The Forgotten Magicks: The Academy's Call Read online

  THE ACADEMY’S CALL

  Book One of The Forgotten Magicks Series

  ∆∆∆

  CADEN NANTES

  Copyright © 2019 by Caden Nantes

  Cover by Rebecacovers

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  To my beloved parents, always offering guidance along my path.

  "Everything in the universe is within you. Ask all from yourself."

  -Rumi

  Contents

  Chapter One: A Thief’s Luck.

  Chapter Two: The Snake and the Sailor.

  Chapter Three: Schools and Swords.

  Chapter Four: A Father’s Betrayal.

  Chapter Five: My Friend Is a Sorcerer. I Like Fire.

  Chapter Six: Elves, Blood, and Dragons.

  Chapter Seven: Nickname? Demon.

  Chapter Eight: Scary Scrolls.

  Chapter Nine: Bloody Humans….

  Chapter Ten: Inner Darkness.

  Chapter Eleven: Shifting Shadows.

  Chapter Twelve: Falcon’s Prey.

  Chapter Thirteen: Scales. Again.

  Chapter Fourteen: Sand, Snakes, and Did I Mention Sand?

  Chapter Fifteen: Teleporting. Fun! I think….

  Chapter Sixteen: The Elven Forger.

  Chapter Seventeen: The Academy of Giant Bulls.

  Chapter Eighteen: Adventure Awaits!

  Chapter Nineteen: Ash’s Fire

  Chapter One

  A Thief’s Luck

  Sylin’s hands gripped the drainage pipe, his hands chafing as he pulled himself up. His shadowy form melted into the darkness as he climbed... or so he hoped. The brick of the building was strangely gray, and the roof was nearly flat. He reached the top of the pipe and leapt onto the roof, scanning the streets for any signs of movement even though he knew no-one would be out at this hour. Satisfied with the night’s stillness, he stalked toward the edge, frowning at the gap between the roof he stood on and the one adjacent to it. He patted himself down, making sure all his daggers were attached to their sheaths on his ribs, across his back, and on his thighs. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself and rolled his shoulders back.

  The moon emerged from the clouds, shining a pale silvery light down on the city streets far below. He took a deep breath in. It’s now or never. He stepped back a couple paces, pushing his jet-black hair back and then breaking into a silent sprint, leaping into the air as he neared the edge. Grinning like a fool, he soared toward the other side, his arms extended to grab onto the wall.

  Instead, his fingers merely brushed the edge.

  The grin slipped off his face as he dropped downwards. The wind whistled through his ears as he plummeted toward the ground. By Aran!

  He drew a dagger from his belt. Mother, lend me your strength!

  As if in answer, the black jewel set in the dagger sparkled, slowing his fall until he was hovering inches off the ground. His grin resurfaced as he leisurely took a length of rope out from under his cloak. Drawing another dagger, he tied it to the end and spun it around his head. He snapped his wrist, causing it to lurch toward a gap in what he assumed to be his mark’s window. Five windows down, three to the right. It lodged in the gap, and Sylin swung forward, his feet finding the brick wall as the dagger's magic dissipated and time sped up again.

  He winced at the noise of his landing and slid his mother's dagger into the wall. The jewel glimmered again as it slid through the rope and into the brick, pulling Sylin's safety line taut again. Quickly, he scaled the rope and put an arm on the windowsill as he transferred the hastily-made grappling line to a small crack in the bricks. Wedging his fingers under the window, he pushed up, the glass sliding open to reveal the silhouette of a bedroom. His grimace at the grinding noise of the window turned into a smirk as he pushed his body through the window and planted his feet on the other side. Perfect.

  He drew a small dagger from its sheath resting against his ribs and stalked toward the bedside dresser. Freezing as a loud snore came from the bed, he continued again only when the sleeping form rolled over and lay still. He could hardly hold back a chuckle as he reached the dresser and found a small pouch resting on top. He emptied its contents into his palm. Five silvers and three coppers. He dumped the coins back into the pouch and was turning back toward the window when he noticed a small form at the foot of the bed.

