The Mindmage's Wrath: A Book of Underrealm (The Academy Journals 2) Page 7

  Ebon frowned into his cup. “I hope so.”

  “We will speak more of this later. I have not only come to ask you about Credell’s murder. I bring word from the family.”

  Ebon sighed. “What is it this time?”

  “They will arrive to the Seat upon the morrow, and hope you will join them in the manor.”

  A shiver rippled through him, sliding down his back from the base of his skull. He tried to hide it, though Mako’s glinting eyes said he had failed. “I will, of course. You may tell them.”

  “I shall. And that brings this conversation to an end—and just in time.”

  Before Ebon could ask what the bodyguard meant, the Academy’s bells began to toll, signaling the end of morning classes and the serving of the midday meal. Ebon gaped. “How did you ...?”

  Mako pointed to the rear of the tavern. On a shelf behind the bar sat a large hourglass. The tavern’s owner turned it over even as Ebon watched.

  “I am no wizard, little Ebon, though the look on your face was a delight. Often simple observation serves better than magic. I wish you well in your quest for the truth—only take care, and do not place yourself in danger you cannot get back out of. It would have been a tremendous waste of my effort to save you from the attack on the Seat, only for you to die now.”

  “I will keep that in mind,” said Ebon, giving him a wry smile. “I would hate to see your effort wasted.”

  Mako laughed, tossed a gold weight on the table for the drinks, and slipped out the door.

  nine

  BY THE TIME EBON REACHED the Academy’s wide front doors, students were already pouring out into the streets. He waited until a sizable crowd was pressing through, and then slipped inside between them. Mellie was back on watch, and she fixed him with a suspicious glare as he passed by. But he escaped without incident, and she did not call after him. He rounded the corner of the first hallway and pressed himself against the stone, letting out a long sigh of relief.

  “Ebon!”

  He very nearly jumped out of his skin at the shout. There was Perrin, her massive frame trundling down the hallway towards him, brows almost joined as she frowned.

  “Instructor Perrin,” stammered Ebon. “I—that is, I—”

  “Stow it.” She folded her arms and peered down at him through narrowed eyes. “Did you think I would not note your absence? An empty seat is a tad conspicuous, especially so near the front.”

  Ebon bowed his head. “I am sorry, Instructor. I was only—”

  A massive hand clapped down on his shoulder, squeezing tight—but not painfully. When he raised his eyes again, Ebon found Perrin looking back at him with soft concern.

  “You do not need to tell me where you have been. Last night was a terrible tragedy, and none could fault you for needing to clear your mind after what you saw. Only next time, tell me.”

  He ducked his head again, but this time in shame. She thought he was upset over Credell’s death. And Ebon supposed he was, but that was far overshadowed by his worries about Cyrus, and Lilith, and now his family’s arrival upon the Seat. What did it say about him, that he had so little concern for the death of his first instructor at the Academy?

  But he could say none of this, of course, so he only mumbled, “I will remember, Instructor. Thank you. And again, I am sorry.”

  Perrin clapped his shoulder again—Ebon thought the spot might bruise—and left him. Ebon shuffled towards the dining hall, trying not to feel so wretched. The moment he stepped inside, Kalem and Theren leapt up from their seats and came to him.

  “Where were you this morning?” hissed Kalem.

  “I made a wager with him that you went to see your lover,” said Theren with a grin. “Tell me I am a gold weight richer.”

  “You are.” Ebon could not help matching her smile. But Kalem drew back, his eyes filled with reproach.

  “Ebon, what possessed you? No one minds you having a lover. But leaving your classes to visit her?”

  “My thoughts would give me no peace,” said Ebon, frowning at him. “You cannot tell me your mind is inured to the sight of corpses, even after the attack on the Seat.”

  Kalem had no answer for that, and he lowered his eyes. But Theren took their arms and pulled them both towards the door. “Enough of that. Come to the library, Ebon, for we have something to show you.”

  “What is it?” said Ebon. “I have not even eaten.”

