Dawn of Wonder (The Wakening Book 1) (30 page)

“Weren’t you even slightly sorry about shooting
Rodwell in the back?” he asked.

“Well if you put it that way – yes, a little.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“I was aiming for his neck. Still bothers me that
I had to go out on a shot like that.”

Aedan awoke to a patch of grey light at the window. Dun had
never allowed them to sleep this late. He listened for the familiar sounds of
kitchen operations drifting down the passage, but all was silent. Careful not
to disturb the others, he climbed from bed and dressed. It was early spring,
still cold, but he elected to forego the shoes, firstly because he hated shoes
and secondly because he wanted to move in silence. The dorm remained blanketed
in deep slumber as he crept out and began padding his way down the corridor.

As he entered the kitchen, the light scuff of his
feet echoed in a silence usually filled with the clatter of pots and the gossip
of cooks. A deep worry began to grow in his empty belly as he retreated through
the dining hall. He turned down another passage and began running. Every office
was empty, every corridor silent. Even the central display room was vacant and
dark, torches having long since expired.

He considered running back to the dorms, but the
light from the windows beckoned. He needed to get out of this disturbingly
lifeless building. He found his way to one of the exits, unbolted the door and
slipped out. The morning was colder than he had expected and he shivered at the
touch of mist. A graveyard silence hung in the air.

Something was wrong, very wrong. Never had he seen
this place without some hint of life.

He turned back to the open door, but the darkness within
the building was even less inviting now. Underfoot, gravel crunched as he traversed
the walkway to the lawn, stepping from cold stones onto colder dew.

A movement in the fog caught his eye. He glanced
up just in time to see a cloaked figure pass behind a statue and into the
central hall. It was all the clue he needed. He sped away across the lawns,
slipped behind a line of regal plane trees, and approached the low boundary
wall with its perimeter display of oversized bronze statues – the founders of
the academy. The ground and building beyond this point were strictly off limits
to any student without special permission.

Aedan crept up behind the fifteen foot effigy of Krale-o-Mandus
and peered around his side.

There were two guards on each corner. Here in the
middle of the wall, Aedan decided, the mist was almost thick enough to conceal
him. It was worth a chance. He hopped over into the forbidden precinct and
marched across the lawn with his head down, a posture that he hoped would look
confident and slightly bored. It failed, perhaps because he was about half the
size of any of those who had a right to be within the perimeter.

Shouting voices called him to stop and he heard
the tramp of heavy boots. He kept his head down and pretended not to notice,
heading for a hedge-lined corridor that approached one of the side doors. The
shouts were getting louder now. He dared not look around. The high, opposing
walls of the hedges concealed him momentarily as he entered the walkway. He
broke into a sprint and dived through the first gap he spotted in the leaves.
There was actually a surprising amount of space within the leafy wall which was
easily eight feet across.

He crawled out the other side as the guards began
searching for him, and darted under the branches of a stout conifer that stood
just outside a window of the central hall. Climbing such a tree was a test of
will against sticky gum, prickly leaves and sharp seeds, so Aedan was far from
comfortable when he settled opposite the window in the darkness of his fragrant
tent. He listened to the soldiers prod and scratch a while longer before giving
up the search and retreating to their posts. Finally he could turn his
attention to the hall. By the rumble of talk, he judged that somewhere in the
region of two hundred people were assembled within. Presently a voice called
for silence. After a little more shuffling and coughing, things settled down
and the voice spoke again.

“Thank you for attending on such short notice. I
am sure you will appreciate that the gravity of what you are about to hear
justifies the disruption to the morning’s schedules.”

The voice sounded like Culver’s – it cut with the
precision of clear thought and the weight of undisputed authority. There was a
brief pause during which Aedan realised that he was about to overhear something
that could possibly get him into more trouble than trespassing on the sacred
lawn. But there was nothing he could do about that now.

“The marshals and rangers that were commissioned last
autumn under the Fennlor threat-assessment directive have returned, and I am
afraid the news is disturbing. The iron mines that were sighted have grown
significantly. Most of the ore is being taken to the smithies in Greel where
the marshals found a marked increase in weapons production. There is little work
taking place at the shipyards, but there seem to be more stables than houses.
If the Fenn are preparing for a land war then they have only three possible
targets – Orunea, Vinterus, and Thirna. Fortifications in Orunea and Vinterus
have been recently strengthened. As Southern Thirna is now the least fortified
neighbour by some margin, we must consider ourselves the most likely focus of
their interest.”

There was a murmur of discussion that subsided as a
question was raised from another point in the hall,

“What does Thirna have that could justify the cost
of such a war? Our silver mines are almost depleted.”

“It is a point well made. However, it would be
unwise to assume that they could have no motive, and so be lulled into
complacency. The mere possession of land can be sufficient motive for some.”

A general murmur of agreement followed.

“The situation is complicated by news that has
been reaching us from the other side of the realm. Reports of escalating Lekran
forays are proving upon investigation to be accurate. It seems that as Thirna
has relaxed the coastal patrols, slave traders have grown bolder, making
regular pickings along our sea border, sometimes sending parties far inland. With
our small hold on the oceans, we can offer no retaliation. It has been
suggested that the Lekran parties have been testing us, sampling us. If so,
they would have found our bellies soft and our spears blunt. While it is not
likely that they would attempt to match Thirna’s full strength, a Fenn invasion
that turns our attention to the east would present Lekrau with an irresistible
opportunity. The slavers may be scavengers by tradition, but let us not imagine
that they would turn down the opportunity for a full invasion if we were
crippled. Even vultures will kill given the right circumstances.”

A tense silence was followed by a surge of voices
that subsided after a moment, obviously in response to some gesture.

