The Fallen Prophet (The Dark Prophecy Book 1)

by Cody Loewen

  He lunges forward, his sword extended in a diagonal chop at my neck. I block the strike squarely and almost drop my sword from the sting of the impact. Readjusting my hands, I step forward with a quick stab of my own that he promptly bats away like an insect. He answers with another diagonal strike, this one from the other side. I don’t try to block this one fully, fearing the power behind the blow, so I step inside the swing, locking my blade on his before he can generate any power. I can feel the strength in his arms as I fight to hold my position. A bead of sweat drips from my forehead, traveling down my face. He grins wickedly at me before whipping his head forward, his forehead connecting solidly above my nose. Pain blinds me and the blood flowing down my faces tells me that no magic is protecting me from attacks like that. I fall back, stumbling out of his range, and wipe the blood from my eyes.

  Frustrated, I lunge forward again, my sword leading in an overhead chop. I anticipate the block he must be preparing above his head, and pull my strike, swinging around low at his waist. He must have seen my fake coming because as soon as he started to raise his sword up, he was already bringing it back down to fend off my real attack. He parries my strike with crushing force, using the momentum of his swing to come fully around in another mighty chop. Off balance, I throw my sword above my head in desperation, stopping the blow, but it still drives me to my knees. With amazing strength, he brings his massive sword right back up into another chop, my arms giving out under the weight of the block, leaving me defenseless. The third chop comes down, my arms heavy at my sides, and I feel an explosion in my head, as if my skull had been cut cleanly in two. I lay curled up on the ground, my eyes squeezed tightly shut, for what feels like forever, before the pain fades away.

  The burly man stands over me, his sword already put away. He offers me a hand, which I gratefully accept, and he pulls me to my feet as if I weigh no more than a feather.

  “Good fight,” he remarks with a smile. I can see many of his teeth are broken and I wonder how many fights he has been in. I scoff at his comment, frustrated at the loss, but before I can respond, the elven instructor is back to coach us again. He talks to me about angles and leverage, which are important when fighting a bigger and stronger enemy. I listen intently, determined not to make the same mistake later. Once he finishes talking to my opponent, he retreats to the circle’s edge, and Ambrosius returns to the middle once again. He announces a break from sparring for a lesson on combat tactics.

  We close in around him as he describes different battle formations and strategies. As he talks, he draws diagrams in the dirt at his feet. I try to take in all of the details, but I quickly find myself overwhelmed with the intricacies of each formation and its movements.

  It is all too much, I think to myself, discouraged. I can’t remember all of this.

  “Now don’t worry, I know this is a lot of information to take in,” he says, as if reading my mind. I watch him scratch out his latest drawing with his boot before discarding the stick in his hand. “We will go over these many times during your training, and once you all have your partners, we will work on performing these maneuvers as a group.”

  I chuckle as I hear a collective sigh of relief all around the circle, realizing I was not alone in my worries. We are dismissed for lunch, where we eat the cold rations quickly, before being summoned back to the circle for more sparring matches. I fight and defeat two more opponents; an athletic elven boy wielding two short swords, and a human girl who fights with a sword and shield. After each fight, one of the instructors offers more advice for future fights, similar to the morning routine. After the two afternoon bouts, we move on to weapons training.

  “We have reached the last part of your combat training for the day,” Ambrosius explains, leading us through the woods. There is no trail outside of camp, but he seems to know exactly where he is going. He has probably spent his whole life in these woods. “Your routine for the first segment of your initiation will mimic what you did today. You will have two fights in the morning followed by battle tactics. After lunch you will fight two more rounds, and then you will work with a variety of weapons for the rest of the day, before a final test of physical strength and endurance, much like how we started the morning. As your skills and endurance begin to improve, we will begin to add more drills and training to improve your strength and endurance in battle.”

  He abruptly stops walking, and the group comes to a halt behind him. At first, I can’t figure out why we have just stopped in the middle of the woods, but my eyes settle on a wooden rack off to the side of the people in the front of the group. Looking closer, I see a line of bows propped up on the rack, still unstrung. Bowstrings hang over the top of the rack, and a barrel filled with hundreds of arrows sits beside it.

