Under her breath, she added, “Do you realize how much you have grown?”
Justan didn’t hear her. He was focused on the target.
Chapter Seven
Justan awoke from a deep dreamless sleep. It was still pitch black in his room and his body ached from the rigors of the day before. He tried to go back to sleep, but after tossing and turning for a while, he laid in the darkness with his eyes wide open, fingering the frosty scar on his chest. The experience of the day before replayed in his mind.
He sat up. Why was there no moonlight? There had been a full moon the night before. He stood and moved to his one small window. He pressed his face against the glass, but he couldn’t see anything outside.
Justan opened the door and winced as bright light flooded the room. The sun was well over the horizon.
“Oh no,” he moaned.
He was supposed to be in the first group of students in the distance weapons test that day. If he was late, he would forfeit any points!
With a yelp, he threw his clothes on and scampered outside. No wonder he overslept. Someone had draped a thick woolen blanket over his window and piled dirt around the base of the door.
Justan sprinted across the training grounds, pushing through the crowds of spectators until he reached the archery range. He arrived just as Mad Jon was about to explain the rules for the day’s test.
Justan breathed a sigh of relief. He had made it there just in time. However that didn’t curb his anger. It had to have been Kenn. He was going to have to do something about the man soon. He could take his problem to the training council, but he didn’t have any real proof. Not yet.
Mad Jon began explaining the rules, flashing a stern look at the nearly tardy Justan. The number of points received in the ranged weapons test was determined by a mark system. Each target was painted with three consecutively smaller rings. The outermost ring was worth one mark; the next ring worth two, and the small circle in the center was worth three marks. There were six rounds of shooting and their five best shots would count, making a possible fifteen marks.
The results for each round would be posted on a large board hung near the spectator’s gallery. Only those trainees who scored fourteen or fifteen marks would receive the full five test points.
Justan was the first trainee in his group to shoot. He walked to his assigned target and took up the bow that was provided. The school used a standard issue bow for all training throughout the year, so he was familiar with its feel.
The crowd was lined up behind the archers, cheering for their favorites. The story of what had happened to him in the stamina test the day before must have spread through the spectators. The section behind Justan was particularly loud.
Justan fit an arrow to his bow and pulled back. He concentrated on the target and pushed everything else aside, the sounds of the crowd, the other archers; he let all of it blur. It was as if the natural order of things, all of the little factors that he used to worry about, were relayed to his subconscious. As he let go, Justan knew that the arrow would fly true. And it did. The arrow struck quivering in the center of the target. Justan raised his bow in the air and shouted with glee.
The world crashed back in on him in the form of the crowd’s roar. The sound was nearly deafening. Justan looked back in surprise. When it came to the spectators, he was used to disappointed silence. It was a nice change.
On his next turn, he was able to reproduce the same focus and struck the center again. His third shot was just as successful and the crowd around his shooting spot had grown even bigger. The other trainees in his group looked back at him with irritation.
Elated, Justan walked back with the other trainees to await his next turn. He couldn’t believe it. Nine marks in three shots. If he kept this up, he could earn five points in this event. The only test he had ever received five points in was the strategy exam.
“Hey Justan.”
He turned to see Kenn Dollie smirking petulantly, his wiry arms folded in front of his chest.
“What are you doing here, Kenn?”
Kenn knew that he wasn’t supposed to mingle with the other trainees during the archery test. Kenn specialized in throwing daggers. Thrown weapons specialists didn't test until later in the day.
“I hear you barely made it in today,” Kenn said with a sneer. “Wild night?”
“Go away, Kenn.”
“So that wild lady been teaching you to shoot?”
Justan sighed.
“Yes, Kenn, as a matter of fact she has.” He pointed Ma’am out in the crowd. “Why don’t you go ask her for a lesson?”
“Ooh, yes. I like 'em wild! You think she’d go for me?” Kenn licked his lips. “I could show her a thing or two.”
Justan laughed out loud at the idea. “Sure, I think she would go for you, Kenn. In fact, why don’t you walk over to her and put it just that way? She likes the dirty talk,” he jeered, trying to keep a straight face.
Kenn variable him with an evil glare and said in a voice that sent a chill down Justan’s spine, “Maybe she won’t have a choice.” He slinked into the crowd.
Justan had to force himself not to chase the man down and throttle him. He knew that Kenn wouldn't dare try anything. He was too afraid of Ma'am. Besides, she could take care of herself. Still, Justan could not get rid of the sinking feeling that Kenn’s remark had left in his chest.
As he arrived in place to take his fourth shot, Justan was still fuming. He turned to glance at Ma’am and saw Kenn in the crowd, standing near her. The skinny man smiled and made an obscene gesture. Justan knew that Kenn was just trying to break his concentration. He forced himself to calm down.
