She reached the halfway mark and grabbed the next bar.
Crack!
Klara let out a strangled cry as the bar dropped away, ripped straight from the concrete ceiling. Her hearts thundered in her chest as it clattered to the stone floor. The dirty yutzi muckers must have loosened it, a penalty for taking the short route. How many more were loose?
Forearms burning, Klara surveyed the path ahead. Only eight bars between her and safety—yet any one could fail when she put her weight on it. To carry on? Or go for the knife?
Klara released the bar with her left hand and seized the next.
It shifted, grinding as it pulled from the concrete. Dust showered to the floor, and Klara cursed. Dead end. She should’ve just gone for the knife. They were testing her willingness to face her fears, and she had just failed.
Frustration ebbed into anger, and, without pause, Klara turned and swung back to the first platform. Fool! You let them see your fear. Anger seethed in her gut, burning away her trepidation as she swung out to the knife.
Klara reached the knife and, hanging one handed from the nearest bar, yanked it from the hook. After a brief struggle, she managed to get it into her pocket and continued towards the second platform and the Sentinel guardian.
She reached the last bar and her throat constricted as she realised the platform was still a yard away. She’d have to jump. Klara backed up, then ensured the knife was secure. Sovereign Sculptor, please let me live.
Klara charged, picking up speed with every bar. She clenched her teeth as her muscles screamed at her.
Three bars, two bars, one bar.
Leap.
Klara sailed through the air, legs bent and ready to land. She hit the platform feet first and rolled. As she rolled, she retrieved the knife from its sheath and held it, thumb on pommel, blade extended behind her. She continued to her feet and sprinted at the guardian.
The guardian’s stance widened, and he spun the staff up to grip with both hands.
The two fighters collided.
Klara’s blade bit deep into the middle of the staff, and she clung to the knife as the guardian tried to wrench it from her hand with a deft twist.
A chunk of wood flew from the staff as the blade ripped out.
Both fighters retreated, circling. No emotion showed in the guardian’s pale blue eyes, and Klara could feel him weighing her skill, assessing her strengths and weaknesses. A tinge of jealousy tugged at her as she admired his control.
Then he was on her, his staff a blur.
Klara dodged the first swing and collected a blow to her left shoulder as a reward. Her leather coat partially absorbed the hit, but it still left her fingers tingling. She hissed in pain and brought her knife up in response, slicing at the weakened point on the staff. Once again, her blade sank into the wood, and she yanked it away, notching another piece from the staff.
The guardian grunted, and Klara swore she saw a hint of respect in his eyes.
She lunged at him, feinting for the staff. In a flash, he swung for her hand, but too late. Klara twitched the weapon back and instead brought her left fist up in a powerful uppercut.
The guardian saw it and jerked away, though Klara’s fist still grazed his half-mask. The movement left his neck exposed, and Klara threw a punch with her knife hand, aiming to hit his jugular with her knuckles—she wasn’t here to kill.
Instead of moving back, the guardian dropped the staff and stepped forwards, weaving left of Klara’s punch. His hands snaked behind her head and he tugged her into his ascending knee.
Stars dotted her vision as his knee smashed into her face. Her half-mask took the brunt of the blow, saving her nose from a break. Barely.
Her first instinct was to wrestle free of his grip—which he doubtless expected. Instead, she slammed the knife into his thigh as he brought his leg up to knee her again.
“Argh!” The guardian released her and staggered away, the knife still buried in his leg.
Klara lifted her fists and stood, swaying, waiting for him to approach again. Her vision swam. The knee to her face had done more damage than she’d anticipated.
The guardian pulled the knife out, a glitter of fury reflecting in his eyes as he launched at Klara.
Klara darted back, wishing she’d kept hold of the blade.
“Hold!” a woman’s voice echoed through the arena.
The guardian and Klara froze.
“That will be all.” The keeper from below stepped onto the platform from a doorway in the wall.
Klara and the guardian saluted and said, “Yes, Keeper!”
