Bastial Energy (The Rhythm of Rivalry: Book 1)

by Narro, B. T.

  I guess I’ll find out soon enough, Cleve thought, taking a slow breath to ready himself.

  Chapter 21: Hitting Hard and Clean

  CLEVE

  “Gather in front of me here,” the instructor boomed. He had a sword drawn now and pointed it at the grass ahead of him. “Some of you may have different dueling rules where you came from, but at the Academy they are as follows: All duels must be done on Warrior’s Field. All duels must be with wooden dueling swords while you’re wearing protective dueling tunics. You will not use your mouth during the duel, which means no spitting or biting, and keep talking to a minimum. These are civilized fights. The first combatant to disarm or strike the other is the victor, so long as the strike is hard and clean. Strikes can be made with the blade or hilt of the sword, or with your fist, elbow, knee, or foot, but not your head. The last thing we need is two imbeciles slamming heads.”

  The instructor glanced at the papers on his clipboard. “First to duel are Cleve Polken and Fez Betson. Polken…” His eyes lifted curiously to Cleve. “Any relation to Terren Polken, the head of school?”

  “He’s my uncle,” Cleve answered indifferently, hoping his tone would prevent any future discussion of it. If people thought about it more, they would realize that Terren needed a brother or sister for Cleve to exist, and that would only lead to more questions about his family.

  “Well then, let’s see how well he taught you. Both of you step forward.”

  His opponent had thick brown hair that came down wildly across his forehead, but the fuzzy splotches of hair across his cheeks and chin were faint, almost blonde, seeming to belong on another man’s face. His eyes were hard and glared into Cleve’s. His face was nonthreatening, though. It was without edges, long to the chin, which made his expression to show more anxiety than aggression.

  “Ready your weapons,” the instructor announced.

  Pretend he’s the one who took your bow, Cleve told himself so he could draw his sword without showing his reluctance to hurt the likely innocent man in front of him.

  Cleve could feel everyone’s eyes on him. This was when he was most comfortable, with a weapon and an opponent…and an audience only amplified the excitement. He wanted to give them a show but wisely knew to focus instead on winning. He breathed slowly to calm himself, drawing Bastial Energy into his hands, one molded around the hilt of his sword and the other relaxed at his hip, closed and set. Fez held his weapon loosely, swaying back and forth.

  “Using one hand to make a point or do you actually fight like that?” Fez teased.

  “It’s this hand you should watch out for.” Cleve wiggled the fingers of his left hand.

  “Without the drama, men,” the instructor said. “Fight.”

  Fez was as quick as Cleve expected, hopping toward him with feints, but Cleve knew himself to be even faster. He waited for Fez to commit to a strike and then deflected it with his wooden sword, driving his left fist into Fez’s stomach. His wiry opponent doubled over in reflex, and Cleve backed way.

  “One for Cleve,” the instructor announced. “We fight until two strikes are made. Ready your weapons.”

  If Fez was in pain, he hid it well. “You move quickly for a man built like an ironbark stump, but I’ll find a weakness.”

  “It’s that I like to show off,” Cleve answered. It’s what Terren had always told him and a good intro to what he had planned for the next bout. Leading by a point, he wished to take the opportunity to give his future opponents something to fear.

  “Shall I find two toothpicks for you to fight with your mouths? Enough talk!” The instructor cut his hand through the air. “Fight!”

  Cleve was now the one moving in and out of range with feints while his opponent positioned himself more cautiously. He needed to understand Fez’s defensive tendencies for his next move to work. He let his opponent come at him. After backing away from a quick flurry of swings, Cleve was ready to retaliate. With Bastial Energy bubbling in his legs, he ran toward Fez. It was no more than three steps before he leaped, flipping with a spin. He hadn’t practiced solely for scaring off bears, after all.

