The Thorn of Dentonhill (25 page)

Veranix reeled, unsure how to react, unable to think of anything other than the sweet wetness of her mouth. Before he could do or say anything else, the door flew open. Veranix's heart was slamming against his chest, his thoughts racing. For a moment, he had forgotten about napranium or the Blue Hand Circle. He couldn't even remember why he had come to the carriage house. All he knew was he hated whoever had opened the door.

“Well, well.” The young man at the door—the blond with Kalas's group—leered at the two of them.

“What?” said the rasping voice. As the rest of the mages crowded into the small room, Kaiana was already on her feet, pulling her blanket around her.

“How dare you!” she said with indignation. “Barging into a girl's room like this!”

“Quiet, harlot!” Kalas said. He held up one hand, and Kaiana was pushed, falling back down on the bed. That brought Veranix back to his senses, and he sat up, ready to tackle Kalas.

“Don't you dare—” he started, putting himself between Kalas and Kaiana.

“Mister Calbert!” Professor Alimen said, moving to the front of the group. He looked around for a moment. “You are aware that the campus is on emergency curfew, aren't you?”

Veranix's mind raced, quickly putting ideas together, catching up with the events occurring around him. “No, sir,” he said. “I didn't hear any bells. But I wasn't paying attention, really.”

The mage who opened the door snorted with laughter. “I shouldn't wonder.”

“Enough, Mister Kent,” Alimen said to him. “Mister Calbert, ignoring official bells is a serious matter. Regardless of the . . . distractions at hand.”

“I understand, sir,” Veranix said, bowing his head. “Perhaps we should remove ourselves from the young lady's quarters to discuss the consequences?”

“I agree,” Professor Alimen said, “for the sake of propriety. Gentlemen, if we can continue this elsewhere . . .”

“We are searching here!” rasped the frightening, red-haired mage.

“Sirath,” Alimen said to him, “I don't think—”

“Lord Sirath!” barked the other young mage.

Alimen regarded this with barely hidden disdain. “Mind your manners, Mister Forden. The point is you traced unusual
numina
signatures to the carriage house. Mister Calbert has clearly been spending his spare time in here—”

“For obvious reasons,” Kalas said, still leering at Kaiana as she wrapped her blanket around her body. Veranix's blood boiled, seeing Kaiana embarrassed and ogled like this. Despite her Napolic heritage, he had always known her to be demure and conservative. Having all these strangers see her so exposed, it must have been awful for her. She looked miserable. That wasn't performance on her part. The extent of what she did hit him deep in his stomach.

“That's enough,” Veranix said, grabbing Kalas by the shoulder. Kalas reacted immediately, swatting Veranix across the face with the back of his hand. Veranix's hot blood ran across his tongue and lips.

That cracked it.

The full measure of Veranix's anger came rushing through his skull. Rage for his parents. Rage for Kaiana. Rage for Fenmere. Rage for the dead and dying on the streets of Maradaine, poisoned by
effitte
. Rage for these presumptuous mages who call themselves Lord or Master with no cause other than their own hubris.

He would not stand it anymore.

Fueled by that rage he pulled in
numina
and blasted it out his hand at Kalas.

The blast did nothing. It was as if he had thrown a bucket of water on Kalas, harmlessly splashing off him.

“Mister Calbert!” Professor Alimen shouted, shocked.

Kalas was neither shocked nor angry. He chuckled, amused. “This is your prize pupil, is it not, Alimen? This is the best that the University of Maradaine has, and he is nothing.”

Veranix remained shocked at what happened. Was Kalas strong enough to resist his magic?

“This is all quite enough, all of you!” Professor Alimen barked. “Fenrich, out of courtesy, I have put up with your accusations and your intrusions, but these further violations and insults will not stand!”

“Will not stand?” Sirath said, his tone mocking. “Who are you to say what will not stand?”

“I am a chair and professor here, Sirath,” Professor Alimen said, shooting a look at the two young mages, as if daring them to challenge him. “My authority stands on this campus.”

At the outside door, someone was making a commotion. Master Jolen, the head of the grounds, came in with three cadets following after him.

“Don't you boys tell me where I can't go!” Jolen's face blazed red with anger. He came marching up to the group of mages. “What the blazes is the big idea, Professor?”

“These . . . these men were searching for something,” Professor Alimen said to Jolen. “But it's not here, and they shall be going.”

“Searching for what?” Jolen said, looking around. “Nothing here but horses and that useless . . .” His eyes found Kaiana, still holding the blanket around her body. He then looked at Veranix: shirt open, red-faced, fuming. Professor Alimen had already moved in front of Jolen, holding his hands up.

