The Alchemist's Touch (12 page)

Kalem’s mouth fell open, his cheeks flushing with joy. “Sky above. You are in Credell’s class, then?”

“Sadly, I am.”
 

“Sadly? What do you mean?”

Ebon struck the table, harder than he had intended. “Credell seems terrified of me. He quivers instead of teaching. I only hope he gets over his terror long enough for me to pass beyond his class.”

Kalem nodded. “Ah, I see. I suffered much the same fate when I studied with him, though not so bad as you, from the sound of it.”

“Did you? Why?”

Again the boy’s cheeks flushed, and he lowered his gaze. “I imagine you must not know much of the kingdom of Hedgemond. I am a member of the royal family there, a smaller clan, yet still holding close to some power. You must be royalty as well, for that would explain Credell’s manner—though from your look, I would guess you are from Idris. I suppose that makes us kin, though no doubt distant.”

Ebon let the words pass without correcting him. If Kalem thought Ebon to be royalty, so be it. At last it seemed he had met a friendly face, and he would do nothing to drive the boy away with the name of Drayden. And if he invited scorn by befriending Kalem, what of it? It seemed that to Lilith he was already a laughingstock, and to the other students he was someone to avoid. Kalem’s friendship could hardly hurt. “How, then, did you deal with Credell? For you said you took to your lessons quickly, or at least quickly enough to leave his classes behind.”

Kalem did not seem to notice that Ebon had avoided his question. “I did my best, listened when he instructed the others, and practiced whenever I could. Once you pass the novice test, you will move beyond Credell’s class.”

“What is the novice test? No one made mention of it to me.”

“Indeed?” Kalem gawked. “You must be close kin of the High King indeed, if Credell is that scared of you. The novice test is to turn a rod of wood into stone.”

Now Ebon thought he understood the wooden sticks the other students had been holding in class. “Turning wood into stone? Is such a thing really possible?”

“Have you really never seen such a thing? I am sorry, Ebon. I cannot imagine what it must have been like for you, so sternly kept from what should have been a great joy.”

To his surprise, Ebon found himself bristling. “I am not some beggar. I never lacked for coin or food. My father merely thought magic…unseemly.”

Kalem drew back, looking at Ebon with hooded eyes. “Are you—are you, by some chance, your father’s eldest child?”

Ebon felt he had drifted upon dangerous ground, but he did not know what it was. “I am. I had a brother, but he was killed.”

“You are the heir, then? The heir to your family’s throne?”

He swallowed hard, wondering if he could maintain the deception of being royalty. “I suppose.”

“Do you think your father meant to keep your talents hidden, and put you upon the throne?”

Ebon felt himself blanch. “No one would try to put a wizard upon a throne. That would invite the High King’s wrath. You know this.”

“I do,” said Kalem, looking at his fingers where they toyed with each other in his lap. “Yet I have heard rumors that some have tried. Always they are found and put to death, by the Mystics and the King’s law both.”

“That was not my father’s aim, I promise you. He would sooner see me in exile than holding any power.”

Kalem looked at him. “I am relieved to hear it, though it is a sad thing indeed. My father never had to worry about such—my sister waits to take his place at the head of the family, and I have two older brothers besides. Sometimes I think he scarcely notices me. And he is…”

Kalem blushed and looked down. Ebon leaned forwards. “What is it? You may tell me.”

The boy was silent a moment. “He is more concerned with our coin than with me, I think. We do not have the wealth we once did, and sometimes I have heard him and my mother speaking of what they might have to do if our coffers should dry. I sometimes wonder if they will be able to keep paying for my teachings here. I do not know what I would do if they could not.”

Pity flowed through Ebon, much to his surprise. Of all the many causes for concern his family had often provided, worry of their wealth was not among them. It seemed that the Drayden coffers were bottomless. And with that thought, Ebon had a flash of inspiration. He turned his chair to Kalem and leaned forwards.

“Then let me make you this bargain, Kalem of the family Konnel. I shall learn nothing while I am under Credell’s tutelage. So you shall teach me instead. I shall give you my allowance in trade—all I can spare. You can save it, and if your family cannot pay for your schooling, you shall do so yourself.”

Kalem looked at him, eyes shining. “You would do this? Why?”

