Aldwyn's Academy (10 page)

It had been one thing to be attacked on the road leading up to the academy, but quite another to discover they were now openly stalking the grounds.

Dorian felt torn.

He wanted to flee, to find a professor and tell them what he had stumbled upon, but now he knew that whatever Helene was doing, she had to be in danger and may not even realize it.

Or she was a part of it. He began running faster.

He made a sharp u-turn in the maze and emerged into the center of the labyrinth.

Reaching the edge of the hedge structure, he saw
a perfect square of groomed lawn. In the middle sat a circular, stone well.

The magic emanating from it ran powerful enough to freeze Dorian in his tracks.

A ghostly groan wafted out of the well in echoing tones like smoke up a chimney. This well had not been placed or created to satisfy any healthy thirsts.

The well was haunted.

But why would it be here? he thought wildly. Despite the bitter chill his body broke out in sweat.

His lips trembled as he pushed forward a single step. He looked over his shoulder but it was too late to go back. The maze had shifted, leaving him only a path forward into the center.

Dorian stepped out onto the snow-covered lawn.

He suddenly recalled the last spell he had copied down for the furious Professor Fife. A moan whispered on the chill breeze.

His wand came to his hand. He traced a circle in the air, touched the tip to his heart, and the words of the spell immediately fell on his lips.

Nothing happened.

The hair on the back of Dorian’s neck rose. What now?

His throat grew tight and thick as he tried to swallow, the pit of his stomach became an icy hole.

With each step he took, the tone of the ghost’s voice shifted.

Moan became wail. Wail merged into scream.

He stopped halfway to the cistern, his fear finally freezing him.

How did Helene get past this? he wondered.

Maybe there’s a trick she knows, or maybe she didn’t have anything to fear. His mind trailed off as he considered the grim possibilities
that
suggested about the haughty elf girl.

The wailing scream started from a distance but came echoing up out of the well, rushing closer and closer. The piercing sound drove Dorian to his knees on the snowy grass.

Desperate now, the boy jerked his wand hand about, making the motions again with the baton.

The ghost shot up out of the well.

Dorian squeezed his eyes shut and shouted out the words of the spell.

It had to work.

It had to.

A
shield of energy shimmered out of Dorian’s wand, forming an invisible dome around him.

Dorian could still hear the ghost’s horrific scream, but it was muted now, like the sound of surf in a shell. The smell of rot and dirt wafted into his nose. It was the smell of an open grave.

Dorian opened his eyes and stared at the horror in front of him.

The ghost’s face hung framed by tangles of long gray hair, like a nest of snakes. Her nose was a hatchet blade over a mouth filled with what looked like blackened needles.

Her eyes were nothing but empty holes.

In an instant the banshee began to grow larger and larger until it hovered above Dorian.

Within the folds of the banshee’s body, Dorian saw tiny human faces stretched and screaming so that their cries folded into the banshee’s own.

Dorian’s Shield spell clung stubbornly, fighting to keep the ghastly thing at bay.

The protective bubble numbed the chill of death and muted the screams of terror, but Dorian still trembled.

Closer and closer the banshee pushed against the mystical Shield and inward toward the cowering boy.

In that instant the most unexpected of things happened.

As the will of the banshee’s necrotic energy pushed against the stubborn form of his defensive shield, there came a voice neither horrid nor deadly.

“Precious child.”

It was the voice of a mother interrupting a child from a nightmare. Looking up, Dorian no longer saw the hideous countenance of the angry ghost. What he saw instead was just as surprising.

The banshee transformed into the shape of a simple woman in a hood. The form was still translucent but she no longer gave off the impression of cannibalistic hunger.

“Who—” Dorian stammered.

“Silence,” the banshee hissed. Where there should be eyes there were still only empty sockets. “I do not have long.”

Dorian forced himself to concentrate on his Shield spell.

A detached, almost hysterical part of his mind was impressed with his ability to handle the incantation, but
most of his thoughts were busy keeping himself from fleeing blindly in sheer terror.

“I wish no student of Aldwyns harm,” the ghostly thing said. “But the power unleashed these past few nights has driven all the ghosts of Aldwyns from their graves and filled them with a yearning, a hunger for the spirits of the living. It will only get worse if she gets her hands on the princess!”

“The princess?” Dorian stammered. “What princess?”

“The girl!” the banshee cried. “The one you are following, a royal of elf blood. She has plans for that royal blood. Terrible plans. She will destroy everything—and everyone at this school—unless you stop her.”

The creature moaned low in her throat, a mournful savage sound. “I cannot hold back my hunger, little one,” she warned. “Flee! Save the princess at all costs, but flee!”

Again Dorian felt the creature test the bonds of his spell and he knew fear all over again.

He spun, fell, fought his way to his feet again, and cast his eyes about. The ghost turned into a whirling, undulating cloak of dark matter around him. His eyes found an opening in the hedge maze across the clearing and he stumbled toward it.

Behind him the Shield spell faltered and the banshee shrieked.

Dorian pushed his feet hard against the ground and
found his speed. The ghost reared back, body opening like the hood of a cobra. Dorian reached the opening.

The banshee, still fighting her insatiable hunger, lunged across the lawn. Dorian darted through and turned left, just escaping the ghostly strike.