“Guardian,” the keeper said, “go get a healing extract for your leg.” To Klara, she said, “We will call you for your interview soon. You’re dismissed.”
Klara saluted again and followed the guardian from the arena. By the time she crossed the door’s threshold, the adrenaline had left her system and an avalanche of nausea and fatigue swept over her.
All she could do was hope her decision to go the short route hadn’t jeopardised her chances. She’d find out when they interviewed her whether she’d failed. Utterly drained, Klara drew a long, shuddering breath. Unbidden tears stung her eyes, and she quickly wiped them away, aware she was in public. She glanced around and sighed with relief; no one had witnessed her display of weakness. Emotions had no place in the Sentinels. Her father made sure she never forgot that.
Chapter 2
The wind howled over the high walls of the sheltered Warrior Guild courtyard, stealing what little warmth the midday sun provided as Klara circled her redheaded opponent, Zin. The blade of the wooden practice sword in her hand was too light, throwing the balance. But it would have to suffice.
I should’ve gone for the cursed knife first… Klara blinked, forcing her focus back to Zin, frustrated. Not even throwing herself into training had managed to keep her mind off her performance during the Sentinel test. Every moment awake for the last two days had been spent imagining how it would feel for the council to reject her again. It even plagued her dreams.
“Come on, Klara, you can attack,” Zin said. “I promise not to hurt you. Much.” She winked.
Klara continued shuffling sideways, lead foot first, back foot second—always keeping her stance wide, and her blade poised and ready.
A smile twitched Zin’s lips. “If we don’t start soon, we’re going to freeze out here.”
Unlikely, Klara thought. Both women wore the thick, grey leather coats of the Warrior Guild. It wasn’t even cold enough to justify wearing their half-masks and hoods.
“You’re welcome to begin anytime,” Klara said.
“Fair enough.” Zin lunged and swung at Klara’s legs. As Klara leapt back and brought her sword down to block, Zin slid inside the attack and jammed the butt of her sword into Klara’s undefended gut.
Pain flared across Klara’s tensed stomach, and Zin dealt another, harder, blow, ripping a gasp from Klara.
Zin retreated, sword poised, as Klara staggered, wheezing.
Forcing the pain aside, Klara leapt at Zin, who sidestepped and delivered an expertly placed kick to Klara’s left shin.
“Ow!” Klara limped away. Sovereign Sculptor, that stings…
“Don’t worry,” Zin said. “When you transfer to the Sentinels, they’ll teach you how to use blades properly.”
“If they accept me…”
“Oh stop that muck. They’ll never accept you if you go into the interview looking sorry for yourself.”
Klara grunted. It was all well and good for Zin to be confident, the council had actually applauded her testing.
“If you still want to go to Katavsk,” Zin continued, “you’ll need to pull yourself together, Klara. Only the best and the most confident ever get to fight dragons.”
“Oh really?” Klara said, scowling. “And here I thought they only sent the misfits to the most dangerous gate fort in Serovnya—maybe even in all of Vlanovia.”
“Koskova Warrior!” a man yelled from the side o
f the courtyard.
Klara and Zin both spun to face a Sentinel watcher, stiff and formal in his green coat. He stood at the south end of the courtyard, beneath the towering black bulk of the Warrior Guild’s main hall.
“Coming, sir!” Klara yelled back. She chucked Zin her sword, and the lithe warrior gave her a wink.
“Go get ‘em,” Zin said.
Klara jogged to the watcher, trying to ignore the pain Zin’s kick to her shin brought with every step. She stopped before the watcher and saluted.
The watcher returned the salute and marched off, leading her without a word into the main hall, a massive space sixty feet high. Beams of sunlight pierced the peaked glass roof far above and cast an icy glow across the open space. Six floors rose, flanking the hall from the east and the west. Brass railings lined each floor, and every dozen yards or so, a spiral staircase clawed its way to the ceiling.
Each floor housed hundreds of Warriors, with the top floor being reserved for the highest ranking Warriors and those undergoing Sentinel pre-training.
