Visions: Knights of Salucia - Book 1

by C. D. Espeseth

  “Pick up your staves!” The captain pointed to each of the combatants.

  Both pulled their weapons out of the sand, shaking their limbs loose as they stared at each other. Jerome Dangstrom looked focused, calm, and determined. Kevin, by contrast, looked about to pop, barely able to contain his excitement and wearing a wild grin to match the wildness in his eyes.

  “Fight!” Captain Miller’s command snapped like a whip, and the voice of the crowd thundered in response.

  Wayran watched as the two circled each other for a few moments before the first crack of wood on wood smacked through the square, eliciting a collective “Ay!” from the crowd. Wayran felt the wild energy buzzing through the crowd all around him, and despite his earlier misgivings, he was finding it exhilarating. What a rush! This was like the big tournaments he and Matoh used to enter, except on an entirely different level. The noise was making his heart pound.

  The wooden staves smacked against each other for nigh on three minutes before a unified “OOH!” resounded throughout the grounds as Kevin took a strike across the face. Jerome Dangstrom moved with the grace of a panther, flowing from one move into the next. But as gracefully as he moved around on the sand, he was having difficulty pinning his opponent down. Where Jerome was controlled and smooth, Kevin was unpredictable and explosive. Kevin had a huge welt already showing on his jaw but he also wore the biggest grin Wayran had ever seen.

  Kevin grabbed Jerome’s staff as he moved in to strike. The two struggled for control of the weapon, then Jerome shifted like a viper with an astonishing twist and sent Kevin flying over his shoulder. Kevin actually laughed as he slammed into the sand, and then was forced to stop as he struggled for a breath.

  Jerome moved forward in a surge, but Kevin kicked his foot into the air just as Jerome bent to punch. Kevin's heal slammed into the bridge of Jerome’s nose and made him stagger back.

  Kevin swung his legs up into the air and sprung up and forward off his shoulders. He landed on his feet and used his momentum to head butt the sprawling Jerome.

  Kevin wobbled from the impact, but Jerome fell on his back. The tall young man tried to get back to his feet but fell back in a daze, holding his head.

  “STOP!” Captain Miller jumped between them and lifted Kevin’s hand, saving Jerome from an overhead strike from the staff Kevin had reclaimed. “Winner!” The captain held up Kevin's hand and the square erupted in cheers.

  “That’s bloody right!” Kevin pointed at Jerome, his words slurred slightly. Captain Miller let go of Kevin’s hand, and the crowd gasped as Kevin fell face first to the ground; unconscious.

  Jerome Dangstrom had recovered and was the first one over to the unconscious form of his former opponent. He carefully moved Kevin into the recovery position, and the crowd cheered in relief as Kevin’s eye’s blinked open.

  “He’s alright!” Jerome called out in a rural Aluvikan accent. “Crazy Tawan.”

  Once he had lifted Kevin to his feet, they raised each other's hands and both smiled as the crowd cheered them again for a fantastic fight.

  The two were directed to the medic at the side of the square. They walked off laughing with each other as Kevin showed his bloody teeth to Jerome.

  Insane, Wayran thought as he watched, but Kevin had called it: they now seemed to be fast friends, and all they had had to do was beat each other senseless.

  Two more names were called and the crowd once again roared in applause.

  Kevin was still laughing when he made his way back to Wayran with Jerome tucked under his arm. “Hey mate! Good tussle wasn’t it?! This jerk damn near knocked my teeth out!”

  “I was watching, and I would guess you've probably broken his nose in return,” Wayran said. Jerome laughed, but Wayran didn’t understand why it was funny: Jerome’s nose was most definitely broken.

  “Jerome, this here’s Wayran, he’s a bit stiff but seems an alright fella.” Kevin nodded towards him.

  Jerome shook his hand in greeting while holding a cloth to his nose and trying to keep his head tilted back. “Pleased to meet ya.”

  Wayran smiled and shook hands with the tall young man.

  “Ya see, mate, it’s all in good fun, everyone in here enjoys a good fight on some level. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be here, would they?” Kevin’s grim smile emphasized his point. “Besides, there’s nothin’ like spillin’ a bit o’ blood to make friends.” The sandy-haired youth gave Jerome a slap on the shoulder.

