The Ranger (Book 1) (13 page)

This sanctuary was very different from the one at the abbey. The general shape was the same, but instead of rows of benches, there were mismatched desks and shelves covered in ancient books and parchment. It still had the high altar with the statue of Sandora, which seemed to be the best kept part of the room, but that was the biggest similarity. Four other priests were seated around the room each reading or writing at one of the many desks.

“Let’s take a look at you,” the priestess said, pulling back Vincent’s hair to look at the bleeding gash on his head. “My name is Cynthia by the way,” she added.

“I’m Vincent,” he replied, feeling much better now that he was seated.

“Nice to meet you,” Cynthia replied without thinking as she continued to examine Vincent’s head. Suddenly she seemed to register what she had just heard. “You’re the new fire user, aren’t you?” She had become very excited. Vincent nodded, and she clapped giddily, like a small child presented with a jester. “Oh, everyone’s talking about you, Vincent. They say the time is coming when we’ll finally challenge the Eresians and take back the kingdom. I hope it is. My family was very powerful in the old kingdom. We lost all that when the Empire took over. I’m all that’s left of that line. I’d love to be able to see the kingdom restored, in honor of my forefathers, before I die. You know, we’re a lot alike. I was orphaned as a child too. Master Silva took me to live with a nice little family near Vangelico.” She had stopped examining Vincent and was staring off vacantly.

Vincent’s stomach growled loudly, startling Cynthia from her daydream.

“Meaning no disrespect, but if we could hurry this up a bit, I’d like to eat before I have to continue training.”

“Right,” Cynthia said, composing herself. The orange glow of the token of healing surrounded her hands. “I’ll have this healed in no time.”

She was right. Vincent had never seen anyone else heal a wound of any size as fast as Cynthia did. Vincent put his hand to his head. There wasn’t even a mark. The headache was gone too.

“Thank you,” Vincent said with a sense of wonder.

“Anything for the Chosen of Sandora,” she replied happily.

“I’ve got to get going,” Vincent said hastily, suddenly feeling very awkward. “Thanks again.” He rushed from the sanctuary.

He was grateful to reach the open air again. The incense of the sanctuary had almost chocked him. Despite that, he was almost sorry to have left the company of Cynthia. She was by far the nicest person he had met at the encampment. He would have to go visit her again.

Vincent jogged over to the Hall, hoping there would still be something left for him to eat by the time he got there.

The increasingly familiar group was huddled around the fire. Trent was missing this time, obviously taking his turn as sentinel. A thick stew bubbled in the pot suspended over the smoldering coals.

“Vincent,” Ben said, handing him a bowl of stew, “you, my friend, are a monster.” The others nodded in agreement; except Lauren, who seemed to prefer to ignore his existence unless absolutely necessary.

“What do you mean?” Vincent inquired; not sure if this was a compliment or insult.

“Four hours,” David responded, “of actively using your token. I mean it’s one thing to hold your token, but to actually control your element with it takes a lot of stamina. I can’t use mine for more than a half hour at best, but you were going strong after four.”

“Then you went and trained for another hour,” Ben added. “I mean, I’ve got a fair bit of stamina, but after doing what you just did, I’d be out cold for the rest of the day; that is if it didn’t kill me.”

“Maybe Silva’s right about him,” Weston said with a laugh. “That would be a first.”

Vincent was already spooning himself another bowl. Weston’s laughter had faded, and the three men were staring at Vincent in curiosity. Vincent was resigning himself to the fact that he would probably have to put up with this for a while, but it was still uncomfortable.

“Who died in here?” Trent asked, walking loudly into the room. “You’re all so somber. I half expected to hear that the kid had died from the intensity of Silva’s training.” He laughed to himself as he ruffled Vincent’s hair on his way by.

“We were just thinking,” Weston replied quietly.

“Well perhaps you’d like to think about taking your turn on sentinel duty. You’re twenty minutes late relieving me.” Trent was no longer laughing; his voice had taken a very authoritative tone.

The colour drained from Weston’s face.

“Yes sir. Right away, sir,” he stammered. He stumbled getting up, tripping over his own feet as he ran through the door.

Vincent was already serving himself a third bowl as Trent sat down.

