by Ben Hale
Recoiling from what she’d done, she dropped to Grogith and tried to heal his wound, ashamed that her hands trembled. Although she knew it wasn’t real, the blood stained her hands and armor, and the gnome’s features were contorted in pain and anger. The wound knit from her magic but another bolt streaked into the camp, sinking into her side.
She grunted, as much in surprise as pain. Aside from minor scrapes and injuries, she’d never endured a real wound. But the crossbow bolt dug into her gut. She gasped as pain exploded from the site and reached to the bolt, but a single touch sent fire into her belly. She stared at it in horror before another bolt plunged into her chest.
She cried out as she went down. Shock bound her tongue as she grasped the bolt embedded in her heart. She wanted to scream and writhe but clenched her jaw, mentally screaming. Then a heavy footfall drew her gaze to a bandit raising a sword over her throat.
“Stupid mage,” he growled.
Alydian flinched—and appeared standing outside the camp with her companions. She reached to her wounds but they were absent, only a lingering ache to remind her of her death. She swallowed at the image of the sword descending toward her throat.
“Fifth patrol,” Commander Othan barked. “Pitiful attempt. Lieutenant Grogith issued no orders, and Alethean acted as if she’d never been in combat before. Ferin, decent swordplay, but you cannot stand against a dozen men on your own. Don’t be a fool. Toala, you should have used your banshee spell earlier to deafen them and stop them from communicating. And someone kill the sentries!”
The voice ended and the sounds of the forest returned. Grogith muttered something under his breath but Alydian stepped in front of him. The gnome snarled and looked up at her, unfazed by Alydian’s expression.
“You may not care about my life,” she snapped, “but we are a patrol, and I expect you to do your duty.”
The gnome scowled and folded his arms. “You expect me to lead you into a fake battle? I’d rather kill them myself.”
“That clearly worked,” Ferin said.
Grogith stabbed a long finger at him. “It would have worked if you had dealt with the sentry.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you don’t have magic,” he shot back. “Of course you would kill the sentry.”
Toala cried out as a sword plunged into her back. Alydian leapt to her but the bandits had been drawn to the sound of their argument, and they descended upon them in a fury. All four of them went down under a coordinated assault by the bandits. Alydian endured a second death before she returned to the before-battle position.
Grasping the absent wound, Alydian listened to the furious orders by Commander Othan. Grogith remained scornful but they were forced to prepare another assault. They attacked the bandit camp again and again. Sometimes one of them died, but every time the elven captives were killed. With each failure she found herself numbing to the combat, to seeing the foes as objects rather than agents, deserving of the death they’d earned.
After the ninth assault Alydian ground her teeth together, chafing that she could not use her other magics. They were all tired and sore, and Commander Othan had made it abundantly clear that three of the other four patrols had finished.
"Use your mind, gnome!" Othan snapped. "It's sharper than any blade!"
They stood outside the camp once again. Alydian held her side, where a sword had plunged into her stomach. The injury was gone, but the memory remained bright and painful. Grogith stared at them with a scowl on his face.
"How many times does Grogith get us killed before we can get a new lieutenant?" Ferin muttered.
"If you did what you were told," Grogith snarled, "you wouldn't need one."
They fell to bickering and Toala joined in, their voices blending into heated hisses. Alydian endured it for several minutes until she stepped between them.
"Quiet."
Her voice was soft, but the authority behind the word caused them all to fall silent. She fleetingly realized she'd used her oracle voice, but could not retreat now. Turning her back to Ferin and Toala, she faced the gnome.
"You are our lieutenant," she said. "Our lives are yours to disregard, but if you do not lead us we will not survive outside this Requiem. Will you rise to the mantle of your rank? Or carry our blood upon your soul until your own death?"
The gnome regarded her with an irritated expression, but she spotted a flicker of respect in his black eyes. The silence stretched between them and Alydian was grateful Ferin and Toala remained silent. Then abruptly the gnome huffed and turned to Toala.