  Jerome smiled faintly and shook his head. “Tawans and their luck.”

  “Pah. Like you had a chance.” Kevin shook off the challenge. “And there’s no need to get all nationalistic, son. I mean, I wouldn’t want to bring up how Aluvikans let their horses eat at the table, or anything like that.” He winked at Wayran.

  Jerome suddenly had a face like thunder, and his back went rigid. He stepped up to Kevin and poked his chest angrily. “I’ll have you know horses are excellent conversationalists. Patchy and I shared many a good chat over a plate of hay.” The violence in his voice was lethal.

  Kevin’s eyes went wide and Wayran tensed as Jerome reached behind his back and pulled out ... nothing.

  “Gideon’s balls! I thought you were serious there for a second.” Kevin slapped Jerome on the shoulder happily. “Watch out for this one – meant for the stage he is!”

  Jerome smiled and Wayran couldn’t help liking the pair. They seemed so carefree and their energy was infectious.

  Captain Miller’s voice reverberated off the walls of the terraced garden and they all turned to see who had won the fight. A tall, lanky lad, who would almost definitely wake up tomorrow with a black eye, had his hands up in victory. Again the two combatants shook hands afterwards, reliving their moment of glory.

  The crowd fell silent, waiting for the next set of names.

  “Adel Corbin!” The now familiar cheer rang out and the initiates on the ground level parted to let the new fighters enter the centre square.

  Wayran forgot about everything else as he watched a beautiful woman take one side of the plaza. She was short, lean, but strong-looking. Her golden hair was tied back in a ponytail and her skin seemed to glow in the filtered light of the cloudy sky. Everything about her spoke of intensity, and Wayran felt inescapably drawn to her, as if there was a physical force linking them together. He took an involuntary step forwards and felt his heart beating like a drum.

  Flash. Suddenly he was remembering part of his recurring dream. The part where he was standing at the door, unable to use the key. As he stared at this Adel Corbin, he could almost feel the sandstorm of his nightmares closing in around him. Something grabbed his arm and he spun, looking for the shapeshifting black monster closing in on him. He heard its voice: “GIVE ME THE KEY!”

  But when he turned, the monster was not there.

  It was just Kevin.

  “Woah, you’ve got it bad, son. That girl made you fly off to love-land. You were in a world of your own.” Kevin laughed as he gripped Wayran’s arm, but there was a note of concern there as well. Jerome laughed beside him and gave a low whistle.

  “Yes … I … well, she is pretty.” Wayran shook himself. He’d never had that happen before. The nightmares had never affected him during the day – but there was something about this girl. She was linked somehow, and he almost felt like he knew her.

  He watched as she strode out onto the white sand. He could see that her hands were wrapped in bandages and there was an odd bracelet on her arm. His mind kept focusing on the image of a dark blade. What did that have to do with this?

  Something hit him in the ribs.

  “Ha! The man’s gobsmacked Jerome! Look he’s standin’ with his mouth open and everythin’.” Kevin was grinning up at him knowingly.

  “I’m not,” Wayran tried to say, but then realised his mouth actually had been open. “I was just assessing her chances; did you notice that her hands are bandaged?”

  “Sure, sure, mate. You got it bad.” Kevin clapped his hands together.
“Right then, let’s get closer to the action so our boy here can have a proper gander at this little beauty.” He grabbed Wayran’s wrist and pulled him forward through the crowd.

  “… Bastion Thurson!” The announcement of the second name brought a cheer from the crowd and a massive shape pushed its way through the wild horde of recruits.

  “A little girl!?” A deep guttural voice rang out as the huge shape stepped past the last line of onlookers. Bastion was a beast. Wayran had never seen anyone so big in his life. He looked like he could fling a horse over his shoulder without missing a step, and his hands looked as big as Wayran’s head.

  “Ooh, that’s a big one,” Kevin whistled.

  Flash! … Wayran’s mind strayed. He saw a giant warrior standing atop a dune, waiting to kill him, with a storm closing in around them. “Give me the key!” the warrior yelled, and the heavens erupted.

  No, wait. That’s not what Bastion had said. Wayran blinked in confusion and tried to listen. It had happened again.

