by Deck Davis
And yet…why did he have talon marks on his hands? And where was Dullzewn? It was three days after his fall, and Ethan still hadn’t seen him and nobody, not even Reck, knew where he was.
This left him feeling more confused and alone and ever, and not even a full session of Reck’s training could dull his emotions enough, so he’d stayed behind after the other recruits went to their meals.
It had been morning when he entered the stone-strewn yard, but now the sun had fled, leaving a darkening sky and the twinkles of stars, the little jewels of the Night King’s cape. Torch light flickered in the guildhouse windows, dozens of orange blotches amidst the dark stone. The aroma of bread and pies and gravy drifted to him, and Ethan’s stomach tightened. Beyond the guildhouse and across the mountain, wolves cried to each other, and klizerd clans croaked their evening songs.
All the other recruits had left hours ago, but Ethan couldn’t. He had too many bad habits to lose, Reck told him, too many home-taught sword techniques that would stop him growing as a swordsman. The critique didn’t bother Ethan. If anything, it fueled him.
He was too different from the other recruits; he knew that now. He’d tried to fit in, but it wasn’t possible, but nor could he be his old self. Look where his natural distrust had gotten him – he’d fallen from a guild window. No, he needed an in-between ground. To keep his old pragmatism but find someone he could trust. Damn it, where was Dullzewn?
The mana sphere drifted twenty feet away from him, spherical and bulging and suspended in the air. Part of it stretched out and separated into a sheet of blue light, before forming into another grimape image. The globule of mana behind the newly-created creature shrunk.
Lillian provided these balls of mana. He was advanced enough to be able to cast a spell and preserve it in mana, allowing the recruits to use it for training. It wasn’t an illusion, Reck had explained, but the images weren’t real. “I don’t understand this shit,” he said, “But it’s good to train on.” Amen, Ethan thought. I don’t have a clue how it works either.
The ape ran at him. Ethan shifted into the rushaj-pose, with his feet positioned for optimal movement and the tip of his sword facing out from his chest. The poses Reck taught him were becoming second nature. The truth was, he was beginning to enjoy the heroes’ guild. So why did Yart have to ruin it?
The ape leapt at him. Ethan ducked and struck upward in an arc. His sword felt light in his hands, and he found himself swinging it faster than he ever had before.
The blade scratched across its chest. That’s for Yart.
The ape stumbled. Ethan jabbed at it, cutting into its skin. That’s for Bunk.
It dropped to its knees. Ethan grit his teeth and rushed at it. He held his sword aloft. Anger flushed through him. And this is for….
The ape disappeared, and he swiped at thin air, losing his balance and hitting the ground. Pain spread in his nose. He coughed and pushed himself off the ground.
“It’s getting late, boy,” called a voice. A window was open on the fourth floor of the guild house, high above Ethan. Lillian leaned on the sill, smoke trailing from a pipe in his hand. “Get back in the dorms.”
“Reck said I could stay and train.”
“And who ranks higher, boy? Me, or the illiterate swordmaster? Get in the dorms.”
“Fuck off, you iron faced arse,” Ethan mumbled.
“It’s steel, boy, not iron. Get inside.”
As Ethan wondered how the mage had heard him from so far away, two recruits walked passed. He recognized one of them as Adam, a shy boy who always nodded to Ethan in the common room. He didn’t know the other one, but his long nose reminded him of a rat.
“The thief kid’s back,” said Adam. “I heard they found him in the woods.”
“Another one trying to run.”
Ethan faced them. “Do you mean Dullzewn?”
Adam nodded at him. “He’s in the dorm.”
The dorm was busy with recruits chatting with each other, playing cards, and slurping on ales they’d stolen from the kitchens. It was an hour after the evening feast. Ethan’s belly rumbled. He’d chosen to train instead of eating, and he was starting to regret it. I have to train, I have to adapt. Can’t end up like the old guy in Wolfpine.
Question flood his mind as he strode into the dorm. Had Dullzewn really tried to run? Why? Surely he knew he couldn’t leave without them removing his bracelet? But even more urgent than that was his other question; did Dullzewn remember what had happened to Ethan?
