“Mind your temper. Those who speak behind your back are only afraid of getting your attention. You mustn’t fight against those who will soon fight beside you.”
Lian kept his mother’s voice in his head, even as his clenched fists pressed hard against his thighs in an attempt to keep them from lashing out. Still, the whispers didn’t stop.
“No joke? A traitor to the Guard? What a disgrace!”
“Yeah, my father said he ran from battle like a coward. Died with an arrow to his back.”
“A man with no honor!”
“Like father, like son. Don’t you think?”
It took everything Lian had to school his features against the intensely building rage.
He couldn’t be caught fighting again. If his teacher suspended him, he would be unable to take the Warrior’s exam in two months’ time. He’d be stuck in this stifling little village for another year.
Despite knowing that though, he’d already given into the rage twice in as many weeks. It had become harder to control his anger ever since the day the letter from the Warrior’s Guard had arrived.
The Death Letter, his mother had called it, though she had not even bothered to open the damned thing. It didn’t matter, the letter wasn’t important, his father was dead and they both knew it. Yet something had failed to arrive with the Death Letter, something of great importance to every elder Warrior family.
The Blade.
A dagger forged with the blood of the family’s greatest Warrior, to preserve their achievements and honor. The Blade was supposed to be passed down to the heir of the fallen Warrior, but his father’s blade, The Lion’s Fang, hadn’t been returned.
Lian did not know why.
Honor Blades were very rarely lost in the battle field. Even other guilds returned Honor Blades to their rightful families, the Elders made sure of it, and Darkin cared not for human weapons. The fact that the Honor Blade wasn’t returned to Lian, as his father’s rightful heir, could only mean bad things.
My father is not a traitor
Yet no matter how many times he spoke the words out loud, no one else would listen. Even his mother had given up. Withering to her illness and weakening with every passing day. Since a couple of days before the Death Letter came, she had gotten sick and nothing seemed to make it better.
Lian felt as if his life was coming undone and he was struggling to find a way to stop it from happening. He wasn't sure how long his mother still had before it was too late and he lost her too.
"Lian Fury!"
His name snapped him out of his thoughts as he turned his eyes back to the teacher. He hadn’t realized he’d allowed his gaze to stray so far.
“Day-dreaming will not give you the answers boy. In battle one is required to outsmart an opponent, do you expect to be able to accomplish such a feet while distracted? A battle is won before it is ever fought. Remember that.” The narrowed eyes the teacher turned his way made the stifled laughter behind him seem unimportant by comparison. Lian didn’t allow himself to show his embarrassment, not his anger. Both emotions were useless given the circumstances.
“My apologies teacher.” He muttered as smoothly as he could, trying to remember what the topic had been that day.
“I did not ask for an apology Fury, I asked for you to pay attention. You’re father fought in the second Darkin War, I would have figured you’d be more than interested in this discussion.” The teacher scolded with a shake of her head.
Lian felt his anger rise, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to keep his mouth shut if she pushed him any further.
“The greatest battle fought for this Kingdom, if we ever had to fight another one, I’d shudder to think what kind of Warriors would die under a Darkin’s weapon.”
“The Mages wouldn’t let that happen would they?” A kid roughly a year younger than Lian raised his hand as he spoke, making it easier for the teacher to spot him. Her rueful eyes turned to him.
“And you think the Mages all powerful?” It was an honest question and Lian was surprised to see it from her.
“Of course! They control fire and move mountains! My aunt is a Mage, she’s nearly a Master, the things she could do with no control were amazing, imagine her now.” The kid bragged, a prideful edge to his high pitched voice.
The teacher scoffed for just a second before her features smoothed out into a look of blank curiosity.
“Do you know much about the Darkin, Coal?”
That’s it, the boy’s name was Coal. Lian couldn’t help but flinch a bit though, because the teacher had a habit of shaming the students she called by their first name.
“Of course.” The boy replied again, this time sounding less sure of his answer. “They are beasts. My father fought them as well. They are big, at least nine feet tall and as ugly as demons. Their skin is strong like armor and their strength itself is brutal.”
“But do you know why magic is so affective?” The teacher argued. “Do you know why Mages were brought into the Alliance during the second war and not the first? Do you know why they hide on the other side of the Academy’s shield instead of finding a way around the mountain to attack the Kingdom again?”
No one spoke. The teacher’s question had sparked an interest no one could grasp confidently. But Lian did know.
“Darkin is not just one race of monsters.”
Lian startled when he heard his own voice speak. He hadn’t meant to say anything but the words had come out of their own volition.
Instantly the whole room had their eyes on him. He paled under the onslaught, but the most disconcerting was the teacher’s gaze. There was more than just the blank curiosity there, there was an edge of something cruel, a malice he wasn’t sure was completely directed at him.
“Darkin is a label, it doesn’t encompass a race of being. They are not all big and strong, not all nine feet tall and made to fight. Some are as small, as humans. They are quick and agile, they drink our blood or eat our flesh, they fight with tactics and a single mindedness no mere army could surpass.” He continued, hearing the words of his mother in his mind. This had been one of her lessons when he was a child. He had asked why his dad always had to leave for battle, and she had answered him, a seven year old kid, with more honesty than comfort.
“So why did Mages sway the outcome of battle.” The teacher pushed, not asking a question, because she knew the answer, but merely encouraging him to keep going.
“Mages were able to sense their nature. The ones that looked like humans could not disguise themselves to a Mage’s Sight. With the help of the Mages, the fighters were able to recognize the enemy in a sea of allies. For once, since the introduction of these new kinds of Darkin, men knew who was friend and who was foe.”
Everyone was staring at him, but Lian kept his eyes on the teacher. It was why he saw the respect that flickered through her face as she nodded.
“He is correct.” The teacher said, picking up the thread of her lecture again. “During the first war, all King Kincade needed were fighters. Men of battle and blood. Their strength and numbers cut down the Darkin’s forces and drove them back into the mountains. The second war was different. Suddenly we had men from our side plunging daggers in their Captain’s hearts, glamour disguising the enemy so that no Battlemen could trust each other.”
She fixed her eyes directly at Lian, and he stared back unflinchingly.
“It is not enough to fight with power. If the point of a spear is to hit its target, we must first decide what that target is.”
Comments (0)
See all