by Kris Hiatt
“I’m proud of you for walking away,” Emiah said to Wren as they walked. “It takes a man to walk away, even if it is from a boy.”
“Thank you,” Wren responded.
Treace knew he wasn’t supposed to hear that exchange. He smiled as he walked, though, for he heard the playful and insincere tone in her voice that Wren had clearly missed. She was mocking him and Wren didn’t even know it.
“You two boys look like great friends,” Exodin said sarcastically when Treace approached.
“Hardly,” Treace assured him. “He’s an ass.”
“You’ll want to be careful of that one, Treace. He is most certainly an ass, but every ass is connected to a head in some way or another. The head that ass is connected to is the constable, who just so happens to be his father and the law of this area and my boss.”
“What comes from the mouth of that ass is surely the same as what comes out of a real one.”
“Perhaps so, but he still has his father’s ear and you’d be wise to remember that,” Exodin said. Treace thought it was sound advice and hoped he would remember to listen to it.
“She is beautiful, I see why you fancy her,” Exodin said.
“What makes you think I fancy her?” Treace asked, knowing Exodin was right.
“I’m not blind, nor am I stupid,” Exodin said.
“Couldn’t tell from the way you fight,” Treace said.
“Don’t change the subject,” Exodin said. “Admit it.”
“Is there anyone you fancy?” Treace asked, trying again to change the subject.
“Yes, but that was a long time ago in a different place, before I came here,” Exodin said.
“Was she beautiful?” Treace asked, leading him on.
“Very,” Exodin said.
Treace could tell from the soft, yet slightly pained look on Exodin’s face that he was thinking of her at that moment. “What happened? Why aren’t you with her?”
“It didn’t end well. Now stop changing the subject. Admit you fancy her,” Exodin said, still wearing a slightly pained face even though he was trying to smile.
“Fine,” Treace relented. What could it hurt to tell Exodin? “I fancy her.”
“Good, now you can change the subject.”
“Okay then, let’s change the subject from a lovely lady that will probably not remember me tomorrow, and move to a better topic. Such as how will you feel when I knock the sword from your hand tonight?” Treace said playfully.
“You’ve been reading those children’s stories again, I think,” Exodin replied. “I thought you were beyond those by now, but if you believe you can beat me then you must believe in children’s tales.”
“You keep underestimating me and someday you’ll realize that sometimes children’s tales do come true.”
“Perhaps, but today they’ll be nothing more than children’s stories,” Exodin said and clapped him on the back.
“I should charge you for my services,” Treace said. “Your vocabulary and word usage has grown tenfold since we first met.”
“It’s a pity your sword skills have only grown a tenth of that,” Exodin said and burst out laughing.
“Perhaps if I had a better teacher,” Treace said.
Exodin looked like he wanted to say something, but Treace cut him off.
“As I said, that will be two pieces please,” Treace said holding out his hand as if he were waiting for payment.
Exodin slapped his hand and said, “If you manage to land a solid blow on me tonight I will gladly pay you ten times that amount!”
“Then what will be worse? You selling your horse and armor to pay off the debt, or losing to a fourteen year old in combat?”
“Okay, okay, I give,” Exodin managed to say through his laughter.
Treace laughed along with him. It was a game they had played after the first few weeks that Exodin started working with him. They bantered back and forth until the other simply didn’t have anything they could say to the other in return. Treace looked at it as verbal combat, and he always won. Exodin might be the better swordsman, but Treace was getting better every week and he doubted he would ever lose the verbal battle; there was too much ground for Exodin to make up.
Exodin worked with him two or three times a week. The schedule needed to be flexible due to the nature of Exodin’s job. As a guard for the constable, he could be dispatched out on patrols or work in the evening as a town guard. Their training was interrupted a few times from drunken brawls that had broken out down at the Fishermead, one of the three bars in Lake City.
“You’re wrong, you know.” Exodin stated a little while after the laughter subsided.
“Wrong about what?”
“That she won’t remember you tomorrow,” Exodin told him.
“How do you know that?”
“Like I said, I’m not blind, nor am I stupid, regardless of what your quick wit and tongue would say.”
Treace couldn’t think of anything to say. Did Exodin know something he didn’t? Emiah was several years older than he was and with the constable’s son. What would she see in him? He figured Exodin was just being nice and that he was being childish telling himself a beautiful young lady was at all interested in a fourteen year old boy.
“Come on, my young friend, let us see if your two swords are as effective as your tongue,” Exodin bade him, drawing him from his thoughts.
“Yes, let’s do. And we will see if your shield is as ineffective as yours.” Treace knew that was most certainly not true, but he enjoyed their banter, and he was glad to take his mind off of Emiah.
It was going to take a gargantuan effort on his part to get by Exodin’s defenses, but he wasn’t going to let him know that. Exodin had changed weapons from time to time, wanting Treace to fight against the various weapons so that he would know how to best defend against them and counter attack if need be. But Exodin’s go-to combination was a sword and shield.
