Reign of Shadows - Deborah Chester [6]
Ahead, from the side yard, a shadow suddenly emerged from the darkness. Long-robed and hooded in cerulean blue, it carried a long rod of yew carved with the faces of the four wind spirits. Its left hand was held aloft, and upon its palm glowed a pale blue flame not of fire. It saw the boys and paused, then headed toward them.
Dragging in a breath of exasperation, Caelan stopped so quickly Agel bumped into him from behind.
Agel’s breath hissed audibly. “Gault have mercy on us.”
Caelan turned his head. “Run,” he whispered. “Take the passage by the stables and slip into the hall of studies through the side door. It’s always open at this hour for Master Mygar.”
Beside him, Agel was tense with alarm. “But the proctor—”
“Shut up and go! I have so many demerits another won’t hurt me. Just go.”
As he spoke, Caelan gave Agel a shove. Ducking his head, Agel shuffled away; then abruptly he broke into a run and vanished from sight.
The proctor veered that way and lifted its staff, but Caelan stepped into its path.
“I have permission to be out after Quarl Bell,” he lied loudly.
Proctors did not split their attention well and tended to confront whatever was closest. Figuring this out had enabled Caelan to avoid them many times. But now he danced nervously across the path of the proctor a second time as it tried to look in the direction Agel had gone.
The proctor finally turned its hooded head back to Caelan and pointed its staff.
Caelan backed up warily. That staff could strike with lightning speed to enforce the hold’s many rules. He had the bruises to prove it.
“Master Mygar released me from late drills for an errand,” he said quickly. “I’m to report back to him after supper.”
The proctor, its face unseen within the depths of its hood, stared at Caelan in grim silence. Extending its left hand, it cast the truth-light at him.
His heart sank, but he knew better than to flinch.
The light flowed over him from the top of his head and spread slowly down. Caelan scarcely breathed and kept his lie uppermost in his mind, visualizing old Master Mygar with his food-stained robe and toothless gums.
The pale blue light flowed over him in a shimmering glow. At first its color did not alter, indicating the truth had been told. Caelan began to hope he might get away with this.
Then the light faded to sickly yellow.
Caelan gulped but resigned himself. All this meant was a couple of stout blows and no supper tonight. The black mark would go on his record, and tomorrow he’d have extra drills from Master Mygar for lying. Unpleasant, but easy enough to endure when he had to.
The proctor stretched forth its left hand again, and the light spread from Caelan’s feet, then gathered itself into a tight ball and returned to the proctor’s palm. The proctor swept its rod aside, gesturing for Caelan to pass.
Disbelieving, for an instant Caelan thought he was being allowed to go. He grinned and hurried past the proctor, but a faint whistle in the air warned him of his mistake.
The blow slammed across his back with a force that drove him to his knees. Streaks of black and red crossed his vision. He wheezed and could not draw in air. His back felt as though it had been broken in half. Wrapped in agony, Caelan sagged forward onto his palms.
The staff struck him again, knocking him flat. His cheek scraped on the cobblestones, a tiny flare of pain beneath the immense agony in his back. He coughed and choked, still unable to drag in any air.
Just when he began to panic, his lungs started working again. He drew in another breath, then another, although each one caused pain to stab through his back. It was too hard to get up so he lay there, fighting back tears, too angry and proud to let the proctor see how badly it had hurt him.
The proctor glided around him in a silent circle. From where he lay, Caelan could see that the proctor’s feet did not quite touch the ground. Instead it floated ever so slightly in the air. Caelan swallowed hard and closed his eyes. He and another novice had a bet on whether the proctors walked.