Klara followed the watcher through the crowds of Warriors to a hallway on the east wall. The hall led to the small complex the Sentinels owned adjacent to the Warrior Guild.
The crowd thinned as the watcher and Klara entered the hallway. Their boots clicked against the hard floor and threw echoes down the passage. Gaslamps hissed above them, casting harsh yellow light on the cold brick walls.
They emerged into a cube-shaped antechamber. Scarlet Sentinel flags covered every open space on the grey brick walls, and a single door sat at the centre of each wall. The watcher pointed to a bench below the flags on the north wall, then departed as Klara sat.
Klara studied the flags, trying in vain to distract herself while her hearts attempted to hammer their way out of her chest.
At the centre of each flag was a large emerald oval—a gate—from which the long, armoured snout of a Nishkuk protruded, mouth open in a roar. Two Sentinels, swords in hand, flanked the dragon.
A surge of anger replaced her nervousness as she stared at the dragon, the monster that stole her sister. She had made a vow that day. She would avenge Lokteva… Even if it killed her.
“Koskova?”
Klara started and jerked to her feet, a fist rising to her collarbone in an automatic salute. She recognised the Sentinel keeper from her training standing in the now open doorway of the north door.
The keeper disappeared into the room, and Klara hurried after her.
In typical Sentinel fashion, the room was another cube of grey brick adorned with Sentinel flags. The two hawk-eyes from training sat behind a table at the rear of the room. The keeper took her seat between them as Klara came to a halt in the centre of the room, standing to attention and saluting the council.
The keeper perused a sheet of paper for a minute, ignoring Klara.
Klara could feel the piercing gazes of the hawk-eyes, though she dared not make eye contact with them. Instead, she focused on the corner of the flag hanging behind their heads.
“State your name and rank for the council,” the keeper said suddenly, looking up.
“Koskova, Klara. Fifth mark Warrior.”
“Koskova, please explain to the council why you chose not to retrieve the knife first in your test?”
Despite the chill of the room, Klara wished she could remove her coat. For a moment she contemplated a lie, but then caught sight of the Sentinel Code embroidered on the flag:
Fight with Honour. Protect your Family. Speak in Truth.
Speak in Truth.
Klara drew a deep breath. “Keeper, Hawk-Eyes. The height made me nervous, and I hoped that in your eyes sparring a guardian weaponless would compensate for my fear.”
The silence that followed stretched for an eternity. An eternity that stripped layer after layer off Klara as she waited before the critical eyes of the council. She knew without a doubt they were going to declare her unfit.
She’d failed.
At last, the keeper said, “I understand you wish to serve at Katavsk?”
“Yes, Keeper.”
“Then why did you choose knives as your mastery? You know they are useless against dragons, do you not?”
“With respect, Keeper, my father killed a Nishkuk with a knife.”
“Your father injured a Nishkuk with a knife,” one of the hawk-eyes, a flat-faced man, said. “But you are not Koskov. Using a knife against a Nishkuk requires a fearless regard of heights as only the eyes are soft enough for such a short blade to be used against. They’re some thirty feet above the ground.”
“I understand, Hawk-Eye.”
“Do you?” the hawk-eye asked. “By all reports, you have trained for years to be a master of the knife, yet failed nearly every test involving more than a five-foot drop—despite the knowledge that healing extracts would repair any damage within hours.”
Klara’s cheeks burned. Of course they had her training record.
“Your chosen mastery has made you an ill fit for Katavsk,” the keeper said. “Assuming we decide you’re worthy of Sentinel training, how do you plan to rectify your poor choice of mastery?”
A sharp retort rose on Klara’s lips, but she hastily swallowed it. Now was not the time to defend her weapon mastery. “I’m also proficient with ranged weapons, so I could move my mastery to gas rifles.”
The keeper nodded slowly. “I see. And heights?”
Klara recalled the sensation of her feet leaving the ground, her entire weight supported by a thin bar of steel attached to the ceiling. Her stomach curled into a knot. “Train until that fear is beaten into submission—the same way I trained to win the Ice Run.”
