Chapter 3: The Academy

            It had been a week since the men had set out and the Academy was nearly in sight. That night, the men were restless, and the servants began to chatter amongst themselves. Lycirion sat beside Foxe and the leader of the knights, Richard Amcottes.

            “We’ll be there by tomorrow afternoon.” Foxe said. “Oh, I’d give anything if it meant I had some teleportation talent right now.”

            “What is teleportation?” Lycirion asked as he had asked many questions over the course of the journey.

            “It’s when you use magic to get from one place to another really quickly.” Amcottes explained.

            “I see. Will I learn that?”

            “Well, it’s a rare skill to be able to learn, mostly you would use a Gateway which would take you to a place where another Gateway was.”

            “Teleportation…Gateway...” Lycirion mumbled. Then suddenly, he stood and turned away. “I’m sleeping now.” In a moment, Lycirion seemed to have vanished.

            “I wonder where he actually sleeps…” Amcottes murmured sleepily, taking a half-hearted glance around him.

            “Who knows, the kid’s a mystery. I’m more curious as to what he looks like…”

            “Probably like a savage.” Amcottes guessed with a snort.

            “Yeah... You’re probably right.” Foxe said uneasily.

{The next afternoon}

            They walked up to a huge gate, the likes of which Lycirion had never seen. “I am Healer Hugh Foxe, returning with Commander Richard Amcottes and his men. I have found a cure for the Academy’s illness.” Foxe shouted to the gates.

            Slowly, the gates eased open, and a large town was made visible. It was all bright colors and activity with women and children and men without any kind of armor dancing and eating and singing and buying and selling. Lycirion was astonished by the happy warm air and the jovial people. It was hundreds of times bigger than his own village and thousands of times happier, even in his village’s prime.

            “I thought you said the people were sick…” Lycirion said to Foxe distractedly.

            “In the academy. This is the city around the academy, Lochmere. The actual academy is in the center of the city. That’s where the sick people are. In only a few days, there will be students from the Kingdoms arriving. We have to hurry.” Foxe unloaded the two pots of tears and began to move in some strange cross between a jog and a run with a few moments of slow walking interrupting every couple of steps. It was clear he was trying to appear unrushed, but his excitement to get to the Academy was nearly tangible. The knights handed off their horses to the servants and followed at a much more sedated pace.

            It didn’t take long for the academy to come into view. It was a huge building which towered over all the others and had large, shining windows and grand staircases leading to an elaborate set of double doors. Lycirion was even more speechless than he was upon seeing the town. The Kingdoms were truly amazing. He had never seen anything so massive, a castle, huh, Lycirion liked the look of it. Briefly, he entertained the thought of owning such an estate himself.

            While Lycirion was lost in fantasy, Foxe marched onwards without even a second look, he raced up the steps, through the doors and down a long carpeted hallway. The castle was sturdier than any hut, and it appeared to be made of stone.  Was this the work of magic? Lycirion could think of no other explanation. How else could they bend mighty rock to their will? His village could create what he thought were impressive weapons, but beauties of this size? Impossible.

            When Foxe and Lycirion made it to a small office with an eye-catchingly bright drawing of a fox on the front door, the knights were no longer following. Foxe quickly plucked out a huge barrel and filled it with water. He dumped the tears into the barrel and diluted it with water. Carefully, he scooped tiny amounts of the mix into little bottles and set them in two large crates. Bit by bit, until each little bottle was full and the big barrel was empty. He lifted one crate with Lycirion’s help, leaving Amcottes to carry the other (apparently, the other knights and their servants had all disappeared somewhere). And the three of them carried their crates to a large ballroom where hundreds of people were lying in beds and a few were hovering cautiously over them.

            A man in elaborate robes similar to Foxe’s approached first. “Foxe! You better have something; the situation has gotten worse since you left.” The man shook his head, causing the little silver bells strung through his midnight black hair to ring, “There have been casualties.”

            “I didn’t come back empty handed, Euries.” Foxe assured, gesturing to his crate and handing one of the bottles inside to Euries. “One sip of this ensures a complete recovery.”

            “Where do you get your confidence from?”

            “Those are phoenix tears.” Foxe said simply, but Euries still seemed unimpressed.

            “So you say, but are you sure they work?”

            “We’ll just have to see won’t we? No time to lose, is there?” Foxe gestured towards the nearest sick person whom had just began coughing until blood poured down his chin. Lycirion felt Amcottes recoil beside him at the sight.

            “Alright…” Euries gave Foxe a searching look before turning to face the occupants of the room, “Healer Bailey, Jonesa, and Kilean, take some vials and administer the potion within to the patients.” Euries ordered.

            Three young healers reacted immediately, eagerly taking handfuls of the bottles and tending the sick.

