by Caden Nantes
Best regards, King Darrnin Leafglade.
Finally done, he stood with a long exhale. Who knew writing such a short letter could take you such time. He strapped his pack filled with his few personal belongings across his back and was about to clip on his sword belt when he stopped. His swords and daggers were elegant, with polished green jewels encrusted into the hilt, and slightly curved one-sided steel. He would instantly be tagged as wealthy with them on, and he didn't want any trouble. He settled for a small dagger tucked out of sight in his boot, and then stuffed his letter into his pack.
Opening the door and marching down the steps, he was greeted by an empty room and his now-cold food. He scarfed it down and exited the inn, taking in the gloomy sky and dark surroundings. With the sun completely hidden from view, it looked to be four hours later than it actually was. He made his way across the broken cobblestone and dirt streets of the town, until he came to the scholar's shop. He opened the door and stepped into the building.
His eyes raked across the room as he took in his surroundings. Shelves lined the walls, various trinkets laying on them. Fancy quills gleamed in glass displays, and a counter curved to his left. Behind it were boxes of various sizes, with parchments and envelopes spilling out of them. A slight man reclined in a chair behind the counter, circular spectacles positioned on the bridge of his nose as he studied a tome. He didn't even seem to have heard Tristan's entry.
The elf cleared his throat. When no response came, he slammed his hand down on the counter. The man jolted, looking left to right as he adjusted his spectacles. "Wha...? Oh! Hi there! Sorry about that. I was just reading up on..." he looked down at the tome, and then back up to Tristan. "Anyway, what brings a fine lad like you to my shop?"
"I'm looking for an envelope. Something fit for a king."
"Hmm." the man pulled various boxes off the shelves behind the counter. Eventually, he presented an envelope to Tristan. "How about this?"
It was cream colored, with elaborate patterns drawn all over it. Made of rough paper and and straight corners, Tristan knew his father would never buy anything like it. "A bit too rugged."
The man frowned and shoved the envelope back into its box. He searched through the same box until he presented another envelope to Tristan. "How about this one?"
The paper had various holes and gouges along the parchment, and was a dark brown color. "Er, no thanks."
The man sighed and dropped it back into the box. After a few more moments of searching, an envelope fell to the ground. "Whoops," he said. "Not the one I was looking for." as he picked it up off the ground, Tristan got a full view of it. It was forest green, made of silky and expensive-looking parchment. It was elegantly designed, with the corners slightly rounded.
"Actually, I think I want that one."
The man looked up at him. "Really? Well all right. It'll be two silvers with a seal, one without."
Tristan whistled. "Quite a hefty price."
The man shrugged. "That's what you get for fine quality!"
Tristan nodded and slid two coins across the counter. "I would like the seal, please."
The man grunted and turned away. When he gave the letter to Tristan, an elaborate seal marked the paper. "Thank you." Tristan turned back toward the door, exiting to an even darker afternoon. He hadn't realized how long he'd been in there for. He stomped up to the blacksmith, where he found Barind working on an axe meant for cutting trees. "Hello, dwarf."
Barind raised an eyebrow at him. "Hello, elf."
Tristan nodded toward the axe. "That almost finished? I'm in need of something similar to that."
The dwarf slammed a hammer down onto the blade, and then thrust it into Tristan's hands. "It is now. It'll be two silvers."
Tristan smirked, and handed him the coins. "Thank you, kind sir. It seems everything in this town is two silvers, no matter what it is." he gave a mocking bow and then trudged off toward the small forest beside the town.
In no time he'd found a dead tree and carried it to a clearing in the trees. He chopped the wood into large squares, and then carved a target into them with his dagger. Taking his bow and a quiver of arrows from his pack, he nocked one on the bowstring and let it fly.
Chapter Seventeen
The Academy of Giant Bulls
Tristan drew his bowstring all the way back to his ear. Sighting out the small red bullseye in the center of the wood, he released the arrow. A barely audible twang! rang out, with a dull thump! shortly afterward as the arrowhead slammed firmly into place in the dot at the center of the large target. As he went to retrieve his arrow, a voice called out from behind him,
"You're good with a bow."
