The Academy Journals Volume One: A Book of Underrealm (The Underrealm Volumes 3)

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  The Books of Underrealm

  Get More

  The Academy Journals: Volume One

  The Alchemist's Touch

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  EPILOGUE

  The Mindmage's Wrath

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  EPILOGUE

  The Firemage's Vengeance

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  EPILOGUE

  ADDENDUM A

  The Magic of Underrealm

  Of Elementalism

  Of Mentalism

  Of Therianthropy

  Of Transmutation

  ADDENDUM B

  The Calendar of Underrealm

  Timeline of Events

  ADDENDUM C

  The Family Drayden

  The Family Konnel

  Xain Forredar

  ADDENDUM D

  High King Enalyn's Declaration of War

  Momen's Final Letters

  Keep Reading

  Thank You To My Patrons

  Connect Online

  The Books of Underrealm

  About the Author

  THE ACADEMY JOURNALS: VOLUME ONE

  Garrett Robinson

  Copyright © 2018 by Legacy Books. All rights reserved.

  Cover Copyright © 2018 by Legacy Books.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

  The author greatly appreciates you taking the time to read his work. Please leave a review wherever you bought the book, or on Goodreads.com.

  Interior Design: Legacy Books, Inc.

  Publisher: Legacy Books, Inc.

  Editors: Karen Conlin, Cassie Dean

  Cover Artist: Sutthiwat Dechakamphu

  First Edition

  Published by Legacy Books

  To my parents

  who enabled me to do this

  To my wife

  who got me to where I am

  To my children

  who keep this and everything else fun

  To the Vloganovel crew

  who keep me going

  And to my Rebels

  who are the best gift I could have asked for

  THE BOOKS OF UNDERREALM

  BY GARRETT ROBINSON

  To see all novels in the world of Underrealm, visit:

  Underrealm.net/books

  THE NIGHTBLADE EPIC

  NIGHTBLADE

  MYSTIC

  DARKFIRE

  SHADEBORN

  WEREMAGE

  YERRIN

  THE ACADEMY JOURNALS

  THE ALCHEMIST’S TOUCH

  THE MINDMAGE’S WRATH

  THE FIREMAGE’S VENGEANCE

  TALES OF THE WANDERER (COMING SOON)

  BLOOD LUST

  STONE SKIN

  HELL SKIN

  CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER

  NIGHTBLADE

  MYSTIC

  DARKFIRE

  SHADEBORN

  BLOOD LUST

  THE ALCHEMIST’S TOUCH

  THE MINDMAGE’S WRATH

  WEREMAGE

  STONE SKIN

  THE FIREMAGE’S VENGEANCE

  HELL SKIN

  YERRIN

  GET MORE

  Legacy Books is home to the very best that fantasy has to offer.

  Join our email alerts list, and we’ll send word whenever we release a new book. You’ll receive exclusive updates and see behind the scenes as we create them.

  (You’ll also learn the secret that makes great fantasy books, great.)

  Interested? Visit this link:

  Underrealm.net/Join

  THERE WAS A BLUE DOOR across the street from the tavern, and no matter how hard he tried, Ebon could not stop himself from looking back to it every few moments.

  To an unknowing observer, there was little to mark the door as special. Unadorned wood, painted blue, with a simple iron latch and no ornamentation. But everyone knew what lay behind it. Ebon did, certainly, and so his attention returned there, his gaze passing across it as if by chance before returning to the cup of wine in his hand.

  It was easier to look at the blue door than around the common room of the inn where no customer would sit at his table. Indeed, they even avoided the tables next to his. Often Ebon felt the weight of a curious gaze upon him, yet when he tried to meet it the observer would turn away quickly, as though afraid of being caught. Only Tamen, sitting opposite, would look at him openly. But Tamen had nothing to fear from Ebon. Rather, it was the reverse.

  It struck Ebon as a cruel joke. At home, he often had only a single wish: to be left alone. The wish was rarely granted. But now he would have given much for any companionship
aside from Tamen’s—and mayhap one type of companionship in particular.

  His eyes darted away from the blue door again.

  “The High King’s Seat,” he said, and drank from his cup. It was his third, or fourth, and a tightness had begun to form behind his eyes. “Long have I wished to see it, and yet now I wish they had never brought me.”

  Tamen did not answer. He only took a sip from his own drink, though it was much gentler than Ebon’s swig.

