by Ann Macela
Even though she knew it wouldn’t do a bit of good, Johanna wanted to scream at the man. Phil was acting like a law unto himself, unfortunately the way he always did. What a great role model for Chuck.
She had forgotten that Phil had taken the teaching course about the same time she became a full master. Once reminded, she did recall the discussion among the masters when he was not allowed on the list of approved trainers. He’d proven himself to be careless, imprecise, and more than a little reckless. Now he had trained a novice without clearing it with the masters? The man was worse than an idiot. He was an egotistical maniac.
“Let me see if I have the facts straight.” Jake ticked off the points on his fingers. “First, you take it on yourself, without notifying the masters or the young man’s parents, to teach him the finer points of casting a sword. Second, you don’t teach him the castellum spell, so he and his surroundings are totally unprotected. Third, you don’t teach him the fundamentals of safety. From what he told us, he thinks he can ‘fence’ with his blade the way they do in the movies. Am I correct?”
“No,” Phil answered. “When he first asked me, I told him to find a master. He said that nobody would even talk to him about training, they only sent him to Johanna. Going to class practicing lightballs was boring him stiff. It was clear he had actually cast his blade by himself, and I thought it prudent to give him some supervision. I never told him he could fence with his sword.” He turned to Chuck. “Isn’t that right?”
“Yeah, it was exactly like that,” Chuck said rapidly, his face glowing with hero worship. “Mr. Bellman’s been real good at training me.”
To Johanna, the point was that Phil hadn’t specifically told the boy not to fence with his blade, but she didn’t interrupt.
“Did you know, Phil, Chuck is also a bully? That he’s been hitting boys and groping girls?” Jake asked.
Frowning, Phil drew back as if surprised by the question. “A bully? No, I didn’t. I’d never encourage bullying.”
What a splendid display of a mock sentiment. Sure, Phil wouldn’t want anybody else to bully—he preferred doing that himself. Growing up, unlike Chuck and his choice of victims, Phil had left her and the other girls alone. God only knew what the boys endured, though. She’d only heard rumors, and Billy had avoided Phil like the plague.
“All right, here’s the way we’re going to handle the situation.” Jake pointed at Phil. “As director of the training center, I’m ordering you to cease your contact with this student. Do not teach him about casting or magical blades. Do not teach him even a single spell. It is not your responsibility or your place.”
“Fine,” said Phil, with a bored expression and a throwing-away gesture of both hands.
Jake pointed at Chuck. “I’m ordering you to have nothing to do with Phil Bellman. No contact. No instruction. And don’t try to maneuver around my order by going through third parties—not your friends or his. Your Sword training will come solely from the teaching masters.”
“Okay, only take me out of the class with her,” Chuck sneered, nodding at Johanna. “I don’t wanna be trained by a coward.”
His father’s jaw dropped at the statement, and his mother gasped.
His last word fell like a brick on Johanna. She actually felt the blood drain from her face before anger brought it rushing back. She knew exactly where that idea originated, and she refused to ignore the innuendo as she had in the past. This time she’d bring it out into the open. She held herself rigidly in check and her voice low and calm. “On what evidence do you base that accusation?”
Without meeting her eyes, Chuck claimed derisively, “Everybody knows.”
“Who is everybody?” Jake asked.
Chuck squirmed and screwed up his face before he finally said, “I heard it around.”
“Around where? Be specific.” Jake tapped the table with his finger.
“She won’t duel with Mr. Bellman. What else can you think? She’s scared of him. I don’t want to be taught by some woman who won’t fight. How can I learn to destroy evil magic items from a chicken?”
Johanna had been studying Phil since Jake took over the questions, and she watched his expression shift from relief when Jake had concentrated on the boy to a smirking disdain and finally to angelic innocence.
“Hey,” Phil said, “I never said you were a coward, Johanna. Did I, Chuck?”
“I don’t think you used that word … but what else would you call her?” Chuck seemed confused by his hero’s reversal.
