The Thorn of Dentonhill (2 page)

It was too dark to read in the stairwell. Annoyed, he shoved the papers back in his pocket.

He let his eyes close, just for a moment.

Church bells rang in the distance. Was it seven bells? How long had he been sitting in the stairwell? Slivers of sunlight came under the door. Had he fallen asleep and not realized it? Panic fueled his body, and he forced himself to move. He couldn't waste any more time.

He left the building and headed west on Necker. It was a major road, with tightly packed dirty gray stone buildings, looming six or seven stories high. Windows were covered with black iron grates. The street bustled with early morning activity. Shopkeepers opened up their iron-grated doors. Horsecarts slowly rolled along. Snuffers put out the streetlamps that hadn't burned out during the night.

Veranix slipped in with a group dressed for work in heavy, brown smocks, headed toward the Dentonhill Slaughterhouse. The scent of blood and the squawking of hundreds of doomed birds filled the air. Veranix was pleased to have a small crowd to blend into. Even if Fenmere's thugs spotted him and recognized him, they probably wouldn't try to grab him where there would be witnesses.

Maybe not.

This was Dentonhill, after all. Fenmere's neighborhood. Any possible witnesses would be people Fenmere could buy or intimidate to keep quiet. Any constables in the neighborhood were likely to be deep in his pocket.

Veranix just had to make it three blocks to Waterpath, and he'd be out of Dentonhill and somewhat safer. At least he'd be out of Fenmere's direct influence.

By the time Veranix reached Waterpath, the sun was peeking over the buildings, casting long shadows across the road. Waterpath was a major roadway, wide enough for four carriages side-by-side, and at this hour plenty of drovers were taking full advantage of that. The street crawled with merchant wagons and horse carriages, while three-wheeled pedalcarts darted through the gaps. Veranix crossed out from the Dentonhill side, sitting like a great gray cliff behind him, and wove between the carts and wagons until he reached the bright green tree line of the University of Maradaine.

There were plenty of people about on the street, but no one seemed to notice as he went behind a wide-leafed tree and climbed up a few branches. His strength had returned for the most part, though he still felt drained. From this vantage point, he could jump onto the back wall of the University. The low wall was there to mark the border of the campus, rather than actually keep people out. He scrambled onto the rough stone and dropped onto the soft grass.

He relaxed a little after entering the campus. It was a stark change from Dentonhill: the green of the campus lawn, the bright white buildings, the paved walkways all lined with banners, statues, and fresh-scented blooming trees, and the open view of the sky.

No one was in sight, and no one cried out that they saw him. Veranix said a quick prayer of thanks to Saint Senea. Now he just had to get back to quarters. That was going to be a challenge. The back doors to Almers Hall were locked, and prefects watched the front doors. If they caught him out of quarters now, carrying a pack and a staff, there would be a lot of questions about what he was up to, possibly an official inquiry. That would mean demerits and reprimands, if not outright expulsion. He didn't need that any more than he needed to be caught by the thugs. He had left a window open on the third floor, but it was too light out now to climb to it. He'd be easily seen. He'd probably be spotted shortly anyway. He made a quick dash for the carriage house.

Veranix went up to one window near the back end of it, and tapped on the glass.

“Kai!” he whispered. “Kai!” After a moment, the window opened.

“Don't tell me you're just getting here,” Kaiana said, scowling at him. Her dark eyes were wide and alert. She had already woken up for the day, dressed in her loose canvas pullover and slacks. Veranix cursed himself for losing track of time. She stepped back and let him scramble into the window. “It's nearly eight bells!”

“Nearly got caught, and I burned myself out getting away. And then I stumbled into a den.”

“You reek of fish, you know,” she said, her flat nose crinkling in disgust. Kaiana Nell was a dark-haired, brown-skinned girl. Ruder people would call her a Napa: half Druth, half Napolic. She was a soldier's daughter, born out on the tropical islands during the Fifty Year War.

