by Unknown
“I fought in the Twice-Broken Wars. Many powerful wizards died because they could not cast spells quickly enough. You will not meet the same fate if the Disenites return. Go!” Brannon ordered. The two students concentrated hard and Slate counted. 1…2…3…4…5…whoosh. A tiny ball of flame shot from one candle toward the poor wizard at the head of Slate’s line. Right before it reached the wizard, the fireball dissipated in a cloud of steam. The wizards in Lattimer’s line offered congratulations to the victor.
“Terrible! You must be faster, faster, faster! It is the best defense in battle. Strike before you are struck!” Brannon’s voiced rose and echoed around the room. “Next two in line…Go!” Slate counted to four before another fireball shot toward their line. Brannon berated the students again, and the process continued. Slate finally neared the front of the line and realized that Lattimer had positioned himself to face him.
“Next two students, step up!” Lattimer stared malevolently at Slate. Defeat wasn’t quickly forgotten in Ispirtu either. The fastest time Slate had counted was three seconds and he estimated the distance at ten paces…it would be close. “Go!”
Slate sprinted ahead while counting in his head. Seven paces left, but he was picking up speed. …1 he passed the candles and was closing fast. …2 Slate launched himself into the air toward Lattimer.
Lattimer lost his concentration when Slate jumped to strike and failed to cast his spell. Slate reeled back, putting on a good show of intimidation while never intending to throw the punch. Ispirtu rules strictly forbade physical violence within its walls, something Slate found to be a stark contradiction to their sometimes ambivalent rules regarding the use of magic. As his fist moved forward, aimed just to the left of Lattimer’s head, Lattimer ducked and Brannon sent a concussive wave at Slate, throwing him into the wall. Brannon stormed toward him, hauled him up by his robes and screamed in his face.
“While you are in Ispirtu you will follow my instructions to the letter! Get out of here before I lose my temper…Master Primean will be expecting you tonight. Once he finishes with you, report to my office. You can serve as my attendant to learn obedience.” Brannon released him from his grasp.
As Slate left, he heard Brannon berating Lattimer and the remaining students. “Let this be a lesson to all of you! When you think your opponent is outmatched, that is exactly the moment he will do something unexpected…then you’ll find yourself cowering on the ground and disgracing the Ispirtu name on your soiled robes…” The door closed behind Slate, but the muffled lecture continued on the other side. Slate wasn’t looking forward to a visit with Master Primean, but it wasn’t his first punishment, and the look in Lattimer’s eyes was worth it. The order to report to Brannon was new, however, and Slate was a little worried about it.
Footsteps approached around the corner of the hallway, bringing Slate back to his immediate situation. His stunt forced him to exit the school via the hallways. Orbs formed the appearance of patrolling Disenite Guardsmen that attacked wizards on sight.
Slate avoided the guardsmen and surveyed the hallway from the relative safety of the building’s ornate alcoves and architectural accents. Statues of famous wizards lined the corridor in a slightly haphazard manner. Some were set into alcoves while others stood in poses of action in the middle of the hallway. Directly in front of him, a wizard held his hand out in defiance of attacking soldiers. The soldiers were frozen in time as the land roiled beneath their feet. Further away, a mage stood in regal robes, presumably addressing the eager minds of Ispirtu. On and on the statues progressed, providing hope to Slate’s dire situation.
Slate dashed from statue to statue, hiding as the Disenites passed. Slate saw a girl dart into an alcove ahead, but she failed to see one of the patrols. The Disenite projection called an alarm and three more patrols converged on the trapped girl. She began to concentrate.
1…Slate could use the distraction to break for the exit, but his conscience tugged at him. 2…While the orbs didn’t physically injure students, pain was used as teaching tool. 3…A wizard needed to be able to attack from a distance to maintain an advantage in battle. 4…Four patrolmen would certainly overwhelm a wizard who wasn’t fully trained yet.