Ebon shrugged. “Coin is of little concern to us. I am much more worried about how fast I shall learn. It seems that each of us may solve the other’s problem. What do you say? Is the bargain struck?”

Kalem grinned and thrust forth a hand. “It is.”

Ebon shook his wrist. “Done, then. And I propose that we celebrate our pact. Let me take you out upon the Seat tonight, and we shall toast our bargain until we cannot see to find our way home.”

The boy’s smile vanished, and his eyes grew wide. “Do…do you mean to say we shall
drink?”

Ebon smiled. “As an alchemist you may be the master, but it seems I have much to teach you as well.”

thirteen

THEY LEFT THE LIBRARY AS soon as the ending bell rang. Ebon greatly wished for better clothes to wear out, but neither of them had anything grander than their simple black robes. But that meant no delay in their departure. If given the chance, Ebon thought Kalem might turn tail and run.

“It is only that I have never had wine or ale before,” he said, as Ebon practically shoved him through the Academy’s front door and into the street. “My mother and father thought drinking as unseemly as, it seems, your father thought of magic.”

“Then they are all wrong, though for different reasons. There is much joy, and perhaps even some wisdom, to be found in the bottom of a cup, as you will soon learn. But we should find a place as far from the Academy as we can, so long as we can still find our way back.”

They were not the only ones leaving the Academy. Black robes flooded the streets, all of the students seeming to share Ebon’s intent: to forget the day’s lessons and worries with fermented grape and grain. Ebon saw many taverns as they walked, but black-robed students were entering them all, and so he passed them by. Soon the streets thinned out, except for the Seat’s usual crowds: tradesmen bringing their wares home for the day, merchants and nobility traveling here and there to parties and balls.
 

He found himself much more comfortable than the last time he had walked these streets, with Tamen at his side, worrying that any misdeed might be carried to the ears of his father. Now he spun as he walked, eyeing the buildings around him. Some were tall and mighty, others small and modest, but all felt warm and comfortable.

“The Seat is nothing like back home,” he said, only half speaking to Kalem. “Even in the capital, all the buildings are built of white plaster, and they glare in the sun until they hurt the eyes. Everyone wears veils to protect themselves. Only the king’s palace is different—lavish, built from stone and steel, shining with gold spires and great domes. A pretty enough sight, I suppose. But I prefer the Seat.”

“I still miss home,” Kalem said quietly. “Our king rules from Highfell, and that is certainly no place so mighty as the Seat. Yet though the buildings are simpler, they seem more welcoming, and though the palace is nowhere near so grand as the High King’s, still my breath was stripped when first I beheld it.”

Ebon looked at the boy in surprise. He spoke with surprising passion. Ebon wondered what it was like to be homesick—truly homesick, yearning for the place from which you hailed, rather than the few people whose company you enjoyed.

He had not seen a black robe for the last many streets, and so Ebon cast his eyes about for a tavern. Soon he found one, a place with no door barring its entry and a wide window in the wall. He thought, with a flutter in his stomach, of the window through which he had spied a blue door. Had that really only been a few days ago? It seemed a lifetime. Well he remembered that place, far to the west of here, and in the back of Ebon’s mind he decided that he might visit again, if given the chance. Had not Adara told him that she hoped he would? They were the words of a lover, mayhap spurred by coin. Yet now he could know for himself.

He drew his mind back to the present and pulled Kalem towards the inn. “Come, we shall drink here. It seems a fine place—near enough that we shall not have trouble finding our way home.”

“Are you certain?” said Kalem, looking up at the sky. “Already the day nears darkness.”

“Then we shall walk home in torchlight. Come.”

They stepped in through the door. Ebon was gratified to see that no one gave them a second glance. He feared Kalem might run if given a chance, so he kept his hand on the boy’s arm on their way to the bar in back where a stout man with great sprouts of brown hair on his cheeks surveyed them with a keen eye.

“Academy whelps. And not ones I have seen before.”

Ebon felt a moment’s trepidation. “Is our coin less welcome here than another’s would be?”

The man shook his head. “Gold is gold. Only that boy with you looks a bit young.”

“I will care for him,” said Ebon, reaching into the purse at his belt. “And gold is gold, as you say.”

He flipped a weight into the air, and the man easily caught it. His eyebrows raised slightly, and he bit down on the gold. “So it is, master. They call me Leven, and I am at your service.”

