My books on Kindle: May 2011

Chapter 1: Vendrey

It is difficult to imagine how hard living off the land while traveling on horseback can be unless you’ve actually had cause to do it. I would never have guessed that we’d be having so much trouble finding food and suitable shelter, not to mention good places to hide while we are being chased. All of those comfortable years living in Scarlet never prepared us for life out in the wild. Each day, when we stop to eat or to set up camp for the night, I find myself wondering if we did the right thing. If it was, then why do I feel so guilty each time I look at Ari, seeing how much he’s suffering, and getting weaker each and every day? But how could I actually take him back to Scarlet and condemn him that way? Could I possibly sit by and watch him fade away? In my heart, I know that we’re doing the right thing—we’re giving Ari a fighting chance, which is far more than the Prime Chancellor was willing to give him. But the terrain is unfamiliar now and I’m afraid of getting lost…or, even worse, caught by the Chancellor’s men before we reach our destination. But the passing days brings more bruises to us all, with louder, deeper coughs from my best friend. I don’t know if it is right or wrong; I just hope we reach Mynnessa soon. I feel time is running out.

The bells had rung, signaling the second hour after noon. The courtyard quickly emptied as students and masters alike hurried up the stone staircases to their assigned classrooms. Soon, the only sounds in the wide, cobble-paved yard were those of the birds singing in the ornamental Qualish trees and the swish of brooms as the hired cleaners swept down the dusty stones.

Suddenly another sound rang through the nearly empty yard—frenzied footsteps and harsh, fast breathing, as a harried boy raced across the stones, struggling to balance several heavy books in his arms. One cleaner looked up from his broom and laughed loudly.

“Better run faster, Ven! Your class already started! Surely Master Guldren will love to hear your excuse today.”

The boy, his face flushed with exertion and embarrassment, scowled deeply as he ran past the cleaner. He paused briefly at the foot of the stairs leading up to the building in front of him as his chest heaved for breath.

“It’s…not…my…fault!” he gasped. When the cleaner continued to chuckle, he added vehemently, “Not this time.”

Taking a deep, gulping breath, he forced his tired, shaky legs upwards, leaping the stone steps three at a time. Upon reaching the top, he paused again before the heavy wooden doors, knowing full well that the master would have already started the class. He opened the door carefully, hoping to sneak to his seat without too much notice.

Of course, the door squealed loudly, as though the very hinges were conspiring against him. Vendrey faltered to a stop at the end of the two rows of tables while seven pairs of eyes turned towards him. The tall man at the head of the room stopped in mid-sentence, the corner of his mouth twitching with annoyance as he glared at his tardy student.

“Well, well, well…Vendrey, how nice of you to pleasure us with your company today.” Master Guldren fixed the boy with a stern, blue-eyed stare. “This would be…let’s see…the third time this week?”

“Fourth, sir!” quipped the red-haired girl in the front row. She turned and gave Vendrey a sly, laughing grin. He scowled at her before the master drew his attention back with a small cough.

“Fourth, hmm…yes, I think that’s about right. Now, Vendrey, surely you can’t expect me to believe that you once again suffered a brief, sudden bout of food poisoning, or perhaps you had to help the smith shoe one of the more stubborn colts because it only listened to your commands, or…”

Vendrey, blushing again, ducked his head and scuffed his foot against the floor.

“Master Guldren, please…I…”

“A dragonbird, maybe?” Guldren pressed on, ignoring Vendrey’s protestations. “Yes, a dragonbird swooped down from a tree and snatched your homework out of your hands because she had to feed her hungry brood, and you had to redo it all from scratch?”

Mocking laughter filled the classroom and Vendrey’s cheeks burned with humiliation.

“N-no, sir,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry. I just lost track of the time. It won’t happen again, I assure you.”

Guldren’s blue eyes glittered with amusement even though his lips continued to frown. “Hmm, very well. I will let it pass this one last time. Take your seat. As for the rest of you, back to your books—we have a lot to accomplish today.”

As he spoke, Vendrey hurried up the aisle and dropped into the only empty seat in the room. The boy sharing his table turned bright blue eyes toward him, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Don’t you say anything,” Vendrey warned, dropping his armload of books onto the polished tabletop.

The boy’s smile widened, his eyes all innocence. “Me?” he asked sweetly, pointing to his chest with his thumb. “I was only going to congratulate you on yet another success in escaping the wrath of our teacher. Bravo.” He began clapping lightly.

Vendrey grunted and dug through his books to find his pad of blank parchment for note taking. Then he frowned. He was sure he had brought a pen along with him—it had been the last thing he had grabbed before leaving his room, but now he couldn’t find it.

He shifted through the books again, lifting them up to look underneath, then dipped his head under the table to see if it had fallen on the floor.

“Do you have an itch, Vendrey? An allergic reaction to the dragonbird perhaps?”

Vendrey started violently, lifting his head too quickly from beneath the table and striking his skull a hard blow. Rubbing at the bump, Vendrey looked at the master, his face draining of color—Guldren was not happy. The man’s normally cheerful face was twisted into a dark scowl.

“Well?” Guldren asked, tapping his foot on the floor. “Do we need to call Healer Calleen to get you a salve?”

“M-my pen,” Vendrey stammered. “I-I can’t seem to find…” He faded into a miserable silence as Guldren’s eyes rolled skyward. The master sighed deeply, as though Vendrey’s problems were taxing years off his own life, then turned his gaze to the blue-eyed boy.

“Aramin, since you had the obvious foresight to come to class on time and prepared, would you mind…?”

Before he could finish, Aramin handed Vendrey a pen and shoved his own small bottle of ink to the middle of the table, where the two of them could share it.

Guldren nodded approvingly. “Thank you, Ari. And from now on, Vendrey, make sure you…”

“Sir? I’m sorry, Master Guldren, but it’s his pen, sir,” Aramin interjected. “I forgot that I had…um… borrowed it last night—that’s why he didn’t have it.”

The master’s eyes narrowed skeptically at the boy and he noted how Aramin immediately dropped his gaze to the sheet of parchment on the table before him. Guldren opened his mouth to speak, then decided that it wasn’t worth the effort. He shrugged.

“Alright. Shall we continue with the class, then? Time is running short.” He turned his attention back to his own book and began to drone on again. As he did, Vendrey reached out to squeeze Aramin’s shoulder. The boy glanced at him, winked, then bent over his notes. Vendrey took the hint and did the same. Somehow, miraculously, he managed to make it through the rest of the class without any problems.

“You know, I really think he’s beginning to like me,” Vendrey muttered sarcastically as the class filed out of the building and into the bright sunshine of the courtyard. He clutched his books under his arm and handed Aramin back his extra pen.

Aramin tossed it into the canvas bag he had slung over his shoulder and cocked his head, grinning impishly. “And it only took you three years, huh?” He glanced back through the open doors of the classroom and shrugged. “He has his favorites.”

“Like you, you mean?” Vendrey laughed and gave his friend a nudge with his elbow.

Aramin held up his hands disarmingly. “Remember, you said it, not me. And it’s not like being a master’s pet is easy. It’s a full time job.”

Vendrey grinned, feeling much better now that class was over. He opened his parchment book and looked at the scrawlings of his notes. His grin faltered, then disappeared completely.

“Can I study your notes tonight?” he asked.

A hand tapped Vendrey’s head from behind. “Maybe if you came to class on time once in awhile, you wouldn’t have to study Ari’s notes.”

Both boys turned around on the steps to face Diaedra, the redheaded student who had known all the times Vendrey had been tardy. She smiled flippantly. “You know, Ven, the class schedules are meant to be followed, not used as spit wads.”

“Oh, you’re just mad because Ven never misses with those spit wads,” Aramin retorted. “How long did it take for you to wash that last one out of your hair, Dee?”

Diaedra wrinkled her nose. “Mind your own business, know-it-all.”