“The only response to that you are going to get is from that very shield,” Exodin said as he picked his sword and shield up off the ground and walked to his starting position.
Treace didn’t say anything; there was nothing left to say with words, only actions. He walked over to what Treace now referred to as the training bag and pulled out his two wooden short swords. While he appreciated the sword Exodin had Mr. Lavare make for him, it wasn’t balanced very well. He had the sword hanging in his room. He had Mr. Lavare craft him two new training swords. Treace was with him when he made them so that he could ensure they were balanced perfectly. He wanted to make sure the new training swords would match real blades when and if he ever got them.
He walked opposite of Exodin, leery the whole way of his mentor rushing forward, trying to catch him off guard and ending the fight quickly. He had used such tactics three times before; only the first attempt worked. He didn’t need to worry about it this time, however, as Exodin placed his sword vertically in front of his shield and bowed to his opponent. Treace followed suit, still keeping an eye on Exodin. They both stood up and prepared themselves for what Treace thought would be quite a long battle.
Chapter 5
Drevic hurried through the halls of the College, hoping he wouldn’t be late. Archmagister Nimbril was the leader of their order and a fair man, but he disliked tardiness. He wanted to finalize the plans for this year’s entrance exams for the newest group of applicants. The Archmagister had reviewed the exams submitted by the masters for his approval. Once approved, he would pick up the original copies from the Archmagister, which is what he was on his way to do now. He would then take those to the group of young aspirants who would be tasked with making copies of each exam. He was a Seeker and therefore above having to scribe; that’s what the aspirants were for. He hoped to attain the rank of Adept within the next year. It occurred to him then that if he did become an adept then he would likely take a student from this next class as his apprentice in their second year. Once a student became an adept, they were required to
take an apprentice to hone their teaching skills. Once they became a Second Adept they could be called on to teach classes, after being approved by the magisters and the Archmagister, of course. But that was still some time from now, so he decided to concentrate on the task at hand.
As he approached the Archmagister’s office, he was glad not to see a serving tray resting on the table that was against the wall next to the door. That meant he had not yet taken his lunch and, more importantly, he was not late. He knocked loudly on the door twice, just as the Archmagister instructed. He was a brilliant man, but he surely had his quirks. Two knocks implied that you were summoned, one knock if you were not, and three knocks if your intrusion was of extreme importance.
“You may enter,” he heard the Archmagister say from behind the door.
Drevic opened the door to find the Archmagister standing only a few paces away holding a small stack of papers in his hand. The man was easily in his sixties with grey hair so light it was almost white. His white robe hung from his thin shoulders. As the highest ranking member of the College he was the only one allowed to don the white robes. The rest of the brothers could either wear a set of robes of the color of any Path they showed mastery of, or wear the beige robes with a sash the color of their current mastery indicating their rank. Nearly all preferred the latter.
The desk the Archmagister stood in front of was magnificently crafted with many intricate designs that wove together on the front of the desk and undoubtedly continued as such on the sides and back. There were many extravagant tapestries and golden baubles throughout the room. Drevic thought the Archmagister must have been doing an excellent job at soliciting donations.
“I have approved of these, Brother Drevic,” the Archmagister said, using the title that all members of the Onneron College referred to each other as, with the exception of the any of the Magisters and the Archmagister himself. To call one of them a brother was not acceptable. Nimbril’s face was soft, though virtually unreadable, as it usually was.
“I shall have my team start on them right away, Archmagister,” Drevic assured him as he took the papers.
“You have a month to complete them. I want them finished a month in advance of the exams,” the Archmagister said in tones that told Drevic he would not accept failure.
“Yes, sir, they will be complete,” Drevic said. He thought he was going to have roughly two months to complete the task, not just one. That meant the group of five aspirants would be writing nearly every night after they finished helping the initiates with any questions they may have. That would leave them with little time to study for their own classes. They weren’t going to enjoy it, but he knew they would dutifully comply.
Initiates were not always the best of learners and couldn’t be trusted to complete the task on time or with accuracy. Most would not complete Path of The Calm and would be asked to leave the College. Aspirants had completed Path of The Calm and demonstrated they had an understanding of the principles and edicts the Onneron Brotherhood based their existence upon. They would continue learning until either they accepted that the Path they were working on was too difficult for them, or they become one of the dreaded stone-faced trying to master it. Very few were forced to leave once they completed the Path of The Calm.
“You are dismissed,” Archmagister Nimbril said and waved his hand in a shooing motion to emphasize his point.
Drevic nodded and started out the door, but before he could go through it the Archmagister spoke again.
“Congratulations on achieving the rank of Magister by the way, I hadn’t heard,” Nimbril said dryly.
Drevic knew his mistake. He had referred to the group of Aspirants as his group, not the Archmagister’s group as he should have. In order to have control over a group of people, one had to be a Magister. Drevic was not. He turned and bowed low to his superior.
“Sir, I meant no disrespect and I apologize for inferring control over that which is yours.”
“I picked you for this project because, up until this point, you have been dutiful and responsible. I believe I may have been wrong in my assessment.”