  He brought down the meat of his sword on Fez, who was only quick enough to raise his weapon in defense. Cleve’s sword crashed against wood so hard, at first he thought his blunt dueling sword had somehow cut through Fez’s weapon. Instead, he saw that the force of his blow had loosened the weapon from Fez’s hand and knocked him over in the process. Cleve put a foot on the disarmed weapon, with his own aimed at his opponent’s face.

  He heard a few whistles from the crowd, but they were interrupted by the unimpressed tone of the instructor. “The duel goes to Cleve. Next time try to get the point without risk of shattering a man’s skull. We’re all on the same side here.”

  Cleve extended a hand to Fez, uncertain if he would take it, as his face was filled with shock. Soon, though, Fez’s eyes mellowed and his mouth opened slightly in defeat. He accepted Cleve’s hand and was smiling by the time he was back on his feet.

  “Do you have springs in your shoes?” Fez quipped. “I was so shaken by the sight of a gigantic man flying that I forgot to move.”

  Cleve won the rest of his duels just as easily and with less flair. Fez and he spoke as they watched the others fight. It turned out Fez was from Trentyre, where Cleve had been born as well. Cleve had lived there until he was ten, which is when Terren was offered the job as headmaster and moved to the Academy, bringing Cleve with him. Cleve didn’t mention this, though. Nor did he offer anything else from his past.

  Fez won the rest of his duels as well, but he took a strike in many of them, as did most of the other victors. Cleve couldn’t have been more pleased with himself, being the only one not to have given up a point. By the end of it hours later, Cleve was one of only six who weren’t sitting on the grass, exhausted or nursing a wound.

  “We’re done for today, men. Tomorrow we look at technique and accuracy with the sword and throwing knives. Then the day after is my favorite: the rightly infamous endurance testing. This gives you forty-eight hours for any wounds to heal before the endurance testing begins. I do not recommend any further duels until then. Think of it like preparing for battle. Bring your real swords tomorrow. We’ll supply the throwing knives. You’re dismissed.”

  A soft mumbling among students could be detected through the busy noise of each person picking himself up. Fez came over to walk alongside Cleve. “I’ve heard Warrior Sneary is a strict judge of form,” he said.

  Cleve had seen their instructor in the years he’d lived at the Academy but had never known his name or reputation. “Why didn’t he introduce himself?” Cleve suddenly wondered aloud after hearing the name for the first time.

  “When does a man not give his name? I can think of two reasons,” Fez said. “If he doesn’t believe it to be important, or he has a reputation he would rather not be known. I could imagine him providing either answer if we were to ask.”

  “I won’t be asking.” Terren had told Cleve not to ask teachers personal questions, especially warrior teachers.

  “Neither will I.”

  There were hundreds of students walking from Warrior’s Field to their campus houses. Cleve searched for the thick black hair he remembered of Alex. He found some with hair of the same color, but none were of the same height or build.

  “You’re the only one who beat me,” Fez said.

  “I noticed.”

  “I would like a rematch tomorrow after class is finished. Do you accept?”

  Warriors don’t reject the challenge of a duel, Terren had told him. To do so is the same as losing. Cleve thought of Warrior Sneary’s recommendation to avoid combat until endurance day was done. It sounded like good advice, but as he glanced at Warrior’s Field and saw dozens of students still there dueling each other, it became impossible to follow.

  “I accept. Bring your dueling sword and tunic tomorrow.”

  “Good. I’ll be ready for your leaping this time.”

  “We
shall see.” Then Cleve spotted Alex, who was still out on the field, dueling. Excitement fluttered up into Cleve’s chest from his stomach. He mumbled to Fez, “I need to speak with someone. Until tomorrow.” Then he jogged back onto the field.

  The duel had ended by the time Cleve reached the combatants, who were breathing heavily. Cleve couldn’t tell who’d won, nor did he care. He rounded on Alex and said, “I need to speak with you.”

  “Cleve!” Alex sounded pleasantly surprised. “So speak. How were your duels?” He positioned himself for another bout with his opponent.

  “I need to talk in private.”