  Upon closer inspection, he found it to be a small wooden chest. His grin grew wider as he took two twisted needles out of the same sheath as the dagger. Barely suppressing a laugh, he knelt and inserted a needle into the keyhole, fishing around until he felt resistance. He pushed the tumbler up and inserted his knife, twisting until he heard a click! With the two needles and dagger shoved back into their sheath, he opened the chest. Three gold coins sat atop a sealed envelope. Fancy gold lettering addressed the envelope to Jax Aylon. Craning his neck to see better, he heard a strange whizzing sound. Just as he was about to look up, something flew past his ear and he jolted as he heard a thump in the wall behind him. He turned to see a crossbow bolt still vibrating where it lodged in the wall.

  Turning toward the chest again, he saw the miniature crossbow stationed behind the lid. Gulping at his close call, he shoveled the chest’s contents into his coin pouch, and after a moment’s hesitation, he stuffed the envelope into his cloak pocket.

  The bed creaked, and the sleeping form sat up. Sylin froze. Uh-oh. The form snorted and looked down to where Sylin crouched. His hands shook as he tied his bulging pouch closed and drew his dagger. He swallowed again as the form’s head shifted toward the arrow embedded into the wall, and the open window after that. Sylin took his opportunity.

  He stood and dashed toward the window, not looking back as the bed creaked and a man’s voice shouted, “You there!”

  Sylin wasted no time vaulting through the window and tugging the dagger holding the rope in place out of the wall as soon as he cleared the windowsill. He threw the knife already in his hand at the dagger stuck on the other side of the rope. A soft clang! rang out as steel struck steel, causing both daggers to plummet toward the ground at an even faster pace than Sylin. He caught the two knives just as he reached the floor. He rolled and sheathed the daggers, glancing up at the shadowy form standing near the window before breaking into a sprint.

  “Thief!” shouted the man, his voice ringing in Sylin’s ears as he turned the corner. After a few turns to lose any pursuers, he slowed to a walk. Stopping by a large wooden building, he smiled as he noticed the sign. A picture of a pig dancing on its hind legs dominated most of the sign, leaving just enough room for the engraved lettering at the top stating ‘The Dancing Pig’.

  As soon as he opened the door, his gaze raked across the room. The only occupied table was pushed up against the wall, where a few men drank and laughed loudly. The stage occupying the far corner was empty, save for an unfamiliar stringed instrument leaning against the wall. Sylin closed the door behind him and strode up to the bar, pulling up a stool and waving the barman over.

  “Whaddya want?” asked the man. He had a round face and squinty eyes, with a big mustache and bushy eyebrows.

  “I need food and a room for tonight.”

  Thrusting his head out in something that must’ve been a nod, he appraised Sylin, eventually saying, “It’ll be one silver.”

  “Fair price,” said Sylin.

  After a few moments, a man pulled up a stool beside Sylin, who turned his head to look at him. Sporting light brown hai
r, meaty hands, and a tan complexion, he had the look of a sailor about him.

  “I’m lookin’ for a game of coin toss. Ya play?”

  Sylin pondered for a moment before nodding. “Sure. As soon as I finish my dinner for the night, I’ll give you a game.”

  The man nodded and wandered off. Why would a big guy like him engage in coin toss? Usually, only people like Sylin with a thin build and dexterous hands played it. It was rare for a big man like the sailor to play.

  Green eyes blinked at him as a young boy gave him a key.

  “Your food will be brought out shortly.”

  The boy walked away, with a server maid replacing him minutes later. Silver coins glistened in the torchlight as Sylin paid her with a tip. Greedy eyes danced across the coins as she scooped them up and walked away. Consisting of eggs, vegetables, and a side of soup, the meal was plain but filling.

  Finishing his food quickly, Sylin sought the sailor out. He found him nestled at a small table in the corner. He nodded to Sylin as they moved to the center of the room.

  “Copper or silver?” asked the sailor.