            Lycirion reached for one such vial, and found it taken from him by Foxe. “You can’t got in there, the illness infects even the air, you can’t tell, but there is a barrier between the entrance of this room and the patients which keeps you safe now.

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            Lycirion tilted his head carefully. “But the healers...”

            “I suppose you wouldn’t know, but official Healers cannot get sick due to a special sort of ritual.”

            Lycirion fixed him with a look of interest, “What sort of ritual?”

Foxe shrugged, “ It is a highly taxing and difficult ritual which takes away many of our combat capabilities and returns us enhanced powers to heal alongside a near invulnerability to disease.”

            “What about unofficial healers?”

            “Anyone can learn healing spells to an extent, but one must make sacrifices to use their full power.” Foxe explained, sounding eager to end his teaching. “Look, I have to help; Amcottes will show you to my quarters, wait there until I retrieve you.”

            Lycirion was left standing and wondering why anyone would want to give up combat ability, even for healing. Without that, how could you survive?

            “Come on,” Amcottes said, already halfway out the door.

            Lycirion reluctantly turned to follow, with one last look at the Healers and feeling as if the abilities they had could have saved many people from his village during times of illness. At this thought, he furrowed his brow. Perhaps, he could find one such “official healer” and bring them back with him to his village. Clearly, it would be a great advantage to have even one healer in his new village. Maybe an older healer and an apprentice, or group of apprentices?

            “Lycirion!” An irate Amcottes brought him out of his daydream.

            “I’m following you.” Lycirion muttered.

            “No, you’re not.” Amcottes hissed, poking his door back into the room.

            Lycirion sneered disdainfully at Amcottes childish behavior, but Amcottes couldn’t see it past his mask. So, Lycirion just shook his head and followed Amcottes brisk pace down the hall. Meanwhile, Lycirion took the time to observe the ornate hallways which were lined in complex golden swirls and tiled in black and brown. There were several paintings resting on the walls, each of fascinating landscapes or occasionally a regal family portrait. Lycirion stopped when he saw a painting with a man in it looking startlingly familiar. He was certain that the man was Berasien, his old time mentor and close friend. He stopped in front of the painting and stared at it with awe.

            Berasien was smiling a sort of smile unlike the bitter smirk Lycirion had often seen him with in the past. Not to mention, he was without the gray hair and deep lines in his face with which Lycirion had been familiar. And there was a little boy sitting on his lap with a bright grin on his face and eyes scrunched tight with a dimple marking his left cheek. Lycirion stared at the picture for a moment too long, because Amcottes stopped and came to his side.

            “This one, huh?” Amcottes said

            “Who are they?”

            “Lord Berasian and his son Heir Nebias.” Amcottes said with a frown.

            Lycirion noted the slight change in name, “Berasian?”

            Amcottes nodded, looking lost within memories, “Yes, it’s such a tragedy, what happened to them.”

            “And what was that?”

            Amcottes looked hesitant for a moment, but eventually began to speak, “Lord Berasian was named fifth heir to the royal throne through personal choice of the King. Just in case his sons passed, the King did not want the throne to go to his brother. Lord Berasian tried to reject the offer, but, well, no one says no to the king. In any case, a few months after Lord Berasian was named fifth heir, he started, er, being threatened by the king’s brother, supposedly, and eventually he became a target to ruthless assassins, whom he managed to defeat with the help of his, ah, close friends from the Academy.”

            “Berasien went to the academy?” Lycirion muttered, to himself rather than Amcottes.

            “Finally, someone targeted his son Nebias, and ended up cutting off his arm. Berasian was angry and afraid, so he went to the King and demanded that he be removed from the title of fifth heir. The king wasn’t amused and when he discovered the story of what had happened to his son, he took Nebias and locked him away somewhere Lord Berasian wouldn’t be able to find him. Then he pretty much demanded Berasian stay in line to the throne. Berasian searched for many years, but eventually he decided that his son was dead and he left the city with a hatred for the Kingdoms and the King. Rumor has it that he died.”

            “What happened after that?”

            Now Amcottes face darkened, “I don’t think it’s something I’m supposed to talk about really, but… Well, almost all of the King’s sons have all passed under… mysterious circumstances since then,  and other than the youngest son, the King’s brother is next in line. The King is also, aging quite a bit…” Amcottes made a face, “I really shouldn’t be saying this.”

            Lycirion filed away that information for later and decided not to continue on the tangent and instead turned to Amcottes, “Foxe’s quarters?”

            Amcottes looked grateful. “Right, follow me.”

            Lycirion glanced back at Berasien’s portrait and for half a second allowed the feelings of wonder and confusion about this newfound piece of his old mentor’s life rise. Then, he washed those feelings out with a simple thought: ‘He’s dead now, so it no longer matters’ and followed behind Amcottes with a clear head.