“Ooh, now that hurt! Mortal wound!” Aramin rolled his eyes, and climbed up to sit on the wide stone banister that ran the length of the steps. Lifting his feet, he allowed himself to slide down to the courtyard. After a nimble landing, he sketched an elegant and haughty bow to a nonexistent audience, then turned and waved back up at Vendrey.

“I would borrow your notes, Dee,” Vendrey said as he climbed up onto the banister. “but I want to…um…pass the class.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Diaedra demanded. She rushed forward and grabbed Vendrey’s arm just as he pushed off, halting him and nearly causing him to topple sideways off the wall. He pin-wheeled his arms frantically to regain his balance and rolled his eyes at her.

“It means you should spend more time doing your own work and less time counting how many times I come to class late.” Vendrey tried to pluck her hand from his arm but Diaedra held on like a suckerbug, a sly smile on her lips.

“The class had a bet today—how long it would take you to get to class after the bell had rung. Winner gets a whole berry pie at Tabbie’s next time we go to town.”

Vendrey scowled, not particularly liking the idea that his classmates considered his tardiness so predictable that bets could be made.

“Let me guess,” he sneered, looking at Diaedra’s knowing smile. “You won, right?”

“Actually, I lost by two minutes.” Despite this fact, Diaedra continued to smile broadly, her brown eyes laughing.

Vendrey frowned, confused. “Then who…?” When it suddenly dawned on him he twisted around, glaring down the stairway at Aramin. “Ari! You little jerk! You bet against me?”

Aramin burst out laughing.

“And I won!” he yelled back. He held up a hand with his fingers splayed out. “Five minutes and twenty-three seconds!”

“He gave you a lot more credit than anyone else, actually,” Diaedra put in with a sweet smile. “Pal guessed that you’d be a half hour late. And Illise…”

Vendrey wrenched free of Diaedra’s grip and slid down to the courtyard, where Aramin was still chuckling.

“I get half of the pie,” he griped. Aramin wiped a couple of tears from his eyes and nodded, giggling a bit more.

“Five minutes and twenty-three seconds,” he burbled, falling into step beside Vendrey. “I beat Dee. She actually thought you’d only be three minutes late, but I knew better than to be that optimistic.”

“Thanks for your loyalty.”

Aramin’s blue eyes twinkled. “Hey, I just lucked out. If you’d have been just a few seconds later, Master Guldren would have won. He said five twenty-eight.”

Vendrey groaned and covered his face with his hands. Aramin patted him playfully on the head.

“At least I’ll share my pie with you. Master Guldren would have kept the whole thing.”

Vendrey grunted.

“Aw, it’s not bad. Tell you what, I’ll even let you pick the berries, okay?”

Vendrey immediately lifted his face from his hands and smiled triumphantly. “I knew I could get you to say that.”

A look of startled indignation crossed Aramin’s face. “That’s sneaky.”

“So is betting against your friend. But don’t worry, I’ll pick something you actually like.”

Aramin nodded. “Come back to the room with me? I want to drop off these books.”

“I don’t even know why Guldren makes us bring them to class everyday. It’s not like we ever have to open our own since he just reads from his.”

“And you try to sleep. Hey, I’m just going to dump these off and go down to the pond to see Teller. Want to come?”

“Sounds good. We have two hours before dinner anyway. And Ari?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

Aramin knew immediately what he was talking about. He smiled. “Not a problem. I knew you were going to be late when you weren’t at the stairs for the bell. I was just wondering if Guldren was finally going to stick it to you.” His smile turned to a smirk. “I knew you’d be fine once he started the betting.”

Vendrey sighed deeply as they walked in the direction of their dormitory.

“His class is just so boring. I can’t convince myself to hurry for it.”

“I think it’s kind of interesting. And Master Guldren teaches it well.”

Vendrey snorted and swung at his friend. “He’s not around, you little kiss up. No new favoritism points for you.”

Aramin’s smile didn’t waver as he ducked. At eleven, he was seven months younger than Vendrey and a full head shorter, but in the same class levels. Small for his age, thin and willowy, he more than made up for his lack of brawn with sheer wit and an amiable attitude. He was easily clever enough to be a master’s pet but, with his enormous blue eyes and gold-streaked hair, he was a favorite with most of the people in the academy.

Now, Vendrey rubbed his knuckles onto his friend’s blond head, mussing his hair. “How can you possible enjoy listening to him drone on about spells that Singers used before our grandparents were even born?”

Aramin bobbed away from Vendrey’s knuckles and rubbed ruefully at his sore scalp. “Well, how can you be a Spell-Singer if you don’t know any spells, or how to formulate them? Or the history of your talent?”

“You know me, I never wanted to be a Spell-Singer in the first place. I wanted to apprentice in my father’s business, but then the Chancellor’s Inquisitor came to my town and decided that I had Singer talent…and, as you know, there wasn’t any choice after that.”

“Which is a good thing when you think about it. If you’d stayed at home, learning how to make the perfect sword, you never would have met me, and I wouldn’t be looking forward to half a pie on our next trip to town.” Aramin pulled open the door of their dorm. Together, they walked down the hall to the room they had shared since their first days at the academy, when they had been paired as roommates in the student lottery. As far as Vendrey was concerned, he had lucked out in that selection. He couldn’t imagine having any other roommate but Aramin.

Their room, like all student rooms in the school, was small and simple. It was equipped with a set of bunk beds, a little table and two chairs, and a tiny wardrobe where they stored their clothes and Vendrey’s collection of odds and ends. It had been dismally plain during their first year when they had both spent the majority of the term suffering from homesickness. Since then they had worked hard to make it more comfortable. The bunks were covered with brightly-colored blankets and the walls were festooned with small, scenic tapestries. At the foot of the bed, Aramin had a large wooden trunk that he used to store his own possessions.

“So when’s our next class trip into town?” Vendrey asked, kicking the door closed behind them.

“Two weeks, I think.” Aramin tossed his bag on the trunk and sat down on the bed, scraping the toes of his sandals across the floor. He watched curiously as Vendrey slumped at the table and scowled at his hands, which he rhythmically clenched into tight fists. Aramin’s eyes narrowed. After three years of sharing quarters with Vendrey he recognized that particular look. Joining his friend at the table, he demanded, “Okay, what’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” Vendrey answered shortly, not looking up.

Aramin’s eyes narrowed even more, causing the bright blue color to darken dramatically. “Why were you late for class, Ven?”

“None of your business.”

“So, it was Purvic Lanks.”

“How did you know that?” Vendrey looked up amazement.

“I didn’t.” Aramin grinned triumphantly. “But I do now. What did he do this time?”

Vendrey gaped at the smaller boy. “You sneak…” He scowled briefly, then sighed, defeated. “I was late because I had to run back here and change my clothes. That jerk shoved me into the manure pile behind the stables after riding. I was absolutely covered in horse—”

Aramin winced and held up a hand, cutting him off in mid-sentence. “Please don’t give me that image. Why didn’t you just tell Guldren that?”

“And let everyone in the class know that Lanks was able to knock me down? Wise up, Ari! I’m not that stupid. I could never live it down.”

“You’re not stupid at all…except for the fact that you chose to have Guldren humiliate you in front of the whole class so you could avoid being humiliated in front of the whole class.”

Vendrey fixed his best friend with a withering stare until Aramin sighed and shrugged. “What are you going to do about it?”

“What do you think? I’m going to get Lanks by himself and beat the stuffing out of him.” Vendrey slammed one fist into his palm. His face was white with anger at the memory of falling into the dung heap and hearing Purvic Lanks’s hoarse brays of laughter.

Though his small size had trained him to wit instead of violence, Aramin understood Vendrey’s need for retribution. He also understood the Academy rules against fighting.

“Come on.” Aramin took his friend’s arm and dragged him up from the table. “Why don’t we take a walk and let you work off some steam? You could get sent home if you do anything to Lanks—you know that.”

There was always something about the forest beyond the courtyard and gardens that calmed Vendrey down after a bad day. The dappled light through the trees and the melodious trills of the birds soothed his nerves and made him relax. And Aramin, ever helpful, wisely kept up a steady stream of nonsense chatter to keep Vendrey’s mind off the school bully.