“Are you going to leave any for me?” Trent asked looking at the small amount left in the pot.

“Sorry Trent,” Vincent said, also noticing how much he had taken. “You can have my bowl if you want.” He tried to hand his bowl to Trent but Trent wouldn’t take it.

“Don’t worry about it,” Trent said; smiling as he grabbed his own bowl and spooned himself the remaining stew. “This is more than enough for me. Besides,” his smile turned to an evil grin, “you’ll need the energy a lot more than I will.” The rest of the group laughed, including Lauren this time.

“Did they ever tell you about Shadow Knights in the Academy?” Lauren asked smugly.

“I think they may have mentioned something about them, but I can’t remember exactly what,” Vincent answered.

“Don’t worry,” Trent cut in. “You’ll learn all about them soon enough.” Another round of laughter followed. “You best head out to the training field and warm up, I’ll be out there as soon as I finish eating.”

Vincent got up and stretched.

“I’ll see you all later.” He waved as he walked out. Vincent stretched once again before jogging to his cabin to pick up his swords before heading to the training field.

Everyone else seemed to have suspended their training for the hottest hours of the day, as the field was now empty. Vincent drew his swords with a flourish and paused a moment to admire the blades as they glittered in the midday sun. They were not overly long, stretching the length of his arm from shoulder to wrist. They had simple hilts, were perfectly balanced, and were very light weight.

He tightened his grip and started practicing his forms again. The familiarity of the movements was reassuring and he soon lost himself. The blades danced in perfect harmony as he moved about the field, oblivious to everything else.

“Vincent, look out!” The cry pulled him out of his trance just in time to see a giant black figure swing at him with a huge double headed axe.

Vincent tried to dodge, but in his shock at the appearance of this new foe, he tripped over his own feet and fell flat on his back.

The blade continued its path, falling toward Vincent. As it approached, it slowly dissolved until it disappeared completely, along with the figure.

He sat up and looked around, very confused. There was nothing left of his would-be attacker. The grass wasn’t even broken where he had been standing. He did, however, see Trent at the edge of the field. He was doubled over with laughter.

Vincent got to his feet and walked over to Trent.

“What’s so funny?” Vincent asked, not amused.

“You,” Trent managed to gasp between fits of laughter. He suddenly put on an exaggerated look of terror before elaborately falling over his own feet. This triggered a renewal of his laughter as he lay on the ground, clutching his stomach. “That just made my day.” After a time Trent finally managed to compose himself and he got to his feet.

“I still don’t get it,” Vincent said.

“This,” Trent said, his hand suddenly glowing bright white, “is a Shadow Knight, one of the highest level abilities for the Shadow Token.” The shadowy figure of a man materialized next to Trent. “Soulless, brainless and, ultimately harmless,” Trent smiled broadly, chuckling again. “You should have seen the look on your face.”

Vincent stared at him disapprovingly.

“Anyway,” Trent continued, “They’re excellent for training as they have physical bodies, but when they disappear, so does all the damage they caused.

“So I’m to fight it then,” Vincent said, sounding rather bored.

“Essentially,” Trent replied with a smile. “You know all the forms with the sword, but what you lack is the practical application: battle experience. By the time we’re done, Silva expects you to be able to fight five opponents by yourself.”

“Five?” Vincent asked, disbelieving. “How long does he think that will take?”

“About three months,” Trent said, unfazed. “Shall we begin?”

“If we must,” Vincent said with a sigh, taking a fighting stance once again.

The shadowy figure advanced slowly. It was an ominous specter with no face or defining features. It held two small axes in its hands. Vincent tightened his grip on his blades as it approached.

Suddenly the apparition charged. Vincent put up his blades to defend, but his foe was much faster than he had expected. The attacking blades slid right past Vincent’s raised blades, digging deep into his left shoulder. Pain shot through his arm, mingled with the burning memory of two nights before.

The blades fell from Vincent’s hands as he cried out in pain, clutching his bleeding shoulder. The apparition dissolved once again, taking with it the searing pain in Vincent’s arm, but the memory lingered.

“I thought you said they were harmless,” Vincent said bitterly.

“And so they are,” Trent replied. “You’ll notice that your arm is completely mended.”

Vincent glared in response. Trent ignored this and continued.