“Not all is what it seems, Jolen, you—”

“You should keep a tighter leash on your boys, Professor!” Jolen shouted. “And you, you tramp, you were finally caught! I should knock the sin out of you!”

“Enough!” roared Sirath, and the whole carriage house shook with his voice. Veranix felt the raw power coming from the man vibrate through his bones. Everyone stopped and stared at him. He looked around the room slowly, taking time to inspect Veranix thoroughly. Despite the screaming fear Sirath's gaze put in his stomach, Veranix held his ground. He stared right back into Sirath's dark eyes. He wasn't going to cower to any man, and with his own stare he let Sirath know that.

“This boy,” Sirath eventually rasped, his eyes still fixed on Veranix, “lacks the basic ability to account for the
numina
traces we tracked here. He is barely anything.”

Veranix suddenly realized what happened. The piece of dalmatium was still there in his pocket. It had been there all this while. The fact that he had been able to blast anything was impressive. It also meant that Sirath had no idea what he was really capable of.

“I might surprise you, Sirath,” Veranix said.

“Mister Calbert!” Alimen said.

“I doubt that, boy,” Sirath said. “Are our things here or not, trackers?”

“No, Lord Sirath,” Forden said, looking around. “And now the
numina
traces are a bit of a muddle, but give us some time and . . .”

“No,” Alimen said, “I've entertained your fancy too long. You have no time.”

“Do not cross us, Alimen,” Kalas said.

“This is over,” Alimen said. He turned to the three cadets standing at the door of the carriage house, who all looked frightened and confused. “Cadets, please escort these gentlemen to the campus gates. Lift the emergency curfew, on my authority, and let your officers know that the members of the Blue Hand Circle are not welcome on campus grounds.”

None of the cadets came too close to the mages, but they directed them toward the door. Sirath and the other Blue Hands glared at Alimen, but they left without further words.

“Leave the trollop to me,” Jolen said, grabbing a whip off the wall.

“Master Jolen!” Alimen barked. “You will not hurt this girl. Fire her from your employ if you feel you must, but leave her unmolested.”

Jolen fumed, red-faced. He looked at the whip with disappointment. Growling, he looked back at Kaiana. “Fine. Sacked, trollop. Be gone by noon bells, or I will make up for the beating you're not getting now.”

“Mister Calbert,” Professor Alimen said, “compose yourself and come with me to my office. We have much to discuss.”

“Yes, sir,” Veranix said. He gingerly went back into Kaiana's room, closing up his shirt.

“Kai, I'm . . . I'm sorry that—”

“It's all right,” she said, not looking at him. “I'll be fine.” She looked over at Alimen and Jolen, who were both still watching them carefully. “I've got friends in the neighborhood who will help me. Just like you do.” She looked back at him pointedly.

“You've said enough, boy,” Jolen said. “Now go.”

Veranix finished closing his shirt and stormed out of the carriage house. Professor Alimen was right behind him. The professor said nothing as they walked across the lawn toward Bolingwood Tower. Trumpets sounded from the walls of the campus, indicating the end of the emergency curfew.

V
ERANIX CLIMBED
the stairs to Alimen's office, not looking back to see if the professor was with him. He charged over to Alimen's desk and threw himself into the chair in front of it, chest heaving with anger. He sat there for several minutes, stewing in his rage, before he realized that Professor Alimen hadn't arrived yet. He turned back to the door. Alimen was just entering, winded from the walk.

“That's quite the pace you can manage,” Alimen said. He held his hand over his chest. “Did it help?”

“How would it help?” Veranix asked. Alimen came over and sat at his desk.

“Did it burn off some of that anger?”

“Those people had no right—” Veranix started.

“No, they didn't,” Alimen said. “I'm sorry I granted them the latitude I did. I should have investigated their claims more closely before acting on them.”

“Do you think so?” Veranix shouted, springing to his feet. “You call an emergency curfew and give those . . . people free reign over the student body, and you didn't investigate their claims?”

“Watch yourself, Mister Calbert!” Professor Alimen snapped. “I am not to be questioned by you!”

Veranix dropped back down into the chair, scowling. He bit his tongue to keep himself from further shouting.

“Now, I am no fan of the Blue Hand Circle, but they do have a fair degree of influence and importance. Mister Kalas had spoken of them funding a fellowship, which I was in the process of getting a firm commitment on. I'm certain that will now fall apart.”

“What kind of fellowship?” Veranix asked.

“For a new faculty member in the Magic department, not that it's any of your business.”