They finally stopped beside the lake and sat on the shore, enjoying the cool breeze off the water. Aramin leaned against a large rock and began jotting down a few sentences in the journal he always carried with him. Vendrey read over his shoulder for a couple of paragraphs—long enough to be sure Aramin wasn’t writing anything about him—then crawled down to the water and lay on the bank. He searched the grassy reeds at the edge for frogs and watersprats and, as he gazed into the glassy surface of the water, he noticed his reflection staring back at him. He studied it.

He had never considered himself anything special to look at. Short, uniformly brown hair, gray eyes, a slightly pointed nose and chin. He was tall for his age, and thin, but not willowy like Aramin or Diaedra. Where Aramin was agile in his small size, and Diaedra graceful, Vendrey was gangly almost to the point of awkwardness—his hands and elbows sometimes seemed to have minds of their own, especially around anything breakable. But what he lacked in coordination, he did make up for in muscle. He was definitely the strongest boy among the Spell-Singing students, he could handle the largest sword in weapons class, and he was always the chosen leader in games. None of the students his age, Singer or not, could beat him in physical competition.

Purvic Lanks, however, was fourteen and in training to be a soldier—and he had taken it upon himself to make Vendrey’s life as miserable as possible. The older boy didn’t care that Vendrey could beat him in sword theory and skill or that Vendrey, though far from being the smartest student in the Academy, could still best him in a battle of the wits. Pure strength was the only thing that mattered to Lanks, and when push came to shove—and it normally did considering that Lanks rarely played fair—Lanks was still bigger and stronger.

Lost in these thoughts, Vendrey sighed softly and reached out to touch his reflection, causing ripples to glide across his image.

“You’re being unusually quiet.” Aramin’s face suddenly appeared beside his own in the water as the younger boy abandoned his journal and plopped down on the bank. He scanned the surface with his eyes, then cocked his head at Vendrey. “Were you looking for Teller?”

Vendrey shook his head. “No, not really. I haven’t seen him for awhile. There must be a lady around to attract his attention.”

“Just mulling over the fascinating facts learned in Master Guldren’s class then?”

Vendrey laughed. “Yes, something like that.” He sat up, his gray eyes suddenly sparkling. “Hey, you want to do me a big favor, Ari?”

Aramin trailed a fingertip through the water, thinking very hard about how he should answer. “My grandma always says that nothing good can ever come from using those words in the same sentence,” he finally replied.

“Your grandma doesn’t have a tournament test for weapons class coming up in just a week,” Vendrey said as he stood up, brushing dried grass from his clothes. He looked down at Aramin and laughed at his expression.

“How is it practice when you know you’ll beat me?” Aramin complained, his nose wrinkled in disgust. He got to his feet, scanning the calm water one last time before heading up the bank to retrieve his book. “What’s the test on, anyway?”

Vendrey rolled his eyes. “Master Sarlan has only been discussing it for the last two months. It’s second stage sword theory and technique.”

Aramin’s face fell even more. “Oh yeah—that one. What moves were we supposed to know?”

“Don’t you pay any attention during class?”

Aramin gave Vendrey a level look. “Do you pay any during Guldren’s?” he retorted. “I only took swordsmanship because you begged me to. The moves…?”

“All you have to know are the front hand stance, the overhand, the back thrust, and the basic parries. They’re not that hard.”

“That’s because your sword doesn’t outweigh you.”

“I’ll let you pick the pie.” Vendrey batted his eyes and pushed his lower lip out pleadingly.

Aramin sighed. “Okay,” he muttered, and followed Vendrey back through the main courtyard and into the smaller, walled-in sword yards behind the weapons house. Together, they signed the log that allowed them use of a yard, chose weapons, and signed for them as well. Carrying the swords into their assigned yard, they took their respective sides and faced one another.

Vendrey held a long, slender sword with a straight blade and a plain, cross-shaped hand guard. None of the practice swords in the Academy were ornamental—they were meant strictly for training purposes—but of them all, Vendrey’s was certainly the most impressive, and the boy handled the blade as though it had been crafted just for him. Shifting it from one hand to the other, he naturally positioned his feet in the correct stance.

“Aw, come on, Vendrey, that’s not fair!

Vendrey lifted his eyes to the waist-high wall and the girl who stood behind it, watching him.

“What?” he asked.

Diaedra pointed to the opposite side of the yard. “just look at him. It’s so sad!”

Vendrey turned his gaze to Aramin and had to suppress a laugh. The younger boy was absolutely pathetic in his attempts to handle the sword. He had signed out the smallest weapon in the storage—a light weight, rapier-style blade with a plain, leather wrapped hilt—yet the sword was still awkward and unwieldy in his hands. He struggled to balance it, trying to keep the tip from dragging on the ground, all the while forcing his feet into the proper stance. Hearing Diaedra’s comments, and the snort of Vendrey’s withheld laughter, he look up and scowled darkly.

“Alright, so I can’t handle the stupid sword,” he said crossly. “Remind me to never take this class again.”

Vendrey shook his head amusedly. “Shift your weight a little to the right. That may help.”

Aramin sighed dismally, but obeyed and corrected in his stance.

At the wall, Diaedra chuckled and hid her mouth behind her hand.

“First position,” Vendrey announced, ignoring their small audience. He twisted his wrist and flicked his sword at his diminutive opponent. Moving forward on quick feet, he forced Aramin to lift his own weapon to counter the attack.

“Watch it!” Aramin yelped, hopping backwards to avoid the blade that whistled over his head. “I’m short enough!”

“The blades are dulled,” Vendrey said. “You have to learn how to defend yourself sometime.”

Aramin rolled his eyes, then swung at Vendrey, using the only move he remembered from classes—one that had been complex enough to hold his interest. Vendrey, not expecting such an advanced thrust, was thrown off guard for an instant, falling back a step and allowing Aramin to take the offense.

At the wall, Diaedra clapped, and Vendrey nodded approvingly.

“Not bad,” he admitted.

Aramin grunted. “Maybe. If I use the same move, will you be surprised again?” He cocked his head to one side, his blue eyes wide and innocent. Vendrey smiled, knowing that sly mischief lurked just beneath the surface of that innocence.

“I might. Why don’t you try me and see?”

“Uh huh,” Aramin drawled. He studied Vendrey for a second, then began slowly moving forward, appearing to be positioning himself for the exact same move. Vendrey took a step back, raised his sword, and rushed the boy, meaning to cut off his space for the required twist. As he did so, Aramin feinted smartly to one side, spinning in a quick, graceful circle. As Vendrey’s momentum carried him past his opponent, Aramin brought his sword around and smacked the flat of the blade against Vendrey’s exposed back.

“One to nothing!” he crowed ecstatically, hopping up and down. “I actually scored a point!”

“Whoo hoo!” Diaedra cheered. “He got you, Vendrey! He got you!”

Vendrey had stumbled under the blow, going down on one knee briefly before regaining his balance. He turned and faced the beaming Aramin.

“Wow! Use moves like that on the test and you may have a prayer of passing.”

“Sure—as long as I get big, overconfident oafs for opponents.” Aramin stuck the tip of his sword into one of the metal holders wedged firmly between the cobblestones, then knelt down to retie a loose sandal strap.

Vendrey grinned. “I may be big, I may be overconfident—but I’m not an oaf!” He surged forward while Aramin had his sword down.

“Not fair!” Aramin was forced to dive out of the way to keep Vendrey from scoring a point. He stopped a safe distance from the older boy and looked dourly at the eight feet of yard that separated him from his sword.

With Diaedra cheering him on, Vendrey casually strolled forward, picked up Aramin’s sword, and brandished it with a flick of his wrist.

“Opponent disarmed,” he said formally. “I win.”

“I wasn’t ready!” Aramin’s eyes were blazing with outrage. “That wasn’t a fair fight!”

