I stared at myself in the toilet mirror, examining a gash Tolvast had carved into my belly during our last sparring session, and noticed my abs coming through after a mere three weeks of school. Dunhill's ways were beyond brutal.
"Sam!" Garrick called. "Hurry it up, we're gonna be late."
"Hang on," I hollered back. "Almost done."
It was hard to imagine how much my life had changed in the span of a few weeks. My mornings had once consisted of cleaning and preparing gardening tools. Now they were a muscle-breaking campaign. Three sets of a hundred push-ups, a nine-mile hike, another five-hundred sit-ups, and, of course, the popular ice bath. But my nights, instead of alone in front of my fireplace, were shared with friends over enough food and drinks to last a lifetime.
Tristan's back was to the class when we snuck into the room ten minutes late and crept to our seats.
"The Great Fire of New York in 1776 was caused by a blightmane, set loose by a supporter of the revolutionaries. The Order was able to dispose of both without too great a risk, but the chaos the fire spread was out of their grasp. It didn't end well for the British in 1783." The man turned around, and his eyes fell on the dwarf and me. "Ah, Sam. Garrick, glad you decided to join us!" His voice was fraught with sarcasm. "Tell me, what does the fire teach us?"
The dwarf grinned. "Not everything can be averted."
He had his smart moments.
Tristan feigned a smile. "Right you are. When prevention fails, containment becomes second and last."
*****
Though Dunhill's class was referred to as combat training, he didn't allow us any practice in the field. His foremost concern was with our bodies. By the end of the second semester he wanted us all as fit and agile as himself.
Then came his simulated missions: search and rescue, find and destroy, hunting and gathering. Even rugby and capture the flag, which were supposed to teach us teamwork.
We stood atop the shortest of a family of hills, endless drops of water pouring from the heavens and down upon our sore arms and chests, soaking our clothes and reaching into our undergarments.
"Assignment's simple as always," the professor said. "Groups of three. Find the flag, win the game. Use anything you deem necessary to outsmart your opponents. Just don't kill each other. We'll save that part for later."
It was our fourth time playing the game and our first with Abe as captain. We'd gone with the dwarf, the half-breed, and myself since the introduction of the sport – to the dislike of both Gwyneth and Grisara. The women then seduced Tolvast onto their team and went on to win the second game. Cold vengeance.
We, on the other hand, hadn't managed a single win. The first loss was due to Garrick's disregard of Abe's ability, the second due to my inability to lead, and the third we blamed on overconfidence. Harley, Bogin and Murgol, a trio of two humans and a dwarf, had grown dramatically in skill over the course of the weeks, and succeeded in outwitting us the last game – after we'd gotten rid of all the other teams for them.
We were allowed to use any means toward winning: laying traps, hiding and waiting it out, or even light violence. The trio had lured each of the teams into a war-zone, forcing upon us all the choice to either run or engage. And being as stubborn as we all were, keen on proving our worth, every team decided on the latter whilst the schemers slipped out of the chaos and secured the flag.
"I've a plan," Abe whispered.
"Spill," said Garrick.
"We use Bogin's trick against them," he said. "Sam, you track Gwyneth's team and lure them to Attinger's Grove. Garrick, you do the same with Bogin's."
"We're gonna pit them against each other?"
"They're our main concern, aren't they?"
The dwarf smirked. "Clever boy."
Dunhill blew his whistle and the teams scattered out into the murky forest at the base of the hill. But as we prepared to enter, the teacher held out his hand, gesturing for us to wait.
Garrick hid a growl.
"The half-breed's your captain?" Dunhill asked.
"Yes, sir," I said, glimpsing the Dwarf. Over the past weeks it had become clear the professor held a grudge against Abe. It wasn't exactly personal, he seemed to simply hold a grievance against anything alien to his world. At times his distaste extended even to Garrick and myself, and we'd yet to give him the satisfaction of our annoyance.
Abe gazed up at the burly man. "Is something wrong?"
"There is," he answered, his tone serene. "Your kind. Your kind isn't allowed to lead. Not in my class, not anywhere. Appoint another captain or you're disqualified."