Tristan spun around, nocking an arrow and firing it at the potential threat. Lightning fast, Sylin caught the arrow between the tips of two daggers. Tristan stared at him in shock.
Sylin continued as if nothing had happened. "I've been watching your training for the past three days. Preparing hard for that school, eh?" he slid one dagger back into its sheath and started picking his nail with the other as he leaned against a tree. The black jewel encrusted into its hilt sparkled as he spoke his next words. "You know, I was wondering a simple head clansman could get you into the Academy. Care to deliberate?"
Suddenly, Tristan felt compelled to tell him everything. Words came tumbling out of his mouth. "I wasn't forging a letter the head clansman supposedly wrote. The elven king is supposed to be the one who wrote the letter."
Tristan could have sworn he saw Sylin's eyebrow raise for just a second, before he regained his casual expression. "Ah. So, is the head clansman your father?"
"No," Tristan said, almost too quickly. "The elven king is. I was at the clans to visit my uncle, who is the head clansman. He taught me how to fight."
This time, Sylin's mouth most certainly dropped open, before he cleared his throat and began to speak again. "Well, that explains it. Thanks for telling me. It's time to go to the Academy. The others are waiting at the inn." he turned and abruptly departed, not seeing if Tristan followed.
Tristan's mind spun. Why in the world did I tell him all those things? He sighed and slung his bow across his shoulders, before shoving his quiver into his pack.
Sprinting out of the forest, his mind raced. I can't let the others know I'm a prince! He burst through the door to the inn, panting for breath. Four startled faces looked up at him. Well, three. Sylin was leaning against the wall, having resumed picking his fingers with a small knife. Tristan looked up at them expectantly. "Well? Are we going to the Academy or not?"
∆∆∆
A half-hour later, the three soon-to-be students stood at the large gates of the Denvil Academy. Gray iron intermingled with strange patterns loomed next to the white and gray stone of the Academy.
"Well?" asked Sylin. "What're you waiting for?" he pulled the gates open, a loud creaking noise following. "After you," he said, looking pointedly at Tristan.
He stepped through the gates, adjusting his pack on his shoulders and looking back at the others. Sylin closed the gates behind them and turned toward Tristan. "Your wish is my command, Your Highness."Aeyn shot a confused glance at Sylin as Tristan rolled his eyes.
The large courtyard was quite barren, with a few specks of snow resting on the stone ground. Tristan had all his weapons in his pack, not wanting the guards to confiscate them. Aeyn had done the same, and Sylin probably already had long before.
Taking a deep breath, Tristan strode up to the large double doors of the Academy before pushing them open. No creaking noise sounded, which somehow made the place seem even more ominous. After sharing a glance with Aeyn, he stepped through the threshold.
An angry-looking man with a nearly bald head awaited them along with murals of various things. "You're late." the man grumbled.
"Sorry, sir, we had to-" Aeyn was cut off.
"I don't care what you had to do! Just follow me to the registration for Aran's sake!"
"Of course. Why would what we do matter?" Sylin
said silkily from the shadows. The man looked at him as if just realizing he was there, and then grunted and spun on his heel. Tristan hurried to follow, and after a few sharp turns they were at the registration.
A long line of students turned to look at them. They stood in a spacious room with a door at each end, as well as the one the professor had led them through. Tristan stared at the dozen-or-so students. We must be really late. The three of them went to the back of the line, where someone cut them off. Tristan turned to look at the boy. Dirty blond hair cut short sat atop his head, and malicious brown eyes stared back at him. The knife resting at his belt showed he didn't think the guards would confiscate anything he wore. A small gang of ruffians pushed past Tristan and his friends to stand before the first boy.
Tristan clenched his fist as a hand dropped on his shoulder. "Let it go," Aeyn whispered. Tristan sighed and shuffled forward as the next student in line did the same. After about fifteen minutes of this, it was his turn.
"Next!" called the receptionist, a man with brown hair and a tired looking face. Tristan strode up to the counter. "Invitation?" asked the receptionist.
