by Terry Schott
“Oh my goodness.” She was older than him and very beautiful. No surprise—every elf he’d encountered was good-looking. The woman’s mouth went from a surprised O-shape to a wide smile as she came forward and hugged him. “You’re home early, Aleron.”
“Yeah.” He returned the hug and stepped back.
“Did you get an extra couple of days home leave because you’re way ahead of the others?” Her eyes narrowed as she watched him, her grin fading. “You look upset.”
He pursed his lips and nodded.
“Something’s wrong. What is it?”
***
Aleron finished recounting the details of his training. He watched the faces of the two elves sitting on the other side of the table—his mother and father—and waited for them to say something.
His father shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“Dear.” Aleron’s mother rested one hand on her husband’s forearm.
“We’d heard the gossip from the village, but I didn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe it. Absolutely zero magical talent? That makes no sense.”
Aleron raised one eyebrow. “Yeah.”
“They tested you. I was present.”
Aleron did not reply.
“Druid magic runs deeply in the blood of this family. Both sides.”
“Unexpected complications can occur sometimes.” His mother’s voice was soft.
“I told you.” His father’s tone hardened, matching the intensity of his stare. “Before you left for the woods, I warned you not to play about.”
In his memory, Aleron could see his father’s stern gaze, hear the serious tone as he told him to pay attention and do his very best.
“There is no room for failure.”
“He knows.” The pitch of his mother’s voice was now more serious.
“Maybe I can convince Keaedan to give you another chance.”
“I don’t think so, Father.”
The man scowled. “I don’t need you to think. I need you to try harder.”
“I did.”
Laughter. “You couldn’t even cast snare?”
Aleron shook his head.
“Ridiculous.”
The three sat without speaking for a few minutes. Aleron’s mother broke the silence. “You’re right, love. Speak with the master. He will give Aleron another chance.”
His father nodded. “Our family is important to the clan. It is in Keaedan’s best interest to give this another try as well.”
“Maybe he will give me private instruction on our journey.”
“Journey?” His father frowned. “To where?”
“The two of us are leaving tomorrow morning.”
“Hold on a minute.” The older man leaned forward, his eyebrows lowered. “During training of new druids, the Master is taking a failed student on a journey?”
“That’s right.”
His father laughed. “That’s absurd, son.”
“Then maybe I misunderstood.”
“You must have.” His mother reached across the table to rest her hand on his. “The druid Master is always present for first training of fledgling casters. He sorts them and decides the best path for their talents.”
“I know.”
“It doesn’t sound like it.” His father crossed his arms. “You’re sitting here saying he’s leaving on a journey with you.”
“That’s what he said. You can ask him in the morning.”
Aleron’s father sighed. “Maybe the old goat has finally lost his pebbles. Any idea where he’s taking you?”
Aleron shrugged. “To the Scouts.”
His mother gasped.
“That’s not funny.” His father’s voice was flat.
“I wasn’t trying to make a joke.”
“Why is he taking you to see the Scout?”
“I think it’s more than one. He said ‘Scouts’.” Aleron nodded. “I did ask him about that. More than once.”
His mother’s eyes widened and father’s mouth opened. Aleron could imagine what they would ask next, so he answered before without waiting to hear. “He thinks I might be one.”
There was a long pause.
“A Scout?” His father’s lips hardly moved.
“A Scout,” his mother whispered.
“Yes.” Aleron frowned. I can’t tell if the news makes them happy or more sad than before.
25
Of all the Classes, Death Strykers are the rarest and most feared in the land.
The Dark Order roams the land, selecting children from birth to raise at the Keeps. They nurture and teach the young to love the Lady of Darkness above all. At the age of nine, children are tested. Those without significant magical aptitude are given to the warriors to be trained as soldiers.
If magic runs strong, then the child studies with the clerics.
The Dark Lady demands much sacrifice. Few attain the priesthood.
It is unknown how they are selected or trained, but the Death Stryker is one who has been trained in the ways of both magic and battle. Said to be touched by the Dark Lady herself, they roam the land with one purpose, listening as the goddess whispers orders into their ears, striving to destroy all that is good in the world.
Xander knew it was stupid to enter the village, but he did anyway.
He waited until the sun was directly overhead, guessing that many would be inside their homes eating lunch. It was a small settlement, less than a dozen houses and a single street running through the middle. One building was clearly the store. Across from it and down a wide, flattened dirt track path, was a tavern.
When the guide failed to show up on his entry into the game, he had decided to play on the assumption that this world’s lore must match that of the role-playing and PC game. If his assumption was correct, then Death Strykers would be feared or hated by everyone. This put him in serious danger should anyone attack him, but he wasn’t very worried about that.
Few would attack a Death Stryker.
Xander strode into the village, uncertain if anyone would recognize his class. His swords and the way he wore them announced what he was, but he was not encased in any of the other trappings of a Stryker.