I felt my chin to make sure my jaw hadn't literally dropped. The sheer audacity! Had he lost it?
I half-laughed. "What?"
"Half-breeds don't belong in our world," the man said, again calm as a Buddhist monk. "You're tools – instruments of disaster, children of whores and thieves."
"Oi! You shut yer fuckin' mouth, lad!" Garrick barked, stomping.
"How can you say that?" I nearly yelped. "Dale's the same as him."
"The Warbear's a cheat," the man chuckled. "You be careful not to take after him."
My skin warmed, veins throbbing on my forehead. Every inch of my fist wanted to hit his smug face a mile away.
Abe gritted his teeth. "Take it back."
"Or what?" the man dared the boy.
Abe's irises lit up a destructive red, the white of his eyes darkening to a stormy gray, while the skin around his sockets tore itself open like resurfacing battle scars, revealing a layer of rock underneath his flesh. The boy was burning with rage, the fingers of his stone hand grinding into a fist.
"You strike me," the man warned, unsheathing a knife from his belt. "And I'll take your heart."
In the blink of an eye, the world around us had gone sour. Abe wasn't going to back down – his boiling point had been met – and neither was the professor. His hatred stemmed from somewhere deep and dark and never forgotten.
I winked on mynightgaze and readied myself for combat. I knew Abe was more than enough in terms of strength, but Dunhill stood a veteran warrior, his mind and body forged to outlive superhuman odds. I wasn't about to lose a friend, even if it meant I had to run from the Order for the rest of my life. I'd never had anything remotely close to what both Abe and Garrick had become, and not one of them was going to be taken away from me.
I glanced at the dwarf, who in the direness of the moment seemed to be the only one aware of the consequences. Then, for the second time since I'd met him, the dwarf did something entirely against my expectations.
"Sorry, lad," he said, and with a quick flick of his hand struck Abe on the back of his head. The boy fell unconscious in his arms. "Guess we're disqualified then." The dwarf raised Abe over his shoulder and moved back toward the castle.
I gazed in awe a moment longer before dismissing my fangs and following him. Dunhill remained where he was, sheathed his knife like nothing had ever happened, and turned his attention to the sounds of the game.
Abe awoke half an hour later in our dorm room, fists locked and up his feet in an instant.
"Relax," Garrick said.
"Why'd you stop me?" the boy snapped.
The dwarf met his hard stare. "I'm sorry I just saved yer ass."
"I could've handled him!" Abe punched through the wood of his bedpost, hurling a shower of splinters over Grisara's sheets.
"And then what? You'd be marked a traitor, and us along with you. Dunhill's a highly respected veteran. This side of him ... it's not exactly known. Our word against his legacy equals nothing but death."
"He isn't wrong," I noted.
"Next time, think," he said to me. "Prevention, remember?"
Abe exhaled a long sigh. "Yeah. Thanks, I suppose," he whispered, and slumped down.
"No problem, lad," the dwarf smirked. "That's what I'm here for!"
*****
I wanted to tell Tristan what had happened, or Francesca, but Garrick had advised against it. It would've only caused more trouble, and Abe would've suffered most of it. Even if they'd believed us, and our skittish classmates sided with our story, they'd be cutting loose a rabid dog. Who was to say he wouldn't hunt Abe out of spite, or Garrick, or me?
So, instead of sharing my concerns, I sat beside Grisara and took in two hours of Francesca's mumbling about Valgroth's history.
"And that's why we've preserved prince Attinger's Grove," she said, ending the class. Time had never flown faster.
The following day we decided to skip the entirety of school and went for a hike instead, sloping up the coarse rock of Finstow's Trail, a less frequented road to Garamond's top. It was named after the second eldest of Golgrun's princes, a path he'd wandered one too many times to pray to his gods.
The air dried up the higher we ascended, cold gusts billowing our thick coats and Abe's long blond hair as we sprang onto the plateau of the mountain's left spire. The land below us stretched out before our eyes like God's Monopoly board, the western waters crashing up the cliffs on our right and Ireland in all her bliss to our left.
