by Nick McNeil
“Are we supposed to take the word of a child?” a dwarf—whose hair was closer to white in color than it was blond—shouted.
The council broke into a debate. “This child could never have overpowered Master Alestar,” a young elf rebutted. His head was directed downward, but Bertly could still see the point of his ears.
“Why would he lie?” Master Dova interjected.
“The Blight has been over for three thousand years. Why would it return now?” the giant stated.
“He should be expelled,” the graying dwarf replied.
Bertly reached into his pocket and removed Cordelia’s warblade. Every beam of light in the room was drawn to the mammoth ice, causing it to reflect and illuminate every corner of the grand courtroom.
Quinric stood. “That cannot be.”
Bertly held the handle of the sword above his head. “Cordelia’s warblade.” It felt natural in his hand, as though it was meant for him. The blade emerged from the grip. “Master Alestar gave his life to ensure this did not fall into the wrong hands.” Despite his stress, the power of Cordelia’s spirit coursed through him; with the warblade in hand, he felt unstoppable.
“That is a fake. The warblade only answers to Cordelia,” barked an elf with long gray and black hair.
Master Dova expectantly extended her hand. “Please let us examine the blade.” When Dova grasped the sword, the blade retracted back into its grip. She handed it down the line of Elders. The blade did not reveal itself to any of them. Master Dova offered the warblade back to Bertly. “The blade calls to you. This is your warblade now.”
“You are going to leave the warblade with a child?” The elf with gray and black hair fumed.
“Cordelia and her warblade have chosen Bertly.” Dova clenched her fists and peered into the eyes of the elf. “Who are we to question?” She loosened her grip.
“While it may take some time before an army big enough to cause concern may be constructed, safety is no longer guaranteed.” Dova glanced at the council members. “The curfew must be reinstated immediately. Double up the castle security.”
Constructed. Why did both Master Alestar and Master Dova use this word? Bertly questioned.
“What will we tell the students and faculty?” Quinric asked.
“That young Bertly here took Alestar’s gryphon for a joyride. The punishment for stealing and jeopardizing an endangered species is that the curfew will be reinstated. For twenty years.” Dova peered into Bertly’s eyes. “Consider this our condolences for losing your master, a giant we all cared for deeply. In any realm-ordered trial, you would be facing half your life in prison for entering the Decomposite.”
Bertly’s heart broke in half, he’d lost the closest friend he had, and he was to lie about it. The young wizard had seen his master nearly everyday for seven years and now he was expected to move on as though nothing had ever happened. Alestar was more than a master or friend, he felt like part of who Bertly was as a human. Alestar was Bertly’s role model, and Bertly wanted nothing more than to carry out his legacy. The young wizard would need to end the Blight himself; unfortunately he needed to become a master first.
“How many were there?” Quinric shouted. “How many Rotters did you see?” The council mumbled to themselves, but focused their attention on Bertly.
“It was hard to say, sir. I was operating on adrenaline alone,” Bertly replied. “But to be honest, they didn’t seem all that powerful; we were mostly caught off guard.” The more it settled in, the more Bertly realized one on one, the Rotters were nothing in comparison to him. In fact, he told himself, given the opportunity, he would fight them again. The young wizard squeezed the grip of Cordelia’s warblade.
“Best guess,” Quinric urged.
“Fifteen thousand. Twenty at the most.” Bertly shrugged.
“We have time. Eplium’s army has nearly one hundred thousand elves ready for battle. The Rotters will not cross the forest and challenge them until they know they can win,” Quinric added.
“How long until they have enough?” the old elf from orientation asked.
“Assuming they have another twenty thousand somewhere else, well, it is possible they could grow to one hundred thousand in about ten years’ time.”
“But what if they have more?” Bertly rebutted. The frustration of having to keep Alestar’s death a secret was beginning to settle in.
“That is highly unlikely,” an Elder interjected immediately.
Bertly snarled, “As unlikely as the return of the Blight?”
