Assassin's Rise (4 page)

“That’s right,” said
Carla with a small smile. “Look, the academia is over there.”

Roland followed her
gaze. Academia Amlor was a rectangular building with an arched
roof, the walls of brown stone. Red curtains hung inside oval
shaped windows, slightly billowing as a breeze blew past the
windows. White marble steps led up to the entrance that was flanked
by bronze pillars, glinting sunlight turning the metal golden. Was
he really going to study there? Roland felt his stomach muscles
tightening.

“It was fun showing you
around and I hope we can meet again,” Carla said, her head tilted
back as she looked up to Roland.

He drank in her face,
for the first time noticing how a small dimple formed on the left
side of her mouth when she smiled, how she had seven freckles on
the bridge of her nose.

“Is something
wrong?”

Roland shook his head.
“No, nothing wrong. Good luck with your uncle’s shop and see you
soon.”

“And you,” she called
as she walked back in the direction of the harbour.

Roland wrenched his
eyes away from her disappearing figure and faced the academia. He
climbed the marble steps, a cotton sack holding his letter of
invitation and a set of spare clothes slung over his shoulder, a
leather satchel filled with herbs hanging from his hip.

R
oland rested his head against the
door. The wood was lightly oiled and warm from the midday sun. It
was pleasing to the touch.

He braced himself. Once
he opened this door, his new life would begin. He felt small in
comparison.

He pushed the door
open.

The entrance hall was
long and spacious with large windows that welcomed sunlight to
stream inside. At the end of the room, directly in front of him,
was a long wooden counter with a hallway on either side of it
leading further back into the building. Next to each hallway was a
set of stairs leading up to a second floor. Lanterns in gleaming
bronze brackets lined the walls. Ebony tiles decorated the floor
and on one side of the room was a large, potted plant. Painted
portraits of various men with serious eyes hung on the wall behind
the wooden counter. Not a speck of dust marred the otherwise
gleaming room.

Roland looked down at
his trousers. There was a tear on his left knee.

A throat was cleared
and Roland looked up. Before him stood a young man with thin, blond
hair, his eyebrows arched as he studied Roland. Slightly behind him
stood another man, his arms folded across his chest. Both men wore
robes of dark blue, a black cord tied around their waists. Roland
wondered why neither said anything. He did not particularly like
the way Baby-hair was staring at him, but he was the stranger after
all, so it would only be polite to speak first.

“Is there a problem?”
he asked.

The two men looked
positively shocked.

“I will forgive you for
not addressing me as Lord – only once. Now step to the side, you
are blocking the way,” said Baby-hair.

Roland looked around
him. He was standing in the middle of the room. He could feel his
temper rising and he forced it down. It would not do to cause
trouble at the academia. “What are you two doing here?” he asked,
trying to keep his voice friendly.

Baby-hair visibly
suppressed a shudder. “This is a place of learning, a house for
gaining knowledge. It is for those of noble blood who desires to
better themselves. Your type is not welcome at –”

“Shut your mouth,” said
Roland, his voice cold, forgetting to keep his temper. He did not
know how things were done in Darma, but he won’t stand for
Baby-hair stepping on him from day one. “And stop with the
theatrics. You can walk around me if you have to.”

“How dare you!”
screamed Baby-hair, purple faced. The man standing behind Baby-hair
dropped his arms to his sides and stared at Roland
open-mouthed.

“I am Lord Hellson!
Lord Hellson! How dare you speak to me in such a manner?”

“And I am Lord Roland
and have here an invitational letter to Academia Amlor!” roared
Roland. “Now unless I’m in the wrong place, and I don’t believe I
am, you had better keep your mouth shut.”

Roland had no idea
where the confidence (or the half-truths) came from. Maybe it was
the faith Pelron had in him; maybe it was surviving the storm,
meeting with Carla and treating Jase, or maybe he was just shocked
by the unknown of Darma, but all he knew for sure was that
Baby-hair had better not stand in his way.

“Now will you kindly
move out of the way, as is befitting of your station, and let me
through.” Roland smiled, but his eyes remained icy.