Well he should be, a fifteen-year-old caught in Phil’s one-upmanship adult games. Johanna had no problem with the boy’s request. If Chuck didn’t want her, she definitely didn’t want him. She turned her back on Phil. “Jake, please remove this student from my class. It’s clear I can teach him nothing.”
“I have the perfect teacher for him,” Jake replied, with one of the most evil smiles she’d ever seen him use. Whatever he was plotting, it boded ill for the boy.
Good, because she had to get out of this room before her anger hit flashpoint. She rose and said, “Since Chuck is no longer my student, I’m not needed here. If you’ll excuse me, I have a waiting class and a new Sword to instruct.”
“Johanna,” Charles Ogden said, “I’m … we’re deeply sorry for our son’s stupidity.”
“All of us should have been more watchful and careful,” she answered and left the room. Nothing would be gained by saying more.
***
Saxt laid down his pen to watch Johanna walk out. She had to be absolutely angry with Bellman and Chuck. He was.
Coward? Where did that come from? Obviously Bellman, from Chuck’s statement. Yet John Baldwin said she was on the front lines of the Cataclysm Stone battle. Some coward.
So what, she wouldn’t duel? Good for her. He didn’t either. Those fights were wastes of time and energy and proved nothing. Vestiges of legendary ancient times when wizards fought for kings or their own dominance. Why would Bellman want to return to those practices? Saxt made a mental note to find out more about the man—and exactly where he was in the fight with the Stone.
On the other side of the table, Charles Ogden faced his son. “Chuck, you’ve insulted one of the most talented, able, caring women and teachers we have here. One of the best damn Swords I’ve ever seen. If you hadn’t been a total horse’s ass before you opened your mouth, you definitely are now. I can’t begin to tell you how ashamed I am of you.”
“Do I look like I care? I’m a Sword,” Chuck stated, pointing to himself. “What does it matter who teaches me? I’d rather have a man like Mr. Bellman than a wimpy woman any day.”
“Hush,” his mother said. “Being a Sword doesn’t make you a man. You’re my son, and I love you, but right this instant, I don’t like you at all.”
To his slight credit, Chuck closed his mouth. He still, however, wore his defiance like armor.
Saxt decided it was time for him to make certain matters crystal clear. “Bellman, speaking for the Committee on Swords and the Defender Council, I add my prohibition to Jake’s. Furthermore, do not take another minor under your wing.”
“Fine,” Bellman repeated. “Any other orders?”
Saxt said only, “You’ll be hearing from the Committee.”
“And the teaching masters,” Jake added.
Bellman didn’t reply to that, only rose and left the room, mumbling, “You try to help someone out of the goodness of your heart, and see what it gets you.”
After the door closed, Saxt studied the kid across the table. Chuck’s bravado did a poor job of masking his fear. He was in deep shit, and he knew it. Good. Saxt wanted him to be scared—extremely so, and he knew exactly how to do that. It was time the young man learned the consequences of his actions. “Chuck, look at me.”
Chuck raised his head and gave him a “What now?” glare.
“Do you know who I am?”
“Nah,” Chuck answered.
His father gave the boy’s arm a shake and said t
hrough gritted teeth, “We taught you better manners. Be respectful. This is Mr. Saxton Falkner, chairman of the Committee on Swords.”
“No, … sir.” The sarcasm dripped from Chuck’s lips.
“That’s all right, Charles,” Saxt interjected when the father gave the boy another shake. “I think he’ll see the light in the next few minutes.”
The sullen kid shifted in his seat, and his expression proclaimed his feigned boredom.
“Do you know what the High Council is?”
“Yeah, a bunch of old farts who make the rules for everybody.”
“What about the Defender Council?”
“Same, except for Defenders and Swords.”
“The Committee on Swords? If you’ve never heard of them, what would you guess is their purpose?”
“Old Lady Mahler said something about them last semester. They govern the Swords.”
“Of which you are one.”
Chuck puffed out his chest. “Damn right.”
“When you and Ben faced off with your swords in the arena,” Saxt continued, “were you going to try to fence with him? Like you see in the movies? Blade meeting blade?”