Quinric rose to his feet. “Know your place, human.”
Bertly wanted to banter back and forth with the old master; however, he could not risk his status at the Academy. He knew he had to become a master as soon as possible if he wanted an opportunity to avenge his master’s death, for only masters could use magic freely across Pangea. The young wizard also knew he would need to learn how to soul-bond before he could ever become powerful enough to do anything. No famous wizard was ever unaccompanied; they all bonded with a legendary creature. Bertly knew that had to be his first task, soul-bond, and then he could become a master, and once he was a master, then everyone would have to listen to him.
“We have time to answer, but not enough time to grow enough soldiers,” Dova said. “Reach out to the realms. Let them know what is happening. We must come together once more.” The council members stood and shuffled out of the room. Dova remained seated, with her eyes locked onto Bertly.
“This is going to be hard, but we must ask you to remain at the Academy and to carry on with your studies. We must keep you close. I am sure you understand why,” Dova murmured.
“Yes, ma’am.” Bertly had never wanted to go home more than he did at that moment. “Will I still get to go on my spirit quest?”
“Of course. You will be allowed to do all regular Academy activities. We just want to be sure you’re close by, for when we need you. Assuming you are accepted into the Mastery program, of course.” Dova gave him a half grin.
***
“Wait, sir, you didn’t get the curfew reinstated at all?” Roderick asked.
“No, my young apprentice. It was merely a protocol to protect the students from the same fate as my master.” Bertly turned away from Roderick and faced the fireplace.
“I’m…I’m sorry, sir. I had no idea…I always wondered why you didn’t mention your old master much.” Roderick leaned back in his chair and peeked out a small window. “I reckon the sun will be up in less than a handful of hours. We should probably get back to writing, sir. Where did you want to pick up?”
Bertly took a breath and adjusted his posture. “Naturally, Polly was worried sick about me the following morning. It was the first time in years we hadn’t slept in the same room together.” Bertly smiled and laughed to himself.
“What did you tell her, sir?” Roderick asked.
“I told her I fell asleep in the workshop.” Bertly’s smile dulled. “I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the truth. I let her believe the lies the Academy told and kept the warblade to myself.” Bertly sank back into his enormous bed.
“We spent the next month loafing around, waiting for our acceptance letters into the Mastery program. Polly and I knew we would get our certificates to perform magic legally off campus grounds; however, the Academy turned the brightest and best students away for random reasons every year.” Bertly sighed. “To be honest, I was more worried for Polly and, after a couple of years, the twins. I knew the Academy would accept me. They weren’t going to let me out of their sight.”
***
“Bertly, what class are you looking forward to most in the Mastery program?” Polly asked. She was lying on her bed, studying a book of spells.
“Soul-bonding, obviously.” Bertly lay on his own bed, twirling the stealth elixir he had never used.
“I can’t wait for the spirit quest. I hear every sorcerer who is able to complete it unlocks a new ability.” Po
lly stopped reading her book and stared off into space. The school bell rang, and Polly leapt out of bed. “It’s time, Bertly!” she shouted.
The two humans raised their arms into the air and made identical commandments—“Cordelia, reveal my mail.” A piece of parchment appeared in each of their hands.
“You first,” Bertly said.
“We will do it at the same time.” Polly winked at Bertly. They tore into their letters.
Dear Bertly, apprentice of Alestar,
Congratulations on completing the requirements for your Legal Magic Certification. You are now permitted to perform minor healing, intermediate summoning, and advanced conjuring spells off campus. Upon further evaluation, we have reviewed your request for the Mastery program. On behalf of the Nine Elders and the Academy, we would like to congratulate you, Master Bertly, on your acceptance into the Mastery program. Classes begin next cycle.
Bertly was taken aback for a moment; this was the first time he had ever been called “Master.”
“Bertly, I got in!” Polly sprang up and jumped on the bed. “Cordelia, reveal my schedule. What classes did you get, Bertly?”
Bertly summoned his schedule and handed it over to Polly.
