Sam Finch and the Zombie Hybrid (Sam Finch Series Book 1)

by Bouchard, J. W.

  With that, King Leodan strode away, guards at his sides again, and the arena was filled with silence until he exited through the gates.

  Alsted flicked his gaze upward, gauging the time by the sun’s position in the sky. He turned to the boys and said, “We’ll end there for today. Eat and rest, donkeys. Come back tomorrow ready to work even harder.”

  It was music to Sam’s ears. He thought it would be nothing short of a miracle if he found the strength to drag himself to dinner and then off to bed.

  Curtis walked beside him as they exited the arena. He looked to be near the edge of collapse. “Rough first day,” he said.

  Sam nodded. “I think my arms might fall off.”

  “What do you think he was getting at?”

  “Who?”

  “The King. What he said about dark forces. Do you think there’s something to that? A threat maybe?”

  “I don’t know. Could just be a figure of speech like ‘evil is always out there’ or something, and I really don’t even care. At this point, all I want is dinner and sleep.”

  “You just want to see your girlfriend,” Curtis joked.

  “She’s not my girlfriend.”

  “Cully seems to think so,” Curtis said. “That’ll be the next rumor going around. That you and her are an item.”

  “I’m telling you, she’s not my girlfriend. I came here to become a warrior, not to meet girls.”

  “Could have fooled me,” Curtis said.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  LET THERE BE MAGIC

  Over the next month, Alsted didn’t take it easy on them. Each day after training ended, Sam would leave feeling utterly and completely drained. With time and practice, however, he had become proficient in the elementary defenses, and they had already started on offensive tactics, which, in his opinion, were far more interesting than defensive techniques.

  His arms were stronger now; getting Rusty to do what he wanted was becoming easier and easier, and he was almost as quick as Curtis. In fact, Curtis seemed to be struggling with things a bit. He was still slightly clumsy, and his feet would tangle up when he tried to assume certain stances.

  “You’re overthinking it,” Sam said, rushing forward to grab Curtis when he tripped and almost toppled over in the dirt. “Don’t worry so much about the steps.”

  “Oh, are you my instructor now? The steps are important,” Curtis said, stepping back into position. “I want to get them right.”

  “I know, but you’re spending so much time concentrating on doing it the right way that it’s working against you. Try loosening up a bit.” Sam was slightly embarrassed to be offering his best friend advice seeing as how he wasn’t all that graceful himself, but better it came from him than Alsted, who was less delicate when it came to motivating them.

  Thirty feet away, Sam could see Sarah practicing with a boy whose name he didn’t know (even after a month, he still knew relatively few of the other boys’ names). She was nothing short of dazzling. If Sam was merely improving, Sarah was getting better by leaps and bounds. She had learned quickly that she couldn’t hope to be as strong as the other boys (her strikes were less powerful), but she had discovered a way to turn this to her advantage. She was faster than the boys, and she focused on quick, surprising attacks. Many times, she could dodge a boy’s attack and then disappear behind him before the boy had even steadied his sword, leaving him to look around in confusion.

  Despite her prowess, she hadn’t gained any respect from the other boys. It didn’t seem to matter how well she did or if she had bested each of her opponents in a duel. In fact, her skill seemed to have the reverse effect: she was viewed as even more of an outcast. The better she got, the more the other boys despised her, the more they whispered crude things behind her back.

  Sitting with Sarah everyday during meals hadn’t earned Sam any friends either, and they had started to pick on him whenever they had the chance and knew they wouldn’t get caught. Curtis had proven to be an easy mark as well. The other boys seemed to view it as guilt by association; he was still picked on, but not quite as furiously as Sam was.

  Sam cried out as something smacked his arm.

  “Stop staring at your girlfriend and get your head in the game,” Curtis said. “Or next time I’ll hit you with the sharp side of my sword instead of the flat side.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” Sam said, and this time when Curtis attacked, he was ready for it.