I gazed over the murky forest where we'd almost killed our professor, or almost tried to, and found among the green trees a patch of orange and red: Attinger's Grove. Two miles further was the Altrui'in lake, and to its immediate right Valedore's wreckage, a ship that was long ago hauled onto the land in an attempt to salvage its treasures. It had stayed an attempt forevermore, its rotten wood a reminder of the Dwarves' blinding greed.
Besides the castle of Golgrun right beneath us, Valgroth didn't hold much more of anything. It was barren for the most part, the ideal environment for a school training politicians and warriors. No distractions.
"We'll get in trouble for this," Abe remarked, his eyes wide on the world. They each had their own color again. I wondered if he could see through the dark of night when his eyes burned like they had the day before. I could with my nightgaze, a feat I'd been denying myself at school. It felt like cheating, being able of doing something no one else around me could.
"Worth it," Garrick smiled.
We stayed atop the world for hours, talking and laughing, forgetting our responsibilities. It wasn't until the sun sank below the horizon that we called it a day and returned to our quarters.
*****
"Have you guys lost it?" Grisara woofed. "Francesca's furious!"
"Woman!" Garrick smirked, and struck a proud fist to his chest. "That is not how you address men!"
Abe and I burst into laughter.
"Idiot." Gwyneth tossed her pillow at the dwarf.
Sure enough, Francesca awaited us the next morning on our way to training. "You three..." She pointed. "With me." I think it was safe to say, for all three of us, that we were rather faced with punishment than with Dunhill.
Abe had never met his father. He was born in the wilds of Angola to a white woman, both estranged from humanity and their abusive ways. She taught him everything he knew about the world, Men – the history they'd forgotten, and the oldlings. For nine years, she'd been his reason to live, to eat and drink, to breathe. She was his entire universe. Until one day nature claimed her as she does with us all, and he was left alone in a world that didn't seem right anymore.
Dunhill had called his mother a whore. Abe's veins still boiled with rage. We could feel it in the air around him.
"Where are ye takin' us?" the dwarf asked. We'd embarked down a flight of curly stairs, the smell of dust and old furniture leading us into a hall lined with dated armchairs.
"You'll see," the woman said.
There were portraits on the walls, eerie sketches of men and woman of all ages and races. They didn't spook me as they did the half-breed, even when their eyes seemed to follow our steps. What possible threat could they have posed? Suddenly I realized what Tristan had meant: wargs are impervious to nonsensical fear.
The hallway opened wide into a gargantuan, spherical chamber – a library with a sea of books locked onto their shelves all the way up to the vaulted ceiling.
Garrick chuckled. "Ye gonna bore us to death?"
Francesca strolled beneath a chandelier in the shape of an upside-down tree, caressing the wood of a table posed in the center of the chamber. She scowled.
"Insubordination is not tolerated in this school."
I avoided her gaze. "We know, Professor."
"And still you went out of your way to skip class!" Then with a little less spice:"Might there be a reason?"
If only she knew ... which she didn't, and we couldn't tell her. We each bit our tongue and kept our thoughts private.
"I thought so," she said.
"What's our punishment?" the dwarf asked – politely, to my surprise.
"I want each one of you to write an essay on blightmanes. You have till sunset. The light..." She pointed to the tree. "Will go out at dusk and lock the main door. If you aren't done by then, you spend the night with the portraits." She sneered. "I wouldn't if I were you."
Garrick couldn't resist. "What's so scary 'bout 'em?"
The woman smirked. "You'll see."
It wasn't as hard asI'd thought it'd be. The library had books on virtually every subject that came to mind. Breath of the Blight ... Flamesof the Norwegian Demon ... Strength of the Undeserving. We were done before supper.
From what we'd gathered, blightmanes were severely vile creatures. The beasts have much in common with feline predators: four-legged, furred, and deadly agile. But where the more renowned lions and tigers are acknowledged as treasures of Eden, the blightmane's considered a spawn from the Abyss. Striding about in the body of a giant cat, the creature carries two heads – both identical to a smilodon's, graced with a broader bottom jaw. And as if those weren't enough, they additionally possess the unique talent of producing a venomous fire from their double-barreled tail.
