The Firemage's Vengeance (35 page)

Xain rose and guided Ebon out of the office. He led the way through the halls and out a white cedar door onto the Academy grounds. The hour was still early, and their breath misted in the air. Ebon rubbed his arms against the chill.

“Allow me,” said Xain. He whispered as his eyes glowed, and a small ball of flame sprang up before them and between them. Ebon held his fingers out towards it.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

Xain nodded. Then he sighed, as though preparing himself for a most unpleasant task. “I am not skilled in such things, and so I will be brief: I was wrong to think so poorly of you, simply because of your family name. I treated you worse than I ought, and that was my error. It does not excuse what you did, but mayhap my own ire made things worse than they might have been.”

“Worse than you ought?” said Ebon, arching an eyebrow.

Xain’s jaw clenched.
“Much
worse, I suppose.”

But Ebon only shrugged. “In all honestly, I am rather used to such treatment by now.”

His words earned a sigh. “I suppose you are right. Many of us, it seems, are accused of crimes these days in which we were blameless.”

Ebon gave him a look. “You mean what happened between you and Cyrus,” he said.

Xain’s easy look darkened: not, Ebon felt, out of anger at him, but rather at a memory. “I suppose everyone here knows something of that, do they not? I do not know if you had any love for Cyrus, but I—”

“I killed him.”

Xain went very still. He stared at Ebon for a long moment. “Say that again.”

“I killed Cyrus,” said Ebon. “It was the day the Seat was attacked. I saw him sneaking off through the streets. I followed him to the cliffs on the south of the island, and there he attacked me. I turned his feet to stone, and then I cast him into the water, where he drowned.” Tears stung his eyes, and his breath came short in his chest.

“If that is true, why would you not tell the King’s law?” said Xain. “If you defended yourself—”

“I do not fear the King’s law,” said Ebon. “But do you think my family would feel the same?”

The Dean’s lips twitched. “You should not be telling me this. Why would you?”

“Because I need you to understand,” said Ebon, his voice cracking. “I could have stopped Isra when we fought her in your basement. And I could have stopped her last night, before you arrived. Only … only every time she was at my mercy, and I could have taken her life, or allowed it to be taken by another—I saw Cyrus, I heard his screaming, the way I do in my dreams, over and over again—”

He broke off, for his voice would not last much longer, and he turned away so that Xain could not see the tears in his eyes.

Now you have done it, you fool,
he told himself.
Now Xain will reveal you, and your life will be forfeit.

Let it.

“It was my fault your son was taken,” he whispered. “I thank the sky that he survived, but he might not have. Because of me.”

He still faced away from Xain. But behind him, he heard the Dean sigh.

“It is no ignoble thing to stay the hand from killing,” said Xain softly. “I have taken my share of lives. My share and more. Yet someone wiser than I am reminded me, in recent days, that it is not for the living to lightly mete out death.”

Ebon turned to him. Xain’s eyes were far away. “Then you will reveal my crime to the constables? I would not blame you.”

Xain snorted. “Your murder of Cyrus? Hardly. I knew the man—likely better than you did. I am not so reckless about killing as I once was, perhaps, but I will not mourn his passing.”

Shaking, Ebon let loose a long sigh. “I am … relieved to hear it.”

“I imagine you are,” said Xain, fixing him with a stern glare. “But your relief may not last long. For I heard what Theren said to you, and I agree with her. If you seek redemption for what you have done, you cannot look to your past, but to the future. And not just your future—but the future of all of Underrealm.”

The air had grown thick with tension, so thick that Ebon found his breath coming shallow. “What do you mean?” he said.

“You must leave the Academy, yet I do not think you wish to return to your home of Idris,” said Xain. “What if I could arrange for you to stay here, upon the Seat? I could even arrange for you to have a private tutor—an instructor who would continue your training in magic.”

Ebon’s heart thundered in his chest. “You would do that?” he said, managing little more than a whisper.

“Yes. But not for free.”

“What, then? I would pay a hefty price for such a gift.”

Xain shook his head. “I do not want your coin. Rather, I want what your coin has secured: your family’s influence and power across the nine kingdoms.”

Ebon blinked. “I do not understand. What do you mean?”

Xain hesitated. “I only share this with you because you have proven yourself to be … something nobler than your kin. I know the Drayden name and the darkness that surrounds it, and you do as well. Yet, as a Drayden, you have access to resources I could never hope to muster on my own.”

“I thought you were favored by the High King herself.”

“So I am, and we work together in this,” said Xain. “Yet the King Enalyn walks in the light of her own laws. The Draydens often dip into the darkness beyond those laws. That is where I think you might help me. All sanctioned by the High King. You will face no blame for any help you give us.”

Fear thrummed in Ebon’s chest, and he felt himself standing on the edge of a precipice. “You do not make this sound like any light matter, Xain.”

“Nor is it. You are about to learn something known only to a handful of people across Underrealm. You are going to help me find the Necromancer.”

KEEP READING

You’ve finished
The Firemage’s Vengeance,
the third book of the Academy Journals.

But the Academy is only part of the tale of Underrealm. And while Ebon struggles to uncover the secrets lurking in the shadows of the Seat, another young champion hounds a traitorous merchant across the nine lands.

The next book of Underrealm is
Weremage,
the fifth book of the Nightblade Epic, and you can buy it RIGHT NOW.

Just click here:

AMAZON US:
GarrettBRobinson.com/weremage

AMAZON UK:
GarrettBRobinson.com/weremage-uk

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Well. I hope you’re pleased with yourself.

Really, in general, I hope you’re pleased with yourself. You’re awesome. And I appreciate you.

But on a more immediate note, I hope you’re pleased with this book.