  “Mayhap I am greedy,” said Ebon. “I wish for too much. Father has made it plain that I shall never attend the Academy. Yet still, when he told me I would accompany him to the Seat … still I held out hope.”

  The tavern was a bit quieter for a moment. Tamen’s eyes flicked to one side, and then the other. “Mayhap it would be wise for you to speak more softly.”

  Ebon sighed and leaned back. “Wise. Who has ever called me wise, Tamen? If I were wise, I would be in the Academy. Or mayhap if I were in the Academy, they would call me wise. I feel it sitting there. Do you remember? We passed it in our carriage when we arrived. Straight past its wide front doors we drove, and then it was gone. Yet the place where it stands is forever burned in my memory. I feel that even after Father takes me home, I will be able to point to it.”

  “A sorrowful state of affairs indeed.” But Tamen’s words were accompanied by a rolling of the eyes, and Ebon knew the man grew weary of complaints.

  Tamen was his retainer in name, but certainly not his friend. Not truly. Ebon knew the man’s real purpose: a guard. If ever Ebon strayed from his father’s wishes, thought to defy the will of his parents, Tamen would carry word of his misdeeds straight to them. He had done so often in the past. And then again, other times he had held his tongue. Ebon never knew which would happen on a given day.

  His eyes strayed across the blue door before returning to his cup. He drank again. Did he wish to be left alone or not? Just now, he could not decide.

  “What would my father say, were I to go to him and ask to see the Academy? Not to attend, but only to see it for myself. It would allow me to return home with some glimmer of a dream, some memory of the place I have longed for since I was a child. Would he deny me so small a thing?”

  “Yes,” said Tamen. It sounded as though there might be more to follow, but he left it at that.

  Ebon nodded. “Of course he would. My father is not one to grant trivial boons. And no doubt even my presence at this tavern would strike him as trivial. ‘Stand your lazy self, whelp,’ he might say, as he likes to do, before commanding me to return home.”

  Again Tamen looked about the room, and this time his eyes flashed anxiously. “Keep your voice down.”

  Ebon sagged back in his chair. A spark of defiance flared in him, but he quickly extinguished it. What could he do? Make Tamen uncomfortable? Then the retainer would only speak to Ebon’s father, and then Ebon might not be allowed to leave his room for a month. Mayhap longer. The vindictive will of Shay Drayden knew little of restraint.

  He realized he was staring at the blue door and quickly turned away.

  “I thought the Seat would be different,” he muttered. “Not—not better, I suppose. But different. I thought that upon its streets, or in such a place as this, I might meet some chance stranger who would speak to me in ignorance of where I come from. Yet everyone here fears to sit beside me. They fear to sit within arm’s reach. It is as though they can smell my family name upon me. Who here will even look towards our table? Even now, when I speak too loud because I have drunk too much wine?”

  Several heads turned away from him, as though their owners knew they had been caught staring.

  This time Tamen smirked. “At last you speak the truth. You have had too much wine. Mayhap it is time to think of turning our steps towards the manor … unless you have some other reason to remain.”

  This time it was Tamen who glanced towards the blue door.

  Ebon’s heart skipped a beat. But he would not let himself dwell on the thought that sprang to mind. Mayhap Tamen was hinting towards something, and mayhap not. Hope could be a cruel thing once taken away. Instead he leaned forwards, cupping his wine tighter and taking still another pull from it. Tamen leaned in to hear his murmur.

  “Will my life always be this way, Tamen? Tell me true.”

  “You have asked me this before. How would you like me to answer this time?”

  “Never does he turn his wrath on Albi. He looks at her as though her eyes are the moons. Yet we are almost of an age.”

  “Almost of an age. But not quite.”

  “Nor was I, once. Yet my life was the same even then. Shall I never be free of his scorn?”

  Tamen pursed his lips and took a small sip of wine. “This may be of small comfort to you, but no one lives forever.”

  Ebon’s jaw clenched, and he leaned away while draining the last of his cup. “That is a dark thought. You should not have said it.”

  Tamen shrugged and finished his own drink. “I mean no ill intent, and you know it. It is a truth none can ignore—neither the High King upon her throne, nor the wealthiest of merchants, nor the poorest beggar upon the Seat. Now, I would ask if you wish for more wine, but I think that would be very unwise.”

