by Sam Ferguson
“Alright, Kathair,” the instructor called out, “I do hope you are half as skilled as you claim, otherwise this week is going to be cut short for you.”
The students in the circle laughed and jeered.
The instructor swung the bag around, moving to each third and fourth-year in the circle and letting them draw a weapon. When the bag was empty, he motioned for them all to put on their helmets. It was only then that Kyra realized all of the young men were wearing the padded leather armor which Apprentices of the Sword used for sparring practice underneath their oversized tunics. The young man in the middle, however, wore neither helmet nor armor. The instructor dropped the empty bag and pushed his way into the circle.
“A knight must learn that his word is his bond. We are not the barbarians of the North who live by mead and boasting. Every word we speak, we must be able to fulfill.”
“I meant what I said,” the boy asserted clearly.
The others in the circle laughed.
Kyra shook her head as she counted roughly thirty apprentices. If this was going to be a fight, it was going to be very short. She almost turned away, but the young man’s next words held her in place.
“I am Kathair Lepkin, born in the Northlands and raised by the elves of Tualdern, and I will beat each and every one of you.”
The others in the circle grew angry, spitting on the ground and shouting at him. The instructor moved in and whispered something into Kathair’s ear. The young boy pushed him away and held his waster at the ready.
“You are only a first-year, Kathair. Come now, have some sense,” the instructor implored.
The boy shook his head and pointed his waster at one of the others in the circle. “That boy insulted my mother, and for that I challenged him to a duel. It is only his cowardice that brings the others into this.”
A tall, wide-shouldered boy stepped into the middle of the circle. “You said that I was unfit to hold a sword, and that even if I had all of my friends with me, you would teach me a lesson. So I brought them.”
“Culliver is right,” the instructor said. “You boasted, declaring a direct challenge. That might be something you could get away with in the Northlands, but pride is not a trait we foster here, and today you shall be humbled.” The instructor walked to the edge of the circle. “The rules are simple, knock Kathair to the ground, or make him drop his waster, and do try to be gentle on him, lads.”
Those in the circle sniggered and laughed.
Kathair twirled his sword and jerked his head to the side. Even from the window, Kyra heard the popping joints in the boy’s neck.
“Are you ready?” the instructor asked.
Kathair bowed his head and held his sword out to the side. “After I have put you on your back, you will apologize for what you said.”
The boy the instructor had identified as Culliver stepped in closer. “I ain’t apologizing for nothing!”
Two boys rushed in from behind. Kathair jumped back through the air with the grace of a valley deer. His waster came down hard, connecting with the side of one of the boys’ heads and dropping the apprentice to the ground. The second apprentice swung his waster, but Kathair sailed over it effortlessly before chopping down on the apprentice’s right shoulder. The boy cried out and slumped to the right. Kathair landed on his feet and whirled around with a great swing, crashing into the apprentice’s ribs and sending him flying a couple of yards away to land on the ground.
Three more rushed in, yelling and calling Kathair the ‘son of a trout-sucker’ and a few other insults that Kyra didn’t quite understand. The wooden swords clacked and smacked, and within seconds two of the three were down on the ground, rolling slowly and moaning. The third took a straight thrust to the abdomen, followed by a kick to the groin and then a left handed punch that knocked him to his back.
None of them had scored a hit on Kathair.
Three more rushed in. Kathair charged them. A moment later he was in the air again, leaping over the apprentice in the middle and clearing him by a foot. Kathair sent his waster down as the dumbfounded apprentice looked up, catching him in the face and sending him crashing to the ground. The other two ended up hitting each other as they swung at Kathair. They each grunted and hobbled away, making easy targets for Kathair as he whirled first to the right, bowling the apprentice over by rushing into him and dropping his shoulder into the boy’s chest, and then spinning to the other apprentice with a savage chop that shattered the apprentice’s waster and swept the boy from his feet upon impact.