The patrolmen attacked in pairs. The first two drew swords and entered the alcove as 5… the girl released a feeble attempt at a fireball. It hit the metal chest plate of the Disenite guard and dispersed. Slate slid behind the pair of attackers in the rear and chopped at the base of the guardsmen’s necks. The projections crumpled to the ground silently and disappeared. Slate silently dispatched the final two guardsmen before they could reach the girl hidden behind an artist’s rendering of a catalpa tree. Before she realized what happened and ran off, Slate pinned her arms against her side with his left arm and covered her mouth before whispering in her ear.
“Sicarius has taught me to blend into my surroundings and appear behind my prey at the moment of my choosing. If you let anyone in Ispirtu know I attacked these guardsmen without magic, I will find you again and teach you the lesson more forcefully. Do you agree to remain silent?”
“Fractal’s truth, I agree.” Slate released the girl, who remained in a minor form of shock. Slate recalled his first encounter with the Sicarius headmaster and felt a small amount of guilt for replicating the situation. At least he hadn’t incapacitated her. Slate left for the stairwell while the hallway was free of danger.
“Teach me, Slate!” The voice startled Slate enough to turn around and the girl rushed on. “I came to the Crimson Guard to join Sicarius. Now I’m stuck in Ispirtu as a weak wizard unable to fend off a single Disenite. I walk the hallways in fear and stand little chance of escaping this prison. Teach me to blend into the surroundings as you do…please…you are the only one with the skills to help me survive here.” Her head hung ever so slightly at the word please, with her dark hair falling in front of her face. Her large eyes continued to stare at him and her jaw clenched, showing her determination. A slight quiver in her lips proved she was genuine.
How could Slate tell her that he lived in fear of these hallways too? “What’s your name?”
“Annarelle.”
“Meet me at the security station tomorrow morning. Look for Tommy. I don’t know if I’ll be of much help, but I’ll do what I can…”
To Slate’s surprise, Annarelle ran up to him and hugged him. In the distance, a door opened and wizards poured into the hallway. Slate took off at a full sprint for the stairwell, knowing he had already taken too much time. At the bottom of the steps he stopped cold. Between him and the exit, a full battalion of Disenite projections streamed from their ships during an invasion of a southern port. He didn’t know what to do next when Annarelle raced down the steps after him. “The tracking spell tells the orbs not to explode anything within a few feet of us. If you stay close to me, you should be safe.”
Slate unabashedly clung to Annarelle while inching through the recreated battle. Cannons from the ship smashed the nearby buildings to shrapnel, which all stopped in midair inches from causing his death. Slate crowded even closer to Annarelle as he tried to ignore the real dangers around him, exhaling in relief when he crossed the threshold of Ispirtu. “Thank you, Annarelle.” Slate clasped her shoulder in appreciation and headed for the guardhouse, where Tommy recorded his exit.
In the streets of Ravinai, Slate ducked into an alleyway and removed his Ispirtu robes, using the city’s bustling streets to transition his mind from the dangers of Ispirtu to his next task for the day. Slate prepared by familiarizing himself with the city’s activities, viewing them as someone with training in Sicarius, rather than the naïve young man who had been overwhelmed by the intricacies of the city when he’d first arrived in Ravinai. Innocuous events and subtleties in action taught him more of a person’s character than the clothes they wore or the tales they told. Slate thrived on walking within the city and deciphering its ebbs and flows.
The busy street opened into an expansive city square and with it came the purpo
se of his stroll through the city. Within this square, Slate would meet someone with the skills of Sicarius. Slate held something valuable, and for him to maintain possession of it, he had to stay alert.
Slate scanned the crowd, memorizing every face he passed and mentally sifting through them for potential danger. A merchant passed with a facial tic, but his hand hovered by his money pouch, indicating his anxiety had a financial origin. A courtier made eye contact with him, a beggar didn’t lift his head as he passed by, and a clerk followed him more closely than was typical. All of these garnered more attention than the majority of people Slate passed, but Slate hadn’t found his mark yet. The activity exhausted him mentally. He needed to maintain an outwardly calm appearance to blend into his surroundings while still positioning himself to see and evaluate everyone he passed. With practice, he had gotten more efficient at the process, but in a setting with this many people, his skills were tested.
