The Mindmage's Wrath: A Book of Underrealm (The Academy Journals 2) (38 page)

But no glow came to Xain’s eyes. And when he lifted a hand, it was not to strike with magic. Instead he threw a piece of cloth upon the ground. The white snow made the cloth stand out in stark relief: it was golden. A shredded cuff from Mako’s shirt, ripped free when Isra had flung the barrel at him.

“I know you had something to do with this,” said Xain, his voice laced with poisoned steel. “I cannot prove it yet. But I
will
. And when I do, I will end you, and all of your kin. I will scour the name of Drayden from Underrealm, and when I am done, only tomes of history will remember you: a footnote scrawled in blood, scorned and spat upon by all who read it.”

This was not Cyrus’ white-hot rage, nor the blind hatred of Isra. This was something worse, and Ebon found himself more frightened by it than he had ever been before.

Then Xain turned and walked away, vanishing into the citadel.

KEEP READING

You’ve finished
The Mindmage’s Wrath,
the second book of the Academy Journals.

And you can buy the third book,
The Firemage’s Vengeance,
RIGHT NOW.

Just click here:

AMAZON US:
GarrettBRobinson.com/firemage-vengeance

AMAZON UK:
GarrettBRobinson.com/firemage-vengeance-uk

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I won’t waste much of your time with this, but it’s something I should have included for a long time now.

When I first began the books of Underrealm, it was truly a solo project. I had no beta readers. I didn’t even have an editor or a cover designer.
 

All of that was a huge mistake, of course. And eventually I learned better. Now I produce each book with the assistance of an entire team, and the books are markedly better for it.

First and last, for everything—not just my books—I will always thank my wife Meghan. She went through years of hell so that we could get to where we are now. I owe her all of it, and only want to pamper her for the rest of her life.

My children make me who I am. If someone says that kids are the death knell of a career, you should know they’re lying. I would not be writing if it weren’t for my kids.

So my family is why I write. My partner Sean is why I’m making a living at it. His endless patience and forgiveness of my (many, catastrophic) faults was what let me bridge the gap between where I was and where I wanted to go. And of course, without Johnny and Dave by his side, I never would have done any of this.

Amy is a more recent friend, but perhaps the dearest of them all. No one else I know can be so kind (and again, endlessly patient) while also tolerating exactly
none
of my crap. I am slowly learning how exhausting I must be to put up with, and none impress me with their ability to do so more than Amy does.

On this book, for the first time, I was able to work with Karen Conlin. She has been my dream editor for years, and I could not be more pleased that the dream has finally come true.

My beta readers have saved numerous Underrealm books by this point (I will always tell the story of how
Darkfire
would have killed my career without them). Kristen and Karl in particular—thank you for your incredible feedback. My thanks as well to Dare and Matthew.

To the Vloganovel crew—too many to name them all, but you know who you are—this book would have taken even longer than it did without you. Thank you for being my constant companions on this journey through another world.

Finally—well, not
quite
finally—my readers. When I first started writing, it was hard to believe you existed. I am so grateful you found me. I am so grateful you have remained with me. I’ll try to be worthy of you, always.

And now,
actually
finally—Meghan. You are always first. You are always last. And you are always everything in between.

Thank you all.

Garrett, 2016

DVD EXTRAS FOR BOOKS

Ever come to the end of a book and wish it wasn’t over?

That’s how I feel all the time.

I’ve created behind-the-scenes content for you to enjoy. You’ll get to hear about the creation process of the book, and watch the video diary of its creation from beginning to end.
 

(It’s worth checking back on the page from time to time—I plan to update it periodically.)

It’s like DVD extras for books. Interested? Click here:

GarrettBRobinson.com/mindmage-wrath-extras

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Garrett Robinson
was born and raised in Los Angeles. The son of an author/painter father and a violinist/singer mother, no one was surprised when he grew up to be an artist.

After blooding himself in the independent film industry, he self-published his first book in 2012 and swiftly followed it with a stream of others, publishing more than two million words by 2014. Within months he topped numerous Amazon bestseller lists. Now he spends his time writing books and directing films.

A passionate fantasy author, his most popular series is the Nightblade Epic. However, he has delved into many other genres. Some works are for adult audiences only, such as
Non Zombie
and
Hit Girls,
but he has also published popular books for younger readers, including the Realm Keepers series and
The Ninjabread Man
, both co-authored with Z.C. Bolger.

Garrett lives in Los Angeles with his wife Meghan, his children Dawn, Luke, and Desmond, and his dog Chewbacca.

