The Ruens of Fairstone (Aeon of Light Book 2) (2 page)

Pard stutter steps forward, haphazardly hugging the giant stack of books tight to his chest. He groans.
I could really use a backpack right now, that damned Nox, I can’t believe he stole it and tossed it into the grand fireplace last week
. With every awkward step and skip, a book almost tumbles out of his arms and then he readjusts the stack to maintain control.

Miles, leather backpack slung over his shoulder, strolls with a swagger, grin on his face, and glancing at every painting as he saunters by without a care in the world.

Pard peeks behind him and toward Miles. “Why are you moving so slow? We’re already late, history started almost five minutes ago.”

Miles shrugs and rubs an apple on the yellow falcon patch fixed to his brand new black robe. “Exactly, so why should I hurry?” He chomps down on the lush red apple and the crunch echoes through the corridor. “I thought that would be obvious.” He points the apple and a finger at Pard. “Hey, I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.”

Pard rolls his eyes. His heart races faster with every passing second, and he leaves Miles far behind as he darts through the hallway. Ahead, on the left side of the corridor, his eyes lock onto a double door with a large capital H etched in granite.
Easy for him to say
,
he’s not at this school on the good graces of charity. And the headmaster and most of the boys don’t have it out for him, and his father, if he was still alive, isn’t the king of the Northern State of Latvin—of course he doesn’t have to hurry.
Pard grimaces and grunts as he slows to within arms length of the double doors. He inhales a deep calming breath, firmly secures his books in his skinny arms, and nudges open the door with his hip and slips inside the back right corner of the giant lecture hall. He peeks to the left down an aisle extending along the wall of the sloping classroom. Professor Ames is on stage speaking and pointing to a map. Pard hunches over and makes his way forward along the back wall until he reaches the center aisle sloping from back to front through the main body of student chairs.
 

Large windows inlaid in stone along the far right wall let in light from the courtyard. In between each window and lining the entire opposite wall, copper and glass-encased gas lanterns at the ready. Pard tiptoes down the center aisle. On either side, boys sit in their chairs with folded overlap desks. They furiously scribble notes as they hang on every word from the young blond-haired professor lecturing at the front of the class who wears small oval glasses and a purple robe. The teacher’s back is toward the students as he jabs a stick on a canvas map of Vetlinue, each jab punctuates an important fact and place as he recounts the military movements of a famous battle between Lasteane and Erden over five hundred years ago. “And then Erden attacked! Here! In the dense Forest of Muro, just beyond Striden’s Pass. Rexus, the Erden Commander of the Northern Army, with overwhelming forces in size and strength, made a grave miscalculation, allowing his forces to be funneled into a choke point, here! His over confidence, haste, and hatred for Gacin, the Lasteane Commander, whose force was all but annihilated three days prior, led to his doom. Gacin exposed himself in the open within the Corridor of Muro, here! Pretending to give up; this emboldened Rexus, seeing his arch enemy within his grasp and alone. But Gacin was a brilliant tactician that knew his enemy. He had laid a trap in the surrounding Mazes of Muro, here! And while Gacin occupied the attention of Rexus, his soldiers weaved through the tight sandstone corridors of the Muro Maze and surrounded the Erden forces, taking the high ground and entrenching themselves deep within the mighty rock defenses. Once the entire Erden force was within the Muro Corridor, Kleso the Elegant, a rooted one, somehow created a blast in the rock, causing a landslide of rubble taking out Rexus’s rear guard and blocking the main forces retreat. This signaled the attack, and the small dispersed forces of Lasteane let loose a flurry of arrows and darts and blades from all avenues of approach, which drove Rexus and his forces back into the rubble blockade and into Kleso the Elegant, who unleashed the trees with all their might.” Professor Ames chuckles. “And from there, Rexus and his forces were no more, completely annihilated. But! The war was far from over—to the east—”

Pard continues to creep forward toward the middle of the lecture hall. His eyes find his desk on the right side of the classroom, and his gaze darts back and forth between the teacher and his chair while praying that Professor Ames doesn’t turn around before he gets to his seat. He reaches his row and steps in front of Sully sitting next to the aisle.

