Stealing Sorcery (12 page)

“Oh, shut it, Sal.” Velas folded her arms, leaning back against Landen. “Not everyone has metal sorcery and sorcerous swords to lean on.”

“I told you, this one isn’t dominion bonded, it’s just –”

“Yeah, yeah, a ridiculously rare metal that happens to perfectly compliment your already extraordinarily useful skill set.”

“Yeah, you both did all right. I mean, it would have been better if you had tried some archery in the archery contest.” Landen chuckled, and Velas stood up, walking to the edge of the stands in front of them and turning around.

“Oh, sure, keep teasing. See if you get anyone else sitting on your lap.”

“I’m pretty sure I could get Sal to sit on my lap.” Landen nudged the swordsman sitting next to him.

Taelien sighed. “You can have my seat, Vel.”

Velas put her hand to her forehead. “It was my seat in the first place. But fine.”

Taelien stood up, making a sweeping gesture of benevolence with his arm. “Please, my lady. Forgive me for presuming upon your property.”

“Gods, I leave you two alone together for five minutes and suddenly you’re both impossible.”

Nevertheless, she sat back down in her old chair. The ministrations of the medics had helped with her scratches and bruises, but they could do nothing for the shooting pain in her ankles from landing too hard, or the creeping ache in her shoulders from overusing her motion sorcery.

Still, the crowd had cheered for her. Everything had been worth it.

Taelien walked over to the railing to lean against it, staring into the arena below. Velas caught the source of his staring almost immediately – a woman with brilliant purple plumage rather than hair.

Asphodel
, she remembered. The Delaren.

Like her description in the files had indicated, she looked young – maybe a few years younger than they were. Unlike most of the files, Asphodel’s hadn’t given many specifics about her age or background. She had no prior connections with the Paladins of Tae’os, and the Delaren were notoriously secretive and xenophobic – Velas hadn’t even heard of any Delaren applying to join the paladins in the past.

If the legends are true, her abilities involve changing her shape – but I don’t think she’d bother doing that for a little contest like this. The alterations are supposed to be semi-permanent. It’ll be interesting to see what else she could do.

The answer to that proved to be remarkably simple. Asphodel closed her eyes each time she knocked an arrow, and each time, the arrow hit perfectly on target.

By the end of the first round, her target had two arrows where its eyes should have been. Six more were in the neck, and another two in the shoulders – and the remainder had been used to break the barrier.

She’s even more accurate than Landen or that Terras girl. Air sorcery when she closes her eyes, maybe? It wouldn’t be impossible.

Two more rounds of a dozen arrows left Asphodel’s target thoroughly torn apart. No other applicants in her round showed similar promise.

The next round, however, was far more intriguing.

On the far left side of the group was Jonathan Sterling, the bright-haired “Haven Knight”. He still wore a dueling sword on his left hip. As he approached his shooting position, he scanned the crowd. Velas thought his gaze slowed for a moment when it passed over her, but she couldn’t be certain.

Toward the middle of the group was Susan Crimson, the former Thornguard from Selyr. Given Bertram’s performance, Velas didn’t have particularly high expectations for Susan, but the House Crimson woman was wearing a belt with a pair of throwing knives and half a dozen small pouches. That offered her some options.

Sterling’s first round of arrows was accurate, but uninspiring. His archery skills seemed similar to Landen’s, with several hits landing on target, but without any sorcery to augment the strikes he only managed to pierce the target twice. One of those hits was to the neck, however, which Velas judged to be likely to count as a kill.

Crimson removed her first arrow from her quiver before lifting her bow, reaching into a pouch and retrieving a vial. She unstoppered the vial, pouring a few drops on the tip of the arrow, and then replaced the cap.

Poison? Really? In a competition to join a paladin order?

Velas shook her head, continuing to watch. Crimson’s first arrow flew true – and never encountered a barrier.

It sunk directly into the target’s face.

There was a brief murmur from the crowd. Susan grinned, applied a few drops to the next arrow, and repeated the process. Of her twelve arrows, seven hit the target, and none of them suffered any interference from the sorcerous shield.

After a paladin visibly checked the target and renewed the barrier, the crowd watched in anticipation for her next volley.

She didn’t apply the liquid this time – and the barrier stopped her first four arrows.

That’s a very, very dangerous trick. I’m going to need to figure out how to copy it.

Sterling put another few arrows in his target, but Velas barely noticed. Susan had all her attention now.
What’s she keeping in those other pouches? How many interesting tricks does she have?

The House Crimson woman didn’t open any of her other pouches in the final round, nor did she throw her throwing daggers. Throwing daggers that distance would be difficult, but not as hard as throwing a sword – and she had been somewhat hoping that Crimson would try it.