Tristan shook his head, and handed him his letter. "From the king." he pushed back his hair to reveal the pointed ear tips. The man's eyebrows rose, but he cut open the envelope and began to read. Once he was finished, he handed the envelope back to Tristan but kept the letter.
"Mind if I keep this to show the other professors?" Tristan shrugged and shoved the envelope into his pack. "That's fine by me."
The man peered down at Tristan's pack. "Do you have any weapons?"
"Well, er...."
The receptionist interrupted him. "Tis' alright. You're gonna need them for the Trials." he motioned to a young girl with blond hair who sat at a desk behind him. "Any preference for a roommate?" Tristan looked behind him at first Aeyn, then Sylin.
Deciding Sylin would probably rather be roomed alone, he turned back to the man. "Aeyn Smith, right here."
Aeyn bobbed his head enthusiastically and handed the man his invitation. After grazing his eyes over the words, the receptionist nodded to Aeyn. "If you survive the first Trial, we'll certainly room you two together."
The girl scribbled something down on a piece of parchment as Tristan swallowed. What did he mean survive the Trial? The man waved toward the professor who had escorted them to the registration. "Commander Gar here will lead you toward the first Trial, where you will wait for the other students. If you survive until the end, you will be escorted to the dining hall, and then back here, to get the keys for your dorms."
There's that word again. Survive. Tristan thanked the receptionist and then turned toward Gar. He could see how he would be a commander, but couldn't see why he would be stuck here at the Academy. The long scar running across his left eye to his ear showed of many battles.
Sylin finished his registration and walked toward Gar. "So, what is this Trial?" he asked.
"You'll find out soon enough." replied the commander as four more students walked up to him. Tristan recognized them as the blond boy's friends. One brushed by him, with Gar seemingly oblivious to the act of aggression as he said, "Come with me."
Gar walked out the door at the opposite end of the hall, with the students following close behind. He led them through gilded halls, corridors framed by rich murals, and finally into a set of double doors. Tristan blinked a few times to adjust his eyes to the light. They were in a large dome-shaped room open to the sky. There was an upper layer and a lower layer. They stood in a circular pit of sand, with seats rising up above them. A portcullis was on either side of the pit. The room could seat over a hundred, though only about four or five dozen sat in the many chairs.
"Welcome to the Arena!" Gar cried as more students filed into the pit, led by a professor. The commander slipped into a side-door as the portcullis slowly started to ascend."Well that was great instruction," Tristan muttered.
Just then, Gar's voice rang out again. "The first Trial will test your strength and ability to cooperate!" Tristan turned to see him standing at the upper layer, above the seats. "If you have weapons, draw them now! If not, there will be some available on the far wall!"
Tristan looked to where the commander was indicating. Two lengths of rope held up a beige tapestry covering the wall. There were two people hacking at the rope, one on each side. The tapestry fell away, revealing rows of various weaponry.
The portcullis finally ground to a halt. A monstrous sound emitted from the darkness inside the raised iron bars.
Aeyn frowned. "Did a farmer lose their bull?"
Giant, clomping footsteps sounded as the biggest form Tristan had ever seen stepped through the portcullis. Two heads rose above a hulking, fifteen-foot frame. Heavily muscled arms bulged at the biceps, and the beast only had a single eye in the center of each head. Purple-gray skin was interlaced with spider veins, and damaged armor hung off the exposed flesh.
The monolith roared, shaking the giant war hammer in its hand. "What the hell is that thing?" Aeyn cried out as he strapped on his swords.
"An ettin!" Sylin yelled back. "They're supposed to be one of the many forms of giants, though I've only heard of them in myths!"
The ettin gnashed its sharp, pointed teeth, swinging its clawed hand above its head.
"Hey, Smelly!"
Tristan blinked, looking around. The blonde boy from registration was waving a crossbow at the beast. The giant turned toward him, stomping its strange, taloned feet on the ground. A crossbow bolt lurched forward, clanging off the creature's leathery skin.
