“Who do I get to burn now?” Helien asked.
“No one,” he said. “Unless you want to get on the High Mage’s bad side. Then by all means.”
He opened a rift in the air before the group. The mages and talents walked through and re-entered Krux Aev’then in silence.
Krux Aev’then was, in Vyra’s opinion, a terrible name for a terrible place. Gray, cold, and dreadfully dull. The name made it seem like a place filled with wonder, but it was filled with arrogant asses. The only wonders that were to be found were in books, and she didn’t much care to read anything they had to offer. She had decided that before she even had a chance to browse their libraries.
Forec had allowed everyone free time to do as they pleased while he met with the High Mage. Freedic brooded and the four mages acted like they had important work to attend to, Vyra was alone. Unfortunately for her, she had no idea what to do with that time.
She wandered around the halls for hours and soon became absolutely lost. Staircases both up and down had left her with no sense of position. The torches had become scarce and spaced out. Dark, shadowy spots to emerged in the space between them. It made her feel as if she was lower in the castle than ever. But it was impossible to know for sure.
The sounds of battle began to echo in the hallways. It was the first thing that had managed to catch Vyra's attention in the entire time she had been in Krux Aev’then. She followed the sounds through hallways, doors led to other hallways, and down a flight of stairs that seemed to climb down forever. Her ears popped as she made her way lower and lower into the keep. If she even was in the keep anymore, she thought. There had to be a point where the keep ended, and the mountain began.
She reached the bottom of stairs and the short hallway it led to. At the end of the hall were double doors which were cracked open enough to let sound escape. Metal clanged against metal along with shouts of effort. She poked an eye into the crack to get a view of what was in the room.
She saw men and women of all sizes and ages in fights with one another with all sorts of weapons. Swords, spears, staffs, and other things she didn’t know the names of slammed against each other. A man walked amongst them with an observant eye. He would stop the fights and speak to the two who fought before he allowed them to continue again. Occasionally he would summon a weapon identical to a student’s and take their place. He fought with those weapons better than the students had, no matter what they were.
She jumped as someone tapped her on the shoulder. Her head slammed into the stone frame of the door.
“Apologies, little one,” The massive mage, Ruephen said. “You’re watching Master Ozes training the students?”
“I was just wandering,” Vyra said. “I heard the sounds of a fight, so I followed it.”
“Yes, yes,” he said and grinned. “Intoxicating, isn’t it?”
“Intoxicating?” she asked. “That's not how I would describe it. Maybe fascinating, I guess.”
“Close enough,” he said. “You want to learn to fight?”
“Learn to fight? No, I couldn’t,” she said. “I’m a veil. And I weigh less than most of those weapons.”
“Anyone can learn,” he said. “Small thing uses a small weapon. Problem solved.”
Ruephen pushed the doors open and stepped in and dragged Vyra along. She could feel the attention on her as Ruephen—rather joyously—walked towards the practice area. As they reached the area where the students practiced, he finally released her and walked over to Master Ozes. Master Ozes shouted something at the students, and they continued their fights. As they practiced, the kept glancing over at Vyra. She stared at her feet and tried to ignore the attention as best as possible. She wanted to veil herself and hide, but there was only one way out.
Ruephen returned with another man. They stood in front of her and looked down at her. It wasn’t meant to intimidate her, but it had the effect nonetheless.
“This is her,” Ruephen said. “Vyra, this is Master Ozes.”
“Ruephen tells me you want to learn to fight,” The man said. He had a soft, yellow, smile on his face. “You’re not a weaponmaster though, correct?”
“No, I don’t think so,” she said. “I’m a veil.”
“Oh-ho-ho. That could be fun,” Ozes said. His smile grew. “If you are willing to learn, I will be willing to teach.”
“Forec might need me soon. I don’t know if-”
“I’ll inform him,” Ruephen said. “Don’t worry your tiny little head. “
“Well,” she said and trailed off. “I guess I’ll learn. But I’ve never fought anything.”