“If we were out in the battlefield, do you think your opponent would stick to fair fighting? If you and I were in a battle against the Mynnessans, do you think you’d have time to stop and tie your sandals?”

“We aren’t in a real battle and we aren’t fighting the Mynnessans. That was a cheap, underhanded move and you know it!”

Vendrey shrugged. “You wouldn’t have been allowed to stop in the middle of the test either. I did you a favor.”

“I hate this class,” Aramin seethed.

“It’s good practice. Who knows—one day, we may be called to fight the Mynnessans and it would pay to be prepared.”

“You really think so?” Diaedra had hopped off the wall and joined the two boys in the center of the sword yard. Now she looked at Vendrey curiously. “Is the war really that bad? I heard it was just a border dispute.”

“That has lasted more than thirty years? My father can hardly make swords for personal use anymore—the Chancellor takes all his finest weapons and sends them to the border for the soldiers.”

“But the Chancellor would never send us to war, would he?” Aramin asked

in a low voice. “We’re not soldiers—we’re Singers. It would be stupid to send Singers into battle. They’re too rare as it is.”

“I don’t know. I just think it’s a good idea to know a few moves, is all. What can it…?” Vendrey was suddenly interrupted by the enormous clanging of the twin bells that hung in the Academy bell tower.

Aramin clapped his hands together. “Dinner! Just the thing to compliment a lovely discussion of war.”

Diaedra flicked his ear. “Sarcasm is not becoming,” she said, as a myriad of people, both young and old, began streaming out of the school buildings to make their way to the massive dining hall.

Aramin grabbed the sheath for his sword and handed it to Vendrey. “Winner checks weapons back into storage,” he said.

“Winner! I really do love hearing that word applied to me.”

“That’s because you don’t hear it very…”

Vendrey shoved Aramin through the gate of the sword yard, cutting off what he’d been about to say.

“Often,” Diaedra quipped, wisely walking on Aramin’s other side—out of Vendrey’s reach.

The courtyard before them was filled with laughter and chattering voices eager for the evening meal. Vendrey hurriedly checked the swords back into the weapons house, then shook hands with Aramin, officially ending the match. With Diaedra between them, they melded into the crowd on their way to dinner.

Chapter 2: Aramin

I’m so tired. I’ve never felt this tired before, not even after I’ve drawn power for a really difficult spell. It’s all I can do to get Cirrus comfortable after we stop before rolling up in a blanket to sleep. I’m a bit worried because Vendrey and Diaedra are doing all the hard work. They say they don’t mind, but I can see that they are getting just as tired as me. We haven’t even been on the road for that long. Mynnessa is still miles away, and already our horses are wearing down. We have to walk them more than ride and that’s hard on all of us. I will not complain though—Vendrey and Diaedra are risking their lives to save mine. We all know the Chancellor is tracking us, and that we will all be arrested if caught. That isn’t so bad for me because what more could the Chancellor possibly do? But Vendrey and Diaedra would lose everything they have worked for. Still, we move on and Vendrey and Diaedra continue to shoulder the load. I couldn’t ask for better friends. I just hope we reach Mynnessa soon, for their sakes as much as mine.

The light inside the dining hall was dim and soothing after the brightness of the courtyard. The cool air and muted shades of blue and green on the tiled walls instantly soothed the nerves after a long day and all talking came in hushed tones.

In long lines, the students, masters, and workers of the academy filed along the counter laden with food, selecting their favorites from among the night’s choices before wandering over to the rows of benches and tables to sit and enjoy the meal.

“Oh, Ven, Ari, you go ahead and pick a table. I’ll be right back—there’s something I wanted to show you but I left it in my room.” Diaedra said hurriedly just inside the door. Without waiting for an answer from her friends, she turned and rushed back outside and across the courtyard.

“Ooh, a big surprise. Should we be worried?” Vendrey asked as he and Aramin squeezed into the line and filled their plates.

Nodding emphatically, Aramin led the way out of the service passage and into the main dining hall itself. Clutching his plate tightly against the press of milling diners, he began walking up and down the rows of tables, hunting out a suitable place to sit.

“Over there,” Vendrey said, nudging Aramin and pointing with his mug. “Against the wall.”

Aramin shoved his way towards the appointed table and plunked his plate down in a place that left one empty seat between him and the wall. Vendrey took up a position across from him and began inspecting the food on his plate, moving it around with his fork until the most appealing items were closest and the less-than-savory on the other side of the dish. But, despite having the tasty food close, Vendrey began eating at the far side of the plate, working his way through the things he didn’t like first.

“Think I’ll fail the swordsmanship test?” Aramin asked.

Vendrey looked up from his plate at the sudden worry in the boy’s voice. He grinned encouragingly. “Ari, you’ve never failed any test in your life.”

A small smile appeared on Aramin’s face, but quickly disappeared. “There’s a first time for everything, and I’ve never taken swordsmanship before. I really don’t feel good about it.”

“You’ll be fine. It’s not like you don’t remember how to do the stances, right?”

Aramin nodded. “I remember them. My problem is using them. And if you ask me, all fights are unfair because any opponent I face is going to be bigger than me.”

“Master Sarlan’ll make allowances. He knows you’re just a little shrimp.”

“Under the circumstances of your manure bath and my overwhelming pity for you, I’m going to let that slide.”

Vendrey would have made some retort, but Diaedra appeared at that moment, balancing her tray on one hand and lugging her bag with the other. She squeezed into the space Aramin had kept open for her next to the wall, set down her tray, and pulled her bag onto her lap.

“You don’t have a pot of pollinator worms in there, do you, Dee?” Vendrey asked, eyeing the bag warily and moving his plate out of striking distance. “Or leeches?”

“Leeches? No, Healer Calleen won’t let us take them out of the infirmary.”

“Anymore,” Aramin added.

Diaedra rolled her eyes and took a bite of a roll.

“So what do you want to show us?” Vendrey asked, leaning forward.

“Look at this!” Digging around in her bag, the girl pulled out a heavy, leather-bound book. “Healer Calleen was cleaning out a trunk of old reference books that she doesn’t want anymore and gave this one to me.”

Always interested in books, Aramin reached out and took it from her. He opened it at random.

“Herbs?” Vendrey peeked at the drawings on the page.

“Herbs, flowers, all sorts of plants—and the healing properties of each one! Look at them all! There has to be over five hundred pages.”

“Some of these aren’t even grown in Riandet,” Aramin observed, already halfway through one page. He pointed at the tiny caption written under a sketch. “Like this one…it only grows in Northern Jurik and Killaine because it needs the cold seasons.”

“It has plants from all over the continent. Gervairia, Killaine, Allaves, Banl, Jurik, and even,” Diaedra’s voice dropped to a low whisper that made Aramin and Vendrey lean closer, “Mynnessa.”

“Old book!” Aramin murmured, his eyes wide.

“Did Calleen know about this when she gave you the book, Dee? You could get in trouble for having something like this.”

Aramin shook his head. “I doubt it. The Red Guard would just make her destroy all the pages with Mynnessan entries.”

“You two wouldn’t tell anybody about this, would you?” Diaedra looked horrified at the thought of losing any part of her book.

Vendrey made a gesture of solemn promise by touching his bent knuckle against his heart and forehead.

“We wouldn’t tell any…”

“Here’s a good spot! Hey, Aster! Corwin! Over here!”

Aramin winced as his voice was drowned out by the harsh, nasal tone of Purvic Lanks. The older, taller boy was shoving his way between the two rows of benches, intent on the table where Vendrey and his friends were sitting. Only the seat beside Aramin and the two next to Vendrey were still empty.

“Wonderful!” Vendrey muttered, dropping his forehead into his hand. He had not even started on the good side of his plate and now his appetite turned to a stone in the bottom of his gut.

Aramin slammed the book shut and handed it back to Diaedra, who hid it in her bag.

“Maybe we should move.” She started to stand up, but was too late. Lanks had spotted his tablemates and an ugly leer made his face even more homely.

