But his matewashuman, and he had already paid for the rites with the mortician, so he dragged himself out of his tower, dressed in black robes despite the summer heat, and walked down into the city.
Polimnos had a few graveyards now, but the largest overlooked the sea on a cliff that was down along the southern edge of town. The grass and leaves of the trees were all a vibrant yellow-green as Adrissu approached, making the dark clothing of the priest that would perform the rites stand out. The man bowed his head in greeting to Adrissu.
“My sincerest condolences, headmaster Adrissu,” the priest said, with all the rehearsed cadence of a man who had said the same thing a thousand times before. Immediately, Adrissu hated him. “This way, please.”
Adrissu followed him down the meandering path through the graveyard, until he could see the wooden box that housed Volkmar’s body, set up on a small wooden platform over a hole in the ground that would be its final resting place. A few flowers were set up alongside it, as if that could mask the macabre nature of their task.
“If there are any words you’d like to say, there will be a moment for that before the rites begin,” the priest started, but Adrissu shook his head sharply.
“No,” he said, his voice coming out raspy. He cleared his throat before continuing. “No. I want this over with quickly.”
“Of course,” the priest replied, though he sounded uncertain. “I’ll return in fifteen minutes for the rites.”
The priest stepped away, walking a little ways back down toward the path. He would wait there to direct any other guests to the correct spot; Adrissu doubted more than a few would come. Volkmar had friends and acquaintances, of course, and he knew the teachers of the academy planned on coming out of respect for him; but in Volkmar’s lifetime, Adrissu had sequestered himself in his tower far more than he had during Ruan’s life. He was not as involved with the current governance outside of how it concerned the academy; he was well-known throughout town, as he had always been, but he had fewer friends now than when he’d first met Volkmar. Part of him wanted to flee, balking at the idea of these humans who knew so little about him, yet came to grieve with him. But he was already here, and maybe this was what Volkmar would have wanted. He did not know; he had not thought that he would need to discuss it with Volkmar for a long time yet.
The first few guests were coming up the path now, their figures indistinct in the similar black robes they wore, save for one in white. There were four of them, which he knew were the four instructors of the academy: three humans in black, and another elf in white.
Ayeval had been with the academy for a few years now, the first who had approached him about potentially teaching. Adrissu had been surprised that an elf was interested in teaching magic so far from Aefraya, but she was young and eager to see the world. She seemed like the type that would only put down roots for a decade or two, before wanting to see somewhere new; and she was very good with illusions, the subject she taught, so he had been convinced. The other three were human, two of his original instructors and the third who had only been brought on the year after Ayeval. As they drew nearer, they all bore expressions of sympathy, but Ayeval’s was particularly sad, which irritated him.
“Headmaster,” one of the humans murmured as they stepped up alongside him. “We were all so sorry to hear what happened. What a terrible tragedy.”
“Truly heinous,” another sighed, shaking his head. “I hope they find whoever did this.”
“Thank you,” Adrissu said, his voice clipped. He looked away, eyes lingering on the wooden box. They seemed not to know what else to say, so they stood in silence.
After a moment, Ayeval leaned closer to him.
“I’m surprised to see you in black,” she murmured, just loud enough for him to hear.
In truth, he had not been aware that the elven mourning dress was, apparently, white instead of black. But he shrugged, and answered simply,
“He was human.”
She paused, then nodded, leaning back.
They waited a bit longer. The next figure to approach was the current Lord Representative, which took Adrissu by surprise at first, then left a sour taste in his mouth. Benit Pallestride was the grandson of Benil Branwood, who had died perhaps five years ago. The man had achieved what Benil had never been able to accomplish, having a much shrewder mind and a better disposition for civic responsibility. Adrissu was not one of his advisors, as he had been to Cyrus and Kira Lang. He liked Benit well enough, but the human was a year younger than Volkmar, and the sight of him now made Adrissu’s blood boil with something like envy. It was irrational, Adrissu told himself, as Benit bowed his head deeply in front of him, and he forced himself to nod slowly in reply.
“So sorry to hear of all this,” the human sighed, folding his arms across his chest and looking past Adrissu toward the coffin. “Absolutely terrible. I never thought something like this could happen in our city. The harbor is usually so safe.”
Adrissu stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “Thank you for coming.”
“We will find who did this, and they will pay,” he continued.
“Yes,” Adrissu nodded. This, at least, seemed little enough for Benit to work with, and the lord fell silent.
Two more figures were coming up the path, one walking slowly and leaning on the other, both wearing black. Adrissu frowned; he did not recognize the one bearing the other’s weight.
It took him a moment to recognize the other: Ederick, head of the mercenary’s guild, who must have been eighty years old, if not past that now. Most of his hair was gone, and his face was lined with age, but he glanced up and caught Adrissu’s gaze, lifting his free hand slowly in a somber greeting.
“Adrissu,” Ederick panted as he got within earshot. “I hope you don’t mind me coming. I heard what happened—just awful.”
“I do not mind,” Adrissu said softly, bowing his head at the human. “Thank you for coming.”
“Gods, I can’t even imagine,” he sighed, looking up at Adrissu as he straightened. His dark eyes were slightly yellowed, his lower lids sagging with age, making his expression all the more downtrodden. “When I heard you found someone, after—after Ruan—I was so glad for you. And for this to happen—I can’t imagine.” He reached out with one spotted hand and gently squeezed his forearm.
Adrissu patted his hand once, before clasping his own over it. Ederick had always been on friendly terms with him, but he had not expected the old man to come, especially since Adrissu had stepped back from the mercenary’s guild significantly in the past several years; but now that he was here, he felt more grateful for Ederick’s presence than all the rest put together.
“Ah, forgive me. This is my nephew, Elvard,” Ederick said, gesturing to the man who was standing next to him. The human nodded stiffly at Adrissu, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Elvard, this is headmaster Adrissu, an old friend and headmaster of the Polimnos Academy of Magic.”