At the end of the dorm, Dullzewn sat on his bed with a book on his lap. Sweat from a day of training plastered his greasy long locks to his forehead. He wore wide-brimmed glasses, which was strange, but it explained something. Maybe that was why he was so uncoordinated when they used swords – Dullzewn never wore glasses in the training yard.
Ethan noticed with irritation that Yart and Bunk were standing at the end of the bed. Yart kept trying to snatch the book from Dullzewn. Bunk pounded on the bed frame, his giant fists making it shake.
“Come on, book wyrm,” said Yart. “It’s no fun goading you when you don’t react.”
Dullzewn turned a page. His face was devoid of emotion, as though he was dead inside. Pity stirred in Ethan’s stomach, mixing with anger when he touched his wrists and traced his fingers over the scratches from the ropes Yart had tied on him.
Bullies wouldn’t quit of their own accord; you had to scare them into backing off. Bunk’s hulking frame made it hard to get physical with Yart, and Ethan paused in the dorm hallway. Was he going to do this?
There was no choice. Otherwise, it wouldn’t stop for him or Dullzewn.
Ethan strode across the dorm, anger vibrating inside him. Recruits stopped their card games to watch him pass. They whispered to each other. They all knew what had happened to Ethan, but none of them would stand up for him. He was still a thief to them, and besides, most were happy Yart wasn’t picking on them. Yart’s position in the guild put him above the recruits, and none of them wanted to provoke him.
Yart faced Ethan. “Well, if it isn’t-”
Ethan shoved him so hard he fell to the ground.
Is this a good idea?
No going back now. He had to end it. He needed something final, to do something that would scare Yart for good.
As Yart tried to get to his feet, Ethan kicked him in the ribs. Yart wheezed. He hit the floor nose-first.
Two meaty hands gripped Ethan. He could barely react before Bunk’s forehead blew at him, and the force of the headbutt knocked him back. He staggered, then caught hold of a bedframe. He forced himself to stay on his feet despite the stinging pain in his nose.
Fury wrought deep lines on Bunk’s face. Ethan was struck with a sudden moment of clarity, a bolt of inspiration that seemed like the most sensible thought he’d ever had; only a lunatic would get into a fight with a pissed-off gigas.
“Blast him, Yart,” Bunk said. “Blast the fucker.”
Yart didn’t move.
“What’s wrong? You said Lillian taught you a fire spell, didn’t ya?”
The dorm was silent. One recruit lost hold of his beer bottle, and it tinkled across the floor.
Yart rubbed his face. “Yeah, I uh…”
Lies. He doesn’t know a damn fire spell. Need to finish this for good.
As Ethan approached Yart, Bunk stepped in front of him, so large he blocked Yart from view.
He pushed Ethan’s chest. It was a tap, but he almost sent him sprawling. Doubts trickled through his mind; was this a good idea, or had he gone crazy? Had Yart’s incessant barbs, all the grueling hours of training Reck put him through, and never-ending worry about Dantis finally toppled him into the chasm of insanity?
Better end it now, or it never will. Not for me, not for Dullzewn, not for any of the other recruits Yart takes a disliking to.
“Let’s settle this fairly,” said Ethan.
Bunk grinned. “Is you proposing a fight?”
“Are you proposing a fight,” corrected Yar
t. “Sheesh, Bunk. Sometimes you embarrass me.”
Bunk glared at his friend. Yart gave nervous smile. “I mean…pulverize him, Bunk, pal.”
Ethan nodded. “Me and you. Now. We’ll close the dorm doors and settle this quietly.”
Through listening to the older recruits in the common room, Ethan had heard of Settlements. This was the name recruits gave to their peculiar method of handling disputes, one that seemed a million miles away from what he expected to see in a guild.
It might have been the testosterone from years without seeing a girl, or the adrenaline that surged through them after hours in the training yard, but when recruits took issue with one another, they settled it in one way; a bare-knuckle fight.
“No blows to the face,” said Ethan, “I’d hate to ruin your good looks. Don’t break any bones, and remember,” this time, he addressed the other teens in the dorm who watched with rapt attention, “never, ever rat on us for this.”
Murmurs of assent spread through the room. Recruits leaned forward on their beds. Some grinned, and others turned away as if they didn’t want to see violence between guild members.
Truth be told, Ethan didn’t want to, either. But they’d driven him to this. Unless he ended it, Yart and Bunk would never leave any of them alone.
