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Chapter Thirty-One: Irresponsible
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2024-10-29 19:42:56Stratin’s cry ebbed like a dying siren. It did not cut off abruptly as most do on the onset of unconsciousness. No. It drained gently, dissipating as the light in Kilvic’s hand. It would dim to nothing more than a sob, then there will be silence, then there will be nothing but simple breaths. Kilvic saw himself looking forward to it. At least, if anything, it would bring silence. And silence was always the best state to work with; it enhanced concentration. Surprisingly Moss was as quiet as the evening breeze. The boy almost seemed accepting of some kind of twisted fate, though Kilvic spared him no attention. His curiosity of Stratin’s ability to come back from this lurked at the back of his mind, like shadows at the edge of a dying light. It was something they would find out once the boy woke. Ariadne... Kilvic looked up at an unconscious Stratin seated back against the hostel’s wall… will not like this.
Kilvic returned his at
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Stratin had begun sweating sometime in the last five minutes so much so that he was beginning to soak his bed. Five minutes and Kilvic had still been unable to come to a conclusion. He had pondered on as many possibilities as he could. All the while Moss sat with his head in his hands. His shirt was now as dry as could be and some vestige of himself was returning. But the guilt still remained in him, evident in the constant slump in his shoulders and refusal to make eye contact. If only he was more useful. Kilvic found himself missing Jarax’s company. If he’d been here an answer would’ve been born a while ago.He didn’t need to touch Stratin to know he was running a temperature. A fever had long since conquered the boy, if not, then its conquest was long on the way. It was only a matter of time before they would need to take him to the infirmary to save his life, and put themselves in trouble. It would be a blight on the academic record Kilvic was dete
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A few days later Stratin regained full control of his faculties. He awoke a few minutes after Kilvic had broken the link with his light. For the sake of secrecy, Kilvic kept his silence when he woke. He asked Stratin nothing of the pure light. He asked him nothing of what he’d done or why he’d done it. He told him nothing of what had been done to keep his life here, fixed in his body. He said nothing on the subject.In the early days after his recovery, classes were a special kind of ordeal. Stratin’s way with the sword delved head first into the realm of sloppiness. His moves contained all the determination but lacked all the precision. His body, it proved, no longer listened to him as it should. He suffered for it. Grunald had never seemed more displeased at anyone before, and he voiced it in as many harsh and disappointed words as he knew.Haru’s class was were Stratin’s suffering grew. He failed at executing every form. Each blow direc
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What the magecrafters had done was quite clever. The word they had inscribed, Hirot ne inshi, was truly ancient. It was so ancient that its language was so old it was one of the very few the outworlders shared with the human history. Both, at some point in history, had spoken it. It was a word that trailed its way to the eastern parts of the world. The word itself was older than the continent upon which the kingdom stood. The bird, long extinct form this world was very much like its name. If the books were to be believed, it was a truly large bird, its size rivaling that of a whale. Rare as it was to see even in its predominant era, it was said an army was required to end the life of one. Like its name, it was known for its characteristic of refusing to die. Simply explained, it was a creature that required death be visited upon it twice. A lesson learned only after the extinction of a kingdom.After death, the Hirot ne inshi was known to regress to a state
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“What brings you here, Master Rudric?”For the third time in a space of two seconds Kilvic wondered at how much he wished to offer in this negotiation without Deidrich’s presence. It was not that he doubted the headmaster capable of understanding the severity of the situation, he simply doubted the man knew how to appreciate it. The man was the brains, at one time he might have also been the muscle, considering his history. But he was the brains now, and the brain only saw in statistics, numbers, and secondary information. The curse of growth, Kilvic thought. He wondered if his mother’s subjects thought of his grandfather in the same way. It made his thought stumble. For a moment he thought to discard his assumption of the headmaster, but logic knew it for what it was: bias. And logic has always, if not most often, been the best guide in the absence of his instructors.“Master Rudric?”Kilvic realized he’d remai
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It was late into the evening, well past Grunald’s training with the sword, well past dinner, when Kilvic stumbled his way through the hostel door. It was a testament to how often the headmaster had visitors. It was also a testament to how long the headmaster stayed in his office. While it had been well in the early hours of the evening before he’d gained enough control over his body to drag himself away from the headmaster’s door and out of the administrative building, it was still quite late. And not once had a single person walked by.The day had been darkened considerably when he’d come into view of open space where he could be seen by any, stumbling and staggering like a child intoxicated by the wrong type of wine stolen from his parent’s cellar. The door received him passively. The living room he stumbled into received him warmly. The testy heat from the fire blazing in the fire place was a kind contrast to the cold outside. Winter was near.
