Rise Of Empire (11 page)

Glenmorgan had intended the school to educate laymen at a time when hardly anyone but ecclesiastics could read. Its success was unprecedented. Sheridan achieved eminence above every other seat of learning, winning the praises of patriarchs, kings, and sages. Early on, Sheridan also established itself as a center for lively controversy, with scholars involved in religious and political disputes. Handel of Roe, a master of Sheridan, had campaigned for Ghent’s recognition of the newly established republic of Delgos against the wishes of the Nyphron Church. Also, the school had been decidedly pro-Royalist in the civil wars following the Steward’s Reign. That had come to be an embarrassment to the church, which had retained control of Ghent. The humiliation led to the heresy trials of the three masters Cranston, Landoner, and Widley, all burned at the stake on the Sheridan commons. This quieted the school’s political voice for more than a century, until Edmund Hall, professor of geometry and lore at Sheridan, claimed to use clues gleaned from ancient texts to locate the ruins of Percepliquis. He disappeared for a year and returned with books and tablets revealing arts and sciences long lost, spurring an interest in all things imperial. At this time, a greater orthodoxy had emerged within the church and it outlawed owning or obtaining holy relics, as all artifacts from the Old Empire had been deemed. They arrested Hall and locked him in Ervanon’s Crown Tower along with his notes and maps. The church later declared that Hall had never found the city and that the books were clever fakes, but no one ever heard from Edmund Hall again.

The traditions of Cranston, Landoner, Widley, and Hall were embodied in the present master of lore—Arcadius
Vintarus Latimer. Arista’s old magic teacher had never appeared to notice the boundaries of good taste, much less those of political or religious significance. Chancellor Lambert was the school’s head, because the church found his political leanings satisfactory to the task, but Arcadius was Sheridan’s undisputed heart and soul.

“Should I take you to Master Arcadius?” Arista asked as they left their horses in the charge of the stable warden. “He really is very smart and trustworthy.”

Royce nodded and she promptly led them through the now driving rain into Glen Hall, as most students referred to the original Grand Imperial College building in deference to Glenmorgan. An elaborate cathedral-like edifice, it embodied much of the grandeur of the Steward’s Reign that was sadly missing from the other university buildings. Neither Royce nor Hadrian said a word as they followed her up the stairs to the second floor, shaking the water from their travel cloaks and their hair. Inside it was quiet, the air stuffy and hot. Because several people could easily recognize her, Arista remained in the confines of her hood.

“So as you can see, it would be possible to turn lead into gold, but it would require more than the gold’s resulting worth to make the transformation permanent, thus causing the process to be entirely futile, at least using this method.”

Arista heard Arcadius’s familiar voice booming as they approached the lecture hall.

“There are some, of course, who take advantage of the temporary transformation to dupe the unwary, creating a very realistic fool’s gold that hours later reveals itself to be lead.”

The lecture room was lined with tiers of seats, all filled with identically gowned students. At the podium stood the lore master, a thin elderly man with a blue robe, a white beard, and spectacles perched on the end of his nose.

“The danger here is that once the ruse has been discovered, the victim is often more than mildly unhappy about it.” This comment drew laughter from the students. “Before you put too much thought into the idea of amassing a fortune based on illusionary gold, you should know that it’s been tried. This crime—and it
is
a crime—usually results in the victim taking out his anger on the perpetrator of the hoax in the form of a rather unceremonious execution. This is why you don’t see your master of lore, dressed in the finest silks from Vandon, traveling about in an eight-horse carriage with an entourage of retainers.”

More laughter.

Arista was unclear whether the lecture was at an end or if Arcadius spotted the party on the rise and cut the class short. In any case, the lore master closed his instruction for the day with reminders about homework and dates of exams. As most of the students filed out, a few gathered around their professor with questions, which he patiently addressed.

“Give me a chance to introduce you,” Arista said as they descended the tiers. “I know Arcadius looks a little … odd, but he’s really very intelligent.”

“And the frog exploded, didn’t it?” the wizard was saying to a young man wearing a sober expression.

“Made quite a mess too, sir,” his companion offered.

“Yes, they usually do,” Arcadius said in a sympathetic tone.

The lad sighed. “I don’t understand. I mixed the nitric acid, sulfuric acid, and the glycerin and fed it to him. He seemed fine. Just as you said in class, the blackmuck frog’s stomach held the mixture, but then when he hopped …” The boy’s shoulders slumped while his friend mimicked an explosion with his hands.

The lore master chuckled. “Next time, dissect the frog first
and remove the stomach. There’s a lot less chance of it jumping then. Now run along and clean up the library before Master Falquin gets back.”

The two boys scampered off. Royce closed the door to the lecture hall after them, at which point the princess felt it was safe to remove her cloak.

“Princess Arista!” Arcadius exclaimed in delight, walking toward her with his arms wide. The two exchanged a fond embrace. “Your Highness, what a wonderful surprise! Let me look at you.” He stepped back, still holding her hands. “A bit disheveled, soaking wet, and tracking mud into my classroom. How nice. It’s as if you’re a student here again.”

“Master Arcadius,” the princess began formally, “allow me to introduce Royce Melborn and Hadrian Blackwater. They have some questions for you.”

“Oh?” he said, eyeing the two curiously. “This sounds serious.”

“It is,” Hadrian replied. He took a moment to search the room for any remaining students while Royce locked the doors.

Arista saw the puzzled expression on her instructor’s face and explained, “You have to understand they’re cautious people by trade.”

“I can see that. So I’m to be interrogated, is that it?” Arcadius asked accusingly.

