The Mindmage's Wrath: A Book of Underrealm (The Academy Journals 2) (24 page)

“Never mind their number,” said Kalem. “Why three different groups? What would the High King, the Academy, and the Mystics all wish to guard?”

“What indeed?” grated a harsh voice just behind them.

Ebon jumped and turned around, heart in his throat. There behind them stood Xain. Kalem gave a little squeak, and Theren’s face grew stony. But Xain ignored them both, instead casting all of his ire upon Ebon. Ebon, for his part, tried to match the wizard’s gaze.

“Why are you skulking about here, Drayden?”

“We are on our way to the Academy from my family’s manor.”

“Yes, your manor,” Xain sneered. “I know it is close by. That is why I chose this place for my home. How do you like it?”

Ebon glanced over his shoulder, at a loss for words. “Your ... home? This is where you live?”

“I am only recently returned to the Seat, and have been searching for a suitable dwelling. When I found this one, I knew I had to have it—so close to the Drayden manor, where I can keep an eye upon the scheming of your kin. Keep foes closer than friends, as they say.”

“It seems a sturdy house,” said Kalem, his voice cracking.

Xain ignored that. “I have a warning for your family, Ebon. Tell them to be on watch, for they are being observed. Too long did they plague me when last I dwelt on the Seat, and too long did they keep me gone after they drove me out. Now I have returned, and I have the High King’s favor. The days of their power in Underrealm are numbered.”

“I had nothing to do with whatever quarrels you had with my family,” said Ebon. “I mean you no ill will.”

“Ill will? What does your will matter? You have been raised as one of them. Doubtless you have joined their schemes without even realizing it. So whoever your master may be, tell them what I have told you.”

“I have no master.” But even as Ebon said it, he thought of the task Mako had given him, the counterfeit uniform he had delivered in the dead of night. He shook the thought away. “Nearly all of my kin hate me anyway.”

Xain looked to Theren and Kalem then. “As for the two of you—you would do well to quit this boy’s company. No matter what he has told you, you cannot trust a Drayden. Walk by his side, and one day you will find yourselves alone and friendless, betrayed in pursuit of some long-festering scheme.”

“I can choose my friends for myself,” Theren snapped.

Kalem raised his hands, palms outward. “I think tempers have run high. Certainly there is some sort of common ground—”

Light snapped into Xain’s eyes, and he raised a hand. “Begone,” he growled. “And if I catch you skulking about again, I will not be so lenient.”

Theren raised her own hands in response, but Ebon seized her arm even as her eyes glowed to meet Xain’s. “No, Theren.” He pulled her towards the mouth of the alley, refusing to meet the Dean’s eye. At first Theren resisted, but in the end she let herself be pulled along. Once around the corner, they broke into a jog, and then a sprint once out of sight of Xain’s home.

After a few streets Ebon felt safe enough to stop. He bent double, hands on his knees, while Kalem sank to the ground, his back against a stone wall. Theren scarcely seemed winded, and she glared back the way they had come, fists on her hips.

“Why was Dasko there?”

“Did you not understand even that much?” said Kalem. “He was helping Xain move into his new home.”

“I know that is what they were doing,” said Theren. “But why
Dasko?
He is an instructor at the Academy. Any number of day laborers could be hired, if Xain needed to move a few crates.”

“It is likely they are friends,” said Kalem. “I know Xain and that new instructor, Perrin, attended the Academy together. Dasko seems of an age with them. It is not Dasko’s presence that intrigues me, but that of the other guards.”

“I think I know something of that,” said Ebon, for he had just remembered his conversation with Mako. “Xain performed some great service for the High King, for which she honored him greatly. It is why he was allowed to return to the Seat after my family drove him out, as you heard him say. The guards must have been posted by the High King.”

“She could command the Mystics
and
instructors from the Academy to join her own guards,” said Theren, nodding. “That makes sense. But what threat does she think Xain faces? What threat does
he
think he faces? Surely he is not afraid of Ebon’s paltry might—though I mean no offense by that.”

Ebon raised his eyebrows. “No, clearly not.”

