The Firemage's Vengeance Read online

  Contents

  Copyright

  The Books of Underrealm

  Dedication

  GET MORE

  one

  two

  three

  four

  five

  six

  seven

  eight

  nine

  ten

  eleven

  twelve

  thirteen

  fourteen

  fifteen

  sixteen

  seventeen

  eighteen

  nineteen

  twenty

  twenty-one

  twenty-two

  twenty-three

  twenty-four

  twenty-five

  twenty-six

  twenty-seven

  twenty-eight

  twenty-nine

  thirty

  thirty-one

  thirty-two

  thirty-three

  thirty-four

  thirty-five

  thirty-six

  thirty-seven

  thirty-eight

  thirty-nine

  forty

  forty-one

  forty-two

  Keep Reading

  Acknowledgements

  DVD Extras for Books

  About the Author

  43 Epilogue [23]

  THE FIREMAGE’S VENGEANCE

  Garrett Robinson

  Copyright © 2016 by Legacy Books. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events or locales is purely coincidental. Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

  THE BOOKS OF UNDERREALM

  BY GARRETT ROBINSON

  To see all novels in the world of Underrealm, visit:

  GarrettBRobinson.com/underrealm-books

  THE NIGHTBLADE EPIC

  NIGHTBLADE

  MYSTIC

  DARKFIRE

  SHADEBORN

  WEREMAGE

  YERRIN

  THE ACADEMY JOURNALS

  THE ALCHEMIST’S TOUCH

  THE MINDMAGE’S WRATH

  THE FIREMAGE’S VENGEANCE

  CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER

  NIGHTBLADE

  MYSTIC

  DARKFIRE

  SHADEBORN

  THE ALCHEMIST’S TOUCH

  THE MINDMAGE’S WRATH

  WEREMAGE

  THE FIREMAGE’S VENGEANCE

  YERRIN

  To my family

  Who make everything I do better

  To Johnny, Sean and Dave

  Who told me to write

  To Amy

  Who is endlessly patient (though I don't deserve it)

  And to everyone who followed me from the Birchwood to the Academy

  You have made my life epic.

  I hope I can enrich yours.

  GET MORE

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  one

  THE SNOW THAT FELL IN those middle days of Martis did nothing to chill the air—nothing, that is, when compared to the ice in Ebon’s heart. The frost inside him was made of fear and dread, and if asked, he would have called it more frigid than the winds and snow that blew in his face, for the winter within kept him from noticing the winter without.

  He led Kalem and Theren through the streets of the High King’s Seat. His friends felt the same, he knew. Theren huddled deeper under her hood. She had not bothered to dye her hair in some time, and her dark roots showed through the blonde, though that hardly mattered since her head was rarely uncovered these days. Kalem wrapped his arms tight about himself, pale cheeks glowing red as his hair against winter’s gales, and his spindly limbs shook whenever he stayed in one place too long. Yet Ebon guessed that neither of them were any more aware of the weather than he was. They had greater troubles, ones that plagued them day and night. Their studies suffered, and in the midst of conversation their thoughts drifted away. They were left staring at nothing in the middle of the dining hall, and it kept them lying awake in their beds late into the night.

  The first was Dasko, the instructor they held in bondage, though they did not wish to. The second was Erin, the Dean’s son who was captive or dead. And the third was his captor, Isra, who had vanished from all sight and knowledge, a trail of corpses in her wake.

  “This is a fool’s errand,” said Theren, bringing Ebon’s mind back to the present.

  “It is no errand at all,” said Ebon. “We are invited.”

  “And why did we accept? What if something happens to Das—what if something happens back at the Academy while we are gone?”

  “We cannot watch him every hour of every day, Theren.” Kalem’s voice held a note of careful reproach. “Indeed, we do not spend much time with him as it is.”

  “Yet we are always near,” Theren insisted. “If our control should slip …”

  “If we are discovered, we will be discovered,” said Ebon. “Kalem is right. We cannot spend our every hour sitting on our hands, half in hope and half in fear.”

  “You say that more easily than I would,” Theren muttered. Ebon could not tell if she had meant for him to hear it or not, but he did not blame her either way. She had the most to fear in all this untenable situation.

  At long last, the black iron gate of the Drayden family’s manor loomed before them. Once the guards spied the three Academy students making their way through the snow drifts, they hastened to draw the gate open. Ebon shook out his boots on the cobblestones of the courtyard, which was better swept than the streets had been. He had never spent winter in the northern lands; at home in Idris, winters were colder, but drier, and snow was an Elf-tale. To him, this type of winter seemed a deadly danger, though Theren assured him it was in fact very mild this year.

  A happy shout preceded a short, plump figure bounding towards them, and Ebon recognized his sister, Albi, beneath a furred hood. She hugged him first, and he grinned as he hoisted her up off the ground. But then she embraced Kalem just as warmly, and Ebon’s mouth soured. Theren she gave a more customary greeting; both hands clasped at once, she bowed. Theren rolled her eyes, but returned the greeting without complaint.

