by D. B. Penner
Modwyn recovered from his misstep swiftly. Will blocked an overhead strike, but his arm trembled and threatened to give way. Taking advantage of Will’s sudden weakness, Modwyn kicked out the legs from under him. Landing hard on his back, Will was winded. Rolling to his feet, Will stumbled, retreating a pace. Modwyn advanced and slashed at Will’s side. The pupil dove out of the way. He had barely avoided the assault. His tunic had been cut, but the mail has deflected the sword, reducing the blow to a glance.
Sprawled on the ground, Will hurried to mount a defense as Modwyn approached. Smiling kindly, Modwyn offered his hand, as opposed to a blow, and Will took it. “Splendid duel, Will. You fought admirably,” he praised.
“Gratitude,” Will managed to utter between gasps for air. But I lost.
“You have a period free next,” Modwyn said. “I would like you to join my advanced Combat and Command class. What say you?”
Will looked at Modwyn, whose youthful face was stretched in a friendly smile. “It is an honor. I would very much like that.”
“Excellent, now, you rest while I recruit some others,” Modwyn said, excited.
Will slumped down against a thick stump on the edge of the forest at the far side of the field, laying his sword across his knees, its blue aura faint in the bright light. Why couldn’t I access the power? The question bothered Will, ringing loudly in his head. I thought I could access it easily, or at least I’d done before. I thought I had some control. And with that, Will silently vowed again to learn to control the ability, which was dangerous when he used it but perhaps more so when he couldn’t.
Art and a small group of first years strode over to where Will sat. “Are you good, Will? You look ill,” Art asked, taking a seat in the grass.
“I dunno anymore,” Will responded absentmindedly, attempting to answer the persistent questions that bounced around in his mind. Is it good that I couldn’t use the powers? I need answers. Unable to find a solution to his internal discord, Will looked up to see whom exactly Modwyn had recruited.
Besides Art, he saw Vivyan standing near him. Will looked past her to see Ogdin, Hostice, and a burly Scalefire boy who looked as if he were part troll.
“I saw Modwyn defeat you. Can it be true? The mighty Brightflame has been dethroned?” Ogdin sniggered. With great effort, Will ignored him. But the Scalefire was persistent, “By the looks of it, this won’t be the last time you get embarrassed either. I saw that fight; you looked weak. Why won’t you use what you’re given? You’ve been born with a power that thrives on anger. You’re more fool than I thought if you refuse to channel your fury. Without it, I could pick the most feeble bed maid from my castle, get her tripping drunk, and I’d wager all my four thousand acres that she would still kick your pathetic-”
“You leave Will be! I don’t care if you own half of Gammalgard and the Emperor himself serves your breakfast each morning. Just leave him be!” Vivyan shouted, drawing her thin blade from its slender sheath.
Daniel’s eyes widened with surprise, then, sneering, he moved off and made a huddle with Hostice and the troll-looking Scalefire, talking in quick whispers. “That was a little much, don’t you think? You didn’t have to break his heart,” Will joked.
Vivyan sat beside him. “Will, I promise to always do what’s best for-”
“Look at that!” Art exclaimed, pointing at several cadets approaching the field.
Strutting with a confident air, they arrived and stopped a few yards before the first year recruits. They were older than Will, looking formidable in suits of plated armor, holding their barbute helmets in under their arms. The two boys who had dueled in the Pit were there; they nodded at Will with half grins on their faces. But one youth stood apart from the rest. The only one wearing his helm, he stepped forward, studying the first year recruits with sharp eyes. He had arms seemingly as large around as a tree’s trunk yet he moved smoothly, as if the heavy metal suit he wore weighed nothing more than a winter coat.
“I see Modwyn selected choice recruits for us. We’ve been wanting some fresh ones to swing at,” he said with a laugh. “My name is Caleb. From whence I hail matters not as I serve the Empire alone. But for so long as you live and breathe, you will respect my fellow Warriors and I as your superiors. I doubt that any of you greenlings will join our ranks any time soon, but if you prove yourself worthy, someday you may become a Warrior as well. Miracles happen, or so the priests tell us.”