A young woman holding a baby walked toward him. Her eyes met his for a moment and then she smiled and looked away. Her pace remained steady. When he got close he stopped and smiled.
“I’m very sorry to disturb you”—he placed one hand to his chest—“but I was wondering if you could help me with a simple direction?”
The woman stopped and took a step back, a polite smile on her face but her eyes tightened. “Of course. Where is it you want to go?”
“Please don’t be frightened.”
“I’m not.” Her lips quivered but she continued smiling.
“I don’t mean any harm.”
“That’s good to hear.”
He waited. She waited.
I don’t think she recognizes me as a Stryker. He pursed his lips and took a step back, hands at his sides. “I am lost and need to find my way to the Dark Tower.”
Her smile melted.
“Where they train the—” He took another step back and spoke softer. “Death Strykers.”
Her eyes widened and cheeks flushed. She looked around and touched her child.
Xander’s hands remained at his sides. “I was hit on the head and disoriented. If you can just point me in the right direction, I will leave and never come back.”
The woman opened her mouth and screamed, turning and sprinting toward the store.
Xander’s head whipped left and right. The front door to a nearby house opened and a man with a thick beard and a muscular frame appeared. It was clear from the expression on the man’s face that he was not pleased.
“Damn it!” Xander turned on his heel and ran as fast as he could for the edge of town. He could hear cries of alarm behind him.
He ran another few hundred metres, then looked over his shoulder. No one was following. He continued running until he
turned a bend in the road. Then he turned and darted for the woods. Leaping over stumps and dodging brush, he kept running until he was out of breath and his legs were burning.
26
The final air from Sebastian’s breath flowed across his lips, the final syllable uttered at the same moment as the feather-adorned ashen twig in his hand completed tracing a pattern through the air. He could almost see the final sounds as they left him and drifted into the invisible rune’s path. He knew that he’d done everything perfect, exactly as instructed. Sebastian’s eyes narrowed, waiting for the spell to manifest.
Nothing.
He drew a deep breath, tilted his head back, and roared at the ceiling. When there was no wind left in him, he drew another breath, both hands gripped the wand, his knuckles whitened.
“No!”
Sebastian’s head snapped to the left and he scowled.
Ezref rushed forward and snatched the crooked wand from his hand. “What in the twelve halls of light were you thinking just now?” The small feathers tied to the stick flailed as he shook the wand back and forth. “This contains the essence of a powerful demon which was imprisoned inside over three millennia ago. Someday it will break free. When that happens, it will most assuredly suck up half the light in this world, devouring souls and causing suffering the likes of which neither of us can begin to imagine. The one who frees it will suffer more than the rest. Maybe you want to experience its wrath, but I would like to be long dead when that horrible day finally arrives.”
“Sorry.”
“I don’t care that you’re sorry!” Ezref’s scream was louder than Sebastian’s had been. “Magic is dangerous! You are a child locked in the body of someone older. I swear by the gods of Light and Darkness, your impetuous disrespect will be the end of—” He stopped and covered his face. Then he turned on his heel, walked to the side table, set the wand down, and rubbed both eyes with the heels of his palms. “This was a bad idea. I should never have agreed to teach you.”
Sebastian stroked his beard. “Because I’m angry that I failed again.”
Ezref looked up. “Because you have no respect for the craft, no fear.”
“I do. I was frustrated.”
“You are spoiled.” Ezref crossed his arms. “Crafting came too easily in the beginning and, now that it is suddenly more challenging, you throw tantrums.”
Sebastian laughed. “My failures are your fault. I was doing fine until you told me the truth. Perfectly fine. Since you made me aware that I was ‘doing things wrong’, I can’t cast anything, not even the simple spells that worked at the start.”
Ezref’s mouth formed a tight-lipped smile. “As I said, things have become more challenging.”
“What did you do?”
“I beg your pardon.”
“Did you put some kind of block on me?”
Ezref scowled and folded his arms. “By telling you the truth, I changed your mindset. That is all. If there is a block, then it is you who created it.”
Sebastian sniffed.
“Mindset is the key component to crafting. In order for a spell to manifest properly, the caster must envision the correct outcome.”
“I thought it was perfect execution of verbal, somatic, and material components.”
“Those are the foundations. Tools to achieve the result. It is by executing the foundations that one focuses and creates the proper vision.”
“What do you mean?”
“Speaking the words, moving the hands, and selecting the correct material focuses the mind and tells the universe what the crafter wishes to create. As long as there have been crafters, these have been the ways to summon the magic.”
“I did it without them.”
“The most powerful crafters throughout the ages do not require words, motions, or components to command the magic. But it is rare to be able to do the simplest crafting without incorporating the foundations. Even the masters of legend started off using them. It took them decades, some centuries, to reach a point where they were not required.” Ezref snapped his fingers. “But you appeared out of nowhere and began to craft magic straight away.” He shook his head. “No one would ever believe such a thing possible. I still question it, and I was there to see you in action.”