“Move over, Shrimp!” The bully took up residence in the empty space beside Aramin, shoving the smaller boy so he slammed into Diaedra.

Aramin scowled but slid over, more to get away from the stale sweaty odor of Lanks than to obey.

“Is it just me, or did it suddenly get very rank in here?” Diaedra asked acidly.

Across the table, Vendrey was being flanked by Lanks’s two toadies. One reached onto Vendrey’s plate and stole a piece of bread, dipping it into a pool of gravy before stuffing the entire slice into his mouth.

“Singer, I almost expected you to have carrots growing from your hair,” Lanks joked. “You know, given all that fertilizer you got earlier.”

Vendrey felt a flush rising in his cheeks and started to stand. Aramin kicked him under the table and raised his eyebrows pointedly. He cocked his head to the left, indicating Master Guldren, who was walking along the aisle with the strict figures master, Faveon.

Swallowing hard, Vendrey sank back into his seat. A fight with Lanks wasn’t worth the long lecture and punishment that would almost certainly be given out by those two masters.

“Let’s just go,” Diaedra murmured again, pushing back the bench and standing up. She took her tray and slid down the aisle between the rows of benches, sticking her tongue out over Lanks’s head when she passed him. “Come on, you two, we need to get ready for Practical Spells class anyway.”

Vendrey and Aramin stood up, but Lanks and his friends were not finished with them. The bully shoved his bench back, catching Aramin on the knee hard enough to make the younger boy grunt in pain. Across the table, Aster did the same, blocking Vendrey’s path.

“What’s the matter, Singer? Too chicken? Have to run away and hide behind your masters?”

Vendrey ignored the jeers and tried to push past Aster. Diaedra was already standing in the main aisle, beckoning him forward. Then Lanks began to cluck loudly.

Unable to stand it any longer, Vendrey whirled around and snapped, “Lanks, I could beat you anytime, anyplace, one on one. You’re the chicken because you won’t face me without your brainless bodyguards to protect and back you up. So if it’s possible for that tiny little brain of yours to comprehend my big words, why don’t you think about that for awhile?”

Color immediately blossomed on Lanks’s ugly face, especially when several nearby students began to laugh. Leaning forward, he whispered, “Tonight, Singer. Midnight. In the alley behind the Swan’s Feather in town. One on one, just you and me. We’ll see if you talk so big when you’re on the ground, crying your eyes out.”

“Vendrey!” Aramin said sharply. Vendrey looked away from Lanks’s brown eyes to meet those of his friend. Aramin jerked his head towards Diaedra and the door. “Forget him. Let’s go.”

“That’s right, Singer. Listen to the little shrimp. Let him keep you out of the infirmary.”

“I may be a little shrimp, but you’re the one who needs to grow up,” Aramin snapped. He climbed over the bench and limped to the main aisle. Vendrey scowled, but followed his example. They both walked over to Diaedra, purposely ignoring the laughter behind them.

“Took you long enough,” the girl griped. “What were you talking about?”

“Nothing intelligent,” Aramin dropped his tray in the collection bin and stalked out the door to the courtyard. “It’s sad to think that those three are going to be fighting a war for us one day.”

“With luck, they’ll be ordered to the front line.”

“I’ll meet you two at class,” Diaedra said as she veered off towards her own dorm hall.

“Just forget about Purvic Lanks,” Aramin said, reading the anger on Vendrey’s face. He bent down to rub his sore knee. “His mother must’ve dropped him when he was a baby. Twice, probably.”

Vendrey laughed. He couldn’t help it. “Right. Maybe she thought it would make him prettier.”

“Only a burlap sack over his head would do that.”

Laughing again, Vendrey draped an arm over his friend’s shoulders. “Thanks, Ari. That’s why I keep you around. Comic relief. Let’s go get ready for class.”

Though Vendrey and his fellow Spell-Singer trainees were expected to attend other classes during their school year, none were as important as the magic classes. While all the students training for other occupations were finished with lessons for the day and making good of their free time, Vendrey and Aramin had to collect their music books and supplies from their dorm room. Together, they hurried across the courtyard to the fortified building where all classes requiring the casting of spells were held.

The classroom where they studied the evening lessons was small in comparison to the other rooms in the Academy. No tables cluttered the floor, only eight high-backed chairs that were arranged in a circle around a decorative braided rug. Beside each chair was a small wooden tray.

“Good evening, Master Jol-ann,” Vendrey said as he and Aramin stepped inside. They found the room empty except for the master and headed for their usual seats.

“Evening, boys. You’re here nice and early.” Master Jol-ann smiled, causing the skin around her eyes to crinkle with laugh lines. “Vendrey, that’s a pleasant change for you.”

Vendrey blushed and busied himself with arranging his book and the case for his mandolin on his tray. Chuckling, Aramin ambled towards the stone water basin in the corner of the room.

“Are we going to work on the spell we started yesterday?” Vendrey asked, removing his mandolin from its case and tuning the strings.

“No, I was thinking of having a little test this evening.”

A clanging chord echoed through the room as Vendrey’s fingers slipped across the strings of his instrument. “A test?” he repeated. He glanced at Aramin, who was filling two cups with water from the basin, and felt a knot of worry work its way into his belly. Suddenly, he was glad that he hadn’t eaten much.

“Don’t look so terrified, Vendrey,” Jol-ann laughed. “It won’t be a hard one. I just want to see you formulate and handle one of the weather spells we were working on last month. Open choice on music, of course. You’ll do just fine.” She looked away, smiling and greeting the other students as they filed through the door. Diaedra, a bag of books slung over her shoulder and flanked by two students armed with flutes, grinned back. She took her seat beside Aramin while Illise and Paldrin, the flautists, took their seats across the floor and began inspecting their instruments. Diaedra dropped her books on her tray, and thanks Aramin for the cup of water he handed her.

“As I was just telling Vendrey and Aramin,” Jo-Ann said, settling into her own seat across from Vendrey, “We’ll be having a test today on weather spells. I want each of you to formulate a weather spell of your choice and keep it at a steady, moderate strength for a period of three minutes. I will be timing you and paying close attention to variances in power.” She clapped her hands together, grinning at the looks of trepidation on her students. “So, who would like to volunteer to go first?”

No hands went up. Though all the students had worked hard on the spells, nobody was eager to be the one by whom all the others were judged.

“I see.” Jol-ann’s grin turned to a small smirk. “No brave student wants to step forward? Okay, I’ll just have to pick.” Her eyes flickered over the young faces. “How about you, Diaedra?”

Four sets of shoulders slumped with relief as Diaedra, sighing in resignation, stood up, took a sip of water from her cup, and opened her book of sheet music.

“Oh, sorry, Diaedra, I should have told you. It’s closed book.” Jol-ann tapped her temple with a finger. “Memory only.” She took the book from Diaedra’s hands and returned to her seat, leaving Diaedra standing alone in the middle of the room, suddenly looking very nervous.

“You can do it, Dee,” Aramin whispered loudly, sitting forward in his chair.

Diaedra cleared her throat, twisting her hands behind her, and began to sing. Vendrey recognized the song as a fairly complex solo from a play that was performed each year at the Harvest Festival. Diaedra’s range was broad enough to encompass the high section of the song, though Vendrey knew from experience that she would struggle when the tone dipped towards low alto.

The first stanza went without any problem. Diaedra knew the song by heart and sang it well. During the refrain and second stanza, Vendrey began feeling the first, faint stirrings of power enter the room. It felt like a soft, warm breath of air brushing against his face and sending tingles coursing along his skin. It was a familiar feeling that he enjoyed every night during class, and it helped calm his apprehension concerning the test.

Slowly, as the song reached its midpoint, the gentle shifting of air stiffened into an outright breeze. It whistled around the classroom like a tiny whirlwind, ruffling hair and blowing loose pages off desks and around the floor.

