The officer smiled and closed the book; it looked heavy, requiring far more strength than any book should. “Very good,” he said. “Please come with me.” With his right hand, he rang a small bell that was placed safely beside a stack of documents. Soon another soldier ran in and took his place at the desk.
“This way.” He gestured to a large dark wood door. As they approached he snapped his fingers and the door opened. “Please.” He let her go first.
They entered a corridor and then took a few more turns before they entered a small room with nothing but a table and two chairs on opposite ends. “Please sit,” he said.
Narra sat on the side, further away from the door. The chairs were the same, yet she felt like that was the space for a recruit.
Without comment, the officer sat opposite of her. “Please, before we begin, state your name and any possible secondary or family name.”
“Narra Corin.”
“Corin?” he questioned. “I take it you are the daughter of Ceril Corin, is that right?” She nodded. “May you share with us where he is?”
Trying her best to keep a neutral expression, just like he, Narra replied, “Dead.”
“How did it come to be?”
“Killed during the still ongoing rebellion in Beria, where he forced me to go, to escape the local authorities.”
The officer smiled the first show of any emotion on his otherwise expressionless face. “Please elaborate.”
“There is not much to say, sir. He took all his belongings, me being one of his most treasured possessions, supplies, and money. In Beria, on the first day, he bought a store; it wasn’t expensive at all, both of us were surprised. We cleaned it and began selling magical potions and oils. You can imagine how that went.” Officer chuckled. “Then the rebellion began. I was attacked by one of the rebels, but a bystander, a Berian citizen, saved me. Still, Ceril attacked him, a young boy who came by the store once. He was forced by circumstances to participate in the rebellion, but he had no significant part to play, I am sure.
“While I tried to sway my father’s hand, explain to him that the man saved me, he attacked me. Only days before, he beat me and left me bloodied on the ground. In an act of self-defense, I drove a sword through his back.”
“You killed your father?” the officer exclaimed, surprised.
“Yes. He was an abusive man who beat me, berated me, wished to sell as a common harlot.”
With a shake of his head, the officer sighed. “I understand.” He looked at her. “What has influenced your decision to sign up for the army? Is there any underlying reason?”
“A man told me to live a story worth telling,” she said with a smile.
“Archon Parran’s Debates of Life,” he said. “Whoever told you this was a true scholar. It is a terrible tome of a thousand pages. May I know who it was?”
She sighed. “I spent some time in Natind after our escape from Beria. Worked in a tavern, and there I met prince Aelir. He was the one who told me.”
“It is hard to believe,” the officer admitted. “Yet if there is a person who has read and remembered what it had to say, it would be prince Aelir. I had the pleasure of meeting him when I visited the palace two years ago. The library is where he spends most of his days.”
He looked at her one more time. “Very well, let me go fill out the necessary documentation. I am happy to say that you have been approved for the selection process. It will begin once I return. Please make yourself comfortable.”
Narra nodded, and the officer left the room. Finally. She exhaled, her heart beating so fast. Still, she had to praise herself for keeping a straight face.
The officer soon replied, holding a stack of documents. Carefully he placed them on the table and sat down. “Now, all written down,” he said softly, “just needs your signature.” He handed Narra a paper and a quill. “Understand that by signing this document, you are entered into the selection process. If you fail, you cannot re-apply for anywhere from three months to four years.”
“I understand.” Giving it a quick read, she smiled, signed, and gave it to the officer.
With care, he put it into a folder and on it wrote her name in impeccable handwriting. “Now, let us begin. My name is Narem, I am a senior member of the imperial Inquisition, the regiment of Istra, and a member of the city council. From today I am your personal overseer. Do you have any questions?”
“No, sir!” she replied loudly.
“Good,” he said with just a hint of a smile, “first, I must ask you which path you wish to pursue. While I presume you generally understand the two branches of the imperial military sector, I will summarize them regardless to avoid any potential confusion.
“First there is general conscription into the armed forces of the Eternal Empire of Sesteria. There you would most likely become a part of a city guard, after which you’d either be listed in the military reserves or as a cardinal guard, a soldier who has duties in one of the four cardinal directions.
“Second is the imperial Inquisition. Leadership positions of third commander and higher are reserved solely for inquisitors. Unlike general armed forces, the use of advanced magics and a thorough understanding of ancient Sesterian is required. Do you wish to hear more, have any questions, or are you ready to make a decision?”
She sighed. “I had made my decision a long time ago. Inquisition.”
“If you fail, then it will be a year before you are allowed to re-apply. Do you understand?” She nodded.
Officer Narem looked down onto his papers, added a seal to one, scribbled on and signed others, and put them all into the folder with her name. Then began to rummage through the stack he carried in and finally found what he was looking for. “Here we are. Ordinarily, there is a set date for a test. After passing the test comes the individual assessment. The closest date is sadly two weeks from now as our last happened just yesterday. However, what I have here,” he showed her the piece of paper, “are your results from the city school. Your magic was graded high enough for me to issue an exception.
“You will undertake the person assessment right today after we finish our briefing here.”
