Aldwyn's Academy (2 page)

H
elene Miridori stared out the window of her Second Year dorm room, pulling an ivory handled brush through her long auburn hair.

She let her gaze wander from the Ever-Changing Hedge Maze sandwiched between the ornate towers of summoning and change magic, across the Alchemical Gardens where the dragon Old Whiskers kept his cave.

She liked how early the snow came to Aldwyns Academy.

Snow accented things, gave them a fey quality that appealed to her, but now the sky hung gray. It formed an oppressive ceiling, and the atmosphere it brought with it infused the grounds.

She saw students outside keeping their heads down as they hurried on their way. Those in flight seemed to take no joy in the freedom.

Ghosts had come to Aldwyns.

Ghosts of enough strength and intensity to worry
experienced spellcasters. Ghosts of enough substance to defy the commands the faculty and the archmage Lowadar, headmaster of Aldwyns himself, gave.

A smile crossed her face.

“Helene!” Her mother’s voice was like a whip cracking. “Are you listening to me?”

“I’m sorry, Mother,” Helene lied smoothly. “My roommate came in, but she’s gone now.”

The face in the crystal ball frowned. A woman of her station did not repeat herself, even to her daughter.

“I was saying that the human boy Dorian may be an
issue
. He does not know your secret. And you know how humans are. You must be careful to make sure that he never discovers it or he’ll tell the whole school. And then your safety cannot be assured.” The woman sighed. “Your sister Anika tutored a human her second year and never had any trouble. Of course your sister was already top of her class by the beginning of her second year, and you still seem to be struggling.”

Helene slammed her brush down. “Yes I know! Anika is smarter. Anika is prettier. Anika is better at magic! I know all about how successful Anika is!” Helene hissed. “I will handle this boy. I will not fail you.”

From within the spherical depths of the crystal ball, the elf glared at her daughter. “I think our connection is faulty, Helene. It appeared, just for a moment, that my daughter lost control of her temper out of jealousy for
her own sister.” She paused. “That couldn’t have been the case, could it?”

“No, Mother,” Helene answered, her voice dull to her own ears.

“Good,” her mother replied. Her beautiful porcelain features softened. “I know you’re working hard. I only want the best for you. For now you must adhere to our understanding.”

What her mother thought was “best” for her was to be exactly like her older sister, Anika. Helene merely replied, “Yes, Mother.”

“We’ll talk more in a few days, Helene. In the meantime try and befriend this Dorian and gain his trust. I know his mother—she is a powerful seer. If the boy’s anything like Serissa, you’ll be able to use him to your advantage.”

Helene watched the image of her mother in the crystal ball fade, and let out her breath. She picked up her brush again and began brushing her hair furiously.

From his perch beside her, her familiar, Mordenkainen, cooed softly.

“I don’t care what she thinks,” Helene said, her voice dark. “I don’t need the human boy. I refuse to make friends with someone I don’t like.” The falcon rustled his feathers. “And,” Helene added, “I already hate Dorian Ravensmith.”

T
he wolves pushed their snarling muzzles through the shattered carriage windows, sending glass flying.

Dorian gripped the dagger his father had given him on his last birthday and lunged forward.

“Dorian, no!” his mother screamed.

The beasts snapped at him, their thick shoulders caught on the sturdy frames of the carriage’s small windows. Their breath was so close Dorian felt it hot on his cheeks.

He took a breath and thrust the tip of the blade into the lip of the brazier. Red hot coals spilled out and spun into the faces of the dire wolves. They jerked back.

The stench of burning fur filled the cramped space of the overturned sleigh.

Serissa shoved the opposite door of the coach open and yanked Dorian backward with her. He tumbled onto his back in the snow and gasped.

The driver stood next to the trapped horses, swinging his whip to keep one of the huge wolves at bay. The
footman jerked, scratching frantically at the snow and ice covered ground, his left leg pinned beneath the overturned carriage.

A dire wolf leaped at them.

“Mom! Look out!” Dorian shouted.

Dorian’s mother pulled a crystal wand free from her cloak. She snarled an incantation and a burst of light leaped from her wand.

The spell struck the wolf with the force of a meteor and swept the beast backward in a swirling sphere of flames. As the creature flew clear, two more savage canines sprang into its place.

Serissa lunged forward, her wand waving.

A white dragon appeared out of thin air, large as any four of the snarling wolves. It screamed, showing fangs that resembled swords.

The illusion was perfect, from its angry yellow eyes to the albino color of its scales. Claws that glittered like steel daggers bit into the wood of the coach, appearing to splinter it as the ferocious image prepared to leap.

The dire wolves yipped in sudden terror and turned, barking their retreat as they ran away.

Serissa’s arm fell limp and Dorian knew she had to be approaching the limits of her power. She was not a war mage or an adventurer, but rather an enchantress of the court.

In an instant Dorian remembered his own wand, a
slim metal baton given to him by his mother at the same time his father had made a present of the silver dagger.

Most of the spells she’d attempted to teach him had either been beyond his ability or had worked only in a haphazard fashion.

