Dimwater's Demons Page 7

  “Yes, yes, come in, Master Orres,” the headmaster called out from inside the chamber.

  Orres had not been summoned to the headmaster’s office, as would have normally been the case. Instead, he had been instructed to meet Headmaster Herion in a small library down the hall from the office. The room was perhaps only twenty feet deep and fifteen feet wide, with quite a large bit of space dedicated to tall, deep-shelved book cases. A small, arched window of stained glass was the only bit of decoration in the room, and nearly the sole source of light as well. A tall, iron candelabra was situated in the middle of the room, but otherwise the shadows played heavily upon the area.

  Headmaster Herion was sitting in a large, overstuffed chair made of off-white cushions, repaired with green patches of cloth sewn into the arms. The old wizard smiled with twinkling blue eyes from behind his gold-rimmed spectacles. His face was dotted with a short, stubbly growth of white hair rather than his usually clean-shaven look. He was wearing a set of flannel pajamas, despite it being light outside and supper still in the process of being prepared.

  “I would ask that you pardon my appearance,” Headmaster Herion said in his gravelly voice. “I tend to enjoy the more lax schedule in the summer time, and that often means spending an entire day in my pajamas.”

  Feberik nodded.

  “Close the door, will you?” Herion said.

  Feberik closed the door and took a couple of steps into the room, clasping his hands behind his back and puffing out his chest as if he were about to be ripped apart by a commanding officer. “You wished to see me?”

  Headmaster Herion nodded and brought a glass up to his lips, tilting it high into the air and pulling the very last drop of the burgundy liquid out before setting the glass down upon the small side table next to his chair.

  “Have you ever spent a day in your pajamas?” Herion asked.

  Feberik balked and frowned. “I’m sorry?”

  “Hmm, yes, I bet you are if you have never tried it,” Headmaster Herion said as he crossed his left leg over his right. “It is wonderfully liberating, which in turn helps a man think clearly.”

  Feberik scrunched his brow together and shook his head. “You asked to see me about my pajamas, sir?”

  “No, no, of course not,” Herion said as he slapped a hand to his knee. “I summoned you to ask about these.”

  Feberik looked down and watched as Headmaster Herion pulled out a small bundle of opened letters. He unfolded them, and then shuffled a few around that had somehow managed to be turned upside down.

  “Do you happen to know a Miss Carlyn Marks?” Herion asked as he held up a letter.

  Feberik shook his head. “Can’t say that I do, sir.”

  “Well, it appears that you threw her husband through a window at Caspen Manor a short time ago.”

  “Sir, he pulled a dirk on me, I had little choice.”

  Headmaster Herion set the letter aside. “What about a Mrs. Caldwin?”

  Feberik shook his head.

  “It says here that you tossed her into the hallway.”

  Feberik shook his head. “I never roughed up a woman. I did help one off of Lord Caspen’s lap, but all I did was pull her up and then move her toward the hall. I never threw her.”

  “I see,” Headmaster Herion said as he set the letter down.

  At that moment, it sunk in that Herion had called the woman ‘Mrs. Caldwin,’ and he had to ask for clarification. “Sir, that woman is married?”

  “Oh yes, I know her husband well. Master Caldwin is serving in Ten Forts at the moment. I’m sure I have no idea why she would be at Caspen Manor, let alone sitting upon Lord Caspen’s lap as you claim.”

  “Headmaster, you know me. I may be a bit rough, but I never lie.”

  Herion nodded his head. “No doubt,” he said with a short flick of his wrist. “I have several more letters here. Some from nobility, others from the guards or servants of the manor. Feberik, you are not the judge of morality, do you understand?”

  Feberik nodded. “I do, but I couldn’t let it stand.”

  “What?” Herion asked. “Are you going to check in on Lord Caspen from time to time and make sure he never has any fun ever again for the rest of his life?”

  Feberik cracked a smile he couldn’t hide fast enough before Headmaster Herion saw it.