Sully winks at Pard.
 

Pard wobbles and sways side to side, nudging and bumping the back of the boy’s chair in the next row up as he tries to maneuver over Sully’s short outstretched legs.

Sully snaps forward as if to attack then quickly sinks back in his chair and giggles.

Pard flinches and knocks his elbow into the back of the boy’s head sitting in front of Sully.

A muscular boy with red hair named Gor, one of Fairstone’s top harpastum athletes and from one of Bastin’s finest military families, he lurches forward, grabs the back of his head, and turns around in his chair, scowl fixed on his face. “Wenerly,” the boy says with a growl in his voice.

Pard peeks back and mouths,
sorry
, and then he continues to wobble forward until his eyes meet Nox, sitting next to Sully. Pard stutter steps and gulps.

Nox, twirling his pencil between his fingers, raises his hand and taps the tip of the eraser on his temple where he hit Pard with the snowball. He raises his eyebrows twice and grins, exposing his grossly crooked-white teeth. Then he sweeps his pencil across his throat, mimicking a blade slicing through skin.

Pard sucks in a quick breath and shuffles forward again with his eyes fixated on his seat as he passes by Nox.
Only two more desks
. His eyes widen with every step,
almost free
.
 

Professor Ames, still with his back turned away from Pard, continues to lecture with even more energy and emotion than before as he reaches the climax of the war. Every jab of the map is accentuated with an inflection in his voice as if he is reliving the battle he partook in, and he expresses the moment in every minute detail down to the shade of the sky to the choking black smoke lingering in the air. “Here! When Iinia joined the forces of Erden, they crushed the Lasteane forces of the Lir. And here! The Erden Commander Olo fell under the blade.”
 

 
Pard leans forward, his goal within his grasp, but his foot catches on something. His giant stack of books shift in his arms as he tips forward at his waist. His eyes meet the obstruction as his neck cranes over his body. A foot and long leg stick out from underneath a desk. Pard’s eyes shift to the right and meet the boy’s. He grimaces.
No
,
Blaine
.

The black curly haired boy Blaine, stout and strong but still lean, with a gleam in his dark eyes, his mouth curls up into a devious grin. He shrugs and thrusts his leg up, locking it into Pard’s ankle, and causing Pard to loose control of his body.
 

Pard’s books fly out of his hands and crash onto the floor.

The writing in the classroom ceases, and the tip of Professor Ames’s stick slides along the canvas with a zip as he whirls around to face the class. His purple robe flutters with a wisp of chalk dust flying off the adjacent blackboard. The teacher goes silent and faces the class and scans from student to student.

All eyes shift toward Pard’s direction.
 

On his knees, Pard palms the ground with both hands and clinches his teeth. “Shit.” He rises, straightening his back he glances around the room.

Half the class watches Pard’s every move. Some of them giggle and point.

Professor Ames, annoyed at the interruption, raises his pointy chin in contempt and sweeps a clump of long errant blond hairs back behind his ears. He eyes Pard and his brow furrows, but not a furrow produced out of anger, but one produced out of disappointment.

Both of the classroom double doors click open, and with grace, Miles strolls into the room, cocky grin plastered on his face and head held high.
 

Professor Ames, face frozen in shock from the back to back interruptions during is recanting of the Fifty Years War, shifts his gaze away from Pard, and onto Miles strutting down the center of the aisle.

Miles nods. “Hey, professor, how’s it going?” He takes a big chomp out of his apple.

The class roars with laughter.
 

One boy raises his hand, and Miles gives him a high-five.

Blaine, Nox, and Sully scowl.

Professor Ames smacks his stick with a crack against a boy’s wooden desktop. “Silence!”

In a fright, the skinny boy behind the desk jumps out of his chair.

The class shutters and the room goes quiet.

Miles, unfazed, munching away on his apple, continues to stroll toward his desk and chair, the only empty one in the classroom on the left side of the aisle.

Professor Ames, expressionless, nods. “Both of you, detention.”