Ruder people would call Veranix a Dirty Quin if his Racquin heritage were as clear on his face. Of course, Racquin were only a little darker than “regular” Druthalians. They just kept to the roads and kept to their own, for the most part. Though Veranix, like Kaiana, was only half. His father was a “regular” Druth, born and raised in Maradaine, just blocks away from the University. Veranix had inherited his father's fair skin and green eyes, and could speak in his father's Aventil neighborhood accent. Even his last name, Calbert, was pure Druth. Only his given name gave any hint that he was anything but a local.

“I landed in a bin full of them,” he said. “It wasn't fun.”

“You got careless out there, didn't you?”

“No.”

“You ‘stumbled' into a den?”

“Really, I did. Well, I found it was there, and I couldn't just ignore—”

“I get it,” she said. Her eyes narrowed. “Did you destroy their stash?”

“Fifteen, maybe twenty vials.”

“Not much stash.”

He took out the pouch of coins. “Plus this. Keep them from getting more.”

“You count it?”

“Of course not.” He tossed it over to her. “Can you drop that at Saint Julian's?”

“Yeah,” she said, putting the sack under her bed.

He took off his leather vest and linen tunic as if they were one piece. “I'm going to hide my gear here today.”

“Gear, yes. Not those clothes.”

“Kai, if I get caught in these clothes . . .”

“If that fish smell brings Master Jolen searching here, he'll find all your gear. Then I'll be out on the street.” Master Jolen was the head groundskeeper of the campus. Veranix knew that he, at best, tolerated Kaiana's presence on his staff, and would probably use any excuse to kick her out.

“You have my spare uniform?” he asked.

“No, Veranix,” she said. “I told you, I hid those in the Spinner Run.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Again, if Jolen finds a student's uniform in here, he'll throw me out. After he beats me for being a ‘wanton trollop.'”

“He wouldn't dare,” Veranix said.

“Oh, I think he would,” she said. “I think he'd like it.” Kaiana was the only female on the grounds staff, so Jolen had her sleep in the carriage house, while the rest lived in one of the staff barracks. Jolen was constantly threatening her with beatings if she stepped out of line, but he hadn't ever followed through, as far as Veranix knew.

“All right,” Veranix said. He rummaged through his pack and took out the stolen papers.

“Are those what you wanted?” she asked.

“Don't know. Haven't gotten a chance to look at them.” He glanced at the sheets in his hands.

“You don't have time now!”

“Nearly eight bells already?”

“If not past.”

“Fine, fine.” Grudgingly, Veranix stuck the papers in the crease of his pants.

“Ridiculous,” she muttered, shoving his pack and staff under her bed. “Now, get.” He opened her door a crack. No one was out there. With a last wink at her, he dashed out to the stables.

The Spinner Run was an abandoned underground passage that ran from one of the stables of the carriage house to Holtman Hall, where the students' dining hall was. Veranix had no idea what its original purpose had been, but as far as he knew the only ones who still used it, other than Kaiana and himself, were rats and spiders.

He pulled open the trapdoor and dropped into the Run. It was completely dark, but he didn't care. He had enough of his strength back to make a small glowing ball appear. The ball hung in the air, providing enough light to find the hole in the wall, a space where the bricks had been chipped out of the mortar, down near the dirt floor. Reaching in, he pulled out his spare school uniform. Taking the papers out and putting them to the side, he stripped off the dark wool pants he was wearing, and shoved all his fishy clothes into the hole. He'd have to deal with those later.

Not knowing how much time he had, he raced to put on his uniform. He never liked wearing it. The wool of the dark blue pants and jacket was scratchy and stiff. He couldn't move, couldn't stretch, while wearing it. The worst parts of the whole thing were the cap and scarf. Every time he put them on he felt foolish, even though every other student wore the same thing. His were striped red and gray, which marked him as a magic student.

He folded up the stolen papers and shoved them in the jacket pocket. Wiping off the bits of loose mortar from his jacket, he dashed down the passageway, reaching the other end in less than a minute. Other students in his House would be arriving shortly in Holtman for breakfast. If his luck held, no one would notice that he hadn't come from Almers.

