“Students and colleagues, I welcome you to our annual Catapult Challenge. This is where our first-year students display their ingenuity and engineering prowess. “
“Since most of you are familiar with the rules, I’ll not dwell on them today. Instead, I urge you to cheer on the contestants and their amazing creations. If we’re lucky, one of these teams will surpass the long-standing record of 1087 feet.” He paused briefly. “Introducing one of the members of the record-holding team, please welcome Master Pherran Nindlerod.”
The small man waved to the crowd before Vandermark continued.
“Master Nindlerod and Master Shim join me as the judges of today’s event.” Vandermark turned to the two engineering masters. “Master engineers, will you please announce the first team?”
As Vandermark returned to the judging table, Nindlerod stepped forward, holding a cone-shaped device to his mouth.
“Students and faculty, I thank you for joining us. I see some serious promise in the designs before you. It appears that my long-standing record is, indeed, in jeopardy today. You don’t want to miss this.”
He paused and announced, “Our first catapult team includes Salina Alridge, Jonnis Farkle, Herry Dangst, Merrick Tandlehoff, and Barton Hinks.”
The small man and his co-judge retreated to the judging table as the first team pushed their catapult forward. An engineering assistant stood at the launch line, explaining the process to the team as they rolled the catapult into position.
Jonnis stood by a wagon that held the large metal spheres that they were to launch. Merrick and Herry pulled the launch arm back, securing it into position. When it was ready, Jonnis lifted a big metal ball, grunting as he shuffled to the catapult and dumped the ball into the launch basket.
Salina stepped up to the catapult as her team members backed away. She looked toward the judges table, waiting.
Nindlerod held the cone up to his mouth and shouted, “Fire!”
The girl pulled the release and the launch arm shot forward. The dark metal ball sailed into the air, arching high before it began to drop. It landed mid-way between the first and second line of stakes posted across the launch field. A female student ran in from the side with a thin rope. She slid a loop around the nearest post and ran to the location where the ball landed. After taking a quick measure, she unhooked the rope and ran back to the edge where four other students stood waiting. The students shuffled around until three of them stood side-by-side, each holding a sign with a number on it.
Nindlerod put the cone to his mouth and shouted. “Their first attempt is two hundred thirty-two feet!”
Some in the crowd cheered, others booed.
The process was informative. Brock now understood that the arcing lines of stakes across the field were distance markers, the first line being 200 feet out and additional line posted every 100 feet.
After a second launch that was slightly further, the first team was finished. While they removed their catapult and the next team was announced, students with wheelbarrows ran onto the field to fetch the two metal balls.
The process continued repeatedly over the next hour, yielding mixed results. None of the first ten teams could launch a projectile beyond the 800-foot line. The eleventh team called was Corbin’s.
Due to the sheer mass of their catapult, it took twice as long to push the machine into launch position. Two students cranked the huge launch arm back and Corbin dumped the metal ball into the launch basket. Everyone but Karl backed away as he readied for launch.
Nindlerod shouted, “Fire!”
Karl pulled the release and the arm snapped forward, launching the ball high into the air. As Brock watched the ball sailing through the sky, he realized that the field was quiet. A low thump sounded from far across the field, a half-second after the ball landed. This time, it took the girl much longer to run out and measure the distance. When the measure came in, it took four students holding signs to score the launch.
Nindlerod shouted. “First launch, one thousand one hundred and twenty feet. A new record!”
The crowd erupted. Cheers and screams echoed above the applause. Corbin ate it up, facing them as he pounded both fists into the air. It was as if he had done it by himself. Brock glared at his enemy with loathing.
The next launch was a bit short of the first, but it didn’t matter. The record had been broken. It seemed that Corbin had won. Frustration began to well up inside. He couldn’t lose to Corbin again. Not to that hateful bastard. His hand was on the frame of the catapult. His fingers felt grooves, the grooves of the rune he had carved. Without considering what he was doing, Brock seized his anger and frustration. He closed his eyes, drawing in the angry red storm around him until he could no longer contain it. He poured the energy into the rune, which glowed red and pulsed briefly before fading. The storm of emotion was spent, leaving him chilled and numb.
“Brock, what are you doing?” Lars asked. “You need to move so we can push this thing into launch position.”
“What?”
Brock stepped aside as the others pushed the catapult to the line. He hadn’t even heard his team called. He followed the catapult, his mind distracted.
Once in position, Cam began turning the metal crank. After winding it as far as possible, Lars rolled the metal ball into the launch basket. With the catapult loaded, they stepped back.
Benny had declined the honor of launching the machine, stating that he wanted to stand back and watch their creation. Parker wanted nothing to do with it because of Corbin. Cam and Lars both suggested that it should be Brock, who now took position.
Nindlerod held the cone to his mouth and shouted, “Fire!”
Brock nodded and pulled the release.
Brock had always been quick. Paladin training had honed that natural quickness to the point of lethality. In this case, that quickness saved his life.
When he pulled the release, the whole catapult launched fifteen feet into the air. After diving out of the way, Brock stood to watch the heavy catapult smash into the ground right where he had been standing. It held together, despite bouncing a few times before settling.
