Scout (Blades VR Book 1)

by Terry Schott

  Sebastian waved a hand. “All very simple spells.”

  “As they should be. Simple, yet they have much to teach.”

  “I have not learned much from them.”

  “I’m not surprised.” Ezref smiled.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because the true learning comes not from casting the spells, but from failing to cast them.”

  Sebastian paused and took a sip from his glass. Then he nodded. “I think I understand.”

  “Do you?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Explain.”

  “The spells that you have chosen to teach are all harmless should they fail to cast, or mis-cast, which occurs frequently. At least, according to your lessons.”

  “Go on.”

  “Verbal, somatic, and component parts of the spell are sufficient enough for each spell that a new student can learn how to speak, move, and select the proper material to cast the spell.”

  “Bat fur is required to cast darkness. What have I told you about that component?”

  “That beginners must learn what to look for in the fur, or else it will not work.”

  “The thickness, moisture content, smell, even the size and roundness of the clump formed as the caster shapes the bat fur. It must be perfect to call the magic.”

  “So you say.” Sebastian shrugged. “But I’ve had no problems with any of it. I must have a knack.”

  Ezref laughed. “But that’s the thing. You don’t.”

  “Huh?”

  “You haven’t moved, spoken, or used components correctly at all.”

  “That can’t be true.”

  “It is. Each attempt has been poor. Worse than I have ever seen.”

  “Yet.” Sebastian raised one eyebrow.

  “Yet the magic comes.” He laughed and shook his head. “Despite everything that is known, you are somehow summoning magic and casting spells, even though your actions should have delivered absolutely zero results so far.”

  Sebastian watched Ezref drain his glass and refill it. “How come you haven’t said anything before now?”

  Ezref grunted and set his glass on the table, spreading his hands wide. “Every time you cast a spell, you are doing what is supposed to be impossible. And yet—”

  “It is happening.”

  Ezref nodded and folded his hands together, resting them on the table. “Just so.”

  The two sat quietly.

  “You’re trying to figure out how I am doing it. Breaking all the rules, yet still casting spells.”

  “To a degree, although there is something else that has become my main focus.”

  “Which is?”

  Ezref leaned back in his chair, folding his arms, a grin on his face. “As I watch you, I’m attempting to forget everything that I’ve learned about crafting.”

  Sebastian frowned. “Why would you want to do that?”

  “Knowing that things are difficult is perhaps the only thing which makes them difficult.”

  “You think that mindset is important?”

  “I do, which is why I kept this from you until now.”

  “I succeeded because I didn’t know I should be failing.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Wait a minute.” Sebastian sat forward. “You’ve told me the truth now. If your theory is correct, won’t that cause me to start messing up spells?”

  “Indeed it could.”

  “You evil little bastard.”

  Ezref grinned. “And so begins phase two of our joint education in crafting.”

  18

  Aleron finished the last words of the spell and opened his eyes, leaning forward and squinting at Yheris’s leather vest. “Feel anything?”

  Yheris made a face and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Aleron, but I don’t.”

  Aleron’s shoulders sagged as he dropped down to the grass. “Another spell that I can’t cast. This is hopeless.”

  Yheris sat and opened his mouth to speak but Aleron shook his head. “Don’t. Your pity makes it worse.”

  “I thought my ability to cast most spells after the first few attempts made things worse for you.”

  Aleron laughed. “Well, yeah. But the pity looks don’t help either.”

  “It’s good you can laugh about it at least.”

  “What else am I gonna do?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Huh?” He looked up and saw the genuine look of sadness on his new friend’s face. “You’re supposed to say I will get it soon. Or the next line of spells will come easy.”

  “That was the last line of spells.”

  “Oh.” Aleron plucked a strand of grass and stripped away the seeds from the top with pinched fingers. “Yeah, I guess it was.”

  “There is more to life than being a druid.”

  “Easy for you to say. You’re well on your way to becoming a druid.”

  “I will need an assistant.”

  Aleron scowled.

  “I know, that’s a terrible idea.”

  “Yeah. I don’t want to be reminded of my failure daily, for the rest of my life.” He put the stalk of grass into the corner of his mouth. “Master Keaedan will send me back to the village.”

  “I don’t think he will embarrass you like that.”

  “He will in order to avoid being shamed himself.” Aleron leaned back, lacing his fingers together as he looked up into the cloudy sky. “He told me this morning that if I failed at this, I would be sent back tonight.”

  “Oh.”

  “He also said it has been over three hundred years since someone invited to the grove for training showed absolute zero skill in the arts.”

  “Ouch.”

  Aleron grinned. “I hoped to be best, but at least I will be remembered.”

  Yheris laughed and nudged Aleron with the toe of his boot. “That’s horrible.”

  “Yet here we are laughing.”

  “You’ll always have your sense of humour.”

  “That’s something.”

  Yheris stood. “Come on. Let’s get back.” He began to whisper and move his hands.

  Aleron stood and brushed the back of his pants. “Casting Thorn Coat?”

  Yheris stopped and sighed. “I was, until someone interrupted me.”

