The Mindmage's Wrath: A Book of Underrealm (The Academy Journals 2) (34 page)

He refused to look at Mako. But from the corner of his eye he was aware of the bodyguard unchaining Matami’s corpse from the chair, and then dragging it towards one of the other passageways. There he dropped the body over the edge. Ebon heard it splash, and then a wet slithering as it was carried away down the channel, which must not have been covered by an iron grate like the rest. Then Mako came to stand above Ebon. He looked down for a moment, eyes sad, and then finally lowered a hand.

“Come, little goldbag,” he said quietly. “It is over now. The sewer will carry him to the Great Bay, and he will not suffer any more. But we ourselves are still alive, and must go on.”

Ebon stared at the hand, wondering if Mako really expected him to take it. But then he took stock of himself, and realized he was far too weak to stand on his own. So he raised his hand, and he and Mako clasped wrists, and the bodyguard lifted him to his feet.

“Let us go now. I will get you back to your Academy, and safely within the walls. But there is something we must tend to first, for killing requires drinking afterwards.”

With an arm around Ebon’s shoulder he set off. And Ebon hated to admit, even to himself, how heavily he leaned on the bodyguard, without whom he might have sunk into the filth and the muck to join Matami’s corpse on its way to the Great Bay.

thirty-five

THEY LEFT THE SEWERS, AND Mako led him to a tavern. Ebon stopped at the door, for he wanted nothing less in the world than to spend time with the bodyguard. But Mako put a hand on his back and pushed him—not unkindly—into the tavern.

As they entered, Ebon thought of how much he and Mako must stink. But though they walked among tables filled with the tavern’s patrons, no one raised an eyebrow. Ebon wondered if, were he able to smell anything beyond his own stench, he might find the room’s reek even worse. Certainly the tavern seemed suspect; Ebon thought it the sort of room where no one asked questions if they were not ready to die for the answer. Mako led him to a back corner, settled him in a chair, and took a seat himself. Ebon noted that his back was to the door, while Mako faced it. The bodyguard waved down a stout barmaid and ordered some spirit whose name Ebon did not recognize. They waited for the drinks in silence. Mako studied him, seeming to expect something—a question, perhaps, or an accusation. But when none seemed forthcoming, the bodyguard finally spoke.

“I think that, through the years, you have wondered exactly what I do for the family Drayden. Do you know now?”

Ebon shook his head. He had thought of nothing since the sewer, nothing but Matami’s ruined face, and he did not care to guess just now.

Silence stretched until the barmaid returned. She did not bring them cups of wood, but two small glasses—something that seemed an uncommon luxury in a place such as this. In the glasses was an amber liquid that curled Ebon’s nose when he took a sniff.

“Brandy,” said Mako. “Fine stuff. Finer than they usually serve here, but they keep a stock on hand for me. I visit often. Drink.”

Ebon took a sip and nearly choked. Mako downed his glass in a single gulp, and then held it up towards the barmaid, who hastened to fetch another. Then the bodyguard leaned forwards, and though no one was close enough to hear, still he dropped his voice to a whisper.

“It happens that in the course of ensuring the family’s safety, and our prosperity, a life must be taken upon occasion. When that is true, I am the one who goes knocking on doors and tickling with my knife.”

Ebon’s stomach did a flip-flop. “You are an assassin,” he whispered.

Mako did not flinch. “Just so. Have you never wondered how Drayden reaches such favorable trade agreements, and holds such power across Underrealm, when we hail from the land of Idris?”

“What does Idris have to do with it?”

“It is Idris.” Mako waved a hand in the general direction of the door. “Our home, yes, and a piece of my heart will always dwell there. But it is a dry and barren landscape, and boasts few resources. Yet we have turned what little we are given into the greatest collection of wealth that the nine lands have ever seen.”

“We have spices.”

Mako snorted. Then the barmaid returned and refilled his glass. Once she had gone, he leaned across the table once more. “Do you think we could sustain our empire on spices? No. There are not goods enough within the King’s law to earn the wealth we have built. Do you think the family Yerrin could rival us, if they only sold those bolts of colored silk they pretend to fill their wagons with?”