  Herion stood up, tossing the rest of the letters onto the side table. He wagged a bony finger at Feberik. “Master Orres, I understand that you have an arrangement to marry Miss Kyra Caspen—”

  “Dimwater, sir,” Feberik corrected.

  “Excuse me?” Herion said as his eyes grew stern.

  “Her name is Dimwater, remember sir? She took her mother’s name after the tribunal.”

  Herion sighed and shook his head. “Whatever you want to call her, the point is you can’t go around bashing heads together every time they cause an offense. Don’t think I don’t remember the time you threatened Master Fenn. You have a temper, and you must learn to control it.”

  “It just didn’t seem right,” Feberik blurted out. “With all due respect, his wife’s body isn’t cold yet. He had only just denounced and disowned his daughter. He had no business throwing a drunken party in the first place, let alone cozying up to another man’s wife.”

  “What another man does to ease his pains is none of your affair,” Herion said plainly. “It may not sit well with you, but nothing you saw was against the law. Whenever you go out from these halls, you represent not only the Orres family, but Kuldiga Academy.”

  Feberik shook his head, his temper beginning to get the better of him. “And this school is supposed to stand for honor, or is that only something we tell the students during intake and graduation ceremonies?”

  Herion sighed and went back to sit in the chair once more. “Calm down, Feberik, I didn’t bring you here to discipline you for humbling a wayward noble. I brought you here because you need to understand that you must control your temper if you are to lead.”

  Feberik’s mouth opened to say something, but then he stopped and left his jaw hanging as he looked to the headmaster. Lead what? What on Terramyr was the old man talking about.

  “Truth is, Feberik, that other people have noticed you. You have made an impression upon those in authority. You have also riled some nobles, of course, but nothing will come of that. These letters have no force behind them, but I want you to read them after I dismiss you so you can try to manage your temper in the future.” Headmaster Herion pointed back over his head toward the stained-glass window. “What do you see?”

  Feberik, now utterly confused, took in a breath and shrugged. “I see a man standing upon a great serpent, running a spear through the serpent’s head.”

  “Feberik, you know that Kuldiga Academy was founded to protect the realm, yes? It was not only to teach the next generation of warriors and wizards who would fight battles for our defense, but it was also created to establish an elite, powerful unit of well-trained individuals capable of accomplishing special tasks for the king. The window behind you symbolizes this unit.”

  Herion snapped his fingers and the light in the window brightened. The images of the man and the serpent extended out from the window until they were inches from Feberik’s face.

  “Look at the warrior, Feberik,” Herion instructed. He was the first leader of this unit. The serpent is not to be taken literally, however. It represents a group of necromancers. Perhaps you have heard of the Zmea Necromancers?”

  “I have,” Feberik said with a nod.

  Herion snapped his fingers again and the image faded back into the window. “The word ‘Zmea’ means snake in one of the arcane languages. Therefore, the image depicts the moment of our victory over them.”

  “What does this have to do with me?” Feberik asked.

  “Do you know how the headmaster of Kuldiga Academy is chosen?” Herion asked, switching topics abruptly. Headmaster Herion rose from the chair and walked toward Feberik.

  The large warrior s
hook his head. “I assume by seniority,” he said with a shrug.

  “Not even close,” Herion said with a raspy laugh. “The headmaster is chosen from among those who serve in this special unit. That way, the unit can continue to operate fully, vanquishing evil and stamping out those that would use magic for nefarious purposes. A vote is cast within the cadre of that unit. The name with the most votes become the next headmaster.” Headmaster Herion smiled again and placed his hands on Feberik’s massive arms. “So what do you say? Want to take a peek at the unit?”

  “What would I need to do?” Feberik asked.

  “Simple, the unit is commanded by the headmaster, which currently is me. However, I answer directly to King Mathias for everything that is done. If you want a chance to mete out justice, this may be the most fulfilling opportunity that will ever cross your path.”

  “Can I tell Janik?”

  Herion shook his head. “You will take an oath never to divulge your involvement to anyone. More than that, a spell will be put upon you so that you never break that trust, even if tortured by the enemy.”