  “I took a roll for you.” Theren produced the mangled, squished thing from her pocket and shoved it into his hand. Ebon grimaced. Soon they whisked him into the library and up the stairs, where they huddled in their third-floor corner. Kalem went to the wall and put forth his power, and the stone shifted to reveal his secret cubbyhole. He drew an old tome of plain brown leather, unadorned, with no title on the cover.

  “I found this book,” said Kalem.

  “In the library?” said Ebon, raising his eyebrows. “Wonders may never cease.”

  “It was hidden,” Kalem said, scowling. “It was covered in dark and dust behind a bookshelf.”

  “Most likely it fell,” said Ebon. “What of it?”

  Kalem looked at him, almost haughty. “Ebon, I know nearly every inch of this library. The shelf was flush to the wall until, at most, a week ago. Someone wanted to hide this book.”

  Theren took the book to show Ebon. “They wanted to hide it because it is from the vaults.”

  Ebon recoiled. “Do ... do you mean it is enchanted?” He swallowed hard, wondering if he should run.

  She rolled her eyes. “It is not from within the vaults, you craven. It is a logbook. A very old logbook.”

  Ebon relaxed and, after a moment, leaned forwards to look at the book with fresh interest. “But why would it be here?”

  “Why, indeed? Especially one so ancient. It is centuries old, and I doubted it could have any unchanged entries.”

  “What do you mean?” said Ebon.

  “When an item comes to the vaults, we enter it in a new page on a logbook, with the room’s number noted here.” Theren pointed to the top right corner of a page, where a number had been scrawled and then crossed through with a red X. “Once all the entries have been crossed out, the logbook is retired to the archives. This book is from hundreds of years ago. The entries should have been replaced with other artifacts. But one—”

  Ebon pointed to the entry on the open page. It described a cloak of green cloth, and the enchantment placed upon it. “A spell of warding? What is that?”

  Theren glanced at it. “Look here—runes of silver sewn into the collar, and imbued with mentalist spells. They infuse the cloth with power so that it protects the wearer with magic. Though the cloak would still be cloth, and therefore light, it would protect you like a shirt of chain. Although see here.” She pointed to the bottom of the page, where a note had been added: Verified to be drained upon the twelfth of Yunus, Year of Underrealm 823.

  “Drained?” said Ebon. “What does that mean?”

  “Any wizard can put some of their magic into an object,” Theren explained. “A sword imbued with elementalism may burn with fire at a word, or, as with this cloak, mentalism may make objects much stronger than normal. The magic will leach out with time, often in the course of a day or so. But if runes are carved or woven into the object, they can be made to hold the magic for longer—or, in the case of some mighty Wizard Kings, forever. That is why these artifacts are kept within the vaults and out of reach until their power fades. It was a command of the Fearless Decree. The King’s law says no wizard may sit a throne, and a king with enough enchanted objects is as good as a Wizard King.”

  “Enchanted objects are outlawed, then?”

  “Yes and no,” said Kalem. “Many can be found throughout Underrealm, and some wizards will make small enchantments for everyday use. The Mystics care not. Only objects of great power are controlled. The Lord Chancellor of the Mystics is the final authority on which artifacts must be kept within the vaults, and which are not worth the tro
uble.”

  “One entry in that logbook remains,” said Theren. “One artifact that is still within the vaults—or was, until it was stolen.”

  Ebon flipped through the pages to find the entry, glancing at the other listings as he did. There was a sphere of gold, bearing runes like those on the Academy’s front door. The text said that, with the right words, it could erupt into a giant ball of flame and consume everything nearby, and then return to its original shape, unharmed. The next page described a circlet that let the wearer vanish from sight. He turned page after page, reading about each artifact in turn. Some held power he could scarcely imagine, while others seemed only to have a practical, everyday sort of use. It seemed different Lord Chancellors of years past had had very different ideas of what sort of enchantments should be protected within the vaults. But all the entries were crossed out with a red X—until at last he found the one that was not.