“Let’s begin with questions.”

A thin voice – Aedan assumed it was made thinner
by worry – asked, “How long do we have before the Fenn can reach us?”

“Marshals estimate that their army is still in its
early stages of preparation. They will not be able to mount a large-scale
assault within the next three years, though powerful skirmishing parties could
breach our borders this summer. If they are planning a full conquest of Southern
Thirna, it could be as much as six or seven years from now.”

The next voice was nasal and vaguely superior,
almost cynical in tone. It sounded like Kollis. “Is there anything more
definitive than a growing army and an interest in horses? Perhaps their
concerns are self-defence and equestrian sports.”

“Yes, there is more. In fact, it is all but
certainty that the Fenn will cross our borders soon.”

“This goes back to their motive, doesn’t it? The Fenn
have discovered something in our land and you intend to keep it from us?”

“In this, I have no choice. It is by Prince
Burkhart’s explicit orders.”

There was a burst of stamping and shouted protests.
What had been found that was enough to start a war? Aedan thought that even the
bronze Krale-o-Mandus would leap forth from centuries of silence and raise a harsh
yell of dismay at being kept out of such a secret. But Culver could be made to
say nothing further on the topic. Finally order was restored and he continued.

“The next matter is of a vastly different nature. By
sheer coincidence the returning rangers happened to witness one of the
much-rumoured storms over the DinEilan range. Three of them journeyed some
distance through DinEilan to investigate. They did not return. All that was
found of them was a single boot and some disturbed ground – and yes, a tree
that looked to have been pushed over. I tell you this, not to fuel the outlandish
talk of DinEilan, but to give you the facts as we have them before wyrm scales,
griffin feathers and cyclops prints are added to the report. I must implore you
to turn your minds to sensible explanations and not retreat into the kinds of ideas
that settle and nest in empty heads.”

Culver’s last words caught Aedan imagining some
frightening creatures in DinEilan – a DinEilan that was obviously growing
wilder. He did not want to be guilty of the empty-headedness just condemned, so
he pushed the thoughts back and tried to listen.

“While I care nothing for the doomsday notions
that natural anomalies always provoke, there was something about this storm
that we would be foolish to overlook. The surviving rangers gave a clear and, I
must confess, startling description of what they witnessed, and aspects of
their description struck a chord with something in the all-but-forgotten
Gellerac archives. This history does not propose an explanation, but records a
sequence of events that is worrying. It suggests that, should the storms move
towards us, we may be faced with a greater threat than war-mongering
neighbours. For those of you, which I believe to be most of you, who do not
speak Gellerac, I shall translate the first –”

Aedan’s concentration had been absolute and his
focus so narrow that he had failed to see the parting of leaves or hear the
soft crunch of boots. A vice-like hand snapped shut over his foot and dragged
him through the gummy branches and out the tree. The guard gripped him behind
the neck, smiled, and nodded to someone waiting at the statues. Aedan could not
turn his head to see, but as the guard marched him off, he caught a glimpse of
a boy taller than him with dark hair and fair skin – though the phrase that now
felt appropriate was “skin pale as sickness and eyes weak as rainwater”.

“Seems your friends don’t like you much,” said the
guard. “After a day and a night in the rat cells I don’t think you’ll like
yourself much either. Trespassing in the founders’ quadrangle carries a
standard penalty. After that they will decide what to do with you.”

The cells were tiny stone cubicles in the wall of
a dark and airless room. Aedan crawled into the cavity ahead of the guard’s
eager boot. The iron grill that swung shut pushed his feet in until his knees
were not far beneath his chin. There was no way to stretch out, neither was
there sufficient space to sit. By the time the guard had left the room, Aedan
was already uncomfortable. He lay curled on his side. When his hip and shoulder
could take no more, he tried to turn over, bashing head and knees through the
wiggling, jerking process. By the time he had managed to wrestle over onto his
other side, he was in greater distress than he had been before, due in no small
part to the rising claustrophobia. By midday his limbs were in such agony he
was not even conscious of his hunger or thirst. The little snatches of sleep
that toyed with him through the night were chased off by the cold and the bite
of relentless cramps.

But even if he had been draped over cushions,
sleep would have eluded him. What had been discovered in the Gellerac archives?
– whatever those were. What was this possible threat that was more worrying
than open war? His frustrated curiosity added as much to his discomfort as the
physical aches.

Heavy boots tramped along the passage the next
morning and stopped outside his cell.

“Out with you!” the guard said as he swung the
gate open.

Aedan slowly extended his legs against the cramps.
It was taking too long. The guard grabbed one of his ankles and dragged him
out.

“On your feet! Time for your hearing.”

Uncoiling and stretching out was a slow process.
The guard was stamping with impatience by the time Aedan was able to stand and
shuffle along behind him. They took a few turns and entered a small, bare room
where two men waited – Dun and Wildemar. The guard left and closed the door.

“What have you to say for yourself?” Dun asked, rising
to his feet and filling the room with his annoyance.

“I’m sorry,” Aedan stammered. “There was nobody in
the buildings. I was afraid something terrible had happened –”

“Yes, yes, we know that,” Wildemar interrupted. His
squirrelly eyes snapped at Aedan and then darted around the room while busy
fingers worked as they always did when he spoke. He swung back to Aedan and the
words began to tumble out like discarded acorn shells. “We would have done the
same thing in your place. We are more disappointed with the others for sleeping
in. The rule is a silly tradition made by tame men in puffy robes who wouldn’t
be able to find east an hour after sunrise. Your punishment is over. The thing
that bothers us is how it escaped your notice that you were being tailed. You
have some remarkable abilities, and it is frankly disappointing to see that you
were so easily followed. What can you say to that?”