Sebastian frowned. “Wait a minute. Let me get this straight. You told me that I was casting sp—”
“Crafting.”
“Right. You told me that I was crafting spells wrong.”
The apprentice nodded.
“Now, after I’ve been beating my brains out for days, doing it your way and failing, you’re saying that I was doing it correctly from the start?”
Ezref gripped the back of his head with both hands, and his eyes widened. “I should never have agreed to teach you.” He groaned. “If I had known you were going to actually be so skilled I don’t think I would have.”
Sebastian snorted. “Looks like you got your wish after all.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t do it anymore.”
“That’s your fault.”
“Mine? How do you figure?”
“All I did was point out the obvious.” Ezref spread his hands. “Technically, your motions were sloppy. Verbally, your pronunciation of the words were far from perfect. And the way that you handled the components…” He shrugged. “All of it was a mess. That you could craft a spell at all was fascinating to me.”
“Was.” Sebastian plopped down into a chair beside the table and crossed his arms. “My ability is gone.”
“No.” He shook his head. “It isn’t gone. Simply misplaced.”
Sebastian furrowed his eyebrows and stroked his beard. “You think I can regain my abilities?”
“I believe so.” Ezref arched an eyebrow. “The more important question is, do you?”
Sebastian considered the question, stroking his beard half a dozen times before he smiled. “Yes. Yes I do.”
“Good. Then we shall continue with the lessons.”
27
Shale opened her eyes and groaned. The cadet standing above her smiled. “Morning, sunbeam.”
“Morning.”
“You up?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” The cadet moved to the next cot and gently shook the sleeper. There were no trumpets or shouts to start the morning. Instead, those coming off the morning watch woke the others, quietly as they would when raiding. Part of their training was to learn how to wake up quietly and be alert right away.
Shale lay in her cot for another few seconds before standing to dress. She fastened her belt buckle and adjusted the hang of her hunting knife so that the hilt brushed her fingertips when hand dropped to waist level. Then she slipped on her soft leather knee-high hunting boots and grabbed quiver and bow, slinging both over her shoulder as she exited the tent.
Lelthaes was already in line for food. She joined him and the two made small talk while waiting their turn. Shale sat down across from him at an empty table and laughed. “You still haven’t bedded the cooking girl?”
“How can you tell?”
“Your flirting continues, and she still seems interested. If you’d slept with her then one of those facts would have changed.”
Lelthaes frowned. “That’s unfair.”
“What is?”
“Did you consider the possibility that we did sleep together and are both more interested than before?”
Shale opened her mouth, paused, then smiled and shook her head. “Nope.”
Her friend shook his head. “That hurts, Shale.”
A chuckle. “Tell me I’m wrong and I’ll apologize.”
His eyes twinkled as he wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “You’re not wrong.”
Shale laughed.
“I will bed her before training is over, I swear.”
They finished eating and moved to the training field. Cadets gathered in small groups, talking and laughing. Soon after, Jielir arrived.
“Morning
everyone.”
“Morning, Jielir.” The group replied in unison as they formed a line.
“I spent the night considering where everyone is in their training.” He began to walk down the line. “I thought about what areas need more work, where we can improve as a group and individually.” He stopped and turned to face them. There was a grin on his face. “Turns out you lumps have done pretty well.” He shrugged. “I don’t think there’s much more that I can teach you in this safe little field.”
Shale smiled and nudged Lelthaes in the ribs. His grin mirrored hers and everyone else’s.
“That’s right, kids,” Jielir said. “You’re done basic training.”
The group cheered.
***
The young rangers spent the morning lazing about the camp.
“What comes next?” Shale sorted the cards in her hand while she waited for Lelthaes to take his turn.
“Not sure.”
“I know.” Jielir’s voice spoke from behind her. Shale started to stand, but felt a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t bother getting up. You’ve earned a morning to relax. Mind if I join you?”
“Of course not.” She shimmied to one side to make room.
“Thanks.” The instructor plopped onto the seat, set a mug of ale on the table, and nodded at Lelthaes. “It’s nice to be able to sit and visit with you now that I’m no longer your trainer.” He smiled. “More like old times.”
“Does that mean that I can call you uncle again?” Lelthaes placed a card on the table and drew a replacement from the face down deck.
“Absolutely. Everyone goes home, spends a week with their families.” He smiled at Lelthaes. “It is custom for Great-grandparents or regular grandparents to gift a family heirloom to their newest pride and joy.”
Lelthaes leaned forward. “Do you know what I’m getting? Is it Grandmother’s bow?”
Jielir shrugged. “After that, you’ll be assigned to a unit and start life as a ranger.”
“We visit the Scout first though, right?”
Shale frowned. The Scout?
“Of course.” Jielir raised the mug to his lips.