The Labyrinth Read online

The Labyrinth

  Kenneth McDonald

  [email protected]

  Copyright 2010 Kenneth McDonald

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  Works by Kenneth McDonald

  The Labyrinth

  Of Spells and Demons

  Wizard’s Shield

  The Godswar Trilogy

  Paths of the Chosen

  Choice of the Fallen

  Fall of Creation

  Daran’s Journey

  Heart of a Hero

  Soul of a Coward

  Will of a Warrior

  Courage of a Champion

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  Chapter 1

  It was a glorious spring day in Sacreth, the Valley Kingdom. The sky was a soft expanse of blue, unmarred by even a wisp of cloud, and the brilliant radiance of the sun was eased by a gentle breeze from the west, bringing with it a clean smell of wildflowers and freshly-cut grass.

  The sun’s rays gleamed on the pristine but aging buildings of the University, along the cool banks of the Roe River. They shone on the vast open space of the Quadrangle, the heart of the campus, where hundreds of students—and in many cases, their professors—were passing the day in study, sport, or simple relaxation in the company of their friends. Birds fluttered by, or sang from perches on the hundreds of trees planted in strips along the edges of the neatly-manicured expanses of grass that dominated the square.

  The southern edge of the Quadrangle was demarcated by Avellin Hall, named after one of the six mages who had founded the University just over four hundred years ago. The students referred to the structure as “Caterpillar Hall,” and the building, with the three wings that had been added since its original construction, did resemble a narrow, segmented creature, stretching out to fit every stride of available space. A portion even intruded onto a corner of the Quadrangle, as if menacing the adjacent Tallwarden Hall.

  One of the more notable features of Avellin Hall was its basement library. Originally just one of several adjuncts to the campus’s main library, with its vaulted halls and storied collections of tens of thousands of texts, over the years the room under Caterpillar Hall had been claimed by the senior students of the University as something of a private demesne. In the winter months, the chamber was full of them, sitting on the comfortable couches near the two huge stone hearths, or working at one of the thirty-four semiprivate carrels situated throughout the room.

  On this spring day, however, the library was nearly deserted. The slanted horizontal windows set near the ceiling, at ground level outside, had been left open to allow fresh air and the sounds of happiness to drift in from the adjacent quad. That combination had proved too powerful to ignore, and the long tables in the center of the room were littered with open books and parchments that had been hastily abandoned by would-be scholars. Most of the spelled lamps that dangled from long chains from the ceiling were dark, leaving the corners of the room draped in mysterious shadow.

  Other than a pair of young women talking quietly on one of the couches in front of the darkened hearths, the only other occupant in the library was a man working at one of the carrels on the far side of the room. He looked as though he’d been there a while, with a small pot of tea and an earthenware mug forgotten at his right elbow, and a scatter of books and scrolls forming a rampart in front of him. He was deep into another book propped up against that mound, referring to it frequently as he made notes in a tiny script on a long roll of parchment. He looked young, almost too young to have earned the certificate in advanced magical studies that was the informal badge of entry to the Caterpillar Library. His hair was a sandy blonde mop that was a bit disheveled, and there was a slight smear of what might have been ink along the line of his jaw on the right side of his face. He bit his lip in an absent gesture as he continued writing on the parchment, pausing only to refresh the ink in his steel-nibbed pen. His lips twisted into a frown as the parchment parted in a tiny tear; like most of the scrolls used by students, this one was worn thin, already scraped clean several times. The student carefully avoided the tear, and started a new line of text, his pen moving in a smooth and constant stream over the paper.

  “Now, isn’t this just a sad and pathetic sight. I told you we’d find him here, chained to a study carrel.”

  The student carefully put down his pen on a piece of blotter and turned to see three others standing behind him. They were a disparate group, but all young and all clad in the unadorned half-robes that was the unofficial uniform of the University. The speaker was a tall, handsome man in his early twenties, with dark hair and penetrating green eyes. He was flanked by a slender woman and a short, somewhat rounded man, who carried a fat satchel under one arm.

  “Some of us have studying to do, Iskanderon,” the seated student said.

  “It’s a beautiful day outside, Keric,” the young woman said. Her name was Alis, and her eyes glittered as she looked at him. Keric had had a crush on her during their first year; they’d gone out together a few times, but it had not progressed further.

  “You know, if you spend too much time staring at those books, you’re going to ruin your eyesight,” Iskanderon said.

  “That’s a myth,” his shorter, pudgier companion said. “At least, ocular degeneration doesn’t begin to set in until the fourth decade of life in most cases, and as long as there is proper lighting—”

  Iskanderon interrupted him with a laugh. “Peace, Draef,” he said. “We’re not here for one of your recitations.”

  “Why are you here?” Keric asked. “You said you were looking for me.”

  “We need you, Keric,” Alis said.

  “That, is true,” Iskanderon said. He leaned casually against the wall of the adjacent carrel, which creaked slightly under his weight. He folded his arms in front of his chest and nodded at Keric. “Talith Zran has suffered a ruptured appendix.”

