While the girls surrounding her clapped and cheered, Quinn watched Iko slide his helmet over his head and stand. Armed with a wooden longsword and shield, he matched his opponent in weapons but not in stature. The other boy stood at well over six-feet and outweighed Iko by a fair amount. Despite the calm look on Iko’s face, Quinn found herself worrying about how he might fare. She soon discovered that her worry was misplaced.
When Sergeant Khallum called for the duel to begin, the larger boy moved closer to Iko and took a massive, powerful swing toward Iko’s midsection. With a fluid motion, Iko lifted his shield at an angle while ducking. The strike slid harmlessly over his head as Iko lunged and drove his sword beneath his opponent’s arm, eliciting a cry of pain when the wooden blade slammed into his ribs and drove him to the dirt.
Khallum called out, “Match.”
Iko stood back while a boy in a blue coat ran onto the floor and knelt beside the downed cadet. The sergeant raised Iko’s hand and the crowd cheered. By the time Khallum walked away, the other boy was rising to his feet, his injuries healed. Iko clapped the boy on the shoulder and shook his hand as the two walked to the side of the floor.
Iko had won handily, not even breaking a sweat. The boys’ duels were finished. Quinn took a deep breath, knowing that the girls were next.
Quinn glared at Darnya, mirroring her opponent, refusing to blink until the other girl looked away. Five strides separated them…a divide of little consequence, yet as vast as an ocean. One girl was tall, powerfully built, and of dark shadows – the other lithe, agile, and as sunny as a midsummer day. Yet, both girls offered nothing but intense glares for each other.
Sergeant Jasmine strolled between them, interrupting the stare-down. Quinn stood to one end of the first-year line, Darnya to the end of the second-year line of cadets. With her hands clasped behind her back, Jasmine strode down the gap between the two lines and addressed the group.
“You just watched the boys duel, so you should know how this goes. Just to ensure the rules are clear, I will repeat them.
“After I call out each pairing, you will face each other within the center circle. As judge, I will declare a winner if any of the following occur.” Jasmine held a single finger up. “A combatant is rendered unconscious,” she raised two fingers, “a combatant breaks a major bone,” three fingers, “we deem a fighter unable to proceed,” and four fingers, “or a fighter is knocked outside the circle.”
Jasmine’s hands rejoined one another behind her back as she spun about to pace in the other direction. “You might wonder why we contain the fight inside a circle. Rather than a strip of paint on a dirt floor, I ask you to imagine the fight occurring atop a tower and that circle represents a drop of a hundred feet. You step off the edge, you lose, and you die. Same here. Combat often has boundaries or obstacles that can kill as easily as the blade you are facing. This is but another aspect of the discipline we seek to instill within you.”
Jasmine withdrew a sheet of paper from the waist of her breeches, unfolding it before reading two names aloud. Those girls stepped forward and donned their sparring helmets, while the others drifted to the benches at the side of the Coliseum floor.
Quinn found a seat at one end of a bench, wishing to be alone as she considered how to best fight Darnya. Hugging her sparring helmet with one arm while resting her wooden swords across her lap, she allowed a sigh to slip out. After spending much of the previous night considering how to defeat her bigger and stronger opponent, she didn’t expect any insightful revelation now.
Inside the circle, Simone faced another second-year cadet named Bronwyn. The latter had an advantage in size and reach, but Quinn knew that Simone was faster and more agile than the girl she faced. Simone gave her staff a quick twirl, while Bronwyn smacked her sword against her shield with a loud clack.
“Begin!” Jasmine shouted.
Bronwyn darted forward with an aggressive attack, the air filling with thumping clacks of wood striking wood. The staff in Simone’s hands flicked from side-to-side as she expertly blocked a barrage of sword strokes before swiping toward Bronwyn’s legs. The larger girl jumped back and blocked a following strike with her shield. Both girls then separated, circled a few steps, and reset with a ready stance.