She almost swore she saw the faintest glimmer of a smile flicker across the keeper’s lips. The Ice Run was an unofficial challenge many Sentinels attempted—a sprint across the Zmeya River with no boots and no coat. One misstep would send one crashing through the river’s thin ice and into the churning water below.
Klara had watched three Sentinel wardens fall.
They’d never been found.
She’d been the first Warrior to attempt the suicidal run, and she’d beaten the Sentinel record in the process.
“Very well, Klara Koskova,” the keeper said. “Wait outside.”
Klara saluted and, with a sharp about-turn, left the chamber. She kept her shoulders back and head high as she sat, waiting.
Sentinels came and went through the other doors. To the last, they ignored her, passing her by without a hint of interest.
Finally, the door opened, and the flat-faced hawk-eye beckoned her.
Klara took her place at the centre of the chamber and waited, hardly daring to breathe lest her breath shake and reveal her nerves.
The council watched her, silent, as if waiting to see whether she’d crack.
The keeper cleared her throat. “Failure to face your fear is unacceptable—”
Klara’s hearts sank.
“—however, honouring the code by speaking the truth is desirable. Highly desirable. Your honesty has been noted, Koskova. It is due to your honesty, and your honesty alone, that we have decided to allow you to train at Borovsk. The council there will determine whether you are truly fit to be a Sentinel.
“You leave with the recruits tomorrow, Koskova Warden. Welcome to the Sentinels.”
Chapter 3
Mikhail Koskov smiled beneath his grey half-mask as he surveyed the giant heart of Kosgrad: the Alchemist Guild. The building bore more resemblance to a gothic cathedral than a Guildhall. From the Machtvoll black stone to the ornate, twenty-foot windows framed in uzhasgart, everything about it oozed with wealth and power.
It’d been months since he’d been home inside its walls, and he relished the thought of his warm bed and a hot shower. Perhaps even in that order.
The chatter of voices filled the air as he pushed through the crowd traversing the sidewalk. Steam carts rumbled along the cobblestone road beside him, carrying Alchemtek from the Alchemist Guild to the
other Guilds within Kosgrad.
Hooves clattered against stone as a horse trotted past, bearing a tall woman in a grey Warrior Guild coat. The Warrior eyed the crowd over her half-mask as she rode by, shooting a glare at a steam cart driven too close.
Frigid wind howled through the alleys branching from the street, trying in vain to bite through Mikhail’s thick azure Alchemist coat. He shrugged deeper into the fur-lined garment and rubbed his gloved hands together, fighting off the cold. Months in the wilds picking plants hadn’t been his idea of an enjoyable time.
Mikhail picked up his pace, jogging after the dozen Alchemist apprentices he’d been training with as they shoved their way through the busy streets of Kosgrad. He caught up with their ageing instructor, Petrov Alchemist, at the lead and fell into step beside him.
“Ready to be home?” Petrov asked, his voice muffled by his half-mask.
“Ohhh yeah,” Mikhail said. “I have so many plants to run tests on.”
“I saw you found some crawling pronzat.”
Mikhail nodded. The root of the thorny vine resided in one of his inner pockets. He was eager to see how fast he could make it grow.
“Just be careful with that one, right?”
A wry smile twitched Mikhail’s lips beneath his mask. “You don’t want me to fill my lab with an incredibly thorny vine?”
“Kid, you could fill a lot more than just your lab with that stuff if you get it too hot too fast.”
“Your warning has been noted,” Mikhail said, struggling to keep his voice contrite.
Petrov let out a hearty laugh and slapped Mikhail on the back. “When I hear the curses from the second floor, I’ll know why right?”
“No idea what you’re talking about,” Mikhail said.
The group reached the huge double doors beyond which lay the Alchemist Guild’s Market Hall. Petrov Alchemist stepped to the side and waved the eager young men and women through. Mikhail nodded to Petrov, receiving a wink from the old Alchemist in return.
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