  “Today, you will work with a bow,” Ambrosius announces. “While all of your sparring will be done in melee combat, being able to strike from afar is crucial to victory in battle.”

  On his orders, we all grab a bow and string it as he instructs us on the movement. We select arrows from the barrel and take our spots in a single file line perpendicular to the path we were walking. We stand facing a line of targets I had not seen originally, one for each of us in line. The targets are shaped from tree trunks, roughly resembling the silhouette of a man. Where the target’s heart would be, a red circle has been painted, and I assume this is our true target. Behind the line of targets stands a wall made of stacked logs to catch stray arrows.

  “You will shoot each arrow on my mark,” Ambrosious orders, standing behind us, his instructors flanking him.

  “Ready!”

  I fit an arrow to my bowstring

  “Draw!”

  I lift the bow in my left hand, pulling back the arrow with my right. The weight of the string surprises me, and it takes much more strength than I anticipated to get the string back to my face. I line up the arrow with my target, aiming for the center of the wooden man, where his chest would be. My finger brushes my cheek as I inhale.

  “Fire!”

  I flick my fingers off the string, and my arrow shoots down, skipping off the ground several feet in front of the target before skittering off the wall behind. The soft plunk of arrows hitting wood fills my ears. The elves have all hit their targets. The twang of arrows missing their marks like mine come from the humans.

  The elves must all be taught how to shoot when they are young, I reason. Besides our hunters, no one in my village owned or knew how to shoot a bow, but the elven communities must be different.

  Ambrosius walks over to me, his instructors spreading out among the other initiates.

  “Use your back to pull the bowstring back, as well as your arms, and you will find it much easier to handle,” He explains to me kindly. I get the feeling he enjoys training the recruits. “Once you have pulled back your arrow, tighten your core to help hold it steady while you aim. When you have your target sighted and are ready to release, do not throw your fingers off of the strings. You will shift your aim and miss your target that way. Let your fingers relax, and the string will slide free of its own accord, keeping your aim true. And, initiate…don’t forget to breathe.”

  I nod at him in gratitude and run through the list he just gave to me in my head, determined to do better next shot. He returns to his spot behind the line, and we prepare our next arrow. I focus on using my whole body to pull back the string, and I don’t have to strain nearly as hard. The muscles in my stomach taut, I close one eye and stare at my target, awaiting the next command. When the time comes, I relax my fingers and exhale. The snap of the bowstring throws the arrow away from me. This time, my arrow thuds into the target, barely hitting the bottom corner, where a person’s hip would be. A surge of pride runs through me at my quick improvement, and I reach for a third arrow.

  Once the instructors have finished giving their advice, Ambrosius repeats his cadence, and the third round of arrows flies through the air. The sound of arrows hitting wood is far more consistent than it was in the first and se
cond volley, and I think again about how many of us had never held a bow before today. We repeat the sequence until ten volleys have been fired. After collecting our arrows, we return to the line, shooting another ten volleys. We repeat this process until I can barely pull the arrow back and my fingers ache from holding the string. By the time dinner is ready, I must have fired three hundred arrows, and I am hitting the painted circle eight times out of every ten volleys.

  We unstring the bows and make our way back to the clearing, where dinner is already being prepared. I remember Ambrosius mentioning another physical test, though, and I don’t let my mind think about the food too much, trying to prepare for whatever this next trial may be.

  “You will face one more physical test for the day before dinner, and your free time,” Ambrosius announces from the back of our group. “This time, unlike the run, your strength and agility will be put to the test, instead of your endurance. Follow me.”

  He leads us down another path out of the clearing, and I begin to wonder how they can even keep all of them straight, and where they all lead. Each one looks the same to me, and I am already getting turned around by all of them. I’m just glad that we are always told which one to take, rather than needing to know. A short way into the forest, another smaller clearing opens up before us, and I take in a huge wooden structure before me, and I realize what this new test is.

