be harder to get in, but not by much,” said Theren. “I can lift the latch from outside.”

“Excellent,” Ebon said. “Let us be quick.”

He had stowed the map in one of his pockets, and withdrew it now. They spread it out where the moonslight fell between the crates, studying it in the pale silver glow. The docks were drawn in some detail, and they could see where the ships had been drawn, both to the south of where they now stood.

“Let us go south,” said Ebon, “and see if we can find where these ships lay.”

“Very well, but be careful. Look.” Theren leaned beyond the crate and pointed. Ebon and Kalem followed her finger. There in the moonslight they could see a figure—Ebon barely made out the hardened red leather of the constable’s pauldrons.

Ebon said, “Likely there are more, but we can avoid them if we are careful. Kalem, if we are spotted, you will have to hide us.”
 

He made to lead them, but Theren waved him back. “You are still tender. Let me go first.”

Theren set off among the cargo and down the dock. They had many stacks to hide behind, but between each one they were forced to make a harrowing run across open space. Ebon’s heart leapt into his throat every time. But Theren timed their runs well, so that no constable was ever nearby. Before another hour had passed, the trio had moved far down the docks to the first spot marked on the map.