by J. R. Castle
Quinn backed up again. He could see his opponent was exhausted; his eyes were full of fury. Quinn remembered something his aunt had told him once when she’d patched him up after a fight in the village: if you get angry, you lose. He took a calming breath and watched the trainee. Then he let himself smile.
‘Come at me …’
Quinn’s smug smile drove the trainee crazy, just as Quinn had hoped. Jori’s eyes widened. His face flushed red. Then he threw himself at Quinn, forgetting all about the chain.
The chain was too difficult a weapon. It would take weeks, maybe even months, for Quinn to figure out how to use it properly. So instead, he had to improvise. He let it fall through his hands, then gripped tight on the heavy metal weight at one end of the chain. As the trainee charged towards him like an enraged bull, Quinn swung the weight and simply threw it at the trainee. It left his hand and flew through the air, smacking right into the trainee’s head. Quinn saw Jori’s eyes roll up and his knees buckle. Then he crashed into Quinn and they both tumbled to the floor. The crowd around them gasped.
With a grunt, Quinn pushed the trainee’s limp weight off him. The boy was out cold and the crowd was deathly silent.
Quinn’s head was still ringing from the earlier blow, and being knocked flying to the ground with the enormous trainee on top of him hadn’t helped. His stomach ached as if he’d been kicked by a horse. He rocked back on his heels, gulping for air.
Did I win? he wondered.
He peered around at the crowd. They were staring at him in silence, mouths hanging open in shock. Not a single one of them had expected him to beat Jori. Quinn felt a little surge of anger. They’d all expected him to be killed.
Marshall Stant raised a hand and Quinn immediately fell into a bow. He knew now was not the time to irritate the marshall any more. Quinn was still bowing when a noise like a whip crack sounded above him. He braced himself for the blow, but it never came. With a shiver, he looked up. As he raised his head, something warm and wet ran over his hands. It was Jori’s blood.
‘Stand!’ the marshall growled.
Quinn jumped to his feet. His hands were still shaking. When he clenched them, he could still feel the other trainee’s blood. He stared at Marshall Stant’s intricately patterned night-blue jacket and the line of golden medals.
The marshall’s hard eyes burned into Quinn’s face. ‘You have impressed me, boy,’ he said in his low, rough voice. ‘You thought quickly and used your strengths. You will make a fine addition to the Black Guard.’
‘If you say so …’ Quinn panted, determined never to be one of them.
Stant leaned in closer to Quinn, until he could feel the hot, sour breath of the marshall on his face. ‘But the next time you speak out of turn, boy, I will cut out your tongue.’
Quinn stared blankly. He might have impressed Stant, but life at the garrison had just got a lot more deadly.
CHAPTER 7
A MAGIC TOUCH
Every evening, when night fell across Yaross, dinner was served in the garrison’s Great Hall.
Guards hustled Quinn and the other new recruits inside and pushed them through a long, low corridor. The other recruits had wanted nothing to do with Quinn after he’d defeated Jori, and he’d spent most of the last two days dodging their suspicious glances and snide comments. Eating alone, training alone, sleeping alone in a corner of the Great Hall; he couldn’t tell if they hated him or feared him. They still managed to ignore him when he was in the centre of the jostling crowd. They were acting like he had an infectious disease.
Fine, let them ignore me, Quinn thought wearily, growing used to being the lone trainee.
Quinn shrugged them off and made his way into the hall. It was a sight he’d never get used to. The Great Hall was huge. The floor was paved with flagstones and covered in fresh rushes. A great beamed ceiling stretched high above, decorated with banners and swords. Against one wall a spit turned inside an enormous fireplace and the whole vast room smelled of woodsmoke and spices. At the far end of the hall, a high table stretched almost the width of the room. Behind it, a gigantic tapestry showed a scene of the Black Guard defending the Imperial Castle against the attacking Dragon Knights.
Something else he’d never get used to. A lie! Quinn raged.