“Yeah, probably,” the kid said after a self-satisfied glance at the TV screen with the picture of the two and their blades. He added belligerently, “The little midget drew on me, remember?”
“Nobody ever told you what happened when blades meet?” That’s what Saxt, Jake, and Johanna had been particularly afraid of when Chuck used the word fence. Johanna hadn’t trained either boy yet, evidently Charles hadn’t mentioned fencing, or Chuck didn’t remember, and Bellman? Probably too lazy to remember how necessary it was to repeat and repeat with trainees—if he even mentioned the result in the first place.
“Uh-uh.”
“Okay. Look closely at that picture on the TV.” Saxt pointed for emphasis. “What color is your sword, and what is Ben’s?”
“Mine’s blue, and his is almost purple—violet, I guess.”
“What does that mean in levels?”
“Uh … I’m about a ten, and he’s about a thirteen? So what?”
“Did you try to hit something with your blade? Whack at a ball or a table in the garage, for example?”
Chuck frowned. “Nah. Mr. Bellman told me not to. He said the blades were pure energy and would go straight through solid stuff. But we did practice with wooden swords. Why would we have done that if we couldn’t fence when I got better with it?”
Saxt mentally added another count to the list of faults against Bellman. The arrogant son of a bitch hadn’t even taught basic safety. Hitting an object with a sword would be like striking with a live arc of electricity—capable of causing a fire or worse.
“I don’t know what Bellman had in mind. You, however, are dangerously wrong about fencing. We can’t fence with blades as they do in the movies. The energy in one does not oppose the energy in the other. Instead, when a higher level blade comes in contact with a lower one, the two blades fuse together. Like this.” Saxt hooked his index fingers together and held them up in front of Chuck.
“At that point, neither person is able to pull away. The stronger blade, the higher level, will suck all of the energy out of the weaker one. After that, it sucks even more energy out of the weaker person, right out of his center. The only way to stop the drain is either for other people to pull the two swordsmen apart—” he demonstrated with his fingers, “—or for the higher level man to cancel his spell. That’s almost impossible to do with all that energy pouring into you.
“The weaker man can lose so much energy that he might never recover it. He drops in overall level and loses some of his talents because of the damage to his center. There’s also purely physical burn damage to his body, particularly his hands. Knowing that, what would have happened to you if you touched blades with Ben?”
Horror flashed across Chuck’s face before he controlled his expression and scoffed, “You’re shitting me, man, just trying to scare me.”
“Look at your father. Look at Jake. Am I correct?” Saxt leaned back and let the boy absorb the news. The two men nodded grimly. Chuck stared at the picture on the TV. After fifteen or twenty seconds, Saxt asked again, “What would have happened to you?”
“So, I might have lost some energy. I’d still be a Sword.” Chuck’s last words rushed out, as if he was trying to convince himself.
“I seriously doubt that. Your hands would definitely be burned—probably too damaged to manage the power and hold a sword again. I understand the energy seizure hurts like hell—like your insides are being ripped out. How many levels you’d lose would depend on how quickly we could separate you. Now do you understand why we don’t fence?”
The kid frowned and Saxt could tell the exact moment when he decided on his answer. With a throwaway gesture, Chuck stated, “Yeah, but so what? Nothing happened. I’ll know not to touch anybody’s blade next time.”
“Whatever you might do the next time is not important,” Saxt continued. “The real question concerns whether or not we allow you to remain a Sword.”
Chuck sat up straight. “I am a Sword. I can cast a blade. You can’t take that away?”
“You’re correct, up to a point. The instant you cast your first blade, you became a Sword. Whether you knew it or not, that act made you automatically subject to all the rules of the Councils and the Committee on Swords. If you had been patient and waited for training, you would have learned these rules. Remember taking the Defender oath when you began training? Remember Ms. Mahler explaining the rules that go with the oath?”
Chuck only stared at him.
