Of Caverns and Casters ✓ [TLRQ #1]

Chapter 26 - Aster

Dust plumes in the moonlight as I trod down the dirt path. My stomach growls, and I hunch further into my cloak. I haven't seen another village since the Kadranian attack at Crystys, and the food ran out three days ago. I thought about hunting by throwing my casting knife at squirrels with telekinesis, but if I missed, I would have been twice as hungry and down a knife.

The wind steals my hood, and I tug it up again, stooping my shoulders against the cold. The thought of a fire tempts me, but I'm close now. I refuse to stop until I'm at that academy. I don't care if I walk until dawn.

I used to think my excursions with Agraund were taxing, but they never lasted this long, and they were never through territory this bad. The stony, overgrown paths that count as roads in Draó would be considered little more than wilderness in Morineaux. It's taken me much too long to reach my destination, not accounting for the time I'll spend at the academy or on the journey back.

My mind flicks once more to the consequences awaiting me in N'veauvia.

I force my feet faster. No use worrying about it now. I'll train dedicatedly, and I will improve. Nothing else is acceptable. Nothing else matters.

Trees give way to the blocky silhouettes of houses standing as somber sentinels in the dark. Something about the tiny village raises the hair on my neck even though the invitation told me I was coming here. Still, some misgiving lingers in my mind, and I pull the letter out of my pocket to reference. The night presses around me, attempting to smother my vision, but the full, silver disk suspended in the sky pushes back against it, lending me just enough light to read by.

Prince Aster Jacques S'Pierre S'Díane,
Second Son of Morineaux

You have been cordially invited to attend a private casting academy in northern Draó. We, the faculty and administration of the Arcanum Academy, would be honored to have a hand in your instruction and development as a high-class magician. If you do not desire our assistance, we request that you come to impart some of your vast knowledge upon our students and staff. For you, my lord, attendance would be perfectly free, as your presence would be such a privilege.

Thank you for your time,
Arcanum Academy

Postscript: If you choose to come, travel first to the large town of Dellaby, near the center of Draó. Follow the north-eastern road to Crystys. Then travel due north until you reach the hamlet of Niv. There will be a northern trail that will lead you to our establishment. If you have any problem along the way, most citizens know of these landmarks and will likely be willing to help. Vini veagiann!

Why the Academy, being in northern Draó and most closely bordering Kadran, ended the letter with 'good travels' in Bedeveirian, the language of the country farthest from it, I am not sure. Then again, considering the migrant nature of Draó, perhaps it's not too surprising.

Still unsettled, I skirt the town in favor of the trail from the note. As I move into the woods, the bare limbs hang around me, as if reaching to snatch me away.

"Stop it," I hiss at myself. "The dark has made you into a child." That, and having been attacked the last time I hit civilization. I try to shake off the misgiving.

A clearing opens up, and I peer through the silver-edged darkness at what must be the Academy. The ornate wooden architecture and marble arches give it a powerful and official air. It's not as extravagant as the Morineause castle, of course, but compared to the vast swathes of devastation I've traveled through in this country, it's impressive. An iron-bar fence surrounds the land, but the gate is open.

I pause at the edge of the woods. There's still an itch in the back of my mind that I can't satisfy, the same irrational fear of a child crying that the Shadesnare is under their bed. This is where I'm supposed to be, I chide myself.

The wind shifts, cutting through my muddied cloak. A light shines in a tower window, promising a bed, a bath, and a bowl of food. I brush off the worst of the dirt, regretting that the prince of Morineaux should arrive as a vagrant. Shoulders level and head high, I leave the woods and stride through the gate. Gravel crunches under my feet as I approach the vaulted door. I knock.

The large stone door swings smoothly out. Inside, eerie silence resides in a black that, this time, even the moon can't banish. I lean forward slightly, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone.

There isn't a soul in sight.

Heart in my throat, I take a step back. My destination or not, something is wrong here.

"You can't be leaving so soon, can you?" a woman's bright voice calls inside.

I hesitate.

A hand reaches out and yanks me in. The door booms back into place. From everywhere, clubs rain down, striking my back, shoulders, head. I can't see to cast, to fight back. I spin, swinging my tiny casting knife futilely. A blind club slams into my arm, and the knife clatters to the ground. Sparks fill my vision as pain reverberates through my skull. The world twists, and I'm sprawled across cold wood. I try to push up, but my arm slips out from underneath me, head slamming the wood. I desperately cling to consciousness as rough hands drag me through a maze of wooden halls. We stop, and I force my leaden eyes open. The men pry my cloak off me, rummage in my pockets, and throw it into a room. Its black door shuts as they lift me again. The motion jars my bruised body, and darkness rolls through my mind. They drop me again.

"Sleep well, Prince," the woman says distantly as a door clangs shut. "It was so kind of you to join us."