Two more stepped in, but this time they weren’t rushing. They circled around Kathair in opposite directions, trying to divide his attention.
“What’s the matter, Culliver, not man enough to do your own fighting, is that it?” Kathair taunted.
The apprentice behind Kathair moved in. Kathair instinctively threw his sword up over his back and stopped the incoming chop. The apprentice from the front rushed in. As the momentum from the rear attack caused his opponents waster to continue down to the earth, and the apprentice himself to collide with Kathair’s back, Kathair seized him from behind with his left hand, gripping the back of the boy’s neck and lifting himself up to stick his boot squarely into the oncoming apprentice’s face. Then Kathair reversed directions, planting his feet on the ground and crunching with his torso to pull and flip the other apprentice over his back. The flailing boy smacked into the one who was still advancing and both hit the ground.
Kathair moved toward Culliver then, beckoning with his left hand for the taller boy to come forward.
A mob of apprentices rushed in to protect their friend. Kathair moved like a ghost. He dodged thrusts and chops, letting them sail into his opponents instead as he ducked and whirled around his foes. With each and every strike, Kathair either deflected a blow meant for him, or dropped an apprentice. Within seconds there were twelve more boys lying on the ground.
“I’m coming for you, Culliver,” Kathair promised as he pointed at the tall, wide-shouldered boy. Seven more apprentices rushed toward Kathair. Kyra stood there astonished, for not only was he winning, but Kathair didn’t seem to slow or tire either. He ducked and spun under a heavy-handed chop, only to rise and pummel an apprentice with four savage blows to the chest. The next took a hit to the side of the head, sending him into a forced cart-wheel before he collapsed on the grass. The third blocked two of Kathair’s strikes, but then over-corrected when Kathair feinted at his face and then reversed the strike to sweep the apprentice’s legs out from under him. A fourth took a savage kick to the jaw followed by a driving thrust in the stomach that sent him to the ground in a heap. The fifth and sixth went down under the force of one swing when Kathair’s sword drove their heads together. The seventh apprentice wisely threw his sword to the ground and held his hands up while taking a knee.
“I yield!” the boy shouted.
Kathair turned to regard Culliver. “You’re next,” Kathair said dryly.
“Kathair, that’s enough!” the instructor called out. “That’s enough!”
The boy turned to the window once more and saw Kyra watching him. This time she saw the rage and strength in his reddened face. He didn’t smile at her. He just locked eyes with her and took a few quick breaths. Then he whirled around and threw his sword. The wooden training sword whirled end over end until the pommel smacked dead center into Culliver’s nose. Culliver emitted a strange sound half-way between a gasp and a cry for help. Even from the window Kyra could see the strings of blood stretching out from the boy’s face.
“Kathair!” the instructor shouted.
Kathair didn’t stop. He ran toward Culliver and pounced upon him, driving his fist into the boy’s head twice before grabbing him by the collar and shouting at him.
“Take the words back!” Kathair shouted.
The instructor was there in an instant, grappling Kathair and ripping him off of Culliver. That was a mistake. Kathair slipped his arms under the instructor’s and then reached up to grip the instr
uctor’s forearms as he pulled himself up and over the instructor’s shoulder. Kathair seized his instructor around the neck with his arms as he dropped to the ground behind the man, pulling the adult down and dropping them both to the ground.
Kyra watched wide-eyed from the window as Kathair walked away from the field. The instructor must have had the wind knocked out of him, for he rolled along on the ground gasping and clutching at his throat and chest. Kyra was almost certain she would never see the young boy again, for if she had needed to buy her way out of being expelled, she couldn’t imagine there being enough gold in the world to excuse what this young apprentice had just done.
*****
After lunch when Kyra went to the class Lady Priscilla had been teaching last week, she was surprised to see a tall, thin man with a long, gray beard sitting behind the desk. None of the other students were present in the class. It was just the two of them.
