The Mindmage's Wrath: A Book of Underrealm (The Academy Journals 2) (2 page)

“And that is what made me think of the theft when you were staring your daggers at Lilith,” said Theren. “You see, she—”

But just then, the bell tolled, signaling the start of morning classes. Theren looked across the dining hall, where Lilith was collecting her dishes for the kitchen.

“Damn. We should speak more of this, for there is much to tell. This afternoon, in the library.” She shot to her feet and scooped up her plates with a simple mindspell, suspending them in the air as she weaved her way through the dining hall.
 

“The library? But...” Kalem’s voice trailed away, for she was already gone. He and Ebon rose more slowly, scooping their dishes up with their hands. But as Ebon found his feet and turned, he ran hard into another student, and all their dishes fell to the stone floor together.

“Sky,” spat Ebon, trying to brush remnants of egg and porridge from his sleeve. Then he looked up and blanched. He stared into the dark eyes of a girl he had met before. He had seen her in his common room on his first day in the Academy. When he had tried to befriend her, she had crushed an iron goblet before his eyes.
 

“I am sorry,” stammered Ebon.

“Why should you be?” said the girl, her voice an apathetic monotone. “It was an accident. I was behind you anyway.”

Her eyes glowed, and Ebon braced himself for a blow. But instead, his dishes sprang up from the floor and into his hands, while the girl’s flew into her own. She sauntered off without a word. Ebon let out a sigh.

Kalem snickered beside him. “I was afraid you would soil your underclothes. Why are you so afraid of that one?”

“I met her the day I arrived. She was...much less friendly, then. She crushed a goblet of iron like it was parchment, and I thought I saw ill will in her eyes.”

Kalem shrugged. “Well, she is a powerful mindmage, and no mistake. Isra, I believe her name is. But she is not so fearsome as you make her out to be. And after the attack on the Seat, I think any ill will between students has fled the Academy’s halls.”

“Not so with Lilith.”

“No, I suppose not.”

They shuffled with the other students towards the kitchens to discard their bowls, and then the assembly passed muted and mournful into the halls. Theren joined them outside the dining hall, and just before Ebon left for the first-years’ classroom, he gave his friends a wan smile.

“Wish me good fortune,” he said.

“You do not need it,” said Theren. “Or if you do, then you should not be graduating in the first place.”

“That is not helpful,” Kalem said, scowling at Theren. “Good fortune, Ebon.”

two

OLDER STUDENTS PEELED AWAY AS Ebon made his way towards Credell’s class, and the crowd around him grew ever younger. He quite looked forward to having older classmates soon. Credell’s students were all first-years, children of ten or eleven. The next class would bring only one year’s improvement, but Ebon hoped he would look a little less out of place.

He reached Credell’s classroom and stepped through the door. The instructor had not yet arrived, but many students had, and in the front row he saw little wild-haired Astrea—the only student in his class to befriend him. She brightened at the sight of him and waved eagerly. He gave her a small smile and waved back, ruffling her hair and making her giggle as he made his way to the back row of benches.

More first- and second-years had been withdrawn from the Academy than from among the older children. Astrea was one of only six left in the class, besides Ebon himself. It made him wonder why they did not combine this class and the next into one. But then he realized Credell would teach him for two years if that were the case, and he shuddered.

Credell arrived at last. He gave the room a quick look, his eyes lingering for a moment upon Ebon. Since the attack on the Seat, Credell’s fear seemed to have lessened somewhat. Yet still the instructor jumped when Ebon spoke too loudly or moved too quickly.

“Well, ah, class. Ahem,” said Credell. “Normally I would have you all resume your lessons. But today we have a matter of ceremony we must attend to first. Ah, er...Ebon, would you please approach the front of the classroom?”

Ebon slid down his bench and went forwards, acutely aware of the other students staring at him. Many of them had been there months longer than Ebon, and he could feel their awe that he had graduated so swiftly. He wondered if he would have been ready for this first test so quickly, if it had not been for Cyrus.