The goblins hunted them for their industrial endeavors, abusing the beasts' inimitable flames to power their factories.
*****
"What d'you think the portraits do?" Garrick asked, bits of bread flinging from his lips onto his beard.
I shrugged.
"They were looking at us," Abe said. "Their eyes following our every move."
Gwyneth smiled, as though reminding herself of her bedtime tales. "It's an old story. They say the paintings of Golgrun are possessed with the restless souls of the princes' wives, and that at midnight they wander the castle's dungeons in search of a willing man – a man whose love is unshared. But the men that succumb to their pleas are forever trapped with them, and during the day their eyes follow the living, begging for a way out."
"That's actually kinda sad," I said.
Abe and Garrick kept silent, gulped down their drink and mumbled almost simultaneously: "That bitch!"
*****
We avoided Dunhill as much as we could during training. And when we failed we obeyed his instructions, heeded his warnings, and drowned out his heart warming suggestions. He didn't seem to mind at all that we became less and less involved, and neither did we. We'd instead begun to teach each other our strengths, Garrick explaining and – enjoying –demonstrating the easiest and quickest ways to grapple and floor an opponent, as well as the trick to wielding both heavy and light axes, while Abe taught us an unorthodox form of kung fu, JeetKune Do, and Pencak silat.
I shared both the simplicities of moving as quick and weightless as a fox, as well as the art of melding with any shadow large enough to take advantage of – the only two things I really excelled at.
*****
Two more weeks passed, and I started to wonder if Dale had forgotten about me. I eased my mind into thinking that it didn't matter, that I'd gotten into Golgrun because of him and that it posed more than enough of an opportunity. But it didn't kill the growing disappointment.
Not in the slightest.
The boys and I were perched atop the edge of a cliff overlooking the western waters, the crashing waves enthralling our ears. Gwyneth and Grisara sat behind us, wary of the steep drop-off.
Classes had fallen to repetition with the autumn exams just around the corner, and the students were anxious with the sudden freedom to prepare. We weren't much of an exception.
"You guys heard of Dunhill's exam?" Gwyneth asked.
"Not that I can say."
Garrick chuckled. "The ol' chap's finally got somethin' creative?"
Abe's eyes were lost over the sea. He'd proven himself an academic genius, having passed both Tristan and Francesca's pre-exam tests. He couldn't care less about Dunhill. Pass or fail, it wouldn't affect him. To move on to the next semester, we needed only two of the three – much like the trials.
"I wouldn't call it original," Grisara said. "Just bloody difficult."
"He's allowing us to take his test in our regular groups," Gwyneth said, and I could feel Abe peering at her from beside me.
"Why?" I asked. "The exam's a game of capture the flag?"
"Yeah," she said. "But not against each other. He's going to stand as our challenger."
The dwarf tensed. "Ye've got to be joking me!" We both knew a second confrontation between Abe and the professor wouldn't end well. Yet the news didn't seem to alarm the boy. He returned his eyes upon the sea, to all the wonders below the vast, known depths.
*****
The nineteenth of October, 2012 was a Friday I'd not soon forget. It was the day I turned seventeen, but also the day we were scheduled to have Dunhill's exam. The first of the semester.
"Hey..." Garrick nudged me in the early morning, the rest of our bunk-mates still deep asleep. "I've never really liked the words on me tongue, but uhm... happy birthday, lad." The dwarf reached into his back pocket and brought out a canned Heineken beer. "To dwarves, nineteen is the year of adulthood," he said with a smile. "But seventeen the year of our first beer!"
I didn't know what to say. I couldn't tell him that I'd been familiar with alcohol since the age of fourteen, and neither could I express the bliss I felt without waking the others. In the end, I jumped out from under the blankets and wrapped my arms around the dwarf in a tight hug.
"Woah!" he yelped. "That's not the manly thing to do!"
Breakfast was silent. A hard, uncomfortable silence. The women sat with Tolvast discussing strategies and ways to motivate the best out of each other. As did the rest in their own groups.
Garrick broke our loud thoughts. "Abe..."