  The Amulet of Kekhit

  This amulet of crystal is bound in gold and depends from a chain of silver. Its dark powers were hers, and show no signs of decay despite the many centuries since it was pried from her long-rotting bones, in the southern reaches of Idris.

  Added to the vaults upon the 10th of Arilis, Year of Underrealm 194

  The artifact’s name had two lines drawn in red ink beneath it, but nothing more was said of its properties. There was a crude sketch of the amulet; the crystal was shaped like an arrowhead, pointing down and away from the wearer’s throat. Ebon flipped to the next page, but it was only the logbook’s next entry.

  “This amulet—that is what was taken?” said Ebon.

  “I am sure,” said Theren. “See where they have drawn a line beneath it? They must have planned this for some time.”

  “I fear I do not understand what it does,” said Ebon.

  “Nor I,” said Theren. “But it is crystal, and therefore it must be powerful. Nothing holds magic so well as crystal. This is the missing logbook. When I could not find the entry of what had been stolen, I thought it was a clerical error. But it was here, in this book, which someone stole. And there is something else. Keep turning the pages.”

  Ebon did, and soon came upon where some leaves had been torn from the book. One remnant had some smudged writing near its spine, but he could not make out what it said.

  “Why are these pages torn?” said Ebon.

  “More artifacts—likely more they plan to steal. Perhaps they tore the pages out to better keep the secret, and then tried to hide the tome.”

  “Why not destroy the book, rather than hide it?” said Ebon. “It seems it would hardly have been missed, if you did not know where it had gone.”

  Theren shrugged. “Mayhap the thief meant to take the amulet, and then choose other artifacts to steal later. Or mayhap they meant to destroy it, but they were nearly discovered holding it, and concealed it in haste. Who is to say?”

  “Should we tell Jia? Or the Dean?” said Kalem.

  “No. I will arrange for it to be found in a way that leaves us all blameless. Hopefully they will read through the pages, and realize what has been taken.”

  “But still we know nothing of the amulet’s powers,” said Ebon.

  “We have a name,” said Kalem. “Kekhit. We must discover who she was. She sounds familiar, but I cannot place her. Doubtless we will find something in An Account of the Dark War and the Fearless Decree. I will start searching at once.”

  “If only there were more than one copy,” Ebon said, shaking his head. “I would like to help in the search.”

  “We know she lived in Idris, and was long-dead by the year 194,” said Kalem. “The two of you should search for more books from that time. Who knows but that you may find the truth before I do.”

  Theren gave a long-suffering sigh. “Does it matter if we know what Kekhit’s amulet does? We know Lilith has stolen it, and that we must reclaim it from her. The amulet’s enchantments do not seem important.”

  Kalem frowned. “We still do not know for certain that Lilith stole the amulet.”

  Theren’s eyes slid over his shoulder, hardening as he spoke. “We could always ask her ourselves.”

  They followed her gaze. There was Lilith, a few dozen paces away and heading straight for them. Ebon tried to speak a word of restraint, but Theren leapt from her chair and strode forwards to meet her. Kalem and Ebon scrambled to follow, flanking her on either side as she and Lilith faced off. Uncomfortably, Ebon realized that he and Kalem probably looked a great deal like Oren and Nella when they stood like bodyguards by Lilith’s side.

  “Good day, Lilith,” said Theren evenly. “How odd that you should seek us out, for I have had a mind to speak to you as well.”

  Lilith stared, blinked, and then turned her gaze to Ebon.

  “Good day, Ebon. I hope you have been well. Some friends and I have been congregating here, in the library, after the Academy’s hours, and I was wondering if you might like to join us.” Slowly she turned to Kalem. “You, too, would be most welcome, Kalem of the family Konnel.”

  Ebon blinked. He gave his friends a sharp look, but they both seemed equally mystified. He cleared his throat, drawing Lilith’s attention back to him. “We have questions for you, Lilith, as Theren said.”

  Theren’s eyes had grown dangerously narrow. “Where were you when the Seat was attacked?”

