Of course Suresh would use this as an excuse to angle for position. Rockheart and the rakshasa had history, centuries of hatred, infighting, and rivalry. Yet—and Rockheart almost couldn’t believe this—he found himself agreeing with the blustering, image-obsessed halfwit. Such teamwork was unheard of and potentially dangerous.
Arketa, as always, stood up for Logan and his ilk. “People, remember, we are less about rules here than about results. We haven’t had a fungaloid in generations. Mr. Murray is utilizing one of his unique abilities, and both he and Ms. Therian are benefiting. Should we not reward cleverness, however unorthodox, at this institution?”
Rockheart showed Professor Arketa any number of courtesies... for various reasons. This time, however, he lost his patience. “If the fungus can’t stand on his own two feet, he doesn’t belong at Shadowcroft.” He slammed a fist down on his desk, rattling a stone inkpot. “And neither does Marko Laskarelis for that matter.”
That last comment was a definite dig at one of Arketa’s other favorite students.
She winced. “Yes, I fear you are not wrong on that count. Marko has proven to be gifted in some areas, but a complete disaster in others. And his time is running short. He’s at the bottom of the Azure Dragon Clan, is he not?”
“He is,” Rockheart agreed with a curt nod.
Crucible let out a sigh that turned suspiciously into a growl. The ogre stood at the back of the room, leaning against a big bookshelf stuffed with tomes.
“That was the goat lad, wasn’t it?” Toothbyte laughed and waved his anchor arm. “No kills. Not a single kill! I ask ye, have we ever had a student who did so poorly?”
Arketa’s cheeks colored under her dark glasses. “Now, from a stylistic standpoint, his dungeon was excellent. There was a unified theme, a consistent aesthetic. Art has the power to kill.”
Crucible let out another annoyed growl.
Arketa turned. “Do you have something to add, Ronnalg?”
The ogre nodded. “Yes, I do. The goat boy’s dungeon was pretty. Pretty might kill you on a Saturday night in Vralkag, but it won’t kill a raider. If we’re talking about who needs to go, that goat boy is it.”
“And what is your stance on Logan and Inga sharing the victory?” Rockheart asked. Ronnalg Crucible was known for his unbiased opinion. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the Placement Exams, the crafting professor wouldn’t even be in the castle.
Crucible shrugged. “Whatever works. If Murray and Therian have figured out something that works, good. The goat boy hasn’t.”
“Goat man,” Arketa muttered.
Rockheart gazed at the faces of all the professors. Other than Suresh, none of the professors seemed to care much about Logan and Inga. On the surface, that made the rector prime’s job easy—he would award the students who did well and punish the students who didn’t. At a deeper level, though, Rockheart knew the truth.
He cleared his stony throat. “Marko’s performance is an embarrassment. We all agree on that, at least. Not a single kill. For his Final Exam, he’ll only have four hours to prepare his dungeon, and he’ll get the last pick. Also, I’m going to make sure he faces seasoned dungeoneers. As for Murray and Therian?” He paused, clicking his stone nails on the desktop. “I will give them a single draught of the Red Lotus Juice for their accomplishment. They ran a single dungeon, so they will receive a single reward.”
“But what about their Final Exam?” Arketa asked. She tilted her head and pouted—a sign he was well-familiar with. If he went against her, there would be hell to pay... Again, for a variety of reasons.
“Fine,” he growled under his breath. “The two will get the works. Nine-hour prep time. First pick of dungeons. But by the Tree of Souls, I’m giving them raiders that will truly challenge them.”
Perhaps this was a fluke. The Winnowing would prove one way or another whether they deserved a place in his school...
Chapter Thirty-One
THAT SATURDAY, AFTER the last of the Placement Exams, it seemed all of Arborea was shut down. Breakfast was a ghost town, lunch was leftover breakfast, and Logan was going to skip dinner completely. Logan had no idea where the academy staff were, but the majority of the students were either sleeping after the exhausting tests, or they were out in the Xiru Forest, drinking and celebrating at the Wayfarer Inn. That or tearing it up in Vralkag—heaven knows that was where the Gelatinous Knight was.
He’d passed his Placement Exam easily. No surprises there.
The big surprise was that Marko wasn’t with him.
Marko had vanished after epically failing his exams, and no one seemed to have a clue just where he was holed up. Logan, Inga, and Treacle had spent that entire Saturday looking for the lost satyr. The three started a systematic search of Arborea, checking all his common haunts first—the bars, pubs, and inns—then moving on to increasingly more unlikely locations. The towering trees of the Xiru Forest, the burning furnace of the World Forge, even the white-capped mountains of the Grimjour Bluffs. No sign.
They feared the worst.
Honestly, Logan couldn’t blame the satyr for wanting to disappear. Marko hadn’t just failed the Placement Exam, he’d sent his personal ranking plummeting to the bottom of the leaderboard. The Terrible Twelfth had slipped back into last place, which made the Franklin Four happy. Marko had done so poorly that the Azure Dragon Clan had even fallen out of first place. Rockheart was beside himself with rage, and the First Cohort threatened to serve barbecued goat that night for dinner. Well, at least Chadrigoth and his lackeys had. Tet clearly thought the competition was insipid.
By twilight the following day, Logan got lucky.
He finally found the satyr staring out over the Bogbottom Falls, near the BYE Portal that had taken them to Eritreus.
It had rained that afternoon, a warm early summer shower that left the trees dripping and the air heavy.
As a fungus, Logan loved the humidity, but he would’ve liked it about ten degrees cooler. He was in his linen pants and short shirt. The sun was setting into the fog of this pocket dimension. The sky was a gorgeous red, streaked here and there with bands of orange and neon pink. In the shadows, it was cool. Near the Tree of Souls, the entire world vibrated with energy as the day came to an end, the sun shutting its eyes on the world, making way for darkness.
Marko rested on the stone wall overlooking the roaring falls. He was kicking a tune out with his hooves against the rock. Next to him was a big green bottle, a golden chalice, and a wicker basket.
The bottle wasn’t a shock. The fact that it was full, however, was another matter entirely. Marko hadn’t touched a drop as far as Logan could tell.
The fungaloid walked over and plopped down next to his friend, not saying a word. The water of the lake was dark as it tumbled over the literal edge of the world. Then it became a white froth before disappearing into the abyss, swallowed by the void.
On the other side was the Bogbottom Swamp. Every so often, the trees, drooping with moss, would rustle as some monster pushed its way through the black water.
Logan kept quiet, letting the silence say everything that needed saying for the time being. He wanted to let Marko know he was there, but he didn’t want to push him to talk. Besides, that swamp looked so inviting. Fungaloids had an affinity for delicious marshes.