Guards, as well as the Ashen who commanded them, bowed in respect as Lanard Olsandre strode through the academy gates. Any student, servants, or professors who walked him by did the same, while those further away stopped for a moment to gawk. Exactly the reason why Lanard rarely ever visited the academy. A shame, really, because it was home to some of his fondest memories.
To his right, past the green trees, he saw the first-year dormitory, its red bricks looking as vibrant as ever. He would often sneak away with Kaela, a classmate of his at the time. They would hold hands, laugh, and kiss without worries. When he qualified for his first-year King’s Tourney, they celebrated by locking themselves in an inn room for three days.
The relationship would never work out in the end, though, as Lanard was the son of a duke while she was just a lowborn. It would require either him turning his back on the family and being disowned by his father, or Kaela somehow achieving something so noteworthy that she could be considered an acceptable marriage prospect for him.
A few years after graduation, she married the fourth son of a baron. Not a bad arrangement considering her rank. Last year, Lanard even met her grandson after he qualified for the King’s Tourney, a dashing young man with the same sharp eyes and chestnut hair as hers. As a boon, he asked for a small fief to be granted to his family.
Lanard made his way through the paved street. It cut a mostly straight line from the academy entrance at the south to the main building at the north, with only a split in the middle to circle around the feasting hall.
The more he walked, the more he was blasted with memories from his past. The library that he would often borrow books only to return them weeks late. Miss Kathlyn, the old librarian, would always berate him for his tardiness.
The old stone benches where he and his friends would sit and talk after classes. How long had it been since Lanard called anyone a friend? Back then, he could trust someone else without having to worry that they might be plotting against him and his family. He missed the times when he could be so naive.
An imposingly tall beech tree, its trunk as large as Lanard’s height. He once got into a fistfight with two other boys under its wide canopy. The reason for the fight had long been forgotten, and all he could recall was his sense of smugness about the whole event. First, because he won. Second, because his father never got wind of it.
Or at least he thought so. Knowing what he now knew about the number of guards on the academy grounds, it was almost certain that at least one of them witnessed the whole thing. They might not be brave enough to stop it, but they would report it to one of the Ashen who would pass it along to his father. Lanard had no idea why his father said nothing about it, but he wagered the reaction would’ve been different if he had lost the fight.
And funnily enough, a fight breaking out on academy grounds was the reason for Lanard’s visit today.
He pushed open the heavy door to the main building and walked inside. Just like when he studied here, the building lacked any of the decorations so widespread throughout the rest of the academy. Bare walls, a low ceiling, and few windows. It was to the point where the ceramic tiles on the floor could be considered an embellishment. Notably, though, a large section in the middle of the floor lacked any of the grout in the gap between each of the tiles, as if they had been removed and placed back.
Lanard knew that to be exactly the case as, deep underneath it, lied the black cells. Like the large city walls and also the arena, the dungeon was a remnant of a bygone era when the Solis Empire controlled this whole region. That was where the halfbreed was being held, for almost a week now.
A servant woman waiting by the stairs approached him soon after he closed the doors. “My lord, the headmaster instructed me—”
“To lead me to him, correct?” He interrupted, already sure of what she would be saying. He strode straight past her. “No need to accompany me, I know the way.” Lanard climbed up two flights of stairs, turned left on the last floor, and pushed open the door at the end of the corridor.
Anthor Pyle, the headmaster appointed by his nephew, sat at his desk, the morning sun shining through the open window behind him. He raised his eyes from a stack of papers, a smile parting his long beard. “My lord, it’s a pleasure to see you.”
“Likewise.” Lanard closed the door and took a chair in front of the desk. “I’m here to discuss the matter of the halfbreed.”
“Of course. After the matter came to my attention, I immediately ordered his arrest. I’ve only been waiting for His Grace’s to give the final—”
“You’re not going to expel him,” Lanard said, going straight to the point. “He’ll continue studying here.”
The headmaster’s smile froze for a moment. “I’m sorry, my lord, but he attacked two nobles as well as a third student.”
Lanard didn’t need the old man to explain it to him. He had made sure to personally question those involved before coming. “So they say. On the other hand, I find it strange that he’d suddenly attack them without rhyme or reason.”
“He is a halfbreed. Who knows what goes through their minds.”
“Sure. And conveniently enough, there are no other witnesses to this. None of the guards and servants were anywhere near the dormitory at the time. Don’t you find that weird? They all chose to abandon their posts instants before this attack happened. And tell me, did you even ask lady Ireyne what she was doing at the men’s side of the dormitory? Accompanied by two men, nonetheless. I wonder what they would have been doing if the halfbreed hadn’t attacked them.”
Anthor cleared his throat. “I’m sure she has a perfectly good explanation for that. As for the guards and servants, what happened was a mix-up that led them all to change shifts at the same time. I’ll be sure to personally punish those responsible.”
Interesting how eager he was to protect the other students while at the same time putting the blame on everyone else. Lanard had met this sort of people more times than he could count. “Anthor,” he said while leaning forward in his chair, “either you’re going senile or you take me for a fool. You’re not old enough to be losing the grip on reality, so I’ll be going for the second option. It’s obvious that you’re trying to make use of this situation to get rid of a student you don’t want here.”
Before the headmaster could defend himself, Lanard stood up and put both hands over the desk, his face a few palms from the old man’s. “Let me be clear. Deon du Bocage and Aeron Brodrick are here with His Grace’s blessings. As for the halfbreed, His Grace allowed him to enroll at the academy. They are all here to stay, and that’s final.”
The headmaster’s breathing became heavier, and his head hung a bit lower now. He wasn’t completely defeated yet, though. “Is this His Grace’s decision or yours?” he asked in a last bit of defiance.
“Mine, and I don’t need asking to know he’ll be of the same mind. If my nephew didn’t trust my judgment, he wouldn’t have me here to speak on his behalf.”
“I understand,” Anthor said after a long pause. “He’ll not be expelled, but is it wise to let him go without punishment? Others might take offense to that.”
For once, the old sack of bones said something Lanard had to agree with. Regardless if he was simply defending himself, the halfbreed boy wounded two nobles outside the conditions of an official duel. The punishment was a necessity, the harsher the better.