  Curtis brought his sword slicing down from overhead. Sam lifted Rusty in the air, horizontally over his head, blocking the attack. Curtis took a small step back, and then thrust forward, going for Sam’s chest. Sam sidestepped and brought Rusty down and around in a sweeping arc, batting Curtis’s sword away. He pivoted and attacked, using the flat of his sword to tap Curtis harmlessly directly above the hip.

  “Not as easy when I’m paying attention is it,” Sam said and chuckled.

  “You’re better than me,” Curtis said. “With a sword at least.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “It’s true. You’re getting good. You’re going to need a better partner to practice with soon. All I’ll do is hold you back.”

  “You’re a fine partner. And who cares if you’re not as good with swords? Just means you’ll be better than me at something else. Archery’s coming up in a few months. You’ll probably slay me.”

  But part of him felt guilty. Despite his reassurances to the contrary, he had thought about partnering up with someone else. Only it had nothing at all to do with Curtis’s abilities. He would gaze over at Sarah and watch her practicing with some random boy and wish it was him practicing with her. It was getting to the point where speaking with her at mealtimes wasn’t enough anymore. Meals were short, and besides that, Curtis was always there. Sam wanted to spend time with her alone. He didn’t know why; didn’t know how it would be any different, but he would often lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling, imagining him and Sarah taking a long stroll through the forest together. Who cared what the other boys thought about it?

  Of course, his loyalty to his best friend was stronger than these nighttime fantasies.

  “You don’t have to spare my feelings,” Curtis said. “I see the way you look at her.”

  “You’re my partner,” Sam said. “Nothing’s going to change that. And besides, she and I are just friends.”

  “Come off it. I’m your best friend and I know you well enough by now. And you must be blind if you can’t see that she’s into you, too.”

  Part of him knew that what Curtis said was true, but another part refused to believe it for fear he might jinx things if that really was the case.

  “You’re dreaming,” Sam said.

  “Am I? We’ll see.” Curtis lifted his sword. “Let’s do it again.”

  This time it was Curtis’s turn to defend himself. Sam swung Rusty over his head, brought it down swiftly, and it clanged as Curtis blocked it with Gwendolyn. The two swords scolded each other with a clang of steel-on-steel when Curtis blocked Sam’s forward thrust.

  “Not bad,” a guttural voice said from behind them. They turned to see Felgorn standing there. Sam had been so preoccupied, he hadn’t noticed the massive ogre watching them. “I see you’ve learned to handle your sword.”

  “Getting there,” Sam said.

  “Good. Perhaps you’re worthy of that sword after all,” Felgorn said. “Now fall back in line. We have guests.”

  Sam and Curtis walked back toward the center of the arena where the other boys (and Sarah) were already lining up. “What do you think he meant by that?” Sam asked. No one had ever talked about Rusty as though it was something to be proud of. If anything, Sam thought, the dull and heavy broadsword needed to prove itself worthy of him.

  Curtis said, “Who knows. He’s an ogre. They’re not right in the head. Look, there.”

  Sam watched as two figures entered the arena, one tall and one short, both of them wearing dark purple robes which covered their feet but, remarkably, didn�
��t drag along the ground. Their faces were shrouded beneath hoods.

  When the two figures reached them, Alsted shook hands with the taller of the two. “Welcome, Vigor,” he said, and then turned to face the line. “Boys, this is Mr. Volatine, Head Instructor of the Mage Skills School. He’s agreed to demonstrate magical tactics and their effectiveness against the things you’ve been taught in training.”

  Alsted took a step back. Volatine removed his hood, revealing a gaunt face and eyes the color of coal. Several inches of black beard sprouted from his chin, looking as though it had been styled with a greasy substance to taper to an abrupt point. Sam thought the man not only looked too young, but also too sinister to be head instructor of anything.

  Volatine stepped forward and motioned at Felgorn to stand across from him. The gray-skinned ogre lumbered over, carrying his spiked mace, Skullbasher.

  A few of the boys chuckled softly. Good luck with him, Sam thought, directing it at the tall but scrawny Mage Skills Instructor. He guessed that Volatine had singled the ogre out because he was the biggest and most threatening of the bunch.

