Mythborn: Rise of the Adepts (17 page)

The dining hall wasn’t too crowded, and that suited Arek fine, since the last thing he wanted now was to run into his classmates or students.

Grabbing a plate, he made himself a meal out of scattered remains, mostly buttered bread and honey. Arek found himself a seat near the back of the hall and said a brief prayer to the Lady of Flame, thanking her for his meal. He poured the thick honey over the bread, occasionally stopping to lick his sticky fingers. He had hardly finished half his meal when Jesyn entered, followed by Tomas. Both angled toward him.

Arek grabbed a napkin and began wiping his mouth and fingers, more because he needed something to do with his hands than to clean himself off. Jesyn flashed him a smile, which turned into a grimace as she felt a stab of pain in her swollen jaw. She put a hand over it and pulled over a chair, sitting down.

“You have been most difficult to find of late.” Her amethyst eyes danced with amusement. “It’s almost as if you’ve been avoiding us.”

The outcome of the rhan’dori Arek had witnessed didn’t seem to have damaged her enthusiasm. Smiling in return, he said, “I’ve been busy... but I didn’t mean to ignore you.”

Jesyn’s presence always made him feel awkward, and he worried something stupid would spout from his mouth before he knew it. It seemed unfair that Tomas was clearly unaffected by her. A pang of jealousy ran through Arek, as it was common knowledge amongst the initiates that Jesyn and Tomas were together.

“You mean you didn’t want to ignore Piter?” Tomas asked, spreading his muscular arms in feigned innocence. His eyes gleamed with mischief. “I don’t know why you care so much about him.”

Arek couldn’t help but laugh. “I just hate the way he’s always around, like he’s following me.”

Tomas waved a deprecatory hand and Jesyn laughed. “I know, but both of you are already testing. We aren’t as lucky. After the Test, you’ll both be ahead of us by quite a bit.”

At the mention of the test, Arek felt his humor drain away, leaving him empty and cold. Suddenly, all the words of his master felt like a lie. The idea that some important ‘mission’ had suddenly cropped up to excuse him from testing sounded ludicrous.

That left a sick feeling in his stomach, one that quickly destroyed his appetite. The last thing he wanted to do was come back an apprentice while all his friends took the Black. His sudden change in manner cast a dark mood over the table, and Arek knew he would have to say something.

Clearing his throat he began, “I suppose even Piter must be a bit nervous, considering the circumstances.”

Jesyn scoffed at his comment, replying, “He’s the weirdest kid I know. He’s probably at the tailor selecting his adept’s uniform right now!” Jesyn stood up, pointing to an imaginary set of garments, thoughtfully placing one hand on her chin as if in deep contemplation and shaking her head. “No, not that one, it will clash with my perfectly dark hair. No, no, I’ll take the one on the right. It is the most gruesome black I have ever seen.”

Arek and Tomas burst out laughing at Jesyn’s impersonation. Curtseying once to her small audience she retook her seat and smiled at Arek. “You don’t have to worry about Piter. You have more Talent in your little finger than he’ll ever have, and he knows it.”

Arek wiped tears of laughter from his eyes, saying with mock severity, “Thank you, most noble adept-to-be. Your praise is most deserved, and of course, I’m not going to argue with you.” Smiling, he leaned back, these friends of his making him truly happy. He had not realized how much he missed them, which made the fact that he was leaving doubly hard.

Leaning forward again, he made up his mind he would tell them what his master had decided. He needed them to know, to understand, and to see that the idea scared him to death. Magic or not, he knew they would be his friends first.

He realized they must have sensed his mood, for both of them had quieted, waiting for his next words. His face solemn, he began, “I must confess something to both of you, but it’s hard. I’m not sure—”

“What are you guys talking about?”

Arek turned his head to the voice, knowing already it belonged to Piter. He stood a table’s length away, looking a bit eagerly at the group. Arek sighed, then looking at his friends, said, “Let’s go. I can tell you later.”

Piter looked down, a hurt expression on his face. Then he looked up and snarled, “What was so funny?”

“Get lost, Piter.” Tomas locked eyes on the smaller initiate, tightening his grip on his chair, which creaked in protest. Both knew that in a physical confrontation, Piter was no match for Tomas’s muscle and size.