“That is enough,
gentlemen,” called a voice from behind the wooden counter. An
ancient figure dressed in black robes stood behind it. Roland could
scarce believe how he had missed noting the black-robed man
before.

“Disciple Hellson,
Disciple Sturmel. Academia Amlor was not founded as a place for you
to bicker in.”

Hellson gave a
perfunctory bow in the black-robed man’s direction, shot Roland a
murderous glare, and turned on his heel, flinging the doors open as
he left.

“I am sure Lord Helson
regrets this incident, Educator Altmoor,” said Sturmel
faithfully.

“Indeed, but there is
no need for you to apologise in his name, Disciple Sturmel. But
thank you for the thought.”

Sturmel nodded in
Roland’s direction before hurrying after his friend. Altmoor waited
until after they had left before beckoning Roland over. Roland
handed him his letter of invitation.

“Lord indeed,” the old
man remarked as he read.

Roland blushed.

He finished reading and
the parchment disappeared inside his robes. “My name is Altmoor
Ochdal. I am one of several instructors here at Academia Amlor. You
are truly fortunate to have received such an invitation, Roland
Belanu. And at such a young age ...”

“I am very grateful for
the opportunity, Educator Altmoor,” said Roland, making sure to use
the title he had heard Sturmel use.

“Indeed, yet you cause
trouble even before you are officially accepted?”

Roland dropped his
gaze. Then he looked back up and locked eyes with the old man.
Altmoor had fierce blue eyes that were still full of life, belying
his age. “I did not think it wise to start at Academia Amlor by
being belittled,” he said, holding Altmoor’s gaze.

“Indeed,” said Altmoor,
unfazed, stroking his chin. “Although there is no differentiation
between the students here – regardless of their stations – you are
not yet a student. And, you are indeed, a commoner. Therefore,
Disciple Hellson was in his full right expecting you to step out of
the way, and by law, you should address him as Lord.”

Roland clenched his
hands by his sides. “You are right, Educator Altmoor. It takes
nothing from me to address a man according to his station, even if
said station might not be one fully deserved.”

“Does this frustrate
you?”

“It frustrates me that
after only a few hours in Darma, it seems as though those with
wealth abuse their power, yet appear incompetent. If this were my
village, these people would not survive for a month on their own
and would have to be fed like babes – yet here they rule.”

“That is a very strong
and, might I add, a very dangerous statement to make, although I do
enjoy fresh outlooks on life.” Altmoor tapped one finger on the
countertop. “Your entrance exam will be on the third day of the
coming week at noon – not one moment later. That gives you nine
days to prepare, including today. If you take the hallway to my
right, you will find the library. As a potential Disciple of
Healing, you should at least know all human organs and their
functions, including muscles and bones. Having knowledge of types
of wounds and common diseases may also prove beneficial.

“Since you have
apprenticed as an Apothecary from the age of twelve, I expect that
your knowledge of herbs will be sufficient – unless of course your
village is not as proficient as you would like to believe.” He
smiled as Roland’s eyes narrowed. “You have fire in your belly,
Roland Belanu,” he said. “It is a term that my father used to
describe a certain kind of man. It is also something that is sadly
lacking in today’s time, I might add.”

Roland shifted his
feet. The sudden praise had caught him off guard. All the
information made his head swam. The old man was clever, he realised
that. He should not lower his guard until he had time to think it
over.

Altmoor watched him
with an amused smile. “You are tired, as expected after a long
trip. May I enquire if you have lodgings?”

“I thought the academia
provided lodgings?”

“Not until you pass the
exam, Roland Belanu. Until you pass the exam, nothing will change.”
He resumed tapping his finger. “If you head back towards the
harbour, you will pass a marketplace filled with colourful stalls
selling cheap trinkets. You should have seen it on your way here, I
presume ...” He looked up expectantly. Roland could not remember
any details from the city, but he would rather die before admitting
it to the old man.

