The Alchemist's Touch (28 page)

Ebon sprang and swung. His sword struck the soldier on his breastplate, and the man stumbled back. Ebon held the sword forwards like a spear, while with his other hand he reached down to drag Nella to her feet. But he had only a moment before the soldier recovered and pressed the attack once more. Ebon barely managed to parry a blow.

But Nella had found her strength once more. This time lightning arced forth. It seized upon the soldier’s metal armor and set his limbs to spasms. He collapsed in the street, shrieking, while Ebon and Nella backed away and into the crowd.

Ebon turned to her, and she met his eyes. He saw fear in her gaze—but also confusion, as though she could not understand why he was there.

“Are you all right?” he said.

She nodded. “I…thank you.”

Ebon dropped his gaze and turned away, seeking Theren and Kalem once more.

At last he found them at the rear of the procession, helping to guard the other students from attack. At least Theren was fighting—Kalem stood behind her, eyes glowing but unable to find a place to strike. Ebon knew the boy’s magic was still far younger than Credell’s, and he could not use it without placing himself in striking distance.
 

Theren suffered no such restrictions. She battered back every approaching soldier with unseen force, her eyes an inferno, hands twisted to claws as she lashed out again and again. The instructor beside her took an arrow to the throat and fell to the street. Theren’s eyes flickered to normal as she looked down in horror.

“I am here,” said Ebon, stepping in beside her to fill the gap. “Keep your eyes to the fore. He is beyond your help.”

Her eyes glowed as she touched her magic again, but her voice shook with an answer. “What do you hope to do with that little pigsticker, goldbag?”

Ebon had to laugh. “Not much. But perhaps I can take a blade instead of you.”

“See that you do.” She struck at another soldier, knocking him away.

Their foes were forced to retreat under the onslaught, ducking behind the edges of buildings and hiding their faces. Their corpses littered the street. But Ebon also saw many bodies in black robes, and more in the instructors’ grey. But Jia was not amongst them, for she had retaken human form and was again directing the retreat. The last few students were passing through the doorway carved into the wall. A few more instructors stood within the city, hands raised warily, eyes glowing in readiness for another attack. Ebon’s gaze roved about, seeking a target.

But then, through several buildings and at a great distance, he saw a flash of dark grey. An instructor? He stepped cautiously forwards, squinting. It passed into view again. Yes, an instructor—the Dean, fleeing south and east, away from the fighting, and the Academy. But it was not that sight stopping heart. It was the girl at his side, a girl in fine blue robes and soft shoes. A veil covered the bottom half of her face, but Ebon knew her at once.

Adara.

“Ebon, watch out!”

He had become distracted, and stepped into the open. Two soldiers came for him, while a third fired an arrow. Ebon flinched as it struck him—only, it did not strike him at all. It froze in midair mere inches away, and then Theren was there by his side. Before he could raise his heavy sword, she batted one of the soldiers aside. But the other struck too quickly, and his sword sliced open her arm.
 

Theren cried out and fell to the ground. With a scream, Kalem leapt forth and seized the man’s breastplate. It turned to stone before Ebon’s eyes. The man swayed, off balance. Theren fought to her knees and punched the air. As though she had struck the man himself, he rose up and off his feet, flying back towards his companions.

“Theren!” Ebon fell to his knees beside her. “I am sorry. Are you all right?”

“It is nothing,” she said, gritting her teeth hard, her face going pale.
 

“Come, let us get you to safety,” said Kalem, helping her the rest of the way to her feet. Ebon lent her a hand, but his eyes had returned to the east. He could no longer see the Dean, but had noted the direction of his flight.
 

He looked back. The last students were gone, and the instructors after them. Kalem was helping Theren through the wall, and Jia was there, human again. She looked past them to Ebon. Their eyes met. Her brow furrowed, and she opened her mouth to call to him.

Ebon whirled and vanished into the streets, chasing after the Dean.

thirty-one

THERE WAS NO FIGHTING IN this part of the city, and so Ebon was able to move quickly. Before long he spotted Cyrus, moving quickly but not quite running. Adara walked freely by his side. Every once in a while Cyrus would take her arm, but to steady her rather than drag her along. Ebon guessed that he had threatened her already.