“Have you no faith, Caleb?” a man said from behind him. His black hair hung around his head like a lion’s mane.
“Apologies, Blademaster, but my faith rests solely in my blade.”
“You mistake me,” Boewdard said, stepping around the armored cadets to look at the recruits Modwyn had selected. “A man’s religion and how he keeps it are none of my concern. You lack faith in these recruits, why?”
“Who here would be worthy of the Warrior’s recognition?” Caleb asked, scowling.
“William Stormhand is more than worthy of your society,” Boewdard said coldly, eyes glinting.
“William Stormhand, son of the great Matthew Stormhand?” Caleb frowned. “I hear he goes by Brightflame now, sir.”
“The very one, but enough talk; let us see with our own eyes. Gohagger, you may begin.”
“Naturally, Blademaster, right away,” Modwyn said nervously. “Allow me to introduce to you my Warriors. You’ve already met Caleb, the Warrior General.”
Will looked at the members of the Warrior society, marveling at their collective size. Most stood taller than six feet with tight balls of muscles shaping their bodies. To simply don that armor and seem so comfortable, they must all be exceptionally strong. There were only two girls, twins, their long, dirty-blond hair pulled back into identically braided ponytails. The pair was strikingly beautiful, obvious even through their steel cuirasses. Will blushed, averting his eyes lest they catch him staring.
After Modwyn had named each Warrior, he led them all further along to the edge of the fields. “Warriors, as you can see we have recruits in our midst. They will be joining us from now on out. To honor the occasion, let’s celebrate with a war game,” Modwyn said smiling. “Blademaster, I believe this is your favorite.” Boewdard smiled and nodded knowingly. “Conquest, played with original rules written by Bladebeard himself,” Modwyn continued happily. “For this round, I will assign the recruits their positions. I believe you have your own classes settled upon, eh Warriors?”
The Warriors hooted their answer as they ran into the forest that lined the field.
“The Blademaster and I will be the healers for you recruits today. You will be able to do that yourselves soon enough. As for the rules, it is you against them. The object of the game is to capture the other team’s flag. Almost anything goes, but don’t aim to kill. When you are wounded, cry out ‘Heal,’ and we will come to you. After you are healed, you must return to our base before you may begin again,” Modwyn explained with mounting excitement.
“The game should be called ‘Capture the Flag.’ That’s what we’re doing right, capturing the other team’s flag?” Ogdin interjected.
“Quiet, boy,” Boewdard reprimanded, “Learn your place and speak to an elder with respect. Besides, ‘Capture the Flag’ is a foolish name.”
“Aye, Blademaster, foolish indeed,” Modwyn agreed hastily. “Today, we will fight with you. Their flag is green and yours is red. You must defend your flag, which is located in the fort over there, from the Warriors.” Modwyn pointed to a large log structure across the field. “Now, I will assign your positions and ranks. Vivyan, your judgment and foresight have already manifested themselves in class. You will be the General for today. You will make the primary decisions and lay out our strategy. Will, you are a brilliant fighter. Power and speed are your forte. You will be Field Marshall. Real time decisions are your responsibility and so is commanding the soldiers.”
“What? I refuse to answer to him. I am much more suitable for a position of power,” Ogdin stated angrily
.
The Blademaster cut in. “No, I see that you are not ready for such duty. You do not communicate nor do you inspire loyalty. You are in Scalefire for a reason, Daniel. You sneak. You may transform into a wolf, but that does not make you an alpha nor will it guarantee you a pack if you continue to refuse to cooperate. Keep your current attitude and expect to work alone in a remote region outside the Empire or worse, executed for your insolence. At any rate, if Will is half as good as his father was with a blade, he would easily behead you,” Boewdard snapped angrily at Ogdin, who looked mutinous, but said nothing.
“Sir, you need not be so hard on him,” Will frowned, blushing at the undeserved compliment. Ogdin snarled wolfishly at him, his eyes filled with murderous intent.
The Blademaster contemplated Will then said with frustrated expression, “Even now your supposed enemy speaks in your defense, and you do not recognize him as a friend.”
“I need no friend!” Ogdin nearly shouted.
