by B. T. Narro
Cleve looked intrigued. “I always figured mages couldn’t cast while they fight. Can you?”
“I was joking, mostly. It’s difficult to cast while moving. The bastial energy for a fireball has to be gathered into a single point for it to become hot enough to burn the sartious energy that’s fed into it from our wands. I can’t imagine anyone doing that while engaged in melee combat.”
Cleve nodded. “Again.” He rushed Basen this time.
He felt his arms go hot as he flexed muscles with the newfound strength from bastial energy. Cleve unleashed a combination of four attacks that had certainly been practiced hundreds of times, the precision of his longsword like the needle of a master sewer.
But Basen’s strength held up. He moved his sword faster than he ever had before to block each strike. Cleve stepped in and tried to punch Basen in the stomach. Unable to focus energy into his legs to get out of the way fast enough, he used his hands to block the attack. He caught Cleve’s fist and pulled it past his turned body, then extended his foot to trip his opponent.
Cleve stumbled only a bit, recovering before Basen could hope to counterattack.
“God’s mercy,” Basen complained, shaking his hands. His palms felt on fire. Why had he thought he could catch Cleve’s punch? He’d even been stupid enough to drop his weapon.
“That’s not how you block a punch,” Cleve said with a snicker. “Although I must admit I’ve never seen that method before. Were you never taught how?”
“No. There was no punching or kicking among swordsmen in Tenred.”
“Why?”
“That’s a good question. It’s too bad I don’t have the answer.” He picked up Abith’s sword and flicked off a blade of grass. “So how do I block your boulder fists?”
“Boulder fists, hmm?” Cleve grinned as he looked at his hands. “Not by catching them. Let me show you. Try to punch me.”
“No thank you. That sounds like the beginning of the explanation as to why I’m in the medical building.”
“How else are you going to learn?”
“I have ears. You can explain it.”
“Fine. You have to use your forearms to block me above the elbow. Make sure it’s done on the inside of my arm so you have leverage, which will give you options for counterattack.”
“All right, you’ll have to show me.”
“I thought all you needed were your ears,” Cleve groused.
When it came time for lunch, Basen had many new bruises.
He hadn’t realized that his defense was atrocious. He was excellent at stopping Cleve’s sword from doing damage, but as soon as Cleve added his hands or feet into the mix, Basen would be taken down instantly or he would soon regret it. Cleve had hit him in the cheek at one point, and even though it was done at half strength, Basen reeled and needed a few minutes before the pain no longer distracted him too much to focus. He was glad he would never face Cleve in a real fight.
Basen was surprised to find his mother in the dining hall. Of course the first thing she noticed was his bruised cheek, her hands reaching toward it as if her touch could heal him.
He leaned away. “It doesn’t help to touch.”
“How did you get it?”
“Training. I’m fine, Mother. You don’t need to worry. How are you?”
“Busy and happy; this is a wonderful place. It’s a shame we need to fight in this war.”
“We?”
“Not me, personally. You must know I wasn’t speaking about going into...” She paused before adding, “Battle.”
“Well, I don’t know anymore. I heard what you did at the lake.”
“I did what I had to. I don’t regret it.”
“I’m impressed.”
“No, I’m impressed, Basen. Why aren’t you wearing your medal?”
He chuckled at the ridiculous image of that. “Because I’m not insane.”
“I hope that means you won’t do anything that dangerous again. I know you felt you had to go to those Elves, and I did agree with everything you told me of your plan, but you made it sound far less dangerous than I’m hearing from the stories people are telling! Just because you got away with it once doesn’t mean you’re invincible. Do you understand?”
“Yes, of course. All men can die.”
He was glad to see that prison hadn’t changed his mother, and neither had killing someone.
“Are you staying with Father now?”
“Yes.”
“So everything’s…fine between the two of you?”
“Yes.”
Just like before, Juliana and Henry wouldn’t say much about their relationship. They had always treated Basen as the glue keeping them together. He figured it had to do with his older brother he’d never met, Lexand, who’d died at sixteen thanks to a poor decision by the late king of Kyrro. Now at seventeen, Basen had outlived him, fulfilling his role as Lexand’s replacement.
It made him thankful but also worried. Juliana and Henry were too old for more children now. If Basen died in this war, there was no doubt in his mind they would separate. As a team—as parents—they’d shared the goal of raising their son. But as they’d aged and their lifestyles had slowly changed, Basen remained their only common interest.
There was something else they would agree upon soon enough, though.
“I’m going to train with Abith Max again,” Basen told his mother, knowing the first thing she would do was tell Henry so they could both scold Basen. “Only this time, we’re focusing on the sword as well as manipulating energy.”
“What! How has this come to be?”
“Because he’s the only one who can cast and cut like I can.”
“Basen…he’s not the best of allies to your father or the headmaster of this Academy, but I assume you already know this?” She used her rhetorical mothering voice.
“I do.”
“And are you certain this is the right decision?”
“I am.”
She put her hand across her mouth as she thought for a while.
“Then fine. Thank you for telling me.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
Perhaps she had changed. Or maybe she just trusted him now.
