Chapter 22

The Veckenna shortsword was designed by the Dwarves in the Second Age around 1017 R.o.D. The blade’s name means ‘Five Fingers’ or ‘a Hand’s Span,’ which is how wide the blade is at its base. The weapon was used for defense and worn horizontally across the small of the back.

Day 146, Smeltesday

Over the next two months, things got hectic. Classes entered a new level of difficulty. I was failing Social Studies miserably despite tutoring from Rose and Nel. History now incorporated the Order’s acts in relation to other events. Yes, I know King Raffin the Third of Hersha was assassinated, but why do I need to know his killer was Sarah Baker, a member of the Silent Heart, and the method was a henbane and mandrake tablet slipped into his morning pills?

Mathematics moved from geometry to trigonometry. When will I ever need to use sine, cosine, or tangent? And if I didn’t understand the need for that, tactics and martial combat were even worse. I was terrible in any position. I didn’t have the battlefield awareness.

But classes weren’t the only issue. Apparently, after I showed up those four attackers, the entire Slate student body not only took note but made it their business to put me in the dirt. A couple of assaults were intentionally lethal, but luckily, those were one-on-one. I got a reasonable sense of what I could handle after getting my ass whooped for the ninth time. Depending on size and skill, I could handle at most four attackers. So I took to the good old-fashioned turn-tail-and-run tactic. I seemed to have quite a talent for outmaneuvering larger groups, even if it meant slipping through air ducts or hiding in refuse bins.

After the first time I got cornered, I added a grappling hook to my gauntlet. It saved my bacon more than a few times. But it still didn’t stop me from getting whooped. By month’s end, I had sixteen Martial Vector points, three Hit Vector, twenty-four Escape Vector, and nineteen Craft Vector points. I got fantastic at evading packs real quick. But for as many points as I scored, I lost just as many fights.

On that day in martial combat class, we were paired up to duel. The winner of each pairing would get one class point. We would trade partners in a round-robin. I had won one fight and lost two. At that moment, they paired me with Nel, so I didn’t have to fear for my life.

She swung a training dagger at my throat. I retaliated with a roundhouse kick at her ribs. She stepped into the kick, blocking it with her shoulder and forearm. As I retracted my leg, she wrapped her arm around my calf and yanked, forcing me off-balance. My weapon slipped from my grip, but I had an idea. I jumped, pivoted, and drove my free foot into her solar plexus. Against anyone else, it would have driven the wind from them, but not Nel. It only knocked her back.

I felt a brief moment of success before I slammed against the floor, my head bouncing. My vision blurred. A cold metal surface pressed down on my cheek—Nel’s foot. I could tell from the wiggling toes.

“Okay, okay. I get it. Can you let me up?” After a moment, the pressure left. I sat up, rubbing my cheek.

“You did good that time, Ive,” she said, offering a hand.

I grasped her forearm and pulled myself up. “Clearly not good enough. That last move was stupid.”

“I’ll give you that,” Nel granted. “But your reaction time is getting better, and you’re watching your opponent’s chest instead of their eyes. That’s great progress.”

“The reaction speed is only because there are so many blows to the head you can take before you learn. As for watching the body, I picked that up from Rose. She does this weird thing with her eyes when you look at them, like momentary hypnosis, long enough for her to clock you in the side of the head. When I stopped looking her in the eyes, I realized I could predict an opponent’s actions by how their torso moved.”

Nel flashed a mischievous grin. “Are you sure that’s why you’re looking at her chest and not those B-cups that jiggle and jump?”

“WHAT?! NO! No, no, no,” I refuted, shaking my head frantically. “I swear I am not a perv.”

Nel nudged me in the ribs. “I’m only messing with you, Ive. It’s only natural for teenage boys. Speaking of which,” Nel cupped her titanium tits, “I’ve got some serious boob envy for Rose.”

“What?!” I hissed. “I don’t need to hear this, Nel.”

“Oh, come on. It’s normal for girls to compare. Do you have any idea what I’d give to have a chest that jiggled instead of rattled? It’s not fair.”

“I—I’m sorry?” was all I could manage. “If I could help, I would.”

She eyed me, a mischievous smile growing. “Actually… I think you can.”

“What? How?” I really didn’t like where this was going.

“I want you to make me a pair of squishy boobies.”

“What?! No, no, no,” I said, taking a step back.

“And why not? I thought we were friends,” she accused, pouting.

“We are! But I don’t feel comfortable making anything like that. Besides, I have no idea how boobs should feel. I’ve never touched one.”

“Easy fix. You have a thing for Rose. If I ask her to let you touch her tattas for science, I doubt either of you would say no. Plus, you can ask her out.”

