by Dante King
“Proud spirits, we thank you for allowing us safe passage,” Kumi murmured as she bowed respectfully to one of the dragon statues.
“You call that safe?” Mahrai snorted. “A trio of spinedrakes as a welcoming committee?”
“You were almost as terrifying a welcome to Hyng’ohr City,” Kegohr muttered under his breath.
“Mahrai speaks insolently,” Kumi said, staring up at the dragon statue, “but her heart remains in your service.”
“Now, listen here—” Mahrai began.
The doors scraped open and cut her words short. Two men in scarlet robes pushed the doors open and stood silently at each side of the entrance. I studied them as I approached. Their heads were shaved, but wispy white beards hung almost to their waists. Their calm eyes didn’t meet mine when I spoke.
“We are the requested members of Radiant Dragon.”
The two monks raised their hands and gestured in sync toward the inside of the monastery. I couldn’t help shivering as I bowed to them. My senses tingled as I strolled through the doors.
Inside, my eyes slowly adjusted to the gloom. A massive floor of dark stone made every footstep echo ten times louder. More golden statues towered over us, and a series of mighty pillars held up the vaulted ceiling. Intricate scrollwork wrapped itself around the supports and glowed with a soft yellow light.
Vigor drenched every inch of the monastery. I could feel it in the air, the ground beneath my feet, and especially in the pillars around us. I had seen this kind of energy in the Sunstone Temple, back in Hyng’ohr Valley, but the magical ambience of the monastery dwarfed Sunstone by comparison. The decorations alone must have been worth billions back home. Each statue and inscription had to be centuries old. Money alone couldn’t pay for majesty and beauty like this.
I turned my gaze forward to a massive altar at the other end of the entrance hall. A fierce dragon warred with a lion in a huge golden mosaic on the wall above the altar. Potent incense swirled up in streaming wisps, and a single figure sat deep in meditation before it. His scarlet robes were darkened by a black stole while the light of the candles before him reflected off his bald head.
My team kept their silence as we walked to meet the solitary monk.
His voice broke the quiet like a cracking whip.
“State your intention, travelers.”
The authority and power in the man’s voice hit me like a punch. The monk’s voice itself was a weapon, and the force behind it made me hesitate. I had met one person with a similar skill before, but he’d been a Straight Path cultist.
I bowed and chose my words carefully. “We have come to train at the behest of Guildmaster Xilarion of Radiant Dragon. He extends his wish of good fortune, his greetings, and his gratitude to the Monastery of the Dying Sun.”
The monk inclined his head but didn’t so much as glance over his shoulder at us. “Xilarion always did have good manners. You are Ethan Murphy Lo Pashat, the newest who bears the mantle of Immortal Swordslinger.”
I simply bowed.
“And behind you: Kegohr the Wild; Vesma, she of the humble beginnings and quick wit; Faryn, of course, from the Western Forests; Princess of the Qihin, you are welcomed here also. But you, girl of the darkened heart and narrow mind... You, I do not know.”
“My name is Mahrai, and I follow the Swordslinger,” Mahrai said.
The old monk dipped his head in understanding. “At his request, I believe. Then it is as the spirits have told me. Good fortune smiles on us this evening.”
The monk was on his feet so fast that I couldn’t track the movement. The man couldn’t have been any taller than 5’5”, and his robes hung off his skeletal form like sheets. His skin was tight and weathered, and wiry muscle bunched around his neck and forearms. He gazed at me with flinty eyes and clasped his hands behind his back. The movement reminded me of Xilarion’s typical posture.
Maybe the guildmaster had adopted it from this very man.
“Enough pleasantries,” he said. “Your journey is but the first leg of a much longer walk upon a Path beyond your understanding. We must see to it that you are properly educated.”
The monk nodded, and the two men from the door appeared from the wings of the hallway. They drew level to my friends before they both gestured to the left and right. I glanced back at their faces. Faryn smiled encouragingly at me. Mahrai looked uneasy, but Vesma, Kegohr, and Kumi simply looked relieved that we had arrived here in one piece.
