Broken Blades Don't Sing (Tales of Ashkar Book One) (4 page)

Doriel gaped again, hardly making an effort to
contain her bewilderment.

One moment he's saying something with a frown
and the next it's the opposite with a laugh…

Master Wu faced the boy and smiled. "Come now,
Quinn, let us walk to the infirmary and tend to those wounds”. He
approached the child, then gently placed a hand behind the boys
head and directed him away. As the two strolled in the opposite
direction, Master Wu turned to her again. “I see you took it upon
yourself to heal him a bit, Master Doriel. I can see that you truly
care for the students here, and I am grateful to have you here at
this school.”

“Thank you, Master Wu”, she returned. “The
School of Eight is a wonderful place for young minds, and I do not
regret leaving my home and traveling to Arcadia.”

Doriel’s homeland, on the continent of Garen in
western Ashkar, was where Veri originally hailed from. While most
stayed on Garen and hardly interacted with the other races, she was
one of the few that ventured out. There were only two other major
groups of Veri in the human lands, with one being the kingdom of
Illistainn in Makka, and the other led by Ohrl’han the Supreme. The
latter was the leader of the Sol sector here in Arcadia, which was
split into four sectors. Each sector had their own leader, and
together they formed the Arcadian Council.

"One last thing, Master Doriel", Wu said, now
with a hint of aversion in his tone. "See to it that these
delinquents receive their due punishment."

"Right away", she responded respectfully, though
her gaze remained on Master Wu and the boy for an extended period
of time as they disappeared from view.

How does he know that the boy's name is
Quinn?

---

Wu, with Quinn at his side, left the courtyard
and continued to walk toward the eastern side of the school
grounds. Students and teachers alike offered respect as they passed
them, and while the elderly man smiled in return, the only thing he
felt was disdain. To Wu, respect from ants was uninspiring and
empty.

"Do you know who I am, Mister Hergs?" Wu asked,
the question directed to the brown-haired boy walking next to
him.

"No", Quinn responded, shaking his head.

"I am Grand Master Magus Wu, I was one of the
founders of this academy many years ago”, explained Wu.

The boy nodded, but otherwise seemed
disinterested in what Wu had to say.

“Where were your friends during the fight?” Wu
pressed.

The boy looked up at Wu for a moment then looked
down. “I don’t have any friends…”

They walked for a while without a word. The only
sound came from the beaks of chirping birds and whipping garments
from the occasional breeze. Wu continued to smile and nod
absentmindedly at passersby though his thoughts were elsewhere.

The boy’s parents had been prominent
elementalists that had studied here at the School of Eight, and had
sent their only son nearly an age ago to follow in their footsteps.
They had great expectations for him to become a revered
elementalist himself, and were generous in their ‘accommodations’
for the academy.

Unfortunately, the boy had no magical affinity
whatsoever, nor was he an elementalist; no elemental spirit resided
in him, and none would ever.

During birth, the souls of people across all of
Ashkar were left vulnerable to the intrusions of elemental spirits.
As people grew and matured, they formed connections with these
powerful elementals, gaining access to abilities that were
otherwise impossible to attain for those that were not
elementalists. Here at the School of Eight, young children were
taught in the ways of elementalism, mastering their abilities and
learning about the nature of the elements.

Quinn, being at the academy for nearly an age,
had yet to be able to even learn a single spell—at least not in a
conventional manner, something that Wu was aiming to
circumvent.

The school had tried to send Quinn back to his
parents, though upon learning that their child had no elemental
affinity, refused to take him back. Naturally, the school would
have sent the boy off to somewhere else in Arcadia—most likely an
orphanage, or perhaps the slums. At Wu’s behest, however, the boy
remained at the school, and the Grand Master Magus elected not to
expose the poor child to such dismaying news.

Wu smiled again, his normally wrinkled face
becoming even more wrinkled. “You have great spirit, boy. Power
without conviction is useless, but with a will like yours—ah, here
we are!”

The two reached a large building that pierced
the blue sky. It was higher than most of the other buildings
surrounding it, with rows and rows of windows from
top-to-bottom.

Quinn raised a brow and scratched his head. “But
this is the Grand Library.”

Wu turned his head from side-to-side, and then
up as he squinted. “Oh dear… I must be getting too old!”

---

"Damn it, this forest doesn't end!" Aramal
muttered out loud to no one but himself. He paused and looked
around, sighing in frustration. He then drew out the yellowing map
from his large knapsack for the thousandth time as if it was going
to suddenly show him the right path. He looked at it blankly for a
moment, then sighed again.

He had been marching through the Farrin Forest
tirelessly for several hours, and he didn't even know if it was
dawn or dusk anymore; the canopy created by tall, thick trees
blocked out most of the sky. The tall trees and dense foliage
further surrounded him in every direction, as if beckoning with
malice, and it felt as if he hadn't made any progress at all. He
had heard the occasional growl as well, though whatever beasts it
emanated from he could not identify.

Trees. Trees everywhere. Makka is full of
these ridiculous labyrinths.

Aramal rolled the map back up and reached for
his canteen. He frowned, discovering that it was empty.

Out of whiskey too...

Sighing for the third time, he trudged forward
aimlessly for quite some time until he caught sight of a ray of
light not too far ahead.

“Finally!” he exclaimed aloud, as if someone was
listening. “The exit out of this damn place.”

Aramal marched toward the light with newfound
vigor, almost sprinting toward his freedom. As he reached the
welcoming rays, however, his hopes were crushed. Aramal had
mistaken the clearing for the end of the forest. He looked up,
finally able to have the privilege of the wide expanse that was the
sky, and noticed that the sun was setting. Gritting his teeth,
Aramal strode toward the center of the clearing and plopped onto
the ground. Conceding to the night, he decided to rest. Lying down,
he gazed up at the nearby canopies and took a deep breath.