“Okay, Diaedra, I know you’re reaching the end,” Jol-ann said loudly, breaking the calm mood that Diaedra’s song had given the room. “Now I want you to strengthen it. Give us a gale. Make it strong, lots of wind. I want to be able to fly kites in here. Remember that storm we had last year right after the Harvest Festival? That was a big one, wasn’t it? All the leaves were torn right off the trees and the groundskeepers had a terrible time cleaning up the mess. I remember that a branch was hanging over my bedroom window at the time and I could hardly sleep because of the constant tapping of the branch hitting the glass. It was horrible. Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap…”

One of the major stresses in Jol-ann’s lessons was the ability to maintain a song and the integrity of a spell during heavy distraction, and then be able to shift the spell to fit a specific order even when the song was nearly finished. Jol-ann always tried to catch her students off guard with odd orders that called for radical changes in the spell. She claimed that it kept them on their toes and sharpened their abilities.

Used to Jol-ann’s demands and methods of distraction, Diaedra nodded vaguely in the center of the room. As Vendrey watched, her brow furrowed deeply—she was reaching the end of the song, when the music would slow and give the spell substance. Diaedra had to concentrate fiercely to force her spell to not only thrive on the last strains of music, but increase in power. Tiny beads of sweat from the effort popped out on her forehead only to be quickly swept away by the strong wind that surged around the room, blowing papers and whole books off the desks and stinging the eyes of the students.

“Excellent!” Jol-ann cried happily, clapping her hands when Diaedra had reined in the spell and ended the song. “That was perfect, Diaedra! Good job on your concentration. Good cadence in the song. Top marks!”

Diaedra, looking a little pale after the trial, smiled brightly and took her seat. She took a sip from her cup of water, then winced and pressed a hand over her stomach.

“Alright, who would like to go next?” Jol-ann’s brown eyes raked over her students. “How about you, Pal?”

Paldrin, who’d been bent over his flute, glanced up nervously. “I…I can’t, Master Jol-ann. Something’s wrong with my flute. I can’t even blow through it properly.”

Vendrey frowned. Pal was a quiet boy who never actually volunteered for extra work but always finished his assignments on time and efficiently. He wasn’t one to try wheedling out of a test, yet his flute had been working perfectly well during the morning Practical Spells class.

“Let me see it,” Jol-ann said, holding out her hand for the flute. Pal obediently handed the instrument over and watched nervously as the master began twisting it apart.

“It’s not broken, is it?” he asked frantically. “I can’t afford to get another one. My parents had to borrow funds just so I could get this one.”

“No.” Jol-ann’s jaw clenched in annoyance. “By any chance, did you leave your flute alone at all since this morning’s class?”

Pal nodded. “Yes, I put it in my dorm room after class because I had to go to Figures and I didn’t need it then.”

Aramin’s eyes widened as he caught on. “Was your roommate in the room when you left?” he asked.

Pal turned to him and began nodding slowly, then suddenly gasped with horror. “What did he do to it!” he exclaimed.

Jol-ann held up the end of Pal’s flute, showing the broken end of the branch that had been wedged into the metal tube.

“That jerk!” Pal shrieked, jumping up and grabbing his damaged flute. “Just because I was practicing a little late last night, that doesn’t give him any right to…”

“Okay, okay, Pal, just calm down.” Jol-ann held up a hand to stop the boy’s ravings. “It’ll be okay. The flute isn’t broken, just…plugged up. Take it down to Master Kavison. I am sure he’ll be able to get the wood out without hurting the metal or bending the flute in any way. You’re excused from the test tonight and, until this is fixed, you only have to take notes in class, alright?”

Still red in the face, Pal nodded, cradling his flute.

“And while you’re out, I want you to register this incident and have your roommate questioned. If there were another male Singer your age in the school,” she glanced briefly at Vendrey and Aramin, “who didn’t already have a roommate, I would suggest a switch, but for now we’ll just have to make do. I’ll order a lock box made up for you so you can keep your flute and notes safely secured from now on.”

“Okay,” Pal muttered. He turned his flute in his hands, staring at it with moist eyes. “Thank you.”

Jol-ann patted his shoulder. “If, for some reason, it can’t be fixed, I’m sure the Academy will find the means to provide you with another flute. You don’t have to worry about that. Now go see Master Kavison.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Dejected despite Jol-ann’s reassurances, Pal gathered his books and music sheets. With slumped shoulders he left the classroom. Vendrey watched him go, feeling sorry for a fellow Secondary-Singer. He, too, had to use an instrument in order to cast a spell and if someone ever tried to damage his mandolin, he didn’t know what he would do. At least he’d been lucky enough to room with another Singer. Aramin would never dream of harming his property.

“Alright, let’s get back to work now.” Jol-ann cast her gaze over her students again. “Hmm, since Pal’s gone, how about you, Ari?”

Aramin got up from his chair and made his way to the center of the room. Standing so that he faced Jol-ann, he settled himself into a singer’s stance, feet slightly apart, knees loose, shoulders back, arms hanging comfortably at his side.

“Any type of weather?” he asked.

“Your choice. Just don’t cause a hurricane or tornado. I don’t think I could explain that to the school officials.”

Aramin smiled cheekily and stood up straight, lifting his chin into the proper position for singing. He’d commented once that it was difficult standing so perfectly erect while casting a spell, and that singers in plays and shows rarely had to stand so still and proper. Jol-ann demanded it of her True-Singers.

When he was aligned to the master’s specifications, Aramin began singing. Like Diaedra, he only needed his voice to bring out his inborn talent of spell-casting. Even before he’d moved to the Academy for training, he’d had a marvelous voice. All the regular lessons with his voice teacher, Master Listred, had only strengthened his skill.

Clear and beautiful, Aramin’s voice filled the room. He sang a song that Jol-ann and all the other students knew immediately. It was Aramin’s particular favorite and he always used it for casting when given free choice of song.

The spell started almost immediately. Vendrey felt it caress the skin of his face and move through his hair, sending a shiver down his spine. The power began swirling around above their heads—Vendrey and Diaedra both looked up when they felt it eddying about their hair—and collected first into a hazy, almost invisible green mist, then thickened to become a small cloud. A thin trickle of rain fell from this lofty apparition, mostly, Vendrey realized bitterly, on him. He shifted in his seat, trying to avoid the dampness, as Jol-ann stood up and walked to the center of the room, positioning herself behind Aramin. Vendrey grinned wickedly, watching his friend roll his eyes back and forth in an attempt to see what the master would do to distract him.

Jol-ann, with the assistance of a feather that she had kept hidden in her tunic, tickled Aramin behind the ear and on the back of his neck while she murmured her instructions to him. Vendrey hid his wicked smile with his hand, knowing very well that Aramin was incredibly ticklish.

True to form, Aramin closed his eyes and began squeezing his hands into tight fists, all the while concentrating on the song. His cloud hardly wavered and grew darker as the song reached its apex and began gliding down to a point where a chorus usually joined in. Vendrey unconsciously mouthed the choral words in time with Aramin’s singing and saw Diaedra doing the same thing. Her eyes, however, were fastened in amazement on the cloud and Vendrey looked up to see tiny bolts of lightning shooting outwards from the dark, misty depths. The flashes of miniature light were followed by minute claps of thunder.

As Aramin began repeating the last refrain, Vendrey felt the power drawing back into his friend. The lightning stopped and the cloud began to brighten, turning a delicate shade of pinkish-purple, like a sunset. It finally broke up into a thin veil of fog, drifting out over the classroom. The song ended and Aramin took a step out of his stance, letting out a small sigh.

“You’re so stubborn. I almost had you that time!” Jol-ann said, winking as Aramin took his seat again. “The lightning was a good touch, small as it was. And I liked the sunset effect.”

Aramin started to smile but yawned and blinked rapidly instead. With his own exam now finished, he settled deeply into his chair, letting his head fall back against the headrest.