He had had little interest in the magic she’d tried to impart. But while learning a spell of enchantment from his mother’s book, Dorian’s eyes had fallen upon a page whose magical lettering seemed to leap out at him.

He’d cast it immediately, without thinking twice, and blasted the portrait hanging above their fireplace from its moorings.

He’d expected his mother to be furious, but instead the enchantress simply directed the servants to clean up the mess. If anything his mother seemed more troubled than angry.

Dorian pulled the wand free of the holder at his belt.

It felt strange and awkward in his grasp despite the month of practice his mother had insisted on before he left for Aldwyns. He pictured the spell that had blasted the portrait, and the words tumbled easily from his mouth.

Green energy, sizzling with sound and speed, darted out of his wand.

The charge flew straight through the white dragon his mother had conjured, cutting the illusion in half.

The beasts saw the dragon waver. Instantly, the pack surged forward again, all nail and fang.

“You fool!” Serissa whispered, her voice hoarse.

The shock of what he had done enveloped Dorian in a blanket of shame and fear, but then the wolves were on them.

The trapped footman screamed.

The coachman went down. The horses, confined by their traces, neighed in pain.

Dorian squeezed his eyes tight as Serissa whispered again that same familiar language of magic, but what spell could she possibly have left?

Behind them, a voice like thunder hammered the little clearing.

Dorian opened his eyes and saw a smattering of dazzling lights spring like fireflies from his mother’s fingertips at an attacking wolf. The creature blinked in surprise.

The thunderous voice sounded again.

Instantly the wolves, muzzles bloody, lifted up some ten feet above the road. Dorian craned his neck as the animals twisted to break free from the magical bonds that held them. They could not escape.

Two figures on horseback raced down the road.

The elder of the pair was resplendent in green robes. He had long white hair and a thick, wild beard. Dorian recognized him instantly from the cover of
A Practical Guide to Wizardry
, the book his mother had given him along with his wand.

It was Archmage Lowadar, headmaster of Aldwyns and the most powerful wizard of his age.

The Archmage held his hands before him, eyes narrowed in concentration as he kept the gigantic wolves hovering in the air.

The second figure snarled out liquid syllables. He wore deep black robes, and rams’ horns grew from his forehead above a grim face. Dorian knew him too; Blackburn, professor of destruction magic.

Light shot from Blackburn’s fingertips. Suddenly the sky and the snow were black, the trees white.

Lowadar snapped his hands down and the beasts dropped to lie still and smoldering in the snow.

“That was amazing!” Dorian yelled, pushing himself to his feet.

Serissa snatched him up by his lapels. His mouth dropped open as he took in the fury on her face.

“Look!” she shouted. “See what your weak attempt at magic has done. Look at what you’ve done!”

But he didn’t want to look.

He didn’t want to see the horses lying still in the snow. He wished his ears could block out the sounds of the sobbing footman who would have only the use of his left hand for the rest of his life.

And the coachman … the coachman.

He’d known the coachman for as long as he could remember. The man had driven the carriage of his mother
since before Dorian had been born. The man was kind and always willing to show a curious boy how to pop a bullwhip or calm a spooked horse.

He felt tears sting his eyes.

Archmage Lowadar slid off the back of his horse, a magnificent stallion with hide and mane as white as the unsullied snow around them.

Beside him, Blackburn knelt by the motionless coachman and put his fingers against the man’s neck.

“He lives,” the wizard pronounced.

H
elene opened her window despite the bitter cold that rushed in from outside. Her falcon regarded her with intelligent, golden eyes.

“Mordenkainen,” the girl said. “Go to the front and tell me if that little bother has arrived yet.”

The bird cawed once sharply and exploded into smooth flight.

Helene watched Mordenkainen glide around between the chimneys and towers before flying up over the roof toward the front of the academy.

Pushing the window partially shut against the chill, Helene opened her desk and began gathering the items she needed. On her desk, her homunculus pattered back and forth. An animated extension of her will formed with spellcraft and enchanted clay, it looked like a rather lumpish pixie.

“Attach the pouches containing my spell components to my belt and place it in my haversack,” she ordered.

A whispering slithered out from the shadows. Helene stiffened as the candle flame burning in the corner fluttered.

She turned quickly and the whispering died. The candle flame recovered. Her eyes narrowed as she glanced quickly around the room.

She turned back to her desk just as a gray hand speckled with patches of black rotting skin, retreated back through the magic portal of her desktop ring gate.

Helene caught a whiff of horrific rot coming from the limb.

“What now?” she hissed.

Her heart hammered in her chest.

From her bed, the homunculus chattered. “Oh mistress, oh mistress! What have you done? Bad things follow you like the ghosts—”

“Be still,” she commanded, and the homunculus fell silent.

She had enough problems lately without listening to the little thing chatter.

There, on the desk at the base of her ring gate lay a folded note. With a trembling hand, Helene picked up the parchment.

Her eyes raced across the message:

“How …” she trailed off.

Her skin began to crawl.

Ring gates were iron circlets on stands connected by magic so that anything put through one ring emerged from the other, no matter location or distance. The mate to her own ring gate sat on the personal desk of her mother.

She swallowed.

“It doesn’t matter,” she whispered.