“Oh good,” Ozes said. “It’s easier to teach if I don’t have to rework anything.”
“I guess that makes sense,”
“Come, come,” Ozes said as he walked away. “Observe, and then we will begin after, yes?”
Master Ozes walked amongst the students. He corrected them the same as he had earlier, only now with Vyra in tow. The fights she watched in the training room was different from what she had observed in the past. There was no fear or chaos, but it was still familiar. It was probably because they were for practice. It wasn’t a matter of life and death. They repeated the same actions over and over. But the results of the actions were different each time. It was odd how the results differed, but she didn’t pay it much mind.
Eventually, Master Ozes called the students attention. Once the spars came to an end, he gave them instructions that Vyra ignored. Whatever it was he said, the students didn’t seem interested either. They spent most of the time with their eyes up at the dark ceiling or their own feet.
The students left the room and began to climb the endless staircase. Vyra stared at Master Ozes and Ruephen as they began to stretch. She did the only thing she could think to do and began to stretch herself. She tried to mimic all the stretches that the two men went through. But they were decidedly more flexible than her. Once the two noticed that she joined with them, they began to stretch further. Show-offs.
Master Ozes and Ruephen stopped and started to talk in hushed voices. In a flash of motion, they began to fight. Ozes called an array of different weapons and slashed and stabbed with each one. Ruephen was always on the defensive. To his credit, he used only the strang weapon he had against the elves. The blade of a sword atop the shaft of a spear. He deflected every blow with great ease, though he was never able to take the offensive. For every step or slight turn he tried to make, Ozes matched it. He forced Ruephen to turn in a way he hadn’t intended.
The fight felt like it took ages, but it was only seconds of action before Ruephen was on his back. Ozes stood over him. A copy of the strange weapon Ruephen used pressed against his neck. Ruephen grinned.
“Well fought, Master,” he said.
“Your footwork is sloppy,” Ozes said as he pulled the giant up. “And using a glaive, never getting space from me?”
“Yes,” he said. “I was too slow.”
“Your strategy was sound,” Ozes continued. “If you weren’t so shit at fighting you would have had me.”
“Master,” Ruephen said. “Would you fight against an enemy if the High Mage asked?”
“I will defend my home,” Ozen said calmly. “I will not go out to seek a battle.”
“Yes, Master,” he bowed his head.
“As for you, girl,” Ozen said. “Where should we begin?”
In Freedic’s opinion, Krux Aev’then was a terrible place filled with memories that were somehow worse. He hated it with a passion and would have done anything to leave. But he had tried that before. Around fifty times in his life. It was easy to escape. It would be much more difficult not to die on the mountains that surrounded the keep.
Part of him knew that it was pointless to try to escape, and he would only end up back within the keep. Only he would be much, much colder. He gave up on the idea and instead chose to walk through the hallways as he brooded. Not only was Norvance dead, but Freedic was back to his personal torture.
&n
bsp; There were familiar faces no matter where he walked, part of his problems with Krux Aev’then in the first place. But none seemed to recognize him. A small victory, in his mind. Though, he should have expected it. No mage would remember the face of a talent, even if they had mentored them. They were too good to remember the rabble.
He continued to roam. There was familiarity in the hallways, but no comfort. Not that he could expect comfort in the cold halls of the keep. They were designed to be harsh and inhospitable.
He found the chamber of the mage who had trained him the longest. A mage who would have long forgotten his name. The door was cracked open slightly. He peeked in as he passed. Inside was the same as when he had trained there. The same wooden weapons in the same stands and the same worn dummies sat in the same places.
He nudged the door open. The chamber was empty, save for the training equipment. He stepped in and looked around, as the memories to pour over him. The door fell closed behind him. The more he explored the room, the more he found nothing had changed in the fifteen years since he had left. Even the sword he had learned with was the same, with the same marks and dents that had been on it when he arrived. Though, some new ones had been made after. He picked it up and turned to the dummies.