  “The enemy?” Feberik echoed.

  Herion nodded. “There are dark forces all about, my friend. Shadowfiends, necromancers, demons, dragons. The list goes on. To be sure, some of the other masters help from time to time, but if you want the full taste of action and glory, then you need to shake my hand and accept the offer.”

  Feberik nodded and looked down to Herion’s hand. “If I refuse?”

  Herion nodded solemnly. “Then I will wipe your memory of this part of our conversation and you will remember only that I scolded you for your over-zealous indignation at Caspen Manor. The choice is entirely yours. You will not be punished for refusing, but, if you want to help direct the course of Kuldiga Academy, then you should consider joining. I will add that you have no chance of becoming headmaster if you do not join. However, if you do become part of our unit, I have a feeling that in time you will become a top contender for the position.”

  Feberik took in a breath and thought very carefully. “Is it worth it?” he asked.

  Herion smiled and his brilliantly white teeth shone brightly. “Feberik, this is what you were born for. These are special assignments from the king. We root out the most dangerous snake pits in the kingdom, and then we eradicate them. Think carefully before you refuse. I cannot make the offer twice if you say no.”

  Feberik studied Headmaster Herion’s eyes for some time. Everything in his soul was pulling for it. Even despite the doubts in his mind, which were few, he knew what he would choose. The large man reached forward and took Herion’s hand. “I’m in,” he said.

  “Excellent. Go now and take the rest of the night easy. Your induction will occur tomorrow.” Headmaster Herion then wove a spell over Feberik and a silvery tingle ran through the man’s body. “That’s to make sure you don’t say anything about it to anyone else. Go now, supper will be ready soon.”

  Feberik nodded and went for the door.

  “Oh, and one more thing,” Herion called out.

  Feberik spun on his heels to regard the old wizard.

  “You really should try spending a day or two in your pajamas, it does wonders for the mind and soul.”

  *****

  Kyra opened the door to the classroom and went inside. The early morning sun beamed in from the east, illuminating several spots on the stone floor with its bright light. Cyrus was seated in his chair behind his desk. He was smoking a pipe today, and looking rather weary as the young apprentice made her way to her desk.

  “Figure out the lesson I was trying to teach you?” Cyrus asked, referring to the passage about the wraith.

  Kyra nodded. “I think so.”

  “Good, then tell me what you learned,” Cyrus said as he leaned back and puffed three small rings of smoke into the air.

  “The text doesn’t mention this, but I tried to ask why the wraith would attack.”

  “And?”

  “The boy must have had something,” Kyra said. “It took me some time, but I think it wanted his blood.”

  “His blood?” Cyrus echoed. “Why on Terramyr would it want that? A wraith is not a vampire.”

  Kyra shook her head. “Maybe it didn’t want the actual blood, but maybe there was something about the apprentice that drew the wraith near. I thought of blood because of what happened with me. The first time the wraith attacked me, I had cut myself on a thorn. Now that I know that I have a…” Kyra couldn’t say the words out loud. Try as she might, she couldn’t shake the shame she felt whenever she thought of what her true father was.

  “A vampire,” Cyrus said for her.

  Kyra nodded. “What I mean is, with that kind of blood, perhaps I attracted the wraith somehow. So, maybe the apprentice cut himself as well, or maybe it was just more obvious, but I would wager that he had something in his blood that attracted the wraith.”

  “Why should vampire blood attract a wraith?” Cyrus pressed, still puffing on his pipe.

  Kyra thought for a moment. “I haven’t quite figured that all out. I know that a shade is like a vampire, only a shade will absorb energy and magical essence, and doesn’t need physical contact in order to extract it. So, I thought either the wraith is naturally drawn to vampire blood, like a moth to a torch, or perhaps the wraith hunts vampires because they struggle against shades.”

  Cyrus smiled and nodded slightly. “Not bad,” he said. “There is still a long way to go, but that is a good start. Now, put that together with the added threat to the wraith. We know there was a powerful master wizard there with the apprentice, so why would the wraith attack so openly?”