"Silence your approach and then silence the sentry. Kill him quickly. Ferin, you watch Alethean's left flank while I watch her right. Alethean, cast a pair of stone entities and have them strike the far side of the camp. We strike at their backs when they rise to defend themselves."
"And the elves?"
"Cast an entrapment charm on them," Grogith said.
"On the captives?" Alydian asked. The entrapment charm was usually used to seal a foe in stone.
"You probably can't cast more than two or three at once," Grogith said. "Better to use it on the captives so the bandits can't harm them."
Condescension aside, it was a feasible plan, and Alydian raised an eyebrow to Ferin and Toala. The swordsman grunted and drew his sword, and Toala cast her muffling charm. Alydian grinned and cast her entities, summoning two golems from the ground.
They crept to the camp and waited until Toala sent a whisper to them. Then Alydian used her entities to strike the camp on the opposite side. As before, several leaped to the captives. Alydian darted out of the trees and reached to the earth beneath the elven girls. Dirt rose like jaws of a giant beast, closing around the elves and snapping shut, sealing them off from the bandits. The bandits cried out in dismay when they saw the elves disappear behind a wall of stone.
The entities charged the camp, accepting the first strikes while Alydian, Grogith, and Toala charged from behind. The battle was over quickly, and Alydian's pride at the victory warred with her nausea at her kills. When the last bandit had fallen, she broke the entrapment charm and let the earth fall back to the ground. Then the image froze and Commander Othan's voice came into the Requiem.
"Sloppy yet effective," he said. "Unfortunately, you are three minutes too slow, so you get to clean the barracks. Alethean, you are not excused simply because your family managed to let you sleep in your own bed."
"Yes, Commander," Alydian said.
She caught the tentative smiles from Ferin and Toala before her surroundings faded to the Requiem sphere. She may have performed poorly, but it was the first time she’d been in combat when fear did not bind her. The hollowness of the kills had gradually been replaced with resolve. Commander Othan couldn’t know it, but he’d forced Alydian to find her courage. As she exited the Requiem she sensed it deep within her, a slumbering beast that would never be caged again.
She’d never felt so powerful.
Chapter 14: Rise to Runeguard
Alydian cleaned the barracks late into the night before switching personas and returning to her quarters. Despite her fatigue, she slept with a smile on her face and woke eager for another attempt in the Requiem. The sentiment was matched by the other acolytes as they entered the training hall.
They were summarily tasked with defending a merchant vessel against pirates, a memory from a long dead Runeguard captain. The next day it was dealing with a group of thieves attempting to steal from a castle in western Griffin. By the end of the week they fought in their first war.
Alydian recognized a gradual progression to the training, and the human bandits were replaced by dwarves, skilled elves, and even rock trolls. Beasts were frequent adversaries, with moordraugs and reavers making occasional appearances.
Everyone died.
Everyone learned.
Commander Othan drove them relentlessly, forcing them to fight until the stench of sweat filled the Requiems. No effort was flawless, no tactic completed to p
erfection. Alydian found her willpower mounting daily, until her entrapment spell could capture more than just a pair of elven captives. Her willpower swelled with each battle, until she was forced to feign weakness lest they discover her.
Holan mastered a fire reaver, a huge beast of churning flames that rampaged across battlefields, rending foes with abandon. Alydian watched the display from afar, resisting the urge to surpass his entity and steal the accolades heaped upon him.
They charged into the right flank of the goblin–Griffin battle. Flanked by a pair of light entities armored in stone, she was followed by Grogith and Toala, while Ferin brought up the rear.
“Holan has become insufferable,” Ferin called, sweeping his sword across a goblin and ducking in the same fluid motion.
“He was always insufferable,” Toala said. “But you can’t deny his increased power.”
“He’s not the only one that’s grown,” Alydian said.
Toala grinned and pulled sound from the din, shaping it into several sparrows that she launched into the air. The sound entities flicked across the battlefield, striking goblin leaders in the throat, silencing them. As they choked and clawed in an attempt to issue orders, Toala sent a burst of echo charms into the goblin ranks, issuing her own orders and sowing confusion.