“I’VE GOT A WHAT?!” I shouted, my face flaring. My heart raced. I would have chosen death over any more of this.

“You heard me. You’re thirsty for her. You have a crush. I bet you write bad poetry about her,” she said, swooning. She pressed on, forcing me back until my back was against a wall, a smirk of pure malicious joy on her face. When Mystagogue Kellennar called training to a halt, I was ready to kiss his boots.

“LISTEN UP!” he commanded. “Circle up! We’ve got a special guest.”

As we formed a half-circle, we saw who it was. Mysteriarch K stood beside him, her stature a sharp contrast to his. She looked at us with a kind smile on what was left of her face.

“Good evening. I just wanted to check in. Are there any training examples you wish to display?” she asked him.

Kellennar punched his chin, his gaze dragging across the class. His brow raised as he looked at Mallrimor. When his eyes settled on me and he grew a devious smirk, my stomach dropped. He always picked me out for one failure or another. He made it no secret he hated me.

“Do you have students ready for that kind of training?” asked the Mysteriarch. “They haven’t even experienced phantom weapon combat yet.”

“Trust me, ma’am, these are some of my best,” he said before barking out names. “Featherfall, Stonefange, Glennbark, Bonehunter! Front and center!”

Mallrimor, Kesher, Gellar, and Brecken—the Viletempt Boys—hurried to stand before him. “Put up your weapons and select new ones from there,” he said, pointing to a blank section of wall that folded open to display glimmering weapons. Brecken took a bastard sword, Gellar a longsword and shortsword, Kesher a two-headed war axe, and Mallrimor a rapier.

I knew what was coming. My fears were confirmed when he barked, “Maverick! Front and center!”

I stepped forward, my mind on Rose. I was vaguely aware of Kellennar saying something. I shook my head to focus.

“Set your weapon back on the rack.” As I walked over, I thought about Rose. I shook my head again and turned to select a weapon from the new wall. I turned to find Kellennar right behind me. I jumped back in panic. He shoved a weapon into my gut. “You’re using this.”

I looked down at it. A shortsword, but the shape was all wrong. The blade was comically wide at the guard, tapering to a point. An isosceles triangle with an upwardly curved guard and three fullers.

“What is this?” I asked.

“It’s a Dwarven arming sword called a Veckenna, you twit,” he snarled. “Now, meet the others in the center.”

I made my way to the center, turning the blade over. It was almost as heavy as a longsword with half the length. I knew he gave it to me to throw off my game and make me look like a fool. As I swung it, I wondered what Rose would do with it.

I shook my head, trying to clear the nagging thought. I needed to focus. Unless… maybe I could look at the question from another angle. The question wasn’t, Do I love Rose? It was, Do I know what love is? I loved my father, but that wasn’t the same. Oh, gods, Rose as a wife, that was a scary thought. I pictured her in an apron with nothing under it. My face flared, and I slapped myself.

Do I know what love is? I enjoy her company and care about her, but I also enjoy Nel’s company. Nel was more of a sister. Rose was something else. I did have affection for her, and my heart raced at the thought of holding her hand or… more.

I entered the center of the concrete training area. Across from me were the other four. The class formed a circle around us. I had to decide about Rose now, or it would ruin my focus.

I took a ready stance, only to hear Kellennar grunt. “No gauntlet for this one, Horn-Boy.”

I cursed, pulled off my primary tool, and tossed it to Nel. Now was do or die. Did I love Rose?

Yes.

My heart skipped a beat at the worst moment. The Mystagogue started the match. Brecken charged, arm pulled back for a swing at my head. My legs locked. I couldn’t sidestep. As the blade closed in, I fell backward, slamming against the ground as it sailed overhead. I closed my eyes, took a breath, and kicked the Orc in the knee as he turned. He staggered. I rolled and pushed to my feet, taking a ready stance.

Rose could wait. Now was my moment.

Kesher came in on my left, Gellar on my right, Mallrimor head-on. I dashed for a concrete hump meant for cover, leaped atop it, and vaulted over the Dracose. I landed in a crouch. As he stopped, I jumped, slamming both heels on his thick tail. He bellowed in pain. I kicked out his rear knee joint. His bellow turned to a wail. He spun to swing his axe, but since I was on his tail, I toppled, and the swing missed. I hit the floor, rolled, and swapped my grip on the Veckenna. I hooked his arm by the elbow and pulled. He hit the floor, and I leaped to my feet, stomping down on his throat.

