The Arch of Avooblis: The Adventurers' Academy, #1

The Arch of Avooblis

By

Charles Streams

Copyright 2014 © Charles Streams

All rights reserved by the author. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

The Arch of Avooblis is book 1 in The Adventurers’ Academy Series.

To Sam,

young rogue

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 Dagdron

Chapter 2 Earl Valorington

Chapter 3 Escape

Chapter 4 The Adventurers’ Academy

Chapter 5 Bodaburg

Chapter 6 Scar

Chapter 7 Wench

Chapter 8 Slitting Throats

Chapter 9 The Winter Carnival

Chapter 10 Grizzard

Chapter 11 The Unidentifiable Quest

Chapter 12 The Arch of Avooblis

Chapter 13 Snowed-in Suspicion

Chapter 14 Dirty Rich

Chapter 15 Dishonorable Hero

Chapter 16 Concealment

Chapter 17 The Reflection Potion

Chapter 18 Mercer’s House

Chapter 19 Rance, Kas, & Wally

Chapter 20 Alley & Arch

Chapter 21 Duplicity

Chapter 1: Dagdron

Dagdron opened his eyes as he heard the sizzle from the pan. The fire in the cave cast his father’s shadow against the wall. He quietly sniffed. Catching the scent of sausages, he gave a quick twitch of his head to look, wondering why his father had risked stealing such luxurious meat.

Your schooling starts in a week. We’ll have to leave after breakfast to get there in time, his father said.

What? Dagdron said, quickly sitting up on the stone ground. He grabbed his cloak off the floor where it had served as his pillow and put it on as he glared at his father. The village is just down the cliff.

You’re not going to school in Cliffmount, his father said.

Dagdron pulled his dagger out of his cloak and moved to the fire. There was a four-foot tall natural rock shelf on the right side of the cave. Dagdron’s father had chiseled out a fire pit in the top. A charred frying pan rested on the small fire, cooking their breakfast. Dagdron pierced one of the sausages and started eating it off his dagger.

Then where am I going to school? Dagdron asked angrily.

I’ve arranged for your enrollment at another school, his father answered.

What other school? We’ve never left Cliffmount

I arranged for your admission when you were a very young child.

Why didn’t you tell me last week?

Because your emotions were out of control.

My emotions weren’t out of control. Your logic was. And it still is.

Dagdron kept looking at his father until their dark eyes met. Father and son kept their faces blank. Dagdron hardened his expression when his dad looked away first, using the excuse of stabbing another sausage.

Dagdron scowled. His father never showed emotion, and he had taught his son to never show it, either. This way of life had led to a very silent cave over Dagdron’s fourteen years of life, which had made their argument a week ago even more out of place. Daggers had been drawn and voices had been raised; Dagdron didn’t want to go to school. He wanted to stay in Cliffmount, but his father refused to hear it. During the quarrel he had repeatedly stated that he would not allow his son to be trapped in the limited life they led, and that he would go to school, where he would learn the necessary skills to live a more prosperous life in their profession.

I told you that I’m already old enough to make a living here.

Cliffmount is not big enough for both of us. I can barely keep our food stores up as it is. And with two of us around, the odds of getting caught are much greater.

I’ve earned money in the village over the years. There was always plenty of room for both of us.

Those were teaching moments, not testing to see if Cliffmount can handle both of us. I wanted you to learn the necessary skills from a young age so you can be resourceful anywhere you choose to go.

Dagdron speared another sausage onto his dagger and walked away from the fire, stopping in the shadows. When he finished eating, he adjusted his worn pants, and pulled the hood attached to his cloak over his head, hiding his face, black hair, and dark eyes in its depths. He stashed his dagger back in his cloak.

His father finished the remaining sausages, and then put on his cloak and a small pack before walking to where his son stood. Dagdron watched as his father placed a hand on the wall. His hand glowed blue, and the outline of a door appeared. His father pushed the door open and walked outside, waiting in silence as the boy stopped in the doorway and turned to look back in the cave. There was nothing special about it. They didn’t keep any valuable possessions. But it had been his only home, so, though he kept his face expressionless, he felt the twinge of separation inside.

When Dagdron walked outside, his father closed the door, and then placed his hand on it. There was another blue glow, and the outline of the door was concealed again. The father took the lead, and the son followed, always maintaining his pace exactly one step behind.

Over the following couple of days, Dagdron and his father made their way through the cliffs where their home cave was. Dagdron had never ventured this far from Cliffmount, but he still didn’t look around much as he stewed inside himself, keeping his focus on the back of his dad’s shoes.

Each night of the journey, his father chose a place to sleep. Dagdron sat down while his father snuck off to find their dinner. They ate apples, corn, and other fruits and vegetables they found from trees or farmers’ crops along the way. Neither of them minded sleeping on the ground, having slept in the hard cave for years.

At the end of the rocky cliffs, the downward slope took them under the cover of a dark forest. A narrow pathway ran between the pine trees, passing the occasional farmhouse. At midday, Dagdron waited while his father crept into a farm to steal corn and apples, unsure whether they would be able to find food deeper in the forest.

