The man led Zan down a grimly lit tunnel, with torches in tall stands at regular intervals on either side. The passage itself seemed chiselled straight out of the mountain rock, and a thick smoggy mist lingered above them as they walked. The faint whistle of a draught made the fire dance.
They approached a huge bronze door, and the man pointed to it. "That’s your way to join the others," he said.
"The others?" Zan said as he walked up to the knocker, which had the familiar Firebeast branded into it.
The man just smiled, before turning right and walking down an adjoining tunnel, quickly disappearing from sight.
Zan tried turning the knob with one hand, and eventually with two as he strained to twist it. Finally it clicked and he pushed the door ajar, just enough to slip through. There were murmurs ahead as Zan tried to close the door gently but it ripped out of his hands and slammed shut of its own accord. He stood confronted by a large room half full of people, and all were sat on benches that were laid out like a classroom. They immediately turned to look his way.
He felt the heat move up through his body and towards his face as he stood there, uncomfortably the centre of attention. An empty bench near the back suddenly seemed attractive, and Zan sat down on the end while a little giggling broke out. He put his bag down and loosened his cloak band a little.
Several staffs were protruding from the ground in little coves in the rock walls, and all the tips were illuminated except one towards the door at the front. The room was an oval shape, and the roof seemed at least three times Zan’s height. He counted eleven others, though the place was too dimly lit to make out their age or race. The chamber quietened as a door at the side toward the front of the room squeaked open, and in walked a man.
He was tall, another Rilaris Zan reckoned, and he wore a black cloak that draped down to the floor. He wore his hood down but with just a few strands of brown hair sticking out, and the sleeves were long and overly wide at the cuffs.
"Welcome," he said in a grainy voice. A grin grew across his face as he rubbed his hands together. "Welcome to the Academy. You're all here because you received an invite. And you all received an invite because we have seen something in each of you. A potential that has gone, as yet, unrealised. Over the next five days, you will be tested in the arts and skills of stealth and fighting, and if you pass, you get the honour of joining our club."
"What club’s that then?" A voice shouted from the side. The man in the cape threw his eyes towards the sound as if daggers were being hurled from them. He glanced further to the side and nodded, and immediately two people who looked like guardsmen dressed in white masks approached the owner of the voice, and began beating him repeatedly with metallic poles. The sound of the thuds upon his chest shocked everyone by the reactions, and his painful cries, which were loud at first, soon died down before he was dragged away and out of the room.
"The first rule of the assessment is that you are to speak only when spoken to. Ill-discipline is not something tolerated at the academy. In our line of work, it is essential that orders are obeyed. I hope that is clear."
The man paced from side to side, taking a good look at everyone. "You boy," he shouted. He pointed directly towards Zan. "Yes you. What are you doing back there? There is a perfectly good place here at the front. Come, I want to get a good look at you all."
Zan stood and nervously stepped towards the empty space, and there was no giggling this time. He sat in between two others, both with green faces, and the one to his left was dressed in a golden tunic. They immediately made it difficult for Zan, shuffling together to squeeze him and he fought to remain seated and not tumble forward on to the stone floor.
"My name is Zalikor, and I am the Head of the Academy. The Academy is the educational branch of the organisation known as The Order of the Crescent. You will not have heard of it as the name does not leave the confines of this mountain....ever. If any of you decide that you can no longer keep your lips sealed, you know what will happen." He looked sternly around at the people in the room. "That is the second rule of the Academy. No-one will utter acknowledgement or mention this organisation outside of this mountain, on forfeit of life and the lives of those who have received your information."
A silence filled the air, as the people to each side of Zan sat up straight. Zalikor prowled around the room like a caged lion waiting to pounce. He was old; at least he was older than everyone else. His face was wrinkled, and he seemed permanently out of breath.
"The Order was founded over twenty-seven thousand years ago by people similar to us all. People who have the right, shall we say, desire."
He pounded swiftly across the floor like a predator, and his feet were hidden by the cloak as it trailed behind him. "You will find the teachers here are worthy to teach forgotten ones like yourselves, as they have all been through this very academy. They have all achieved attainment level three, as have I," he said, standing tall. "So you will respect them."
He paced over to the door and took the staff in his hand. "On passing the assessment, you will be given the chance to take the attainment two challenge. This will not mean you become a level two member, but you will be afforded the chance to work towards it. He tapped the top end of the staff against a rock and its tip became instantly illuminated. "If you become a master of the arts, in time there will be a chance of attaining level two," he said. "No-one has made the grade for a long number of years now. Have you got what it takes? I wonder." He peered around the room as if looking for someone in particular. "Now, before I continue, are there any questions?"
Initially there was complete silence. Zan didn't know what to make of it all, and dared not put his hand up in any case as the clanging of metal bars still resonated in his mind.
After a few moments a timid voice came from the back. "What about level one?"
Zalikor looked across to the guards who seemed to share a joke with him, as he chuckled menacingly. "It is not something that will be of any concern to any of you. Anymore?" He didn't wait for any responses.
"Now, over the next few days you will all be tested in the fields of the forgotten arts. Can anyone tell me what they are?" Zalikor scanned the room. "No? I'll tell you. They comprise Stealth and Combat. Mastering these arts had been lost over the centuries, but there are always some members of each generation who retain the genetic markers. They are the ones who are naturally gifted, and you have all demonstrated some or all of these abilities over the course of the last few years."
He walked over to the table at the front, and turned his head back before sitting down. "That is why you were all invited," he said with a deliciously sinister grin. He slowly lowered himself in to the chair. "You have all shown abilities compatible with our membership. Now is the time to test your suitability." He clasped his hand together. "To join, you will all have to take the oath and swear your life to The Order. Once you are in, there is no going back. You cannot leave...ever. That is the third rule of The Order, as we all have an allegiance to The Father, who is our leader. He has led us for as long as anyone can remember and dedicated his life to finding people like yourselves, and to improve your existence on this plane. He is the spirit that guides us, and should you complete the challenges that lie ahead and are granted membership, you will get the honour of meeting him."
He sat in the chair for a moment, as if waiting for something else to come to mind. Eventually, he stood up. "Now, you will all be designated a Dorm to sleep in, and the guards will sort out who is where and show you the way," he said. He nodded to the guards and they began to move, as the new potentials looked around at each other. The golden one sat to Zan's left stared down at him, his eyes as black as night. He began to lean aggressively before being interrupted by Zalikor as he reached the door.
"Just one last question for you all. Who here has ever killed someone? Give me a show of hands."
Everyone remained perfectly still. Zan felt a pulse of guilt overcome him but kept his hand down. Was he really the only one? Zalikor smiled and gave a disturbing chuckle. "Interesting."
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