Justan raised his bow and tried to achieve the same level of focus he had earlier in the day. He trained his sight on the center of the target, but he was not able to get rid of the anger that was stuck like a dagger in his mind.
He let loose and the arrow flew wide of the mark, barely sticking into the outer edge of the target. A disappointed moan came from the crowd. Justan let the bow fall to his side, furious at Kenn, but even more furious at himself for letting Kenn’s comment get under his skin. Luckily, he was allowed to let the worst shot go, which meant that he still had a chance to receive the full five points in the test.
He had to get his emotions under control. Why did Kenn’s remark unnerve him so? Justan didn’t have to wonder long, for as he walked back to wait for his next shot, Kenn was standing at Ma’am’s shoulder, grinning from ear to ear.
Kenn motioned to her. The man was about six inches shorter than Ma’am and the crowd was so loud that she had to bend down a bit to hear what he said. Kenn, with that evil sneer of his, whispered in her ear. To Justan’s horror she smiled back at Kenn and leaned in close, as if to kiss him.
So quickly that Justan could barely see it, Ma'am threw an elbow into Kenn’s face, flattening his nose. Then while Kenn was still stunned from the unexpected attack, she planted one end of her staff firmly between his legs, shifted her feet, and launched Kenn out of the crowd. The greasy little man soared over the fence to land on his rear right in front of Mad Jon.
Mad Jon frowned down at the man. “Kenn Dollie? Get off the field. You’re not allowed out here until the final session.” Kenn groaned. One hand tried to stem the flow of blood pouring from his nose. “Do you hear me, Dollie?”
“It’s not my fault, Sir. It was that wild woman! She-“
“She?” Mad Jon asked, one eyebrow raised.
A wave of laughter rippled through the crowd. Ma’am turned back to watch the contest, her face beet red. Justan shot her a cheerful wave, but only received a glare in return. He had no idea what Kenn had said, but Justan was glad that he had never thought to make any advances on her himself.
Mad Jon escorted Kenn off of the field. The smaller man limped off, shooting glares at all the laughing spectators.
During his fifth shot, Justan was still chuckling inwardly and his focus again suffered. The arrow hit the line between th
e center and the inner ring, giving him two marks. Now his last shot had to be perfect to get full marks on the test.
As he waited for his final shot, Justan tried to calm himself. He had so much energy he was getting jitters. The wait seemed to go on forever.
When the time finally came, Justan’s hands were shaking. He fitted the arrow to the bow and closed his eyes. He tried to push everything away. The nervousness and tension went down with a struggle, but the noise of the crowd was pushing in on his consciousness. They were chanting his name. The noise pounded in his mind rhythmically. Justan embraced the noise and opened his eyes.
He raised his bow. The crowd hushed. He felt a wave of calm come over him. Justan could feel the spectators willing him to succeed. It seemed as if the target was just two feet in front of him. He released. The arrow buried itself deeply into the center of the target.
The crowd erupted.
Justan stood in stunned astonishment. What had just happened? How had he done that? Could he do it again?
He pushed the questions away. Five points for the day, an achievement he had never dared dream he would receive in the archery exam! He had to see Ma’am.
Justan scanned the crowd and his eyes caught someone else instead. It was the man in the white robe who always seemed to be studying him. The man’s dark eyes bored into Justan as if he could see into his soul.
Justan pushed his way through the spectators, determined to speak with this man and find out who he was. But the people crowded in shouting congratulations and wanting to shake his hand. It wasn’t long before Justan lost sight of the man.
Later that day, he met up with Ma’am to go over some last-minute preparation for the next day’s hand-to-hand combat test. She had a fearsome glare in her eyes. Evidently she was still angry over what had happened earlier with Kenn.
Justan was sure that she was taking some of her anger out on him during the training. At one point she had him in a particularly nasty choke hold and Justan squealed, “Ma’am, remember I got five points in the test today!”
She looked down at him with his face going blue and for a moment he saw her eyes soften. Ever so briefly he saw that beautiful smile curl her lips.
“Yes, Justan, you did well,” she said. Then she swept his feet out from under him, dropping Justan to the ground. “If that dradatchi had not accosted me, I would be in a good mood!”
Justan had no idea what a dradatchi was, but even though he lay in the dust, gasping for air, he started to laugh.
Chapter Eight
The man in the white robe was striking. The whiteness of the hair that hung heavy about his shoulders stood out in stark contrast to dark eyebrows and a black beard that was trimmed short and neat. He stood with hands clasped in front of him, holding onto his walking stick. He spoke calmly, but there was such confidence in his voice that each phrase sounded like a command.
The Battle Academy council members, led by Faldon the Fierce, looked down upon him from their raised dais. He could tell by the sternness of their facial expressions that they were not pleased with his arguments.