NERO

The sun already set, Pard’s mind wanders as he gazes out the frosty history class window during detention.
This sucks, I should be eating dinner right now
. His stomach growls.
Stew and fresh warm bread.
He sighs and shakes his head trying to get his mind off of food as it will only make the pain manifesting in his belly worsen
. Probably cold stew and stale bread at this hour.
He looks to the other side of the classroom at Miles, who has his head down and forehead propped on his knuckles, and he appears to be reading, but the long stream of drool dangling out the corner of his mouth forming a puddle in the center of his book says otherwise.
 

Professor Ames pushes up his oval glasses on the bridge of his thin nose and presses them tight between his eye sockets as he scans essays with his finger. His lips pulsate and his teeth clinched, every few seconds he either grunts or sighs then madly scribbles on the paper.

Pard scratches his pencil over a crude sketch of a boy shooting arrows out of a castle window at an elongated man with exaggerated features, bushy sideburns, and wings for arms. He slides the sketch away and slumps forward in his chair, his back and neck sore, he rests his wobbly knuckles under his chin to prop up his heavy head. Pard looks forward at dates and battles written on a blackboard. He rubs his tired eyes and turns back toward the window and peers through the cloudy glass, a thin film of condensation lies on the surface. Snow lightly falls in the dark. The courtyard is illuminated by several lit lanterns hanging from the copper posts. Some of the boys laugh and prance while others have a girl on their arm.
Must be the local girls from Greysin
,
lucky bastards. The big dance is coming up and I still don’t have a date.
He peeks back at Miles, head is now buried deep in the crook of his arm, he breathes heavy, every third or fourth breath the upper half of his body twitches like a sleeping dog, then he smacks his lips for a second then goes silent.
Bet he has a date,
and Pard sneers, sighs, and scans his book of odd letters and symbols. The rough worn leather of the book scratches his palm as he cups the spine and transcribes the title:
The Third Order Of The Rue
.

Ding
—
 

A large grandfather clock standing between two windows announces it’s eight at night, and Pard lifts his head out of his book. He wiggles his sweaty fingers in anticipation, staring at Professor Ames, hoping the clock announced the end of his detention.

Miles flinches and jerks up right, sucking in drool. He slowly turns toward Pard, his eyes red and puffy, he smiles.

Pard glances at Miles, raises his eyebrows, and forces a smile back.
Wonder if I slept through the entire detention if Professor Ames would leave me alone or make me stand?
He twists his lips,
definitely stand
.

Miles winks at him then yawns and stretches his arms high above his head.

Pard’s stomach gurgles as he shifts in his seat. He looks back to the Professor. His body drifts forward, eagerly awaiting any sign of his release.

Professor Ames coughs, and Pard’s eyes widen in anticipation. The professor flips a paper and continues grading.

Pard’s shoulders slump, and he lowers his gaze back to his book.
Guess I’m not getting any dinner tonight
.
The kitchens closed at eight anyway.

A few minutes later, Professor Ames taps his pen on the desk. “I hope my point has sunk in. You are released.”
 

Pard smiles and snaps his book shut then stacks the rest of them into a neat pile.

Miles slides out of his chair like a snake and slings his backpack in one motion. “Later, professor.”

“Lord Marlow,” Professor Ames says in a monotone voice, “I expect punctuality and no food in my lecture hall going forward.”

Miles ignores the professor and nods at Pard. “Head on a swivel, Wenerly.”

Pard rolls his eyes and presses out of his chair.

Professor Ames lowers his gaze and goes back to grading the essays. “Not you, Mr. Wenerly.”

You’ve got to be kidding me.
Pard sighs and plops back down in his chair. He glances out the window again, lost in his thoughts.
I’ve got to be the unluckiest person ever, this sucks, dang I’m hungry.
Then Pard’s eyes fix on a marble statue of a stern man with angular features with his hand held out as he lectures to the courtyard, then Pard realizes how lucky he is, to be at this school, one of the finest in all of Vetlinue.
 

Miles passes by the window and salutes Pard. Several of the other popular boys meet him and slap him on his back.
 

I’m sure he’ll find away to get dinner tonight
.
The kitchens would reopen for Lord Marlow at any hour
. Pard sighs again and removes the top book off his stack. His stomach growls again as he wiggles in his chair from the discomfort.