Aldwyn's Academy (6 page)

“Juvenile,” Helene added.

Her voice dripped with disapproval.

“A bit of high spirits I’ve chosen to overlook,” Lowadar corrected her gently. “We’ve experienced a bit of stress here lately. Well, correction. Students
always
find Aldwyns stressful. We are a premier institution of academics and eldritch learning. But as of late, things have been especially stressful.”

“Dire wolves and ghosts?” Dorian asked.

Lowadar ignored him. His eyes were still locked on the form of the dragon placed upon the pedestal.

“Meet Daelicasus,” he said, “Aldwyns’ mascot and servant of the first headmaster. A most important dragon to our school’s history.”

“Though not the first dragon to ever call this plateau home,” Helene said softly.

Lowadar arched an eyebrow at the girl.

“True enough,” the headmaster agreed. Dorian opened his mouth to question further, and the older wizard cut his query off neatly. “But that’s a story for another day. Come, let us see the grand ballroom.”

The little group moved deeper into the building. Despite himself and the stress and wonder of all he had faced that day, Dorian was still overwhelmed as he beheld the grand ballroom of Aldwyns Academy.

Filled with glittering magical lights and tiled in polished moonstone, the shimmering chamber was vast and ornate without being ostentatious. He saw a curvy, stylized A set into the floor and gasped when he realized that the letter was formed from rare dragonsbreath rubies.

“A gift from the crystal dragons at the laying of the foundation of this school,” Helene informed him.

He was immediately irked.

He knew Helene’s type well—she always had the answer and she always wanted to make sure that everyone
knew it. How could he have been so unlucky as to be attacked by dire wolves
and
to get her for a mentor—all in one day?

Lowadar interrupted his thoughts. “It’s a strange time at Aldwyns. Don’t misunderstand. Study is always intense. Magic is always dangerous. Dark forces are a constant shadow to those who seek to manipulate ancient knowledge.” The wizard lifted his hand and gestured at the great hall. “But this is also a place of wonder, of promise, of beauty. You may not realize it yet, but you are lucky to be here.”

“Anyone with half a brain would realize they’re lucky to be here,” Helene murmured in his other ear.

But Lowadar’s words had woven their spell on Dorian, and he barely heard the elf girl.

He looked around him, head turning slowly, taking it in. It was there, he realized, all around him, the feeling that he was some place … special.

They walked down red tiled halls past students in robes of white and green and purple, and blue—and the red robes of first-years students, the kind Dorian knew he would soon be wearing.

He saw the Towers of Information, Enchantment, and Protection Magic on the way to his dorm room along the back wall of the academy. Lowadar walked slightly ahead, leaving the pupils to talk with each other. Dorian rather wished he hadn’t, and he knew Helene felt the same way.

Through massive windows and open doors he caught sight of grounds carefully landscaped to evoke the feel of a manicured park, and he couldn’t wait to start exploring the property on his own.

“Back among those rocky hills,” Helene said, voice smug as ever, “is the Cavern of the Quivering Mushrooms.”

Dorian strained to see the spot, but it was hidden by the folds in the earth. “Mushrooms?”

“A first year like yourself would do well to stay away from them. They’re much too sensitive for a blundering ox like you,” she said.

She turned and strolled away after the headmaster.

“I’m not the one who had snow fall on her head,” he muttered in reply.

“Did you say something?” The voice was cool.

Dorian spun and found himself face-to-face with Professor Fife. The woman gazed down on him with a look so cold it was imperial. Her mouth was set in a short, hard line.

He swallowed hard. “Me? Nothing.”

“Pupil Helene is, of course, correct,” the woman said, just as if Dorian hadn’t spoken. “The Cavern of the Quivering Mushrooms is not a place for first years to enter lightly.”

“I didn’t say I was going anywhere near them!” Dorian protested.

“You seem given to emotional outbursts,” the professor said. Her voice dripped with disapproval. “That isn’t going to be helpful with spells.” She paused. “Or in those caverns, for that matter. You’ll find yourself knocked asleep in a second, like many a foolish student has before you.”

Professor Fife turned and left. Everybody at Aldwyns seemed to have a habit of walking off and leaving him.

“I didn’t say anything about the caverns,” Dorian repeated, but no one was listening.

He looked up the hall and saw Lowadar stopped in conversation with the blond elf, Professor Ives. Helene seemed to be taking great pains not to notice the teacher, and studied her wand intently.

What’s her problem? he wondered again, and hurried to catch up with the archmage.

By the time Lowadar showed him the cavernous library and left him in the hallway outside his new room, Dorian was convinced of two things: one, that Aldwyns was one of the most magical places on the earth, and two, that his mentor, Helene, was the worst thing in the entire school.

After Lowadar left them, they stood apart, both looking in opposite directions as they figured out how to escape from each other.

They were in a long hallway at the very rear of the academy. It ran from east to west, and along one side were the dorm rooms of the first- and second-year students.

From out of nowhere he felt a slight breeze touch the back of his neck.

He heard a soft whispering echoing oddly from behind him. Goosebumps rippled on his flesh and a chill gripped his spine.

D
orian turned and looked down the corridor to where the hallway turned toward the Tower of Summoning Magic.

He saw a closed door recessed into the wall. Strangely, the shadows seemed to grow deeper there, making that short stretch of hallway seem gloomier. Even the light cast by candles didn’t appear to illuminate as brightly there as in other parts.