"A word of advice; put some argan oil under your armpits; it’ll help with the smell!"
The ettin must not have liked argan oil. It burst forward, axe pointed at the boy, who ditched his crossbow and drew a knife.
"Come and get me!"
Tristan shook his head at the stupidity of the student. "I guess I'm going to have to save him now," he muttered.
Sprinting forward while at the same time taking his bow and quiver from his pack, he aimed toward the beast's eye. He let loose the arrow, not checking to see where it landed as he tackled the boy to the side. Something sharp grazed his leg.
"Gah!" he cried out, rolling off the student to see a large gash torn in his leg. Knowing he would pass out from loss of blood if he didn't do something, he drew his dagger from his pack. "Sorry," he murmured as he cut his bowstring and used it to tie a length of cloth from his tunic around his wound.
"Why'd you do that?" said an aggravated male voice.
Tristan stared at the student. "Do what?"
"Tackle me!"
Tristan gaped at him, dumbfounded. "I was trying to save you!"
"I had everything under control." the boy stood and retrieved his crossbow and knife.
Tristan shook his head, grabbing a bow off the wall he was now much closer to. He cut off the bowstring and transferred it to his own bow, refusing to discard the elegant work of art. "That'll have to do for now."
The ettin was staggering about, swiping at the arrow protruding from its eye. Nocking another arrow on his bow and starting toward the beast, a grim smile spread across Tristan's face. "This'll be fun."
Chapter Eighteen
Adventure Awaits
Barind was bored. Every day, he went to work, making swords, armor, and whatever else the blacksmith needed. Then he went back to the inn, ate dinner, and went to sleep. Aeyn, Tristan and even Sylin were off to some Academy, and Anthony was working at the inn. At least he seemed to be happy. But all Barind did was pound metal. He hadn't touched his weapons or armor at all. It was just a constant pattern of eat, work, eat, work, eat, sleep. Almost all his other friends were special. They turned into dragons sometimes, can use dark magic, and even turned into a falcon. But him? All he did was work metal and get sore thumbs whenever his hammer strayed.
This was one such time. "Ow!" he yowled, holding up his bulging thumb and sucking on it. "Bastard hammer!" he threw it down and stomped away.
; "Hey!" shouted the blacksmith from where he sat on a leather-backed chair. "Where d' ya think yer goin'?"
"To do something with my life!" Barind yelled over his shoulder.
He strode through the door to the inn, much to the obvious surprise of Illia. "Barind! You're back early."
He ignored her and trudged up the stairs to his room. Opening the door, he found Anthony already there, gathering the quills to clean. He looked up as Barind entered. "Barind? What're you doing here?"
The dwarf responded as he shrugged his armor on. "I am going to find out what happened to my kingdom."
After slinging his axe across his shoulders, he finally looked at Anthony. "Will ya prepare some rations for a long journey?"
The boy stared at him, eyes wide. "But where're you going?"
Barind grunted. "I already told ya. I'm gonna go kill some shadows."
He spun around, exiting the room with Anthony on his heels. He marched down the steps to the inn, and plopped down at a table. After waving down a serving girl and ordering food, he sat back and waited for the stableboy.
After a few minutes, Anthony sat down in the chair next to him, putting two bags on the table. Barind arched an eyebrow. "What's the other one for?"
Anthony beamed a nervous smile. "I'm coming with you."
The dwarf stared at him, sure he needed to clean out his ears. "What?"
"I'm coming with you," Anthony repeated.
Shaking his head, Barind gaped at the boy. "But ya don't even know what I'm doin'!"
Anthony shrugged as Barind's food appeared on the table. "It's better than working here. I mean, I'm glad Illia gave me somethin' to do an' all, but really, I don't think I'm meant to be a stableboy anymore."
Barind nodded as he scarfed down his food. He ordered two ales and another plate of food for Anthony, before he stood up. Slinging his pack across his back, he nodded to Anthony. "I'm going to see if there's any small horses in the stables. As much as I like having my own two feet on solid ground, I know we'll need horses for a long journey."