“One of them?”

“Which they would pay for.”

“You shouldn't take their blood money,” Veranix muttered.

“Blood money?” Alimen said with a raised eyebrow. “The Blue Hand Circle, and certainly Sirath, are not the most scrupulous people I've ever met, but I'd say that is a bit much.”

“They're—” Veranix started. He bit his lip. He knew the Blue Hand was working with Fenmere, but he couldn't explain that to the professor. Alimen glared at him, waiting for him to say more. “They're disgusting, and you know it.”

“They hold to a doctrine that I don't agree with, true, but that's—”

“What doctrine?” Veranix asked. Alimen was silent for a moment. “What do they want?”

“The Blue Hand Circle have ideas of magical superiority. Which, to them, includes excluding women and others from practicing magic.” He looked down at the floor, avoiding Veranix's eye, and then mumbled, “I believe they also advocate for what is called a Magocracy.”

“Exclusion and rule by mages.” Veranix had never been a good history student, but he knew that there had been long centuries of persecution of mages because average people were afraid of exactly that. Only in recent decades had public opinion been accepting enough for magic to be practiced openly, taught at schools. People like the Blue Hand Circle would ruin that. “You would have them be in charge of a teaching position? Aren't you concerned with—”

“That is quite enough,” Alimen said. “My primary concerns are your behavior, Mister Calbert. Let alone you dallying with a member of the staff, you lost control of your temper and your magic.”

“Kalas hit me!”

“Which is the only reason you are not receiving sterner punishment, Veranix! Even with that, for you to magically attack someone else is inexcusable!”

Veranix dropped his head. Despite his anger, he was ashamed about what happened. “I'm sorry, I lost my head there.”

“You saw what happened when you let rage fuel magic, didn't you?” Alimen said. “That was the most ineffective magic I have ever seen you do, Mister Calbert.”

“Yes, it was,” Veranix said. There was no need to let the professor know what really happened.

“Perhaps it's lucky,” Alimen mused. “If you had actually hurt Kalas, who knows what he might have done.”

“I guess the Blue Hand will continue to underestimate me,” Veranix said, half to himself.

“Don't overestimate yourself, though, Mister Calbert,” Alimen said. “Don't think that the walls of this University can or will protect you if you go too far.”

“I'm not expecting the University to protect me, sir,” Veranix snapped.

“You should!” Alimen said, grinding his teeth. “I don't know if you appreciate the latitude I've given you here, Mister Calbert. Many would say you should get probation, if not expulsion, for attacking another person the way you did Kalas. You can't risk expulsion, Mister Calbert.”

“Am I risking it?” He knew he was challenging the professor, pushing too hard, but he didn't stop himself.

“A magic student cannot afford to risk it, Veranix,” the professor said, his eyes hard. “We had no control over the natural gift we were born with, but in having it, we must—”

“Be responsible to society and to ourselves,” Veranix droned. He had heard that line every semester since his first year.

“Yes,” Alimen said. “I'm sorry if that basic truth bores you, Mister Calbert. The other truth is without receiving Letters of Mastery, you would not be inducted into Lord Preston's Circle. Or any other.”

“I know that,” Veranix said quietly.

“Uncircled.” Alimen let the weight of the word hang there.

“I know,” Veranix said again, this nearly a whisper. Without Letters, without a Circle, a mage's life became very difficult. It was more than just brotherhood, it meant legal protection. Legitimacy, for a mage, meant respect.

“Without a Circle,” Alimen said, as if he were reading Veranix's thoughts, “you might as well have a target on your back.”

“I know what that's like,” Veranix muttered.

Professor Alimen stood up from his chair and crossed in front of the desk, sitting down right in front of Veranix. He took a moment, clearly struggling with what to say next. “I've always been concerned about you, Veranix. When you first came here, you asked me to not tell anyone of your circus performer origins, and to not ask you why.”

“And the second part still holds, sir,” Veranix said.

“I have respected your request for three years, Veranix. I will continue to do so. I will always respect your privacy.”

“Thank you, sir,” Veranix said. “Is that all?”

“Well . . .” Alimen stammered. “It's not . . . what I'm saying is, Veranix, that it's clear you have quite a few things going on. I have noticed the constant sleepiness during lectures. The occasional odd injury. And I would imagine that the other night was probably not your first dangerous encounter on the streets.”

Veranix wasn't sure what to say. He chewed his lip and looked up at Professor Alimen. He knew he had stayed silent for too long to make any kind of convincing denial. “Professor, I—”

“Veranix, whatever path you are on will only lead you to further danger. The other day, street gangs, today the Blue Hand Circle, getting your friend fired, and I don't know what for tomorrow.”