Emboldened by the knowledge that severe punishment faced any fighting this close to a test, though, Piter stood his ground, casually breaking contact and looking at Jesyn, who did not meet his gaze.

She felt uncomfortable any time these three squared off. She didn’t like Piter’s need to show off, but Tomas and Arek didn’t give him much opportunity to join them either. It hadn’t always been this way, but cruelty seemed to be the basis of their interactions of late. All that changed was who outnumbered whom.

“Some news has been conveyed to me by my master; news I thought most interesting. It concerns those of us who
are
testing.” Piter’s emphasis on the last part caused a knot of trepidation to form in Arek’s stomach, but before he could say anything Piter continued, “He won’t be testing with us.”

Jesyn looked at Tomas, her unspoken question mirrored in his eyes. Looking back at Piter with confusion and annoyance written on her face, she then saw Piter’s smug stare focused on Arek. Tomas saw it too and looked at his friend, who still did not meet his gaze.

“Arek, if this isn’t true, say something,” Tomas urged in a low voice.

“As usual,” Piter sneered, “his master is protecting him.”

Arek stood. “That’s a lie!” He could feel his heart fluttering, as every fear he had of failing, of not being their equal, seemed to be coming to life.

“Prove it then, Apprentice.” Piter’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if seeing Arek for the first time. “Do... anything.” Piter spread his arms magnanimously.

A moment went by as Arek stood, watching Piter’s unwavering stare, his peripheral vision picking up Jesyn’s fidgeting as her nervousness became more apparent. He could feel a small bead of sweat trickle down his back, leaving a wet, cold trail that faintly itched. Somewhere, deep inside, he knew there was nothing he could do or show to contradict Piter.

Finally, it was Tomas who broke the tension by saying, “Do what I said earlier and get lost.”

“I have a better idea.” Piter looked down at the table, concentrating. “He’s a jinx, a defect. In fact, I’ve been spending time researching a counter to it.”

Arek knew Piter was trying to bait him and it was working. “I’m not a defect.”

“No?” Piter smiled. “What do you call it then when a mage can’t cast spells and interferes with others who can? It is at least... inept, no?”

Tomas stepped forward and demanded, “Leave.”

Piter glanced at Tomas, then turned back to Arek. “How long will you let others fight your fights?”

Arek stepped forward and said, “You want a fight, you got it.” He shook off his gloves and assumed a combat stance.

Piter made a gesture with his hands. Instantly his body encased itself in a shimmering gossamer glow, like a second skin, but this “skin” was a dark blue and faintly reflective.

A collective gasp escaped the group as they realized Piter had learned to create something similar to, but not the same as, an adept’s flameskin. An impressive feat, speaking of true artistry on his part. Any appreciation, though, was lost on the gathered group as they squared off.

“This skin amplifies whatever disruptive thing you seem to be doing and sends it back at you,” Piter warned.

Arek didn’t move. His concentration stayed on Piter’s eyes, where he knew any intent to attack or strike would appear first.

Jesyn said, “Please, stop. This is insane!”

“Really?” Piter asked. “Like when you guys laugh at me behind my back? You don’t think I hear it?” His attention turned back to Arek and slowly he too raised his hands in front of him, settling into a combat stance. “You won’t laugh after this.”

Tomas reacted first. He placed his hand on Piter’s shoulder, intending to push him out of the way.

Piter did not move. As Tomas touched him, the force of the slight impact was amplified tenfold and redirected back at the hapless initiate. Tomas flew backward, hitting a bookshelf with a dull crack and dropping to the floor unconscious. Only a slight smile betrayed that Piter was happy with the first test of his protective spell. “I’m waiting, jinx.”

Time slowed as Arek’s focus shifted and his battle sense took over. He could feel the indrawn breath as Piter began to say something. He sensed Jesyn running to Tomas’s side, her concern for him overriding anything else. He could feel the weight of the table next to him and knew where every plate and eating utensil lay. Even the tiny dust motes in the air seemed to pause, caught in his heightened awareness. Most of all, he saw where Piter stood and knew where the opening would be.

Then
something
happened. Arek watched as the scene unfolded, slowed by his battle-sense. Something had appeared in the air around Piter. It was a creature, a ghost, barely visible, manifesting itself over the other initiate.