  Alex let down his sword. “I’ll give you another chance tomorrow if you like,” he said to his opponent and followed Cleve to an open spot on the field. “I hope this is good news. You wish to notify me of your lovely roommate’s infatuation with me?”

  “What? Effie?” He’d seen them talking for some time but hadn’t spoken to her since the party. “No, this is about much more serious matters. What do you know about the investigation we discussed last night?”

  Alex nervously checked in each direction. “Did you tell someone? Is that why Javy Rayvender is here? What did you say? I should never have spoken to you about that.” He suddenly seemed even more panicked than Cleve.

  “I told no one. I’m trying to figure out something, and I can’t remember everything you told me.”

  “It’s better if you don’t remember. It might help me stay out of the dungeons. I have no idea why I was so compelled to tell you last night. I think the unannounced threat of war has been pushing so hard on my conscience that I may be losing my mind. The war! I can’t believe I brought that up either.” Alex slapped his palm on his forehead.

  He seemed to be in the need of consoling, but Cleve was in no mood. “Do you know that my bow was taken last night? It happened while I was at your house.”

  “I didn’t even know you had a bow!” Alex whispered loudly. He held his face with two hands. “More secrets. A bow, why?”

  Cleve maintained his serious tone, suppressing the hot frustration he could feel building within. “I need to know everything you know about this investigation.”

  Alex’s eyes and mouth became rigid. “I told you everything I know last night.”

  “I can’t remember what you told me.” Some frustration slipped out in his tone.

  Alex peered at someone over Cleve’s shoulder. “He’s back. Are you sure that no one knows I told you about the investigation?”

  Cleve began to turn. “Who’s back?” But Alex grabbed him.

  “Don’t look so obvious. You’ve never had a girl pointed out to you in a bar? I’ll tell you when he turns away so you can look. It’s Javy Rayvender. He’s been nosing around Warrior’s Field since class began today. He’s a member of the King’s Council. I was hoping they were looking for a promising warrior for some mission, but now I fear it may have to do with your bow.” Alex’s gaze drifted past Cleve once again. “He seems to be focused on writing something. You can take a quick look.”

  Cleve snapped his head around. Javy was dressed in a long black coat closed by two sets of buttons. Cleve had seen him that day, multiple times, in fact, as he was searching for Alex but hadn’t known who Javy was. From a distance, the man had no discernible features. A black hat hung low over his eyes. He was neither fat nor thin, tall nor short. He had a way of blending naturally into his background, like a hawk perched atop a cliff.

  “If the King’s Council knew anything of my bow, wouldn’t I have already been arrested?”

  “You might think so, but you never know with King Welson. My brother says he’s the most clever king that Kyrro has seen yet and also the most insidious, setting complex traps to catch people in illegal acts.” Alex’s eyes lit up. “Someone should put that into song.” He shook his head and looked cautious again. “I don’t like this, Cleve. Something is telling me we shouldn’t even be talking. Are you certain you told no one about what I said?”

  “I don’t see how I could’ve when I don’t even remember it.”

  Alex took two breaths to think. “Whatever is happening, I now feel involved. I can’t understand why I told you about being investigated. If my brother knew, it would be the last time he spoke to me.”

  It was Reela, Cleve realized. Would Alex even believe me if I told him a psychic persuaded him to speak the truth? He decided that was a conversation best saved for another day, if ever.

  “I still need to know everything you do about this investigation,” Cleve stated firmly. “If you don’t feel comfortable here with Javy watching, come back with me to my house. Effie may be there,” and Reela as well, in case there’s any other information you’re not telling me. Cleve hated psyche, and the thought of using it deceitfully on a friend he’d just begun to trust made him sick with guilt, but finding his bow was far too important to jeopardize with ethics.

  “Effie, yes. They say alcohol cures all that ails you, but I say that is truer about a beautiful woman. Although, both are known to cause vicious fighting.” Alex made sure his sword was secure in its sheath and ran a hand through his hair. “Yes, let’s go, but don’t speak of you-know-what until we get there. Talk to me instead of your roommates. Remind me of their names. Who’s the other girl, Reela was it?”

