Minzkala

by Amy E Hix

  Pinky and Kelara both seemed lively. Pinky, also a Nome, believed in maintaining a merry disposition. Kelara was at his side to help him accomplish this, and to help her forget about her own concerns for the evening.

  The two of them were on their own mission—to entertain the warriors with the humorous stories they had collected from battles fought in the past. The barrels of laughter that fell on the far end of the table caused the King to look their way and smile throughout his own conversations. He knew they provided medicine for the soul and that when the time for a more serious mode came, these two members of the Court would be among the first to recognize it.

  Mabashi leaned forward to question Zaaid about Cenathor, “Any word on an old Conjuror by the name of Cenathor?”

  “Yes,” Zaaid replied, “He and his traveling partner, Archaos, were delayed in Vicete. We recently learned that the Digvi’ja are filling the southern skies of the forest with Cerapithalis look-outs. For this reason, we had them travel to Vamei instead, where they can enter through the Saola Mountains to the east. It will put them off course by a day or two, but we would rather them reach us safely than timely.”

  Although he seemed a little bummed that he wouldn’t be able to enjoy the evening with an old friend, Mabashi said he was glad to hear the reassurance that Cenathor would indeed be joining them. As he sat with his full belly, listening to the others talk, he started talking about his family.

  “Noguri would die to see the Unicorns. Sort of reminds me of myself when I was his age. I was always fascinated by the beasts in the legends and stories I was told as a child. And today, those stories have been brought to life.”

  We finally began to relax a little and learned a lot about the others around the table. Had we not just arrived from our journey, we might have been more talkative, at least, Mabashi would have been. But tonight, we were both beat.

  The seven Ancients that had come to the table with the King said very little about themselves. Instead, they smiled and listened, asking questions from time to time about our lives. Everything about them indicated they were as well-mannered and courteous as the royal families of Maralune.

  Out of all the warriors seated around the table, the two who stood out the most were Vamble, my friend from Jalathiel and a Blade Maven like Cyrow, and his partner Welkin, a Human Champion from Nebal. Both were coated in the soft blue glow that the Ancients wore.

  They had been hunted and killed by a Slicker in the forest, and like Zarathustria, brought back to life in Celestra. They wore the same hooded cloaks as the Court members now.

  A guardian of choice was given to each of them. A spirit animal to help protect them from the vanishing spells of the Digvi’jan Warlocks. A successful vanishing spell would mean the same as death out on the battlefield.

  Vamble chose his in the form of an iridescent white wolf named Jasi. Welkin’s guardian was a cobalt blue dragon; he said he called him Old Bleu. Looking at them, I couldn’t help but think of how I could have died if the Slicker’s tentacle had struck me lower in the chest.

  I studied the armor Vamble now wore. Fully plated, the sleek lines on the Blade Maven’s armor made them stand out amongst the other classes. Their helms fit the head with precision and would allow them lightweight coverage as they constantly checked the area around them to make another swing with the sword or another acrobatic leap in defense. The thin design of the suit wouldn’t prevent puncture wounds or bashing, but it was a step up from the leather worn in Maralune.

  “I hear you have three brothers, all coming here to fight for the Ancients,” the deepened voice of the man was directed at me.

  “Yes,” I answered him, unsure of what to say next, “I had hoped to be having this dinner with them,” I paused looking for the words to take the doom and gloom out of my response, “Just like always, beating me out to the battlefield.” I smiled at the face before me and asked, “You are?…”

  “Fouad, Demon Master. We, too, were faced up against a Slicker, just before dawn on our second day in the forest.”

  Fouad was shorter than most Humans, with gray hair that fell to about his shoulders and a beard. He was wearing black leather armor with highlights of deep purple throughout.

  His body gestures indicated that the Human Pyromancer sitting beside him was his traveling partner. She wore a robe given to her by Stheta, crimson red and laced with golden rope linings. She was from Rhalas and had lighter skin than the Humans from Nebal. Her hair was dirty blonde, short and curly.

  Fouad continued, “Without my submission ability, I don’t think we would have been able to make it out in such good condition. But…” he smiled, “because of it, that Slicker went out and caught a jackrabbit to roast up for our morning meal. Shelija just threw up a scorch spell and we were good to go,” he laughed and nudged Shelija, who shook her head and grinned, reminded of the event.

  Overhearing the conversation, Vamble, who had been sitting near Pinky, slid a hunk of roasted turkey onto his sword and held it across the table toward Shelija, “Well-done, please.” She lifted her hand and sent out a scorching flame, leaving it a crispy tenderloin. I laughed to think of the poor jackrabbit’s fate.

  Mabashi turned to look at me and seemed pleased that I had broken a smile. I had been so burdened by all that was on my mind on the way here, and I think Mabashi worried that I wouldn’t be able to get past those thoughts.

  By the end of the evening, we had met all the other warriors and had heard stories from most. Shelija’s brother, Mank, had been reassigned as a Cleric on his arrival. Mank’s hair was darker than his sister’s, and he wore it grown out a little, to show the natural curl. He had a full beard and moustache the same brownish-blonde color of his hair.