Bunk stretched his arms out and cracked his knuckles. His biceps pressed against his shirt. Ethan felt his own muscles. He was puny compared to this lunk of a teenager, so what was he doing?
He had to set an example. Nobody would stand up to Yart and Bunk. But, it only took someone to lead the way for the others to join.
“Let’s do this. Whatever happens, it’s settled after this. Agreed?”
Bunk grunted. Yart grinned. Dullzewn leaned back on his pillow as if he was relaxing on a carefree afternoon. Ethan clenched his fists. Hope I’ve still got it.
Bunk held his giant fists at his side, and a grin spread across his face. His hulking shoulders looked tougher than blocks of rock. “Remember, rat. Fair fight.”
Yart gave a nod. Hands grabbed Ethan’s shoulders. He turned his head to see another recruit, a lanky teen named Olly Boxall, gripping him. Olly wasn’t strong enough to hold him, and one elbow to the stomach sent him wheezing back.
Those few seconds made all the different, for the wrong reasons. When Ethan turned back to Bunk, a fist flew at him. Lights flashed in his eyes. It felt like his nose had been ripped clean off. Hot, wet blood trickled onto his lips, and agony sung cruel words in his skull.
He tried to move, but he couldn’t. This wasn’t pain or shock; a force held him in place. Faint wisps of spent mana teased into his nose. It was the same aroma that clung to Dantis when he tried, unsuccessfully, to practice his illusion spells without Ethan knowing.
Was it Yart? Had he cast a spell? Impossible. The scribe studied under Lillian, but there was no way he’d advanced that far.
The feeling lessened, the grip on his limbs eased. When it did, the room spun. Groans met with jeers. A hand touched his shoulder; it was Dullzewn.
“You okay buddy?”
Bunk strode forward. He wasn’t done, not in the slightest.
Ethan shrugged Dullzewn off. Call this a fair fight? He’d show Bunk what fighting dirty meant.
Bunk swung another hammer-like gigas fist at him. This time, when Ethan moved, he felt different. It wasn’t that he moved, as such, but more that the room seemed to bend to his will, reshaping until he was next to Bunk without even realizing he’d gotten there.
What the hell? Dullzewn stared at him, open-mouthed. “Ethan…you…”
A fist crashed into his head. His temples rang, and the blow blew his sense of balance. His legs turned to jelly.
Bunk repositioned for another blow.
Ethan ducked, feeling the room spin and shape, wrapping to the way he wanted it to move so that he could avoid another head-snapping fist.
There was no time to wonder what the hell was happening. He darted to the left, next to Dullzewn’s bed. He reached to the hole in the floor, where Dullzewn kept the rocks and debris he dug out from his wall, and he grabbed a handful of dust.
“Having second thoughts?” said Yart.
Ethan straightened up. His vision still wobbled, and he backpedaled to put space between him and Bunk.
As Bunk moved in for round two, Ethan threw the dust in his face. It caught him unaware, and Bunk put his hands to his eyes, covering them, trying to get the dust out.
If you want to end a fight, end it irrevocably. That was what the streets had taught him. Show a man mercy, and he’ll come back again and again.
He kicked Bunk’s groin as hard as he could. The big man dropped to a knee. Ethan punched him in the cheek, then fought back the pain in his knuckles. Was his face made of iron?
Bunk tried to open his eyes and groaned in pain. He blinked furiously. Ethan punched him again, knocking him onto his back.
Recruits cheered behind him. The dorm grew wild, and soon their volume would attract senior recruits to check on them. Ethan had to end this.
He stood above Bunk and kicked him in the stomach. Each time Bunk wheezed, Ethan kicked him harder, until groans punctuated his raspy breaths.
Silence settled on the dorm. Wind whistled through the cavities, and the breeze blew on Ethan’s nose, inviting fresh flares of pain.
Bunk was curled on the floor, sobbing. His shirt was torn, and his eyes flamed red from the dust. A brief flicker of guilt hit Ethan, but it was easy to get rid of. Bunk and Yart had started it. He had no pity for them.
Question flooded his mind; would anyone tell the guild master? Would he be cast out of the guild? One question rose above the surface of the rest; how had Bunk paralyzed him?