On the fifth night of the trek, Dagdron’s dad paused when they came to the edge of the forest. Dagdron moved to his father’s side, observing the hilly, flower-covered meadows extending in the distance. After a few minutes, Dagdron’s father led him back into the forest, stopping in a small clearing. Dagdron was about to sit down like he usually did but, seeing his dad look around more than normal, he hesitated.

Are we camping here or not?

Yes, his dad said. We’ll start on the meadows in the morning.

Dagdron sat on the ground, leaning his back against one of the pine trees. They ate the remaining apples and corn. By the time they finished, the forest was pitch-black so they went to sleep.

Up until that night, Dagdron had been sleeping soundly through the night. But, when he heard cracking branches, he woke up in the middle of the night to the sight of orange and yellow lights shooting across the clearing.

His father was casting flame spells, sending orange balls of fire at a tall figure clad in a dark purple robe on the other side of the clearing. In response, the man was launching lightning spells, yellow balls with jagged currents crackling off them.

Dagdron, get up, his father said.

Dagdron groggily got to his feet, then his father, dodging to the side, threw a violet object, which exploded in a glaring purple light, blinding everything in the clearing. Dagdron was suddenly wide awake but only seeing bright purple stars in front of his eyes. He felt his father grab his arm, and then they were running through the forest.

Dagdron’s vision was returning when they came to the edge of the woods.

Keep running, his father said.

Dagdron released his arm from his father’s grasp, but matched his speed. The father and son nimbly ran in the dark, remaining sure-footed in the dense grass of the hills and dips of the meadows.

After running for what seemed like hours, Dagdron couldn’t keep up with his father’s pace, so they slowed to a walk.

Who attacked us? Dagdron asked.

Some bandit in the forest. Dagdron’s dad scanned the area as he spoke. It was still dark but, when his eyes fell on two hills to the left, he led Dagdron in that direction.

That was an enchanter not a bandit.

We’re not in Cliffmount anymore. There are all sorts of dangers around the land.

We never got attacked by a crazed enchanter in Cliffmount. Let’s go back.

I’m not having that discussion again.

Dagdron’s dad took the path between the two hills, where there was a grassy space just big enough for the two of them.

We can sleep a few more hours here, Dagdron’s father said. We should be able to make it across the rest of the meadows tomorrow.

Dagdron scowled but lay down and fell asleep quickly. Seeing his son asleep, Dagdron’s dad lifted his hands in the air, mumbled under his breath, and they were encircled momentarily by a pale blue bubble. Dagdron’s dad, exhausted from the run and spell, slumped to the ground asleep.

The following morning, the father and son moved at a brisk pace up and down the hills through the colorful flowers. Although his father tried to do it furtively, Dagdron noticed each and every time he glanced to the side or behind. Dagdron knew his dad was watching out for the enchanter who had attacked them, but they didn’t see any other person that day.

As the sixth day of their journey was ending, they walked across the last of the meadows and entered a wooded area leading to the base of a single-peaked mountain. The top had a slight snow covering, and a narrow trail rose up the side in switchbacks.

The school’s in the valley on the other side, in between the two mountains. We’ll camp here tonight and head over in the morning, Dagdron’s father said.

The boy didn’t respond. He followed his father to a patch of bushes not far from the trail and lay down. His father left and was gone longer than normal. The boy didn’t worry. They always followed the three-day code. If his father was away for three days, Dagdron was supposed to go look for him. There was only one occasion Dagdron remembered when his father hadn’t come home for two days. The evening of the third, the boy was getting ready to head out when his father came home. He had only been jailed in a neighboring village, not in any serious trouble.

Dagdron was drifting off to sleep when his father came back. He was carrying a load of wood with a small package resting on top. His father tossed the wood to the ground, grabbing the package in his hand as he did so. Then he held his hand up and an orange ball shot out at the fire pit, bursting the wood into flames.

Is this place safe? the boy asked. Or are we going to be attacked again?

Rather safe, the father replied, ignoring the second question. I got some meat from a farmhouse.

Dagdron didn’t reply. His father cooked the chunk of beef on a rock in the middle of the fire. They used their knives to lift it to their mouths. After dinner, they didn’t speak another word before they slept.

Dagdron’s father woke him up early the next morning, having already picked a bundle of berries for breakfast. They bolted down the berries, and then started up the trail. When they reached the highest point of the pathway, Dagdron looked down. Far below, the town looked quiet and peaceful. Closer, in the forested valley directly below, the spires and four towers of the school poked out above the trees. There was already a horde of people in front of the gate. The father and son adjusted their hoods simultaneously, assuring their faces were well hidden before starting down the trail.

When they came to the bottom of the mountain, the trail forked, curving upward toward the school and down to the town. The father fell back a step, walking in stride at the side of his son. He placed his hand on Dagdron’s shoulder. The boy felt the strength of the dexterous hand. He knew this was his father’s way of expressing his desire for well-being, as well as telling him that he would miss him. The boy knew no words of parting would be spoken.