The old man narrowed his blue eyes on Kyra and studied her from head to toe without saying a word. He didn’t smile, but he wasn’t frowning or grimacing either. His expression was one of contemplation, as if he was trying to discern what kind of person she was. After a moment he motioned to the desk immediately opposite his and gestured for her to sit. Kyra went to the desk she was offered and set her book down on top, not breaking eye contact with the new instructor.
She couldn’t place it, but there was something familiar about the way this man looked, as if she had met him before. She tried to think of any place she might have seen him, but her mind couldn’t clearly recall any memory with him in it.
“My name is Cyrus, and I will be filling in for Lady Priscilla.”
The name sounded familiar as well. Where had she heard that name before?
“Are you ready to begin?” Cyrus asked.
Kyra looked around the room and then back to the teacher.
“What of the other students?”
“The headmaster thought it best if perhaps I were to take over your instruction. The other students have been reassigned to other instructors.”
Kyra leaned back in her chair and folded her arms.
“So I’m not allowed to have classmates. Am I so dangerous?”
Cyrus nodded his head. “It is not a permanent arrangement, but it is settled this way for the next several months. Lady Priscilla was pregnant, did you know that?”
Kyra’s mouth opened in horror. She quickly glanced to the floor, too ashamed to look at the man anymore.
“That is what I thought,” Cyrus noted. The old man rose from his chair, walked around the desk and came to sit in a student’s chair next to Kyra. “That is one of the reasons I am to be your instructor. You see, neither the headmaster nor I assumed you had any knowledge of Lady Priscilla’s condition, but in the future we would like you to maintain control over your abilities. You should know that Lady Priscilla is fine and it is expected that her child will be born in due time without any harm from the incident last week.”
Kyra nodded thankfully. “I had no idea.”
Cyrus offered a gentle smile and patted her on the back.
“So tell me Kyra, where did Lady Priscilla leave off in her last lesson that you attempted?”
Kyra reached down into her bag and pulled a brown leather journal out. She opened the first several pages, flipping through roughly a third of the book before finally coming to the page she was looking for.
“In class we were practicing lesser wards.”
Cyrus chuckled to himself, reached over with his long, bony fingers and flipped Kyra’s journal closed. Kyra startled and looked up to her new instructor with a questioning look.
“I think we both know you are a little beyond wards,” Cyrus said with a big grin. “The other reason I was chosen as your instructor is because I am simply the best wizard. Any fool can teach from a book, you shall learn from my experience, which I gained from the real world outside of stone walls. You have talent, Kyra, real talent. There is no use in holding you back to the lowest common denominator in the class. You should be allowed to progress freely, at your own pace.”
Cyrus rose to his feet and snapped his fingers. A flash of red and black smoke puffed in the air in front of Kyra and there hovered before her a leathery winged imp. The creature was only nine inches tall, but it looked menacing nevertheless. It had a long, wispy tail, hooked talons on its feet, and sharp, long claws on its hands. Though they were minute, a set of sharp, fearsome fangs protruded out from its mouth and looked as though they could do quite some damage despite their diminutive size.
“Today you learn defense against a real opponent,” Cyrus said. He pointed to the creature he had summoned. The imp watched Cyrus’ finger and let out a sharp growl. Cyrus then pointed to Kyra and the winged creature dove in for an attack.
Kyra ducked to her left, allowing the winged creature to sail past her. She jumped up to her feet and created a shield between her and the summoned creature. The imp snarled and dispelled the shield with a wave of its left hand. A moment later a large ball of lightning flew from the imp’s right hand directly for Kyra. Kyra raised a ward at the last moment and the magical ball of electricity splattered against it, hissing and popping as streaks of silver lightning shot out to the sides. Kyra answered the small imp with a single fireball that she summoned. The fire blasted the creature down from the air and it flopped onto a student’s desk several yards away.