  He had traveled in with Valkryiex, a Skadowan bard from the village of Vamei. Valkryiex was the owner of the Pegasus we saw in the stables on our way in.

  Valkryiex told me she and Zarathustria had grown up together and were good friends simply because Vamei was a very small village and the Skadowans rarely traveled.

  It’s true the Skadowans had fought alongside the other races to secure the Agalago Harbor during the Battle of Zemylar, but mainly because it also helped to rid the Saola Mountains of the Hags that once ran rampant. The Skadowans never joined causes to the south.

  Valkryiex was different. She believed in coming to the aid of anyone in need, and the thought of traveling to do so was exciting. Plus, it gave her more to sing about, she said.

  The final two warriors there were Alusia and Vespa. Alusia was a Halfling from Ewiniar who originally entered the city of Minzkala as an Illusionist. Over the past two weeks, she had been trained to further her skills, becoming an Enchantress.

  She was now able to vanish from one area, teleporting to another within a few hundred yards. And before coming to Minzkala, Alusia could only take on another form’s appearance. With her skill enhancements, she could enter the bodies of existing hosts by slipping right into their skin, unnoticed. She could read their minds and was able to hear and see everything her host could.

  With enough focus, Alusia could also alter the host’s thinking, which allowed her to force the host to say and do things accordingly. But these changes had to be minor when the intelligence level of the host was higher to avoid being discovered.

  Alusia had been sitting next to Kelara. On one occasion, with Pinky’s taunting her, she had entered him and started asking questions in the most prudish tone, “Where is my pretty pink pony?…Have you seen my pretty pink pony?” This had even Zaaid rolling with laughter.

  Then there was Vespa. She was a Dwarf from Khala. Her hair was reddish-brown and braided. All the braids were pulled back together into a ponytail tonight. Her short, stocky build was like Mabashi’s, and she, too, was shorter than me.

  She took no shame in eating a Dwarven serving of food, and even picked up one of the turkey legs like a man. Her voice was deeper
than most females’ voices, and her laughter was a deep chuckle, from her belly.

  Vespa was a Spirit Healer, like Sigge and Raffe. She wore a dark green robe and carried a tall staff, which seemed enormous on her Dwarven back. She had silver strings with silver leaves braided into her hair, portraying the nature aspect of her skills.

  Vespa had chosen to sit right next to Mabashi and across from Mank. The Cleric and the Spirit Healer were discussing their abilities throughout dinner to try to figure out where their strengths and weaknesses lie should they ever need to help each other out.

  They figured out Mank was primarily a healer of major physical wounds, but Vespa could only heal light wounds. She could also heal the heart of ailments such as discouragement and doubt. Vespa would need to perform her work proactively, whereas Mank would have to wait until the warriors had been inflicted to do his job.

  The other major difference between them was the fact that Mank, fully armored up, could fight like a Champion if needed. Vespa, on the other hand, would stay back from hand to hand combat and work her magic using the realms of nature.

  “My friends,” The King began to address the whole table, “Thank you all for coming to Minzkala. I have enjoyed your company this evening and I look forward to many more with you all. Now, I must retire into my quarters and find rest. We will meet here at first light to discuss our plans.”

  We all stood with him to bid him goodnight. When he had gone from the pavilion, Zaaid continued with orders of good rest, telling us we had a full day coming. We would need to be ready. As we walked back to the Lord’s Chamber, Mabashi and I discussed some of the events of the evening. I didn’t even notice I had lost my limp until Mabashi made note of it.

  “Good to see you feeling a little better, inside and out.”

  I smiled in gratitude. “Thanks. See you in the morning.”

  Thirteen

  The Coterie

  Turk

  The city of Rhalas had been transformed into a massive training camp. All the rooms in the inns were occupied. Even the dormitory for the school was full of warriors, all the students sent away for an untimely break.

  Of course, I was able to find a nice loft since I had arrived three weeks before everyone else. It was near the Temple, which helped to keep me focused on practicing my Cleric skills. I needed it, too.

  Most of the other Clerics had already been healing people around Maralune. Small entourages of warriors would periodically come into the city’s gates, fresh wounds from an offensive attack on a Troll village or a Bandit hideout.

  Before the incident on my way to Minzkala, the last time I had to use my skills back on the island was when one of the miners suffered from asphyxiation after getting lost in one of the tunnels. Well, minus the occasional hook in the finger.

  I had cycled through the stages of training here. I was nervous at first and afraid to ask stupid questions. Then I got a little cocky, my ultimate character flaw, and made tons of mistakes for a few days solid. Thought they might kick me out during that time.

  But for the past week, I’ve been transitioning into a more relaxed, methodical approach to what I do. Last night, I felt on top of the world after saving a couple of men from dying.

  My trainer, Cian, was there the whole time. He had been a little frustrated with my work the first few days, I could tell. But he never said anything negative. When I made a mistake, he directed me on how to fix it like it was nothing, even though he and I both knew that all mistakes in healing have a potential life-threatening risk.