Grogith flicked his fingers into the air. Like spilling a cup of ink, he conjured anti-magic and solidified it into a trio of shackles. Then he barked to Alydian.
“Get them to the mages,” he growled. “And cut the chatter. This is our third attempt fighting this battle and I don’t want to have a fourth.”
Alydian caught the shackles as they fell and cast a speed charm. Her muscles swelled with magic and she surged forward, weaving between the goblins as they desperately sought to stop her. She passed through the maelstrom of battle and threw the shackles at a trio of mages leading the defense. The goblins cried out as the shackles clamped onto their wrists, extinguishing their magic in an instant. Grogith whipped the hand crossbow he’d crafted and took aim, sending three dark bolts into them, ending them for good. Alydian cast a strength charm and leapt thirty feet, escaping the ring of enraged goblins. Another leap brought her to her companions.
As the officers and mages perished, Holan’s fire reaver routed the remainder of the army. The memory froze with the goblins streaming out of sight and Commander Othan appeared. He strode among the slain, rebuking the dead acolytes and doling out praise to the victors. He reached Grogith and his eyes swept across them.
“Well done silencing their officers and mages,” he said.
Alydian shared a smile with Toala. It was the first time Commander Othan had shown a measure of confidence in them. Ferin grinned as well and flicked the blood from his sword before sheathing it. Grogith remained annoyed, and snorted as the commander departed.
“We could have done better.”
“Have you lost your wits?” Ferin asked with a laugh. “We suffered no significant injuries and we played a hand in the victory.”
“Alethean is holding back,” Grogith said.
Startled, Alydian turned to the gnome. “What makes you think that?”
Grogith grunted in response and strode away. Mystified, Ferin and Toala shrugged and followed him. Alydian remained in place and sent a thread of magic into the stone at her feet, feeling the earth all the way to the edge of the battlefield. She tugged . . . and the ground shuddered. The other acolytes paused but the memory was already changing, so no one saw Alydian’s smile.
The training had awakened something deep within her. Prior to becoming Alethean she could have conjured a few entities and a handful of stronger spells. Now the flow of magic was as comfortable as breathing, and she yearned to unleash her full power, to test her limits. She couldn’t imagine how Grogith knew, and she realized she needed to allow herself to be injured.
Apparently satisfied with their attempt, Commander Othan changed the memory to a new war, this time in the dwarven kingdom. The dark elf incursion was a tale often told to frighten children, and Alydian found the memory surpassed the tales.
In the depths of the earth the acolytes fought the clever dark elves, failing repeatedly. Grogith never mentioned his comment again, but Alydian spotted his gaze upon her, his black eyes inscrutable. Worried he might see through her persona, she allowed herself to be injured, even killed once. She endured Commander Othan’s disdain but couldn’t be certain she’d assuaged the gnome’s suspicions.
Battle to battle the acolytes fought, never lingering after a victory. Each week that passed the lowest acolytes were dismissed, tightening their ranks as they endured the endless study of war. Alydian relished the renewed confidence, but each passing day brought renewed conflicts. Patrons arrived at difficult times seeking to speak with her, forcing Devkin to utilize all his skill to keep visitors from discovering Alydian’s constant absence.
Several times her mother decided to visit the storeroom where Alydian was supposedly training. Alydian checked her future often, managing to forestall such visits by going to her mother first. Elenyr never spoke of what Alydian was doing, but her eyes sparkled with mischief whenever they were together. The rotation between personas left her breathless, but the chance of getting caught heightened her excitement. It had the opposite effect on Devkin, who seemed like he’d gained more grey in his scalp.
Throughout the training she thought often of the Soldier, and tried to imagine him as her adversary in the Requiem. But oddly she found the thought of killing him distasteful. He’d come to kill her, and deserved such an end. Yet she often found herself picturing him at her side, fighting as her companion.
