“I’m sorry,” Justan said lamely.
Hilt smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “I understand that you fight with two swords.”
“Yes!” Justan said, shifting from foot to foot. “I have practiced all my life. I’m not very good,” he admitted. “But then again I have mainly taught myself.”
“That's not necessarily a bad thing, Justan,” Hilt said. “Practicing by oneself is to be encouraged. The only way you will ever be able to truly master the blades is by learning your own strengths. However, practicing alone is useless without a solid base of experience. I have met many men who are self-taught and they all have weaknesses caused by lack of interaction. Believe me, it is far better to learn from others. If not, you have to learn by trial and error, and that is a hard way to grow.”
Hilt stepped into the role of teacher as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Justan, who could not get over the presence of this man, hung on his every word. Ma'am stood to the side, gauging Justan’s response. She nodded with approval.
“I came here to watch the testing, and to conduct some business with the Academy, but with the delay over your king’s death, I’m available to spar with you for the next few weeks.” Hilt smiled. “That is, if you’re willing.”
Justan almost fell over. “Yes! Yes of course, sir!”
Hilt nodded. “Very well. I will meet you here at noon bell every day and teach you the forms. With that knowledge, you will be better able to train on your own. With the proper forms you will learn how your body responds to movement. You will learn better control and coordination.”
Hilt drew his blades from the sheathes at his waist. “Watch,” he said, and started into what seemed to be an intricate dance, his blades whirling in complex patterns. His body spun and leapt into the air. It left Justan breathless. Watching this man was to see the epitome of what he wanted to become played out before his eyes. Hilt’s familiarity and confidence with his weapons, his complete mastery of his body and every movement. These were the things that Justan had longed for all of his life.
Hilt stopped so abruptly that Justan didn’t see him put his swords away. The man wasn’t even breathing hard. “That was a two blade sword form, one of the more complex ones. Of course I don't expect you to learn that one right away, but it wouldn't hurt to have some impressive sword forms in your arsenal for the tests, now would it?” He took one look at Justan's eager expression and laughed. “Shall we begin?”
Justan jumped in immediately. He would have been thrilled to be trained by any dual blade master, but one who was named? He could not believe his luck. It did not occur to him until later that his father had most likely paid the man a handsome sum to do it. But, Justan didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, it was the greatest gift his father could have given him.
The last days before the Training School tests flew by. Justan spent more and more time training with the bow and sparring with Hilt. This meant he spent less time with Ma’am. Strangely, Justan found that he missed that time.
Justan learned the sword forms Hilt taught him as best as he could. Hilt could be stern when Justan started to tire, but he showed infinite patience with the young man’s ineptitude.
The man was as big a mystery as Ma'am. He didn’t spend time talking about his past, but Justan had the impression that Hilt was from a distant kingdom. There was the slight accent that Justan couldn’t place, and he had a flair about him that convinced Justan Hilt was more than just a warrior, maybe even nobility.
Under Hilt's tutelage, Justan felt better about his ability to fight with two blades. Though he had a ways to go before he would consider himself a competent fighter, Justan was gaining more confidence in his chances to get into the Battle Academy.
Justan was unaware of the forces arrayed against him.
Chapter Five
Testing week consisted of five final exams, one test on each day. The week started with the test of stamina, followed by distance weapons, hand-to-hand combat, strategy, and ending with armed combat. Each of the tests during the week was worth up to five points, and a trainee had to earn at least fifteen points to be accepted into the Battle Academy. It wasn’t easy. Each year, less than a third of the trainees passed.
The week of testing was a huge event for the Kingdom of Dremaldria and the City of Reneul in particular. The city spent months preparing for the influx of people. Businesses often made as much money in that single week as the rest of the year combined.
People from all over the kingdom flocked to Reneul to watch the tests of endurance and skill. Some came to support family members, others came just for the spectacle of it all, but by the time the first day of testing arrived, the streets were clogged with spectators.
This year, with the King’s death causing the tests to be postponed, many spectators had come early and been caught unprepared for the delay. The city’s population was expanded for longer than planned. The extra food and supplies stocked for the crowd were soon exhausted. To add to the problems, controversy and discontent hung thick in the air.
The King's son, Prince Andre Muldroomon, threw out his father’s staff of advisors and replaced them with his own friends, who were known among the populace as a bunch of rowdies and thugs. The people understood that this was the way of kings and successions, but the people held a particular dislike for Prince Andre's main new advisor, Ewzad Vriil, a man who had been banished by the prince's father.
These factors combined to create a problem hitherto unseen in the orderly streets of Reneul. Tempers ran high. Bar room brawls spilled into the crowded streets. One day things got so out of hand that students from the Battle Academy were called out to help the city police put down a ten-block skirmish. When the first day of testing finally arrived, the Training School was surrounded by the most raucous crowd seen in decades. Everyone needed a spectacle to relieve frustrations.
