Caldan slashed then parried as they maneuvered around each other, thrust following feint, each parry launching seamlessly into a counter.
Swords smashed into each other with bruising force, now periodically moving too quickly for the crowd to see, the dance intensifying with every step, with every strike.
Caldan’s breath came in gasps. His hands vibrated with the strikes, and sweat dripped down his face and body. He knew that Marlon was only getting started, his moves timed to perfection, the slight openings in his defense ignored in favor of strikes Caldan awkwardly managed to avoid just in time.
His feet slid backwards on the dirt, breathing in harsh gasps through his bone-dry mouth, skin burning with heat as the fight continued, unrelenting in its pace. He knew he must lose, and that knowledge galled him, although he knew there could have been no other outcome from the start.
By the ancestors, he was hot! His fever reached a new pitch with every passing moment as he strove to keep Marlon’s unwavering sword at bay. He couldn’t penetrate the unyielding defense. He knew he must finish this soon. Best to go out fighting than with a whimper. With four quick strikes that smacked against Marlon’s sword, he tried to force an opening, only to feel the tip of Marlon’s sword graze against his ribs with enough force to scrape off skin.
Caldan retreated and the crowd cheered. A slow trickle of blood slid down his torso, mixing with his sweat. Pain focused his awareness, and the next few attacks he parried neatly, managing to make his opponent skip back as his sword whistled past. Caldan shook his head to clear it. Vision blurring, his blood burned in his veins like molten metal.
Marlon took a step forward, his grin replaced by grim determination.
Both swords whirled through the air, slamming together with frightening force, Marlon desperate to hurt, Caldan desperate to stay whole. Both combatants danced around each other, some moves slow, others terrifyingly fast.
Caldan pivoted and twisted, body burning even more as he tried to evade the sword, which moved as if alive in Marlon’s expert hands. Knowing he couldn’t last much longer, something inside him stirred and he decided on one last gamble.
Shifting to an upper attitude, he lashed out, multiple cuts, feints and thrusts coming with blinding speed, the crowd stunned at the swiftness and strength of his attack. Marlon, pushed off balance for the first time, desperately parried the blows, barely avoiding being struck as Caldan’s sword slid past his arm. A shocked look passed fleetingly across Marlon’s face.
The crowd fell into astonished silence. The two swords wove a dance like they had never seen before, too fast for most of them to comprehend.
Caldan was frantic, though, strength fading fast, blood pounding in his ears, sweat running in rivers down his body. He launched another series of strikes. Each one Marlon parried neatly. Desperate, he attempted to tread down Marlon’s sword as it leaped at him. He punched through Marlon’s defense and his sword tip hammered home on his torso.
CRACK!
The breaking of his sword and the cracking of Marlon’s ribs echoed around the practice ground. His splintered blade slammed into Marlon’s side and penetrated to the hilt.
Shock gripped Caldan as he stared at what he had done. Marlon fell, a surprised look on his face as he slumped to the ground, blood seeping from the broken sword protruding from the wound.
Around them, the students stared in horror. With shaken expressions, some took a few steps forward, and then others rushed to Marlon’s side in a desperate attempt to staunch the flow of blood.
Caldan sank to his knees, his mind a mass of heat and disbelief, heart hammering. A wall of darkness swallowed his awareness and he knew no more.
Chapter Four
Something gray stood blurred in Caldan’s recovering consciousness. Blood throbbed in his head, and his body felt as heavy as stone. He forced himself to think, his mind to focus. Needles of pain stabbed his eyes, though the light was dim. His mouth tasted foul, and the air had an aroma of stale sweat and puke.
“Here, drink this,” someone said.
He accepted the cup held to his lips, sipping at a warm broth until he finished the bowl. Another was held to his lips, which he gulped at. Little by little, strength flowed back into his body and the pain in his head receded.
He was in a windowless stone room, furnished only by a stool next to the cot he lay on. On the stool were a damp rag and two empty wooden bowls. A candle burning in a nook provided the only light, and the air felt damp and thick. The blurry figure of a girl he didn’t recognize stood against one wall. He managed to lift a trembling hand to his face and rub aching eyes.
“What happened?” he tried to ask, but all that came out was a strangled croak.
“Shhh,” the girl said. “Don’t try to talk. They said you would be weak for a while and need to conserve your energy.”
She folded the damp rag and placed it on his forehead, where it offered cool relief to his throbbing brow. Caldan tried to clasp her hand to thank her, but his grip slipped off. His arm felt leaden, and try as he might, he couldn’t lift it again.
“I need to inform them you’re conscious,” she said, then left in a hurry.
Caldan heard a lock click and the thud of a bar dropping in place before he drifted off again.
When he woke again, the pain in his head had subsided and his body felt much lighter, as if whatever sickness had befallen him before had completely vanished. Gingerly, he levered himself to a sitting position and looked around. The room was the same as before, except the two previously empty bowls were now full. He reached for one and took a mouthful of cold broth.