  “Give me another opponent, sir! I want a challenge.” Bastion sneered down at Adel.

  “You fight who I tell you to, initiate,” the captain snapped at the big man, and Wayran noticed something odd then. Captain Miller appeared to be hiding a smile.

  “Oh, that’s not a fair match is it? Must be Asgurdian, that one. Those brutes are ruthless.” Jerome shook his head as he sized up the match. “Not much better than the Navutians were.”

  “The High King is from Asgurd,” Wayran said.

  “Exactly,” Jerome said. Kevin shook his head sadly.

  Wayran took another look at Captain Miller and turned to his two new friends. “Five marks at two-to-one that Adel wins.”

  They looked at him as if he were mad.

  “Well? Quick, it’s about to start,” Wayran said, holding out his hand. “Any takers?”

  “I’ll take your money,” Jerome said.

  Kevin laughed, but then shook his hand in agreement. “You’re on.”

  “FIGHT!” The captain’s voice split the buzz of murmurs from the crowd and the square went silent.

  “Sorry, little girl, I’ll try not to hurt you too bad.” Bastion lifted his staff out of the sand; the weapon looked tiny in his massive hands.

  Adel said nothing and raised her own staff, and everyone got a good look at the bandages on her hands.

  She made her way slowly to the middle of the square and waited. Bastion chuckled and made a show of an exaggerated step forwards.

  Then he charged, much faster than a man that size should have been able to move.

  Bastion’s staff blurred through the air. The match was going to be over in a flash: Adel couldn’t hope to block that much power.

  So she didn’t.

  Sand sprayed up as the powerful swing missed and hit the ground. Bastion’s grin faded. Adel had gently sidestepped the blow at the last second, barely appearing to move.

  The crowd gasped collectively.

  She must have felt the air as it went by, Wayran thought. His head twitched backwards as he thought he heard the rumble of thunder in the distance. He was beginning to feel uneasy about this whole situation.

  Bastion swung upwards and three more vicious attacks followed. Adel hardly seemed affected. She moved with such efficiency it looked effortless, as if they had choreographed the entire thing.

  A deep growl, like that of a bear, rumbled from Bastion’s massive chest, and then his staff whistled into a backhand strike towards Adel’s head.

  Adel bent at the hips and let the staff glide past. Her own staff speared forward, slamming into Bastion’s sternum. The big man’s body convulsed and everyone heard the gasp of pain and shock. Adel slammed two more strikes to the inside of Bastion’s upper thighs. The big man’s legs buckled. As his knees hit the sand, Adel landed a spinning heel kick to the Asgudian’s thick jaw just below the ear.

  She stood over him and watched him hit ground, unconscious. Then she calmly put her staff back into the sand and walked over to slumped figure. She put two fingers on his neck to check his pulse before nodding with approval.

  Captain Miller pointed to Adel with a grin on his face. “Winner. Medic, just double check he’s alright.”

  “Holy Halom,” Jerome said in shock. The rest of the crowd seemed similarly affected.

  “That was something else,” Kevin whispered. “How did you know?”

  Wayran smiled absent-mindedly as he found Adel being congratulated by a group of initiates. She didn’t seem interested in accolades and almost looked embarrassed by all the attention. A dark-haired woman came to shoo away the group which had formed around Adel, and with her was … Matoh.

  Wayran had forgotten about his brother. What was he doing with them? Oh, it didn’t matter. Matoh seemed to know just about everyone in whole darn city, and made friends as easily as getting wet in the rain.

  The medic was attending to the still unconscious Bastion. She held something up under the big man’s nose, and his eyes shot open. He sat up with a start. They helped him get back to his feet, and moved him back into the crowd once he finally realised the match was over.

  “I want a rematch, little girl,” he called out over the din of the crowd. The wicked smile on his face chilled Wayran to the bone. “I will break you next time.”

  There were a few nervous chuckles from the crowd, though none from around the giant man being escorted to the medic’s booth.

  Wayran relaxed his hands, pointedly ignoring his companion’s grinning faces.

  “Bit tense there, were ya?” Kevin winked at him.

  “Oh, shut it. I believe you each owe me some marks,” Wayran said as he held out his hand.

