by Ben Hale
He slid off the wall and landed in the shadows as a trickle of fear coursed through him. His skin tingled and he shivered at the foreboding in his blood. For the first time since his youth he stayed in the shadows as terror gripped him, and he felt the gaze of killers searching for him. He growled under his breath, reminding himself of who he was. Rayths did not feel fear.
They inspired it.
He scanned the corpses, but nothing moved. Still he hesitated as his intuition screamed at him to flee. Reining it in with a clench of his jaw, he darted to the first body. At ten feet in height, the rock troll would have towered over Breaker, but he lay on his side, his blood staining the dirt beneath him. A glance revealed that the injuries were made from magic rather than a weapon. A gouge here, and flesh burned by flame next to it. The marks of fire, ice, and other means coated his body. He shuddered as he saw the truth written in the rock troll's flesh.
Rock trolls were trained to be the ultimate warrior, but it was their skin that provided their greatest tactical advantage. With the advent of firearms, the trolls had taken to using special amulets to enhance the natural density of their skin. By adulthood their skin was like living Kevlar.
Enhanced in such a fashion a troll was all but impervious to magical attacks—yet this body had taken enough damage to break through it. The hackles on Breaker's neck rose as he darted to the next corpse, and then another. Each had died in a similar manner.
Then he saw movement.
The largest of the trolls reached up and grabbed his leg. Breaker nearly killed him in surprise. Then he knelt by the troll's side, and through the mask of wounds on his face, he recognized him.
"Kreiton," Breaker growled, his voice a harsh whisper. "What happened?"
The troll coughed through bloody teeth. "They took down our sentries and lured us outside."
Breaker's stomach tightened. "Who could have done this to your kind?"
Kreiton bared his teeth in a snarl of pain and hate, but he shook his head. Then his eyes flickered over Breaker's shoulder. Dread filled Breaker's chest as he heard the pattern of footsteps behind him. He whirled to face them, calling on his magic as he did.
The stone next to him shattered into pieces and climbed into the air. Grinding and twisting, the rocks shaped into fists the size of trucks. The ground shook as the stone hands punched it—but the circle of cloaked figures did not make a move. The standoff lasted for several seconds until one stepped from the crowd and lifted his hood. His black eyes glittered with anticipation.
"Breaker, the great Rayth, captain in the battlemages for a decade, it's an honor."
Breaker didn't answer. His eyes scanned the circle, searching for a weakness. The attackers wore cloaks that were ripped and torn from their attack on the trolls. Blood stained many of them. Despite the evidence of their conflict, one thing spoke volumes of their skill.
They were still alive.
"Why?" Breaker barked.
"Because mages are meant for more than exile. Don't you see that we have eliminated hunger, want, and all the needs that aurens wage wars for? There is no reason for their loss of life. Under us they would live in peace and prosperity, and their families would be safe. Their lives would be better without the choices that doom them to pain."
"You wish to enslave them," Breaker spit the words at him. "But a tyrant is still a tyrant, no matter his intentions." He swept his hand at the bodies that lay around him, and his stone fist mirrored his motion. "A true leader does not need to kill like this."
The black-eyed man laughed. "You will not know our master until it is too late, even if you fish for it. I am not such a fool that I would reveal it—even to a dead man."
A tall thin figure beside him leaned close and whispered in his ear, causing his black eyes to tighten. "Especially as you are recording this on your glasses . . . and would report it to Hawk."
Breaker's blood turned to ice. Only Hawk and a handful within the Guild knew that Breaker was a member. Was it possible the Guild had a traitor? The possibility of betrayal blossomed Breaker's anger into rage. Without waiting for them to attack, he struck first.
The stone fists pummeled the nearest cloaked ones. The chilling snap of bones and subsequent screams overwhelmed night. Then the Harbingers hit back.
Piercing water, ice, and fire streaked toward him, but he intercepted each blow with his rock fists. One cracked under the assault, unable to withstand the will behind the magic. Breaker sent the broken fist into the advancing ranks, and then detonated it. Rocks and chunks of debris exploded into the cloaked ones, tearing them to shreds.