“I don't have specific plans for tomorrow, sir,” Veranix said.

“Well, don't make any,” Alimen said. He crossed away from the desk, walking over to his workbench. Veranix took the moment to slip the dalmatium out of his pocket and onto the desk. Alimen continued, his tone harsher than Veranix had ever heard before. “Starting tomorrow, we will increase your level of work and responsibility, Mister Calbert. That should minimize your opportunity for trouble.”

“Professor,” Veranix started lamely.

Alimen waved his hand dismissively. “I'm going to respect the Saint Day and not put you to task now. Though I'm sure it's just a day without lecture for you.” He spat that last part out with resentment.

Anger sparked again in Veranix's gut, dancing as wild
numina
up his arm. He got a hold of it before it lashed out of him, focusing the energy as a cool, red flame in his palm. Alimen jumped back, defensively pulling in his own
numina
so strongly even Veranix could sense it.

Veranix put all his attention on the flame, shaping it into an icon of a hooded woman. “Give me your blessing, Saint Senea. Put your eye upon me, protect me, as I act in the name of the right. Give me your strength, to fight against the unjust, to stand for the oppressed. If my body is broken, guard my soul and deliver it to stand before judgment, which I will never fear as I act in your name.” He released the image.

Alimen's eyes narrowed, and his own energy dispersed. “Do you know where that prayer comes from?”

Veranix knew perfectly well. “From mages in the tenth century. Traditionally before execution for the crime of being mages.”

“Glad to see you paid some attention in History of Magic,” Alimen said. “All right, go on. Blessed Saint Senea Day to you. Make good, safe use of it. I have quite a few things to attend to, myself.”

“Yes, sir,” Veranix said, getting up and going to the door. “Thank you, Professor.” Alimen only grunted in reply. Veranix left and went down to the ground floor.

Campus activity was returning to normal, though Veranix could sense energy in the air, a tension in the student body. Veranix went over to the carriage house, but found only a scowling Master Jolen standing outside. He didn't bother approaching any closer, lest the groundskeeper take another opportunity to scream at him.

He couldn't see Kaiana, or do anything for her right now. He couldn't go after Kalas or Fenmere. His leg was throbbing, and the last thing he wanted to do was push through the pain any more. His whole body hurt. He also was still covered in sweat, grime, and blood from the night before. He headed over to the west side of the campus, where the bathhouse was.

The bathhouse was built on top of a natural hot spring, one of the few in the northwest of Druthal. Delmin had once rattled off the whole history of the discovery of the spring millennia ago, when Druthal had been a protectorate of the Kieran Empire, and the city had become a popular retreat for Imperial aristocracy. There had been a lot more to the story, but Veranix had completely forgotten it. What mattered to him was getting clean and refreshed.

A valet approached him as he entered. “Good morning, sir. The baths, or other services?” There was a whole range of services available if one had the crowns to pay for it: barber, laundering, hot rooms, massage. The University bathhouse was renowned all over the south side of Maradaine, often used by the general public for these services. Students were permitted to use the baths for free, but anything else they wanted cost just the same.

“Just the baths today,” Veranix said, heading over to the enclosed courtyard that housed the bathing pools. The room was lined with wooden benches around the outer edge, with several small baths and one large pool in the center. Veranix went to one of the benches and stripped off his clothes, leaving them in a loose heap.

Veranix climbed into one of the small baths, grabbing the wooden bucket with soap and sponge that sat next to it. Patrons were expected to clean off in the small baths, and Veranix got to work scrubbing off the past few days' worth of grime and dried blood. He paid special attention to the wound in his shoulder. It still looked bad, though the stitches were holding. Which was good, since Kaiana wasn't going to be able to fix them any time soon.

He hoped she would be all right. He promised himself that he would use whatever money he could spare, and whatever he took from Fenmere in the future, to help get her set up. He'd make sure she was safe, with a decent flop of her own. He laughed quietly. If he wasn't careful, he'd have to move in with her.

What did she mean, she had friends in the street? As far as he had seen, she hardly ever left campus.

Deciding he was clean enough, he got out of the small bath and into the large pool. This was where the water was hottest. Veranix knew quite a few students who couldn't stand it, but he relished it. Under the water, he stretched out his leg. There was still a nasty wound there, purple and swollen, but no blood or pus. The muscles were tight, but he felt sure it would heal well enough in time, given he let it rest for a while.

The heat of the bath sank deep into his body, and he succumbed to it, letting it take him into a relaxing doze.