“We have the same classes again. I can’t believe this happens every year.” Polly’s cheeks turned pink.
Bertly’s face went blank and he fell back onto his bed. “Wonderful.”
IX
Bertly and Polly sat in the front row of a rather empty classroom. There were less than a dozen students occupying the desks. At sixteen, Bertly and Polly were the youngest students in the room by at least three years. They itched in their seats, tapping their feet and twiddling their thumbs.
“I can’t believe we are about to learn soul-bonding, Bertly,” Polly gushed.
Bertly was not in the mood for small talk; however, he shared equal excitement about soul-bonding. “I hear the master for this course is new this year. A young elf.”
“I heard he is a foul professor.” An elf with short brown hair and glasses leaned next to Polly. “A student got on his bad side, so the professor tricked him into bonding with a fly.”
Polly shot back in her seat. “That’s awful,” she said. She looked over at Bertly with a concerned expression on her face. “You’d best behave in this class.”
Bertly gave Polly a dirty look. “Why do you assume I won’t behave?”
“You did recently get caught trying to take your master’s gryphon out for a ride…or did you forget?” Polly giggled.
“A troublemaker, eh?” the young elf added.
Bertly’s cheeks turned red. “Where is that dumb teacher, anyway?”
The young elf rose from his seat and shuffled to the head of the classroom. “My name is Master Thel-eärdehil.” The color drained from Bertly’s face. “You can call me Thel for short.” The young elf smirked at Bertly. “This will be the hardest, but most rewarding class you will ever take.” Thel pulled up a chair and took a seat. “What has drawn you to this class?”
No one raised their hand to answer the question, and several seconds of uncomfortable silence followed before Thel spoke again. “This is not rhetorical. You can all perform certified magic. Why not go work? You do not have to continue your studies. You are choosing to be here…are you not?” He crossed his arms over his chest.
A dwarf with long blond hair raised her hand. Thel nodded for her to speak. “I want to learn how to bond with an amazing creature. A dragon, hopefully.” A handful of students chattered in agreement.
“So, you wish to bond with a creature to make it your trophy?” Thel questioned.
“Not a trophy, sir. But…something to show off. Well, no, it is more of an accomplishment of my hard work and studies.” The dwarf’s voice trembled.
“A trophy.” Thel gripped the arm of his chair. “Any other reasons?”
A petite elvish girl in the back row chimed in, “I want a companion. A friend to go along with me anywhere I go.”
Thel eased his grip from the chair. “A much better answer.” He stood up and began handwriting on the board. “A creature is not your slave. If you want it to bond with you, it must comply.” He turned to the classroom. “Sure, you can take control of a chicken or an elf mouse. But if you want to bond with something beautiful or magnificent.” Thel placed his hands over his heart. “A mammoth or a dragon.” His smile grew. “Then it must also want to bond with you. You can only telepathically control the minds of weak animals. A dog or koko, sure. But you will never control the mind of a dragon.”
Polly raised her hand.
Thel pointed to her. “Yes?”
“So a dragon must choose to bond with you, since we cannot control it. Because a dragon is too strong-minded?” Polly asked.
“That is correct. Some people control kokos because they want to use their healing abilities; however, no doctor has ever been able to bond with a phoenix for its healing abilities. Why is this?”
Bertly raised his hand. “Because the doctors don’t want to bond with the phoenix; they want to bond with its healing powers.”
“Exactly!” Thel shouted enthusiastically. He turned back to the board. “It is not hard to soul-bond. It may be one of the easiest theories you learn. What makes it so challenging to most sorcerers is that you need a heart that is pure enough to form such a connection.” Thel stopped writing. “Most of you will bond with a creature you love dearly; however, it will not be the animal of your dreams. But…if you listen to me and take my teachings seriously, then maybe, possibly, you will have a chance at a creature greater than you deserve.” Thel clapped twice. A girl screamed in the back row. Bertly noticed desks shuffling and chairs tipping over.