Ebon almost asked him what they sold instead, but then he remembered what Kalem and Theren had told him: it was Yerrin who commanded the magestone trade. He turned away, and tried another sip of the brandy. It was not so distasteful as the first had been.

“Through the centuries, when some fool has stood in the way of the family, someone like me has appeared in their home at night, and removed the obstacle,” said Mako. “Many suspect it. None may ever prove it. I, and those few who serve me, are especially skilled.”

“I want nothing to do with this arrangement. I would never ask anyone to kill for me.”

Mako smiled. “You protest far too late, Ebon. All your life you have lived fat on the riches I have brought you. Your father’s coin made you everything you are; it paid for your tutors, who made you wise; it placed you in noble circles, where you learned compassion and virtue; and even now it pays your way at the Academy, where you have learned your spellcraft.” Mako studied him carefully over the top of his glass. “Unless I am very mistaken, it even pays for the lover who sometimes warms your bed.”

Ebon slapped his hand on the table. “But I did not
ask for it!
Who knows of this? Did Matami, and my father?” A horrible thought struck him. “Does Halab?”

“Halab is the only one whose orders I obey,” Mako said softly.

It was like a slap in the face. The room seemed to spin around Ebon, though that might have been the brandy. Always Halab had struck him as his family’s rare exception, one bright light in the family Drayden that he might look to, when all his lineage seemed shrouded in darkness. Yet now he learned that she was the source of the shadow itself.

“Are you hurt?” To Ebon’s surprise, he did not hear sarcasm or malice in the bodyguard’s tone. “I can see that you are. You trusted Halab, for she has always been kind to you. And you may not trust me after tonight, but know this: you were not wrong to believe in her. I serve Halab willingly, and even with love, for I also served her father. He was the dark of a cave’s deepest shadow, and she is the sun. She may be the gentlest master of the family Drayden in decades. Mayhap centuries. The number of us—we assassins—has dwindled since she took power, but we do not complain, for we have never enjoyed our work.”

“You seemed to enjoy it well enough tonight,” spat Ebon, and drained his brandy in one savage pull. But it was a petulant thing to say, and he knew it, for he could hear some sense in Mako’s words. And it spoke to a truth he had begun to suspect: that though Halab was as kind as he had always thought her, at her core there was inflexible steel. He had seen it when Matami had tried to have him and his friends beaten, when Halab herself had struck him down.

But he could not forgive Mako so easily. He had not asked to be dragged into the sewer to witness a murder. So he reached across the table and took Mako’s glass, and drained what remained of his drink. Then he held both glasses high, dangling them loosely between thumb and forefinger. “Do you mean to have these filled again?”

Mako waved to the barmaid again, and waited until she had gone. “Halab is no wanton killer. Rather than order an obstacle removed by violence, she will exhaust every other possible solution. And no one is put to death unless she knows something dark about them, something the constables have never caught wind of, or at least have never proven.”

“And Matami?” said Ebon. “What was his darkness?”

The bodyguard lowered his gaze. “When you and I first began to suspect him, I wondered that same thing. So I had him watched, to see what might be seen. But I found nothing, and yet I was certain he had something to do with the attack upon the Seat. And so I brought my suspicions to Halab. With tears in her eyes she told me the truth—something she had kept hidden for many long years. Once, almost a decade ago, he took a man without leave.”

Ebon froze in his seat. His fingers shook on the glass. “That cannot be. Halab knew of this? And did nothing?”

“He was her brother, Ebon,” said Mako softly. “You can blame her if you wish. But you know better than most the bonds that can exist between siblings, no matter the circumstance. The man was well paid, and remains so to this day, tucked in a corner of Idris and supported by our coin. This Halab did in some token of repayment—and to pay for his silence, in hopes that Matami would be safe from the constables’ blades.”

To learn that Halab knew of such evil, and had then gone to such length to hide it ... Ebon’s heart twisted in sickness and impotent anger. Was the Drayden name so cursed that even she, his favorite, must deal in darkness and vile misdeeds?

But then his thought turned in another direction. Albi came to his mind, and then Momen. Could he have turned them over to constables, even after such a heinous crime? He wondered. And wondering, turned his eyes back to his glass.

“So you see,” said Mako. “She sat with that shame—his shame—for so long. But when she learned he and your father may have had something to do with the attack ... it only proved to her that he was rotten through, and had suffered no momentary lapse in judgement.”

