Chapter 31

The Yule break got off to a dull start. Those faculty who were leaving campus for the holiday departed the morning after the meeting, and those who’d chosen to stay, kept a fairly low profile. Most everyone showed up for meals but otherwise spent the lion’s share of their time working or catching up on reading.

It was heaven. The peace of it all reminded Alastair of Glimmerglass.

Of the young teachers, only Ms. Shadow and Eloise remained at the castle. Sebastian had departed in the early hours of the morning, destined for his family’s quarters in Watermere, and the twins—the Rock brothers—had gone off to—well, Alastair wasn’t quite sure. He’d hardly heard a word from them since the start of term. They’d kept mostly to themselves, studying minerals and things most had little interest in.

The older faculty, however, had all stuck around.

Ms. Snapdragon cheerfully held court over breakfast each morning, showing off enchanted photos of her grandchildren she’d received by mail.

Alastair couldn’t understand why they hadn’t gone home. If he’d had a family who wanted him—who he wanted enough to show off pictures of—he’d surely would have.

They’d gotten used to living at the castle, he supposed. It was easier this way. More routine.

Alastair did write his parents a letter on carefully selected holiday stationary.

Dear Mom and Dad,

Wishing you well from Emberstone. It’s been a wild term so far. Lots to adjust to, but glad to be back. Thinking of you both. How are things?

Alastair

It was short and sweet. Just the way they’d like it.

He enclosed a goofy photo of himself posing with Eloise in front of the Yule tree, both wearing novelty elf hats. Maybe that would make them laugh. They’d met Eloise once, and thought they would remember, but either way, he’d done his duty.

He wasn’t particularly expecting a lengthy response—his parents weren’t really letter writers—but he could hope for a postcard at least.

As he sealed the parchment, he found himself crestfallen. As expected, the children at Glimmerglass had fully forgotten about him, having moved on with life. He considered writing to them, but thought perhaps it was better to let sleeping dogs lie. If they were happy, that’s all he could desire for them.

It snowed off and on for the next three days, and he passed the time pleasantly enough reading or observing the remaining students gamboling in the gardens. They were a reminder of a younger Alastair, building snowmen with the Primordium crew. He’d invite them up to the castle at some point over break, but not yet. After months of back-to-back commitments, he coveted this solitude.

A day or two before Yule, two letters arrived—one from Samuel Lamkin and surprisingly, one from Madoc the dwarf lord addressed only to The Headmaster of Emberstone Academy of Magic.

He eyed the second one warily. The envelope was comprised of rough parchment and it looked like it’d traveled a great distance—which, if the post mark could be believed, it had. Alastair wasn’t sure he wanted to read what was inside.

He opted to read the mayor’s letter first.

Good to hear from you, Lamkin said without greeting. Glad to hear Emberstone is on board. These are tough times and there’s great need for good mages. I’d propose an initial session the day after Yule, on the Feast of Benedict. We at the mayor’s office are doing another city cleanup in district Brusklyn that day. It still hasn’t recovered from the riots and people will be home. It would mean a great deal to them, seeing you all there, down in the dirt with the rest of them.

Let me know what you think as soon as you can.

M. SL.

Alastair dashed off a quick “yes,” then turned his attention to the other letter. It was sealed in blood-red wax, stamped with the dwarf lord’s sigil—two warhammers crossed over a boar skull. He peeled the seal, then rolled the parchment out on the table. Madoc’s handwriting was scrawling and difficult to read, and it took him some work to make out what he was trying to say.

Headmaster,

Honest, held off as long as I could. We warned yer comrade to stay put; that things were in disarray; that he was walkin’ into a dangerous situation, and the bloody fool came no how. Don’t know if ye people read the news, but Groulgir’s near civil war. Me numbskull brother thinks he can run Craghammer and its lands—which he can’t—and he’s broken away on his own with all the city’s warriors. We’re gonna have a heck of a time puttin’ him down.

We’ve had peace for years, and now this spit and shog. Can’t speak to what I’ll do once he’s finally under me foot.

Anyway, yer man walked right into the middle of it to do “research” or whatever it was he planned doin’, and now I imagine he’s at Craghammer with Ulgroud. Me damnable brother’s been sendin’ me letters ’bout how he’s got a pet mage in his back pocket and he’s gonna use him against me. Haven’t seen any Battle Magic yet, so maybe the mage ain’t as tame as he thinks.

Either way, sounds like yer teacher friend might’n be there and if he ain’t made it out yet, ye’ll be hard-pressed to get him back. Next time I tell ye something, ye best listen.

Madoc, Lord of Groulgir,

Rightful Ruler of ALL bloody Dwarven Kingdoms.

Alastair folded the letter, trying to keep his composure. He buried his head in his hands. Montgomery was being held prisoner by dwarves? Where in the world was Headmaster Ozelius? Why couldn’t he be the one to deal with this problem? Why did it all have to fall to Alastair, who hadn’t seen Montgomery in years?

He leaned back and watched the sky, wondering if the same snow was falling on Glimmerglass, on his parents’ farm, on Ulgroud’s castle out in Craghammer, on Ozelius—wherever he was.

He’d have to take the letter to the rest of the faculty—those who were still on campus—to see what they wanted to do about it.

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He’d won them over. They were on his side now. After all, they’d agreed to help him with the rebuilding project, and hopefully they’d work together to save one of their own colleagues. How exactly they’d do that… well.

With a sigh, he stood and crossed the room. When he reached the door, the gargoyle knocker appeared, looking as if it caused him dire pain to come through the door onto the interior of Alastair’s office.

“Don’t know what’s got yer panties bunched, but whatever it is…”

“Is it that obvious?” Alastair asked.

“Looks like someone beat yer mama with yer dead puppy.”

“That’s quite a picture,” Alastair said, taking hold of the door handle.

Leaving the gargoyle behind, Alastair took the letter to the dining hall. It was near time for dinner, so he’d wait. Some of the winter-over faculty took their daytime meals in their quarters during the break—he himself preferred to take breakfast in his office, get a slow start to the day.

Teachers and students alike came down for dinner, possibly in an attempt to get some human contact that day. Ms. Snapdragon was once again gossiping and showing them photos of her grandchildren. And once again, he wondered why she didn’t go home and actually see said grandchildren, but it might be rude to ask.

Eloise sat with Ms. Shadow at one end of a long table. Neither seemed in a chatty mood—Ms. Shadow was reading a book about mirror construction, and Eloise wrote furiously in a notebook—but he sat down across from them anyway.

“What’s up, Ally?” Eloise said without looking up.

He slid the letter across the table. She glanced at it—and went pale once she’d read the first few sentences.

“Oh, wow.” She nudged Ms. Shadow. “Wow, wow, wow. This is bad.”

The two went over the paper together.

“Well,” Ms. Shadow said once she’d read it in full. “We have to get him back. That’s not in question.”

Eloise shook her head. “How! If Madoc is right, the man is in a dwarven stronghold.”