“Thank you,” she said, with difficulty hiding a grin on her face. Even back then, in school, she kept saying that her hard work would pay off.
The inquisitor arranged the papers and turned to her one last time. “We shall go outside, and you will be given several tasks to ascertain your prowess in the most important types of magic. You are not allowed to retry, but there is no time limit. For as long as you can stay awake and genuinely attempt to succeed, you will be allowed to.” He smiled. “Let’s go.”
Back under the blue sky, caressed by the wind, Narra felt confident. With inquisitor Narem, they went outside to the training field behind the building.
Most of it was empty, only a few areas had a couple of soldiers training. She and Narem headed to a small square in the far back. Nothing but a carefully prepared square of dirt. The academy towered above them, providing much-needed shade. But in the distance clouds were coming, the night surely would be full of rain.
“Your first task,” said Narem. “It is quite simple. Show me your power. Imagine me an enemy and strike with all your strength.”
She eyed him but did not question the command given. A deep breath, in and out, focus on the sesterian words. The wind got colder, and around her hands appeared shards of ice. She pushed her hands forward and, at the inquisitor, flew bolts of frozen water, sharper than any sword.
They hit a barrier of fire. “Good,” he said loudly. “Definitely one of the more impressive attacks.”
“Thank you, sir!”
“Break through my barrier,” he said. “Do it, and you’ll succeed. The test will be over.”
With a chuckle, she looked him in the eyes. “That’s impossible,” she said under her breath. He heard and smiled, but said nothing.
Again. In and out. Focus. Attack. Still, the fire melted the water. Wherever she’d attack
from her icicles would be destroyed before they could hit him.
In those few hours that have passed, she got better, to the surprise of her and the inquisitor, she hoped at least. The sharp ice blades she attacked with were growing in size and strength, but still, they could not get through.
Narem just stood there, watching. “You can give up,” he said many times. “The assessment will not end then.” She considered the proposition, but no, she had to try, she couldn’t fail.
In the last attempt, as the sun was heading down from the sky, she attacked with fire, not with ice. Yet the attack also hit Narem’s barrier, which was now made of cold water, freezing into a flying block of ice blocking her attack.
Whichever element she’d throw at it, it would create its opposite, the one thing that can always destroy it.
By then, Narem barely paid any attention to her; at least that’s what Narra thought. There was an idea that passed through her. Deep breath. In and out, in and out. Focused on the words. Putting two of them together. Imagining it. An ice blade, not too long or sharp, and before it a spark of fire.
She felt her knees shake with weakness, but with her last drop of strength, she cast the spell. The barrier of ice stopped the small spark but allowed the icicle to pass. It hit the inquisitor’s shoulder and was reflected away in a spark of lightning.
Narem looked at her as she fell to her knees. “Good work. You’re the third one that managed to get through. Your recruitment regiment has some great potential.” He smiled. “Congratulations, recruit.”
Inere
Riding Delia proved to be almost natural for Oren. She was easy to maneuver on the paved imperial road. Still, he rode slowly, it has been a long time since he last sat on horseback; on the way, he met many travelers and wished not to ride into them.
Tristicia was still far away. Often he passed signposts telling him of a village or a town nearby, but with the money he had and the sword on his waist, he would rather not delay. From what he gathered from others on the road, he was still at least a week away from his destination.
So he decided to camp out in the woods for one night and the second in, preferably, a small village where people ask no questions. There he could buy supplies and allow Delia to rest in a stable.
With the night coming, he steered south into the woods. Quickly he set up camp, a little fire and all. After he decided to rest but he soon discovered that he just was not tired, at all. With all that’s happened, the uneventfulness of the road did not exhaust him at all.
So he sat beside the fire, watched its flame dance while eating bread. If only he had a book to read. Ordinarily, he would scoff at the idea, but with the smell of the woods and crackling of the fire, it just seemed as the most appropriate thing to do.
Slowly his eyes began to tire. There was almost no chance someone could find him. The Empire was vast, and he was far enough from the road.
When suddenly a sound came from the bushes behind him. He jumped up and touched the hilt of his sword, prepared to fight. At first, he thought it to be an animal running around or just the ground shaking for no reason at all. What he least expected was for a young girl to run out, freshly out of breath.
She stopped and looked at Oren. “Hi,” she whispered.
“Hello.” It was hard to see in the darkness, but the girl’s clothing seemed to be strange. Far too revealing for someone of her very youthful age. “What are you doing here?” he asked, concerned.
At first, she rolled her eyes, but as another sound came from the forest, she ran behind him, cowering in fear. Afraid Oren unsheathed his sword.
An old man walked from the bushes. His eyes locked with Oren’s. “Fuck,” he whispered under his beard. “Who are you?”
“None of your business,” Oren retorted. “What have you done to her?”
The man sighed. “Nothing. She’s my granddaughter, ran away after dinner. Look, we live in a village nearby.” He looked at her as she hid behind Oren, not with much success as she was taller than he. “Carrine, come home.” He made a step forward.
“Stop!” Oren shouted his sword at the ready. “I don’t believe you.” Feeling the girl holding him, trembling, clutching his sides with every word the man said, he knew it to all be a lie.