  “I thought the three of you would never come,” Albi said. Her voice seemed uncommonly loud after the dead quiet of the snow-covered streets, and after the anxious, hushed words Ebon had shared with his friends. “But then, it seems much later than it is, for the sky is so dark and grey. Come inside. Halab eagerly awaits you.”

  “We will, and gladly,” said Ebon, forcing a smile. “Northern winters suit me ill.”

  Albi laughed and led them in. Both hearths burned in the wide front hall, and Ebon sighed in relief at the warmth of them. He cast back his hood and bent to remove his boots. They were gifts Halab had sent only recently—black to follow the Academy’s rules, but lined with grey fur and laced up to just below the knee. Theren and Kalem, too, had received their own pairs, but Theren almost forgot to remove hers, and had to be reminded by a sharp word from Kalem.

  Unshod, they climbed the stairs to the lounge where Halab awaited them. She rose at once and came forwards with a smile. Her dress was ochre and white, like fine-spun gold dusted with snow. Though all faces were paler now in the waning s
unlight, Ebon thought she had never looked lovelier.

  “Dearest nephew,” she said, reaching for him. He kissed her cheeks, and then she bowed to Kalem and Theren. Kalem flushed, and Ebon knew the boy was thinking of the first time they had met, when he had kissed Halab’s cheeks. Theren, for her part, did not roll her eyes so hard as she had with Albi. Ebon knew the high estimation in which she held his aunt.

  “Our heartfelt thanks for your hospitality, especially in the depths of winter’s chill,” said Kalem.

  “But that is when hospitality is needed the most,” said Halab with a smile.

  Dinner had been prepared already, and was brought from the kitchens to be uncovered for them. They ate quickly, and ravenously, for all three of them felt their appetites could hardly be sated these days. Halab laughed as she saw them devour their meals, and quipped that the three of them must be growing. Ebon thought to himself that the likelier explanation was the oppressive cold. When snow made walking a chore, even after a small distance, he seemed to need thrice as much food just to remain upright.

  After, she took them back to the lounge, where they sat and talked of small things—their classes, and their friends (only Kalem had any of these outside of present company), and the little bits of news Halab thought they might enjoy hearing. But, as happened so often in the Academy itself these days, Ebon often found his mind wandering, and he saw the same in his friends. Halab noticed it as well. Often he found her looking at the three of them, a question in her eyes, her lips pursed. At last he leaned forwards and grimaced in apology.

  “I am sorry, dearest aunt. The three of us have made terrible guests, I fear.”

  Halab shook her head at once. “It is I who should apologize. I have taken little consideration for the troubles the three of you bear. I have heard of the Academy’s rogue student, and the Dean’s son who she stole away. No doubt such dark thoughts are what trouble you.”

  Ebon studied his fingernails, not wishing to meet her eyes. She was right about Isra, of course, but she did not know just how intimately the matter concerned Ebon, nor how often he heard Erin’s screams as the boy was dragged away. Mako, it seemed clear, had not told her of what transpired in Xain’s home.

  Kalem spoke, as Ebon did not seem to wish to. “It is a dark time for the school indeed,” he said quietly. “In one sense, the danger that plagued us is gone, for everyone believes that Isra has fled the Seat. But the darkness she left behind her is not so easily cast aside.”

  The room fell to silence as Ebon and his friends stared at the floor. When he glanced at Albi, Ebon was surprised to see that she looked bored. But Halab wore a vaguely mournful look. She sat straighter and put her wine goblet on a side table.

  “If it is not too great a request, I should like a word alone with my nephew.”

  Theren and Kalem straightened at once. “Not at all,” said Theren, ducking her head in a sort of sitting bow. “We have troubled you long enough as it is.”

  “I have enjoyed your company,” said Halab with a smile. “This is only a little matter, and afterwards I must leave for the High King’s palace. Albi, will you please …?”

  Albi looked burningly curious, but she sighed and lead Ebon’s friends away. “Come, young master Konnel,” she said, holding out her arm. “Our gardens are nearly frozen over, but you and I can keep each other warm regardless.” Ebon glowered as she took them towards the staircase down.

  Halab gave a soft chuckle after they had gone from view. “Your sister seems very taken with young Kalem.”

  “I have noticed,” said Ebon, mouth puckered.

  Again Halab laughed, and heartier this time. “You should not worry. She is only having some amusement. Albi knows full well that Kalem’s parents will never accept her as a bride.”

  The words came from nowhere, and Ebon sat a bit straighter in his seat. “Why not?”

  “It is nothing to do with Albi herself. She will make a fine wife someday, if she meets someone who knows not to get in her way. But the royalty are … reluctant, shall we say, to allow us merchants any more power than they think we deserve.” She smirked, as though at some hidden joke just remembered.

  Ebon frowned. “I am not sure I understand.”