  Curtis leaned close and whispered, “This should be interesting.”

  “We’ll start with a rather simple disarming spell,” Volatine said, his voice deeper than Sam had expected. “It is one of the first spells we teach new students.”

  He held his arm out, hand open, palm facing Felgorn, who stood ten feet away. Volatine whispered something that none of them could hear. At first, Sam thought that nothing had happened, but a moment later, he felt his hair stand on end as if the air was charged with static electricity. Felgorn’s arm seemed to rise on its own despite his resistance, and suddenly the spiked mace flew from his hand, sailed through the air, and landed with a thud at Volatine’s feet.

  “Simple,” Volatine said, “but very effective. Unless a counterspell is in place or a weapon has a protection enchantment, it is impossible to resist a disarming spell.” He pointed his index finger at the mace that lay at his feet and a split second later it levitated off the ground and then slowly floated back to Felgorn, who plucked it out of the air. “Now, let’s give you some hands on experience. Any volunteers?” Volatine turned to face the line of boys and said, “You there. Please step forward.”

  Sam went pale when he realized that Volatine was pointing at him. He swallowed the lump in his throat and stepped forward. What caused the Mage Skills Instructor to single him out he didn’t know, but he thought it was the worst kind of luck, which was the only kind of luck that Sam was used to. If Volatine had disarmed Felgorn with ease, what was the point of demonstrating on him? Didn’t it go without saying that if the ogre couldn’t resist the spell then Sam wouldn’t stand a chance either?

  “In the spirit of fairness, I’ll let my assistant demonstrate this time. Lilah?”

  The other robed figure came over to stand by Volatine. The hood fell back and Sam saw a pretty girl with glasses and raven black hair that cascaded down past her shoulders. There was a small purple tattoo on the side of her cheek beneath her right eye; it looked like a symbol of some sort, but Sam didn’t recognize it. For a moment, he forgot all about his crush on Sarah and stared dumbly at the girl in front of him.

  “Okay, Lilah,” Volatine said. “Show him the disarming spell.” He looked at Sam. “And you, attempt to resist as best you can.”

  Well, Sam thought, if I’m going to be made the laughing stock, then I might as well give them a show.

  He raised Rusty in front of him, clutching the broadsword in both hands so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He glanced over to see Curtis smiling and giving him the thumbs up.

  “Ready?” Volatine asked. Sam nodded.

  The raven-haired girl, Lilah, raised her arm and held it out the same way Volatine had his own, pointing her palm at Sam. Her lips moved…

  Suddenly, his sword gave a start like a startled horse, and an invisible force was trying to pry it from his hands. Sam held on for dear life. Some of the boys began whooping and hollering, and Sam gripped the handle of his sword even harder.

  But in the end, it was irresistible. Sam closed his eyes, focusing all of his effort on maintaining his death grip on Rusty. He felt himself being pulled upward, his feet leaving the ground, and within seconds he was hovering in the air, being dragged by that powerful invisible force.

  His grip began to slip. The palms of his hands burned as though someone were sliding a coarse length of rope between them too quickly. Finally, despite his best effort, the sword slipped from his grasp and clattered to the ground at Lilah’s feet.

  The cheers died out. Sam’s fleeting moment of fame had faded.

  Volatine clapped his hands together and said, “Well done, Lilah.” Then he looked at Sam. “What’s your name?”

  “Sam. Sam Finch.”

  “Well done, Sam Finch. A most valiant effort.”

  “Thanks,” Sam said, and started to trudge back to the line.

  “Wait. I’m not finished with you just yet,” Volatine said, smiling.

  Great, Sam thought. What did I do to deserve being the practice dummy?

  “This next one is a little more complex. We call it Coldsnap. Care to assist, Alsted?”

  The orange-bearded dwarf gave Volatine a tight-lipped smile. He adjusted his eyepatch and said, “You’ve got no business calling out an overweight and feeble dwarf for this, Vigor.”

  Apparently, Alsted had encountered this spell before because he knew what to do. He drew his sword, let out a loud battle cry, and rushed at Volatine.