Garrett can be found on:

YOUTUBE:
youtube.com/TheGarrettRobinson
 

BLOG:
GarrettBRobinson.com

EMAIL:
[email protected]

TWITTER:
twitter.com/GgarrettAuthor

FACEBOOK:
facebook.com/GarrettBRobinson

epilogue

Isra cinched the gag tighter, and then checked the rope binding the boy to the foot of her bed. He winced with each tug on the cloth. She ignored it. He was a goldshitter, like the rest of them. Let him suffer. Let him suffer the way his father and the rest of them had made
everyone
suffer.

She raised her cowl and left the room.

The stone hallways stank and made her skin prickle with nerves, and she hated them. She briskly pushed through the stench to the tunnel that led out. This was far too perilous, and she would never have taken the risk. But she must see her patron. Another outcast, like Isra herself. And the only woman who could help, now that the goldshitter Ebon had soiled her plan.

Soon she stood before an inn, one far grander than her own. The doorman must have been warned of her arrival, for he gave no second glance despite her shabby clothes. Not Academy clothing—no, she had rid herself of that at the first opportunity. Now she had a plain cloak of brown, and nondescript clothes like any peasant. It let her go unnoticed, and felt like a return to her roots.

But that brought thoughts of Astrea. She shuddered, bowing as she blinked back tears. Poor Astrea. All alone now.

Not for long. Not if her patron had any help to offer—and she would.

Stairs at the back of the inn’s common room led upstairs to rooms for rent. But Isra’s patron would not be staying there. Instead Isra turned left, where a storeroom door stood slightly ajar. Inside, there was a carpet in the room’s center. This she lifted, revealing a trapdoor that she opened with a flick of her wrist and a flash of magelight in her eyes. Shallow stone steps descended into the ground—but not into darkness, for the way was well-lit by many torches. Down she went, into the earth’s bowels, another blast of magic swinging the trapdoor shut behind her.

A narrow corridor led to her patron’s room, a guard barring the door. A mammoth man, his fists as big as her head. He had never beheld her with anything but a scowl. His skin, dark as night, only made his glaring eyes stand out the more.

“I must see her,” said Isra.

The guard’s nostrils flared. But from within the room came a voice. “Let her in.”

A ham-sized fist reached out and opened the door. Isra slipped inside, and it closed again behind her.

The room was nothing impressive—certainly far poorer than what her patron was used to. For her patron had once been a goldshitter, just like those who Isra hated. Those who had brought this
war.
But her patron had been cast out, and had learned what Isra had known her whole life: that the true evil in the world was not Drayden, not Yerrin, but all of them at once, and more besides. It was the merchants, the nobility, those who held themselves above their fellows by virtue of coin or a throne.

“I have heard no small amount of whispers.” Her patron did not sound angry. If anything, she sounded amused. “It seems plans have gone...
most
awry, since last we spoke. You are lucky you came to me when you did. I have business I must attend to in Feldemar, and I leave upon the morrow.”

Isra nearly growled. “I lost the amulet, but gained many more artifacts during my escape.”

She held up her satchel, and threw it on the floor at her patron’s feet. But she received no reply. Instead, her patron regarded her over steepled fingers.

“And the boy?”

“I took him, as you asked. When can I bring him to you? He whines.”

“You will keep him. I cannot have him linked to me.”

Isra scowled, but said nothing.

“I thank you for holding up your end of the bargain,” her patron went on. “I am a fair woman, and will help you with your aims. You needed the amulet to achieve them, did you not?”

“I did,” said Isra. “Without mindwyrd, the task is impossible.”

“But would you take that power another way? From magestones?”

Isra paused. Magestones were another matter. She had heard dark tales whispered about the Academy halls since her arrival.

Her patron noticed the hesitation. “I will admit, it would be a ... different path. Far more dangerous for you. Perhaps even fatal. But it would allow the plan to work. You would have what you desire. An end to this war, and to those who brought it upon your Academy.”

“Then that is everything,” Isra snarled, fury raging in her gut. “But magestones are worth a fortune, and you are no longer a goldshitter—if you have been telling me true.”

Her patron smiled. Then the smile turned into a laugh, and she reached into her cloak, reemerging with a brown cloth packet which she threw at Isra’s feet. Isra stooped to retrieve it. Inside, in two neat rows stacked atop each other, were long black gems that she could almost see through. She gazed in wonder.

“It is true I have little in the way of coin, nor the help of my kin who have abandoned me. But I am Damaris, once of the family Yerrin, and my greatest strength has never been the weight of my purse. It is the lengths I will go to achieve my aims. What of you, Isra? Do you have the same strength?”

With shaking fingers, Isra plucked a magestone from the packet and slipped it into her mouth. With a crunch and a swallow, it vanished down her throat.

She opened black eyes, and her lips parted in a rictus.