As ever, Quinn forced down his revulsion and kept his expression blank. He couldn’t risk irritating the guards again – not if he wanted to keep his tongue. Only a few days ago he’d thought the Dragon Knights were evil, but now he knew the truth – Marta had shown him what had really happened when Emperor Vayn had taken over.
The guards’ tables were groaning with food. A whole roast pig lay along the high table, with an apple stuffed into its mouth. Heaps of roast and boiled vegetables steamed on platters. There was fresh bread in piles, along with fish, cheese and full flagons of wine.
Quinn’s mouth watered as he made his way over to the serving hatch – but he wasn’t expecting fine dining.
‘Grub’s up!’ the cook barked, as he thrust a steaming bowl of something into Quinn’s hands.
Quinn looked down at the watery soup and what looked like yesterday’s bread floating in the middle like a stranded ship.
‘Great,’ he muttered.
The cook just looked at him like he was something that had been scraped off the ground, and barked at the next recruit to come forward.
Quinn headed for one of the benches. Normally he’d eat alone, but just as he was about to barge a path through the crowd of recruits to a quiet table, he spotted a better prospect: the girl from the courtyard.
Now that she was cleaned up, he almost didn’t recognise her – it was only the flashing green eyes that gave her away. She had red hair and pale skin with freckles across her cheeks. Her clothing might have been torn and scraped from being pulled behind Stant’s horse, but to Quinn it looked far more expensive than anything he’d ever worn. She beckoned to him and a smile played across Quinn’s face. He made for the table in a quiet corner of the room and slid in beside her. She still looked bruised and battered, and her broken arm was obviously still hurting her.
‘You made it out of the dungeon, then?’ Quinn smiled. ‘Marshall Stant said he’d release you, but he’s not to be trusted.’
‘I had to bribe my way out with my necklace.’ She grinned. ‘The guards are just as crooked as they look.’
‘I don’t doubt it. I’m Quinn, by the way.’
‘Thea,’ she said. ‘Hi.’
Quinn looked around at the recruits as they dug into their meals. Most of them were boys, and most of them were about Quinn’s age, but there were some girls too. The guards would happily take anyone who could swing an axe and turn them into one of Vayn’s hate-filled minions.
‘Thanks, by the way,’ Thea said.
Quinn tentatively poked at the bread floating in his soup. ‘What for?’
‘You know.’ She nodded at her broken arm. ‘For helping me.’
Quinn just nodded, sheepishly.
‘Seriously. No one else would have helped – I thought I was done for.’
‘’S okay,’ he muttered. He hadn’t planned to help her; it had just been instinct – and it had nearly got him killed. But for some reason he’d felt like throwing all caution to the wind. Perhaps it was because of Marta; perhaps it was the sense of injustice.
He glanced down at Thea’s arm, tucked tight against her stomach, and winced. He could see it was at an awkward angle.
‘Doesn’t it hurt?’ he asked.
Thea rolled her eyes. ‘What do you think?’ Her gaze darted around. ‘They’ve been standing watch over the dungeon for two days. I couldn’t do a thing about it.’
‘What could you have done anyway?’ Quinn asked.
‘Is anyone watching?’ Thea whispered.
Quinn blinked stupidly. ‘Huh?’
‘Is anyone watching?’ she repeated.
Quinn took a quick look around. All the recruits were tucking into their food as though it might be snatched
away at any minute. On their own tables, the guards were piling plates high and slurping away at cups of wine.
‘No.’
Thea winked at him. ‘Then watch this.’ She raised her good hand and began to chant under her breath. Her fingers danced as though she was playing a harp. Quinn felt the familiar tug of magic in the air, just as he had when his aunt had done her spells. This time it felt sharper, more powerful.
Beneath her sleeve, Thea’s broken arm seemed to shift and straighten. Quinn bit his lip and his brow crunched with concentration. Whatever Thea was doing looked seriously painful, but she didn’t even flinch as the bones moved in her arm. A moment later, she lifted her broken arm and wiggled her fingers. Quinn’s jaw nearly hit the floor.
‘Ah,’ Thea sighed. ‘That’s better.’
‘How did you …?’ he started.
‘Shh …’ Thea hissed. ‘Come closer.’