“Then let us have some wine, Leven; and make it something fine, from Calentin. I am Ebon, and my friend here is Kalem. I do not think we shall drink enough for that weight tonight—but I ask that you do your best to help us try. If you do, I shall bring more.”

Leven nodded and turned to fetch a flagon from a shelf. This he gave to Ebon, as well as two goblets of pewter—finer things than the wooden cups held by the tavern’s other patrons. Ebon nodded his thanks and shoved his way back into the crowd, seeking an empty table.

Kalem was gawking at him. “A whole gold weight? That must be fine drink indeed.”

“Not so fine as the price I paid,” said Ebon. “But here is your first lesson of taverns, Kalem: pay the proprietor well when you can, and better than you should. If they are of a good sort, they will remember it when your purse weighs less. Now help me find a table—it is dim in here.”

The boy swallowed and nodded. At last Ebon spotted one in the corner—a low table, with benches set to either side, both shrouded in darkness. It was perfect. Even if another student from the Academy were to come, he doubted they would spy Ebon or Kalem in shadows.

“Here, Kalem. This will do nicely—ulp!” Ebon shot up just as he was sitting, for he had struck someone.

“What do you want?” snapped a voice. Ebon peered closer, and saw bright eyes peering out from the darkness. He had not even seen the girl, so complete was her concealment. He leaned closer and saw that there was still another reason: she wore black robes—another student.

“I—er, that is, I did not mean…”

The girl only stared at him, and to his relief Ebon did not think he saw much rancor in her eyes. “Did not mean to place your fat rear upon me? I should hope not.”

Ebon swallowed. “I—we can find another table.”

She studied him for a moment. Her hair was wheat burnished by the sun, cut in a bob. Her light eyes were sharp, peering at him over a thin nose. Slowly those eyes turned downward, spying his flagon.

“You can. But what do two whelps like you mean to do with all that wine?”

Ebon looked beside him, but Kalem’s eyes were fixed on the girl. Hoping her words were an invitation, Ebon nudged Kalem to take a seat on the other bench, and then slid in to sit beside him. The girl had a wooden cup before her, and Ebon carefully filled it before doing the same for himself and Kalem. Once the drinks were poured, he raised his, and poked his new friend to do the same.

“To the hospitality of strangers in taverns,” he said.

The girl did not answer, nor raise her cup. Instead she threw the wine back in one long pull and then clapped the empty cup onto the table. Ebon hastened to follow, but could only drain his goblet by half. Kalem seemed to have forgotten he was supposed to drink his at all. The girl closed her eyes and ran a tongue across her lips. “Sky above, that is fine stuff.” Her eyes snapped back open, narrowing at the boys. “Fine indeed. The two of you are goldbags, then?”

Ebon balked. Mako, his aunt’s guard, had used the word same word, but he had never heard it before that, and had not wanted to ask the man for its meaning. But Kalem blushed and ducked beside him.

“We do use that word where I come from,” said Ebon, feeling the need to bolster the boy. “It does not sound very polite.”

“That it is not.” The girl reached for the flagon, poured herself another cup, and drained it in another long swallow. Ebon expected her to explain further, but she spoke no word. Kalem still had not touched his goblet. Ebon nudged him, and the boy took a tentative sip. His eyes widened, and he looked to his new friend.

“That…that tastes wonderful.”

The girl arched an eyebrow. “And this one is a goldbag whelp.”

Ebon found his hackles rising, but he tried to stay calm. “If you will keep calling us that, at least tell me what it means.”

Kalem spoke before she could answer. “It is just what it sounds like. Goldbags—wealthy.”

Ebon blinked. The girl leaned forwards, smiling without kindness. “Wealthy, eh? I suppose some would put it that way. Some others would say greedy. Sitting in your palaces and manors, hoarding your gold. What do you lot do with all that coin, anyway?”

He held her gaze. “Just now, we pay for you to drink a fine Calentin wine.”

She stared, and Ebon feared she might strike him—either with her first, or with magic, he was not sure, and did not know which would be worse. But then she burst out laughing, and leaned back against the wall behind her. “Fairly said, and more well-mannered than I have been. Never let it be said that only your kind have manners. I am Theren.”