  “Gold,” said Sylin. The man’s eyes widened, but he nodded and took out a gold coin. He set it down in the center of the ground as Sylin did the same.

  “You first,” said Sylin.

  The sailor drew a small dagger. Deft fingers untied a coin pouch resting at his belt. A copper coin appeared, and he tossed it into the air. It spun for a minute before falling back down onto the tip of the man’s dagger.

  “Oh, and I thought you might want to know the name of the man who’s gonna beat you. It’s Sully.”

  Sylin’s face remained stoic. “I wouldn’t be so sure. Name’s Reayn.”

  Sylin almost never gave out his real name. That’s what being a thief does to you, especially when your specialty is rich people up to no good.

  Sully nodded to the thief. Taking out another coin, this time silver, he stared at Sylin with challenge in his eyes. He tossed both coins and caught them on the edge of his blade as he smirked at Sylin. One coin tilted a bit, but didn’t fall.

  Sully took out another copper, throwing that beside the two others. They spun for a moment, before Sully caught one, two, three of the coins on the flat of his blade. Repeating the process for the next coin, he turned toward Sylin.

  “Your turn.”

  Sylin took a copper out of his pouch, tossing it and waiting as it fell. Watching it glisten, he waited until it was an inch off the ground, and caught it on his blade’s edge. Sully’s eyes narrowed, and he nodded. Sylin threw another coin in addition to the other, catching them one after the other on the tip of his dagger so they were stacked. The sailor’s eyebrows raised, but he said nothing as Sylin took out another coin, repeating the process once more, this time catching them on the edge of his knife. He took out another coin and tossed all four, stacking each on top of the other on the tip of his blade. Sully pursed his lips and tossed his coin before Sylin could even announce it was his turn. He caught the coin on the tip of his knife, grinning at Sylin before throwing another along with it. He caught both on the tip of his blade, and his grin grew wider. The third toss was when he made his mistake. He tried to catch all three on the tip of his blade, but the second one slid out, causing all three to come crashing down. Sylin smirked at the stunned sailor, scooping up both gold coins and each of Sully’s coppers as per the rules. Bowing to the cheering crowd as he shoved his own coins into his pouch, he marched toward the stairs to his room. A strong hand gripped his shoulder before he could reach them. “You’ll live to regret this, boy,” Sully snarled into his ear.

  Sylin shrugged off his hand and marched up the stairs. He unlocked his bedroom door and entered into a plain room with a dresser cuddled into one corner, and a bed pushed up against the far wall. He made sure the door was locked, and then slipped out the window. Clamboring onto the roof via a drainage pipe, he crouched on all fours to keep from sliding off the harshly slanted surface. Slick stone shifted under his feet as he crawled to the edge. Scanning the city, he found hardly any signs of life. The few souls wandering the streets were decidedly shady, and no carriages roamed the roads. Finally, he found what he was looking for. A crumbling cottage, less than a block away, stood alone, away from all the other buildings. That was where his aunt rested, on a hard, stiff stack of hay serving as her deathbed. He slipped a small package out of his cloak, full of rations he'd taken from his own plate. Dropping off the edge of the roof, he scaled down the wall, landing on the ground and stalking toward the cottage. Somewhere nearby, an owl hooted.

  "Someone you don't want to mess with right now," Sylin muttered. That shut it up.

  A pair of dark eyes glanced at him from the hood of a cloak. Sylin picked up the pace. Turning a corner, he stepped into the rocky clearing housing his aunt's resting place. He slipped into the cottage via a large hole in the wall. Stopping for a moment, he surveyed the house as he'd done so many times before. Only about a quarter was still in tact, and just barely. Two of the walls had crumbled completely, leaving the others to bear the roof's weight alone. Wet stacks of hay lay under the open sky, and cracked barrels lay on their sides next to a stone basin. Each of the few dry haystacks were pushed together under what remained of the roof, with cotton and clothing splayed atop them in a makeshift matress. Sylin's aunt rested on these, and he rushed toward her, clutching her hand.

  "Mayella, I'm here. I have some food for you."