As he looked at him, he noticed jewelry on Bunk’s finger. It was a gold signet ring. An emblem was carved on the surface; a red eye with a blood tear in the corner. It was the same as the shape on Lillian’s necklace.
He tugged the ring off Bunk’s finger. It glowed against his palm, and his questions multiplied. Had Lillian given Bunk the ring? Had the ring paralyzed him when Bunk punched him? Had Lillian put him up to this?
“Where did you get this?”
Bunk groaned. He tried to speak, but when he did, Ethan realized his jaw hung slightly loose. The sight sickened him. I broke his damn jaw.
Dullzewn patted his back. “Bastard deserved it,” he said. Then, he addressed the rest of the recruits. “Quite a nasty slip Bunk had, wasn’t it?”
The recruits stared at him, puzzled.
“I said, our big lug here tripped up, didn’t he?”
They caught on. Some nodded, while others turned back to their card games, carrying on as if nothing had happened.
Yart backed away from Ethan. His sneer disappeared, replaced by a fear that made Ethan glow inside. “I’ll tell Bander,” he said. “And Lillian. And Reck.”
“Will you?” said Ethan. “Maybe we better talk in private, you, me, and Dullzewn here.”
He grabbed Yart’s collar. Instead of trying to fight, the scribe gave up, shuddering every time Ethan moved his fist.
Volcanic anger channeled through him now. Was it all directed at Yart? Maybe not. Maybe it was at everyone; at the guild, at Bander, at Lillian, at the Brotherhood of Fire. Above everything else, he was furious at himself.
Remember the old man in Wolfpine.
Beating Bunk wouldn’t be the end of it. Yart’s eyes confirmed as much. As soon as he got the chance, he’d tell Bander or Lillian about what Ethan had done. And if he didn’t, he’d do something worse. He’d find someone tougher than Bunk and use his father’s money to persuade them to come after Ethan. No, he had to end this unequivocally.
“Go make sure the halls are clear,” he told Dullzewn.
He was sure they would be. After their evening feast, the guild master and his instructors loved to gather in their staff den, where they’d drink and discuss plans for the guild. They put senior recruits on hallway duty, but even they didn’t want the job. They�
��d skive their duty as much as they could allow.
“All clear,” said Dullzewn, at the end of the dorm.
Ethan led Yart out of the dorm and into the halls, where portraits of past heroes stared back at them, and soft mana torches cast glows. This was the guild’s concession to decoration. In the rest of the rooms and hallways, aesthetics gave way to cold, hard stone.
“Where are we going?” said Yart.
Ethan clamped his hand over Yart’s mouth. “You’ll see. You’ll know this place well.”
He led him around the hallway and up a twisting flight of stone steps. Wind groaned through cracks in the stone, and cobwebs fluttered against the walls. Nobody came to this part of the guild, because there was nothing here. But Ethan had been here before. He’d never forget it.
At the top of the staircase, they came to a window. Ethan opened it and pushed Yart against the window frame.
“Remember this place?” he said. “See the eagle’s nest over there? Maybe you better take a closer look.”
The ropes that Yart and Bunk had used to tie Ethan lay on the floor. Seeing them, Ethan touched the scratched skin on his wrist.
Yart trembled. “Come on, rat…I mean, Ethan. My arm. I can’t…”
Dullzewn shoved him half out of the window, holding onto his collar. “Should have thought about that.”
“Wait,” said Yart. “I’m sorry. I know what I’m like. But my father, when he learned I couldn’t use a sword anymore, he…”
“He what?” said Ethan.
“He barely spoke to me after the guards took you from my house. He was ashamed of me, that you beat me.”
Ethan relaxed something that he’d forgotten, all this time; that at the end of it all, Yart was a victim here. He’d been so used to thief life, so used to taking things from people, that he’d forgotten that one, vital thing. Yart’s father was a piece of shit, but in Yart’s mind, Ethan had broken into his home.
And then he remembered the window, and the plummet, and the darkness after he hit the ground. Yart had tried to kill him.
Ethan coiled the rope in his hand. He watched Yart squirm, listened to him mutter in fear.
His pangs of guilt resurfaced, spreading through him like ice. This isn’t how heroes behave. Is this the way I want to go? He pulled Yart away for the window.