Checking around her one more time, Thea leaned over and touched the cut on Quinn’s head – it had not yet healed since Jori had whacked him with the chain. He felt a sensation like a spider crawling on his forehead. His skin tugged uncomfortably as though something was pulling the two sides of the cuts, joining them and knitting them together. Then suddenly the cut was gone, healed. It was as if it had never been there.
Thea slumped forward, her face going pale, and Quinn caught her by the shoulder before she hit the table.
‘That was incredible!’ he hissed.
Slowly she pushed herself back up, shaking. The magic had completely drained her.
‘Healing’s harder than it looks, you know.’
‘It looked pretty hard,’ Quinn said.
She flashed him a weak smile. ‘Well, it’s the least I can do.’
The guards were shouting back and forth across the hall as they guzzled more and more wine. The older trainees were clustered together on other tables, muttering among themselves. No one was paying any attention to Quinn and Thea.
‘How did you end up in here?’ Quinn asked quietly. ‘You don’t seem like the usual poor kid from Yaross Island.’
Thea raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? What do I seem like?’
Quinn coloured. ‘I don’t mean anything bad. I mean –’ he swept a hand around to include the new trainees – ‘look at us.’ The recruits were all as scrawny as Quinn. Under her bruises, Thea looked healthy and well fed. ‘And besides, I bet no one in here has magic skills like yours.’
‘Well, I’m not from Yaross. I’m from the Rock of Sighs.’
‘The one right in the middle of the sea?’ Quinn asked.
‘Yes,’ Thea continued. ‘It’s so tiny that it isn’t classed alongside the main Twelve Islands of Alariss. It’s basically just a big rock with a small patch of land on it.’
Quinn looked confused. He thought being isolated in Rivervale was bad enough. ‘Then why live there?’
‘It’s not like I had a choice!’ Thea explained. ‘My mother died when I was young and I’ve never known my father. I’ve lived there ever since I can remember, with my tutor, Telemus. Marshall Stant is the master of the island, even though he’s only there once every year or two. When he visited this time, he found out that Telemus had been teaching me magic.’
‘And he didn’t like that?’ Quinn asked.
‘You can say that again,’ Thea said. ‘He brought me here to punish me. I don’t know what happened to Telemus, but it can’t have been good.’
Quinn felt for Thea – it was just like what Goric had done to him and Marta. The Black Guard didn’t care about who they hurt as long as people followed their stupid rules. Suddenly, in amongst the bustling recruits who’d all ignored him, Quinn didn’t feel quite so alone.
Quinn told Thea about his own life, and the endless persecution at Goric’s hands.
‘He burned down our cottage,’ Quinn said. ‘He didn’t have to. He just wanted an excuse.’ He felt the fury building up in him again and his skin grew hot as he remembered Goric throwing Marta to the ground. ‘I thought the Black Guard were something to look up to,’ he whispered. ‘Now I know they’re just keeping us down.’
Thea nodded grimly. ‘The older people remember what it was like before the Black Guard came.’ She lowered her voice. ‘When the Dragon Knights were here.’
Quinn’s eyes darted across the hall. ‘Shh. That kind of talk will get us killed!’
‘Any kind of talk can get you killed round here,’ Thea replied. ‘That’s the point. The Black Guard are evil and they have to be stopped.’
Quinn sat deep in thought. The Black Guard might be evil but who would stop them? The Dragon Knights were long gone. There was no one to protect them now.
After dinner, the recruits pushed the benches to the wall and set up their beds by the side of the tables, as usual. Except this time Quinn and Thea set up camp together, away from the other recruits. As the light fell, the guards extinguished the main fire and barked at the trainees to go to sleep. Even though Quinn was exhausted, his mind kept going over and over the events of the last few days. No matter what, he couldn’t let himself become one of the Black Guard. They represented everything that was wrong with the Islands. Somehow, he had to escape. He wondered if Thea could help, or if she’d even want to.