  Volatine threw up his hand, muttered something, and immediately Alsted’s forward rush slowed to a crawl. The sun was out and it was a warm day, but Alsted’s breath plumed on the air, and Sam saw that the dark fur lining the tops of his boots had sprouted icicles. Alsted took a final step and then stopped as if rooted in place. His arm and sword were still raised above his head, seemingly frozen there.

  “Again, a powerful spell. One of the best ways to stop your opponent in his tracks,” Volatine said. “However, there are many counterspells, warding charms, blessings, and talismans that can counteract this particular spell. You must also consider that it only lasts thirty seconds to a minute.”

  Even as Volatine said this, Alsted seemed to unthaw; his breath was no longer noticeable in the air, and he was able to take a staggering step forward. Alsted ran a beefy hand through his hair and snowflakes fell out of it, sprinkling the ground and melting.

  “Your turn, Sam. Whenever you’re ready.”

  Sam picked up his sword. He looked at Lilah, raised his sword over his head just as Alsted had done, but didn’t bother with a battle cry (knowing it would be weak compared to the one Alsted had shouted). He charged toward Lilah.

  Sam saw her lips move the slightest bit, and when he exhaled he could see his breath rise like smoke into the air. He felt his joints stiffen; his skin went cold.

  But it only lasted for an instant before he was running forward again, and when he let out his breath, he could no longer see it rising in front of his face. The spell didn’t work! he thought with surprise. She must have done it wrong or something!

  He was still coming forward, less than ten feet from his target, when Lilah, who was wide-eyed with bemusement now, pointed her hand again. Sam felt the sword yanked from his hand as she had managed to cast the disarming spell.

  There was much chatter from the line of boys. Alsted and Volatine glanced at each other, neither understanding what had gone wrong.

  Sam stood only a few feet away from Lilah. He glanced at her and said, “I wouldn’t have actually attacked you, you know.”

  “I appreciate that,” Lilah said and smiled. She appeared slightly off-kilter; a little shocked that her spell hadn’t worked.

  Volatine walked over to them. “I know there wasn’t any trouble with your spell,” he said to Lilah. And to Sam he said, “Could I see your sword, please.”

  Sam handed Rusty to the Mage Skills Instructor. What does he mean? Sam wond
ered. Of course it was her spell. What else could it be?

  None of the other boys were cheering, which Sam took to mean they were all thinking the same thing that he was: something had gone wrong with Lilah’s spell. Maybe she had cast it wrong. Was that even possible? He didn’t know a lick about magic, so he had no idea.

  “Sorry about your spell,” Sam said to Lilah.

  Lilah was still confused. “There was nothing wrong with my spell, thank you,” she said sternly.

  Sam stood silent, watching as Volatine examined the sword closely. Volatine’s eyes were close to the blade as he turned it in his hands, viewing it from various angles. What does he think he’s going to find? Can’t he tell it’s just a rusty old sword?

  Finally, Volatine nodded and handed the sword back to Sam and said, “Just as I thought.”

  “Is something wrong with it?”

  Volatine shook his head. “Nothing’s wrong with it. Nothing at all.”

  Volatine didn’t offer an explanation. He walked over to Alsted, shaking the dwarf’s hand, Lilah following close behind him, her eyes narrowed at Sam as though he had offended her somehow.

  Sam got back into line. Volatine and Lilah threw up their hoods and exited the arena.

  “What happened?” Curtis asked. “How’d you do it?”

  “I have no idea. I think she messed up the spell.”

  Curtis said, “I don’t think so. I saw your breath, but it only lasted a second. It’s almost like…like you were stronger than the spell was.”

  “Well, I guess it was dumb luck then,” Sam said.

  “If you say so.”

  Alsted cleared his throat to get their attention. “That’ll do it for today,” he said. “Be mindful of what you’ve seen. It won’t be the last time you deal with magic. Knowing what it can do is the first step toward combating it. Next time we touch upon the subject, we’ll cover some of the things you can do to protect yourself against it.”