Credell held forth a wooden rod, careful not to brush Ebon’s fingers with his own as he handed it over. Ebon turned to the class, holding the rod high. He felt the grain of it beneath his fingers, the tiny ridges and valleys of its form. In his mind’s eye, he peered
into
the wood itself, seeing its true nature, the countless tiny parts that composed it—

—his hand wrapped around Cyrus’ ankle, the spark of power within him, flesh turning to stone—

—he squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head to banish the images. They faded, but reluctantly. The rod was still wooden. Now Credell and the students were staring at him expectantly.

Ebon drew a deep breath through his nose and released it slowly from his lips. He focused on the wood again.

And then the room grew brighter—or at least it appeared to, for Ebon’s eyes were glowing. He saw the wood for what it was. And then he changed it.
 

Pure, simple stone, grey and lifeless and solid, rippled from his fingers. In a moment it was done, and the rod had been turned. Around the room, children reached up to scratch at their necks, or shook their heads as though repulsing a fly. Ebon knew they could sense his magic, though many of them had not yet learned to use it themselves. Wizards could always detect spells from their own branch, or from the mirror branch.

“Well done,” said Credell, his relief plain. Clearly he was as eager to be rid of Ebon as Ebon was to leave the class. He reached out and awkwardly patted the boy on his shoulder. Ebon returned the rod. With a flourish of his fingers, Credell turned it back into wood.

“Class, you have borne witness. Ebon has mastered the first test of the transmuter, and has moved beyond us. Rise now, and let us escort him to his new instructor.”

The children rose silent and solemn, filing into a line in the room’s center. Credell led them into the halls. They passed several doors—the first-year classes of the other branches of magic—before reaching one where Credell stopped. He tapped out a trio of soft knocks.

“Come in!” commanded a woman’s voice, thick and rich and full of power. Credell nearly dropped the rod in fright, so sudden was her call. But he swallowed hard and opened the door. Ebon followed him inside.

This room had a window overlooking the training grounds, and for a moment the morning’s light made Ebon blink and shield his eyes. Once they adjusted, he looked about. The room was much the same as Credell’s: two files of benches stretching from the front to the back, every one with its own desk, and a handful of students scattered among them. But many bookshelves were lined against the wall with the door, filled with thick leather tomes of every description. Ebon was surprised. He had not seen any other classrooms with bookshelves. He had thought the Academy’s books were all harbored in its vast library. The thought of yet more things to read set his head spinning.

Then Ebon looked to the front of the room, and his heart skipped a beat. There behind the lectern was, quite simply, the most massive woman he had ever seen. Her shoulders seemed to stretch as wide as Ebon’s arm span, and though the ceiling was at least a pace above her head, her stature made it seem that she might bump against it. Huge hands gripped the lectern’s edges and nearly enveloped it, and her dark grey instructor’s robes strained mightily to contain her frame. Her eyes seemed small compared to the rest of her ruddy features, yet they sparkled with interest even when the sunlight missed them. Ebon thought this woman looked nothing like a wizard, but rather a mighty warrior of campfire legend, stripped of armor and shrouded instead in cloth, against which her body tried to rebel.

“This is the new one, then? Well, come in, boy. I am Perrin, of the family Arkus. Let us get your test seen to, for I was just introducing myself to the other students.”

“Erm...ah...yes,” said Credell, quaking as hard as he ever had when confronting Cyrus, the former Dean. “E-E-Ebon, here you are. T-take it.”

Ebon took the wooden rod, which Credell had extended in trembling fingers. He brought it to Perrin and waited.

“Well? Go on. You’ve done it once already—or should have, before you were brought here.”

Ebon nodded, at a loss for words. He turned to the class and held the rod aloft. This time, shock at Perrin’s appearance kept his thoughts from drifting to Cyrus. His eyes glowed, and stone rippled along the rod.

“Good!” said Perrin. She clapped her hands, and the sound was like thunder. “And can you change it back?”

The blood drained from Ebon’s face. “I—what? No, I only—”

“Oh, calm yourself,” said Perrin, waving him off. “I only asked from curiosity—it is not a requirement. Now, be seated quickly. Or, no, that is not right. Remain here. There is the ceremony, is there not?”

She stepped out from behind the lectern—revealing boots that Ebon could have fit both feet into—and approached Credell. The craven little instructor quailed as Perrin thrust the rod towards him.