He hoped Abith wouldn’t make him regret this decision.
*****
He was early to the northern wall and had time to go over what he’d learned before Abith showed up. What Basen needed to practice the most was first focusing energy into his arms and then transitioning his focus to give his legs a boost of strength, all without delay. If he couldn’t, this skill wouldn’t be of much use in combat. Every good swordsman knew that footwork was just as important as swinging the weapon.
An hour later, Abith arrived. He put his hand on one of the parapets and swung his legs over in a showy and dangerous hop, doing a roll on the grass as he landed. It was more than a little ridiculous.
“So what can you do today that you couldn’t do yesterday?” Abith asked as he brushed the dirt off his back.
Basen had forgotten how his former instructor would ask that same question at the beginning of every lesson. Thinking about it now brought back fond memories. He and Abith hadn’t ever been friends, but Basen had always respected his skill and method of teaching.
“Would you like me to tell you or show you?” Basen asked.
“What do you think?” Abith opened his hand.
Basen returned Abith’s training sword, then waited for him to attack.
Abith seemed surprised by Basen’s reluctance to strike first. With a shrug, he came at Basen with twice the speed of a normal man. Basen blocked Abith’s first two attacks and deflected the third with enough force to drive Abith’s sword to the ground.
Basen grunted as he swung his sword up at a defenseless Abith. But he was like a fly zipping around as he ducked Basen’s attack, then jumped to the side to avoid the next strike. In a calm yet impressively fast manner, Abith gave Basen a slap on the cheek.
“Ouc
h.” Basen stopped his onslaught to clutch his injured face. “Did you have to go for the bruised cheek?”
“It wouldn’t be nearly as fun otherwise. You fight quick, but not quick enough yet.”
“Quick enough for what?”
“To protect yourself from everything.” Abith stepped forward and raised his hand to Basen again, but he blocked the expected blow with his forearm like Cleve taught him. Shock registered on Abith’s face as the two of them froze. Then Abith’s left hand came up, and Basen blocked it as well.
Abith grinned, then slid his arms down to free them. “Good, but now let’s see if you can find a way past my defenses.”
Basen attacked Abith with everything he had, yet his sword never came close to touching Abith’s body. Eventually, Basen stepped back and tried to recall how Terren had gotten past Abith’s defenses. Power hadn’t worked for the headmaster, who was incomparably stronger than Basen, so that left surprise.
Abith didn’t press him, giving him plenty of time to strengthen the muscles of his legs with bastial energy. He didn’t reveal his plan as he continued to hopelessly slice at Abith from left to right, up to down. Basen panted and grimaced as if about to give up.
“You can’t be tiring this easily,” Abith said with disappointment.
And that’s when Basen charged with all the energy he could muster. Abith was unable to get his sword up in time and tried in vain to spin out of Basen’s path. Basen rammed his shoulder into Abith’s back, finally knocking his former instructor off his feet. Basen fell on top of him and pressed his sword against Abith’s neck, pinning his sword arm with his knees.
Abith craned his neck to look at Basen. He had a little triangle of beard beneath his lower lip that stretched as he smiled wide. Basen rolled off him and waited for a response.
Abith chuckled as he rose to his feet. “I’m impressed. You’re not the same arrogant and annoyingly curious young man I once taught. I figured you wouldn’t agree to do anything until I told you more about what I have planned for Terren. Yet you’ve said nothing; you haven’t once questioned my requests.”
“I don’t need to ask what you have planned for Terren because I’ve already figured it out. You wish to start training a new class, some sort of battle mage. I’m the example of what others can be with you leading us.”
“And you’ve gotten wiser as well.” Abith leaned back and laughed. “This will suit us both very well.” He offered his hand.
Basen was surprised at how little fear and reluctance he felt as he shook Abith’s hand. In less than two days, he’d grown to completely trust that Abith Max was the best person to help Basen reach his potential. But there was something in Abith’s smile that still looked sinister.
Be careful, Basen told himself. There’s more he wants from you than just training a new class.
Fatholl had expected to use Basen as well, and Basen had maneuvered his way around that problem. He was confident he could do it again.
*****
Basen found Cleve sitting alone during dinner hours. Knowing the warrior ate quickly, Basen hurried to get in line for his food, then rushed over to take a spot on the bench beside Cleve.
“Your advice and training was helpful,” Basen said. “Thank you.”
Cleve gave a faint smile. “You’re welcome.”
“I have some new questions about focusing energy, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course.” Cleve grew a real smile. Perhaps he had wanted some company.
“Cleve!” a Kreppen voice boomed from behind. “You no beat me today!”
Basen turned to see Rickik with Nebre and some other Krepps. Rather than waiting in line for food, the group of Krepps started gathering the leftover morsels on nearby plates and bringing them over to Cleve’s table.
Basen didn’t get a chance to ask Cleve anything after that. The only time the Krepps stopped bragging was to grunt out laughter or argue with each other.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The moment Sanya returned to the castle, she was escorted to Tauwin’s throne room, where she expected to be questioned and possibly killed. It had been nearly a week since she’d left for the Fjallejon Mountains. Yeso was dead, and the Elves were gone. Yet this came as little surprise to Ulric’s army compared to the announcement of his assassination.