  “Ah, the Bauffish.” Kevin pulled out a money purse. “Never miss an opportunity to fleece the rest of us out of our hard-earned cash.”

  “Well, I believe,” Jerome said, taking Kevin’s money purse and snatching the coins out of Wayran’s hand, “you should probably use your own coin.” Jerome tapped the shoulder of another initiate, who stood beside Kevin, and handed him the money pouch. “Excuse me, you dropped this.”

  The young man looked startled and felt inside his jacket. He took the money pouch back and looked at Jerome suspiciously.

  “No harm done, friend,” Jerome said somewhat intensely and waited for the young man to take his coin purse and walk away, no doubt deciding it would be better to find another spot from which to watch the fights.

  “Hard-earned was it?” Jerome said, glaring at Kevin. “It was that fellow who earned the money. You stole it.”

  “He was barely holding on to it,” Kevin protested unashamedly. “I just taught that poor sucker a valuable life lesson. Can you imagine if he went out to the streets flaunting his money like that? Did him a favour really.”

  Wayran found himself laughing.

  “Don’t encourage him,” Jerome said, stern-faced, still with that unsettling smile. There was a hint of command in his voice, as if he was used to being listened to. “There will be no more of that. A Knight of Salucia does not steal.”

  “I didn’t,” Kevin grinned, “I borrowed it, and you gave it back.”

  Jerome’s smile faded and was replaced with a look similar to that which a mountain lion might have before it pounced.

  Kevin rolled his eyes. “Alright, fine. No more stealing.” He placed some marks into Wayran’s hand, from a pouch retrieved from inside his own coat this time. Jerome followed suit, watching Kevin the whole time.

  “Those coins were yours?” Jerome asked.

  “Yes, they were mine, Mr. Goody-Goody. What are you, some browncoat or something?” Kevin laughed.

  “I used to be,” Jerome said, puffing his chest out. “I got my badge last year as a junior officer in the Aluvikan Constabulary. One time during an arrest I found out I could siphon. Now, I’m here.” Jerome looked Kevin up and down. “What’s your story, Mr. Quick-Fingers?”

  Kevin grinned. “Let’s just say his Highness, the High Lord Ronaston, has need
of people with all sorts of different skill sets.”

  “So you actually were a thief?” Wayran asked. “And you’re Tawan?” Wayran grimaced. “You’re really not helping with that particular stereotype.”

  “It was only on the side,” Kevin said, as if that made it all better. “I had other jobs. Sometimes.”

  “Like?” Jerome asked.

  “I sold things.” Kevin grinned. “And delivered things.”

  “Things you stole?” Jerome asked.

  “Well, that can neither be confirmed nor denied.” Kevin shrugged. “It’s history now, and the Academy people know all about my past. It’s not a big deal, Jerome. We came from different worlds and now we’re here.”

  “He’s got a point there.” Wayran said, but his friends had stopped listening as a name had been called out just as he had spoken.

  The crowd hushed as they waited for the next name.

  “Wayran Spierling!” Captain Miller’s voice rang out.

  “Well, get movin’ then, friend.” Kevin gave him a friendly push towards the centre. “You’re fighting! Get movin’, soldier!”

  Butterflies jumped into Wayran’s stomach as his boots hit the sand. Thousands of eyes watched him. All these people. And then he noticed that many who watched him had a look of mild confusion on their faces.

  Why are they … ? And then Wayran saw why.

  Matoh was standing across from him on the sand. Thunder boomed in the distance, and this time everyone heard it. Wayran could feel the approaching storm’s strange energy all around him.

  Images flashed into his mind, and he felt the wind pick up. Sand began to hiss as it rolled across his boots.

  “GIVE ME THE KEY!!” A voice screamed in his head, and suddenly he was standing on that dune again. The black-armoured warrior stood in front of him with a giant sword ready to kill him. Red glowing eyes shone from within its dark metal helmet. “You’re going to destroy everything,” the armoured monster said. “You’ve been chasing a lie.”

  The sandstorm was closing in, and Wayran could just make out the door atop the other dune. He had to get to the door.

  “Wayran, don’t do it.” The monster held out its hand.