“If you had told us,” Saxt continued, “showed us you could cast, you would have immediately taken the preliminary Sword oath to abide by the instructions and training rules of the teaching masters. When you completed training, you would take the full Sword oath to dedicate yourself to the destruction of evil and to abide by our rules and especially by our code of honor.”
Chuck rolled his eyes and made another of those “blow it off” gestures, like the oath and honor meant nothing to him.
Saxt leaned forward and waited until Chuck returned his gaze. “We set a high standard for all Defenders, and especially for Swords because of their power to destroy. We demand honor, integrity, and courage. Can we trust you to handle your blade responsibly? Will you stop bullying? Up to now, you’ve shown precious little sense of honor, integrity, or responsibility. Absolutely not a bit of courage. So, the question arises, what to do with you?”
Chuck had some fight left in him, because he scowled at Saxt, then Jake, and said, “I’ll take your stupid oath. I’m a Sword. You can’t change that.”
Saxt rose and leaned across the table. He spoke softly, enunciating every word. “Look at me. I want to be sure you hear and understand what I’m about to say.”
Chuck made a disgusted noise before he met Saxt’s gaze. “Okay, I’m looking. What?”
“I’m the head of that Committee on Swords.” Saxt leaned closer, getting right in the kid’s face. “Because of your cruel, reckless, and cowardly actions, and whether or not you sign the oath, we have the right, the authority, and the duty to strip you of your Sword powers. On my recommendation, the committee decides who does and who doesn’t join our ranks. That means, my young Sword, your ass is mine. If you don’t live up to your oath and our code of honor, you will never cast a blade again.”
“Oh, yeah? How’re you going to rig that? I’m not going to cross blades and let somebody stronger suck out my energy. I won’t even cast my sword.”
“We don’t need your permission or your help.” Saxt straightened, pushed his chair back, and walked to the end of the table opposite Jake. He shifted a small lectern to a corner. The space was about ten by ten—more than enough room. “Chuck, come here.”
“What for?”
Saxt ignored the snide tone of the question. “A demonstration. If you don’t come willingly, Jake and your father will bring you. What’s it t
o be?”
Acting like it was his own idea to get up and he was bored half to death, Chuck stood and slowly swaggered into the space. Bracing himself on a wide stance, he crossed his arms in front of him. “Okay, I’m here.”
“Don’t move until I tell you,” Saxt ordered as he mentally measured the distance from himself to the boy. “Castellum.”
“Whoa!” Chuck jumped when the walls of a pentagon shot up around him and Saxt. The walls glowed silver with violet streaks.
“Step forward a foot,” Saxt told him. The kid was about six feet away. Perfect.
“Put your hands in your pockets and leave them there.”
Chuck gave him one of those glances that said, “the old man is crazy,” but did as ordered. His eyes bugged out when a violet-and-indigo blade appeared in Saxt’s hands.
“I’m going to show you exactly how we will strip your Sword powers from you,” Saxt said, keeping his blade vertical. “You’re going to feel some pain. If you wiggle or come in contact with my blade, you’ll feel a hell of a lot more. Furthermore, if it does touch you, I won’t be able to stop my sword from absorbing some of your power. How much? We won’t know until it’s over. What level you’ll be or how much of your talents will remain? Same answer.”
For the first time since he’d been hauled into the room, Chuck appeared scared and pale, like the teenager he was. He glanced at his parents.
Tears in her eyes, Estelle reached out a hand to her son. Charles put his arms around his wife and told her, “This has to be done, honey. Otherwise, he won’t understand.”
“No!” the boy yelled, shaking his head wildly. “You can’t take my sword!”
Saxt pointed his blade at Chuck’s magic center, right below his sternum. Although the tip was at least two feet away, Chuck sucked in his stomach and bowed his back away from it.
“Stand still!” Saxt ordered.
Chuck froze. His only moving parts were his eyes following the blade tip as it came closer.
“I’ve cast at a level thirteen,” Saxt said in a conversational tone. “You’re a ten. Above ten, the power in the levels increases almost exponentially. That makes my blade about fifteen times more powerful than yours.”