Vendrey’s turn came next and he took his mandolin to the center of the room and faced his small crowd. The song he chose to play was a lively one that required fast fingering of the strings, but Vendrey was familiar with it and tapped his foot on the floor to keep the rhythm. At the same time he began mentally forming the common strains that started each weather spell. As he did so, he began to feel a well-known sensation spreading through his body—a vague heat started in his chest and moved outwards, growing warmer and warmer as it trickled along his arms and legs into his fingers and toes. Normally he detested the warm feeling, knowing full well how it would grow into an uncomfortable fever by the end of the spell, but now it gave him an idea and he utilized the heat, composing a few words to the spell that was building in his mind. In an instant, warmth flooded throughout the room, radiating out from Vendrey like ripples in a pond. The interior of the classroom soon felt like an afternoon in midsummer, directly beneath a blazing sun.

Diaedra gasped and fanned herself with one hand while reaching her cup of water with the other. Nearby, Aramin’s eyes drooped more. His head tilted back as he slipped into a light slumber. Illise panted uncomfortably and lifted her tunic collar away from her neck.

Vendrey grinned, enjoying the reaction from his audience. His fingers flew across the strings madly, strumming out the wild, playful tune as his toe tapped. Then, abruptly, the warm feeling that had spread across his entire body vanished under an icy deluge that drenched his hair and clothes.

Vendrey gasped in shock, his fingers fumbling for a brief instant on the strings, before hurrying to catch up with the beat. It took him a moment to realize that Jol-ann had just dumped the entire contents of a water bucket over his head.

“Clean up, Vendrey. I don’t want a damp floor,” Jol-ann instructed.

Sopping wet, chilled, and dripping water from his hair and the end of his nose, Vendrey concentrated harder, summoning the power he would need to increase the heat in the room enough to evaporate the water. Diaedra and Illise were forced to leave the room, and even Aramin was roused from his nap to hurry outside into the cool night air while Vendrey brought the music to a rolling close.

“Well done!” Jol-ann congratulated, when the heat had subsided enough for the rest of her students to return. The water was gone from the floor surrounding Vendrey, and the high heat he’d created during the last stanza of the song had dried the liquid from his hair and clothes, only to be replaced with dripping sweat. He collapsed into his seat beside Aramin, mopping his damp forehead with a shirt sleeve as Jol-ann continued to extol his work under such a startling distraction.

“Your face is all red,” Aramin remarked in a slow, sleepy voice. “You look like you have a bad sunburn.”

Vendrey lifted his hands to his burning face and felt sweat pouring down his cheeks and the back of his neck. He took a deep, shuddering breath, letting it out slowly, and drained the lukewarm remains of Aramin’s water in one long gulp. Jol-ann noticed his distress and wandered over.

“Will you be alright?” she asked, placing a hand on his head. “Do you need to go outside and cool down a bit?”

“Won’t help. I’ll be hot wherever I go.”

Jol-ann nodded gravely. “It’s usually not a good idea to use anything similar to one’s side effects for a spell, Vendrey. It worked this time, but if you try a spell that’s too strong, you could cause yourself considerable damage.”

Vendrey nodded and accepted a second cup of water from Diaedra. He gulped it down as quickly as the first, but it did little to relieve the uncomfortable warmth pressing over him. For the rest of the lesson, he squirmed and shifted anxiously in his seat, lifting the neck of his tunic away to cool his skin, fanning his face with Aramin’s book and wiping vast quantities of sweat from his forehead. Even Illise’s small snow storm failed to cool him down, though he smiled appreciatively at her for the effort.

“I will see you all tomorrow,” Jol-ann said, taking a mop to the snow-damp floor as the students began gathering their papers to leave. “Bright and early. We’ll be continuing our work on group casting.”

Vendrey, Diaedra, and Illise bid the master goodnight. Aramin tried, but his words were eclipsed by a huge, head-splitting yawn that nearly tumbled him off balance. He did manage a wave and Jol-ann told him to get plenty of sleep. Vendrey had to help him stumble down the stairs and across the dim, twilit courtyard to the dorms.

“Are you going to be okay with him?” Illise asked, smiling fondly at Aramin’s drowsy face.

Vendrey laughed. “Yeah, I’ll just drag him upstairs and dump him into his bed.”

Diaedra shook her head sympathetically and patted the boy on the arm. “Poor Ari and his sleepy side effect.”

“I’m fine,” Aramin mumbled, pushing weakly at Diaedra’s hand. He pulled himself from Vendrey’s grip and managed to stand—wobbling a little—on his own. “See? I’m good.”

“It’s probably better than a stomachache,” Diaedra observed, describing her own side effect to drawing power.

“Or burning with a fever.”

“I get itchy,” Illise said, scratching at her elbow. “And Pal gets the hiccups. And I heard that one of the older, apprenticed students gets big pimples every time she draws power for a spell. Before the harvest festival last year, she refused to do any kind of magic because she didn’t want to look bad at the dance.”

Aramin yawned again, swaying precariously in place. “Master Jol-ann told me that the side effects are warnings from natural elemental powers to keep Singers from drawing too much for their spells. Every Singer, True or Secondary, gets them. She showed me a ledger in her office that she uses to record all the various side effects she’s heard about. She’s got ours in there, but there are some even weirder than hiccups and bellyaches.”

“Like what?” Vendrey asked, watching Aramin yawn again.

“Hmm?” Aramin looked at him drowsily. “Oh…um, one person got hives from casting spells, and another would start sneezing. There was one woman whose hair would change color throughout the duration of the spell and continue changing colors every few minutes for about an hour afterwards.”

“Weird,” Illise whispered, staring at him. “I think I’d like that one.”

Aramin bobbed his head and smiled conspiratorially. “That’s not the half of it. One Singer was stricken with belches when he drew power and another had to clip her fingernails after each spell because they grew out long and sharp like claws.” Aramin held up a hand and scratched at the air like a cat.

Diaedra shuddered. “Eww. I’ll keep my stomachaches. Though I wish there was a way to get rid of side effects altogether.”

“Me too,” said Vendrey, fanning himself.

Aramin’s chin suddenly dropped against his chest, startling him out of a doze and sending him stumbling into Vendrey. He blinked like a little owl as his friend pushed him upright.

“I think I need to go to bed.”

Illise and Diaedra laughed.

“Okay, Ari. See you tomorrow.”

Aramin waved goodnight and headed woozily towards the dorms.

“I think I’ll head in too,” Vendrey said, bidding the girls goodnight. “I’ll see you both in class tomorrow.”

“Alright.” Diadra pointed after Aramin. “Better hurry and make sure he hasn’t fallen asleep on the stairs…again.”

Vendrey complied and raced across the courtyard to the boys’ dorms. Aramin was struggling with the front door.

“Need help with that?” Vendrey joked, shoving at the door.

“I want to sleep for a month.”

“You can’t. We have to get up bright and early tomorrow to practice sword theory.”

Aramin groaned, his voice echoing through the long, tiled front hall of the dorm.

“Oh, stop whining. It won’t be that bad.” Vendrey gave his friend a shove towards the stairs. “I’ll probably beat you within the first three minutes anyway.”

Moaning now, Aramin fumbled with the doorknob. Once inside, he flopped down face first on his bunk with his music books still clasped in his arms as Vendrey shut the door behind them.

“Aren’t you going to put those away before you fall asleep?” Vendrey asked, shoving his own books into the wardrobe and hanging his mandolin reverently on the peg inside the door. He was answered with a muffled grunt.

Chuckling, Vendrey reached over, tugged Aramin’s books from his arms and placed them beside his own in the wardrobe.

“Thank you,” Aramin murmured. He lay still for awhile, stretched out on his bunk, breathing deeply. Vendrey looked him over and, satisfied that he was asleep, opened the wardrobe again and began pulling out clothes. He stripped off his bright red tunic and pulled a black sweater over his head, then traded his trousers for a darker pair.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Aramin sat up suddenly, all bleariness gone. His eyes narrowed into small slits. “You’re not going out again, are you?”

“I thought you were tired?”