Visions of Marlon and the blood rose unbidden. His sword embedded in Marlon’s chest. What had happened? He had never seen one of those swords break, and he hadn’t struck that hard, had he? He struggled to recall the fight, but the memory had split into pieces of a puzzle he couldn’t put back together.
By the ancestors, what had he done? Was Marlon alive? Would Jemma forgive him? What would his punishment be? Questions, doubt and self-recrimination went around his mind, but he had no answers. His head swam, and he lay back down and fell into a dreamless sleep.
Caldan woke, and this time he sat up with no effort at all. The candle had burned to a nub. He breathed deeply of the stuffy, thick air.
There was no telling what would happen to him now. Maybe the masters would decide he had tried to kill Marlon, or perhaps they thought it was an accident, though that seemed unlikely. His eyes watered as sorrow for Jemma threatened to overwhelm him. He found it difficult to control himself, to put his feelings aside and concentrate on the predicament he was in, but he had to pull himself together for his own sake. And he needed to see Jemma, to beg her forgiveness and explain he hadn’t meant to hurt her brother.
Swinging off the cot, he stood on unsteady legs. He took another look around the room, noting for the first time the door had a handle but no latch on this side. He grabbed the handle and pulled, but the door didn’t budge. Locked in. It didn’t look good for him. He staggered back to the bed and collapsed, one arm covering his eyes as he tried to gather his thoughts.
He heard the door click and a figure slipped in.
“Sit down, Caldan,” said Master Delife, holding up a palm to forestall any response. “You’re in a predicament here. I can say that in all my years as a master, and in my time as an initiate and brother, never has anything like this happened. The decision on what action to take was hotly debated and hard to reach agreement on, but we managed to steer the discussion in the direction we wanted. Despite the problems this will cause, it may be fortuitous for us, and for you.” He paused to catch a breath and let his words sink in.
“Master, I…” began Caldan.
“Please,” Delife interrupted with a shake of his head. “Many have spoken for you, and many against your actions. I have been sent to give you the masters’ judgment, which, to be honest, isn’t too different to what you were going to do anyway.” He moved the stool and sat down,
using the wall as a backrest. Caldan could now see the master’s eyes were red with dark circles around them.
“There are a few facts of which you are unaware. Firstly, you have lain unconscious here for nearly two days,” said the master to Caldan’s amazement.
“But… what’s wrong with me?”
“Quite simply, we do not know. While you were unconscious, the physicians performed a few tests, but… they could not come up with a cause.” He rubbed his eyes with weariness. “Second, and most importantly, Marlon is still alive.”
Caldan breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Though he hated Marlon, he didn’t deserve what happened.
“Don’t be too thankful. He’s in a great deal of pain and will need a long time to recuperate after such an injury. It took all our skill, both with physiking and sorcery, to bring him back from the precipice. He was lucky. Saving Marlon took all night, and we still have not recovered.”
“Two days,” Caldan repeated. “I can’t believe it.”
“We don’t know why you were unconscious for so long, or for that matter what caused you to black out. It was one of the reasons they debated so long over what to do.”
“Two days,” Caldan repeated, shaking his head. “But I feel fine now. A bit weak but—”
“Be that as it may, there was a reason for your blackout, though we do not know what it is yet.” Master Delife hesitated. “Your belongings have been packed with all due care, but I need to ask you something.” He produced a leather pouch and dangled it in front of him. Caldan recognized it as his own, which contained the drug and herb mixture he had been taking. “Do you recognize this? It was found with your belongings.”
“Yes, of course. It’s mine. I have been having some aches and pains. It’s not illegal.”
Master Delife gave him a disapproving look. “And are you qualified to dose yourself? To know when enough is enough? Some of these things have side effects. Be truthful with me, Caldan, how much were you taking and how often?”
“Not much, honestly. I have been getting aches and pains everywhere, and they feel like they are down to the bone. I needed something to dull them sometimes so that I could sleep.”
Delife’s deep brown eyes appraised him, and he clasped his hands together, obviously considering his response. “You should have asked for help, not decided to self medicate with who knows what concoction.”
“I know. I’m sorry. With everything that has been done for me here, I feel terrible about what’s happened. I know Marlon and I don’t see eye to eye. Everyone knows it. We have not made any secret of the fact. But this… I would never want to harm him.” He thought of Jemma and how she must feel about him now. What he had done to Marlon was unforgivable; she would hate him. “I am grateful things didn’t turn out worse than they have. Truly grateful. You have to know, I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
“For all intents and purposes, an almost lethal duel with weapons. Where the duel escalated out of control, and one of the… participants… was severely injured. It is hard to believe that happened by accident.”
“It… I don’t know how that happened. There must have been a flaw in the wood, a crack or…”
“Enough,” interrupted Delife. “You left us with a difficult issue to resolve. We cannot condone such behavior, and the fact that someone was seriously injured makes it much worse. Marlon’s family is important, both to this monastery and to the island as a whole. The damage to our reputation will be severe.” He stopped and turned to Caldan, drawing his shoulders back and taking a deep breath. His manner became formal, and he looked Caldan in the eye. “Believe me when I say this might be for the best, despite the circumstances. I am afraid we have no choice, and we cannot wait further. You have no place here with us anymore. As soon as you are well enough, you will be escorted to the docks, where you will take passage on the first ship leaving to Anasoma. Unfortunately, we had to take back the references we previously offered you.”