A pair of gravity mages lifted the rubble into a tornado of rock. Discarded troll weapons lifted into the deadly cyclone. It raised like a whip, churning with stones and broken blades. It snapped toward Breaker, but he caught the salvo with his remaining stone fist.
It crumbled from the blow, so Breaker leaned down and punched the ground. The remains of the massive rock fist followed suit. The stone rippled as it struck, sending the attackers stumbling and falling to their knees. Releasing his hold on the fist, he called on the surrounding rock. He rose to his feet, yanking it free of the earth.
Four sections of stone exploded from the ground and collided above his head, shielding him and Kreiton from view. The shell was powerful, but hasty, and tiny gaps between the plates allowed the flickering firelight into the temporary refuge.
Knowing he had only seconds, Breaker dropped to the rock troll's side. "What were they after?" he said in a rush.
"They came for the key," Kreiton growled. Even with death at his door the rock troll managed to draw a dagger from his side and push himself into a sitting position.
"Key? What key?"
"They sought the sword of—ˮ
Water streaked through a gap in the pyramid. Then it froze, and pierced Kreiton's chest. The rock troll shuddered, but refused to die. With a snarl he hurled the dagger through the gap. A muffled scream marked the hit. Then the great troll went limp at the same time that Breaker's shield trembled. An instant later it was torn asunder. Breaker yelled his fury and rose to his feet, but a swirl of black enveloped him.
He recognized it for anti-magic, and tried to jump clear before it sapped his power. Before he could he was struck in the head by a piece of rubble. He collapsed, and fought to remain conscious. His hand trembled as he reached into his pocket and clenched his glasses. Before he could send the recording of the last few minutes to Hawk, he felt them shatter in his palm.
He looked up, and saw a tall, thin, techno mage glide into view. Then the dark-eyed one took his place. His smile was malicious as he crouched over Breaker and attached a pair of ink colored shackles to his wrists.
"Take him with our other prisoners. I'm sure he has information we can use—especially about the Guild."
Breaker fought to bring his magic to bear, but the anti-magic bonds were far too strong. His consciousness fading, he thought of his daughter and two sons. Whatever else, he could not leave them alone.
Then darkness closed his vision and the world faded from view . . .
Chapter 13: The Weight of Fear
Tess awoke to find Iris staring at her, but at least this time her roommate was on her own bed. As usual there was purple in her clothing, which Tess had begun to suspect had an amplifying effect on her magic. Tess sat up with a groan, feeling a lingering headache, although she could not explain why. She rubbed at the pain in her shoulders and the bruise on her back.
"Shh," Iris said, but her eyes had flicked to the side, "I'm busy Elliot."
Tess turned to see her roommate's gaze back on her. After her previous day's attitude it was odd to have Iris making eye contact.
"How was your first day?" Iris said. Her question sounded forced, as if she were articulating every word.
"As well as could be expected," Tess said. She wasn't sure what to make of the change in behavior.
"The soreness and headache will pass by the time you eat," Iris said.
"How do you know that?"
She grimaced. "It's one of the effects of using too much magic. You just need to replenish your energy. If you go too far, you'll know it."
Every few seconds Iris's eyes flicked to the side, and she bit her lip like she wanted to say something.
"You can do your . . . thing," Tess said. "It doesn't bother me."
Iris's eyebrows twitched in confusion. "But my brother said it might have scared you away. He also said I shouldn't tell you that." Iris stared at her, her eyes wide and earnest, waiting for her response.
"Actually your honesty is refreshing," Tess said, and meant it.
Iris breathed a sigh of relief and flashed a dazzling smile. Tess had thought of her as pretty before, but now was the first time she realized that Iris was gorgeous. It may have been hidden behind her behavior, but in that single smile it was unmistakable. Surprised by the revelation, she nearly missed Iris's reply.
"Good. It's nice to have a friend that isn't a techno mag. Breakfast?"