“No,” she said. “I think they just want to ask a few questions.”

“And if I don’t answer? Will they beat me until I talk?”

“Of course not!”

“Are you so sure? You said that you
think
they’re here to ask questions. But I think they’re here to kill me, isn’t that right?”

“The fact is you know too much,” Royce told the wizard,
his tone abruptly turning vicious. He reached into his cloak and drew out his dagger as he advanced on the old man. “It’s time we silenced you permanently.”

“Royce!” Arista shouted in shock. She turned to Hadrian, who sat relaxed in the front row of the lecture hall, casually eating an apple plucked from the lore master’s table. “Hadrian, do something,” she pleaded.

The old man shuffled backward, trying to put more distance between him and Royce. Hadrian did not respond, eating the apple like a man without a worry in the world.

“Royce! Hadrian!” Arista screamed at them. She could not believe what she was seeing.

“Sorry, Princess,” Hadrian finally said, “but this old man has caused us a great deal of trouble in the past, and Royce is not one to forgive debts easily. You might want to close your eyes.”

“She should leave,” Royce said. “Even if she doesn’t see, she’ll hear the screams.”

“So you’re not going to be quick?” the old man whispered.

Hadrian sighed. “I’m not cleaning the mess up this time.”

“But you can’t! I—I—” Arista stood frozen in terror.

Royce closed the distance between him and Arcadius in a sudden rush.

“Wait.” The wizard’s voice quavered as he held up a hand to ward him off. “I think I’m entitled to ask at least one question before I’m butchered.”

“What is it?” Royce asked menacingly, his dagger raised and gleaming.

“How is your lovely Gwen doing?”

“She’s fine,” Royce replied, lowering his blade. “She told me to be certain to tell you she sends her love.”

Arista glared at each of them. “But what—I—you know each other?”

Arcadius chuckled as Hadrian and Royce snickered sheepishly. “I’m sorry, my dear.” The professor held up his hands and cringed slightly. “I just couldn’t resist. An old man has so few opportunities to be whimsical. Yes, I’ve known these two surly characters for years. I knew Hadrian’s father before Hadrian was born, and I met Royce when he was …” The lore master paused briefly. “Well, younger than he is today.”

Hadrian took another bite of the apple and looked up at her. “Arcadius introduced me to Royce and gave us our first few jobs together.”

“And you’ve been inseparable ever since.” The wizard smiled. “It was a sound pairing. You have been a good influence on each other. Left on your own, the two of you would have fallen into ruin.”

There was a noticeable exchange of glances between Royce and Hadrian. “You only say that because you don’t know what we’ve been up to,” Hadrian mentioned.

“Don’t assume too much.” Arcadius shook a menacing finger at him. “I keep tabs on you. So what brings you here?”

“Just a few questions I thought you would be able to shed some light on,” Royce told him. “Why don’t we talk in your study while Hadrian and Arista settle in and get out of their wet things? Is it all right if we spend the night here?”

“Certainly. I’ll have dinner brought up, although you picked a bad day; the kitchen is serving meat pies.” He made a grimace.

Arista stood stiffly, feeling her heart still racing. She narrowed her eyes and glared. “I hate all of you.”

Barrels, bottles, flasks, exotic instruments, jars containing bits of animals swimming in foul-smelling liquids, and a vast
array of other oddities cluttered the small office and spilled out into the hallway. Shelves of web-covered books lined the walls. Aquariums displayed living reptiles and fish. Cages stacked to the ceiling housed pigeons, mice, moles, raccoons, and rabbits, filling the cramped office with the sounds of chirps, chatters, and squeaks, which accompanied the musky scent of books, beeswax, spices, and animal dung.

“You cleaned up,” Royce said with feigned surprise as he carefully entered and stepped around the books and boxes scattered on the floor.

“Quiet, you,” the wizard scolded, looking over the top of his glasses, which rested at the end of his nose. “You hardly ever visit anymore, and you don’t need to be impertinent when you do.”

Royce closed the door and slid the bolt, which drew another look from the wizard. Then from his cloak he pulled out a silver amulet hanging from a thin chain. “What can you tell me about this?”

Arcadius took the jewelry from him and moved to his desk, where he held it near the flame of a candle. He looked at it only briefly, then lifted his spectacles. “This is Hadrian’s medallion. The one his father gave him when he turned thirteen. Are you trying to test me for senility?”

“Did you know Esrahaddon made it?”

“Did he?”

“Remember when I spoke with him in Dahlgren last summer? I didn’t mention it before, but according to him, the church instigated a coup against the emperor nine hundred years ago. He insists that he remained loyal and made two amulets. One he gave to the emperor’s son and the other to the boy’s bodyguard. He claimed to have sent them into hiding while he stayed behind. These amulets are supposed to be enchanted so only Esrahaddon could find them. When Arista
and I were with him in Avempartha, he conjured images of the people wearing his necklaces.

“And you saw Hadrian?”

Royce nodded.

“As the guardian or the heir?”

“Guardian.”

“And the heir?”

“Blond hair, blue eyes, no one I recognized.”

“I see,” Arcadius said. “But you haven’t told Hadrian what you saw.”

“What makes you say that?”

The wizard let the amulet and the chain fall into his palm. “You’re here alone.”

Royce nodded. “Hadrian’s been moody lately. If I tell him, he’ll want to fulfill his destiny—go find this long-lost heir and be his whipping boy. He won’t even question it, because he’ll want it to be true, but I don’t think it is. I think Esrahaddon is up to something. I don’t want either of us to be pawns in his effort to bring his choice for emperor to the throne.”