“Look, kid, just let me take the girl home and forget about this. I’ll make it worth your while,” he said and began rummaging through his pockets. “Sixty silvers, what do you say?”
Oren turned to the girl hiding behind him. “Why are you running from him? Did he harm you?” he asked. The girl nodded. Oren turned back to the man. “What is she to you?”
“My soon to be wife.” He shrugged. “Been enjoying a nice evening, but she ain’t cooperating.”
“Wife?” Oren eyed him. “How old is she?”
“Does it matter?”
“Last time I heard there were laws about that kind of stuff,” Oren retorted. Much was different in the Empire, but not even Beria was so low to allow old men to marry such young girls.
The man laughed, showing his rotten teeth. “The government has no business dictating who can marry who. My people and I hold values of liberty and freedom, they are more important than anything else. I’m free to marry her by the law of nature.”
“She’s free to run then, isn’t she?”
“Smartass,” he whispered under his breath. “Guess what? I am free to kill you, wear your skin as a suit, and marry her anyway.”
“Look, I don’t want to hurt you,” Oren said, lying. “Just leave.”
The man shook his head. “Not without her, she’s mine by right.” He shouted a word Oren’s not heard before, and a flame burst out in his hand, and without hesitation, he threw it at Oren.
With no time to move aside, he got ready to be hit, but the flame was stopped by a bright verdant shield. The man was almost as surprised as Oren but quickly threw yet another fireball and then another and another.
Realizing just what was happening, Oren smirked and stood there, inspecting his now glowing sword, mocking the man. “You done?” he asked when the fire stopped coming and readied his blade.
The man was out of breath, tired and exhausted. “You’ll pay for this,” he shouted before scurrying away.
Behind Oren, the girl, Carrine, sighed in relief. Before Oren could sheath his sword and talk to her, she began to cry. “Thank you,” she said.
“Come, let’s go near the fire.”
He offered his hand, and the girl grabbed it. Finally, he got a good look at her. Her skin was bronze, so much unlike his, but their hair had almost the same color - hazel brown.
As she sat down beside the fire, he saw just what she was wearing. A shirt far too big for her, torn and dirty. Her hands and legs covered in bruises and scars.
He sat beside her and smiled. “So, wanna tell me who that was?”
“Garen,” she replied. “What he said is true. I was to be his bride.”
With a confused gaze, Oren asked, “How is that even possible?”
“They’re a gang of sorts. Bribed the right people and killed others. I lived near Camirna, south of the city, brought me here a few months ago. Since then, I learned a lot about them. Not smart at all, but cunning. They know how to avoid inspection and move around a lot!”
“That’s terrible.” Oren shook his head. “I’m so sorry.”
She laughed. “You have nothing to be sorry for, so don’t be. If you weren’t here, I’d probably be in bed with that animal.” An inch closer, she moved to the fire. “You should run,” she added as her eyes noticed Delia. “They’ll be back.”
“I cannot abandon you,” he said. “Come morning, we both leave together.”
She smiled and lay down into the soft grass. “Thank you,” she whispered and fell asleep before Oren could reply.
On foot, they departed the forest at first sight of the sun rising. Oren had to wake Carrine from her blissful sleep. Delia was, to Oren’s dismay, unable to carry them both; he didn’t wish to harm her.
They were soon far away from the forest, but Carrine still turned every once a while to look behind her back, afraid of Garen and his retaliation.
“I don’t think he’s coming back,” said Oren, trying to calm her.
She shrugged. “I wasn’t cheap, he’ll want what he paid for. I’m sure.”
“We’ll be far gone before he can find us.”
“I hope so.”
With a quiet sigh, he looked at her. “How old are you?” he asked.
“Fifteen since a week or so ago,” she replied with a pained smile.
“From Tristicia, you’ll be able to travel home,” he said, ignoring her reply. “Delia, here will be yours.”
She laughed and shook her head. “Nothing waiting for me there. Not much love for orphans.”
“I know far too well. My parents threw me in there when I was little.”
With an understanding look, Carrine chuckled. “At least I found a kindred soul. What about you? Orphan traveling from where to Tristicia? No better way to pass the time than for you to tell me how you got here!”
“That is a very long story.” He laughed. “One, I’d rather not say on the road if you don’t mind.”
She waved her hand. “You’ll tell me later then.” Once again, she looked over her shoulder. “Guess they really may not becoming.”
“Told you.”
As time went on, Carrine became far more talkative. She kept asking him questions, most of them directed at his past in Beria. Once she ran out of things to ask, she began telling him jokes. Most were from Camirna, and so they passed right over his head. At the very least, it all made their journey a little bit more bearable. What made Oren happiest was that she was no longer glancing over her shoulder. Her eyes were fixated on him and the road ahead.
“So, where are you going to go after Tristicia? I doubt you’ll find your friend there.”
Oren coughed, his throat dry after such a long conversation. “I don’t know,” he replied. “Got a lot of things to figure out.” The sword on his waist still made his future uncertain, for he was sure someone would once come to claim it.
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