  Her mouth opened slightly, with her one good eye shedding its lid. "Water," she rasped, her voice dry and brittle like sandpaper.

  Sylin nodded, pulling a skin out of a leather satchel. He uncorked it, holding it to his aunt's lips as she drank. After pulling back from the waterskin, Mayella smacked her lips weakly. "Thank you," she croaked, her voice slightly less brittle.

  Tears formed in Sylin's eyes as he opened the package of rations. Procuring a spoon he'd swiped from the tavern, he scooped some of the food up and pressed it to his aunt's mouth. She gobbled it up eagerly, eating all of it despite Sylin's warnings to take it slow. Sitting back, he smiled at her.

  "I have a room for you-"

  She raised her hand. "No!"

  "Don't worry," Sylin spoke over her protests. "I bought it this time, I promise."

  Mayella sighed, but it soon turned into a coughing fit. He raised her frail body off the matress, patting her back and offering the waterskin. She waved it off, trying to stand, but Sylin shook his head.

  "You are too weak. Let me carry you."

  Ignoring her continued arguments, he cradled her thin frame, once again marvelling at how light she was. He remembered a time when she was much fuller, almost plump. That was before the sickness struck, and he was forced to nurture her deteriorating body himself.

  Letting out a heavy breath, he gently slung her over his shoulder, striding toward the tavern and wondering how in the world he would get her into the room.

  Chapter Two

  The Snake and the Sailor

  Sylin strode down the cobblestone streets of the capital of Sarinia. As he cracked his neck from side to side, his dark eyes scanned the windows of the different shops he passed by. The bakery had the scent of fresh-baked bread drifting from the open doorway, and the jeweler had glittering gemstones encrusted into rings, necklaces and bracelets on display. Posh tunics with high necklines sat behind the glass of the tailor’s shop, and the armor smith had a chainmail jerkin and cuirass gleaming through the glass. I wonder if he knows where the new weapon smith is? The last one had retired and sold his shop, too old to be working anymore. Sarvin was strange to have three different smiths, one specializing in armor, the other weapons and the last everything else, such as steel casings and gears. He entered the shop to discover the counter empty. Hearing the clang of metal on metal, Sylin waited. The noise stopped, replaced by a man’s voice,

  “I’ll be right with you!”

  Extremely heavyset, a man appeared from a back door. He appraised Sylin with a hard glare and f
rown.

  “I don’t carry weapons, only armor.”

  Sylin nodded. “Right. Where is the current weaponsmith located?”

  The man’s frown grew deeper. “Turn right down the alley. You’ll find him there.”

  “Thanks,” said Sylin. “Do you know if the weaponsmith carries throwing knives, by chance?”

  Dropping further down the man’s face, Sylin was afraid the frown would stay there forever. “No. Now get out. I don’t have any room for people like you,” Now it was Sylin’s turn to frown. How does he know I’m a thief? And it might not be honorable business, but it wasn’t like he stole from the poor. Usually, he got marks from a tavern owner. When he couldn’t, he tried to find the richest people.

  Sighing as he exited the shop, he took the man’s instructions to turn right. He entered a narrow and quite cold alleyway, and the mood seemed to drop as much as the temperature. He shuddered, not knowing whether it was from the cold or something more sinister. His eyes darted to and fro, yet he found no weapon smith in sight.

  A clatter sounded, and the steel lid of a waste bin rolled toward Sylin. He gulped and turned back toward the entrance of the alleyway. Time to go. His heart sank as he realized three forms blocked the entrance.

  “Well, well, well, what do we have here? The little rodent who stole my coin,” said Sully.

  “I didn’t steal it, I won it fair and square,”

  “That might be so, but it isn’t for Robert here,” he gestured toward a man even larger than Sully. The man held a cudgel in his hand, and his form was vaguely familiar. As soon as he spoke, the gears clicked into place.

  “The worm who pilfered my letter is back. Sully said he’d lead me right to him, and now here he is,” said the man.

  “Oh yeah? If it's your letter, why’s it addressed to Jax Aylon?”