Intrigued, Dorian narrowed his eyes and peered harder.

He hadn’t really noticed the spot while walking with Lowadar, but now that the great archmage was gone, the anomaly seemed as obvious as Helene’s disapproval of him.

He saw the
AHN-qua, EN-tee
and
SEV-ef
runes—enchantment, bind, and movement—burned into the heavy door like brands on the hide of a farmer’s livestock.

He ignored Helene, who babbled on about meal times and homework requirements in a bored voice.

He walked down the hall toward the closed door. Sweat broke out on his forehead. The slight breeze in the passage suddenly cooled him enough to cause a shiver.

He realized he was breathing faster than needed.

Upon closer inspection, he could see that the keyhole below the heavy, black iron handle was filled with dull gray lead into which the
YOU-et
rune of protection had been inscribed.

The handle itself was an ugly piece of construction depicting the sinewy body of a snake with its own tail clamped in its jaws.

He swallowed and turned back to Helene, who was still talking, “… Your baggage has already been placed in your room, so—”

“What’s that door?” he blurted out.

“What?” Helene snapped, obviously peeved at being interrupted.

“That door there,” Dorian said and pointed.

Helene followed the gesture and a rather wicked smile slid into place across her face.

“Oh that?” She asked innocently. “That’s Athadora Darkspell’s old chambers.”

Instantly, Dorian remembered the wanted poster he’d seen outside of Maverick’s shop.

“The professor thrown out for practicing dark magic?” he asked.

“The darkest,” Helene agreed, pleased at the boy’s discomfort.
“Necromancy
. She talked to the dead, commanded them. They found an altar dedicated to Vecna when they searched her personal quarters.”

“Vecna?” Dorian swallowed hard against a sudden lump in his throat. “A professor at Aldwyns worshiped Vecna?”

“They say several students disappeared when she was here. They think she was responsible.”

Dorian remembered the twisted, screaming visage of the specter on the battlements. He grew cold and felt as if icy fingers clutched his lungs, squeezing the air from them.

He tried to speak but his throat was so constricted that no sound came out. He coughed and managed to talk, using all his will. “May … maybe she’s come back,” he stammered.

“What?” Helene laughed.

“Athadora,” he explained. “She was a necromancer right? Now there are suddenly ghosts—”

“Don’t be stupid,” the elf girl snapped. “When—I mean, if—she comes back to Aldwyns, she’ll be cunning enough not to advertise her return with a parade of ghosts.”

The girl tilted her head back for a moment, revealing a long, smooth stretch of neck. Dorian stared at her in surprise, suddenly captivated by her fey beauty in a way he hadn’t been before.

Then she began laughing—laughing at him.

“You’re so stupid,” she giggled. “You’re going to make a
great
wizard.”

She broke into peals of musical laughter all over again and Dorian felt his cheeks grow hot.

He pushed past her and into his room, slamming the door hard behind him.

He stopped cold inside the room, stunned to find a monster seated at a desk and looking up at him.

A
n orc had snuck into his room.

Dorian stepped backward, unaware he was moving, and ran up against the heavy wood of the door he’d just slammed.

Quickly, he realized that the stranger wasn’t an orc, couldn’t be an orc. For one thing, he was wearing the red robes of a first-year Aldwyns pupil.

But the olive-tinged skin, heavy brow and jaw, and upturned ears were obviously those of an orc. The student regarded him coolly.

Half-orc, Dorian realized, but even that answer seemed ludicrous.

Orckind, even half-orckind, wasn’t known for producing wizards. Bloodthirsty shaman of Gruumsh, the god of destruction and turmoil, sure. But a wizard?

“Hello,” the half-orc student said. “I’m Caleb. It appears we’re roommates.” He looked at the obviously startled Dorian and just a touch of a grin pulled at
the corners of his mouth. “Unless that’s going to be a problem …”

Realizing how stupid he must look, Dorian blushed all over again.

“I’m Dorian. Don’t worry,” he joked lamely. “The way things are going, I probably won’t be here that long.”

He jerked his Heward’s Handy Haversack off his shoulder and threw it onto the bunk he assumed was his.

Looking around his new room, Dorian took in the details hurriedly.

It was nice, he had to admit, despite being upset. Should be, for as much as tuition costs, he suddenly heard his father’s voice complain, and he almost smiled.

Then he remembered how long it was going to be until he saw his father and his smile faded.

The room was warm, decorated in browns and burgundy.

There was a bunk bed with a red oak frame, and two desks of the same wood housing big, deep drawers with brass handles. Bookshelves hung on the wall and a large rug bearing the now familiar double As of Aldwyns Academy commanded the center of the floor.

There was a magical ring gate on one of the desks, and two sturdy but comfortable chairs. Dorian saw a red robe obviously intended for him on the top bunk, next to a pile of various items he knew his mother had packed for him.

Still feeling embarrassed at being impolite, Dorian avoided looking directly at Caleb. Remembering Helene’s beautiful falcon and Lowadar’s impressive young dragon familiar, he turned back to his new roommate.

“Do you have a familiar?”

Caleb shook his head. “No, I don’t even have a homunculus yet. We’ll get a familiar in a week or two at the Festival of Choosing.”

Dorian nodded and opened his haversack, removing some of his more mundane clothing and school supplies. The box Maverick had given him slid out. He’d forgotten about the present during his fight with Helene.