It wasn’t long before Aramal’s mind turned to
daydreams, reminiscing about a life he once lived. Life during
youth had been a thrill. A mercenary with a notorious reputation
for achieving results, he had enjoyed the many spoils of success:
wealth, women, and power. Skirmishes, rebellions, even wars—it
didn't matter as long as the pay was good. For him that was
fulfillment, or so he had thought.

We’re just shitty people in a shitty world.
Ain’t anything good here.

Aramal continued to stare at the long, winding
branches of the trees. Slowly closing his eyelids, he felt himself
starting to doze off—

The sound of footsteps on grass boomed like
thunder. Aramal pulled himself to his feet in a flash, then jerked
his head to his right. A lone figure stood several dozen feet away
from him, wearing a black, hooded cloak, and held a rather large
battle axe in its left hand. The figure lifted the hood with its
right hand, exposing a bronzed, rugged-faced man. From this
distance, Aramal noted short black hair and a determined
visage.

What the hell?

The man raised his axe and pointed its tip at
Aramal.

“Give me the book”, the intruder demanded.

Chapter 3

335th Dawn of the 4999th Age of Rimas

"When are we going to get something interesting
to do?!" Raxxil exclaimed, trying to elicit a response from
Serraemas, but the latter remained quiet. “That last mission was a
bore…”

The two bounded down a long tunnel as torches
lined along the walls illuminated their path, flickering shadows
upon carved stone. Out of the corner of his eye Serraemas watched
as Raxxil stared at him for a few moments before rolling his eyes,
acknowledging that his outburst would go unanswered.

After several minutes of silence they reached
the end of the tunnel, and they stepped into a cavernous room.
Lining the walls of the large room were several carved holes that
led into other long tunnels. In the middle of the room was a short
man waiting patiently with a frown. He wore a gaunt face, with
thick brows and a flat nose.

Serraemas nodded at the figure. “The mission was
a—“

"Hey Gorr, look what we got for you!" yelled
Raxxil with a grin, interrupting Serraemas as he threw a large,
blood-stained sack toward the Caretaker. It flew past the frowning
man’s right side and landed with a loud thud behind him. Gorr
remained where he stood, unspoken and unflinching.

The sound of slow clapping echoed throughout the
room.

A silhouette emerged from one of the other
tunnels. He had a lock of black hair in an otherwise sea of snow
white that flowed past his shoulders, and he wore heavy armor under
a black overcoat much like Raxxil did. Slung on his back was a
large, two-handed sword. The shadow smirked as he neared the
two.

Serraemas could feel Raxxil's aura grow
hotter.

"Oh, wow!" Sevag blurted sarcastically. "What a
great feat, Raxxil the Volcano. I'm sure Sora will have you
rescuing kittens next."

Raxxil tensed, glaring at Sevag with a scowl.
The former took a step forward, gripping his massive hammer over
his shoulder.

A sigh of contempt emanated from Serraemas.

Serraemas stared blankly at the armored figure
in front of him that was approaching Sevag with less-than-friendly
intent. Raxxil had an imposing stature, his muscular and
well-defined body intimidating to most. He had a strong, angular
jaw that accentuated his fierce complexion, with deep green eyes
and short brown hair. He was taller than Serraemas by nearly half a
head, and even slightly taller than the jester that riled him.
Still, Sevag smugly watched Raxxil with condescending eyes.

"Raxxil", stated Serraemas with neutral
inflection.

Raxxil halted, looking over his shoulder at
Serraemas. After a brief pause, the former sighed in frustration
and released his grip. He then stepped back, crossed his arms, and
faced the other way.

Sevag’s smirk only grew wider.

"Sevag, what news of Makka?" asked
Serraemas.

"Well, it seems like plans are being set in
motion in Illistainn”, replied Sevag. “Those Veri are always up to
something. There has also been an increase in word about
Executioners. It seems the rumors about their presence has been
growing as of late. Other than that, things are pretty quiet over
there.”

"I see", Serraemas said. "Any news of the
Asmani?"

Sevag licked his lips and raised a brow.
“Something like that. Kingdoms like the Asmani are gearing up and
reinforcing troops. Why? I’m not entirely sure, but it could be
that Emperor Ambrose is on his last breaths and his daughter is
much too young to be in control of such a vast empire. Everyone
else is following suit, it would seem.” Without giving either
Serraemas or Raxxil a chance to say anything, Sevag shrugged, gave
Raxxil a taunting smirk, and then turned and faded back into the
shadows. “I’ll catch you two lovebirds later.” As Sevag vanished
from sight, the sound of boots scraping stone reverberated
throughout the room.

"One day I’m gonna smash his face in", muttered
Raxxil under his breath.

"Your next mission," announced Gorr, speaking
for the first time. He reached under his coat and withdrew a round
object with his left hand. A single sigil in its center flashed red
every few moments.

A teamdisc.

Serraemas instantly recognized who that belonged
to.

Each rune represented a member of a team, and
most teams in the past had consisted of at least two members, such
as Raxxil and himself. Jorne and Sevag, on the other hand, were the
only ones that worked alone. Jorne preferred solitude, while the
snow-haired jester was charged with a task that was unsuitable with
other members. Regardless, Serraemas was unsure that anyone would
actually be able to handle such a mouthy partner. Then again,
Raxxil’s mouth seemed to be open at all times, and at this point,
Serraemas was as accustomed to it as he would ever be.

The fact that the rune had ceased to flash was
troubling.

"Did Jorne fall in battle?” asked Serraemas.
Jorne was a powerful elementalist and fighter—to think that he had
been defeated was ill news. “What was his mission?”