  The giant obstacle course looms huge in front of me, and I try to make out as many of the different parts of it as possible as we stand there. I can walls to climb, with all different manner of hand and footholds, and ropes and ramps, and hanging bars over large empty pits. Knowing the limitations that I have with my strength, I begin to worry about being forced to go hungry tonight as I did this morning, and dread settles in.

  “This is our strength and agility course that you will face every night,” Ambrosius declares. For now, there is no time limit on this, but each of you will face it, getting as far through it as you can. When you reach an obstacle that you cannot pass, you will be done for the night. I expect fast progress as your time here continues, and you should all be making it all the way through quickly. Before you are given your partners, each of you will be required to make it through in a specified time, and if you aren’t able, you will be asked to leave the training grounds.”

  He leads us around the huge structure to a ladder that leads up it, and what I assume is the beginning of the course. He begins ushering trainees up the ladder one at a time, allowing enough time in between each one for adequate space to move through the course. Eventually, it is my turn, and I quickly scale the wooden ladder, and stand at a platform fifteen feet off the ground. Bars of smooth wood have been set into the structure over my head, and I see an empty hold leading back to the ground in front of me. I grab the first wooden bar, gripping hard to not slip off of the slick material, and swing myself over the hole, and grab onto the second bar in the line. I take time to steady myself, scared to fall down on the very first obstacle, before swinging out for the third bar. I begin to get the hang of the movement, and I move much quicker, covering the distance and reaching the other end of the hole.

  A rope greets me on the other end, which I take hold of, and slide down into the interior of the structure. I am greeted by a metal beam on the ground at the base, spanning a wide expanse underneath me. When I take a closer look, I realize that the ground underneath isn’t so far away, but I still get nervous as I tentatively step up onto the beam. I walk carefully, placing one foot in front of the other as I move across the canyon, and breathe a sigh of relief when I stand on the ground again. I face a vertical wall before me, close to twenty feet high, with small, rough handholds that I am able to climb with a little effort, and quickly reach the top. I am breathing hard again when I stand at the top of the wall, and my arms are starting to feel tingly and heavy, and I wonder how many more obstacles are located in this course.

  I walk across the flat path before me, and reach another rope, this one leading upwards, and I grab hold to begin to climb it. The rope is thick and strong, and I have no trouble gripping the rough material. The end of the line is loose, though, and there are no knots to help me on my way, and I begin struggling to pull myself upwards almost as soon as I start. I try to use my legs to help me along, but can’t seem to find a grip on the rope, and they slip, causing me to lose my grip with my hands, and I fall the few feet back to the ground where I started. I sigh in frustration, and grab onto the rope again, but have no luck the second time. I hear footsteps behind me, and I realize that the next person has caught up to me, and I try one more time to climb the rope. I grip tight, and pull with all the strength in my arms, propelling myself upwards, and I hang several feet off the ground before I once again slip and fall, letting out an angry yell as I do.

  I step off to the side, giving up, and allow the man waiting for me to go ahead. I watch as he grabs hold of the rope, and begins to slowly pull himself up, his legs hanging down below, and using just the strength in his arms to do the job. Before long, he disappears up out of view as he pulls himself over a wood shelf, and he moves onto the next obstacle. I stand there, unsure of what to do from here, and discouraged that I failed the second of the two physical tests we had been given for the day.

  “Follow me this way,” A voice speaks up from the darkness, and I jump from the unexpected noise. A shape steps out of the shadows, and I recognize one of the instructors. I give a nod and move to follow them back in the direction that he was standing. He opens a small hidden door, and motions for me to move through it, and I find myself walking down a steep ramp, leading all the way down to the base of the structure once more, and several of the other initiates.

  I don’t know if they finished the course, or if they had to stop somewhere in the middle like I did, but they all look as tired as I feel. As we wait there, more of the members of our group join us slowly, and I begin to see familiar faces. A look of defeat seems to be a common expression on the faces of those around me and I realize that almost everyone must have had to give up at some point in the structure. I take comfort in that, and think about what Ambrosius had said about not needing to complete it now, but making improvements as our time went on here.