The banshee’s angry cries followed him.

Dorian burst out of the maze, his breath coming in gasps. He looked over his shoulder at the dark hedges to make sure the ghost hadn’t followed him.

His feet tripped up again and he went down hard.

The jolt of his impact stunned him enough to knock the breath from his lungs. He gasped in more of the frigid air and saw the wavering stalks of a garden filled with beautiful flowers.

He blinked in surprise.

The plants looked as fresh and vibrant as if it were a balmy spring day instead of a bitter night in the late autumn.

He pushed himself to his hands and knees. There was a whispering rustling and he furrowed his brow because the stalks seemed to move independently of any breeze.

He leaned in closer, still on all fours.

Suddenly one of the flowers lunged for him.

Even in the low light of the cold moon, the teeth of the snapping dragon plants gleamed. They closed shut with an audible
crack
around the skin above Dorian’s cheekbone.

He yelled out and threw himself backward. His cheek felt bruised, and hot blood seeped down his face.

The patch of snapping dragons hissed like a nest of snakes, their stalks twisting and intertwining in a frenzy. The entire row closest to Dorian lunged until he thought they’d rip their roots free of the ground.

“Oh this is a
beautiful
garden,” he muttered, and stood.

Suddenly Caleb emerged from the darkness, breathing heavily. He came to a stop beside Dorian, chest heaving from his exertion. He reached out his hand and grasped Dorian by the arm.

“There’s
something
in there,” he panted. “I could hear it as I went through the maze. I was sure it had got you.”

“Helene’s in danger!” Dorian interrupted. “Something evil is out to get her because she’s an elf princess.” He paused. “Did you know she was a princess?”

Caleb shook his head. “She’s a princess? I just thought she was stuck up and difficult. But a princess?”

“Someone wants her for her
blood,”
Dorian said. “I didn’t understand everything the banshee said but it sounded bad.”

“Blood? Like in death magic? Necromancy?” Caleb sputtered. “Wait … banshee? You spoke with a ghost in there?” His eyes spread wide in surprise. “We’ve got to tell Lowadar!”

From behind him Dorian heard the shrill cry.

The scream was sharp but short, abruptly cut off and unmistakably female in origin.

Helene, Dorian thought with grim certitude. He was moving then, spinning and running once again before his mind made any conscious decision.

“That’s her!” Dorian hissed over his shoulder. “We’ve got to help her or everyone is doomed. The banshee said so!”

“Banshees are evil!” Caleb protested in confusion.

“This one wasn’t. Trust me! Come on!”

Caleb followed him, instinctively accepting the other boy’s lead. Just steps in front of him, Dorian thought he saw a flash of light among the rocks and stony string of hills set just beyond the huge Reflection Pool.

A spell? He didn’t know.

He thought of Helene telling him that the school dragon, Old Whiskers, made his home among those hills and boulders, and he wondered where the creature was now.

Caleb put a heavy hand on his shoulder and slowed Dorian down. The half-orc fought to regain his breath, and Dorian forced himself to wait despite the fact that he wanted nothing more than to get moving, to run.

“Wait,” Caleb said. “I agree. Things look very bad right now. Helene seems to be in trouble, but
think,”
he urged. “A banshee of all things told you that you had to help Helene? How do you know she’s not working
for Helene? Maybe this is some kind of trap? Or maybe Helene is in trouble, but maybe she’s in trouble because she got into something she shouldn’t.”

“That thing back in the maze was scared,” Dorian repeated. “She said that whatever wanted Helene wants everyone here dead. I don’t know how Helene got into this situation and I don’t really care anymore. All I know is that wherever Helene is going, she’s headed straight into a trap that will destroy us all. We have to find her and stop it. I told you.”

Caleb suddenly stiffened and turned his head. “Something’s behind us!” He shoved Dorian forward. “Run!”

Even over the pounding of his footsteps, Dorian caught the sound of branches snapping behind him. Realizing they obviously didn’t belong to Caleb, he turned to look over his shoulder, and he tripped over his feet.

He went down hard, grunted at the impact, and lost his wand. He uttered a word he’d heard his father use.

Scrambling to his hands and knees with Caleb’s help he reached for the metal baton of his wand. He found it just as he caught the motion of shadows out of the corner of his eye.

Something was coming out of the dark for them.

Something big.

D
orian pushed himself up and raced forward.

Caleb brushed against his shoulders as the pair lurched ahead. The wooded groves and snow-covered lawns of the Alchemical Gardens gave way to broken rock as the two boys entered the little area of low hills and short, steep cliffs.

Creatures were following behind Dorian now. He had no doubt. He and Caleb were no longer racing to help Helene as much as fleeing murderous hunters.

Above him clouds choked the light from the moon.

He looked up.

The sky was dark and roiling from winds well above the surface of the earth. Out beyond Aldwyns, above the dark forest, lightning forked out. A second later the thunder pealed so close it hurt Dorian’s ears.

He rounded a cluster of jagged boulders the size of horses and found a winding path.

Abruptly a great, dark gash opened up before him in the ground, and he stopped short, arms windmilling as he fought to keep his balance. Coming up behind him, Caleb grasped Dorian hard by the arm, keeping him upright.