The Buried Symbol (The Ruins of Issalia Book 1) (19 page)

“
Oh, yeah. Sorry.
”
Tipper smiled as he continued the story.
“
After dinner, you continued to pour wine down your throat. In between, you told stories and shared laughs with those ladies. Then, they began to clap in unison. In fact, everyone in the room was clapping. The next thing I know, you were up on their table, dancing to the beat. Then they started yelling for you to take your shirt off, and you obliged.
”

Brock groaned at this news. What else had he done?

“
With your shirt off, you leapt from the table to the top of the bar. Your dancing continued until you did a handstand on the bar. Then you began walking across the bar on your hands. You made it about six or seven steps before your hand went off the edge and you fell behind the bar, landing next to James.
”

“
Oh no,
”
Brock groaned again.
“
Well, now I know why my hip is killing me.
”

Tipper flashed a big grin.
“
When you fell, everyone gasped and the room got quiet. Suddenly, you popped up with your hands raised high and gave a big bow. The whole room clapped and cheered. You hopped over the bar, retrieved your shirt, and resumed drinking with the ladies. After your performance, women from the whole room were surrounding your table and buying you drinks.
”

Tipper reclined, swinging his legs onto the bed as he rested his head on the pillow.
“
It was about two hours later when I convinced you to bid them goodnight. You kept turning and waving to the room as I helped you up the stairs. I dragged you in here and dumped you onto the bed. You were snoring less than a minute later.
”

Tipper turned toward Brock again.
“
You were in the exact same position when I woke this morning. You never even took your boots off.
”
He smiled, clearly enjoying Brock
’
s suffering.

Brock had already made a spectacle of himself on the very day he had arrived in Fallbrandt. Even if his head didn
’
t hurt so much, his behavior was warning enough that he had better watch his wine consumption.

Brock took another drink of water, emptying the glass. He set it on the table and glanced out the window, trying to judge the time. It was far too bright outside. He closed his eyes in pain. It must be mid-morning already. He had planned to visit the Academy in the morning, but now he would have to wait until after lunch. Even then, he needed to work on his recovery. He took a breath and stood. The room swam and his stomach lurched.

“
You don
’
t look so good, Brock,
”
Tipper said, as if it was an insightful observation.

“
I know. Anyone could probably guess that,
”
Brock grumbled.
“
I have to go to the Academy today, so I need to recover soon. I
’
m going downstairs to find someone who can help me.
”

Tipper replied,
“
Go ahead. I already had breakfast. It was quite good. Not as good as last night
’
s dinner, but still quite good. The cook here has talent.
”

Brock washed his face in the bowl on the table and dried it with a clean towel. He dipped his fingers in the water, raking them through his hair in an attempt to tame it. When the image in the mirror looked presentable, he forced himself to walk out the door.

Dory was alone in the dining room, sitting at the same table as the night before. With papers spread out before her, she was busy writing numbers into a ledger.

Brock descended the stairs and approached the table. As he got close, Dory looked up and gave him a smile.

“
Good morning, Brock. I hope you
’
re feeling well.
”

“
Well
…
actually, I feel awful,
”
he said.

Dory smiled again.
“
Yes, I expected that might be the case. You certainly took to the wine last night. If you
’
re not careful, it can sneak up on you and leave you in a bad way the next day.
”

“
Well, it has done a good job on me,
”
Brock replied, settling into the chair across from her.
“
I apologize for my behavior last night. If I offended anyone, I
’
m sorry.
”

“
Don
’
t be sorry. You were genuine, you were fun, and you were entertaining,
”
Dory said with a smile.
“
With the Academy influencing the area, most of the men here believe that they have to always be proper. It
’
s even worse with those who work at the Academy itself. They believe maintaining personal decorum is a virtue. However, the women here find it dull and boring.
”
Dory smiled again.
“
You, on the other hand, are not boring. You had a room full of women, many twice your age, wrapped around your finger last night. They listened, they laughed, and they had a good time. There
’
s no apology needed. In fact, I
’
d like to thank you.
”

He nodded, not knowing what to say. Dory spoke so he didn
’
t have to.

“
Now, how about a cup of caffe to help nurse you back to health?
”
She stood and made her way to the end of the bar.
“
Do you like it with sweet milk?
”

“
Yes, please,
”
Brock replied.

Dory returned, handing him the cup as she reclaimed her seat. They talked as he sipped the hot drink. By the time he was on the second cup, he began to feel better.

CHAPTER 29

It was refreshing to be on the road without the weight of a heavy travel pack. A cool mountain breeze balanced the warmth of the sun, resulting in a beautiful afternoon. The wind ruffled Brock
’
s shirt and blew his hair back as he marched uphill toward the Academy.