Without waiting for a response Iris turned to the side and bombarded the air with instructions to several people. And just like that Iris was back. Oddly grateful for her return to 'normalcy,' Tess dressed and headed for the door. Iris caught her arm and spun her about.
"Do you like it?" she asked. "I noticed you didn't put a memory into your memory frame, so I took the liberty of inserting one for you."
Above Tess's bed, the painting frame now showed Tess's mother and father at the airport, waving goodbye. Jack had his arm around Kate as tears glistened in their eyes. It was the exact moment that Tess had left on her way to Tryton's.
"How did you get this?" Tess asked.
"Do you like it? Or not? I don't have your memory—obviously—so I pulled the feed from the auren cameras at the airport you left from. The quality wasn't great, but I did the best with what I could. You can replace it if you want—Elliot, hang on. Yes, I know you have to get to class, but it's not going anywhere so give . . ."
Iris continued to talk to Elliot, and Tess took the opportunity to regain control of her emotions. "It's wonderful, Iris, thank you," she said.
Iris beamed at her, and then went back to her arguing. On impulse, Tess composed and sent a quick message to her mom. Then she turned away from the frame with a bittersweet smile on her lips. As she turned the doorknob Iris appeared in her wake, seemingly oblivious to Tess's actions as she argued with Elliot.
Taking the lead, Tess headed for breakfast. She felt nominally better knowing what to do when she entered the meal hall, but her confidence evaporated long before she could open the door. Nearly every person she encountered stopped mid-conversation to point or stare at her. The moment she passed they would begin to whisper behind her back. The attitude irritated her, but it didn't come close to matching the response when she entered the meal hall.
She strode through the doors, and a stunned silence swept the room. Uncertainty assailed her, and then anger burnt it to a crisp. Her chin rising, she strode to the stairs and made her way to the food cauldrons. Students made a path for her, but she pointedly ignored them.
Collecting her food she sent it through the cauldron and then stalked to the table she had shared with Iris the previous day. She slammed her plate down across from Derek and sank into a seat. Iris was quick to join them, but paid them no mind as she distractedly began to eat. The moment they sat the meal hall erupted with whispered conversations.
"So . . .?" Derek said, a grin threatening to burst on his features. "How was your first day?"
Tess glared at him, but the forced blandness to his expression repelled her anger like soap on oil. "I lifted a rock. You?"
"Mine was good," Derek said, losing the fight to keep the grin from his face. "I carved a statue using nothing but my imagination. Or that might have been what I was supposed to do. What I actually did is debatable."
"His statue looked like a glob of iron melted in a fire," Iris said in an aside.
"Hey! How do you know that?" Derek demanded, but Iris was no longer paying attention. She was apparently playing some sort of game, because she was telling someone to 'flank the brute in the lead. I'll take him down with the sniper rifle.'
Despite the attention on her, Tess laughed at Derek's annoyance. "Don't feel bad. You aren't the only one she does that to." She told him about the frame, causing him to issue a bark of laughter.
"I should be used to it by now," he said. "There is no way she could see my first day tests. Omni-glasses are warded against intrusion, and there are no other optic devices—magic or otherwise—allowed. And yet Iris strikes again."
"Cheer up, brother," Iris said, "It was certainly better than last quad's attempt." Then she returned to her game.
Derek laughed at himself and gestured to his sister, as if the motion captured more than words. Then he changed the subject. To Tess it seemed that he purposefully avoided talk of her gravity class. She was grateful for that, and yet wished he had just spoken his mind. Several times throughout the meal she caught his eyes on her, curiosity deepening his gaze.
After the meal she said goodbye to her friends and activated her glasses. First on her schedule was Intro to Flight. She followed the gold filament her glasses displayed and turned her steps toward the mind building. On her way she dodged students as well as she could.
In the meal hall some of the students had wanted to approach her. The curiosity on their faces was enough cause to avoid them. It was not something that she wanted to explain. On the way to class she kept her eyes on the path and pretended not to notice the scrutiny.