“I can fight it if I have to. You know that.” Aramin slid to the end of his bunk and sat cross-legged, watching Vendrey. “Why are you changing into…” His mouth dropped open. “Lanks!” he exclaimed. “You’re going to meet Lanks!”

Vendrey shoved his legs into his pants and cinched the waist tight with a belt before looking at his glaring friend.

“So what if I am?”

“Leave it, Vendrey!” Aramin hopped off the bunk and grabbed Vendrey’s arm, looking at him pleadingly. “Please! You’ll only get yourself in trouble.”

Vendrey shook free of his grasp and switched his sandals for a pair of light boots. “That’s why I want you to go back to sleep. If there’s trouble, at least you can say you didn’t know anything about it. You can say that I left the room after you’d gone to bed.”

“But you could get expelled!”

“Only if I get caught…and I don’t plan on doing that. Lanks told me to meet him tonight—if I don’t go, he’ll tell everyone that I’m a coward.”

“You’ve been planning this since dinner?” Aramin sounded hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to tell anyone…like Master Jol-ann.” He paused while tying the laces on his second boot and looked into Aramin’s eyes. “You won’t run out and tell anyone, will you, Ari?”

Aramin scowled. “Now that would be stupid, wouldn’t it? I’d just get you into trouble. If I’d known about this earlier, I could have told one of the masters and they’d have put a watch on the dorm. If I tell now, you’ll have already sneaked out and what good would that do you?”

Vendrey grinned at Aramin’s logic and pulled on a light jacket. “Thanks, Ari, I knew you’d see it my way.”

“I don’t!” Aramin snorted and sat back on his bunk, crossing his arms petulantly over his chest. “I think you’re being a complete fool for doing this. Lanks may have to solve all his problems with his fists, but you’re a lot smarter than that.” He sighed deeply. “Just don’t get yourself caught, okay? I’ll give you two hours. If you’re gone any longer, I’m going to Master Faveon and telling him everything.”

“You wouldn’t!”

Aramin held up two fingers. “Two hours, Ven. That’s it!”

Vendrey spun on his heel and opened the door to leave.

“Oh, and Ven?”

The twelve-year-old looked around, still gripping the knob. “Yeah?”

“Kick his butt.”

Vendrey laughed and gave Aramin a thumbs-up. Then he hurried out of the room before Aramin could change his mind.

The challenge from Lanks had been simple. All he had to do was meet Lanks in the alley behind the Swan’s Feather tavern in town. Getting to town was easy—the walk was only a mile and a half along the dirt road. Finding the tavern was more difficult since no Academy student had a legitimate reason to seek out a drinking house. He spent a good half hour of his time wandering through the streets of the town until he stumbled finally upon the Swan’s Feather tucked away on one of the side roads. The alley behind the tavern was empty, so Vendrey sat down on a wooden crate and waited for his opponent. Overhead, the moon was already riding high, but Vendrey knew he didn’t have to worry about Aramin’s threat. By the time he returned to the dorm, Aramin would be sound asleep.

Lanks didn’t keep him waiting long. He hadn’t been in the alley for more than five minutes when he heard familiar voices and footsteps on the stone street in front of the tavern. Another moment passed and a shadowy form easily recognizable as Purvic Lanks entered the alley and sauntered forward.

“So, you decided to show up after all. I guess I have to hand it to you—seems you’d rather be killed than be called a wimp.”

Vendrey stood up and faced the older boy. A feeling of unease fluttered in his stomach when he caught sight of four more adolescents standing by the mouth of the alley. He recognized Corwin and Aster, the one grinning broadly, the other sneering. The other two he knew by sight, but not by name. He did know that all of them were Academy students training in weaponry and combat skills. All of them were earmarked to be soldiers in the war against Mynnessa. More importantly, all of them knew how to fight.

Swallowing hard against growing trepidation, Vendrey said smoothly, “I didn’t realize you were such a lousy fighter, Lanks. To think, you had to bring back-up. I guess you think I’m competent enough to take you all on? That, or you’re just too stupid to remember that we agreed to fight one on one.”

Lanks sneered at him and turned to his friends. “Singer talks fancy, don’t he?” While the others laughed and jeered, Lanks swiveled back to Vendrey. “But I doubt you can back up those words.” He rushed forward, hands held up in fists, and Vendrey braced himself.

He ducked the first blow, taking a tip from Aramin. The bully’s fist sailed harmlessly over his head and he bounced back up to drive his own fist into Lanks’s bulbous nose, causing it to bleed profusely. The other boy staggered back with a hoarse cry, both hands flying up to cover his spouting snout.

Vendrey took the opportunity, while his opponent was momentarily stunned, to move out of range and reassess the situation. He belatedly realized his mistake in entering the alley prior to Lanks—with the four toadies blocking the entrance, there was no way out. Despite the fact that it was fun watching Lanks hop around in pain, Vendrey decided that cutting out of the duel immediately would be his smartest course of action. Glancing around, he spotted a wooden ladder leaning against the wall of the tavern, used to climb onto the roof to clean out birds nests and leaves from the stone gutters. He edged over to it.

“Oh, I’m going to get you for that, Singer!” Lanks looked up over the hands he’d clasped to his nose. His eyes glinted murderously. “Your own mother won’t recognize you once I’m through. And when I’m done, I’m going back to school to bloody up that smart-mouthed little friend of yours.”

Vendrey froze, stunned by the hatred in Lanks voice. Then he scowled. It was just like a bully to threaten a person who wasn’t even involved in their fight.

“You stay away from Aramin,” he demanded, jabbing a finger at his opponent. “He has nothing to do with this.”

Lanks grinned wickedly in the dark—an ugly sight with the blood running down his chin. He took a step forward, fists raised once again. “You got lucky last time, Singer. Don’t expect it to come so easy now. Corwin! Aster! Come on, you guys, let’s get ‘im!”

Vendrey shook his head as the four soldiers-in-training made their way towards him. All of them had the same cruel, stupid smile plastered on their faces.

“I told you that you couldn’t beat me in a fair fight,” he said softly, eyeing the bullies.

“And you were stupid enough to believe me when I said it would be one on one.” Lanks snorted. “Did you really think I was gonna show up alone? First rule of the soldier, Singer—win at any cost.”

“Not this time, Lanks.” Vendrey spun around and darted for the ladder, taking all the bullies by surprise with his sudden flight. Over his shoulder he yelled, “Rule number two, Lanks—live to fight another day!”

“Get him!” Lanks yelled.

Vendrey was halfway up the ladder by the time Lanks and his friends reached it. The lower eves of the tavern roof were still out of reach when the older boys grabbed the ladder and began shaking it violently back and forth, throwing Vendrey off balance.

“You’re not going anywhere!” Aster spat, jumping onto the ladder and climbing quickly to where Vendrey clung for dear life. He reached for the young Singer’s leg, and swore loudly when Vendrey kicked down, driving his heel into Aster’s ear. Stunned by the pain and grabbing his injured head with both hands, Aster tumbled backwards into the alley and Vendrey gained another two rungs.

“Oh no! Not a chance!” In a fit of rage, Lanks threw his entire weight against one side of the ladder and pushed hard. Vendrey was only able to utter a short yip of shock before the ladder slid sideways along the gutter and finally tipped over.

He landed with a thud on the hard ground, the breath knocked out of him, bright flashes of light dancing in front of his eyes. All too soon the lights faded, leaving him only the sight of Lanks and his small army, still between the mouth of alley and himself and walking steadily towards him.

Groaning with numerous aches from the fall, Vendrey dragged himself to his feet and faced his opponents. With a deep breath, he raised his fists as Lanks moved in. He’d been lucky enough to get off the first punch, now he just had to stay one step ahead of the big lug and his pals. Muttering a quick prayer to Fate, he steeled himself for a fight.

I got myself into this, he thought wryly, and if I can’t beat them with my fists, I’ll just have to think of a way out.

He stared at the approaching mass of muscle and groaned.

Oh, Fate, I’m going to die!

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Thursday, May 19, 2011

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