The old training forms came back to him as he danced and twirled amongst the dummies. He struck them as he passed by before he moved onto the next and the next after that. He lost himself in the practice. His mind emptied as he repeated the twists and turns, faster and faster. The footwork was automatic. Each step came almost as if it was forced by the previous one, and the strikes were as natural. They were an extension of steps he took. In the years he had been gone, he had forgotten how much he enjoyed the practice.
He darted through the steps faster than he ever had as a student. With the speed, he struck the dummies harder than ever before. They shook and rebounded more quickly than he could react to. But still, he knew he could go faster. Sweat poured from him and dripped onto the ground. His feet slipped and slid on the droplets of sweat, but it was still not enough for him to waver. He pushed himself further.
The door opened as he continued to dash through the dummies. It distracted him just enough to send him out of control. He slid into one of the dummies. His ribs against the hardwood and broke it off where it met the rounded stone bottom. He continued to slide across the ground out of control. When he did finally stop, he unclenched his eyes and looked up to see a familiar face.
“Hello, Freedic,”
“Ma-” Freedic said before he caught himself. “Aeberin. You threw me off.”
“You are in my chamber, you know,” Aeberin said he looked down at Freedic. “Imagine how I feel.”
“A great deal better than I do, I would imagine,” Freedic said. He grabbed at his side.
“Could very well be,” he said. “You do look like shit.”
“I could say the same,” Freedic said, still struggling. “Not much has changed, then?”
“I remember you being nicer,” Aeberin said.
“Broken ribs,” he said. He held his side still. “Kind of like whiskey. Makes a man mean.”
He crouched down beside Freedic and placed a hand on his side. There was a pinch, a flash of agony, and then relaxation. Freedic flexed his sides and pushed himself up.
“Thank you,”
“What brings you back to Krux Aev’then?” Aeberin asked. “Last I remember you weren’t much of a fan of this place.”
“Still not. A mage named Forec is dragging me around,” he said. “A bit of a situation to tell you the truth.”
“Council Mage Forec? Does this have something to do with why I have to train a bunch of kids?” Aeberin asked. “Had about twenty of them dumped on me without any explanation.”
“These things called elves. A rift in the Warring Kingdoms. A war in Auverance,” Freedic went on. “And things called orcs. Insmith brought them.”
“Well that’s a bit to take in,” he said. He stroked his chin.
“Insmith is recruiting the talents for an army,” Freedic said. “She’s preparing for war.”
“Explains that much,” he said. “Elves, you said?”
“Big bastards, seven feet tall, entirely b--”
“Black armor and weapons,” Aebrin finished. “Fighters from hell.”
“So you’re acquainted with them,”
“I thought they were a myth,” he said. “Have you fought them?”
“Killed them. Around thirty or so,”
“Then you maybe you’ve improved,” he said. “They’re supposed to be unkillable machines.”
“According to the orcs, these aren’t soldiers,” Freedic said.
“More myths, then,”
“I guess so,”
“How would you like a spar?” Aeberin said. “I’d like to see what these elf killing skills are like.”
Freedic jumped back and called a sword, then charged at his old master. He swung, catching the air where Aeberin had been. He ducked. The blade of an unseen weapon streaked through the air above him. Freedic kicked out behind him but missed. He spun around to face Aeberin, still in a crouch. He lunged forward. A sword stabbed down at him. He had barely enough time to roll out of the way, but it was all he needed. He found his feet under him again and stood to face Aeberin who had already begun to charge him.
He stepped to the side and slashed upward, but connected with the shaft of a spear. The head of the spear jumped upward, then vanished. A sword appeared at his ribs. His spin was too slow to dodge it, but he managed to avoid the brunt of the blow. Still, a scrape across his stomach was open and bloodied, and it hurt like an absolute bastard. He charged forward again and swung a sword at Aerberin’s chest. Aeberin’s sword deflected the blow. He felt a sharp pain in his stomach.