He climbed up through the trapdoor, emerging in one of Holtman's storerooms. As usual, no one was there. He snuck from the room, went down the hall, and joined in with the uniformed students from Almers who were heading toward the dining hall.

He felt a tap on his shoulder.

“Where have you been?”

“Water closet,” he said. He turned to see Delmin Sarren, who shared sleeping quarters with him in Almers. Delmin was tall and rail-thin, with stringy, light-colored hair that never stayed contained under his cap, which had the same red and gray trim as Veranix's.

Delmin chuckled. “Don't treat me stupid. Your bed wasn't slept in.”

“Sure it was.”

“Please. I won't tell the prefects or anything. But if you get caught, you're going to be in trouble.”

“Caught?” Veranix asked in his best innocent voice.

Delmin wrapped an arm around him and whispered conspiratorially. “Look, mate. That dark girl is a pretty one, so I don't blame you for sneaking into her bed. But you can't be staying with her until dawn, no matter how good it is.”

“You're right,” Veranix replied. “Thanks.”

Delmin sniffed at Veranix. “Also, you need to give yourself time to clean up. You smell like a freshly rolled doxy.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Veranix said. He bit his lip to keep from laughing. “What's our course today?”

“We've got lecture with Alimen today.”

Veranix sighed. Alimen on no sleep would be a challenge. He went into the dining hall, hoping for some very strong tea.

T
HREE CUPS OF
tea and two bowls of porridge later, Veranix stumbled behind Delmin as they went to the Western Lecture Halls. Bells up in the High University Tower rang out the time. It was already nine bells. Delmin broke into a run. Veranix realized that they were about to be late for lecture and bolted after Delmin. The two of them skidded into the hall just as the ninth bell rang.

“Well, Mister Calbert. Mister Sarren. You managed to make it to lecture on time.” Professor Alimen stood at the slate board, looking stately in his blue professorial robe. He was an older man, though fit and lean. He kept his gray hair and beard cropped short, and his green eyes had very few lines around them for his age. The sleeves of his robe were rolled up, revealing his strong forearms and the tattoo on his left arm. The tattoo, of the letters L and P surrounded by flame, showed his membership in Lord Preston's Circle.

“We don't want to miss a minute, Professor,” Veranix said.

“Surely,” Alimen said. “Upper gallery, gentlemen.”

Veranix and Delmin went up the narrow spiral stairs to the gallery above the lecture floor, joining the score of students already standing there. Many of them were specifically Third-Year Magic students, like Veranix and Delmin, but several were students of other disciplines, taking Alimen's Advanced Mystical Theory lecture to round out their education. The University Board insisted that all students take several lectures outside of their field of Mastery.

“Very good, then,” Professor Alimen said. “As the bells have rung, and we are all assembled, let us begin. Today we will start a new chapter, as laid out in your texts, exploring the mystical nature of . . .”

Veranix looked at the assembly standing in the upper gallery, taking in the wide variety of caps and scarves. He was always amazed that so many students who couldn't do magic would want to learn about magic theory. Theory was a waste of his time, and Alimen's lectures were dry and dull. Despite that, Veranix attended every lecture dutifully. He owed Professor Alimen too much to do otherwise.

He slipped his hand inside his jacket pocket, feeling for the stolen papers. He was getting anxious to know just what he had. As his fingers touched the sheets, they made a slight crinkling sound. Delmin glanced over at him.

“What're you doing?” he whispered.

“Nothing,” Veranix said, pulling his hand out. “Had an itch.”

“Scratch later,” someone on Veranix's other side hissed at him.

Veranix sighed. He'd have to wait.

Professor Alimen droned on.

Two more hours of this. He leaned against the support beam and did his best to keep his focus on the lecture.

“Mister Calbert!”

Veranix snapped out of his doze. His face was uncomfortably pressed against the support beam. There was no hiding that he had fallen asleep.