  Eventually, Ambrosius appears once more, and I assume that that means that everyone has made it out of the obstacle course. Without a word, he leads us back down the path to the clearing, and we soon stand in front of the tables of food once more.

  After grabbing a plate piled high with food, I search the crowd for my friends. My eyes land on Caria’s laughing face, and I make my way towards her. Sitting on the ground next to her are Martin, Rayfe and a couple of others I don’t know.

  Rayfe offers me a lopsided grin as I approach. “So, how did your fights go today?” he asks cheerily before shoving a bite of meat into his mouth. I can tell that the others in the group have already started this conversation, and I am grateful to him for bringing me into the middle of it.

  “Mine all went well, except for my bout with you,” Martin replies, laughing. I notice that one of his eyes is bruised.

  “Sorry about that one,” Rayfe says, pointing up at his own eye and wincing in sympathy. “I had them double check that the protection spell extended down my swords to the pommels, and not just the blades for my next fight.”

  Martin smiles and shrugs. “I should have seen it coming. It is my own fault I wasn’t ready for it. I’ll make up for it next time if we get matched up again.”

  We all laugh at the threat. Caria declares that she won two of her fights, and I tell them about my loss to the huge man.

  “It sounds like you held him off for a while,” Rayfe offers. “I fought him a few times before your group got here. He is one of the best here. Definitely strong, that’s for sure. Very impressive, Lykara!” He shoots me a wink, and I feel my cheeks getting hot again. I am grateful when he shifts his attention away from me, not wanting him to see the blush on my face. As we sit in our circle, talking about the day, and what
we expect from tomorrow for a long time, I can’t help but think about how nice it is to just sit with friends, talking and joking, not thinking about anything wrong with the world, and keeping my mind distracted from the memories that seem to always find me when I am alone. Darkness invades the clearing and sleep beckons as our bodies finally surrender to exhaustion. We head off to our tents, hoping sleep will rejuvenate us for the rigors we will face again tomorrow. I just hope I am too tired to dream.

  Chapter 5

  The next several days pass by much like the first. I win more of the fights each day than I lose, and combat begins to feel comfortable. I find myself being able to catch fake strikes and learning to anticipate many moves ahead in the fights, setting my opponents up for the fall. I adjust my fighting style based on my opponent, and the advice from the instructors becomes much sparser. I have trained to strike in close with short daggers, bludgeon with heavy hammers, throw axes and pikes, deliver killing cuts with knives, and even use my hands and body as a weapon. But mostly, I have learned to appreciate my sword even more. My fingers are raw from pulling the string on my bow, but I find myself able to hit the center of the target more often than not now. All of the weapons training has been intense and exciting, but I am surprised at the affinity I feel for the set of throwing knives I picked up today. They seem to be an extension of my hands and hit their target every time. When the time comes for the real fight, a brace of those knives will go with me. I have even started remembering many of the maneuvers Ambrosius has been showing us for use in real battlefield situations.

  On the thirteenth day, we wrap up a morning of training with a lesson on diamond shaped wedges and the effectiveness of breaking a defensive line, before we are sent on our second six-mile run of the day through the forest to build our endurance to withstand the physical stresses of real combat. I no longer hurl up my guts after these runs, but they still wind me more than I would care to admit. I walk into the sparring field after lunch to find myself paired up with a man I have not fought yet. He is short, barely taller than I am, with close-cropped black hair and high chiseled cheekbones. He stands completely still, sizing me up as I approach the fighting circle. Examining his small frame, I guess that speed will be his chosen tactic, and mentally ready myself for the fight. While I have had some time to recover from our long run, my legs still feel a little heavy, and I hope that doesn’t hurt me during this fight. Ambrosius gives the order, and I draw my sword, my eyes never leaving my opponent. He returns my stare as he smoothly draws two long daggers with wickedly jagged blades from his belt. Once our blades have been enchanted, we nod to each other, our signal to begin the fight. I start circling to my right, sizing him up, looking for any apparent weakness.