  Kyra shook her head. “Everything we have read shows that wraiths, though animalistic and fierce, are intelligent creatures. Therefore, it must have wanted something from the boy, or perhaps perceived the apprentice as a greater threat. Otherwise, it wouldn’t risk itself like that.”

  Cyrus nodded again. “I have researched this particular encounter quite thoroughly. You are on the right track. However, it wasn’t the boy’s blood, or anything else about the boy himself that attracted the wraith. While that may have played some part in your encounter, the apprentice in this particular encounter had something in his possession that was highly prized by both the wraith, and the wraith’s master.”

  “A shade?” Kyra asked.

  “A powerful shade who was known by the name Mitingyra,” Cyrus confirmed. “She was hunting a special artifact. The young apprentice had it in his possession, but he did not know the value of he had at the time. The shade sent the wraith to attack him on that particular day, because on the following day the young apprentice was to be enrolled in Calbeton School of Magic and Witchcraft. Had the wraith not attacked when it did, it would then have to try to take the item from the boy amidst more than a dozen experienced wizards, rather than only one.”

  “What was it looking for?” Kyra asked. “The shade I mean, what did she seek?”

  “That is a lesson for another time,” Cyrus said quickly as he pulled his pipe from the corner of his mouth and set it down in a red bowl on his desk. “However, I can tell you how she died.”

  “Yes, please,” Kyra said. “How was she killed?” She must have acted overeager, for Cyrus cocked a brow and narrowed one eye on her before he finally told her the story.

  “A particularly fine young wizard hunted her down and destroyed her.”

  Kyra leaned forward, waiting for more details. As the seconds passed and Cyrus didn’t say anything else, she frowned. “That’s it?” she asked. “I thought you were going to tell me the whole story, or maybe at least let me read about it.”

  Cyrus smiled and folded his arms. “You can’t read about it. In fact, it is only a story that a handful of wizards even are aware of.”

  “So are you going to tell me?” Kyra asked impatiently.

  Cyrus nodded. “Just thought I would have a bit of fun with you,” he said. “Of course I will tell you.”

  Kyra sighed and sh
ook her head. “That was not funny.”

  Cyrus shrugged. “I know about the book you took from the library,” Cyrus said flatly. “I know you read about Ravenel and the Garunda.”

  Kyra stiffened. How could he have known? She had hidden the book in her bag. She had only taken it out in the forest, and Cyrus wasn’t even aware of where the aspen wood was.

  Cyrus held up a hand. “I’m not going to lecture you, Kyra. Icadion knows it wouldn’t do any good even if I did. You’re too stubborn, and too proud to admit something is beyond your reach. But, do at least listen to this story, all right?”

  Kyra nodded.

  “As I said, I studied the encounter thoroughly. No one else had ever put it all together. As far as I knew, I was the only wizard that was even aware the wraith had been sent to recover an artifact. I researched through all the materials I could find on the subject. Eventually, I uncovered what the artifact was.”

  “What was it?” Kyra asked. “Was it a weapon, or a powerful magic spell?”

  Cyrus shook his head. “I told you before, that is a lesson for another time. You are not ready for that quite yet. Let’s just say that it was something very ancient, dark, and extremely dangerous. As I said before, the young apprentice had no idea what he had found. He thought it was something else entirely. If my calculations were right, this particular item had been missing, and presumed destroyed, for centuries. In any case, once I realized what it was he had found, I knew immediately that we were dealing with something very dangerous. Knowing that most, if not all wraiths serve masters more powerful than they, I dug into what may have been in the area.

  “The encounter with the young wizard had been well before my time, but of course a shade can live forever, like a vampire, unless it is killed. The terrifying part was that the artifact was indeed lost during the encounter. Therefore, even though the wraith died, I assumed that its master had returned for the artifact. I began my search at the location of the encounter. I tracked the traces of dark magic and searched the whole of the area by the stream where it happened, but I didn’t find the artifact. This would have been roughly eighteen years ago now, about three years before you were born.