“Yes, Professor Alimen?” he asked. Blinking to clear his eyes, he looked down to the lecture floor. Alimen was glaring up at him, holding a small rock in his hand. Veranix had the idea that the professor was of the mind to throw it at his head.

“Perhaps you would care to help me demonstrate?”

“Yes, of course, Professor,” Veranix said.

“Come down here, then, Mister Calbert.”

Veranix pushed his way through the other students on the upper gallery to get to the stairs. Each step creaked and groaned as he went down. He suddenly had the wild urge to jump down from the balcony. He could have done it easily, managing a double or even a triple flip before making a perfect landing, bringing gasps of amazement and thunderous applause from the crowd. He missed those sounds sometimes. He quickly stifled the urge. It was best that no one knew he could do that, as they would surely ask where he'd learned it.

Veranix wracked his brain to think of what he was about to help demonstrate. What was the lecture about again? Something about minerals and mystic properties. He stepped out onto the floor, very aware of all the eyes on him.

Professor Alimen was smiling far too broadly for Veranix's comfort. “Excellent, Mister Calbert. Now, if you could just take the dalmatium.”

Veranix took the rock. It was heavier than he expected, cool to the touch. It was a chunk of metal, not stone.

“Now, Mister Calbert, you get to fulfill the fantasy of many, many students who have passed through these halls. You have permission to blast me.”

“Sir?” Veranix asked.

“Whatever form of magic blast or jinx you prefer, Mister Calbert. Hit me, full strength.” Veranix was still feeling tired and drained, now even more than before. He wasn't sure how much strength he could even muster.

“Are you certain, sir?” Veranix asked. “I wouldn't want to hurt you.”

“Now, Mister Calbert.”

The students above chuckled nervously. Veranix was sure all of them were glad they weren't down here.

“All right, Professor.” Veranix drew in the
numina
from around him. He raised his hand to release the energy, but it was already gone. Nothing happened. He tried again, but the
numina
was gone. He couldn't make any magic.

Professor Alimen nodded and looked up at the crowd. “As you see, the dalmatium effectively absorbs
numina
energy, making any magic all but impossible.” He took the rock away from Veranix and put it back on the table. “Thank you, Mister Calbert. Back up top, and try to stay awake.”

Veranix slunk back up the stairs as Alimen continued the lecture.

“Now, also unlike napranium, dalmatium is a hard metal, and it does not lose its properties when alloyed with iron. In fact, our city's constabulary has special shackles for mages that are made with dalmatium. Mister Calbert has some idea now what it would be like to wear them.”

Veranix stepped back into place next to Delmin. Every student with red and gray trim looked at him with sympathy and fear.

“How did it feel?” Delmin whispered to him.

“Strange. Like I was leaking.”

“Teach you to doze off in lecture,” Delmin said.

“Shh,” Veranix said. “I don't want to miss any more.”

“Next lecture we'll start going over crystals,” Alimen continued. He put the rock in a small box, latching it shut. “I'll have more samples to demonstrate at that class. Good day, all.”

“More samples?” Veranix asked Delmin. “What did that mean?”

“Oh, the dalmatium was the only thing he had to show today,” Delmin said, gathering his notes while other students filed out of the hall. “The other metals, napranium, theralium, and so on are too rare for him to get.”

“Mister Calbert!” Alimen's voice boomed across the lecture hall. Veranix and Delmin both stopped in their tracks. Veranix turned to see Alimen approaching, arms full of boxes and charts.

“Yes, Professor?” Veranix held out his arms, offering to take some of the professor's burden.

Alimen gave him a dismissive shake of the head, refusing the help. “Please note that you have a practical course with me tomorrow at nine bells. I will demand both your punctuality and full attention.” Despite the harsh tone, Alimen's face was cheerful and bright. “Mister Sarren, yours is at eleven bells. Though I know you need no prodding.”

“We could switch, Professor,” Veranix suggested.

“Absolutely not, Veranix,” Alimen said with a chuckle and a shake of his head. “I want to have you done with so I can enjoy the rest of my day.” He winked after this comment, and went out of the hall.