Arek tried to understand what he was seeing. The creature seemed armored, standing superimposed over Piter’s frame with enormous wings outstretched to either side. The features were blurred and indistinct, but it lay over him like a gossamer sheet, an ethereal winged knight flaring the same color as Piter’s flameskin, a deep, reflective blue. A name sounded then in his head and he knew this creature called itself,
Kaliban
.

Then, to Arek’s horror, Piter reached back and the Kaliban mimicked his action. A glow of flame began to form between the creature’s hands and Arek knew he only had a moment to interrupt it.

In a liquid motion Arek’s hand shot forward, his wrist hitting Piter’s, even as his elbow came around that wrist toward Piter’s jaw. However, the moment their wrists touched, a black flash occurred, a detonation of force blasting the two apart. Arek had the distinct impression of the winged knight falling backward, the ethereal fireball exploding silently and prematurely.

He felt the heady rush of strength and power flow into him from that contact, infusing his body with a glow that rivaled the sun. It surged into him, powerful, ancient, and unyielding. It echoed through him with a boom, and a feeling of utter triumph and ecstasy flooded his every sense. He knew, for an instant, what he
could
be. This winged creature surrounding Piter was his to take. He could feel his body hunger for it like food, like some sort of basic sustenance, ethereal, but real.
He knew it.

He could hear something gibbering, screaming, pleading for mercy, but years of frustration, of feeling inferior, crystallized into a black dagger of hate. Arek exulted in this feeling of power, of strength, of total control.

In that instant, he knew he held a life in his hands and felt an incoherent thrill as he made a fist and felt it snap! The life-force shattered into an infinite sea of particles and light, then flowed into him. He drank it in, consuming what had been Kaliban. He could feel it become part of him, suffusing him with all it had been utterly.

Then, when there was nothing left, not even a shred within the empty husk that had also once been Piter, blackness surrounded him and Arek felt nothing at all...

A
SSAULT

In general melee, do not focus too narrowly.

Instead, use the mountain stare,

And drink in all that surrounds you.

Danger comes from all sides.

See, or be feast for the crows.

—Kensei Tsao, The Lens of Blades

A
sh fixed a steely gaze on the horde spread out before him. Turning to Captain Durbin he said, “Have Captain Sevel and your men ready for our signal. Stay under cover and fire on my command.”

“The men’ll be ready, sir, the Lady willing. Just lay the catapult barrages on their heathen heads and we’ll take care of the rest.” Saluting smartly, fist to chest, the captain wheeled and made his way to the command tower and Captain Sevel of Second Company.

Ash watched him leave and turned his attention to the desert floor. He could see the barbarians milling about, just out of arrow range. Straining his eyes, he could just see their encampment, a motley collection of tents called
ger
set in a haphazard circle just beyond the main force of nomads. The semblance of order came from the openings, which all faced south. Why this was so was a mystery to him. Still, he thought, if only I had a catapult that could reach that far.

The king exited a stairwell and caught his attention, smiling in greeting.

Ash saluted, then clasped the older man’s callused hand. There was a look of tiredness around the king’s eyes, a look Ash respectfully did not comment on. Instead, he turned to the outer lip of the wall, encompassing the nomads with a sweep of his arm, “They will attack soon. Look on the horizon, already the clouds gather.”

Bernal followed the armsmark’s pointing finger to the line of purplish clouds, slowly advancing across the sky like a spreading bruise. The wind had picked up, gusting through the battlements and whipping his cloak out behind him. Soon, the sand itself would become their worst enemy, swirling up in the wind and blinding the archers to their targets.

He turned to the armsmark and said, “Soon the wind and sand will make it impossible to speak or be heard. You’ll use the flags?”

Nodding, Ash asked, “I assume you are commanding the center wall, my lord?”

“No, these are your men. Both the Firstmark and I have complete trust in you. Besides, one day you may be Firstmark. Might as well start applying for the post now.” He clapped the younger man on the shoulder at the jest. “I won’t tell Jebida.”

The king paced over to the wall’s edge and unslung Valor. “I shall stand with the archers. If the Lady blesses us, we will not see nomad blood touch the walls today.”