Nevertheless, as she watched the young woman leave the arena, Velas raised a hand to her lips.
I’m going to have to keep two eyes on that one.

Other rounds came and went, with none offering the spectacle that the first few had. Velas suspected that the local candidates were deliberately sorted into the first four rounds, most likely to give them a better chance at higher scores – she suspected the judges would get progressively harsher with later candidates.

Of course, she considered the possibility of the opposite – later applicants would have the chance to observe the earlier rounds and learn any tricks that others used. That advantage diminished rapidly after the first few rounds, however, and she suspected the judges would be more lenient with people they were already familiar with.

Only two contestants were disqualified outright – one for running across the line early, and the second for damaging his dummy deliberately while he was retrieving his arrows. One candidate doused his target in alcohol while retrieving his arrows – which was allowed, apparently – and then set one of his arrows on fire and succeeded in setting his target ablaze.

By the time of the final round, the audience seemed to have lost most of its enthusiasm. Resetting the targets for each contest was a time consuming process and the dawnfire was quickly retreating from the horizon.

As the last group approached, Velas only recognized one person among them – the monstrously tall man who called himself “The Wandering War”. He was still wearing his hood and cloak, which Velas was starting to suspect was more than just pretentiousness.
If those documents are accurate, he’s not human – and probably not Rethri, either. Esharen, maybe? Would the paladins allow an Esharen candidate?

“And – open fire!”

Velas watched as The Wandering War lifted his bow, drawing back the string. An aura of orange light formed at the arrowhead, twisting and swirling as it grew. He released the arrow.

The streak of orange flashed forward across the arena, ripping not only through the barrier, but all the way through the target. It continued to fly until reaching the outer wall of the arena, smashing into the stone and triggering a flicker of blue and orange sparks – the marks of the arrow striking a powerful defensive spell on the arena itself.

The hole in the center of the straw man was larger than Velas’ fist, and irregular in shape, like a massive screw had been drilled into the dummy’s chest.

As the other archers finished firing their arrows, The Wandering War raised his hands – and each and every arrow tore free from the other targets, soaring through the air toward his. His own eleven arrows rose, seemingly of their own volition, and joined other arrows in flight, burying themselves in the dummy. Fallen arrows that had missed their targets initially rose again, each striking The Wandering War’s target from another angle.

When the round ended, all three hundred arrows had pierced The Wandering War’s target.

The audience sat in silence.

Taelien stood at parade rest in the second row of paladin candidates. His position in the group had been determined based on his arrival time at the meeting grounds, not on any sort of merit. Velas was positioned to his right, and Landen to his left, since the three of them had arrived together. With great effort, Taelien restrained himself from making any nervous movements.

The meeting ground was a grassless oval field large enough to fit hundreds of people. Taelien had been there twice before to observe large scale tactical exercises, but he had never participated in any activities there himself.

Most rows consisted of twelve candidates, and there were two rows behind Taelien. Oddly, the final row had a thirteenth member. The candidates had stood in their positions for several minutes while a group of three paladins – some of whom Taelien had seen, but none of whom he precisely recognized – spoke several yards in front of them. Eventually, the discussions ceased, and the three paladins turned to face their audience.

Three rows of twelve – and one row of thirteen - make forty-nine of us, which is nine more than the number that passed the preliminary exams. Some candidates that skipped the preliminaries somehow are possible, but it’s also possible there are some full paladins in here with us as plants to observe our behavior.

Two of the paladins were wearing a dress uniform in the colors of their order. The paladin on the left was male, looked to be in his thirties, and wore the green and brown of Lissari. The emblems on his tunic indicated that he was a Lieutenant. The two other paladins were female.

At the center was a woman who had a young face, but more gray than brown in her hair. Her immaculate dark blue uniform was accented with silver, indicating that she served Sytira, much like Lydia did. Her eyes swept across the candidates, searching, but she gave no obvious tell if she found who or what she was looking for. The addition of two bars and a triangular emblem above pins similar to the Lieutenant’s indicated that she was a full Colonel – a considerably higher rank than Taelien had expected to observe the instruction of mere cadets.

On the right was another woman, the tallest of the three paladins, wearing full armor with a steel grey tabard with the symbol of Koranir emblazoned on the front. Unlike the other two paladins, the Koranir follower took a stance of rigid attention. Her tabard had no symbols of rank, indicating that she was either a rank-and-file paladin or had some reason she preferred not to show her rank.