The imp pushed up to its feet as tendrils of silver smoke gently rose from its leathery skin. It snarled ferociously and sent another barrage of attacks. Undaunted, Kyra sidestepped the spells while simultaneously casting wards to absorb their magic. Seeing that the fire had no effect on the creature, she moved for the opposite element. She summoned a sphere of water just over the imp’s head and then dropped the deluge upon him. The imp collapsed under the weight of the water, coming up choking and sputtering after the spell had passed. It leapt into the air again, ready to launch another spell. Kyra, growing tired of the creature’s resistance to magic, picked up her journal, ran three paces to close the distance between them and swatted the small creature from the air with as much strength as she could summon. The imp’s wing and left leg snapped upon impact and the creature was hurled against the wall. A streak of blood was left upon the wall as the creature fell to the floor, barely twitching anymore and certainly no longer a threat.
“That is not an approach I have seen before,” Cyrus said. “I would have preferred your solution to be a magical one. After all, this is a sorcery class. If all you want to do is bash things together and watch them break, you could join the Apprentices of the Sword and spend your days among the dull brutes that lumber over the land and hoard all the glory for themselves.”
“The creature you summoned was immune to my spells,” Kyra said. “I think there is something to be said for handling the situation with speed, even if the solution is not the most elegant.”
Cyrus smiled to himself and nodded briefly before returning to his desk. “I will admit, the ability to think on one’s feet is a virtue lacking among many apprentices and masters alike. So, for that I commend you. However, let me show you the proper way to dispense with an imp, or even a dozen of them.”
Cyrus muttered a few words not quite loud enough for Kyra to hear and then there appeared a box of yellow, transparent energy around the old wizard and his desk. A moment later a group of imps was summoned as well. Without delay the creatures began attacking, swarming around the wizard ferociously and diving in with magic and with their vicious teeth and claws. Cyrus quickly created a shell of energy around himself and deflected the imps, then he cast a great spell that rendered each of them immobile in an instant.
Like Kyra had done, Cyrus brought forth large spheres of water. They sloshed and splashed as they hovered in the air waiting for the wizard’s command. He sent each one at a separate imp, but he did not let the sphere break. Instead, each sphere of water swallowed their respective imp and then turned to a solid ball of ice. As soon as each creat
ure was encased in its frozen jail, Cyrus sent them all crashing to the floor. Frozen hunks of ice shattered across the stone floor, tearing the creatures apart and killing all of them.
The box of energy dissipated with a wave of his hand and then Cyrus cleared all of the mess from the room with a snap of his fingers.
“I don’t suppose Lady Priscilla has ever showed you something like that.”
Kyra shook her head. Cyrus winked and then moved to sit back at his desk.
“I’m not an instructor,” Cyrus said. “I am a wizard, but I do not answer to the title of Master. You may call me Cyrus. As long as you are my student, we will learn real magic. That means I expect you to spend most of your free time in the library or otherwise studying the applications that I will show you. You may practice magic, but only under my supervision, or far away from the school. I will not have you threatening the other students here or intimidating anyone, are we clear?”
Kyra nodded with a smile. This is exactly the kind of instruction she had hoped for.
“One more thing,” Cyrus added. His blue eyes locked with hers and his smile faded. He jabbed a finger toward her, shaking it gently for emphasis. “You will undoubtedly have questions. There are some questions that the instructors and administrators at Kuldiga Academy do not understand, nor do they wish to. Bring those questions to me. I promise to answer your questions truthfully and honestly, and in return I expect you to follow my advice.”
“I will, sir,” Kyra promised.
Cyrus wagged his finger from side to side. “You will call me Cyrus, not Sir.” He then pointed to her bag intently. “Do you have any questions regarding your reading material?”
Kyra’s heart skipped. Had Cyrus seen the books about dragons in her bag? Perhaps while she was fighting with the imp, the old wizard had seen one of the titles. No, these books were situated in the middle of her normal text books, there was no way he could have seen them. How could he have? Still, judging by the expression on his face, she had to wonder.