  “Oh? Is he all right?” Keric asked.

  “Fortunately he was near the infirmary when it happened,” Alis said. “He’s responded well to Healing, and Dean Zharas says that there is no sign of taint remaining within his body that could complicate his recovery.”

  “Yes, yes, he’ll be fine, won’t even miss Examinations,” Iskanderon said. “The problem is what his mishap does to our chances this year.”

  Keric blinked. “Chances?”

  “Neva’s teeth, you really are out of the flow of events, aren’t you? Yes, our chances. The Labyrinth competition? Perhaps you’ve heard of it.”

  Keric grunted. “Yes. Well, I have to admit, I haven’t been following all of the talk around this year’s contest. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m trying to get into Professor Padronis’s Advanced Magical Theory seminar, and he’s only accepting four new students this year.”

  “Bah, you’ll get in, I have no doubt that you’ll make full professor in five years, and have a Belker Prize under your belt in ten. My immediate concern, however, is the Labyrinth. In case you hadn’t heard, the competition is in three days, and the scrolls lack a candidate.”

  “Why don’t you do it?” Keric asked him. “The crowd will love you, I’m sure.”

  Iskanderon smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. “Oh, I fully intend to have a seat on the Mage Council by the time I’m thirty,” he said, buffing his fingernails on the breast of his robe. “But I know my weaknesses, and raw magical talent is one of them. We need someone who can win.”

  “The scrolls have lost the last five years,” Draef said. “Even before Talith’s misfortune, the odds-makers in the city put the odds against us at seven to one.”

  “I suspect they’re in the double-digits now,” Iskanderon said. “Look, Keric. We need a good entry, and you’re one of the best in the current crop of scroll mages. Eve
ryone knows that.” He glanced at his companions. “Alis here is good, but she hasn’t gotten her certificate yet.” Keric looked at her; she flushed and lowered her eyes, but not before he saw something there that helped explain what she was doing here. He felt a stab of jealousy, an unpleasant feeling that he quickly quashed. It occurred to him that Iskanderon had probably brought her on purpose, to sway him. It would be just like him, he thought.

  “As for Draef,” Iskanderon was saying, “Well, he’s got the magic, but we both know that the Labyrinth involves physical tests as well.” Draef merely nodded, accepting the dig as simple truth. Iskanderon folded his hands together and pointed his index fingers at Keric. “And you play sek’kabar.”

  “I’ve hardly picked up my racquet this year,” Keric said, but he could feel his resolve weakening. Iskanderon obviously sensed it as well, for he forged ahead, rising and stepping forward to face him directly.

  “Consider this, then. Scoring well in the competition is a good way to attract the attention of the deans,” he said. “Maybe even the Council. Certainly a good showing would look favorable before an evaluation panel.”

  While that was true, Keric knew that the argument worked both ways. If he embarrassed himself in the Labyrinth, it would stay in the memory of the University and its leadership. Even he, who hardly followed the details of the annual competition, knew of several young mages whose spectacular failures were still discussed in the halls and classrooms of the school.

  “The shield mages are fielding a competitor this year,” Draef noted. “It’ll be the first true four-way competition in a few years. They’re submitting Ashandra Hael.”

  “I’ve heard the name,” Keric admitted. “Have heard she’s good.”

  Iskanderon smiled. “She is. Some say you’re better.”

  Keric saw through the obvious ploy, but as he looked past Iskanderon, Alis smiled at him. “Please, Keric. We really need you.”

  He let out a heavy sigh and fielded the last arrow in his quiver. “As you said, it’s only three days to the competition. No time to prepare a proper cache of scrolls, even if I postponed work on my portfolio for Professor Padronis.”

  “We’ve got you covered, chief,” Iskanderon said. He nodded at Draef, who took out a leather scroll case from his satchel.

  “Most of the senior students amongst the scrolls contributed something,” Draef said. “They wrote them for Talith, but I don’t think there’s anything in there that will give you any trouble. Three of them are my own work. The inventory’s in the lid.”

  Keric took the case. There was a long pause. “Oh, very well,” he said.

  “Excellent!” Iskanderon said. “I’ll see to the submission materials myself, no need to do anything further but be there in three days.” He grinned at the others. “I think this may be our year.”

  “I think that I may regret this,” Keric replied. He put the scroll case on the desk in front of him. “I’d better get to work reviewing these, if I’m going to be ready.”

  “Of course, of course, we’ll leave you to it,” Iskanderon said. The three started to leave, but Iskanderon paused, leaning on the wall of the carrel. “Oh, thought you should know; rumor is that the Paladin himself is designing the course this year.” He shot a final smile at Keric, and left before he could respond.

  Keric only shook his head. “Wonderful.” He carefully rolled up the scroll he’d been working on, and put it along with the book he’d been using back amongst the pile. He opened the scroll case, and glanced at the inventory in the lid before he drew out a roll of parchments of varied color and size. Spreading them out to his left, he stared at them for a moment, then took the first one from the top and started to read.

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  Chapter 2