The forest abruptly ended a mile beyond Fallbrandt, revealing a wide field of knee-length grass. Lines of pines, two miles apart, surrounded the field.

An immense building stretched across the far end of the field, near the head of the valley. The center section of the structure was large and blocky. Two long outer wings bent southward at an angle, stretching out from the main building until they ended with a circular tower at the end. Scattered trees among the lawn provided shade along the road and along walking paths that were lined with occasional benches.

As Brock neared the main entrance to the Academy, he realized the structure was made of multiple connected buildings, giving it a disjointed appearance. Above the front doors was a stone marquee that read
Academy for the Ministry of Issal, Established 1055.
That made the Academy nearly four hundred years old.

He climbed the stairs and pulled hard on the heavy door. It groaned as it reluctantly swung outward. Brock stepped inside the Academy for what he hoped was the first of many times.

The sound of his boots on the marble floor disturbed the silence of the hall, echoing off walls standing over one hundred feet apart. Light streamed in from the windows above him. He glanced up at the high ceiling, supported by two rows of pillars that interrupted the otherwise open space. Closed doors lined the interior walls. Each of the upper two stories had dark wooden rails lining a terrace overlooking the room below. At each corner, a stairwell connected one level to another. The main level had three wide hallways at the far end, one leading to the left, one to the right, and the third leading straight ahead.

Brock stood alone in the hall, gawking at his surroundings when a bell tolled. Doors burst open and blue-cloaked students emerged to fill the hall. Some exited the building, some disappeared down hallways, and others entered another room in the hall. Minutes later, only a few stragglers remained. Another bell rang, and Brock found himself standing alone again, the hall eerily quiet.

He crossed the open room to stand where the three hallways met. Not knowing what else to do, he randomly picked a direction.

As he strolled down the quiet hallway, he passed numerous glowlamps lighting the corridor. Between each lamp was a set of doors. He noticed a plaque inscribed
Hedgewick Knowledge Center
near a set of doors. He kept walking, coming across two more sets of doors marked the same way.

The hallway connected to an open space, this one with a two-story ceiling. To his left was another set of doors to the knowledge center. The next wall had a set of doors that appeared to lead outside. Ahead, the hallway continued toward an outer wing.

Two sets of open doors were to Brock
’
s right. The nearest had a plaque labeled
Office of Admissions
. Somehow, he had found what he was seeking.

He stepped into a small room with four chairs to one side, a desk to the other, and a closed door at the back. The blonde girl sitting at the desk glanced up from her writing. She pushed her spectacles in place as she addressed him.

“
Can I help you?
”

His whole mission hinged on the next few minutes. Ignoring his fluttering stomach, Brock put on his best smile and responded.

“
Hello. I
’
m here to be admitted to the Academy
”

“
Well, you
’
ve come to the right place. My name is Monica. I
’
m the admissions assistant,
”
she replied with a nod and a smile.
“
First, what
’
s your name?
”

“
My name is Brock.
”
He paused, mind racing. He couldn
’
t use Tannerson as his last name. No tanner would have a son entering the Academy.

Monica finished writing his first name and looked up at him.
“
And, your last name?
”

“
Sorry. Yes, my name is Brock Ta
…”
He cleared his throat and coughed, buying time as he thought about a last name. A plaque on the wall with the word
talent
inscribed on it inspired him.
“
Brock Talen
…
z. Talenz, with a z.
”

Monica nodded and recorded the name on a form before looking up expectantly.

“
I need your papers as well.
”

Oh no
. A surge of panic struck him, twisting his stomach.

Brock smiled again, trying to be engaging.
“
I
’
m sorry, but I don
’
t have any papers.
”

“
No papers? No official writ? I can
’
t help you then.
”
She shook her head, sitting back.
“
The rules are quite clear. You must have official documents in order to be admitted.
”

He wasn
’
t about to give up.
“
Isn
’
t there someone I can see to resolve this? I
must
be admitted.
”

She glanced toward the closed door at the back of the room.
“
You
’
ll have to speak with the master of admissions.
”
She stood, walking toward the door.
“
Let me see if he
’
s available.
”

She knocked, cracking the door open. After a brief conversation, she opened the door wide and waved Brock inside.

It was a large room with beautiful wood-paneled walls, interrupted by a bookcase on one end and a row of windows along the back. A table with six chairs was to Brock
’
s left, a big wooden desk to his right. Behind the desk was a man in a purple cloak.

The man looked up at Brock, his brown bangs hanging over the rune on his forehead. He had a chiseled face and squinting blue eyes. A short-cut beard framed his young face. A small block of wood on the desk displayed the man
’
s name:
Ackerson
.

As Brock took a seat, the man spoke,
“
Mr. Talenz, is it?
”
Brock nodded and the man continued.
“
I hear that you
’
re requesting admission without the proper papers.
”