If you are, it’s because of several people who are not me. And they deserve their moment of your attention, because they really went above and beyond.

First and last, my wife. This book was written during a tremendously tumultuous period for both of us. My business partnership dissolved, and she stepped in to fill the gap. As I tap out these pages, we are moving our family from one state to the next, and she’s handling the lion’s share of that planning. And through it all she’s remained my confidante and best friend.

My children, by remaining blissfully oblivious to the unbelievable stress their parents are under right now, have been a constant escape I can always rely on. When my work gets overwhelming, I spend time with them and pretend the world is as carefree as they believe it to be.

Karen Conlin, my editor, is as stalwart as my wife (though in a very different way, of course, at least as far as our personal relationship is concerned). I have never been as confident in the work I produce as I am now that she runs her keen eyes across it.

With this book, my beta readers have rendered their greatest service since the almost-apocalypse that was
Darkfire.
Thank you, Jess, for revealing this book’s fundamental flaw before it went to the presses, and especial thanks to the “new kid,” Joe. Thanks as well to Erad, Karl, and Kristen.

To my advance readers—you people are the best. You made last book’s release epic, and I can’t wait to see what we do with this one (and all the ones to come).

Thank you to the Vloganovel crew, too many to name, but all appreciated. So many writers shudder in horror at the thought of writing with an audience. I recoil, instead, at the thought of going on these journeys alone, without you by my side.

And last as she is first, my wife again. Just hold on, Meg. We’re al … most … there.

Garrett Robinson

June 2016

DVD EXTRAS FOR BOOKS

Ever come to the end of a book and wish it wasn’t over?

That’s how I feel all the time.

I’ve created behind-the-scenes content for you to enjoy. You’ll get to hear about the creation process of the book, and watch the video diary of its creation from beginning to end.
 

(It’s worth checking back on the page from time to time—I plan to update it periodically.)

It’s like DVD extras for books. Interested? Click here:

GarrettBRobinson.com/firemage-vengeance-extras

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Garrett Robinson
was born and raised in Los Angeles. The son of an author/painter father and a violinist/singer mother, no one was surprised when he grew up to be an artist.

After blooding himself in the independent film industry, he self-published his first book in 2012 and swiftly followed it with a stream of others, publishing more than two million words by 2014. Within months he topped numerous Amazon bestseller lists. Now he spends his time writing books and directing films.

A passionate fantasy author, his most popular series is the Nightblade Epic. However, he has delved into many other genres. Some works are for adult audiences only, such as
Non Zombie
and
Hit Girls,
but he has also published popular books for younger readers, including the Realm Keepers series and
The Ninjabread Man
, both co-authored with Z.C. Bolger.

Garrett lives in Los Angeles with his wife Meghan, his children Dawn, Luke, and Desmond, and his dog Chewbacca.

Garrett can be found on:

YOUTUBE:
youtube.com/TheGarrettRobinson
 

BLOG:
GarrettBRobinson.com

EMAIL:
[email protected]

TWITTER:
twitter.com/GgarrettAuthor

FACEBOOK:
facebook.com/GarrettBRobinson

43 epilogue [23]

Halab looked up from her wine as Mako opened the door. He stepped into the drawing room and then stood aside, holding the door open.

Nella stepped into the room. Her gaze flew everywhere, and Halab could see at once how the girl was overwhelmed by the finery. Not a merchant child, though Halab had heard she was friendly with the Yerrin girl.

Mako closed the door with a soft
click.
“Tell her what you told me,” he said gently.

The girl looked up in fear, meeting Halab’s eyes for the first time. Halab smiled at her. Nella gave a little smile back, seeming to draw some comfort from the gesture.

“I … I told him about the day the Seat was attacked. I saw Ebon slip away from the other students.”

“This has reached my ears already,” said Halab. “Did he not run off trying to help a student who had become lost, only to discover she was a handmaiden from the palace?”

“That is what he told everyone when he came back,” said Nella, nodding. “But it is not the truth. He and I were fighting together. We battled those—the grey-and-blue clad warriors, the ones they call Shades. So when he ran off, I ran after him a pace or two before I turned back. And I saw where he really went.”

Halab took a sip of wine. Then she shook her head. “Sky above, forgive me, girl. My manners have fled me. Would you like a cup of wine?”

Nella swallowed hard. “I might. I can finish the story first, if it pleases my lady.”

“Oh, I am no woman of nobility,” said Halab, smiling graciously. “And there is no hurry. Mako, pour her a cup. You may take the chair beside me, girl.”

The girl nodded and came forwards to sit in the chair. Mako had a cup in her hand in the space of a heartbeat, and she sipped at it. Her eyes widened, and she took another, deeper sip.

“That is the best wine I have ever tasted,” she said.

Halab’s smile grew. “We keep fine vintages on hand. Now, please continue.”

“Well—and now, understand, I only glimpsed them for a moment—I saw Cyrus. Cyrus of the family—well, your kin. He was the Dean before the new one, that man Xain with the dark eyes.”

The room went quiet. Halab looked from Nella’s face over to Mako. The bodyguard’s expression betrayed nothing.

Nella felt the tension in the room, clearly, for her next sip of wine was timid. “That … that is who Ebon went after. Not some palace woman. He went after Cyrus. What happened to them both after that, I do not know.”

Halab had not taken her gaze from Mako. “Does this mean what it sounds like it means?”

Mako shrugged. “Mayhap. Cyrus is dead; that much we know. If he were not, I would have found him. Ebon might have killed him.”

Pursing her lips, Halab stared into her cup. She took another sip. Beside her, Nella’s eyes had gone saucer-wide. She drank a heavy gulp of her own cup.