The pause did not last long as Bronwyn lunged with a stab, a slash, and then closed the gap further with the swing of her shield and a sweep of her sword. Lightning-quick, Simone ducked beneath the strike, spun, and jammed the butt of her staff into Bronwyn’s exposed midriff. Quinn heard the girl’s ribs crack from ten strides away.
“Match!” Jasmine called as Bronwyn fell to her knees.
Cheers and the sound of clapping hands came from behind Quinn. She turned to find the male cadets filtering into the stands, having finished their duels and a subsequent trip to the baths. It took but a moment before she found Iko, who smiled and waved when their eyes met. Her heart fluttered and butterflies stirred her stomach.
A girl in a blue coat descended from the stands and approached Bronwyn, the cadet’s face twisted in a grimace of pain. The ecclesiast placed her hand on Bronwyn’s arm and closed her eyes. Both girls stood rock-still for a long moment until Bronwyn shuddered, her eyes going wide as she gasped for air. After a few heavy breaths, a look of relief crossed Bronwyn’s face. She gave a nod to her benefactor before rising to her feet.
As the girls retreated to the benches, Jasmine called the next two names. Over the next hour, the process repeated again and again, with each match lasting no more than a few minutes. With each match, Quinn’s anxiety steadily grew more intense. Knowing that Iko would be watching her duel only made it worse.
When Jasmine announced the final pairing, Quinn slipped her helmet on, gripped her swords, and stood to follow Darnya to the circle at the center of the floor. The room grew silent but for the crunching of dirt beneath their footsteps and the pounding of Quinn’s pulse in her own ear. Upon reaching the circle, Darnya stood to one side of Jasmine, while Quinn stood to the other side.
“Prepare yourself for battle, Cadets.” Jasmine strode from the circle, leaving an open gap between Quinn and her opponent, five strides across.
Darnya glared at Quinn with a sneer. “I’m going to embarrass you.”
Quinn glared back at the girl in silence.
Tall, strong, and athletic, Darnya possessed natural gifts that placed Quinn at a disadvantage. Her opponent’s extra year of training created a gap far more severe. Yet, Quinn refused to succumb to fear or accept any excuse. She found the thought of losing to Darnya intolerable.
“Go!” Jasmine’s voice echoed in the Coliseum.
Darnya snarled and jumped forward with a wide slash. Quinn jumped back and smacked her opponent’s sword aside. With a lunge, Darnya stabbed at Quinn, who twisted and spun, coming around with both swords at her opponent’s exposed backside.
Rather than striking Darnya, the swords struck her shield when the girl spun around backward. Darnya’s longsword followed, and Quinn ducked, but too late. The impact of the sword striking her helmet knocked Quinn to her hands and knees, her head ringing as spots danced in her vision. Darnya’s boot then struck her midriff with a hard kick, sending a sharp pain through Quinn’s ribs and the wind blasting from her lungs.
Quinn rolled with the kick and found herself at the edge of the circle. Her head felt as if it might explode, her ribs on fire. She looked up and found Darnya advancing. The girl had a gloating grin on her face as she raised her sword. Raw anger filled Quinn. With a backhand swipe, she flung one of her short swords.
The wooden sword smashed into Darnya’s mouth as her overhead strike descended. Quinn rolled toward her attacker and slammed against her legs as Darnya’s longsword crashed into the dirt, barely missing her target. Hard as she could, Quinn jammed her remaining sword upward into Darnya’s crotch. The girl’s eyes and mouth opened wide, a scream of pain blasting out as she doubled-over. While still lying on the ground, Quinn reached up, grabbed a fist full of Darnya’s sparring vest
, and pulled down with all her might, wincing at the knife of pain coming from her ribs. Darnya stumbled forward to land on her hands and knees, with both hands beyond the circle’s edge.
Jasmine shouted, “Match!”
A gasp slipped through Quinn’s lips, a result of the stabbing ache in her ribs at each shallow breath. Wiping her face, her fingers came away red with blood and she realized that her helmet had cut her cheekbone when struck by Darnya’s head blow.
A boy’s face, framed by yellow hair, appeared in her view. His blue eyes were accompanied by a friendly smile.