The forest cleared slightly in front of the academy. The exterior of the building was constructed of dark brown square stones that matched the color of the trunks of the surrounding pine trees. A tall black fence surrounded the academy. When they reached the gate, the father steered his son to the side without entering. Even though he knew his dad wouldn’t approve, Dagdron stepped in front of him. His father was a couple of inches taller than him and did his best to keep his line of vision above Dagdron’s, but the boy kept looking at him directly in the face. He could see the dim shine of his father’s eyes hidden in the dark hood. His father gave his shoulder a firm squeeze, and then pulled two leather pouches from the interior of his cloak – one tied with a complex knot, the other simply cinched closed.

Give this one to the headmaster, his father said, placing the secure pouch in Dagdron’s outstretched hand. This one is for your personal use.

Dagdron stashed both in his cloak.

Don’t make me stay here, Dagdron said quietly. I don’t want to go to school at all.

Now is not the time to let your emotions get out of control again, Dagdron, his father said. I can’t offer you the life you deserve.

"The life I deserve is the life I choose. I want to stay in our cave."

I found a way to get you into this academy when you turned fourteen. Training at this school will let you do exactly that. You will be able to choose how you live.

I won’t stay here. You can teach me more tricks of the trade in Cliffmount.

Even if I was considering that, I already told you the village isn’t big enough for both of us.

Then why have we lived there my entire life?

Because I wanted to raise you in a peaceful place. But now, you are staying here.

Dagdron made sure his hood was still secure on his head before folding his arms. He willed himself to lessen the emotion he was feeling. He much preferred to feel nothing than the anger and annoyance that were flooding his chest.

His father placed his hand firmly on Dagdron’s shoulder again and gave it a squeeze before turning around and heading back down the trail. Dagdron watched his father go, but he quickly disappeared behind a tree, so the boy walked through the gate.

The small courtyard in front of the entrance of the school was filled with people. There were a few others like him, wearing dark cloaks with hoods, but the majority were young men wearing armor and carrying swords, or young men and women wearing different colored robes. He felt a momentary twinge in his stomach as he saw the other teenagers bidding farewell to their families, so he hurried forward where a line had formed at the main entrance. A woman with shaped brown hair, who was wearing a flowing yellow robe and a fit, muscular man with brown hair wearing warrior attire were standing to the sides of the door.

As Dagdron waited, he pulled the pouches out. He immediately tried to untie the one his father had told him to give to the headmaster, but as he assumed, the knots had been magically tied and wouldn’t budge. He loosened the other pouch and saw a bunch of gold coins. He stashed the pouches away again, and then turned around. He looked out of the gate before lifting his gaze upward. He caught a momentarily glimpse of a dark-cloaked man near the top of a tree, but then he disappeared from sight. Dagdron smiled in spite of himself. He knew his father had kept the school a secret to avoid long-term conflict, and Dagdron still felt annoyed, but he knew his father was waiting in the trees until his son was safely inside the school. Whose emotions were out of control now? he thought.

Dagdron gave one last look up at the trees, but then turned back as the warrior man called to him.

I take it you’re a rogue? the man said.

Dagdron nodded his head.

Great, another silent, untalkative thief, the man said out loud to himself. Go inside, but wait near the entrance until Headmaster Gwauldron calls you forward.

Dagdron walked through the door without even a nod. Sunlight was shining through the long, narrow windows of the entrance hall. Red, blue, and yellow tapestries decorated the walls, and lanterns hung in between them for use at night. In the middle of the entrance hall were three stone statues. The right one was a tall enchanter with his arms lifted in the act of casting a spell. On the left, a warrior a couple of inches shorter with muscled arms was holding a sword in one hand. In the middle, standing slightly behind the other two, was a cloaked rogue, hunched in a sneaking position. At the far end of the chamber, a tall man in a dark blue robe was standing at a stone table. A few other students were standing just inside the entrance, but Dagdron gave them no attention, only glancing over each time the headmaster called one of them forward.

When at last it was his turn, Dagdron stepped silently, passing the three statues, until he reached the table. The headmaster gave him a quick glance. The tall man had white hair, blue eyes, extremely bushy white eyebrows, and a short goatee that was so spiked that it looked like it could cut you.

I am Headmaster Gwydion Gwauldron. Take your hood off and state your name, the man said before looking back down at the table to make a note with the feather-quill pen in his hand.

Dagdron, the boy said, not taking off his hood. He ran his eyes across the table. Papers littered the entire table, but near the edge of the table where the headmaster stood, Dagdron caught sight of a golden ring with a red gemstone.

Last name? the headmaster asked.

Dagdron hesitated momentarily, but then decided if his father had sent him here, it must be all right.

Obor, Dagdron said.

The headmaster instantly dropped his feather-quill pen, lifted both his hands, and gave a loud clap. A rushing wind appeared out of his hands, formed into a whirlwind, and blew vehemently across the entrance hall, forcing