Kalem pushed himself up from the ground. “Well, we will do ourselves no good sitting here wondering about it. And now my robes are soaked by the snow. Come, let us return home, before I catch my death of cold.”

“Xain is a firemage,” said Theren, laying her arm across Kalem’s shoulders as they set off together. “You could return and ask him to dry you out with his flames.”

Ebon shook his head and went after his friends.

twenty-five

THEY GATHERED IN THE DINING hall for the Yearsend feast some time later. The food had been laid out, and was hidden beneath white sheets held up on wooden frames, concealing the meal from view. But the sheets could not mask the smell, which wafted through the hall and set every mouth to watering.

The instructors’ table stood at the head of the hall. Xain sat in the place of honor, with his son Erin beside him. Once the hour struck, Xain stood and raised a goblet of wine. Everyone quieted, and he waited a moment in silence. When at last he spoke, his thick voice filled the room’s every corner, thrumming in Ebon’s breast.

“Since time before time, Yearsend has been an occasion for joy. We herald the passing of another year of our lives, and the sky’s bounty that has allowed our survival. But that celebration is always tempered by mourning, for we acknowledge those who have gone to the darkness below, and thank them for their gifts in life. This year has given us more cause for mourning than most. Many have been lost, and some greater than others.”

His next word cut short in a choking sound, and he bowed his head. The hall was deathly still. Ebon, Theren, and Kalem looked to each other uncertainly. The silence lasted only a moment, but when Xain raised his head, his cheeks were wet.

“Some give their lives that we might go on. Others give their lives that we might find redemption—they bring us back from the darkness, though we stand on its brink. Still others give their lives to time’s natural sway, and then our mourning is not so bitter. But worst of all are those who are taken without reason, claimed by the madness of a sick mind, or by the treachery of a kingdom breaking its vows. Often we seek explanation. It is rarely to be found. We can only honor the dead, who we shall never see again.”

Another pause. Ebon heard many students in the hall hiding their sniffles, while others sobbed openly. Xain raised his goblet higher.

“To those in the darkness.”

Every cup lifted. “To those in the darkness.”

They drank, and then the first course was brought round the tables.

That evening’s Yearsend feast left nothing to be desired, fulfilling every wildest tale Ebon had ever heard of the celebration’s splendor upon the Seat. Throughout each year, the Academy had to serve hundreds of students three times a day. While the food was wholesome and hearty, it was rarely delicious. During Yearsend, it seemed, the cooks aimed to make up for all the rest of the year’s plain fare. There were fine roasts of meat, of boar and beef and lamb, flavored with wonderful spices, served tender enough to fall off the bone. They were joined by crops from all across the nine lands, so that the students had chickpea spread and figs from Idris, and then at the next table, buttered yams and yellow rice from Calentin. In the center of the spread was a table filled to bursting with desserts, where honeyed confections of every type were piled high, and students were free to take what they wished. Wine was also served, although this was held by the cooks, and only given to students who were old enough, and even then withheld if they thought a student had had too much—the last thing the Academy needed was a drunken brawl with hundreds of young wizards who had yet to fully command their powers.

Again and again Ebon went to the serving table to load his plate with more food, again and again leaning back on his bench and clutching at his belly, afraid it would burst. At last he gave up, leaning heavily on the table, sipping lightly at the last of his wine. Kalem’s head was nodding beside him, and across the table Theren was licking honey from her fingers.

“A particularly fine feast this year,” she said, and gave a loud belch.

“I will not say it is the finest food I have ever eaten, yet I would count this as my favorite meal,” said Ebon. “Rarely in my life have I been able to take such a meal with friends, rather than a father who made my life a torment.”

“Hmmm?” said Kalem, looking at them sleepily. “Ah, yes. A fine feast indeed.”

Theren chuckled and shook her head. But then Ebon felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up to find Dasko looking down upon him.

“Good eve, Ebon. Have you enjoyed your feast?”

Ebon nodded. “Very much so, Instructor. I hope you have as well.”

“Indeed. Might we still take that walk, as I requested?”

“Of course.” Ebon stood, but then looked to his friends.

Theren waved him off. “Go. I should get this one to bed.” She pointed to Kalem, who seemed in danger of falling asleep and drowning in buttered yams.