Slithering across the ground was a serpent with a body that extended farther than the length of the room and a frame that was the width of a horse. “This is Slithers.” The snake coiled at Thel’s feet, piling up into a ball nearly as tall as Thel himself. “This is proof that I am not blowing smoke. I know what it takes to bond with a legendary creature…and it is not easy.”
***
Bertly lay with his limbs sprawled across his dormitory grass. Polly was resting against a small tree nearby, with several vials and test tubes spread out before her. She grabbed a small blue tube and mixed it into a large tube that contained a red liquid.
“What do you plan on doing first, Bertly? Soul-bonding, your spirit quest, or are you going to take on an apprentice?” Polly asked.
“I want to get my master’s certificate as soon as possible. I plan to take my apprentice along with me on my spirit quest, and I will bond with an animal along the way.” Bertly snapped his fingers and extended his arm. A branch from the large tree in the center of the dormitory stretched out and wrapped around his arm. It pulled him to his feet.
“You are a very lazy human, Bertly, son of Edfrid.” Polly added a green powder to the mixture.
Bertly shrugged. “I plan on finishing up in three years.”
Polly tilted her head and squinted her eyes. “Three years? But you must have an apprentice for at least five.”
“Five years?” Bertly shouted.
“Yes, when they changed the apprentice requirements from three years to five, the same rules applied for masters.” Polly shook her head. “Do you ever read the pamphlets I leave on your bed for you?”
“I always wondered how those got there.” Bertly flopped next to Polly. “What are you making?”
Polly put a cork in the vial and shook it. The mixture turned bright orange, momentarily straining Bertly’s eyes until the light dimmed. “Smash this on the floor and it’ll create a flash big enough to briefly blind a giant.”
Bertly sat up. “Wow, Polly, I’m impressed.”
“I’m not naïve, Bertly. I understand the dangers of a spirit quest.” Polly gave Bertly a small smile. “We should head to bed. It’s late.”
“I wish the sun would go down when it’s dark out. This room a
lways makes me lose track of time.” Bertly popped up and headed toward the living quarters inside the tree.
“Bertly, aren’t you going to help a lady up?” Polly sat on the ground with a smile on her face and her hand reaching out.
***
The air was cold, and the scent of necrotic flesh filled the air. Bertly was surrounded on all sides by Rotters. The Decomposite hadn’t changed much since he’d been there last. The Rotters’ faces were blurred, and they crawled upon the ground, inching toward him. Bertly couldn’t move. He called for his master, but received no answer. The claws of the Rotters scraped against the ground. The noise was intolerable.
He was frozen, still calling for Alestar. But the only noise that returned to him was that abominable scratching. He accepted his fate as the Rotters crept forward. When they reached his feet, they craned their necks to peer at him. That was when he saw their faces. They all had the same face: the face of his master. Alestar.
The scratching continued.
Bertly jolted upright from his nightmare. His heart pounded, but he was able to convince himself to return to sleep. He was still groggy, after all, but there was a remnant from his nightmare left over—he heard a muffled scratch and opened his eyes again. His vision hadn’t adjusted to the dark room yet, and the scratching noise continued to irritate him.
“Lightus.” A small ball of white light materialized at Bertly’s command, floating directly behind him. He wanted the scratching sound to go away on its own. He had been comfortable in his bed, and rather than be frightened, the sound merely annoyed him. He looked over at Polly, who was fast asleep—obviously unaffected by the obnoxious sound. The scratching noise grew louder. Bertly wanted the issue resolved so he could go back to sleep, but if he woke up too much, he would be unable to return to his dreams. He glared at Polly, so blissfully unaware of the noise. She’d probably want to know what it was. If he could get her to investigate it, he could cozily return to sleep.
“Polly,” Bertly whispered as loud as he could without speaking full volume. “Polly, go see what that noise is.” Polly remained motionless in her bed. Bertly groaned as he slipped into his boots. He was too sluggish to put on a full set of clothes, so he left the living quarters in just his flannels.
