Tin Thoughts (The Downfall Saga Book 2) Read online

  “Never lose track of an opponent,” said Jerel.

  Donovan looked around the courtyard, trying to find something that he could use to hold Jerel off.

  “I didn’t know that you were my opponent,” said Donovan.

  “Even worse.”

  “My teacher was a s—”

  His response was cut off as Jerel resumed his attack, and methodically led him around the courtyard. Every time Donovan shifted his focus to find something to defend himself with, Jerel increased the intensity of his attack. After a couple of minutes of retreating, ducking and diving, Donovan knew that Jerel could end the sparring session whenever he wanted, unless Donovan could find a way to surprise him.

  “Do you know a dwarf named Tuff?” asked Donovan.

  “Tuff?” said Jerel, pausing his attack.

  As soon as he hesitated, Donovan dove in and tried to grab one of his legs.

  Jerel calmly pivoted away from his dive and brought his sword down, not so gently, onto the back of Donovan’s neck.

  “Distractions? Is that what you think of me?”

  “I’m serious. A dwarf calling himself Tuff came to see me today. He said he knew Osmont.”

  “Osmont has spent plenty of time in Kern, so anything’s possible. What did he want?”

  “He wants to accompany me on my trip.”

  They walked over to the other sparring partners. Donovan shook their hands and thanked them for the session, before he and Jerel retired to a quiet corner of the courtyard.

  “You still intend to meet with Eamon?”

  “I have no choice. He’s the only link to my past.”

  “Don’t let your desires blind you.”

  “It’s worth any risk to find out who I am.”

  Jerel rested his hand on Donovan’s shoulder and looked intently into his eyes. “Your past doesn’t define you. You are who you are.”

  Donovan rested his back against the stone wall and thought about what Jerel had said. So much had changed since he’d shown up at Haven with no recollection of who he is and how he got there. He wondered what his friends Kort and Ravyn were up to, and if he’d ever see them again. Ravyn was probably sitting at home studying for the upcoming school year, while Kort would be hard at work on his family’s farm.

  “Tell Caddaric that he’d better start practicing or I’ll have to come back and embarrass him,” said Donovan, changing the subject.

  “He could practice every day for the rest of the summer, and you’d still be able to show him up. I’ve never seen someone pick it up so fast.”

  “I had a good teacher. Thank you for everything.” Donovan reached out and shook Jerel’s hand.

  “The road is long. Make sure to take care of yourself.”

  Donovan waved at Rich who was watching the gate and headed back down into the city. He was pleasantly surprised that he didn’t see Tuff on his way back to the inn. He slipped in the back door, and made his way to the kitchen. He pilfered a quick meal and took it up to his room to eat, before turning in for the night.

  It was still dark out when he woke. Packing his belongings for the trip, he slipped his pack onto his back. He lovingly caressed his lute case, before sliding it back under his bed. It pained him to leave it behind, but he didn’t want to carry its bulk while travelling. He’d arranged to leave the rest of his belongings in the room for the next month, and trusted Aine to keep them safe. To avoid a potential meeting with Tuff, he opened the window and climbed down the side of the building to the street below. Black cloak wrapped around him, he was just another shadow moving through the city.

  Leaving through the east gate, he turned north and followed the path towards Haven. The horizon was just starting to lighten when he started up the winding path that led to the only entrance into Haven. He was breathing heavy by the time he had climbed to the top of the path, and loudly pounded on the gate. A cover slid aside, and a familiar set of eyes peeked out through the opening.

  “We meet again, Hayward,” said Donovan.

  Hayward had been watching the gate on the night when Donovan first arrived at Haven.

  “Donovan,” said Hayward. “If I let you in, do you promise not to kick me in the knee?”

  “I won’t, unless you try to throw me out,” said Donovan, laughing.

  Hayward let him in. Donovan crossed the courtyard and headed towards the large building on his right where his teachers from the previous year resided. He paused inside until his eyes adjusted to the dull blue light originating from a series of spheres hanging from the ceiling. He climbed the stairs to the second floor and walked down the hallway. He glanced at the plaques on the doors until he reached the one labeled Osmont Wyatt. He pounded on the door a few times, with no response. He continued down the hallway and knocked on Professor Alden Cleary’s door.

  “Come in,” came the reply a moment later.

  Donovan opened the door and poked his head into the cluttered office. Books and loose papers were scattered everywhere, as if a tornado had blown through the room. A stale, musty smell washed over him. He tried to breathe through his mouth as he searched for Professor Cleary in the room.

  “Donovan, it’s so good to see you,” said Cleary, standing up to look at Donovan over the piles of paper on his desk. “Come in and have a seat.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Donovan, carefully picking his way across the floor. He shifted a stack of papers so he could sit down in one of the chairs.

  Cleary was a mole of a man. He had a small, stooped posture, a growing paunch, and long unkempt fingernails. He wore a stained shirt, and his disheveled hair made Donovan wonder when he had last left his office.

  “I’m surprised to see you again. I thought you weren’t planning on coming back this year.”

  “I’m not. I’m heading to Lornell today and stopped by to see if Osmont was here.”