Ulric had returned a few days before Sanya, and it was during this time that he’d been killed. Tauwin had been hasty in getting the funeral going. Many of Ulric’s troops didn’t even know he was dead until his body was displayed in a casket. Sanya hadn’t been there, so she didn’t know whether his mask covered his face even in death. In the end, it didn’t matter.
Sanya figured that Ulric’s troops had already joined Tauwin’s, because Takary coin and promises held the same allure no matter who led the army. It was what Tauwin would do with Sanya that remained a mystery.
There were just three people in his throne room when she entered: Tauwin, Kithala, and Tauwin’s psychic, who might very well have been the one who’d assassinated Ulric during the night. The one Yeso told me to kill.
Tauwin had no beautiful woman by his side, no one yet taking Sanya’s place as his queen-to-be. He was probably enjoying his bachelorhood too much to consider the benefits of joining his family with another through marriage. The overconfident king must’ve been certain he would win this war soon and didn’t need such help.
Hector, the royal executioner, came in after Sanya.
“Shut the door,” Tauwin commanded, and Hector obeyed. He stood against it with his arms resting on the blunt top of his ax.
“Have you heard the terrible news?” Tauwin asked her.
She nodded.
“I’m preparing a boat for you. It will leave in a few days to take you back to Greenedge.”
No. She took a note from her pocket and held it up. Tauwin gestured for her to come closer. As he took it from her hand, he peered into her eyes. She lowered her head and turned away.
He opened her note and read it aloud. “I’m your blood. You’re my king.”
She hadn’t known what he would say to her, so it seemed like the best message to cover all scenarios.
“You wish to stay?” he asked incredulously.
She nodded.
“You weren’t here for his funeral, so let me tell you the same thing I told everyone else. I will find out who did this to him and remove the killer’s head. You don’t need to stay to ensure there will be justice. I will take care of that and send notice to Greenedge of the capture of his assassin as well as the progress of the war. All the other Takarys are following this war.”
Sanya shook her head, then pointed at the marble throne room floor. She then pointed at Tauwin and the note.
“Why would you want to stay?” he asked.
She gave no response.
“Speak!” Tauwin made a fist. Soon, he would be slamming it against the armrest if she didn’t obey.
“She can’t,” Kithala interjected. How she knew Sanya was a woman, Sanya couldn’t guess.
She nodded to agree.
“She?” Tauwin asked Sanya.
Sanya nodded again.
That gave him pause to consider something, but he shrugged it away. “What could you possibly do here if you can’t even speak?”
“She’s a Takary,” Kithala said. “If she wishes to stay, she should be able to.”
“We don’t even know if she’s related to us,” Tauwin complained. “Ulric could’ve lied. My psychics never tested his statement about her.”
“Are you worried about the coin she requires? Because it’s more expensive to send her off in a ship than to feed and shelter her.”
With Ulric no longer helping finance this war, money certainly had become an issue for Tauwin.
“The ships are leaving no matter what, Mother. Putting her on one will cost nothing.”
“And who will be on Ulric’s ships?” Kithala asked.
“No one save a small crew to sail them out and then back agai
n in a month.”
“What is the point of that?” She was beginning to sound nervous, probably realizing her questions were irritating her son.
“If you must know everything, then I will tell you. But first you will agree that I make the final decision about her.” He pointed at Sanya.
“You are the king,” Kithala reminded him. “You will make the final decision about everything.”
That seemed to satisfy him. “Terren Polken has scouts watching my cities. We’ve chased them off, but they always return. Raywhite Forest is too big and dense to keep them from spying. So I’ve decided to use their incessant scouting against them. Soon they will hear news of Ulric’s death, and they will watch his ships leave. What else can they assume other than his troops are on those ships?”
Tauwin smiled devilishly. “They will attack in hopes of striking while we are weak and before we can recruit more citizens to strengthen our ranks. First, they will plan to destroy our siege weapons that we never wished to use against the Academy anyway. Then they will storm the capital.”
Psyche confirmed that Tauwin had meant everything he said, except that he wasn’t the one who’d come up with this ploy. Ulric was the strategist who’d developed this plan, sharing it with Stanmar, who’d passed it along to Tauwin. It would help demonstrate why Stanmar should be reinstated as Tauwin’s commander.
“That’s a good plan,” Kithala said. “But I think our Takary guest should have the choice of staying here or returning to Greenedge.”
“I don’t trust her,” Tauwin said and looked deeply into Sanya’s eyes. “Something about her bothers me.”
“Whatever it is, I’m sure a few honest answers will help,” Kithala suggested. “Your psychic is right here.”
“Fine.” The young king slid his fingers together and cleared his throat. Then he chuckled bitterly. “I don’t even know what to call you.”
“I heard that her name is Laree Takary.”
Sanya figured that name must’ve come from Ulric.
“Is that really your name?” Tauwin asked.
She nodded and manipulated her energy to convince them of her honesty.