Gellar closed in like lightning. I let him make the first strike, keeping an eye on Mallrimor and Brecken. As Gellar brought his longsword down, I caught it on the flat of my blade, deflected it, and with a twist, forced him to drop it. He threw a sweeping kick at my knees. I reversed my blade as he pressed the attack with his remaining shortsword. The edge struck the flat of my own. As he drew back, I pivoted and thrust the pommel into his sternum, dragging it down. He snarled and stepped back, but not fast enough. I followed with a push kick to the same spot. I felt something pop as I sent him flailing.

I used the force to propel me backward toward Mallrimor. I turned to face him, flashing the same cruel grin he had given me so many times. I saw him panic as he staggered back, flinging a hand up to cast a firebolt. It went wide, scorching my uniform. He was going to be in serious trouble for using magic in a martial match.

I lunged, aiming to stab him. I misjudged the distance, my mind using the length of a longsword. I staggered, giving him a chance to sidestep. I whirled to face him. He came at me with a panicked slash. I parried and kicked his knee, forcing him to fight defensively. His blade had reach but was light. I pressed the attack, striking again and again, forcing him back as he desperately tried to deflect every blow.

I reveled in the power I held over this boy who had made my life hell. But a sudden sense of danger made me whirl around. I turned just in time to see a bastard sword hurtling toward my ribs. I dove right and rolled, popping back to my feet. The room wobbled. It stopped just in time for me to see Gellar rushing me.

I cursed and sidestepped his first attack. I had hoped I had put him down. I blocked and dodged until Brecken came at me from my left with a downward chop. I threw myself between them. For the second time, I was forced to dive for my life, all three weapons barely missing.

The three closed in. My back hit something hard. Gellar and Mallrimor rushed in. Gellar swung with two horizontal strikes; Mallrimor thrust with his rapier. I could only block one. I swapped my blade to a reverse grip and caught the slash. The blow resounded through my arm. I deflected the rapier’s tip with the flat of my palm, waiting for the right moment. I thrust my palm at the tip, but it went wrong. I watched in horror as the blade passed through my hand.

They were using actual weapons. They were trying to kill me. I was outnumbered and facing death. I was going to die. Through the hysteria came a single word. My mind was drowning. The world held still. A single word broke the madness:

No.

That word crashed through the dread. I would not die this way. I had something to make right and someone to make dead.

As my will hardened, something sparked inside me. A new part of me waking up. Power, scorching and magnificent, rushed down my arm and into my wounded hand.

Suddenly, time returned to normal. I kicked Mallrimor off me, taking his blade with him. Blood spurted from the hole in my hand. I hunched over, screaming in agony. My will snapped into place. I lashed out, arching my back, my scream of pain melding into a war cry of rage. I flung my wounded hand in an arc, splattering the floor and Gellar with blood. The crimson spray burst into raging flames. Gellar staggered back, dropping his sword to swipe at his burning uniform.

I slammed one foot forward, my posture feral, and charged Mallrimor, my wounded hand held out, alive with blood-colored flames. It felt like a dream. Everything mattered, and nothing mattered. I felt like I couldn’t die.

I felt deep satisfaction seeing the absolute terror on Mallrimor’s face. He summoned a ball of flame on each finger and shot them at me. I was dimly aware of a burning in my thigh, chest, and shoulder, but it was nothing next to my hand.

I closed the distance in less than a heartbeat. He lashed out with another thrust, but his form was sloppy. I slipped under it, got nose-to-nose, and wrapped my burning hand around his wrist. I held on tight as his flesh seared. I rammed the crown of my head into the bridge of his nose, my horns blackening his eyes. As he recoiled, I reversed my grip, half-turned, and swept his leg out from under him. Before he could fall, I used my shoulder as a fulcrum and threw him to the ground. For a finishing touch, I stomped on one of his wings, snapping the bone as I wrenched his arm, popping his shoulder and elbow from their sockets.

I was dimly aware of his screams, my mind numb, my hand throbbing. My head spun. Splatters of crimson flame littered the floor. Was that all my blood? I looked at my flame-encased hand; my flesh wasn’t burning. I swung my head to the onlookers. I found Nel and flashed her a grin that I’d later be told looked both mad and drunk, and gave her a thumbs-up with my burning hand. I began to stagger away when a vice gripped my neck. My windpipe was squeezed shut as I was lifted off my feet. I was turned to meet a very large, scaly face. His eyes were the same color as the flames. He squeezed harder. I beat my fists against his arm. In a last-ditch effort, I clutched the side of his face with my burning palm, digging my thumb into his eye. I heard a bellow of pain as I was dropped. The last thing I saw were several sets of boots rushing toward me, one set elevated.