“You, young Swordslinger, will stay. The others will be shown to their cells.”
“Go on,” I encouraged them. “You’ve earned a rest. I’ll see you soon.”
They followed the monks into the wings of the hallway. The monastic brothers closed the doors quietly behind themselves, leaving me alone with the ancient monk. I met his eye and waited for him to say something. My time in the Seven Realms had taught me the value of patience when it came to powerful Augmenters. They liked to make people wait to test their mettle.
“Sit,” he finally said.
I took up a meditative posture without complaint and used the opportunity to study the man more closely. The stole around his neck marked him as a person of authority, and the sheer power in the air around him told me that he was the Hierophant that Xilarion had mentioned.
“He wields extraordinary power,” Nydarth whispered.
“Like the crashing waves of a tsunami,” Yono agreed.
“You both sound afraid,” Choshi replied.
“Only those who have never held power do not understand what it is to lose it,” Nydarth said. “Be quiet, little one. The Master needs his focus.”
I smiled as their voices retreated into the back of my mind.
“You have learned to hide your true power from others,” the Hierophant observed. “An admirable quality in a leader. But it is only the beginning, and you have much to learn. And time works against us.”
“I’m ready,” I said firmly.
The Hierophant prowled around me in a small circle, studying me with a brusque gaze. I kept my eyes forward, examining the sparkling mosaic above the altar and settling my breathing to replenish my Vigor.
“Then cast aside your Immense Blades, Swordslinger,” he said, “and let us begin your first lesson in Physical Augmentation.”
Chapter Nine
Physical Augmentation? I wasn’t sure what the Hierophant meant by that, but he had asked me to put away my Immense Blades, so I obeyed.
Seated on the floor of the Dying Sun Monastery’s inner hall, I unclasped the harness from my chest and gently placed the Demure Rebirth and the Depthless Dream down by my side. Nydarth hummed as I unbuckled the Sundered Heart from my belt and positioned it by the other weapons. I kept my meditative posture, opened my channels, and smiled as my Vigor leapt to my will. Even after the fights against the spinedrakes and a long trek over the mountains, I knew I could still tap into my reserves and blast my way through a trial.
It wouldn’t be easy, but I hadn’t come this far by playing it safe.
“What’s Physical Augmentation?” I asked the Hierophant.
He kept up his prowling stride around me. “The use of Vigor to fortify your physical body. Basic Augmentation is taught to all initiates and disciples, but it is an unsubtle and explosive art that bends the body and mind to its limits. You’ve relied on it too heavily in your travels, Swordslinger.”
“It’s served me well,” I answered.
“Perhaps so, but it is only the surface of the arcane arts. Cheap, raw power ripped from the creatures of the Seven Realms to protect the guilds and clans. As time has gone by, more and more guilds insist on turning their initiates into soldiers rather than students.”
The Hierophant was obviously a traditionalist, but it was hard to argue with his observations. Every guild was armed and prepared for trouble at a moment’s notice.
“So, tell me,” I said, “how does Physical Augmentation work?”
“Feel the energy flowing through you,” the monk
said. “Find your channels. But rather than projecting power into a technique, allow it to strengthen your physical form. Take the element you are most familiar with, Center Disciple, and begin.”
The Hierophant’s words echoed sharply through the hall. I took a deep breath and found the channels of fire within. They began in the center of my chest and twisted through my body into my hands and feet, warming me with their internal heat. I inserted a small amount of Vigor into the pathways and instinctively opened my hands. Untamed Torch hissed free in a small plume of flame, but I closed my hands immediately.
That wasn’t my task. I had to do something far more difficult.
“You’re calling upon technique,” the Hierophant snapped. “Do better.”
I could do this. I simply needed to focus.