He still carried his blade, but knew not how to use it to best effect. He was unwilling to kill the Dean, though he doubted that Cyrus would show him the same courtesy. But Ebon had to know where he was taking Adara, and for what purpose. Did he merely mean to flee the Seat? Or did he have some deadlier aim? Ebon only knew he would not abandon Adara to Cyrus’ machinations, for the Dean had shown himself to be half a madman already.

Soon Cyrus reached the wall, and moved along it as though searching for something. They passed some towers with doors leading through, but Cyrus passed them. Ebon doubted the Dean would enjoy the idea of climbing down with a rope.
He probably thinks it beneath him,
Ebon thought bitterly.

At last Cyrus reached a tower and entered, Adara in tow. Ebon thought it looked like any other, and watched for a moment. But when neither of them emerged, he stole forwards to the door. It opened easily, and he poked his head inside to see a tower guardroom like any other—yet in the floor, Ebon spotted an open wooden hatch, with stairs descending into darkness, and no torches to light the way.

Ebon hesitated, for the hatch was too dark to see inside. But Cyrus and Adara must have gone that way—there was no other way to leave. He crept to the edge of the hatch and spied the bottom of the stairs, where a stone floor ran away underground, but nothing else.
 

He took one step down, and then another, the sword shaking in his hand. At the bottom, he had to put a hand to the wall to guide himself. But fortunately the wall ran straight and true, so Ebon was able to edge his way along without much trouble.

Suddenly there was a terrible, shuddering groan, and he ducked back against the wall. But then he saw the bright blue light of day far ahead. He squinted against it and spied two figures appear in silhouette. Then they vanished, and left the door open behind them.

Ebon moved faster now that the way was lit, and soon saw that the passageway ended in a door leading outside. There was a small platform, and steps heading up to the left. But beyond the platform was only empty space, and the roar of waves. He reached the end and saw why: he had emerged into the cliffs on the south of the Seat. Along the island’s southern coast, sheer rock faces provided no easy way to reach the waters below. Stairs to his left lead back up the wall to the clifftops high above. Cyrus was nowhere in sight.
 

Ebon quickly climbed the stairway, leaning carefully against the cliff wall, for there was no handrail to steady him. At the top, he spotted them again: Cyrus in his dark grey robes trimmed with gold, and Adara in blue. He ran, for they had gained quite a lead and were making for a break in the cliffs, opened like a rent cut by some great axe.

He began to close the gap, but not quickly enough, for they reached the lip long before him. And as they reached it, Adara happened to glance back over her shoulder. She froze in shock, her mouth opening in a perfect O.

“Ebon!” she cried.

He stopped short, now ten paces away. Cyrus turned in surprise and saw Ebon. He smiled, small and cruel. Then Adara broke away and ran for Ebon. The Dean’s lips twisted in a scowl. He reached forth a hand, eyes glowing, and unseen bonds snatched Adara. She turned her head back to him, frowning.
 

“What is the meaning of this? Release me at once.”

Cyrus shrugged and obeyed. But she did not run for Ebon, and the Dean stared at him with a savage, almost brutish expression.

“Why have you followed me, boy? Should you not be with the rest of your sheep?”

“What are you doing with Adara, Cyrus?” Ebon tried to steady his voice, along with his sword. “Leave her be.”

“Leave her…?” Cyrus threw back his head and laughed. “You foolish boy. She is coming with me, away from this place. I have hired her.”

Ebon swallowed and looked at Adara to see her smiling sadly. “What? Is this true?”

“I am a lover, Ebon. I told you not to dwell on those I spend time with.”

“But with
him?
”
 

Now Adara was glaring at him. “With him, and with many more.”

Ebon took a few cautious steps forwards. Now he and Cyrus were only a few paces away, Adara to the side, between them both. “You do not know what a monster he is.”

Cyrus waved a hand. “Save your whimpering. I know now that I struck at you in error. Our family has abandoned you here to your death, the same as me. But you should count yourself fortunate. I shall permit your company, if you wish, for I could use a servant as I travel.”

“Servant? For you?” Ebon’s hands shook, with rage rather than fear. “Do you think I would lift so much as a finger to help you? You nearly killed me.” Adara turned to Cyrus, fixing the Dean with a steely gaze.