  “Hey, you need to learn to maintain focus. I’m helping with your training.”

  “Like a good assistant would.”

  “Stop.”

  Laughter. “I’m sorry, Aleron.”

  “It’s okay. Cast it on me, then yourself. If you have the energy.”

  “I do.” The elf began casting the spell once more. Aleron felt a tingling sensation as the protection spell settled over his upper torso. The tingling stopped, but his skin felt as if an extra layer of clothing had been added.

  “I can feel it.”

  “Good.” Yheris repeated the spell on himself. As Yheris’ lips stopped moving, Aleron heard the fanfare of a trumpet.

  “Whoah! What was that sound?”

  Yheris frowned. “What sound?”

  “A trumpet. Clear as can be.”

  “I didn’t hear anything.”

  Aleron laughed. “You must have.”

  “Nope. Wait a minute.” Yheris grabbed Aleron’s shoulders. “Did it sound like this?” He pursed his lips and let out a short melody.

  “Yeah, you did hear it.”

  Yheris’s eyes widened and his hands dropped to his sides. “No I didn’t.”

  Aleron laughed. “You must have. You recreated the tune perfectly.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yheris?”

  His friend smiled, eyes still wide. “Seriously, Aleron. This is huge.”

  “What is?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Know what?”

  “Come on.” He began running toward the druid camp.

  “What’s the big deal?”

  “Let’s go!” Yheris called over his shoulder without stopping. “We have to find Mast
er Keaedan and tell him.”

  Aleron frowned. “Tell him what?”

  19

  Aleron caught up to Yheris as he reached the training camp.

  “What’s got you so excited?”

  Yheris’s eyebrows furrowed and he cast a sideways glance at his friend. “You have no idea?”

  “No.”

  Yheris stopped and cocked his head. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Huh? Nothing.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it on the walk, and something is definitely up with you.” Aleron spread his hands and his friend laughed. “Far as I can tell, you’ve been acting weird ever since we arrived at camp and our training began. I guess I didn’t see it because we were all excited and, to tell the truth, I was more worried about myself at first.”

  “You’re out of your mind.”

  “No. The more I think back, the more I realize that you’ve been acting different.”

  “Maybe a bit, but that’s because I’m struggling.”

  Yheris stared at him and Aleron laughed. “All right, not struggling, downright failing at being a druid, which has been my dream for as long back as I can remember.”

  “Maybe.” Yheris began to walk and Aleron did the same.

  “I heard a trumpet. Big deal. Don’t see why it’s worth bothering the Master about it. Obviously I was hearing things that were not there. Chalk it up to stress and let’s move on.”

  They arrived at the Master’s tent and Aleron stopped. Pellea, a middle-aged druid and one of the trainers, sat on the ground near the tent entrance, whittling the top part of a staff. Yheris approached and spoke to the man too softly for Aleron to hear. Pellea raised one eyebrow and glanced at Aleron, then stuck the knife in the ground, laid the staff beside him, stood, and entered the tent. His head poked through the flap a few seconds later and he nodded.

  Yheris turned and motioned for Aleron to join him. The two entered the tent.

  “Did I understand your message correctly, Yheris?” The Master spoke between clenched teeth that held a long clay pipe. He motioned for the others to join him on furs covering the ground.

  Yheris nodded as he sat. “Yes, Master.”

  The old druid took three quick puffs from his pipe, white smoke curling upward as his eyes found Aleron’s. “You heard the trumpet, did you?”

  Aleron opened his mouth to speak, paused, then shook his head. “I thought I heard something like a trumpet, but now I am not so sure.”

  Master Keaedan grunted and removed the pipe from his mouth. “The middle of the woods is not a place where one commonly hears a trumpet, my boy.”

  “War parties sound them,” Aleron ventured. “Or hunters.”

  “War parties attack after they sound the horn. Were you attacked?”

  “No.”

  “And hunters blow their horns repeatedly.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “No idea how the idiots manage to bring down anything when they make such racket. Is that what occurred?”

  Aleron shook his head.

  “But you did hear a trumpet?”

  “I think so, yes.”

  “Hrmm.” The Master looked at the other druid and took another pull from his pipe. “What do you think, Pellea?”

  “I suppose it’s possible.”

  “Might explain why the boy can’t learn the simplest of druid spells.”

  Aleron cleared his throat and felt his cheeks turn warm. He looked at the ground and the Master coughed. “I’m sorry, Aleron. I did not mean to hurt your feelings.”

  “It’s okay, Master. You’re right. I haven’t been able to learn a thing. I possess no talent at all.”

  Master Keaedan laughed. “Or you have more talent than everyone else in this camp put together.”

  Aleron frowned.

  The Master placed his pipe on a small table and smiled at Aleron. “We will set out tomorrow.”

  “We?” Aleron’s eyes searched his friend’s and Pellea’s before returning to the Master. “Where are we going?”

  The old druid’s eyes seemed to sparkle as his mouth widened into a grin. “To visit the Scouts.”