Freedic grit his teeth into a pained smile. “I win,” He poked the sword gently into the side of his old master.
“For fuck’s sake,” Aeberin said. “You would die too.”
“But I’d die second,”
“Are you stupid, boy?” he asked. “I could have stuck that blade into your damned heart. I would have if this were a real duel. No one is going to give you that kind of a chance. There are easier ways to get yourself killed. Jump off the mountain or something you stupid fuck.”
“Would it be so bad to die in such a battle, Aeberin?” he asked. “It seems you just cling to life, just as the other mages.”
“Of course I cling to life you psychotic bastard,” Aeberin said. “Boy, what in the hell is wrong with you?”
“Norvance is dead,”
“Who?” Aeberin asked. “Boy, I am sorry for your losses, but life is more than another person.”
“It’s easy for you to say, Aeb,” Freedic said. His eyes began to tear. “You’ve got something to live for.”
“I do?” he asked. “And you don’t?”
“I gave everything up,” Freedic said. “I’m not even a ranger.”
“And yet, you’re here,”
“Being dragged around on the whim of a mage,” he said. “I stay out of the way, and he does his work.”
“You’re a talent that’s been tasked with defending a mage,” Aeberin said. “You’re the first of the mage’s rangers, I’d say. Proof of your status.”
“Are you trying to make me feel worse?” Freedic asked.
Vyra stalked around Ozes with the wooden training dagger behind her back. She couldn't hide it with her veil yet. It was a bit of a bother, but she had found an easy way to adapt. Ozes stood still, with both eyes closed. She took her steps with as much caution as she could. She made sure not to make even the faintest sound as she approached.
"I can hear you breathing,"
She lunged forward with the dagger hidden until the last moment. He spun and swung a wooden pole and knocked the wooden blade from her hand. With his free hand, he grabbed the back of her head and pushed her forward. She tripped over his outstretched leg and landed hard.
"Too loud,"<
br />
She kicked her leg back and caught Ozes in the groin. He doubled over and dropped the pole. Vyra spun, grabbed the pole and jabbed up. It hit him in the jaw with a loud crack. He fell to the ground. Ruephen burst out in laughter as Ozes curled into a ball, soft sobs escaped from him.
Vyra dropped her veil and stood above Ozes. She had a grin on from ear to ear. There was a temptation to jab at him further, but damn did she want to. Instead, she knelt down and put her lips beside his ear.
"Too loud,"
Ruephen laughed even harder, and Ozes shuddered. It was hard to tell if he wanted to laugh or cry. She didn't care which it was, either way, she had victory over him. Ruephen walked over and placed his hands on him, then looked back at Vyra and began to laugh again. Ozes stood up and groaned.
"Don't do that during training," he choked out. "That was my fault for underestimating you."
"He’s just mad he got beat up," Ruephen said.
"Of course I’m mad," Ozes said. "She actually won. Without cheating."
"So does training start now?" Ruephen asked.
"We'll start by going over the simple sword forms," Ozes said. "Get one of the poles, and we'll begin."
The training poles were on a rack to the side of the room. The tallest of them stood heads over her. Even the smallest among them were too heavy for her to carry comfortably. But she had to choose one of them.
Ozes went over the forms with her, with Ruephen used as his example model. The practice pole she had picked up was heavy and unwieldy, but she tried her best. The forms were awkward for her but doable. Ruephen, on the other hand, seemed to fall into each one perfectly. He didn’t struggle in the least, either with the pole or the forms. It was to be expected, but she still found herself envious.
Ozes corrected her each time she would try to mimic another stance. He whacked her with his training sword wherever she had made a mistake. It quickly got old. She knew she made mistakes. But she could hardly even hold the sword up, never mind take the proper stances.
"Will you stop hitting me?" she shouted. "I don't think it's quite accomplishing what you think it is."
Homecoming (Homecoming Chonicles Book 1) Page 10