Reaching the Mind School, she followed the thread up the building, through it, and then out the back. She came to an abrupt halt as she exited the building—and saw the place from her dreams.
Stretching for several hundred yards, a field of low grass swayed in the breeze. Unmarred by tree, shrub, or structure, the grass went all the way to the cloudwall. A line of straight trees curved up the two sides, hedging in the field as if they guarded and protected it. A dozen people stood near the center of the field.
Swallowing against her memory of the place, she worked her way down the back stairs. Then she strode through the grass toward the group. Again and again she looked at the four sides of the massive field, expecting the trees, the building, or the cloudwall not to be there.
She stopped when she reached the other students, and avoided eye contact with each of them. One by one they fell silent as they noticed her. Then they began to whisper to each other. From the snatches she heard it seemed that they wondered who her parents had been, and they speculated if she would be able to fly today.
Tess wished they were more like her dream, silent. Tuning them out, she focused on her environment. Beneath her feet the green swayed in the breeze, flowing like ripples across the surface of a lake. She felt the soft caress of the wind, and welcomed it as a distraction.
Once the whispering and pointing had subsided, Tess glanced about herself. There were several figures around and behind her. Like her, they were dressed in jeans and t-shirts. They were also of varying ages, but Tess got the sense that she was the youngest by a wide margin.
Two of them appeared to be a couple, and jumped to her sides when she looked at them.
"Mike—ˮ
"Laura—ˮ
They said their names at the same time, and then grinned at each other. Their accent wasn't American, but Tess couldn't decide where it came from. England perhaps?
"Heard what you did yesterday," Laura said.
"Impressive," he added.
She agreed with a curt nod, but her eyes never left Tess. "Have you flown before?"
"Or just knocked down walls by accident?"
"Yesterday was as much a surprise for me as it was for anyone else," Tess replied defensively.
They frowned in unison and looked at each other. "We should have given better odds," she said.
He shrugged. "Doesn't matter now. When she flies our take will be almost as good as the las
t Tempest game—ˮ
"You bet on me?" she asked. "Why?"
Laura laughed and shook her brown hair. "Why not? We put up marks that you would fly today. Most put their money on day three or four. It sounds like we should have given better odds. One to eleven wasn't nearly enough."
Mike rubbed his short blond hair, biting his lip in chagrin. "She's a perfect long-shot. How often do they come up?"
Tess didn't know whether to laugh or be annoyed. The couple was obviously smart, and both wore three-sided air knots, indicating they were quite skilled with air magic. She found herself hoping she wouldn't disappoint them.
"Gravity and air?" she asked. "Are you going to play Tempest?"
They shook their heads in unison, and Mike said, "We'd rather be on the sidelines . . .ˮ
". . . collecting our winnings," Laura finished with a grin.
"Do you always win?" Tess said with a laugh. They replied at the same time.
"Yes," Mike said.
"Usually," Laura said.
They laughed and fell into a discussion about the few times they had lost. From the way they talked it sounded like they had been together for a while, and she wondered how they had met, and how long they had been at Tryton’s. Before she could ask the professor arrived.
The woman strode through the grass toward them. Short and thin, she nevertheless gave the impression of an indomitable spirit. Her gait was strong, her gaze unflinching as she evaluated the students. Her hair was cropped short, and spiked despite her age. Tess would have guessed her to be about forty.
"I am professor Lerik. Welcome to flight school. Safety is our primary concern, so the instant you don’t do as instructed, you are gone. You will have to wait until the next quad to repeat the course.”
Her lancing gaze carried the threat better than Tess's dream had, and again she had no doubt that many had regretted their choices in the class.
Professor Lerik's lesson was brief as she described how to manipulate gravity, warping it to form a bubble around you, until your body began to lift off the ground. If any of the students got that far, she would help them learn to curve gravity further . . . until they were able to control their direction. More than once she warned of the dangers—and that injuries were common. She finished by informing them that less than one in ten would pass her course on the first attempt.