“Just head as straight
as you can toward the harbour. You won’t miss it,” Altmoor said and
chuckled. Roland felt his ears turning red.

“Once you reach it, ask
around for a tavern called the Seek‘n Find. Mention my name to the
owner. Go there now; you can start preparing for the exam
tomorrow.”

Roland tried to
organize his thoughts and finally said, “Thank you, educator
Altmoor. You have been very helpful.” He did not trust the old man,
but for now, Roland meant what he said. “I’m also looking for
Healer Callon. Do you know where I can find him?”

“Why do you seek
him?”

“He is a friend of my
master, Apothecary Pelron. I want to thank him for the herbs he had
send four years ago. They worked wonders on my mother.”

“Ah, I see how it is,
but unfortunately Healer Callon has gone on one of his trips to the
east. A fascinating people they are, those of the east. They hold
great faith in training the spirit together with mind and body –
although I have some doubts as to whether the spirit and the mind
are actually different bodies ... but I’m going off track now. I
don’t believe he will be back for at least half a year, maybe even
more.”

“I see. I will take my
leave then,” said Roland and stepped away from the counter.

“Some friendly advice
before you leave,” said Altmoor and held up a bony finger. “Having
fire in your belly is good, but let it flare too bright and you
will burn yourself and those around you ... and when you next visit
Academia Amlor, make sure that yourself and your attire is cleaned
to an acceptable standard.”

*

Acceptable indeed,
thought Roland as he left the academia. Not even one day had passed
and already he had made an enemy.

Hellson? How could that
popinjay fool command any respect? He was the first noble Roland
had the pleasure of meeting, but if all nobles acted like him, he
could well understood why Carla’s eyes had hardened when she spoke
of them.

Carla ...

He wondered where in
Darma she might be. He had never thought to ask where she lodged
at. But first, he had to find the market Altmoor had told him
about. Was Altmoor a noble also? More than likely, Roland thought,
but he had the feeling that Altmoor was of a different breed to
Hellson. Maybe there was hope for the nobles yet.

As Roland walked toward
the harbour, he noted the streets getting dirtier, the artisanship
of the buildings turning rougher. The walls of Academia Amlor
looked smooth, the stones in the wall of similar size and carefully
fitted, but here some of the buildings looked haphazard, as if
multiple men were in charge of planning, each with a different
idea. Some of the stone walls carried large openings where clay had
dried and fallen out, giving the impression of ancient wounds. He
saw a wooden building at least three stories high, one side with a
heavy slant. He wondered if it swayed when the wind was strong.
Sleeping at the top must feel similar to sleeping on the
Swallow.

Roland entered a large
square jam-packed with merchant stalls and customers. Folks were
eyeing the various wares, haggling loudly and vigorously. Hands
were dramatically thrown into the air as they hunted their
trophies. The atmosphere was charged with excitement and Roland was
surprised to find himself smiling. He picked a stall with fewer
customers, asking the merchant were he could find the Seek‘n Find.
The merchant instead handed him a small statue. It was made of clay
and resembled some kind of donkey with a growth on his back. The
merchant had one eye and his thick beard was peppered with grey,
hanging to his chest. He smelled of spices.

“Just feel your luck
increasing as you hold it, sir. This is a holy beast from the
desert empire and merely touching it guarantees your luck doubled.
Carry it on your person hence forth, and your luck shall double
each day!” He looked around him furtively before leaning close to
Roland, dropping his voice. “I should not really sell such a
valuable object to just anyone, but I can judge a good man when I
see him. Six silvers and I shall part with this holy relic. It’s
practically giving it away for free.”

Roland turned the
statue in his hands. He could definitely use some good luck. To
think that such an ugly donkey held so much power! But he only
carried ten silvers, and it had to last for nine days. The merchant
watched him with a practiced eye.

“If you don’t mind me
saying so, master, I can see a dark cloud of ill intent hanging
around you with this here very eye –“ he opened his remaining eye
as wide as he could, his beard trembling in effort “– and the coin
you spend on Almosaphellon will be just the thing to turn that
cloud into holy, golden luck.”