Boewdard slapped him full in the face with the back of his gloved hand. “Speak to me once more with that tone and you will receive another.”
“A pat on the cheek,” Ogdin said, glowering. The Blademaster smacked him again, but this time with a fist. The strike connected with Ogdin’s jaw and sent the recruit sprawling to the ground. Modwyn leapt to hold Boewdard back as the Blademaster made to punch again.
“You will learn obedience, cur, or I will kick it into you,” Boewdard spat, landing a heavy boot into Ogdin’s side.
Will watched this in horror. Getting over his shock, he moved to help Modwyn pull the Blademaster away from the now bloodied Ogdin. Panting in his rage, Boewdard finally stopped resisting their efforts to pull him away. Will went to Ogdin to help him to his feet.
“Get your hands off me,” the bruised-cheek recruit snapped, slapping aside Will’s outstretched hand.
Boewdard made to shout something, but Modwyn placed his hands on the Blademaster’s shoulders, leaving the older man scowling angrily at Ogdin.
“Anyway,” Modwyn interjected, “Hostice, you will be Captain and report to Will. As for the rest of you, prove yourself in battle, and I may promote you to a higher class,” Modwyn addressed Art, Ogdin, and the other boy.
“Vivyan, you may now explain your strategy.”
“Ummm… I willingly admit to never having deployed troops before, but what harm can be done by a valiant effort?” Vivyan giggled nervously.
“For one, you could get us all killed,” Art murmured. Will shot him a stern look. “Only joking, of course,” Art grinned, shying away from Modwyn who playfully raised his hand as if to deliver a blow.
Vivyan did not seem amused. “Right, Will and you,” she indicated the troll-looking Scalefire boy, “I want you here with me. We will defend the flag. Modwyn and Arthur,” she said, drawing a diagram in the dirt, “Come around from this side. While Daniel and Hostice scout a covert route to their base, you two will be a distraction to draw their defense’s attention. When all are in position, use force to subdue their defenders and obtain the flag. Blademaster, stay with us. We will need your assistance.”
“Well strategized, Lady Vivyan! Take up positions,” Boewdard said.
They all jogged over to the fort. The log structure was tiny but two stories tall with stunted battlements that crowned the small edifice. Modwyn shot a green flare from his hand. It arched through the air and slowly faded into a mere glimmer as it fell to the ground.
“Go, go, go!” Modwyn shouted eagerly.
The assault team dashed into the forest, disappearing into its darkness. Will felt squeamish. Weary as he was, he did not know whether he would be able to fight or not.
“Nervous?” he whispered to Vivyan.
“Aye, you?”
“Did you see the size of those Warriors?” Will asked in answer.
Boewdard noticed the apprehension and leaned in. “At times, children, the odds may seem against you, and certain death may seem imminent. But fate has a funny way of ensuring your survival even through those things you most dread,” Boewdard said gravely. Will, not knowing whether this statement was actually comforting or not, internalized his mounting anxiety.
In silence, they waited for the Warriors. Will heard a shout and the clash of arms issue from deeper in the forest’s depths. His stomach tightened, and his heart jumped to beat at unhealthy rates.
A low grunt from the Scalefire boy alerted the fort’s defenders. The boy repeated, “Look, methinks it’s them.” He pointed to the edge of the forest, and the black shadow darted back into the darkness. “Yes, it is they! I sees them,” he said again. He unslung the large war-hammer from his back and held it at the ready.
Will knocked an arrow and gripped his bow tightly, his knuckles blanched. He heard Vivyan suck in her breath behind him. Will turned to look at Boewdard, who was smiling.
An arrow whistled past the defenders’ heads. Will popped from behind cover, pulling his bowstring back. As he saw the glint of a weapon behind a tree at the edge of the copse, he loosed the goose-feathered arrow towards the tree. He heard his victim scream.
Will ducked behind the turret’s wall. Disgusted and horrified, Will’s breaths came in quick pants. The day he had killed the raider rushed back to him. Will saw his mother on the ground, his home on fire. Tasting bile, he spat and, looking up, saw troll boy sprint down the steps of the fort.
“No, hold your position!” Will shouted at the recruit, but to no avail. The Scalefire was gone.