  Halab sighed. “That is just as well. It is a complicated matter, and more so as time goes on. But Albi knows enough of it to keep her heart safe. She means only to have a little fun with Kalem. Nothing more.”

  In truth, Ebon was more worried about Kalem than about Albi. It seemed clear to him that Albi saw Kalem as a plaything, but Kalem did not look upon her the same way. The royal boy had had many conversations with Ebon on the subjects of love, and intimacy, and other things besides …

  But he pushed these thoughts aside, for he doubted that Halab wished to speak with him on matters of love or matchmaking. Now she straightened and placed her feet on the floor, rather than draped along the seat, and patted the spot beside her. Ebon rose and went to her, just as she reached into a nearby drawer. From it she pulled a small iron trinket in the shape of an ankh. This she placed into his open palm.

  “Here,” she said. “This is for you.”

  Ebon was taken aback. “Thank you, dearest aunt.” He looked at it curiously. The ankh was the symbol of their house, and was featured upon their crest. Yet he wondered exactly why she would give him this, for it seemed to bear little purpose. She had to know they were allowed to keep few possessions in the Academy.

  Halab must have seen some of his confusion in his eyes, for she smiled and took it from him. “It is not only a trinket. Watch.” She pressed the handle into the spars, and with a small skrrtch, sparks sprang out from the tip.

  “A firestriker,” said Ebon. He took it back, a bit more eagerly. “That is most cleverly made.”

  “Specially crafted when I was a child,” she said. “It is of Calentin make. Among craftsmen, their artisans have no equal.”

  “Thank you,” he said, and this time he meant it. “I will keep it with me always.”

  “That would please me,” she said. Then she sighed and took his hands in hers. “This brings me to the next matter. You must know by now that your father has no intention of letting you keep your inheritance. That will pass to Albi.”

  Ebon stared at his lap. “She let something of that slip,” he muttered.

  “And I am sure you at least half-guessed it before. You have always been a wise boy. That means you will never get your mark.”

  The mark of their house was scarified on the skin of those who entered the family’s service, on the wrist of the right arm. Father had his, and Ebon’s brother Momen had had one as well. Ebon had long anticipated receiving his own mark, though the prospect lost some of its luster the older he grew.

  But he forced a smile and looked at her. “Well, that is no great loss. I will be a wizard, after all. How many of our kin can say the same?”

  Halab gave him a sad smile. “I want you to know,” she said softly, “that if any but a parent could grant the mark, I would give it to you myself. And for those who obey me, this firestriker will serve just as well as a symbol upon your skin. You will never want for help from my house while you bear it.”

  His eyes stung. “Thank you, Halab. I am an even poorer guest now, for I have no gift in return.”

  “It is the joy of the old to provide for the young.” She leaned back and took her wine goblet again. “Until very recently, I half thought I should give you a dagger. The Academy has not been a place free from peril, though it seems that danger has now passed.”

  Ebon’s mood fell, for her words drew his thoughts back to Erin and Dasko. “I suppose it no longer plagues me, nor my friends,” he said carefully. “But that does not mean there is no danger at all.”

  “You speak of the Dean’s son, yes? Erin of the family Forredar, is it not?”

  “Yes. The rogue student, Isra—she took him, and no one knows where.”

  “Odd that she should escape both the High King’s guards and the constables. I hav
e heard even the Mystics lend their eyes to the search.”

  Ebon stared at his feet, fearful she would see the torment within him if he looked at her. “They say his father, Xain—the Academy’s Dean—is favored by the High King. I met him once. The boy, Erin, I mean. Briefly, only, yet I would not see him come to harm.” He heard again Erin’s cries for help as the boy was pulled into the streets. Unconsciously, his lips twisted in imitation of Isra’s snarl.

  “Xain Forredar has always been … difficult,” said Halab. There was no mistaking the irritation in her voice. “To our family, I mean. Cyrus in particular earned his ire, as did your uncle Matami.”

  At that, the room fell to swift silence. Ebon’s gaze darted about, seeking somewhere to rest. His own wine goblet sat unattended, and he took it to refill, all the while avoiding Halab’s watchful attention.

  The last time Ebon had seen his uncle, it had been when Mako killed him slow in the sewers beneath the city. Ebon still remembered the empty gap where Matami’s eye had been, the bloodied stumps of his fingers …

  He drank deep from his goblet and filled it once more. When at last he looked to Halab, her face was stony. But her eyes glinted with tears expertly held back. Mako had said that Halab would know, or guess, at what happened to Matami. But he had said also that she would not mention it.

  Sometimes it was easier that way. That the truth be known, but unspoken.

  Halab composed herself and rose from her couch. She went to Ebon with a smile that hardly seemed forced, and put her hands upon his shoulders.

  “I want you to know, Ebon, that you are the closest thing to my own son, and I could want for nothing more. The pain and danger you have suffered of late weigh upon me, and I am glad such suffering has passed you by. If ever you need something from me—anything at all—you have only to ask.”