Blood drained from Caldan’s face. His mouth opened but no words came out. He slumped and his head lowered, hiding his face from Delife.
“Please,” he managed to croak, throat tight. “This place has been my life. You saved me from a life as a homeless orphan on the streets, where… who knows how long I would have lasted? I owe you and the monastery a debt that cannot be repaid. Please… give me a chance to make things up to you, to everyone. I know what I have done is unforgivable, but it was an accident.”
Master Delife remained unmoved. “We know you were going to leave us in a few weeks, but the reality of the situation is we cannot let you go unpunished. Surely you see that? We depend on a good many outside people to be able to continue our work, and we cannot justify risking our relationship with them for… to put it bluntly, an orphan with no influential family or connections, no matter how talented they are. There can be no compromise when it comes to protecting our welfare and the continued prosperity of the monastery. And really, we are just bringing forward the day you leave by a few weeks. Count yourself lucky there wasn’t any more substantial punishment. I know you understand.”
Caldan didn’t move, except to clench his hands into fists. They had been so good to him, the masters, the monastery, and they were only looking to their own survival. After all they had done for him, he should be grateful. Then why did he feel like someone had punched him in the stomach?
“I… I do understand.” One hand moved to his face to brush under his eye. “You’ve all been good to me and I wish things had worked out differently. I’m sorry.”
“I too wish the situation was different.” Master Delife looked around the room, checking no one else was there, although it was impossible for someone to be hiding. “Here, take this.” He handed Caldan a leather purse half full with ducats. “You’ll be allowed to take your belongings, but I didn’t see many coins among them.” He smiled faintly. “You’ll need something to give you a start. It’s not much, but it will help. It’s enough to set you up with accommodation for a few days, and to buy a few essentials, if you are thrifty. From then on you’ll have to make other arrangements.”
“Thank you.” Caldan’s hands unconsciously squeezed the purse. “Thank you for this kindness. I owe so much, and I am ashamed this is how I have repaid everyone… I don’t know how it happened.”
“Be that as it may, it did happen and we must face the consequences. Facing what life throws up makes us mature. It may not be fair, but it’s what shapes us. You have much potential, Caldan. It may be you are meant for greater things than we can provide here.”
Caldan stayed silent.
Delife regarded him for a few moments. “You’ve not had much time to absorb what we spoke about the other day, about your parents. But when you do, your thoughts will naturally turn to questions. Questions you will think need answers. I would caution you to be careful, very careful. Your mother seeking answers is probably what led to the fire, and revenge… well… nothing good can come of it.”
“I don’t know what I’ll do. It’s all too much at the moment.”
Delife nodded sympathetically. “I don’t envy you your problems, Caldan. There was a time when I thought, perhaps naively, that you would join our Order. But the past catches up with all of us. A word of advice: if you plan on finding out about your family, your best option is to trace the origins of your trinket. Such valuable items are usually kept under tight control by those that can afford them. I would imagine records of all trinkets exist; it’s just a matter of ferreting them out.”
With a shake of his head, Caldan looked around the room. “Where are my rings? My belongings…”
“Don’t worry, I made sure we were the ones to clear out your room. The trinket is safe, but find a way to secure it to your person as soon as possible.”
Caldan nodded and Delife turned to the door and opened it. A burly guard entered carrying two sacks filled to bursting, deposited them on the floor then left. Caldan’s possessions.
“Look out for a guard ea
rly tomorrow morning, before the cock crows. You’ll be off the island soon after sunrise. Good luck. It is a hard world out there.” With one last look over his shoulder, Delife left Caldan alone.
Caldan thought he would have a few months to organize his life, whether he wanted to stay on the island or not. Only recently that had dwindled to a mere few weeks, and now… it seemed he would be departing any day. The thought of leaving the monastery was devastating. His friends, the place he belonged, all gone.
Jemma would hate him now. She probably couldn’t stand the sight of him. He had thought of her more and more these last few months. He tried not to build too much into their friendship, but lately she didn’t seem to be as out of reach to him as before. But it didn’t matter now. His hopes were shattered, burnt to ashes and spread on the wind.
For long moments he stared at his belongings. He gave a cursory look inside to make sure everything he owned was there, but his heart wasn’t in it, as it would have been if he were embarking on his own free will. His rings he slipped into his smallclothes and vowed to find a better place to secure them. They were the only things he had from his parents, and both were precious to him, whatever their intrinsic value was.
He felt if anything else were missing he didn’t care. He didn’t have much of value, and the monks wouldn’t steal anything.
He folded some of the clothes he had pulled out so they wouldn’t rumple too much, repacked them on top of the rest of his belongings and tied the sacks securely.
Caldan woke, sure he had been asleep for a few hours. Something had woken him, but what?
A knock sounded at the door.
A Crucible of Souls (Book One of the Sorcery Ascendant Sequence) Page 6