Balconies overlooked the busy city square and buildings housed a variety of restaurants in the lower levels. Citizens of Ravinai lounged in outdoor seating and enjoyed their noontime meals in the picturesque setting. An intricate fountain featuring lions, from the family crest of King Darik, sprayed a light mist into the air. Slate ignored all of this and kept scanning the crowd as quickly as possible.
Two people to his right perused a merchant’s shop, but their faces were hidden from view. Slate continued monitoring the shoppers as he passed. One entered the shop and the other lingered. Slate gazed unceremoniously at the fountain and then let his eyes follow a good-looking girl walking in the opposite direction. The maneuver turned him in the direction of the lingering shopper. The build was about right and the clothing was a bit too nondescript for the fashions of the other customers at the shop. He had him.
Slate approached. “Hello, Rainier.”
The figure turned around and smiled. “Good afternoon, Teacher. What gave me away? It was the clothes, wasn’t it? I should have chosen a less affluent shop.”
Slate laughed. “Yes, the clothes were out of place, and you hid your face from me twice. That was more than coincidental.” Slate reached in his pocket and pulled out the Stratego medallion. “I guess I’ll keep this for another day. Now let’s grab some food. I’m starving.”
The Sicarius headmaster had encouraged Slate and Rainier to continue their game of Stratego to hone their situational awareness. Slate taught Rainier techniques from his Sicarius missions, and they used the city square like a dueling courtyard. The large number of people created an appropriately challenging environment, and the Stratego medallion changed hands on a regular basis. After the game was completed for the day, the restaurants within the square provided a chance for Rainier and Slate to catch up on the day’s events while enjoying this most perfect of seasons. The summer heat had receded but the bitterness of the approaching winter was yet to arrive.
Slate grabbed an open table at a restaurant, making sure to order before the waitress left. “I’ll take your largest steak, some chicken, and a side of potatoes.” It was amazing what a morning of battle and scaling the walls of buildings did to your appetite.
“So what did you find out today?” Slate asked Rainier.
“I helped a few travelers entering the city with directions and got some news of the surrounding area. Attacks in the northern villages have increased, but details are hard to obtain because the tiny villages scarcely receive visitors. People complain of relatives suddenly losing contact and one merchant claimed a town disappeared that he had visited the previous year. It was a small hunting village within the woods. He didn’t find any buildings, but he also admitted he could have mistaken the location within the forest.”
“Villifor remains adept at hiding evidence of the attacks then…”
“That is possible, but I haven’t heard rumors fitting the description of the Pillar attack.”
Slate sighed. “Okay, Rainier…thanks for checking. Sooner or later we’ll get a lead on what happened.”
“Have you found any new information about the headmasters?” Rainier inquired after deciding on a sandwich and some fresh fruit...no wonder Rainier was the size of Magnus’ leg.
“Villifor returned to Bellator today. He watched our lessons and declared a competition to advance from the first courtyard. The winner receives personal tutelage from Villifor.”
“Do you think he is pushing fighters through training quickly for some reason?”
“My contact with him has been pretty limited, but it must relate to these secret missions. Advancement has been more frequent than years past, so it does seem like he is pushing students through training.”
“We need more information. Could you discreetly ask someone who has advanced if they’ve noticed anything amiss?” Rainier said.
“Students of the first courtyard don’t have access to the higher courtyards. I only see them if they decide to watch our lessons, which is rare.”
“We’ll have to create our own opportunities then. If you win the competition tomorrow, you’ll have greater access within Bellator…so how do we win this thing? You could use your glove from Lucus…”
“No one at Bellator or Ispirtu knows that I have that glove and Sicarius has taught me the value of information. I don’t want to use it until the time is right. I’ll have to figure out a different way of winning tomorrow...somehow. I’m behind in my training compared to some of the other students. They are bigger, stronger, and now they have more practiced techniques…with two of them attacking me at once, my chances for victory are slim.” Slate described the rules of the competition to Rainier.