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“So let me get this right. You’re useless now.”Stratin physically cowed under the weight of the words. There was a mild hesitation before he nodded. Useless might have been a strong word but it was not very far from the truth. In simplicity, it was a good enough synonym.Hordriv sighed in mild defeat. “So we’re a man down then,” he finished.Vivlac walked up beside him. “It’s not like there’s no hope, though. I heard the boy is quite good with a sword among his set. His magic might be… stuttering, but I’m sure his skills haven’t been affected.” He glanced at Stratin for confirmation. When Stratin didn’t meet his gaze, his countenance fell. “Fuck.”“Yeah, fuck’s right,” Moss agreed. “Even his unarmed combat’s been off.”“Then he won’t be a combat mage,” Gyra said without inflection. He walked into th
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“Same as last year.” Lacra made a grunting sound like gravels scraping. She coughed, turned her head to the side, and spat out a blob of blood stained spittle. “Same as last fucking year.”She was seated on the sand. Her tattered clothes did not leave much for imaginations, but the necessary parts were covered and she cast the perfect look of a warrior from battle. Gyra and Kilvic stood in front of her. Around them the others were beginning to rise groggily. It had been roughly fifteen minutes since Lacra had surrendered and Kilvic noted her injuries were gone, completely healed. He turned his head to Fyodan where he stood, the first to come to his feet. Behind him the crack in the arena wall was also gone. Healing or reconstructive, he wondered. They did not have an arena like this in castle Grey. They did not have an arena that fixed itself… or those within it.Its effects were slow, but each of the students were comin
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Moss said nothing for a moment, and Kilvic continued to stare out at the arena, at their hall mates training. Lacra remained powerful, her attacks brutal. But Gyra remained standing, bracing against her charges, casting aside spells where he would, evading where he would. The boy was powerful for one his age.When Moss spoke he sounded more confused than irate. “It’s how you say these things with a straight face that’s creepy. I don’t know if you are angry, bored or worried. Which is it?”Kilvic thought about it briefly. It was a logical question. Why had he said it when he hadn’t needed to? Moss had given him a piece of advice, and he’d given one in return. Was it the reference to the magi that had spurred him to speak. Yes, the magi were what mages were called in the older times when they had engaged in combat from a distance. They were mages who had failed once their opponents engaged them in the melee, something very simila
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“Did we win?” Stratin broke the silence that enveloped the arena, voice panting. “Did we?”Kilvic spared him a solitary glance. Did it matter? There had been four of them against one of her. Though victory should be taken in whatever form it came, this was a victory he cared nothing for. If your life was truly at stake you would. Kilvic almost frowned at his own thought. It was right. Still…He sighed. “Yes, we won.”As if released from a spell, Stratin slumped to the ground in relief.Ahead of them Fyodan approached. Behind them, Moss lumbered along damaged bones no doubt mending themselves. The amount of reia required to create, and operate such an arena needed to be greatly vast. Here, unlike the arena used for the winter hall fest, death was not circumvented. But a vast room that could heal wounds on the scale of even broken bones in mere minutes was powerful… too powerful.&ld
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Ariadne was staring.“He talks in your minds?” she said, again, in disgust. “How do you allow that.”“He’s strong,” Stratin offered mildly. “I couldn’t shake him.”Moss shrugged. “Me neither.”To Moss, she replied, “Any oaf with half a brain could see that. You have the will power of a dead fish, Moss.” She turned her attention to Kilvic. “And you?”“He had something to say.” Kilvic thought about it, then changed his answer. “I thought he had something to say. But he was also helping me spar.”Ariadne raised a brow. “How?”“Pointing out my weaknesses. Showing me where I should’ve capitalized.”“Moss could help you with that. Heck, Lacra would be more than happy if Gyra refuses.”“Gyra has offered,” Stratin pointed out.Ariadne turned to him. &