  “Yes, Reela,” the psychic.

  “She has a sweet look about her. You’re fortunate to live with two attractive women.”

  It was refreshing to hear another speak of Reela’s beauty. Steffen hadn’t mentioned how either Effie or Reela looked, so Cleve had concerns he was the only one to see Reela as he did. However, it still didn’t prove whether or not his affection was because of some psychic spell, as Alex could’ve been influenced by it, too.

  “It’s not as great as you might think.”

  Chapter 22: Chemists

  STEFFEN

  The day of his first class had finally come, but when Steffen awoke that morning, all his enthusiasm for learning had been drained. His thoughts, instead, were clouded by Gabby sneaking into his room last night as he lay naked and asleep in bed. And if that wasn’t enough, he heard from Reela right after waking that Cleve’s bow had been taken, and no one knew by whom.

  The excitement he used to have about sitting in a classroom and listening to a teacher speak of chemistry had been pushed out of him by these recent events. It also didn’t help that he was more than familiar with the material his professor said she would be covering that year.

  His mother had encouraged his reading and practicing from the time he was old enough to understand words on a page. She’d said that all his effort would lead to a better future, but he wondered now, especially after last night, if he should’ve devoted at least some time to chasing after girls like the other boys did. He probably would be in the same place he was today, but he would know a little less of the material being covered that year and a little more about women, or girls, or whatever Gabby was to him. He hated being confused. That’s why I try not to think about the opposite sex, he said to himself as he attempted to organize the thoughts flooding through his mind. Warriors tend to know what they’re doing with women. I wonder how different my relationship with girls would be if my warrior father hadn’t died when I was three.

  His father wasn’t the biggest warrior, his mother had told him, but he was cunning, strong, and full of surprises. “Like a coconut” she would add, “nearly impossible to open without the right tools, yet sweet on the inside if you can get there.”

  Steffen thought every warrior he met would be just like his mother’s description of his father, but he found most of them to be more like lemons—sour and terribly brash. He hadn’t given up on Cleve, though, not yet.

  Even with class being a disappointment, Steffen still was excited, at least, to discuss his potions with Jack Rose, the best chemist at the Academy and perhaps even in Ovira. Steffen was planning to save the meeting with the head of chemists for another day, but after class, he needed to reinvigorate his p
assion for potions and decided the best way was a discussion with his hero. Unsure of the policies regarding students meeting with faculty, he figured he would just meet Master Chemist Jack at his home.

  With the cage of his new rat, Leonard, in hand, Steffen examined a directory near the middle of campus. It showed the faculty housing area as being along the northwestern edge with the dining hall to its east. He’d been to the dining hall, so he knew how to find the faculty housing. What the directory didn’t show, however, was which house belonged to which teacher.

  A female joined Steffen on his left side to look at the directory after flashing a smile. Leonard, on his other side, suddenly produced something that sounded between a cough and a squeak.

  The young lady peered around Steffen to see what it was. “What a strange sound,” she commented. Her eyes were green, but everything else—her hair, eyebrows, cheeks, and lips—was red. Her hair was the red of a dying ember calling out for a breath of air. It cascaded without waves down to her breasts, where the ends curled playfully together. Her smile was what he noticed first, though. With a slight overbite, her grin cutely came down onto a thinly curled lip.

  “Is that a giant rat?” Her eyebrows lifted as she pointed.

  “Yes, meet Leonard.” He held the cage up to match the rodent to her eye level. Leonard turned away from her to sniff at Steffen, showing her his rat rear.

  “Leonard, that’s not very nice,” she said. nudging closer to Steffen to get a better look at Leonard’s front. The soft side of her shoulder pushed against his.

  “Can I pet him?” she asked, beginning to stick a finger within the cage.

  He quickly closed his hand around her finger. “Unfortunately, Leonard would bite you. He likes to chew on everything, an effect of the growth potion I’ve been giving him. I’ve been trying to perfect the formula to achieve the growth without the aggression.”