“At ease,” spoke the woman in the center. One of the candidates to Taelien’s left took an audible breath of relief as the group adjusted into more relaxed positions, but remained in their formation. The speaker’s eyes shifted, seeming to note the lapse, but she made no comment on it. Taelien noted as he adjusted his own stance that the paladin of Koranir remained at attention, even while the candidates did not. He wasn’t clear if that was normal behavior. “I am Colonel Wyndam, and I will be overseeing your tests. Lieutenant Morris will explain the structure of your examinations.”

She gestured to the man at her side, and he nodded and stepped forward.

“For the next three months, you will be tested. You will not always be aware of when you are participating in a test. There are seven primary tests that you will participate in during this time period, each of which corresponds to one of our gods. If at any time your score on one of these tests falls below the acceptable threshold, you will be disqualified from the examinations. If at any time your cumulative score falls below the acceptable threshold, you will also be disqualified. If you are discovered attempting to cheat in the examinations in any way, you will be disqualified and lose any opportunity to retake the examinations in the future.”

Lieutenant Morris paused, examining the crowd, and then spoke again. “If your performance on a test is unsatisfactory, but not low enough to disqualify you completely, you will be issued a red flag. If you are issued two red flags, you will be disqualified. Most candidates that are issued even a single red flag will not have a high enough cumulative score to complete the examination process.”

The lieutenant took a breath, and then continued. “During the course of the examinations, each of you will be assigned to a barracks. An experienced paladin will be overseeing each of the barracks to ensure proper conduct. You will be assigned a uniform, which you will be required to properly maintain and wear for your examinations. You will also be assigned other tasks and responsibilities during the testing time frame. Failure to complete these tasks, or demonstrate proper conduct, will result in being disqualified from the examinations.”

“There are forty-nine of you now. Tradition dictates that of the forty-nine candidates that begin the tests, only seven among you will be selected to join the Paladins of Tae’os during this test. The Arbiter of each branch of paladins will be presented with results of each test and personally select one applicant to honor with a chance to join our order. Those of you who perform well, but are not selected, will be given a chance to skip the preliminary examinations in future years.”

“A schedule of examinations will be posted in your barracks. You will arrive in uniform and on time for each of your examinations, or you will be disqualified. Second Lieutenant Banks will take each of your groups to your new barracks. First row, attention.”

The first row of cadets snapped to attention, although some handled the transition more smoothly than others. Taelien noted that Keldyn Andys was in the first group, along with the Rethri twins Terras and Lysen. Next to them was the tall man in the billowing cloak who called himself “The Wandering War”. Susan Crimson was in the first group as well, but a few people separated her from the others that he recognized.

The paladin of Koranir wordlessly stepped forward, and then gestured with a hand. “First platoon, follow me.” She unceremoniously turned around and began to walk, not waiting for the cadets to respond. They quickly turned and followed her.

Taelien let his mind wander as the group stood waiting for Second Lieutenant Banks to return. The Colonel had turned back to conversation with Lieutenant Morris, and many of the candidates near him seemed to be getting nervous. Velas glanced toward him and raised her eyebrows, but he just gave her a slight shrug, uncertain what she was asking.

Maybe she’s wondering if we’re at a disadvantage for being in the second group? Possible, I suppose, but I doubt it. Have the tests already started? What Colonel Wyndam said was pretty vague.

A quarter of an hour later, Lieutenant Banks returned and ordered Taelien’s group to fall in behind her. They dutifully did so, and Taelien suspected they felt just as grateful to finally be moving as he did.

The walk to the barracks wasn’t far. A uniformed paladin – this one wearing the light gray and blue of Eratar – leaned lazily against the wall next to the barracks door. A rapier and a main gauche sat sheathed against his hips, their brilliantly polished steel pommels standing as a contrast to the obvious creases in his uniform.

“Platoon 2, halt,” Lieutenant Banks called, and Taelien’s group ceased their march and fell into resting at attention. “You could at least try to look professional for the cadets, Lieutenant Torrent.”

The paladin at the door gave an unapologetic shrug and a slight smile. “I keep telling you, call me Garrick. So, I take it these are my new puppies?”

Banks’ lips twitched. “This is Platoon Two. If they are not properly prepared, I am holding you personally responsible.”

With that, she briskly turned ninety degrees to the right and marched off. Lieutenant Torrent shook his head at her as she departed, and then stepped away from the wall.

“Welcome,” he said, gesturing broadly with both hands. “You kids are the lucky ones. You get to work for me.”

In spite of his use of the term ‘kids’, Taelien suspected that Garrick was at least a year or two his junior.
And a fan of theatrics. I shouldn’t be surprised, given which branch he belongs to.