“Remember, today you were trying to beat your opponent. Tomorrow you don’t need to beat anyone. You just need to survive the longest. Survival is something that you have shown an innate proficiency for…and it’s not something that can be taught in a lesson. What about Brannon?” Rainier changed the subject before Slate could comment on their student-teacher relationship status and the ridiculousness of it. Rainier was starting to sound dangerously close to Lucus at times.
“He hasn’t missed a day of lecture. If he is behind the attacks, he’s been orchestrating them from within Ispirtu. Today his lecture took a more practical turn though, complete with flying fireballs. Do you think he is pushing his students harder than usual for the same reason as Villifor?”
“Possibly, but Brannon would push his students hard regardless…”
“That’s true. My actions in class today may have earned me an avenue for new information though…”
Rainier groaned. “What did you do this time?”
“Lattimer was going to shoot a fireball at me, so I charged him before he could let loose.”
“You mean the fireball that was part of the lesson? The fireball that Brannon ordered Lattimer to create?”
“That would be the one. When you put it that way it makes a little more sense that Brannon sent me to Master Primean again tonight.” Slate gave a smirk.
“Slate, your pride will be the end of you…now tell me where the good news comes in.”
“I will be personally attending Brannon after my visit to Primean. I don’t know what that entails, but it should be a chance to get some more information.”
“Just try not to attack him if he asks you to clear his plate…personal attendant sounds very close to servant.” Speaking of plates, where was his food?
“I think I can manage that, although I might be tempted to put him in one of my Bellator holds and ask him a few questions using the techniques I’ve learned in Sicarius.” The thought of watching Brannon squirm put a smile on Slate’s face.
“…and how is the most enigmatic of headmasters? Have you had any recent contact with Sicarius?” The waitress finally brought his order of food. She lifted the lid from the covered plate and revealed a sealed envelope nestled into the squash.
The waitress was immediately apologetic. “I don’t know how that got there! Let me get you another plate!” She reached for the plate, but Slate
stopped her from taking it away.
“I don’t know how this got here either, but I know who arranged it. You can leave the plate.” The waitress seemed even more perplexed than before and exited at Slate’s request, likely to scold the cooks concerning pranks with her customers.
Rainier looked to Slate. “How much of our conversation do you think the Sicarius headmaster heard?”
“I don’t think I’d classify it as private. Let’s see what the letter says.” He opened the squash soaked envelope and found inside a sealed envelope bearing the Sicarius emblem. Breaking the wax, he finally got to the letter.
Dear Slate,
Apologies for interrupting your lunch, but it is time for another lesson. Your situational awareness has improved dramatically since the tournament. Let’s put it to use. On Rue Street, there is a large mansion adorned with Ispirtu-inspired decor. On the top floor of this house, there is a locked trunk. You must locate the trunk, open it without damaging it, catalog the contents, and seal it back up. Do not steal anything from the trunk or the house. Leave that to the common thieves.
Complete this task and drop off your list of catalogued items. Judging by your impatience at lunch, I would not want to come between you and your next meal, so I ask you to complete this task before dinner.
Finally, be careful during your lesson today. Rue Street is in a district of Ravinai where members of Ispirtu take residence. I don’t think you are ready for a direct encounter with a fully trained wizard, so make sure to be discreet.
Slate folded the letter back up and shook his head. Sicarius always requested difficult, seemingly random tasks to be performed in inordinate timeframes. The requests didn’t usually make sense, but they continued to push his skills learned within Sicarius, which was a misnomer itself. If there was a building that housed Sicarius, Slate had yet to enter it. He had never attended an Ispirtu-like lecture or met another member of Sicarius. His entire training had come in the form of Stratego and missions delivered in notes. Slate found the practice frustrating upon reflection and exhilarating during execution.