A whistle of a darting arrow soaring over his head brought Will’s focus back to the roof of the fort. Boewdard grimaced; he was hit in the shoulder. As the Blademaster yanked the arrow from his chainmail, his face contorted. The arrow had left a bloody hole in his clothing, but Boewdard did not treat the wound.
The Scalefire boy yelled as he charged the Warrior’s position in the trees. Then, Will heard him scream in agony. Boewdard dashed away without a word. Will peeked over the edge and quickly ducked back under again, but not before seeing his fellow recruit on the ground. The boy had been peppered with arrows and was squirming and thrashing around in a growing pool of blood.
Will felt the creature crawl toward his consciousness. It stopped just before engulfing his mind, but Will desired his power, anything to escape his reality. Throwing himself against the mental barrier, Will felt it shatter, and the creature blanketed his fears with power and rage.
Eyes ablaze and energy surging through his veins, Will smiled and stood tall above the battlements. He loosed three arrows at an advancing Warrior with inhuman speed. His heavy chest plate deflected two, but the third clanged off the helm the Warrior was wearing.
The Warrior collapsed, knocked out cold. Will slung his bow across his back and drew the now flaming red sword.
Will planted a foot on the turret’s side and jumped. Landing softly fifteen feet below, he looked up to assess the field. Boewdard had pulled troll boy to the safety of the fort and was tending to his multiple arrow wounds. The Warriors were out of sight behind trees, emerging only long enough to send arrows his way before dissolving back into the shadows.
Sprinting across the field, Will ducked and dodged arrows. One grazed his arm, and he howled in pain. It was a superficial wound, and the pain only added to his fury. He rolled to dodge another arrow.
Will had reached the forest’s edge with unearthly speed. He turned to his right and saw one of the twins lowering an arrow at him. He slammed himself up against a tree and felt the thump as the arrow struck it. A roar slipped from his mouth. The twin drew her weapon, her eyes flickering for a moment. Will charged. The girl’s eyes widened with fear. It was that fear that sustained the beast controlling Will’s mind. Will growled for more. Leaping into the air, he swung down at the twin’s head but was blocked. They held the position for a moment, fighting to best one another.
Out of the corner of his eye, Will saw a silver blur coming for his face. Dancing away from the first twin, he tried to block the surprise attack from the second
, but her thin sword’s path suddenly shifted and slashed across Will’s side.
He bellowed, but the blade hadn’t penetrated his mail. Merely knocked breathless, Will fell to one knee on the leaf-strewn ground. Dazed, he peered out of his streaming eyes. Both twins stood, glaring down at him.
I will not be beat, not again, Will thought furiously, mustering up the remnants of his strength. He tripped one of the twins and slashed the other’s feet out from under her in one deft movement. In their bulky armor, they fell fast and met the ground hard. Heaving himself up, Will ran past the fallen twins struggling to roll over.
I won’t take this game too far, Will told himself. He felt the fire inside him fade slightly, but power still flowed through his veins like a fierce river.
A bloodcurdling scream alerted him, and Will dashed off in the direction of the sound. Coming upon a clearing, Will saw a siege laid out before him.
The Warrior’s defense had compelled the attackers to take cover. Any time a recruit tried to fire back or advance, the Warriors sent a volley at their mired foes. “Art! Where are you?” Will shouted.
“Here!” a voice answered from behind a tree. Will slipped through the wood, stopping behind a large oak. “This is suicide, how are we supposed to take the flag without dying?” Art asked incredulously, “It will be a massacre.”
Will’s sword glowed red as he said calmly, “We can do this. Follow close behind.” Art nodded gravely as his crazed friend raced towards the wooden fort hidden in the trees.
Arrows glanced off Will’s sword as he advanced upon the fort. He passed Hostice writhing upon the ground, trying to ignore the splashing sound she made with each movement. Advancing beyond Modwyn who was ducking behind a fallen tree, Will continued forward, fighting against the hailstorm of arrows. Like Boewdard, several arrows had found their mark in Modwyn’s armor. Intermittently firing a short bow, Ogdin in human form was attempting to cover Modwyn so that the healer might find pause to help the injured Hostice.