“Be at ease. I’m going to take you for a tour of our lovely new home,” he said, gesturing to the door. As the candidates fell out of their marching formation, Garrick turned around and opened the door, stepping into the barracks. The candidates followed him shortly thereafter.

Taelien had lived in other barracks before, during his training under the Thornguard, and this one was little different. There were six sets of bunk beds, each with two large trunks stacked in front of them. It struck him for the first time that there were a mixture of men and women in his platoon – they had been separated during his earlier training. He realized that might have been because of differences between the paladins and the Thornguard, or it might have just been because he had been so much younger the last time he had gone through similar training.

Also, unlike the other barracks he was familiar with, this one had two doors toward the back. Garrick was already walking toward the one on the left. “This is my room. I’m a fairly sound sleeper. If you wake me up and the barracks isn’t on fire, I’ll disqualify you immediately,” he informed the group cheerfully.

First hint of an edge I’ve seen to him,
Taelien considered.
Guess he might not be quite as much of a pushover as he sounded like initially.

“Oh, and with that in mind, pick any beds you want. You each get a trunk. Once we issue your uniforms, you’ll be responsible for keeping those in your trunks when they’re not being used, and keeping them in good condition. If you don’t, well, disqualified!”

He walked over to the second door at the back, knocking on the door. “Chamber pot is in there. Remember to knock.”

He folded his arms, glancing from side to side. “For the next several weeks – assuming you puppies last that long – your first obligation is to each other. Sure, you’ll have individual test scores, but platoon averages will hit all of you. I’m happy to disqualify you one at a time, but when we get to the team tests, you’re going to want as many friends as you can get.”

A moment of silence followed as the candidates looked each other over, most bearing grim expressions.

“Questions? Didn’t think so. Find yourself a bed. Get to know each other.”

Garrick immediately turned and retreated into his own quarters, leaving the second platoon standing around awkwardly by themselves.

Landen immediately sat down on one of the beds closest to the entrance – and thus furthest from the Lieutenant. “You heard the man. We wake him up, we’re done.”

“Yup.” Velas brushed past Taelien and grabbed onto the ladder connected to the bunk bed that Landen was sitting on, hoisting herself up onto the top bunk. She sat with her boots hanging over the side, looking down. “Better find yourself a bunk quick, Sal. Hope you get a good bedmate.”

She gave him an overly obvious wink, and Taelien just sighed and shook his head.

Great. I don’t really know anyone else here.

The other local paladin candidates had ended up in other platoons. He glanced around at the other candidates, who were quickly following Landen’s lead and taking beds as close to the entrance as possible.

The lone Rethri candidate in his group looked marginally familiar, so Taelien approached him first, extending his hand in greeting. “I’m Salaris. Is the other bunk here taken?”

The Rethri hesitated for a moment before clasping him on the wrist, turning his gaze away. “Eridus. Sorry, bed’s taken.”

The swordsman nodded as Eridus swiftly retracted his hand. “No problem. You look a little familiar – you from Selyr or thereabouts?”

“No, sorry. Don’t think I know you.” Eridus took a step back, waving a hand toward the other beds. “Better get one of those before they disappear.”

“Right - thanks anyway. Pleasure to meet you.”

Wonder why he looks so familiar. Blue eyes, which makes him a water sorcerer, I think. Maybe he’s one of Aladir’s friends or relatives? There are so many Ta’thyriels it’s hard to keep track of them all.

By the time Taelien glanced around again, there were only two beds left, and a group of three people standing near the back and discussing them.

Two of the three looked relatively ordinary, a male and a female that looked a few years younger than Taelien, each wearing matching leather armor and a pair of curved short swords. The matching swords and armor might have made Taelien suspect they were related, but they didn’t share any obvious physical characteristics. The girl was a few inches taller than her male counterpart, and she had short, wavy black hair and matching dark eyes. The male was brown skinned and shaved bald, with broad shoulders and thick biceps.

And standing in a sheltered position between the pair was a girl with a cascade of shimmering crystalline strands – each about the width of a finger - that reached from her head down to her knees. She wore a simple grey tunic and pants and observed the other candidates with eyes wide with curiosity.

Taelien approached the group, reaching out to extend a hand to the closer of the two armored figures.

“Stop,” the armored female said. “Do not come so close to the oracle.” Her eyes shifted to Taelien’s sword, narrowing. “You are armed.”

Oracle? That’s an odd title. And why would a Delaren need bodyguards? And human ones, no less?

Taelien carefully took a step back, lifting his open hands. “Sure am. Looks like you’re pretty well equipped, too. I don’t mean you any harm. The name is Salaris.”