  Last night, Cian seemed very pleased. And when it was all over, he looked around the room and said, “Ladies and Gentlemen, I think we have ourselves a rising Cleric. Great job, Turk. I was informed about your skills before you arrived, and now, you have shown them to me firsthand.”

  Today I decided to take a break, on Cian’s advice. I slept in late, getting up right as the sun began to enter the window of the loft. Then I went down to the bakery and had coffee with one of the other Clerics.

  He was heading back to the Temple, so afterwards, I walked around the city. As I did, I noticed how the city had filled with warriors. I guess I should get out more often.

  Archers were in the courtyards practicing their shots with various arrows on training dummies. Down near the Mage’s Tower, Pyromancers lit up the skies with dazzling displays of fire spells, while the spells of the Illusionists added colorful sparkling bouquets nearby. Champions dueled one another in the arena near the Champion’s Hall.

  I walked into a huge courtyard just beyond the Champion’s Hall to find people setting up an event. There were tables throughout with placards and goblets placed on them. There was a globe hanging from the middle above the tables, and as one of the workers fiddled with one, I could see images of a battle scene in it.

  When the worker saw me staring, he began to explain it to me, “It’s a practice range. They call it the Coterie. Warriors use decision-making skills in order to accomplish their tasks. And it’s state of the art with holographs of the enemies in areas that resemble live battle scenes.

  “Sounds sweet,” I told him.

  “Oh, it is, all right. I think you guys are really going to like it.”

  “When’s all this set to happen?” I asked him, looking around the courtyard.

  “Tomorrow morning,” he answered, “You should be getting the information tonight.”

  “Nice, thanks, man,” I said.

  Knowing that I wouldn’t be back at the Temple that evening, I decided to stop by and touch base with Cian about the event. He gave me my orders and told me he would send word if they needed me to come in for anything else before then.

  The next morning, I went back to the courtyard at the designated time to find thousands of warriors gathered. I had no clue there would be this many of us.

  In the middle of the courtyard was a hedge of bushes that stood ten feet tall. I had completely missed the other side the day before. I walked around to find twice as many tables set out there as were on the first side.

  In the front of the yard was a balcony that stretched across the outer wall of the courtyard. A platform sat beneath it. There were rectangular tables on top of the balcony stretching out in both directions from a podium located in the center. It was high enough to see from anywhere in the courtyard.

  A trumpet blew and slowly the crowd began to grow quiet. A group of leaders appeared on the balcony. Captain Kellerson and Cian, along with all the other class leaders and a few more I didn’t recognize, made their way to the tables above us.

  Kellerson was a Dwarf and was the class leader of the Champions. After he gave a formal introduction of the Coterie, one I had heard the day before, we were told that the first team of warriors to be called would consist of one of the highest skilled members of each class. They would be the driving force for Rhalas once we left for the war with the Legion. These eight had been recommended by the leaders of the training groups.

  Listening to his description, I realized that I probably wouldn’t be called very soon. I wasn’t the best in my class by far. There was an older Cleric training with me who never seemed to have any problems with his healing. I was still feeling a little down on myself from not being chosen for Minzkala, despite the encouragement from my mother and King Naethan.

  The Captain continued to explain the event process, “The tables you see are strategy tables, which will allow each team a place for discussion before entering the Coterie. The class leaders up here with me will be judging your team on three areas—teamwork, completed objectives, and penalties. Penalties will come from anything we see you do that could have been done better.”

  Captain Kellerson shifted the papers on the podium. Everyone seemed anxious to know their team assignments. I could hear them whispering their speculations. As a healer, I looked around the crowd of faces to find the most adequate healing targets. A large phys
ique with quick reflexes might be better at avoiding the need to be healed. And a good, intelligent spell-caster would know how to avoid drawing attention to themselves in the first place.

  “When a team is assigned, you will gather at one of the tables here. Fill the back tables first to begin planning without much interruption as we call out the remaining teams. The battle assignments are in the parchment cases located in the center of each table. Find your group number and go from there.”

  Captain Kellerson then looked down at the podium, “Team One: Cleric from Turchaesh, Majaswraero;”

  Um, ok. So much for my name not being called first. Like the very first.

  “Blade Maven from Nebal, Alysias; Archer from Vamei, Jaerra; Spirit Healer from Rhalas, Natasul; Champion from Rhalas, Solecreation; Illusionist from Nebal, Wingaeltan; Demon Master from Ewiniar, Ryan; and Pyromancer from Ewiniar, Aurala.”

  Captain Kellerson paused to allow our Team to start heading to a strategy table. I knew who Solecreation was, so I made my way to him. The Captain continued with the list once he saw that we were all moving through the crowd.

  Solecreation had been standing with another team member, Natasul, while the list was being read. They had known each other from previous battles together and were nearly inseparable. I hadn’t met Natasul formally, but I had overheard his name once or twice.

  I knew that their experience in battle before being called here was probably the reason they were chosen first. Solecreation was right up there next to Kellerson in the Champions eyes, only younger.

  By the time we made it to the table, I could count out eight of us. I tried not to let the shock of being on Team One show as I sat at our table.

  Solecreation had been trained in the Coterie since his youth, which made him the most familiar with what to expect.