“I thought you were in league with our family,” Cyrus snapped. “But they have outwitted us both, and used us as pawns. Now we have only one hope: flee to the outland kingdoms where no one will find us. I have paid for Adara’s entertainment, but shall take you as well. You will need my protection.”

“I need
nothing
from you!” Ebon took another step forwards. He still held his sword—almost he felt ready to use it. “I would not accept any gift from you, no matter how freely given. I would take my chances against all the wildlands between Idris and Calentin before taking a single step by your side.”

“Very well. Come, Adara.” Cyrus sneered. “We shall leave this simpleminded fool to his own devices.”

“No.” Adara folded her arms. “I will not go with you.”

Ebon caught the flash of something evil in the Dean’s eye. “What?”

“If you attacked him, then you and I are no friends. You will go on your way without my companionship.”

“Friends?” Cyrus jeered.
“Friends?
You are a lover. I have paid you already. Now come. Your guild’s laws are very strict, after all.”

“Take your coin and be damned, you bleating steer.” From her dress Adara pulled a handful of coins and flung them at his feet. “My guild’s laws are very strict indeed, and very clear. I will not take one step by your side more than I wish to.”

Cyrus’ face changed, twisting into a mask of fury. A glow crept into his eyes. “You are mine until I say otherwise.” A claw-shaped hand came towards Adara, and an unseen force hoisted her into the air. “Always you whine to see me cast some spell. Well, here is your spell, woman. Do you like it?”

“Stop it!” Ebon raised his sword and attacked.
 

The Dean reached with his other hand and caught Ebon. Though only a pace away, he was frozen, unable to move a muscle.

“What do you hope to do with that, boy?” The Dean chuckled. “Your gift is an utter waste. Look at how you squander it, batting at me with simple steel. You have not even glimpsed the power of magic, and doubtless never will. Your father was right to hold you back.”

While still keeping Adara suspended, Cyrus pushed with his power, and Ebon was thrown upon his back. The sword sailed from his hand across the dirt. Ebon flew upwards again, came crashing down on his face, and loudly cried out.
 

“Yes, whimper and whine, little pup. You refuse my hospitality? Very well. I shall not kill you, for you will die if you stay here regardless. And what would the family think if I slaughtered one of our own?” He gave a cruel smile. “But then again, perhaps your father would even reward me, if I were to rid him of his worthless son.”

The Dean loomed over him. His glowing eyes grew brighter, and brighter still, until Ebon could not look for fear of being blinded. The force holding him against the ground increased, pressing him down into the dirt, crushing the breath from his body. He fought for a death gasp, his head twisting as it was shoved against the ground. His eyes fixed on Adara. There she hung, watching him die, weeping in fear. No, not fear, he saw, for her eyes never left his. She wept in grief.
For him.

Something rose within him—like the whisper of a familiar voice that he could not place. The world grew brighter, though he knew not why. Was this what it was like to die? A bright light seeping into the world, banishing shadows and turning the sky to a blinding fire?

No,
came the whispering voice.
It is your magic. Your eyes are glowing.

Ebon looked at his hand, twisted where it was crushed against the dirt. And he felt his magic, the way he had felt it on the docks the night before. Power emanated from his hands, and all the strength of his will was turned to wizardry.

He reached out despite the crushing force and seized Cyrus’ ankles. Ebon felt the cloth under his fingers, and the flesh beneath the cloth, and through his fingers he
saw
them—as they appeared, and then as they truly were, all the fibers and tissues and specks of dirt, their essence laid bare before him, awaiting his command.

His eyes flashed brighter, and the Dean’s feet turned to stone.

The force pressing Ebon into the dirt ceased immediately. He looked up and saw that Cyrus’ face was a mask of frozen horror. The Dean screamed, a horrible, screeching wail, cutting through the air to turn Ebon’s stomach. Frantically Cyrus tried to take a step backwards, but now his feet were weights he could not hope to move.

Ebon heard quick footsteps running towards them. Adara came from nowhere, and shoved Cyrus in the chest. The Dean tumbled backwards, struck the edge of the cliff, and slid off. Ebon scrambled forwards to peer over the edge. Cyrus’ body plunged, still screeching, into the Great Bay, where his stone feet dragged him beneath the water.