With his heart racing, he searched the field for the projectile that had just launched. He saw and heard nothing. In fact, it was dead quiet.
“Ha!” A voice burst out, breaking the silence. Brock turned toward the sideline where Corbin stood pointing at him. “Ha, Ha! What a failure!”
Anger and frustration began to resurface. All of those hours spent only to have the ball not go anywhere.
Wait. Brock thought. It had to go somewhere. He scanned the field again, searching for a sign of the ball landing. A puff of gray dust erupted from the tower at the far end of the Academy. A second later, the terrible sound of the impact reached him. Brock stood amazed, trying to comprehend the scene.
As he and everyone else realized what had happened, pandemonium erupted.
Some people cheered. Others yelled that he had cheated. Some even began to proclaim it was some dark magic. A number of scuffles broke out in the crowd, requiring Academy enforcers to break-up the fights. Corbin and members from other competing teams ran to the judges table to protest.
Brock ignored it all. He just kept staring at the settling cloud of dust, over two miles away.
CHAPTER 65
“What a mess,” Parker said, stepping over a pile of debris.
“It’s impressive, isn’t it?” Benny replied. “Just think: a projectile a foot in diameter can do this kind of damage. The hole in that wall must be twenty feet wide.”
Brock didn’t respond. He was simultaneously amazed and depressed by the amount of damage the catapult had rendered. Chunks of stone bricks were everywhere, everything covered in dust. Splintered wood and torn cloth from crushed furniture stuck up here and there, buried under other debris.
Brock stepped around the hole in the floor, perhaps four strides across. Glancing down, he could see the girls’ baths below the lounge that the catapult had destroyed. He
stopped near the huge hole in the wall, staring out across the lawn. In the fading evening light, he could barely see the competition grounds across the open expanse. If the trees had still been covered with leaves, he wouldn’t be able to see it at all.
He still couldn’t understand how the heavy metal ball could have flown over two miles. It was bewildering.
“This will take us days, even weeks, to clean up,” Parker grumbled, kicking a small chunk of stone that splashed into the pool below.
“Worse, it will be far longer before it’s repaired,” Benny replied. “And we’re on the cusp of winter.”
Without comment or complaint, both Cameron and Lars began to pick up large stone blocks, carrying them to the opening and tossing them out onto the lawn. Soon, they were all tossing debris through the opening, careful to not step close to the hole in the floor.
Despite his wish to do otherwise, Brock resigned himself to the job before him. The cost of the repairs would come from their team winnings of twenty-five gold imperials. Offered the opportunity to reduce the cost by helping with the repairs, they agreed as they hoped to salvage some of the winnings. Unfortunately, there was still a chance of further discipline. If the masters decided the damage had been intentional, the boys could end up expelled.
While performing the mind-numbing labor of tossing debris onto the lawn, Brock’s attention drifted to thoughts of Ashland. His heart began to ache, realizing that he wouldn’t be seeing much of her for a while.
With his mind distracted, he lost his balance when tossing a large chunk of stone. He twisted and grabbed the edge of the broken wall. With half of his body hanging outside, his face ended buried in the gap between the two layers of the outer wall. As he began to pull himself back into the room, he noticed something odd.
An object was wedged between the two layers of bricks. Reaching in with his free hand, his fingers scrambled for purchase. Once he got a grip on it, he pulled his discovery from the wall.
Using both hands, he lifted the thick book and blew out a deep breath, sending a cloud of dust into the air. When the dust cleared, it revealed a gold starburst-shaped rune embossed on the dark red cover. Brock’s finger traced the indentations of the symbol. It enthralled him.
“Brock, what do you have there?” Benny asked as he stepped close.
“It’s a book.” Brock stared it. “It was stuck in the wall. I think it’s old.”
Curious, Benny flipped the cover open. A message was written on the inside of the cover and on the opposing page. Brock tried to read the note on the left, realizing it was an unfamiliar language consisting of strange symbols. On the opposing page, he found something he could read.
Master Arcanist,
As I saw in my vision, you have found this book. If my vision holds true, you are the one who will sow the seeds of chaos. You are the catalyst of change, destined to send shockwaves throughout the Empire.
I chose to risk my life and store this volume away, for I do not agree with the path they have chosen. Their fear and shame has driven them to this end. The memory of the destruction wrought during the war is too powerful for anyone too soon forget, and thus, they have deemed it evil and have erased it from the histories. With the Horde exterminated, they see no need for this weapon. They choose to ignore that without it; man would have lost and would be extinct. They fail to acknowledge that evil exists in the brittle hearts of men and is expressed by how they use power. Evil does not exist in the power itself.
I leave this book to guide you and hope that it is enough. Unfortunately, it was the only one I could rescue from the fires. There may be others, but that is for you to determine. Use the knowledge contained within to prepare, for the survival of man may depend on it.
I foresee dark days ahead. The past will return to haunt the Ministry. The time for change is imminent. Seek out the light of truth, for it is your only hope. May your heart remain light under the heavy yoke you bear.