“Good night, then,” said Ebon. “I will see you upon the morrow.” And he set off through the dining hall after Dasko.

Dasko led him through the hallways and out a white cedar door into the training grounds. The moons lit the night well, and torches mounted along the citadel’s walls helped them pick their way forth on the garden path. The instructor did not speak immediately, but let the night’s silence rest, occasionally looking up at the stars as they shone bright in the sky.

“I have only been an instructor here for a few years,” Dasko said at last. “I studied here in my youth, of course, but that was long ago. I feel as though I have been rediscovering the place anew. It is certainly a different experience, being an instructor.”

Ebon blinked, and then frowned. “I imagine it would be.”

Dasko sighed. “My apologies. I am not certain how to say what I mean, and so I prattle about inconsequential things. That, and not my preoccupation with Lilith’s crimes, is what kept me from speaking with you before today.”

He stopped, and Ebon halted beside him. Again Dasko looked up at the stars, his jaw working.

“Before I returned to the Academy, I was a mercenary,” he finally said, his voice so soft that Ebon leaned closer to hear it. “I fought for a sellsword army that marched across the nine lands. We served with many great families, both merchant and noble. And in one campaign, I served your family. The Draydens. That is when I met your brother.”

Ebon felt as though someone had struck him in the gut. He had scarcely thought of Momen since first he came to the Academy. Indeed, ever since his brother’s death years ago, Ebon had tried to avoid thinking of it at all. He felt suddenly light-headed.

“Momen and I became fast friends after our first battle together,” Dasko went on. “When you came to the Academy, I hardly noticed you, though sometimes a thought tickled my mind. Then, after the attack on the Seat, Jia was frantic, because you had been separated from the rest of the students. Though we eventually found you, her mention of your name was what let the pieces fall into place—Ebon of the family Drayden, younger brother of my friend Momen. During all the time we served together, he would speak of you more often than anything else.”

A gasp escaped before Ebon could stop it. His eyes burned, and he turned away, swiping at them with the back of his sleeve. The air felt suddenly frozen, and he raised his hood against it. Dasko took his shoulder gently and guided him towards a stone bench. Ebon sank onto it, hiding his face in his hands and trying to master himself.

“I am sorry to resurrect grief,” murmured Dasko. “I did not mean to bring sadness, but advice.”

“What advice?” said Ebon, no longer caring at how his voice broke. He found himself growing angry with Dasko—angry that the man would presume to speak of his brother, who he could not have known half so well as Ebon.

“Before Dean Cyrus fled the Academy, it seems that you and he had little love for each other,” Dasko said carefully.

Through his grief, Ebon’s heart skipped a beat. What did Cyrus have to do with anything? “He was not overfond of me, no.”

Dasko looked him in the eye. “Was that because of some personal disagreement between the two of you, or because of some more general schism between you and the family Drayden?”

Ebon shrugged and looked away. “I know not what you speak of.”

“I think you do,” said Dasko. “Momen often felt the same way—never comfortable in the company of his family, and always burdened by their reputation, which as you know is fearsome. Always he wanted to cast off their name, and something tells me that you may be similar.”

Though he would have been loath to admit it, a thrill trickled through Ebon’s heart. He never knew Momen had felt the same way about their family. “Even if that were true, what do you expect me to do? I was born a Drayden. I will die a Drayden.”

“Yet you need not live your life under the suspicion of others. You must know that Dean Xain thinks ill of you, for no other reason than your family’s name. I know it cannot be easy to shed that shadow, when everyone you meet can see only the darkness it wraps around you.”

“And what can I do about that? In truth, I am used to it. I have little choice but to duck my head and hope to go unnoticed.”

“But you have been noticed, Ebon,” said Dasko, leaning forwards. “Xain does not wish to admit it, but the other faculty know you suspected Lilith from the first. And you may have helped expose her earlier than she would have been otherwise. Soon the Mystics will have wheedled the artifacts out of her. Because of you, the Academy now takes steps to ensure the artifacts will be safer in the future. You should be proud of that, at least. And you owe nothing of that to your family.”