I ignored the Hierophant’s stinging words and narrowed my focus on the pathways themselves. The channels were strong from almost a year of instinctive use. They were designed to project a variety of techniques into the world outside my body.
I adjusted my focus to the edges of the pathways and pulled at them with my thoughts. Heat continued to warm my body as I meditated, twisted the rigid channels, and tried to push them into a different shape.
The Hierophant didn’t seem to be in a hurry, and time passed as I attempted to reforge the shape of the channels into something else. I had done it before, over a matter of weeks, but I knew the sensation and the feeling of my internal magic highways almost as well as I knew my own body.
The edges of the vein-like structures inside me changed shape. Rather than smooth channels to carry my Vigor directly to my hands, they took on a thorned feeling. Small branches seeped out into my muscles and unfolded like a sprouting tree. A smile flitted across my face as I eased more of my Vigor into the newly formed pathways.
I opened my eyes. Orange flame danced merrily at the edges of my robes and flashed from my face, but they left my body unharmed. Warm magic bled through my body, and I let the flames die out with a thought.
The Hierophant halted in his tracks and stared at me. “Where did you first learn to Augment?” he demanded.
I almost said “the Unwashed Temple” but held my tongue. The longer I sat here in the monastery, the more I became convinced that Tolin had something to do with the monks. The old hermit had never given me the answers I’d wanted, and I wondered if it was to protect himself. If there was a chance that speaking of my origins in the Seven Realms could cause trouble for my old mentor, then I wasn’t willing to take it. The Hierophant was powerful, true, but I didn’t know the man. And I had been to guilds before that had turned their students away from the Wandering Path. Xilarion had trusted Horix, and I’d killed him when I’d realized that the Resplendent Tears guildmaster was a power-hungry monster. This Hierophant could be another man with a terrible secret, walking a wicked path.
“I learned a few things from Master Faryn,” I answered, “before I made my way to Radiant Dragon. She taught me how to farm cores and use techniques.”
“Then your instinctive grasp of Augmentation is greater than that of any other student I have seen in centuries. Your understanding of your own pathways takes years to achieve. To shift and shape them in such a way, decades. And yet you’ve managed it in half an hour.”
“I’ve been known to exceed expectations before,” I said.
“Evidently,” the Hierophant said. “To your feet, Disciple. Let us test your newfound understanding, see if you truly are as impressive as the spirits have stated.”
I stood, fought off another rush of fatigue, and waited for the Hierophant to explain what he meant. He strode behind me before he positioned himself in the center of the enormous hall. He clasped his hands behind his back in a contemplative pose that reminded me of Xilarion.
“Attack, Disciple. Hold nothing back. Allow the Vigor to flow through you freely. But resist the urge to rely on technique or bladecraft. Neither will serve you here.”
I fortified my body with Vigor. Flame hissed into life around me, and strength surged into my muscles. I couldn’t help but grin at the sensation. I left the fatigue behind, measured the distance between myself and the Hierophant, then advanced with a confident stride.
It wasn’t every day you got to brawl with an ageless monk, and I was excited to test out my newfound power.
The Hierophant raised an eyebrow when I lunged off my front foot. The ground sailed away from beneath my feet, and I gasped as the sheer force of the jump carried me over his head. I landed, slid to a halt, and recovered in an instant.
I’d just jumped clean over his head without even trying.
Exactly how powerful did Physical Augmenting make me?
The Hierophant unclasped his hands. Subtle heat haze rippled off his skin as he strolled forward with an almost-bored expression. I readjusted my position and threw a lightning-fast jab at him. He blocked it with a snake-like hand, slammed his other fist into my chest, and floored me. My lungs burned from the lack of air, but I twisted up into a backward handspring.
I couldn’t even feel my own weight anymore. The fire burned through me, a weightless force charged with power, and I took a deep breath. The Hierophant beckoned me with a slight nod, and I aimed a flurry of straight punches and elbows at him. His hands flashed out like cobras, intercepting and deflecting my blows. His posture was too good, and I couldn’t trade hands like this forever.