“Do you vow that you have instructed this pupil to the best of your ability, in judgement as well as in skill?”

“I...I so vow,” whimpered Credell, taking the rod. He made a brave, but ultimately futile attempt to straighten his shoulders. “Do you vow that you will continue his instruction, in judgement as well as in skill, to the best of your ability?”

“I so vow. Now, as I said, I have scarcely been able to speak to my new students. If you do not mind.”

Perrin reached out and threw the door open. Then quickly—but not unkindly—she ushered Credell’s class through it. Ebon caught one last glimpse of Astrea waving him a happy good-bye before the door shut between them.

“Well, then. Find yourself a seat. There are many open benches—too many, it is a tragedy to say. Sit near the front, for I shall have to work with you first, or else you will no doubt wander like a hatchling without its mother.”

Ebon nodded and made for a seat. One bench in the second row was entirely unoccupied, and he slid onto it. Perrin returned to the lectern and cleared her throat into a meaty fist.

“Now, then. Welcome, ah...hrm. What was your name?”

“Ebon, of the family—” He stopped short. He had not meant to mention his family name. But now Perrin was peering at him, and he could feel the other students’ curiosity at his pause. He gritted his teeth. “Of the family Drayden.”

If Perrin thought anything of it, she gave no sign, though Ebon thought he felt several students stiffen. “Well then, welcome, Ebon. I will say to you what I told the class before your arrival: I do not know you, and you do not know me. Yet I knew something of your former instructor, Lupa, for she was only a few years behind me when I myself studied here. A good woman. But you are left with me, for which I apologize. You deserve someone wiser, more powerful in transmutation, and certainly a good deal more patient. Those things I cannot promise you. But this I can vow: I will do my best to make of you what I can, and help you along your road to knowledge. And I can promise you what the High King Enalyn, sky bless her name, has promised us all: I will keep you safe with my every breath. I will serve you to the limits of my power. And I will—”

A sharp rapping came at the door, and Perrin stopped short. She glowered, hands gripping the lectern tighter for a moment. “Come in, and be quick!” The bark in her voice made every student in the room jump.

The door swung open, and in swept the Academy’s new Dean, Xain of the family Forredar. He was a lank man and pale of skin, with thin black hair hanging down to his shoulders. His dark grey robes bore no ornamentation as the former Dean’s had, and yet somehow Xain looked far more impressive in them. It was something in his eyes, Ebon decided. They were haunted, yes, and yet they bore also a steely resolve. Though his frame was slight, and could have appeared frail, there was a set to his shoulders that spoke of grim determination.

It was a moment before Ebon realized that Xain was not alone. Beside him was a boy who could not have been more than ten years of age. Ebon wondered if he was a new student at the Academy—until he saw the boy’s dark eyes and pinched nose. They were the same as Xain’s. He had to be a relation, perhaps even his son.

Though Perrin had answered gruffly at Xain’s knock, she now beamed a warm smile. “Good morn, Dean Forredar. We are honored by your presence.”

“No more than the Academy is honored by yours, Perrin. Instructor Arkus, I mean. Forgive me—my tongue has nearly forgotten the Academy’s courtesies.”

He stepped forwards and extended a hand. Perrin clasped his wrist firmly. “And mine the same. Though no great surprise, considering the years.”

Xain nodded and turned to the class. His tone grew brisk, if not entirely unfriendly. “Greetings, students. You know who I am, or something of me, at least. But I would wager you have had little chance to know your new instructor, and thus you cannot understand the honor you have been granted. Perrin of the family Arkus is as good a woman as I have ever met. I hope you will afford her your utmost attention, and your most earnest effort.”

“The Dean is far too kind,” replied Perrin, stifling a smile. “Though I will not deny you should heed his advice, if ever you wish to pass this class. And who have you brought with you? This cannot be little Erin.”

“It is, though not so little anymore.” Xain beckoned the boy forwards. Erin came timidly, balking at the instructor’s great size. But Perrin stooped until she was nearly at eye level with the boy, and gravely reached for his hand.

“It is my pleasure to meet you, young sir. And my heart is gladdened to see you by your father’s side again.”

Erin smiled bashfully. “Thank you, madam.” His voice was so soft, Ebon could hardly hear it from where he sat.