  For a moment, Lilith said nothing. Then she shook her head, as though the thought were distressing, before finally turning to Theren. “What do you mean? I was home, in Feldemar. You already knew that. All of you did.” She gave three sharp blinks, and then returned her attention to Ebon. “What say you, son of Drayden? We would be most privileged by your presence—by both of you. We call ourselves the Goldbag Society, after all.” Her lips twisted in a small, self-deprecating smile.

  Theren’s breath came quicker, and she took a half-step forwards. Ebon wanted to place a hand on her elbow, but he was suddenly afraid she might strike him. “Your petty arrogance does you no favors, Lilith. Why did your family draw you home to Feldemar just as the Seat was attacked?”

  Lilith focused on her again, brow furrowing as though it were a great inconvenience. “I ...” She shook her head. “What are you saying? Do you mean to say I had something to do with the attack?”

  “I said nothing of the sort.” Theren’s smile grew cruel. “But now that you mention it, is there any truth to such a thought?”

  Again Lilith shook her head, her eyes growing sharp and focused. She took a step back, staring at Ebon and Kalem as though seeing them for the first time. “I cannot believe this. I do not know what foolishness made me invite you to our gatherings.”

  Theren stepped forwards, as though she would catch Lilith by the hand and prevent her escape. “You did not answer me. Why did you mention yourself in connection to the attacks, Lilith? What are you hiding?”

  Lilith was shaking with rage—but, too, her eyes were hurt as they stared into Theren’s. “That you would think such a thing of me shows your ignorance. I was devastated when I learned of Dulmun’s treachery. Until we learned what had happened, I wept every day for fear that my friends and classmates—and yes, even you—might have perished in the fighting.”

  “Sentiment is an ill look for you,” spat Theren. “Like an adder wrapping itself in feathers and calling itself a songbird.”

  Again Lilith retreated—this time in earnest, turning away. But she stopped after a few steps, and gave them a withering look over her shoulder. “Call me an adder, then. But call me also a fool for thinking your death a tragedy.”

  She swept off, and for a moment Ebon thought Theren would pursue her. He seized one elbow, and Kalem the other, and they half-dragged her to their chairs in the corner. But when he looked back over his shoulder, he saw Lilith was looking at them again. Fury twisted her face, and angry tears wet her cheeks. At last she turned and ran away, vanishing among the bookshelves.

  By the time they returned to their chairs, Theren was shaking. She rounded on Ebon and Kalem.
“That manipulative little bitch. I know she had something to do with the theft, and there is a fast way to prove it. We must get into the vaults.”

  “Get into the vaults?” said Kalem, his eyes wide. “You are mad. We could be expelled.”

  “Not if they do not catch us. And if we visit the room where the amulet was stolen, I will know for certain whether it was Lilith who did the deed.”

  “How?” said Ebon, shrugging. “What do you hope to find?”

  “Every wizard has a ... a sort of signature,” said Theren. “Think of it like handwriting. An imprint upon the spells they cast. One wizard who knows another well can read the signature. If I can investigate the vault where the artifact was taken, I can tell if it was Lilith who stole it.”

  “Spell-sight? That is a wildly inaccurate practice, and prone to errors,” said Kalem. “Every instructor speaks of its unreliability. No king’s court will accept such as testimony, except in some of the outland kingdoms.”

  Theren slapped her hand on the back of a chair. “I know Lilith’s mark. I will know if it was her.”

  A moment passed. Ebon cleared his throat, and then quietly said, “What do you propose to do?”

  She gave a thin-lipped smile. “I can sneak into the vaults with Kalem. After I conduct my search, Kalem can shift stone and tunnel our way out.”

  “Only Kalem?” said Ebon. “What of me?”

  Theren shook her head. “Forgive me for saying so, Ebon. But you could do nothing to help. You do not yet command the magic required to aid our escape.”

  Ebon gave them both an uneasy look. Then he stepped away from the chairs, to the corner where the wall sat exposed between two shelves. He reached out and set his hand on the stone. Magic coursed through him. The stone melted and warped beneath his hand, folding away to reveal the hidden shelf where Kalem stowed books he wished to keep secret.