She felt guilty imagining him as an ally, but whenever they fought rogue Verinai she gleaned insights from his attack upon her. She realized his strike had been highly specific. He may have slain the Verinai in her guard, but he’d spared the single mages and magicless. All of them. He wasn’t a killer without a conscience, for he had a creed, one he adhered to with absolute devotion. And she found a trickle of admiration tingeing her lingering anger.
The acolytes defeated the dark elves and moved on to apprehending a trio of Verinai bandits, all skilled in the very magics the acolytes employed. The trio proved to be the greatest challenge yet, but with Grogith they fared the best of all the acolyte patrols.
Sometimes they were paired with a different patrol of acolytes, other times they fought beside actual Runeguard soldiers. They fought with Verinai and magicless, single mages and even an occasional oracle. Then came the day they fought with someone Alydian knew.
Her mother.
It was a battle from Elenyr’s youth, when she was the youngest oracle on the council. Resplendent in white armor, Elenyr led a legion of Runeguard, Verinai, and Griffin soldiers to quell a rebellion in the southwestern province.
The rebellion leaders had hired mercenaries and pirates, drawing on enormous support. The Runeguard leading the charge shattered the line and victory seemed assured—until Elenyr was attacked. A small force of gnomes, humans, and mages burst from the trees where Elenyr stood, cutting through the Runeguard and charging the oracle.
Alydian sucked in her breath as the assassins closed the gap, fear spiking despite her knowledge that it was merely a memory. Screaming as they charged, the gnomes cast whips of anti-magic and the mages filled the hilltop with entities.
Sunlight swirled around Elenyr’s form, coalescing into giant wings. The very sun seemed to dim as the phoenix came to life, and every soldier on the battlefield stilled at the phoenix’s war cry. Then Elenyr launched herself skyward.
Wreathed in the form of a phoenix, Elenyr banked to the side and unleashed a stream of fire from her wings, bombarding the assassins, plunging them into an inferno. Apparently, the insurrection had banked heavily on killing Elenyr, and the moment Elenyr soared above them they surrendered.
The image froze and Commander Othan walked among the acolytes. “How would you describe this battle in a single word?”
“Awe,” Toa
la breathed.
“Power,” Erona exclaimed.
“Failure,” Othan barked.
The memory reverted to before the battle, and they now stood with the Runeguard surrounding Elenyr. This close, Alydian realized they were watching the battle rather than their ward, their confidence in the impending victory a weakness that the rebellion was quick to exploit.
“Pride has been the downfall of many,” Othan said as the memory passed over them. “And here you see the mighty Runeguard on the verge of losing an entire oracle bloodline because they did not think it could happen.”
From just feet away, Commander Othan watched Elenyr cast her phoenix charm, and up close the display was all the more impressive. Alydian could not keep the grin from her features.
“The oracles are the pinnacle of hope for all of us,” Commander Othan said, his voice soft as fire rained down upon them, passing through the acolyte forms to consume the earth around the assassins. “They can perform magic that dwarfs us all, yet they lack the pride we all seem to possess. We protect them because they can save us—not from death or misery—but from ourselves.
“We must protect them, shield them, and if necessary, give our very lives for them. This is the day you choose to acknowledge that however strong you get, you will never be stronger than an oracle. This is the day you accept your responsibility as a Runeguard.”
His voice had risen with passion, and Alydian swallowed against the knot of emotion. She had never taken thought for how much her guards were willing to give for her. Her mind was drawn to the Verinai that had perished in the Soldier’s attack on her caravan, and she suddenly saw the attack from their eyes, of their valor and sacrifice. Even the one who’d spoken with hatred to Devkin had stood between her wagon and the Defiant seeking to reach her.
As the memory came to an end it changed again, to a narrow valley with a castle on each end. Sources of magic ringed the walls and stood on pedestals on the floor, while the fortresses themselves held sources inside and out. The red castle was shorter but more fortified, and had thick walls behind a moat. The white castle was taller and boasted war machines on the upper battlements.