  “I haven’t seen him for more than a couple days at a time, all summer long.”

  “When you see him next, please let him know that I left.”

  “Will do. I hope he gets back soon. It’s quiet around here without the Headmaster and him around.”

  “Please tell me that the Headmaster didn’t resign after what happened last year.”

  “I’m afraid so. The council still hasn’t announced if they are going to replace him or try to convince him to stay.”

  “I hope he comes back,” said a subdued Donovan.

  Donovan skimmed the titles on a stack of books on Cleary’s desk. They all sounded like books on prophecy and the end of the world. Some were old and worn, but a few looked newly made.

  “I see you’re still studying the end of the world.”

  “Yes,” said Cleary, sitting forward in his chair. “I have been re-examining many of the texts with a more literal approach in mind. I’d previously discounted many of the references to the bringing of storms as hyperbole for catastrophic events. Now I believe that a sect of people who worshiped Zeren instigated many of the events during the previous Breakings, and they will be involved this time as well.

  Professor Cleary had a theory that every millennia or so, cataclysmic events spread around the world leaving devastation in their wake. History referred to these events as the Breakings. Written history seemed to support his theory, with global conflicts breaking out one and two thousand years ago. If his theory was correct, then another Breaking was imminent, and he’d shifted his focus to the prophecies which he thought could be used to predict the upcoming events.

  “That could explain the necklace that I acquired last winter.”

  Donovan had been accosted by a mysterious man who had put him to sleep, as if by magic, while he was attempting to track down Eamon. Before he had fallen unconscious, he had ripped a necklace off the man’s neck. The symbol on it was a dagger wrapped in lightning, which was the mark used by the followers of Zeren.

  “How so?” asked a startled Cleary.

  “Ravyn told me that it was the symbol used by the followers of Zeren in anc
ient times, but surely you already knew that.”

  “Yes, yes. Of course I did,” he said in an offhanded manner.

  “Speaking of symbols, have you heard anything about the pendant that I found in the underground chamber?”

  Cleary gave him a wide eyed stare before answering. “I’m really quite busy. You’ll have to check with Osmont or the Headmaster.”

  Donovan knew a dismissal when he heard one. Standing up, he shook Cleary’s hand before departing. With thoughts of the pendant in his head, he headed towards the main part of Haven.

  Leaving the building, he walked through the grassy quad surrounded by bushes and trees. A large willow stood in the center, where he and Osmont had spent many hours running through Vanoras, a system of exercises which use slow, smooth movements that mimic many combat techniques to relax both the body and mind. He gave the tree a longing look, as he continued along the path.

  Haven was split into several sections, scattered throughout a series of valleys and underground passages in a small spur of mountains running south from the main mountain range. The public was only allowed to see a small section of its expanse. Two large buildings dominated a flat shelf in a nook between two mountains, but this was merely the gateway to the rest of the complex.

  An enchantment was placed on the tunnel leading deeper into Haven which prevented people from accidentally wandering through. Donovan had been injured the previous year, and taken to the Medical Center to receive treatment. Upon returning through the tunnel, his knowledge of its existence broke the enchantment, and he was now free to roam the entire grounds of Haven.

  He had to blink several times against the bright yellow lights when he entered the tunnel leading to the next valley. Haven maintained a very modest appearance to the public, and only allowed its members to see the more opulent displays. The lighting was only one small part of this. The public section was poorly lit by a combination of dim blue lights and torches which caused the students to strain their eyes during their first year of study, while bright yellow lights provided an imitation daylight everywhere else.

  Exiting the tunnel, he quickly crossed the opulent valley, towards the tunnels on the far side. He walked past the stairs to the Administration Building and entered a tunnel which shallowly sloped downwards.

  Jerel had given him a tour of Haven earlier in the summer, and showed him how to navigate his way through the main underground tunnels.

  Given the early hour, he only saw a handful of wizards, who he politely nodded to as he passed, as he travelled to the Foundry.

  He was assaulted by the sound of metal hitting metal when he opened the door to the Foundry, followed by a wave of heat which washed over him. Shutting the door behind him, he took a look around. The walls were covered in peg boards, with hooks attached to hold all of the various tools commonly used in the Foundry. White lines were drawn around each tool, to identify where they hung when not in use.

  Shirtless students were scattered around the room, bodies plastered with sweat, as they pumped the bellows on the forges. Scales sat atop tables near the storage room, with kilns nearby to remove any moisture from the compounds.

  Donovan’s eyes roamed the room until they settled on the figure who looked out of place. Professor Wryhta was the head Artificer at Haven, but you wouldn’t have guessed it from his small size, thick round glasses, and meticulously groomed body. He’d previously told Donovan that the Artificers were the key to Haven’s power, and he had to look the part.

  While the Foundry made many magical items, such as magical lamps which could light an area for several years before needing a recharge, it was the production of more mundane items where it excelled. Wizards could easily manipulate even the tiniest objects with their magic, which allowed them to manufacture the smallest, most intricate clocks ever produced. Their elemental control allowed them to produce and maintain precise temperatures while they forged steel and other metals into manufactured goods. That was the primary reason why Donovan was here, but the conversation with Professor Cleary had put another thought into his head.