  “I would give anything not to be my father’s son,” whispered Ebon. He had not meant to say the words aloud, and he caught Tamen’s eyes widening. But he would not shy away now. He pressed his fingers into the rough wood of the tabletop. “It is the truth. You know you would not trade places with me. Who would? Anyone who would desire my place thinks only of our family’s riches. They spare no thought for the family itself.”

  Tamen stood abruptly. “We have been here too long, and you have drunk far too much. We must leave at once. Speak no more, or I will repeat your words.”

  Ebon grasped his hand, holding him in place. “Tamen, stop. Stop, I beg of you. I am sorry. My tongue runs too freely, it is true. Only … only this is unbearable. I know I cannot go to the Academy. But I … I only wish, for just a little while, that I could pretend I am not of the family Drayden. Can you find no pity in your heart for that?”

  Tamen paused, and though his lips were pressed tightly together, Ebon thought he saw something soften in the man’s eyes. He peeled Ebon’s fingers away from his wrist.

  “Mayhap I can find pity. But do not speak of it out loud. If you do, pity will not be enough to stay my tongue—and your father will not judge such talk lightly.”

  “Thank you,” whispered Ebon.

  Tamen leaned forwards over the table and fixed Ebon’s gaze with his own. “Do you wish it in truth? To pretend you are not a Drayden?”

  Ebon drew back, confused. “You know I do.”

  “Then follow your wandering eyes. They have rested often enough upon the blue door. Go there for a little while.”

  Ebon found his throat was suddenly dry. He wiped sweaty palms on the golden silk of his tunic. “You mock me. I tell you this trip is more pain than pleasure, and you mock me by dangling a wish before my eyes.”

  “Why would I mock you?”

  “You would tell them. You would have to.”

  Tamen shrugged. “Why should I? There is no harm in such a thing. You may not believe me, Ebon, but I take no pleasure in the service I provide your parents. I am paid well, and so I do my duty. But I think this might be good for you. And for at least a moment, it might give pause to your endless whining. So I shall turn the other way—but just this once, do you understand?”

  Ebon saw no hint of a lie in Tamen’s eyes. He wanted to believe it. But how could he? How often had Tamen carried tales of his misdeeds straight to the ears of his father?

  Yet never before had Tamen promised to keep such a thing secret.

  His stomach did a turn. Darkness take them all. Even if Tamen did spread the tale afterwards, what could Ebon’s father do? Lock Ebon up in his room—again? He might do that for any perceived offense. And yet Ebon would still have one happy memory of the Seat. No punishment could take that
away.

  He rose from his table and reached for his purse.

  “Keep it,” said Tamen, waving him off. “My coin is enough for these drinks, and you will need yours.”

  Ebon swallowed hard as he took the man’s meaning. He turned to go, and the tavern’s denizens turned their faces away as he passed into the night.

  THE DOOR’S LATCH LIFTED LIKE a feather, and it swung inward on well-oiled hinges that gave no sound. A heady fragrance rushed out to greet Ebon, nearly stopping him in his tracks. He could pick out fine, exotic perfumes from Calentin as well more familiar ones from his homeland of Idris; the unmistakable scent of Wadeland tea together with the cinnamon wine of Hedgemond. And under it all there was something sweeter, pungent but light, something that stirred his heart within his breast.

  His knees had begun to shake. He forced them to move again and stepped across the threshold before his nerves ran out.

  Here the lights were dim, even dimmer than they had been in the tavern. But the darkness seemed warm and comforting, inviting rather than ominous. Partly that was thanks to the fine music that floated on the air, the steady plucking of a harp that teased his ears like a whisper at midnight.

  He turned to find the source of the sound and saw a harpist in the corner. One of the room’s few lamps sat just beside her on a table, so that it looked as if it had been placed just to illuminate her. As he saw her clothes and the shape of her face, he realized with a start that she was a woman of Idris. But the light brown of her braided hair was rare in his homeland, as were her hazel eyes that glowed from the lantern.

  Those eyes captured him for a moment as she met his gaze, though her fingers never faltered where they plucked at the strings. Ebon gulped and looked away before she thought he was staring, but he could not entirely turn from her. Instead he looked down, taking in her clothing. It was of a familiar cut, but he did not think he had seen anyone at home wear it quite so well. Her feet were bare upon the floor, resting against the harp’s wooden base. He looked upon them for a moment and blushed before he could finally tear his gaze from her.