Faldon the Fierce was the first to voice his displeasure. “This was not our agreement, Ambassador. The boy shows great improvement. It looks like he will pass the tests easily this year. I am afraid that we will have to allow him entrance into the Academy.”
The man in white responded, “We understand the council’s position on this matter and we too are pleased to see the young man succeed. However it would be unfair to him if he were not allowed to reach his potential. His encounter with the Scralag is a great example of why he is so special. He was born with a rare gift, and I am sure that the council would not want to deny him that.”
Faldon bristled as the ambassador emphasized the word council. Before he could respond, Tad the Cunning stood and placed a calming hand on Faldon’s shoulder.
“Ambassador, the testing is not yet finished. We shall make our decision once the week is over.” There were several nods of agreement. Tad smiled. “Until then, enjoy yourself. Have a good time at the celebrations. Who knows, perhaps you will find someone else with potential.” Tad then gestured to the door.
With a slight bow, the man in the white robe turned and left. As soon as the heavy door shut behind the man, Faldon turned to the rest of the council.
“My son won’t agree to this. He scored a five in the archery test today. Five! He is finally reaching his dreams. We can’t give in to their requests. They may be powerful allies, but we can’t take this opportunity away from Justan. Not if he actually succeeds!”
Sabre Vlad the swordsmanship teacher spoke next. “Faldon, we know. We’ve all watched Justan grow since he was a boy. We won’t allow politics to interfere with the promises we made him.”
Another voice came from the back of the room. “Have you considered that the ambassador may be right?” The man who had spoken moved out from behind the tapestry where he had been concealed during the meeting. He walked before the council. “I beg your forgiveness for my stealth. I know that it was not my place to listen. I saw Ambassador Valtrek in the crowd watching Justan and followed him here.”
The council members looked down at the man in shock. The only one not surprised by his appearance was the leader of the Assassin School, Hugh the Shadow, who nodded at the man appreciatively.
Faldon the Fierce rose to his feet. “You’re right it’s not your place, Sir Hilt!”
“Once again, I did not intend to listen in on a private meeting,” Hilt said. “And I do apologize. However, since I have heard, I believe I have something of importance to add.”
Faldon seemed about to respond again, but Tad the Cunning gestured for Hilt to continue.
“I have been training with Justan for the last two weeks, and you are right about his desire to accomplish his goals. But you must also know that his dreams sell him short.
“I have seen much of his character and I know that there is more out there for Justan than simply being an academy graduate. For Justan to reach his full potential he needs to learn who he truly is. He will not do that by following the path he wants to travel. Unfortunately, I must leave tonight and I will not be able to watch him pass the final tests, as I know he will. But I owe him this much. I plead with you to do for Justan what is truly best for him.” Without another word, Hilt bowed and took his leave.
The council’s argument raged into the night.
The Training School's arena was located in the center of the training grounds. It was a large round field with seating for over five thousand spectators on terraced benches. In the center of the field were several rings marked in white stones where the trainees would compete in the hand-to-hand combat test.
The arena was rarely filled to capacity. Aside from testing week, it was mainly used for practice and occasional exhibitions. But on this day, not only was the arena filled, it was overflowing. More than a thousand spectators could not find seats and stood outside of the arena straining to hear what was going on.
The hand-to-hand combat test was a crowd favorite. In the stamina and ranged weapon tests the trainees only competed against themselves. In this test the stakes were higher. Each trainee faced off against an experienced academy student.
Justan sat in the section with the other trainees, shifting his feet and wiping his sweaty palms on the legs of his pants as he waited his turn. He hadn’t been looking forward to this test. After archery, hand-to-hand combat had always been his worst subject.
He tried to tell himself that he had done well enough in the first two tests. This one didn’t matter as much. He didn’t have to score very high. He could just do his best and that would be okay. But these thoughts didn’t sit well. He felt the weight of the eyes of many spectators resting upon him and he knew that they were expecting him to do something amazing.
Justan took a slow deep breath and focused on all that Ma’am had taught him in the past year. It wasn’t very likely that he would face anyone that was as good as she was. With that t
hought, he loosened up a little. Perhaps he wouldn’t do so badly after all. By the time it was his turn to step into the arena he felt much more confident about his chances.
When Justan heard his name announced, he stepped away from the other students and walked onto the arena floor. As he stepped into his assigned ring, the crowd applauded. Standing in the huge arena full of people, he felt small. He supposed that the crowds had been nearly as big in the other tests, but now it was different. They towered above him on the benches, chanting his name.
The judges called Justan’s opponent forward. He was an academy student named Jobar da Org. Justan didn’t know much about the man except that he hailed from Narlin, an oceanside country far to the south. By the way that Jobar carried himself, Justan could tell that he was a formidable opponent.
Eye of the Moonrat (The Bowl of Souls: Book One) Page 8