“So, what did you learn from this experience?”

“Obviously nothing,” Vincent grumbled, still massaging his shoulder. “He got me.”

“If you don’t learn from your mistakes, you’ll just keep making them,” Trent scolded. “Now, what do you need to correct so this doesn’t happen again?”

Vincent thought for a moment, replaying the fight in his mind. The blades flowed smoothly, but a little wider than they should have. The dance of his blades left huge undefended holes.

“I need to tighten my defense,” Vincent answered.

“Very good,” Trent said with a smile. “Let’s try it again.”

Vincent picked up his swords as the Shadow Knight reappeared. Once again the apparition charged. This time, sword met axe. He fended off the first set of blows, but the second set slipped past, cutting a shallow gash in his chest.

The specter jumped back, returning to Trent’s side. Vincent winced in pain, biting his lip to try and hide how much it hurt.

“Tighter,” Trent snapped. “Again!”

Once again the apparition charged. This time, Trent had not released the knight between attacks, so the gash in Vincent’s chest still burned. The figure attacked relentlessly. Vincent managed to fight off the blows a little longer, but the axes slipped past again. The apparition retreated again.

“Again!”

The pattern continued for the remaining two hours. Even with the extended breaks Trent took to rest, Vincent was bleeding heavily when the Shadow Knight was released for the last time.

“You did well for a beginner,” Trent panted as he gasped for breath. He was sitting on the ground and seemed to be having difficulty staying upright. “We’ll continue tomorrow at the same time. Good work today.”

“Thank you,” Vincent replied. He too was panting, but not nearly as hard as Trent, who looked as though he might pass out at any second. “Can I help you back to the Hall?”

“No, no, I’ll be alright,” Trent said, waving off Vincent’s offered hand. “I want to sit here for a few minutes. Besides, Weston will be here soon; he’ll be wanting his turn.”

“That’s right, I will,” Weston’s voice stated from behind Vincent. Vincent turned with a start as Weston put his hand on his shoulder.

“Where did you come from?” Vincent asked. “I didn’t even hear you coming.”

“Exactly,” Weston smiled.

“Well then,” Trent said, interrupting, “I’ll leave you two to your games.” He stumbled to his feet with great difficulty and started to walk away, doing a poor job of masking his fatigue.

Vincent watched him walk away until he felt Weston’s hand once again on his shoulder.

“Let’s get started,” Weston said in his deep, gruff voice. “We Rangers have got to be a sneaky lot to stay alive. Stealth is the name of the game.”

Vincent sized him up incredulously. Weston was short, stocky, and looked like the least stealthy individual he had ever met.

“Don’t believe me?” Weston asked, noting Vincent’s look. Faster than Vincent could follow, and without a sound, Weston darted behind Vincent and pressed a dagger to his back. “I’m stealthier than I look.”

“I can see that,” Vincent said, shocked.

“Stealth comes with practice,” Weston continued, sheathing his dagger. “Follow me, do as I do, and it will come.” With that, Weston darted off through the gate and into the forest. Vincent followed as best he could.

Darkness had fallen when they returned to the encampment. Vincent was panting heavily. Weston, on the other hand, looked as though he had just enjoyed a leisurely walk.

“I think I kept you a bit longer than I should have,” Weston said, looking at the sky. “Hope there’s still some food left for us.” He laughed as he patted Vincent on the back. They walked together to the Hall.

To Vincent’s surprise, the normal group was not there. A single figure sat silhouetted in the fire light.

“How was the first day of training?” Silva asked, without turning from the fire.

“Good,” Vincent answered as he sat next to his new mentor, “but a bit tiring.”

“Get used to it,” Silva said with a laugh. “It’s not going to get any easier.”

“Yeah,” Vincent muttered to himself quietly.

A pot of lentils was simmering over the coals of the fire. Vincent spooned himself a bowl and ate quietly. The warmth of the food was refreshing to his tired body. They ate in silence.

“I’ll see you both in the morning,” Vincent said, putting down his bowl.

“Sleep well.” Silva called as Vincent got up.

He smiled as he left the Hall. The night was crisp and clear. He slowly made his way to his cabin, enjoying the calm of the night air. His arms and legs burned from the heavy workout they had received that day, but that too felt somehow refreshing.