To the distant member of my lineage,
Know that the words I speak above are true. Do your best to support the Arcanist. While he appears to be the pivot point of the struggle ahead, he is but a spark to ignite the inferno required. He cannot do this alone. The minds of man will be as important as the muscle in the dark times to come.
Issal’s Blessings,
Master Byland Hedgewick
Brock flipped the page to get a hint of what secrets lay inside the thick volume. He flipped through more pages, jumping to later sections of the tome. It was all the same. The entire book was written in the same odd language as the note inside the front cover: a language neither of them knew.
While wasn’t sure what to make of the message, Brock sensed that it was important to keep the book private. He stuffed the book into his pack, seeing the wonder he felt reflected in Benny’s eyes.
CHAPTER 66
With few idle moments to spare, the weeks passed quickly. Between attending classes, working on assigned projects, and rebuilding the girls’ tower, Brock’s days were full. Unfortunately, that left no time to spend deciphering the book he had found.
In a race against impending winter weather, the boys and the hired masons worked past sunset every evening. With the days growing shorter, the weather also became increasingly colder. As if it were orchestrated, the first snowfall hit as they sealed the last stone block into the outer wall. While the work crew was relieved, clapping each other on the back, Brock was mesmerized. He faced the sky as the shower of white flakes drifted down. Holding his mouth open, he felt the tingle of cold snow landing on his tongue. It was wonderful.
The next day, they moved inside and began repairing the damaged floor. The baths below had remained closed since the incident, forcing the girls to bathe in the Arena changing room. During cleanup, the boys had removed all debris that had fallen into the pools. By the time they had attempted to remove the metal sphere from the pool, it had absorbed a great deal of heat and was difficult to touch for more than a few seconds. After hours of cooling on the stone floor, they were able to haul the ball from the cellar and submit it to the master engineers for analysis.
The now-famed siege engine had been confiscated as well. The Academy faculty had a great deal of interest in the catapult as they attempted to understand how it had launched the heavy ball ten times further than the previous record.
Thankfully, the headmaster had determined that the destruction was unintentional and required no further punishment. However, the repair bill had been submitted and would consume the bulk of their winnings, leaving them each with two gold imperials from the five that they had won.
On the third Seventh Day after the Catapult Challenge, they completed the last of the repairs. After almost a month of dedicated effort, they were free. Brock made a visit to the baths, relishing the heat on his weary muscles. He then changed into clean clothes before going in search of Ashland.
During the past month, they had seen little of each other. They found time for short interludes in between classes, but it wasn’t enough. On the days she wasn’t having lunch with Master Varius, they sat and ate together. It still wasn’t enough. Ashland deserved more attention than that.
After checking her room, the library, and the dining hall, anxiety began to churn inside. He really wanted to see her. He needed to see her. Stepping outside, he scanned the lawn, squinting at the brightness of the snow-covered ground. Scattered evergreens and bare gray trees were dark towers among the white fields. Small light flakes drifted from the pale gray skies above. Brock ignored the snow. His focus was on finding Ashland.
With a mixture of inspiration and desperation, he headed toward the Ecclesiastic’s Wing. When he opened the door to the Training Temple, his anxiety instantly evaporated.
Ashland stood on the dais, having a conversation with Varius. Brock took a seat near the door and waited. Varius turned to descend the dais, walking up the sloped aisle. She flashed a smile at Brock as she passed him to exit the building.
Sitting alone, he watc
hed Ashland prepare the dais as Varius directed. When she finished, she glanced in his direction and a smile lit her face. Despite the distance, her smile made his heart sing.
Unable to wait any longer, he stood and approached the dais. Ashland descended the stairs and met him at the bottom. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her in tight as he kissed her. Her arms hugged him, squeezing tightly. When their lips parted, he stared into the depths of her blue eyes. He felt joy in his soul.
“I’ve missed you,” she said.
“I’ve missed you too,” Brock replied with a grin. “Just for you, I’ll try not to destroy any parts of the school for a while.”
Ashland smiled. “Just for me? I do feel special now. In fact, I believe that the Academy owes me for preventing its certain destruction.”
“Well, I owe you as well,” he said. “I owe you some personal attention. Which reminds me: have you eaten dinner yet? I’m starving, and I thought we could eat together.”
“No, I haven’t.”
She released her arms. He reluctantly did the same. Hooking her arm in his, she walked him toward the exit. Grinning, she glanced toward him as she spoke.
“Let’s get some food. I’m sure my master of destruction is famished from his hard work.”
CHAPTER 67
Brock screamed as Budakis reset the break. The pain was intense, almost too much to handle. Tears and sweat streaked down his face. The healer stepped in to take over. Placing her hand on Brock’s arm, she closed her eyes.
Glancing at the grotesque wound where the bone had broken through the skin, Brock longed for the healing to take the pain away. A violent chill shook him when the icy wave swept through his body. The air expelled from his lungs, leaving him gasping to reclaim it. He lifted his arm, marveling at the lack of pain. Even after being healed a half dozen times and acting as the healer another half dozen times, he remained amazed by the process. That it was even possible seemed beyond reality.
The Buried Symbol (The Ruins of Issalia Book 1) Page 23