Quinn desperately needed sleep. He rearranged his bundle of clothes and blankets. All around him, the trainees and the new recruits were settled down by the tables of the Great Hall. Quinn covered his ears against the snoring and eventually drifted off into a deep doze.
However, disturbed by his own dreams, he woke abruptly in the dark.
Still half asleep, he propped himself up on his elbows and rubbed his eyes. The Great Hall was eerie in the darkness, with just the odd flaming torch flickering around the walls, casting shifting shadows across the floor and tables. From where he lay next to Thea, it looked to Quinn like giants made of shadows were stalking around the Great Hall.
He rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, but as he did so he gave a yelp …
‘What the —’ Something was digging in his side.
Marta’s package!
He’d been so busy getting used to the garrison that he’d completely forgotten about it. Quinn rolled over and pulled out the heavy parcel that Marta had magically transported into his jacket. It had lain in a small knapsack the guards had given him for his meagre possessions over the last two days. Finally, he had a chance to see what it was.
Loud snores echoed around the hall as the other recruits dozed. Quinn peered out into the darkness but could barely see in front of his face. He decided to make for the flaming torch flickering in the alcove – that way he could get a proper look.
He pulled back his flimsy blanket and crawled across the sleeping bodies of several recruits. The parcel weighed heavily in his hands as he made his way through the murky half-light.
He scrambled across to the torch and was instantly bathed in its orange glow.
If a guard comes in now I’m dead meat, he thought. Better make this quick.
By the quivering torchlight, he slowly undid the string. The package was long and thin and heavier than it looked. Whatever was inside was wrapped in several layers of cloth. He peeled the layers off one by one and held the package to the light. The golden blade of his father’s emerald-handled dagger glinted back at him.
Quinn’s heart leapt. I thought it was lost!
He swallowed, trying to hold back a gasp. The dagger was the only thing he had to remember his father, and now it was the only thing he had to remember Marta, too.
As he wrapped up the dagger once more he heard a shuffling noise behind him. He whirled around and peered into the darkness.
Nothing.
I must be imagining things, he thought, as he turned back to the dagger, lost in the memory of Goric’s attack on his cottage.
But as he did so he felt a hand creep across his face and clamp down on his mouth. Then something fell over his head, and everything went black.
CHAPTER 8
&nbs
p; THE HIGH TOWER
Quinn gasped and flailed at the coarse material that had been tossed over his head. Someone thumped into him and bundled him to the floor.
‘Shh!’ a voice hissed.
He twisted round and just made out a mess of red hair under the blanket. Thea!
‘Don’t move a muscle!’ she whispered.
Footsteps sounded, crossing the flagstone floor towards them.
‘Get over here!’ a harsh voice barked.
Quinn’s heart froze. We’ve been spotted, he thought.
Carefully, he lifted up the edge of the blanket and peered out. Goric was stomping across the hall, carrying his armour himself, trailed by a skinny page boy who couldn’t have been more than seven or eight years old.
The pounding of his pulse in his ears quietened as Quinn realised Goric hadn’t been shouting at them.
Goric was dressed in a sweat-stained brown shift and leggings. Although he was still twice Quinn’s size, without the magical armour, Quinn could see he was just a man: a big, dangerous, violent, cruel man, but a man all the same. Quinn needed to remember that.
Goric turned slowly, his gaze drifting across the Great Hall; Quinn froze and dropped the blanket. They were in the shadows, but he was sure Goric was looking right at them. Quinn’s heart was pounding so hard he was convinced Thea would be able to hear it. He held his breath. Don’t see us. Don’t see us!
The Captain of the Guard threw down his armour and sword with a clatter that made several of the recruits moan in their sleep – Quinn peaked out from under the blanket once more.
‘Clean it!’ Goric barked at the page. ‘I want every inch of it shining like a mirror by the morning.’
The page stared up at him with frightened eyes. ‘Th-there isn’t time,’ he stammered. The page’s voice sounded like it was going to break.
Goric bared his teeth. They looked yellow and rotten in the torchlight.
‘You’ll do it,’ he snarled, ‘or tomorrow night it’ll be some other page cleaning your blood off my sword. Got it?’