“I’m Jurgan. I’m here to heal you. Are you ready?”
When she nodded, he placed a warm hand on her arm and closed his eyes. A shock of cold struck Quinn as a shiver shook her body and her lungs compressed, forcing her breath out. She scrambled for breath, which refused to come until a deep gasp finally refilled her lungs. Amazingly, it no longer hurt to breathe. Her stomach rumbled with the hollow growl of deep hunger, longing to be sated.
Quinn sat upright and found herself whole, her head no longer thumping, her face no longer bleeding. She then spied a girl in a blue coat kneeling beside Darnya as she gasped for air.
Darnya sat upright and glared at Quinn, her face filled with fury. She scrambled to her feet and turned to Jasmine while pointing toward Quinn.
“She cheated!” Darnya snarled. “She threw her sword at me! And did you see where she struck me?”
A frown appeared on Jasmine’s face. “I believe you forget who you’re speaking to, Cadet.”
Darnya’s mouth drew a thin line, her lips pressed tight together. “Sorry, Sergeant.” As Quinn rose to her feet, the girl pointed toward her again. “She should be disqualified for cheating.”
Jasmine shook her head. “She broke no rules, Darnya. In fact, I believe she did you a favor.” Jasmine put a hand on the tall girl’s shoulder. “Issal blessed you with physical talent, but I have been waiting for someone to beat you. No matter how good you become, you’ll never be invincible.” Jasmine turned toward Quinn. “Combat is about survival, and there are no rules on the battlefield. Oftentimes, the line between life and death is drawn in an act of desperation. Yes, Quinn’s actions were unconventional, and you may even find them despicable. However, following some unwritten code of honor matters little if you are dead.”
20
A Message
Everson stared at his lap as he recited his tale. From time to time, he would look up and squint in an attempt to see his captors beyond the bright light. However, those attempts yielded little more than shadowy forms. Drops of nervous sweat ran down his ribs and he shivered before forcing himself to continue his tale.
“I settled into a daily routine, one that some might consider monotonous…but not me.” Everson recalled the sense of satisfaction he carried with him during those days. “Each morning, I would wake, dress, and go to breakfast with Jonah. We would eat and leave the dining hall before most other students were awake. We occupied the extra time before class by pouring through books in the knowledge center, in search of information about Chaos and recordings of its use.
“In Chaos Theory, things did not proceed as we hoped they might. Hopes are often left underfed, and Master Alridge was sure to leave us wanting for more. We would spend weeks on a single application of Chaos, covering the many uses of one rune while she reiterated the dangerous nature of the magic and the harm it could create in the hands of the undisciplined.
“Engineering classroom sessions went far better, as did the skill training in the Foundry each afternoon. I eagerly consumed every bit of information placed before me and often presented leaps of thought that left the rest of the class rushing to catch up. At the same time, years of training in my father’s smithy gave me a distinct edge in working metal, particularly fine works that required finesse and an understanding of managing the heat and carbon applied.
“The things I built consistently won me praise but also required long hours spent in the Foundry, and I often missed meals. Evening baths became a regular event since I tired of Jonah complaining about the smell of burnt iron and sulfur and sweat. Afterward, I would pour myself into bed and fall asleep in moments, only to wake for another day – each as glorious as the last.
“This pattern continued for weeks until one day in my Engineering classroom, Nindlerod informed us of a new challenge.”
“And in conclusion, the mathematical embodiment of time can be represented by various units of measure. Eons, centuries, decades, years, weeks, days, hours, minutes, all can be broken down into seconds – or the passing of a breath.
“Now, can anyone tell me when time first began?” Nindlerod gestured toward a boy near the front. “Sakan?”
The tall, heavy-set boy glanced about the room. “Um…at year one?”
Nindlerod’s brow furrowed. “And what year is it now?”
Sakan smiled, pinching his ruddy face. “That’s easy. 1467.”
Unable to restrain himself, Everson blurted “What?”
Sakan turned toward him. “It’s the year 1467. You can’t deny that.”