This year, they were going to get one.
Justan had been placed in the first group of students testing each morning throughout the week. It was the time slot dreaded by most of the trainees. Minds were still clouded from sleep and reactions were not at their peak. Justan finally had a reason to be glad that Ma’am got him up so early every morning.
He awoke the day of the stamina test full of energy and excitement. He dressed quickly and ran to the kitchens. He was careful to eat very little. He had been a victim of eating a big breakfast before the stamina trial his first year and learned his lesson while emptying his stomach on the side of the trail.
Ma’am was waiting outside for Justan when he left the mess hall. She looked almost as excited as he was. “Justan, did you eat a light breakfast?”
“Taken care of.”
“Make sure to stretch out your legs before the run.”
“I know.”
Ma’am sighed. She looked jittery and anxious. “I feel like I am the one running today. Listen to me, Justan. I will be waiting at the midway point with some water. Pace yourself. I hear that they have changed some things this year.”
“Really?” There hadn’t been a course change in the stamina test in years. “What’s different?”
“I have only heard rumors, but I am sure that you will be told about it before you start.”
“I am ready Ma’am,” he said. “Don’t worry. I won’t fail you.”
“Justan, you could not fail me. Not in this. I know you better than that.” She smacked his back. “Now go. Do not be late.”
It was fall now and Justan found the crisp wind invigorating. The leaves had begun to turn on the trees. Some of them had fallen, leaving the landscape littered with orange and red.
Justan smiled as he made his way to the test site. It was nice to have Ma'am clucking over him like a mother hen. It meant she cared. In fact, it made Justan feel so good that he became nervous. And he wasn’t sure why.
At first he had seen her as a stern taskmaster and a fierce enemy. Later on he knew her to be his friend. But lately he had begun to notice a beauti
ful, feminine side of her that made him want to please her all the more. Why did that frighten him so?
Justan shoved the thoughts away. He didn’t have the luxury of examining his feelings today. He focused back on the task ahead of him.
The stamina test was held on the north end of the training grounds in the hills that bordered the city. They were called the Scralag Hills; so named because of the ghost that was said to haunt the area.
Justan arrived at the start site before most of the other trainees. He stretched and warmed up until the rest of them arrived. Justan watched the motley group of fifty trainees as they gathered and chatted with excitement. He didn’t know much about those he was competing against. He had spent so little time with the other trainees that year that he recognized few of their faces.
Then he saw Benjo. Why did he have to be here?
At least Kenn hadn’t drawn the first round as well. Neither of them was much trouble alone; it was when they got together that they caused problems. Not that it mattered much. He didn’t think that they would try anything during the testing. There were too many people around. The testing week rules stated that anyone caught cheating would be expelled and lose any opportunity to enter the Battle Academy.
Soon hundreds of spectators were crowded around the starting line and many others were heading up the trail for different vantage points. The crowd created a lot of noise laughing and talking to each other as they waited for the test to begin.
Swift Kendyl, the endurance trainer for the school, soon appeared and raised his arms to call for silence. Kendyl was a wiry man who always seemed full of energy. The story of how he had earned the nickname of Swift Kendyl was legendary.
After Kendyl graduated from the Academy, his first assignment was as a standard bearer for the Brasbeck Army. One day a huge dragon swooped down from the sky and began breathing fire all over his fellow soldiers. As the legend goes, Kendyl sprinted up the dragon’s tail, across its back and thrust the pointed end of the Brasbeck standard into the beast’s eye. By the time the dragon knew what hit it, Kendyl had already run back down its tail to safety. The dragon roared in pain and flew away, leaving most of the humans alive.
Justan was pretty sure that the story was exaggerated. He had asked about it once, but Kendyl would never confirm or deny the events.
When the crowd finally quieted, Swift Kendyl spoke. He addressed the trainees, but he made sure that his voice was loud enough that the spectators could hear.
“Welcome to day one of the Dremaldrian Battle Academy Training Exams!” The crowd erupted into applause. “To be a student in the Battle Academy, you must have the strength and endurance necessary for the long march. The trail this year has been changed to better represent the conditions a soldier might run into.
“The course is fifteen miles long. Be sure to keep an eye on the colored stones that mark the trail. The stones change color every mile, making it possible for you to keep track of your progress. As in the past, the first four miles run along the edge of the Scralag Hills. But this year the trail veers through the center of the hills. During this stretch of the trail-.”
“Sir!” A trainee held his hand up.
“What is it, Zaid?” Swift Kendyl did not like being interrupted.
“Um, Sir, won’t that take us into the territory of the Scralag?”