“And so she ordered you to kill him.”

“No,” said Mako. “That was my choice. She will wonder where he has gone, of course. She may ask me, and if she does, I will not lie. But she may not. Sometimes it is easier that way—she knows, and I know, and we both stay silent in our knowledge.”

“What of my father? Will you kill him, too?” Even as he asked, Ebon wondered how he would feel if the answer was yes.

But Mako shook his head. “Your father is different. He is dearer to Halab. And he is
your
father. I have no wish to cause you grief, Ebon.”

“Do you think that would grieve me? To see him killed?”

Mako stared into his glass. “No child loses their father without tears. Not even the worst child. Not even the worst father.”

Ebon sighed, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I am exhausted, Mako. None of your words have changed my mind. I want nothing to do with any of this. My father has cast me out of my inheritance. I cannot say I am glad for it, but I thought I was free of his legacy forever.”

“And you can be, if you wish. Yet still I must do my duty. And that means protecting Halab. Just now, it seems I am protecting her from Shay himself. Can you withhold your hand from that cause?”

For that, Ebon had no easy answer.

“As I thought. Now, we must find proof of Shay’s involvement in the attack upon the Seat. And to do that, we must find the murderer in the Academy.”

“How can we do that now? It seems the only one who knew anything was Matami, and he is now in the Great Bay.”

“Matami knew nothing. Shay was too smart for that. He used Matami for messages, small tasks, but kept the more important ones from him. He must be using someone else—someone like your cousin, the mindmage—for the murders. He uses many hands, and none of them know the parts the others play, so that none may reveal the whole scheme. Indeed, he was foolish to let Matami know where his orders came from. But your uncle was foolish, and mayhap would not have otherwise obeyed.”

“Then we are no closer to catching the murderer.” Again Ebon rubbed at his eyes. “You have done nothing to make me less tired.”

“That is the brandy. You must have patience. We will discover the truth. We have done much already, whether you think so or not. And you have proven your mettle, far beyond what could have been expected.” Ebon scowled, but Mako raised his hands. “I speak the truth. And this, too, is true: never will I make you part of something like that again. I only thought it was time you knew the truth, so that you could face it with both eyes open. Can you forgive me?”

Ebon held his scowl, but felt some of the fire die in his heart. “It is a bit early to speak of forgiveness,” he muttered. “But mayhap I can understand you.”

Mako smiled, and Ebon thought he looked genuinely pleased. “Good. Then let us get you back to your Academy. Curfew, I am afraid, is a long-forgotten memory.”

thirty-six

The next morning, Theren and Kalem found Ebon in the dining hall. Kalem was glad to see him safely returned. It took Ebon a moment to notice Theren was even there, for he had forgotten she had left to take care of Lilith. As she told him of Lilith’s recovery, he gave her a weak smile.

“What is wrong, Ebon?” said Kalem. “What happened last night?”

“Last night? What about last night?” said Theren.

Ebon shook his head. “I cannot speak of it now. Not here, at least.”

They tried to press him at first, but he waved them off, and at last they left him alone. But as he ate his breakfast, he decided to confess, that very afternoon in the library. He owed them that much, at least. He would not deceive his friends again.

His morning class was torturous. Now that he had learned counter-magic, Perrin wished for him to focus on the other spells. Mists seemed simplest, and he did not have to interact with any other students, or with Perrin herself. So he sat there, spinning his mists, trying to push them farther and farther from his skin. But in fact he found his spell weaker than the last time he had practiced. It was as though he had forgotten a piece of his magic—or mayhap it was only the distraction of the night before, the way he could not stop hearing Matami’s screams.

THOOM

An explosion rocked the classroom, and Ebon fell to the floor in terror. Then he realized the blast had not come from within the classroom, but from beyond the door.

He scrambled to his feet and fled the room, a dozen other students on his heels despite Perrin’s shouted orders to stay. Other classes joined them in the hall, running for the entry hall where the explosion had come from. Ebon wondered what they were all doing. Hearing a blast or scream in the Academy had become almost commonplace by now. Surely they all knew to run, to flee the other way. Why, then, was he racing towards the sound? Why were the others?