Everson snorted. “No. However, that’s just a number defined by man. Time began far before we started tracking the years. In fact, it began eons before man even existed.”
“Very good, Everson.” Nindlerod smiled. “The years that Sakan referred to are merely a construct of mankind. Many additional zeros must be added to represent the true span of time.”
Sakan’s face grew redder than his hair, and he flashed a grimace toward Everson. Master Nindlerod rose from his stool to stand before the class.
“Time is infinite, never ending, and completely oblivious to the passing of man. Yet, time remains the most fascinating of concepts, and mankind has forever tried to capture it, define it, and track it, with the hope that, one day, we might master it.”
As with most concepts covered in engineering training, Everson was enthralled with the concept of time – something so nebulous yet intrinsically core to the lives of everyone who had ever lived. The human definition of time was just that and nothing more. Yet, the concept of time captured his attention and made him feel as if it could be further defined, monitored…tracked.
Nindlerod lifted the hourglass off the desk, its white sand now nearly gathered at the bottom. “Our lives are finite, as is this class session. The sand will soon stop falling, and our session will end. Similarly, one day the hourglass of our lives will run out of sand, and we will leave this life to join Issal and perhaps return to start anew. Think on this. Consider how you will spend your time among the living and what mark you might make on the world. Don’t waste your grains of sand, for you cannot know how many remain.”
As he ended the sentence, the sand stopped falling, and all that remained was the static mound at the base.
“We are now at the end of your ninth week. You possess a firm grasp on the primary principles of engineering and have been taught the basic skills required to create things in the Foundry. Of course, your knowledge and skill will continue to increase with time, but you need no longer wait to apply what you’ve learned.
“Hopefully, you have some ideas of things you hope to create, whether it be a completely new concept or a better version of something that already exists. Regardless, I now present your first opportunity to invent something and to compare your creative skills against your fellow students. Prepare yourselves for the annual Autumn Inventor’s Challenge!”
As he ended the sentence, Nindlerod held his hand above his head with his finger aimed at the ceiling. The old man’s eyes were bright, matching his maniacal grin.
Nindlerod lowered his hand. “I suggest that you form a team and collaborate as needed, for this contest includes apprentice and adept-level engineering students. However, there are rules.
“This competition is limited to creations that function naturally, without any form of Chaos augmentation. You may use any material you choose, and you will be provided full access to the Foundry to
construct your creation.
“Your inventions will be presented in the Arena seven weeks from today, to be judged by a panel of academy masters with scores awarded in five categories including originality, practicality, presentation, execution, and function. The winner will forfeit his or her design to the school for the price of five gold marks.”
The announcement caused a stir among the classroom. Five gold marks was a significant sum for anyone, especially a student.
Everson turned toward Donnell, who leaned toward him and whispered, “Do you have something in mind? I’d love to help if you think you can win.”
Everson chewed his lip and considered the idea that had been forming. “I need some time to think on it.” He turned back toward Nindlerod to find the man grinning as the students quieted.
“Yes. The winning team earns five gold pieces, a hefty prize to be sure.” Nindlerod rose to his feet, groaning as he leaned on his cane. “I look forward this year’s batch of creations. Class dismissed. Enjoy your lunch. We will reconvene in the Foundry for a session on casting metal.”
The door burst open and Everson sat up in a lurch. His heart pounded in his ears, and he wiped the sleepiness from his eyes. Jonah stood in the doorway, his grinning face lit by a strip of orange light as the setting sun streamed through a gap in the curtain.
“You startled me,” Everson said. “I was dozing I think…” He noticed the look on Jonah’s face. “You missed dinner. Where were you tonight, and why are you smiling like that?”
Jonah put his pack down and sat on his bed as Everson swung his legs around until his feet thumped to the floor.
“I was out on the lawn by myself, working on something, and…I did it. After weeks of trying, I finally did it!” Jonah’s face appeared as if might break from his grin.
“You did what?”
“Magic. Chaos. I made it work.”
A Warden's Purpose (Wardens of Issalia Book 1) Page 14