I changed things up, delivering a roundhouse to his leg, but the Hierophant raised his knee to block it. The floor trembled at the impact, and I twisted into another kick at his chest. He blocked it with crossed arms, but the sheer power of the blow slid him back 10 feet. I bounded after him in two easy steps and ripped at his face with an axe kick. He caught the blow on his forearms, and the floor crackled under his worn sandals. His own leg struck out like a coiled spring, took out my supporting limb, and he threw me like a football. I bunched myself up as I soared through the air and slammed into one of the hall’s supporting pillars. The whole ceiling shook at the impact, and I hit the ground on my hands and knees.
A blow like that should have snapped my spine in half like a twig.
This was insane. I’d always been fit, but now, I felt like I could match a superhero in combat. I sprinted at the Hierophant, the floor whipping away under my feet. I torqued my hips and went low in a sweep kick. The monk backflipped into the air, landed in front of the altar, and raised his hands to block my next attack. I threw everything I had into a blow.
My fist slammed into his palm like thunder.
The candles on the altar flickered out as a shockwave exploded outward. I paused as the Hierophant stepped back to sheathe his hands in his oversized sleeves. He inclined his head slightly to me in the universal sign of respect. I did the same.
Vigor and adrenaline raced through me as I caught my breath. It took a minute to cut off the addictive supply of super-strength. The flame around me vanished back into my skin, and the gloom of the hall surrounded us in an instant.
Chapter Ten
“Resume your seat,” the Hierophant said.
I sat at my original place by the Immense Blades.
A small flame appeared around the Hierophant’s fingertips. He lit the candles again with a reverent silence before turning to face me again. His face was a mask of stoic calm, but his gaze wandered over me with interest as he settled into a cross-legged pose a few feet away from me.
“You acquit yourself well, Disciple, but raw aggressiveness will only take you so far. Physical Augmentation is a delicate art. Without focus and discipline, it will consume you entirely.”
I nodded. “I’ve seen power consume others before.”
“In Wilds and the uninitiated, perhaps. Always keep a mind to your Path.” He nodded. “You are bursting with questions, no doubt. You have the privilege of three before we conclude your training for the evening.”
I organized my thoughts and asked the first one on my mind.
“Kegohr can do something similar to this.
He calls it the Spirit of the Wildfire. I’ve seen it boost his strength and resistance to damage before. Is he using Physical Augmentation?”
The Hierophant raised an eyebrow. “It certainly sounds as though he is. Wilds instinctively reach toward more fundamental principles of Augmentation to survive. Your friend burns with a strong affinity for fire, and as such, he seems to have learned to use it without formal training.”
“Kumi has her own technique that only affects the environment around her. She sings, controls water with her voice, and uses it to heal wounds and restore energy. It’s not Physical Augmentation, so what is it exactly?”
“The famed Song of the Sea of the Qihin people,” the Hierophant replied. “It is a unique skill, to be sure, but it uses the principles of Environmental, rather than Physical, Augmentation. She is restricted in her knowledge, but you will learn its principles in time.”
I held back a smile and chose my last question carefully.
“What forms of Augmentation do you intend to teach me?” I asked.
“Physical, Spiritual, and Environmental. These are the fundamentals rarely utilized in the Seven Realms except by the most learned students of the monasteries. The Swordslingers who came before you died before they could access the fullest secrets of their art. Some prevailed, and legends tell of their transcendence to the plane of the Demigods. But, while you show promise, you are young and inexperienced.” The Hierophant stood and gestured for me to do the same. “Your training will continue each day when the sun is highest in the sky. You have proven yourself worthy, Ethan Murphy Lo Pashat, and we of the Dying Sun pledge to your formation as the Immortal Swordslinger.”
I bowed in gratitude. “Thank you.”
“The cells are simple enough to find. Take one of the exits and rest. Breakfast begins at dawn. You would do well not to miss it.”