  Donovan waited by the door until he caught Professor Wryhta’s eye, knowing better than to wander through the room unsupervised. Wryhta eventually walked over and shook Donovan’s hand in a soft grip.

  “Donovan,” he said. “She’s eager to meet you. Come, let’s go introduce you.”

  “I was wondering if we could have a word first.”

  “Of course. It’s quieter in my office.”

  They left the room, shutting the door behind them, and walked down the tunnel to Wryhta’s office.

  Wryhta’s office was the most organized office that Donovan had ever seen. Old tools and diagrams adorned the walls, each perfectly placed and free of dust. The top of his desk was empty, and Donovan believed that it always returned to the same state whenever Wryhta finished working on a task.

  Wryhta ushered Donovan into a plain, but comfortable seat, before sitting down behind his desk.

  “I hope you’re not trying to renegotiate the price at the last minute,” said Wryhta, with a smile.

  “Nothing of the sort,” said Donovan. “I’m more than happy with our arrangement. I wanted to talk to you about an item that was brought down here. I found a pendant around the time that classes were ending. I left it with my professors to make sure that it was safe before they returned it to me. Did it ever make its way to you to get evaluated?”

  “It did. It was quite peculiar. It acts like a magic sink.”

  “Sink?”

  “Sorry, I shouldn’t use technical terms. It can absorb certain types of magic, but we’re convinced that it can do more, though we haven’t figured out what that is.”

  “Does it need to do something else?”

  “In a word, yes. We’ve long theorized that an item such as this could be made, but haven’t been able to produce one ourselves. Inherent in all of the possible theories of how to make such a device, is the need for it to contain an outlet for the magical energy that it absorbs.”

  “It was glowing incredibly bright the night that I found it.”

  “Osmont mentioned that, but we haven’t witnessed it doing anything out of the ordinary.”

  “While I’m here, can I take a look at it?”

  “I don’t see the harm, but since Osmont brought it here, I can only release it to him.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “If you wait here, I’ll go get it.”

  Wryhta left the room and Donovan found himself alone with his thoughts. Osmont had taken the pendant from him before he could study it. Donovan hadn’t seen Osmont all summer, but he got the impression from Cleary that no one was supposed to share any information about the pendant with him, but apparently no one had told Wryhta.

  Donovan stood up and walked over to look at a group of antique tongs hanging on the wall. They were old and pitted, but clearly well cared for. He was still studying the tools on the wall when Wryhta returned.

  “Here it is,” said Wryhta, handing over the pendant.

  Donovan tentatively reached out to take the pendant, afraid that it was going to do something when he touched it. His worries proved to be for naught.

  The pendant consisted of a ring, about the size of his palm, hanging from a simple chain. A dagger wrapped in lightning was fixed across the center of the ring. It was clearly the symbol used by the followers of Zeren, but he couldn’t figure out why anyone would try to hide that from him. He examined the pendant for several minutes, but didn’t find anything of interest, so he handed it back to Wryhta.

  “Let’s go take a look at the real reason why I’m here,” said Donovan.

  Wryhta deposited it in a coat pocket before they headed back to the Foundry. Donovan followed Wryhta to a locked storage room along the side wall. Fishing a key out of his pocket, Wryhta opened the lock with a barely audible click. He had to heave on the heavy steel door to get it to open. He disappeared inside and returned a moment later with Donovan’s prize.

/>   Donovan took the sword from Wryhta and gently pulled it from its sheath. It was just over two feet long, two-edged with a tapered point, and a simple knobbed hilt. He ran his hand along the side of the blade, and saw that the blade was roughly the width of his palm. He held it in front of his face and examined his reflection in its surface. He inhaled and could smell the oil on the blade, which reminded him of the nights he spent rubbing oil onto the leather of his lute case. He resisted the urge to taste the blade, and held it straight out in front of him. It was surprisingly light and had exquisite balance. Not wanting to risk hitting something in the crowded Foundry, he held off swinging it until he was in an open area.

  “She’s the one for you alright,” said Wryhta. “Next time you should trust me.”

  “I guess I’ve heard too many stories about the warrior hacking down his opponents with a broadsword,” said Donovan. “This ... just feels right.”

  “Another satisfied customer. Come, let’s do the paperwork.” Wryhta pulled a ledger off a nearby shelf, and found Donovan’s transaction. “After the student discount and your deposit, you owe one crown and two crescents.”

  Donovan counted out the coins and passed them to Wryhta. Signing his name in the ledger, he was now free to start his journey to Lornell. He retraced his steps back to the quad where he’d spent most of his mornings while studying at Haven. Tossing his cloak and pack onto the ground, he drew his sword and fell into a neutral stance.

  He started one of the beginner Vanoras that Osmont had taught him. He’d run through this particular Vanora many times before, both unarmed and with a practice sword in his hand, but his new sword had a different balance.

  The movements were glacially slow and graceful. He gently swept his arms through a series of motions while paying particular attention to his footwork to remain in control at all times. Five minutes in and he started to sweat.