  20

  Arms pumping, lungs burning, Shale heard the thunk of the arrow striking the tree behind her. She took another three quick strides and then stopped, snatching the arrows stuck into the ground at her feet. She snagged two but the third fell as her pinky and ring finger failed to maintain a grip. She let out a small hiss and pushed off with her left leg, running toward the next target while she nocked one arrow to the bowstring.

  About thirty yards from the tree, she stopped and fired. The second arrow chased the first and she streaked toward the next sprouting of three arrows stuck in the ground to her right.

  This time she kept her grip on all three shafts. She closed the gap on the last target and unloaded her missiles. She watched the final arrow streak to its target and bury itself less than an inch from the other two, quivering inside the coin-sized bullseye. She gave a quick glance left and then right. The other four trainees were only now completing their final shots.

  I win. Again.

  When the final arrow struck its target, a whistle sounded and Jielir appeared from the edge of the forest, trotting toward the group. He stopped in front of them and crossed his arms. “Shale wins again.”

  Shale smiled.

  “At least in the speed department.” He raised one eyebrow as his eyes met hers. “You left a few arrows on the ground, girl.”

  “Two,” she said.

  “That’s what I said.” He paused and waited for her to challenge him, but she shook her head. To Jielir, more than one was a few. More than five was a lot. “Follow me to Lelthaes’s trees first. We will see who wins in lethality.”

  By the time they had finished inspecting the individual trees of all the competitors, it was obvious that Shale was the most accurate.

  “The ranger who pulled the least amount of arrows from the ground killed the most trees.” Jielir looked at his five students. “This reinforces my prime lesson, I think.” He pointed skyward. “All it takes is one arrow to do the job.”

  Lelthaes nudged Shale in the ribs and leaned close to whisper. “One arrow per target”

  “That’s right, Lelthaes,” Jielir said. “One arrow sent to its proper home.” His eyes drifted over the cadets. “Why, then, do we teach you how to shoot three?”

  “In order to triple the odds of a kill?” Lelthaes guessed.

  “Perhaps. Anyone else have a thought?”

  The others remained silent until Shale spoke. “Each arrow does a different job.”

  Jielir’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?

  “The first arrow shows the range, tells the ranger how much pull is required.”

  “Go on.”

  “The second reveals current conditions. Temperature, wind, moisture, that sort of thing.”

  “And the third?”

  She smirked. “The third is the killer.”

  He sniffed. “Did someone tell you this?”

  She shook her head.

  Jielir laughed and clapped his hands together. “She’s absolutely correct. Each arrow serves its own function. The goal is always to fill the target with three arrows, but a ranger’s life is fast and ever-changing. If you are able to shoot three arrows in the time it takes a normal archer to loose one, then you always have the advantage, so long as the third one strikes true.

  The students nodded.

  “As the years pass,” Jielir continued, “and you shoot thousands, and then tens of thousands of arrows, your comrades will expect all three arrows to hit the mark in all but the most difficult of conditions.”

  “Years.” One of the rangers-in-training snickered. “We’re already shooting like that.”

  “You’ve proven capable under the simplest of scenarios.” Jielir rolled his head from side to side. “The stationary tree.”

  The group laughed as the instructor motioned toward Lelthaes, who trotted to stand beside
him. Jielir placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder and began to murmur words of magic. The air around them hummed and a vision of light brown appeared and then faded as it settled over Lelthaes.

  “What spell was that?” he asked.

  “Birch coat,” Shale said.

  “That’s right.” Jielir rapped his knuckles against Lelthaes’s shoulder. “I’ve given him a bit of protection.”

  “Only against wood.” Shale shook her head.

  “And not all wood.” Lelthaes shrugged. “This won’t do much against a cudgel or staff.” He frowned. “I can feel it.”

  Jielir nodded. “Good. Tell the group what the coat feels like.”

  Lelthaes pursed his lips and shrugged a few more times. “Feels as if I’m covered by a heavy canvas. Like a big tent has fallen on top of me.”

  “It adds about fifteen pounds of weight.”

  “That’s all?” Lelthaes bounced up and down, arms at his sides. “Feels like more.”

  “If you gained fifteen pounds over a few months you wouldn’t notice.” Jielir pushed him gently. “That much weight in a couple of seconds though—”

  “Why did a crafter even bother to create birch coat?” Shale asked.

  “It was an intermediate spell. A crafter can form a few different things if they keep casting. The birch coat is only the first portion of half a dozen spells.”

  “Step one?”

  “That’s right.” Jielir nodded.

  “Okay, that makes more sense. On its own, the spell is useless.”

  “All magic is useful, if one is creative enough.” He clapped Lelthaes on the back. “Birch coat is going to save your life over the next few weeks.”

  The students frowned and Jielir pointed to a tree across the clearing. “Run over there, Lelthaes. Quick as you can.”

  The boy began to run, grunting at first and swearing about the added weight. When he was halfway across the clearing, Jielir held out one hand. “Shale, give me your bow.”

  She set the bow in his hand and he drew three arrows from the quiver on his back. Shale noticed that the arrow heads were not made from regular steel, but from hardened wood. The Birch coat spell surrounding her friend would stop the missiles from piercing him.