Swift Kendyl chuckled. “There have been no sightings of the Scralag for years.” His face gained a mysterious expression and he looked toward the spectators. “But yes.”
Murmurs ran through the crowd.
It was obvious to Justan that Swift Kendyl was pandering to the crowd, but he still didn’t like the development. He knew the tales of the Scralag, but that wasn’t what bothered him. Several kids he knew had been injured climbing those hills when he was a child. The area was treacherous, full of ravines and loose sharp rocks. It was as if the hills themselves were falling apart.
Swift Kendyl cleared his throat. “As I was saying, during that five mile stretch, no spectators are allowed. You will be by yourselves until you come out of the hills. The final six miles of the course weave back around to the starting gate.
“As you all know, there are five available points in the test today. The key to getting the best score is to keep moving. A mage will be keeping track of your movement along the trail. Anyone who stops to rest along the way will be docked one point. The rest of the points will be awarded according to how long it takes you to finish the course.
“Finally, there is to be no contact between students. If any of you pushes or shoves another trainee, you could be disqualified. It is best that you don’t even speak to each other. There is no need. This is not a competition. You will be judged on your individual performance only. Any questions?”
There were none.
The trainees were brought to the starting line. The hornsman blew a clear note and a mage sent a fireball arcing into the air. The test had begun.
Pandemonium erupted. Spectators crowded in on either side of the trail, all of them cheering for their favorites or just screaming in general. A lot of pent up energy was released.
The first mile of the trail was lined with dark blue rocks. Justan started at a quick but steady pace, his awkward strides in perfect rhythm. The crowd’s noise was intrusive, but he kept telling himself over and over, this is just like any other run.
But it wasn’t. The trail ran through long stretches of muddy ground and curved over steep hills that sapped the strength from his legs. As the stones lining the trail turned from blue, to green, to yellow, he saw many other trainees slowing down.
Justan smiled. In years past, he was the one slowing down. Ma’am’s bizarre conditioning routines were helping him just as much as the morning runs.
Then the rocks that marked the path changed to a deep red. Guards stood along the sides of the trail, stoically forbidding any spectators to pass. The trail took a sharp turn, heading deep into the crumbing hills of the Scralag’s territory.
Soon the sounds of the raucous crowd faded in the distance. The silence made the trail seem ominous. The already cool autumn air quickly dropped a few degrees. Justan shivered. He was sure that the Scralag was just a tale told to keep the children out of the dangerous hills, but he couldn’t help but take comfort in the fact that he wasn't running alone.
The rocky path soon turned into loose slate that shifted about under the runners’ feet. As the miles crept by, the constant rise and fall of the trail and the stress of concentrating on the shifting footing took their toll. Justan felt as if his feet were weighted with lead. Several of the trainees had stopped to rest.
As the trail curved up and around the side of a particularly large hill, the slope on the right became steeper. The path narrowed in a forbidding way. The trail became so narrow that the trainees were forced to run single file. The gaps between runners widened.
Three miles into the Scralag’s territory, Justan found himself running alone for the first time. The only sound he could hear was the crunching of his own feet in the loose rock as he laboriously wound his way along the side of the large hill. The narrow trail wove around a large boulder.
Out of nowhere strong hands grasped Justan’s shoulders, jerking him to a stop. A harsh voice whispered from behind him.
“Kenn says hello,” Benjo said. He had picked a good spot to lay in wait. It was the only section of the trail where no one would be around to witness his actions. Before Justan could react, Benjo shoved him off of the edge.
Justan tumbled down the steep side of the hill, scattering sharp rocks everywhere. His body careened toward a cluster of boulders at the bottom. He tried to slow his descent, but only succeeded in scraping up his arms and legs.
Time slowed down for Justan. It was as though he were outside of his body watching everything happening in slow motion. Strangely, he felt calm. Was he going to die? Was this it?
Justan’s torso slammed into a boulder at the bottom of the ravine, bringing him to a jarring stop. It was
a moment before he could breathe again. When he did, his ribs screamed out in pain.
Justan lay still for a moment and took slow breaths, running his hands over his side. He decided that though his ribs might be cracked, they weren’t broken. He searched himself over for other injuries, hoping that he would still be able to finish the race. He was covered in cuts and bruises, but none were too serious.
He winced in pain as he stood on shaky legs. He looked back up the side of the ravine shocked to see that the trail was only a couple hundred feet up. It seemed like he had fallen forever. Benjo wasn’t there anymore. He must have run on as soon as Justan fell down the slope.
The air grew cold. An icy breeze blew from the large cluster of boulders behind him. With effort, Justan ignored the dread that filled his stomach. He started to climb back up the hill.
A hissing whisper screeched out from behind him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Justan slowly turned. A ghastly figure was standing between the boulders.
Eye of the Moonrat (The Bowl of Souls: Book One) Page 6