The Alchemist's Touch Read Online Free PDF Page B

folk heading hither and yon. There were no open markets in this part of the city, and so no vendors screamed their wares at passers by, but there were shopkeepers, and deliveries of food and drink passing by on wagons, making their way to taverns and inns. Among the crowds, Ebon often caught flashes of red—either the red leather armor of constables, or the red cloaks of Mystics. These last he noted with some keen interest, for the order’s power was lessened in Idris, and they did not often present themselves to his family. At least, not in meetings that Ebon was ever privy to.
    “You find the Mystics intriguing, do you?” said Halab, who had noticed his wandering eye.
    “I suppose. It is only that they are rare back home.”
    “That is just as well. They are a meddlesome folk with no love for wizards, except those donned in red. That means they would have a particular dislike for you, young nephew.”
    Ebon glanced at her with concern, but she laughed and went to take his arm.  
    “Sometimes I worry that you are too serious, though I think I may know the cause. Your father puts great strain on you, Ebon. You must forgive him for that.”
    He did not have the faintest idea how to answer. Even with Tamen gone, he had no wish to speak ill of his father, for Mako walked close behind them both. The bodyguard’s sharp ears would hear all, and who knew where his tongue might wander?
    She gently patted his arm. “I know it must be difficult to speak of. You need say nothing. And I take back my words—you need not forgive him. For he has never forgiven you for Momen, and you were blameless in that.”
    Ebon ducked, for suddenly his eyes were stinging. Carefully he said, “Momen’s loss was a great pain to us all.”
    “It was.” She patted his arm. “Come. It is far too pretty a day for such thoughts. And we are nearly there.”
    He looked up. There had arrived: the spires of the Academy’s four wings, and the great tower at its heart in the center of them all. High and mighty the castle stood, nearly as great as the High King’s palace itself. But where the palace was laid in stone of white and grey, with windows and bracings of gold, the Academy was of a stone so dark grey it was almost black, its trimmings all in silver. Silver, too, were the banners streaming from its many flagpoles, all bearing the simple white cross that stood for the four branches of magic, inside a white circle that was itself nested in an orb of black. Ebon had heard of the banner, but had never seen it until his arrival on the Seat. Since then, it had barely left his mind.  
    Its size made it appear much nearer than it was, and still they had some distance to go. As they drew closer, Halab explained something of the place’s construction. Ebon knew many of the details already, knowledge gleaned from whispered conversations with servants who should have known better. Still, he drank them in, for he would never tire of Academy tales.
    “Four wings it has, for the four branches, of course. But that is only a symbol, and the students are not kept to each wing according to their gifts. Rather, they are arranged by age—or, I should say, their year of study. Now, do you see how high the walls are? They were built wide around the central building, and there they have the training areas where the students learn their arts. Though they built the walls high, they are never guarded. They are not meant to protect the Academy from attack, but to safeguard the city from the students. It would not do to have a young firemage blow himself up and engulf half a dozen nearby buildings in the flames.”
    Ebon laughed aloud, but Halab did not join him. He looked over to her, and saw that one of her eyebrows was arched.
    “I am afraid that is no jest, nephew.”
    Ebon swallowed hard.
    At last they drew near to the wide front door, set straight into the wall itself. The door was made of iron, dark and black as though hewn by a smith of little skill. But as