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Kilvic staggered backwards, his body held incline into a fall. His feet were the only things that kept him up. Counting away in multiple minute steps, they kept him up, kept him from the fall as he pushed away, increasing the distance. The deadman’s walk came easier to him now. Of all the moves they were taught, it came the easiest, the simplest. Perhaps it was his favorite now. Perhaps not. It definitely kept him away from the pain. After three breaths he staggered into position, returned into a defensive form.Naralayn had done much to remain his sparring partner, but ever since Stratin had proved more sufficient it had become harder for the young noble to choose him for a partner. Naralayn did not cease in his attempts though, until their instructor determined having Naralayn as a sparring partner was not good for the young noble’s development. So, today, Kilvic found Sharmin as his sparring partner. And Sharmin was an easier opponent to survive agains
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Outside, the arena remained its cacophony of training, students panting with the exaggerated stress of those who’d worked themselves. But Vilan did not pant, and neither did Gyra. Vilan sat in the sand, knees pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped around them, and face bowed in hiding. Around him reia worked. Unrefined lumps of sand the size of an adult’s head hovered about him, four orbs—if they could be called such. And before the boy, hidden from his view, a staff trembled in the sand. Kilvic paused to watch all this, ignoring Gyra’s noted attention on him.Ariadne stopped beside him, turned her attention to what had his, and sucked in a sharp breath. “Four links,” she gasped. Kilvic was not certain if she was impressed or underwhelmed.Seven, Kilvic corrected mentally. Barely perceptible, two clusters of air hovered, struggling to maintain their new nature. Ariadne had not counted the boy’s link to the staff either,
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“Same as last year.” Lacra made a grunting sound like gravels scraping. She coughed, turned her head to the side, and spat out a blob of blood stained spittle. “Same as last fucking year.”She was seated on the sand. Her tattered clothes did not leave much for imaginations, but the necessary parts were covered and she cast the perfect look of a warrior from battle. Gyra and Kilvic stood in front of her. Around them the others were beginning to rise groggily. It had been roughly fifteen minutes since Lacra had surrendered and Kilvic noted her injuries were gone, completely healed. He turned his head to Fyodan where he stood, the first to come to his feet. Behind him the crack in the arena wall was also gone. Healing or reconstructive, he wondered. They did not have an arena like this in castle Grey. They did not have an arena that fixed itself… or those within it.Its effects were slow, but each of the students were comin
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Everything happened quickly. The boys and girls roared into each other. It was not the skirmish of the non-mages. There was no physical clashing involved. This was a skirmish for those who trained to become great mages in the future. A few fists were thrown, but most of all, spells came flying, and the ambient reia was disturbed as if by the fury of a crashing wave.Trudi was all smiles as she sent spells flying, simple incantations after the other. Unlike the boys, the girls seemed to possess a chosen strategy. Some bought time for the spellcasters, dispensing physical oppression upon the boys. Lacra moved like a force to be reckoned with. Her steps were quick, carrying her across the arena in short bursts. She was everywhere she needed to be to support her team when they needed it. A fist here and there, forcing a boy or the other into defense where they’d been going for offense.Moss forced his way into the enemy, a battering ram in his form, arms crossed over