“You are not, Archmagister,” Drevic assured and gave a slight bow.
“You will be the first to know if my belief changes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now be gone,” the Archmagister commanded.
Drevic happily complied. After closing the door softly behind him and taking a deep breath, he headed toward the library where he already had the team of aspirants assembled for the task. Where he had the Archmagister’s team of aspirants assembled, he corrected himself. He knew the Archmagister favored him, even if his previous tone indicated otherwise. He just figured he was a moody old man. Nimbril was kind most of the time, but every now and again the old man seemed to become very stern and firm with his responses.
At the heart of the College was a very large stone structure that housed the magisters and the Archmagister. The building was constructed over a ten year period, beginning not long after Archmagister Nimbril took over as head of the College more than twenty years ago, that was paid for by numerous donations from wealthy families. It was no secret that the College needed large donations to continue to operate. The Archmagister frequently sent select members of the Magister’s Board to wealthy families all around Onneron in an attempt to secure funding. The College contained well over a hundred brothers, the twelve magisters, and the Archmagister. The expenses were numerous and since the brothers had nothing tangible to export, donations were a necessary fact of life.
Drevic left the second story of the new building through the spiral stone staircase and moved into the first floor hall; he still referred to it as the new building even though the old buildings were now destroyed and turned into fields that the brothers helped local farmers with in exchange for food. The College now stood closer to the shore on the Gulf of Onneron and the city of Kilindric was north of it. The new fields where the old college once stood provided a natural cushion of land several hundred yards long, so it made the College stand that much more apart from the city.
He kept going straight down the corridor and decided it couldn’t hurt to take a peek at a few questions of the exams he carried. He knew the questions varied year by year so there were fewer chances a brother with questionable ethics could sell the answers to any of the entrance exams. He couldn’t remember if any of the questions he was looking at were on his exam, but he thought some of the new applicants were going to have a tough time of things with this particular exam. He looked up only briefly before he got to the walkway leading to the central courtyard and flower garden, so when he turned the corner he was still looking at the exams. He didn’t see the person in front of him and ran into them. He simply bounced off and, luckily for him, the stack of papers remained in his clutches. The person he ran into wasn’t so lucky and fell to the ground in a heap. Drevic’s eyes opened wide as he realized who he had knocked down. He no longer felt very lucky at all.
“Watch where you are going you imbecile!” Magister Brental said fiercely as he tried to scramble to his feet.
The two younger brothers, whom Drevic barely knew, behind him were startled and didn’t seem to be able to react. After the initial shock wore off they looked like they wanted to laugh, but, to their credit, they held their laughter at bay.
“I apologize as deeply as any before, magister” Drevic said and reached to help the magister to his feet.
“Remove your hand from my flesh or I will remove you from this College,” Brental said in venomous tones. He had paused in his efforts to stand as if it were Drevic that was holding him down instead of trying to help him up.
Drevic did as he was bade and bowed more deeply than he had before the Archmagister. The Archmagister was the leader of the College, but Brental was a fierce man with a very short temper and a long memory. Drevic was certain many bad things were going to come of this.
“Yes, Magister.”
“Brother Drevic,” Brental said thro
ugh clenched teeth, “If you were not so favored by Nimbril I would have you forcibly removed from this institution this very minute.”
Drevic didn’t doubt him in the least. Short temper, long memory. He did catch that the magister referred to the Archmagister by name instead of title. It wasn’t a very well-kept secret that Brental wanted that title for himself. Still, he thought it best to be as passive as possible, so he bowed low again, so as to be on the same level as the older but shorter man, and said, “Yes, Magister.”
“Get out of my way!” Brental snapped and pushed Drevic hard against the wall. He moved past quickly with the two younger brothers in tow.
One of them gave Drevic a wry smile as he went past, a clear indicator that he agreed with the magister’s sentiments. The other merely gave a soft smile and shrugged as if he thought it were at least a bit entertaining, but nothing more.
Drevic collected his thoughts and after ensuring he had all the exams within his grasp, continued on to the aspirants. What a day, he thought to himself. First I insult the Archmagister and then I bowl over the orneriest and possibly most influential magister on the Board. He continued on and arrived at his destination without further incident.
“Brothers,” he began, speaking to the group of five aspirants the Archmagister asked him to assemble for the task of scribing the copies. “We have a difficult task in front of us.”
“Bah, we have two months to produce what,” Brother Baros said. He paused and looked up as if he were looking for a specific thing to say. He found it rather quickly. “A few hundred copies? With the six of us, including you, Brother Drevic, we should have no problems.”
Drevic shook his head as soon as the younger brother started to speak. Brother Baros had joined the College two years after him, which, for Drevic, was six years ago. Drevic was twenty and Baros was eighteen years old. Drevic had attained the rank of Seeker six months earlier than most brothers. It wasn’t an unheard of feat, but mastering any Path in a few months shorter time period was looked at in a very positive manner. Brother Baros had mastered Path of The Calm in just twenty months; usually it took twenty-four.