Delmin knocked Veranix's arm as they followed. “We could switch? Nine bells is all yours, my friend. Come on, let's beat the crowd to lunch.”

“I'm going to skip it,” Veranix said. “I need some real sleep.”

“Your choice.” Delmin dashed off across the lawn to Holmwood, leaving Veranix to trudge alone to Almers Hall.

Almers was several hundred years old, having been built when the University of Maradaine was just the Great High College of Maradaine, and Veranix was certain that very few changes had been made to the building in all that time. The building was stone, mortared and plastered and painted white. In every room the paint had dirtied to a dull gray, the plaster crumbling and mortar cracking. A boring lump of a building, filled with drafts and moldy dampness. Veranix had happily called it home for the last three years, the only home he had ever had that didn't have wheels on it.

“Heard you fell asleep in your lecture today, Veranix,” someone said from behind him. Veranix could tell just by the looming presence, a full head and a half taller than him, it was Rellings, one of the Almers prefects.

“Is that story already going around?”

“Word travels fast,” Rellings said, looking down his hawk nose at Veranix. “Now, why were you so tired, kish?” Veranix scowled. He hated whenever anyone called him “kish.” It was a nickname final year students, especially prefects, used for underclassmen. It was a bit of slang on campus so old no one even knew where it came from anymore, but its use persisted. Veranix swore that when he reached final year, he wouldn't use it at all. Not that it would make a difference. The kind of guys who would use it were the kind of guys who became prefects.

“One of those mornings,” Veranix said. As he approached the door to Almers. Rellings stepped ahead and blocked Veranix's entrance.

“A morning where you didn't sleep all night?”

“Nightmares kept me up,” Veranix said, staring hard at Rellings. “That happens with mages, you know.”

Rellings stepped back. Veranix knew he was easily spooked by magic, even just the idle threat of it. “Right. I didn't note you this morning, but Sarren said you were around. Don't think I'm not paying attention to you.”

“Glad to hear it,” Veranix said. Delmin was actively covering for him. Veranix appreciated that, but wondered if Delmin would make the effort if he knew what was really happening. “I'm going in now.” Rellings sneered but let him pass. Veranix went up to the third floor common room.

The common room was a chaotic mess of threadbare chairs and cracked wooden tables, grouped around the central fireplace. The winters in Almers were brutal. Even now, as spring was well into warm bloom, the place had a heavy chill. The bare stone floor didn't help. Several students were huddled about the fireplace, reading, writing, and arguing. Veranix slipped his way between the chairs. He wanted to get in his room, read through the papers, and take a nap.

“Veranix!” someone called to him. He was a first- or second-year whose name Veranix had completely forgotten. “Thank Saint Hespin you're here.”

“Prens!” his companion said. “Watch the blasphemy.” He tapped his knuckle to his forehead and then kissed it in benediction. His accent and his act of devotion stood out. He was from the southern Archduchy of Scaloi. There couldn't be more than ten Scallics on campus. Despite that, Veranix couldn't remember his name.

“It's not blas—never mind,” Prens said. “Veranix, sweet Saint Veran, please. Really, help us out.”

Veranix stopped. They were invoking the sainted version of his name. This must be serious. He only hoped this would be quick. “What's the problem?”

“We've got a Basic Mystical Theory exam in the afternoon,” said Prens. “We're dying here.” Prens and his pious friend both wore brown and green scarves. They weren't magic students. What was brown and green? Theology? That was it. It was coming back to him. These two were the preseminary students at the end of the hallway.

Veranix shook his head. “You've got the wrong man. You want to talk theory, find Delmin.”

“We did last night,” Prens said. “I didn't understand half of what he said.”

“You did pass Basic Mystical Theory, yes?” his friend asked. Veranix struggled with his name. Owens? Oads? Oaks, that was it.

“Yes, I passed,” Veranix said. “I just . . . look, I'm tired, I came back to take a nap, and . . .” He looked at the two of them, their faces filled with panic. He sat down. “All right, what are you not getting?”