"I know," he said. "I can't promise you anything. If he comes at me–"
"Then he gets the full load." The dwarf astonished us both, but there was doubt in his voice. "I've been thinking about it. Something feels off. Like this exam is..."
"To get to you," I said, and recalled what Tristan said on the day of the trials: accidents happen.
"We'll be all alone out there in the woods. No other eyes or ears," Garrick said. "He'll treat each and every student as actual invaders. He'll go all out. And by the end of the day he'll have over two dozen men and women saying it wasn't his fault, that we knew what we signed up for. The risks ... the consequences ... it's what I'd do."
"Or ... we're over-thinking this."
As much as I wanted to believe it, I didn't.
"Let's hope so," Abe sighed. "It's kinda nice not to have to hunt for food every day."
We all smiled at that.
*****
To the relief of many, the forest was dry. And trust me, it mattered more than you might think. With wet leaves and soft earth you leave behind more tracks than you can hide, you slip and fall more easily, and running for your life demands almost twice the normal effort. Now we at least didn't have the forest fighting us, just a trained killer on our heels.
Dunhill looked his same petulant self, nothing out of the ordinary aside from a longsword on his back and two daggers on either of his thighs. He didn't speak to any of us, didn't give any warming introduction or an explanation of the rules. He gestured to the front group, at Harley, Bogin, and Murgol, presented them with blunt swords and nodded to the forest opening. Fifteen minutes later, the man jogged after them and turned left at the fourth tree where the group had gone right.
Garrick stared through the pile of weapons left to pick from. "I don't like swords."
"They're light," I said. "We'll land more blows with these than with axes."
Abe glared through the trees, trying to see anything. Tolvast slouched beside the boy, and Grisara and Gwyneth came up to stand next to us in front of the heap.
Gwyneth spat between her feet. "I hate waiting."
"You hate everything," Grisara remarked.
"I hope we're last," Tolvast said. "When he's worn and weak."
Gwyneth glanced at the goblin. "I pray we're next. When he hasn't seen through every bloody strategy imaginable."
"Careful what you wish for."
Abe rose, his gaze locked on Harley and Bogin stumbling back from beyond the shadows of the forest. Murgol wasn't far behind, his clothes torn and his arms and legs bruised. Bogin was bleeding from the side of his face, his feet punctured with red thorns, and Harley was limping after him with a boot missing and a broken nose.
Dunhill didn't follow.
"Gris," Murgol called, his face twisting in pain. "Your turn."
The young mother turned pale with fright.
"Come on." Gwyneth grabbed her by the shoulders. "We got this. Remember what I told you, aim for the knees and waist. I'll deal with whatever else he'll throw at us. Tolvast, you scout on ahead and find that flag."
"You've told me a hundred times already!" the goblin moaned, reluctant to stand.
They were afraid. They reeked of it. And who could blame them. We'd all expected the professor to perform at the best of his ability, but I don't think any of us knew what that had meant precisely.
"Never saw 'im coming," Harley mumbled.
"He took me out first," Bogin said. "Then he knocked out Harley and went for Murg."
Murgol stared at Harley's toes. "It was a disaster. We didn't even come close to the flag."
It hurt just looking at them.
"Let's hope the girls fare better." Garrick watched Tolvast take the lead as both women swerved eastward.
"Yeah," I whispered, wishing the professor would at least hold back against them. But he wouldn't. Men and women were equal. That's the first thing they'd drilled into our heads.
*****
Grisara's cheeks and neck were bruised, her thighs cut and her shins purple and bleeding. Gwyneth's left arm was broken, her top shredded over her bra, and Tolvast ... well, the goblin sat traumatized beside Abe – physically unharmed with the top of the flag still between his teeth.
The women had managed to keep Dunhill at bay long enough for the goblin to find the flag – at a heavy cost. The women were exhausted, panting like whales on dry land. Their injuries were severe. Even with the help o fthe healers, it would take time to mend.
Of the seven groups we would witness undergo the exam, only the women passed. Frankly, they'd been the only team with the balls to confront the professor head on, denying him the chance to hunt them down. And that's exactly what we weren't going to do. We were going to hide and crawl like the rest – hell, do it better than them. Anything to keep us from a direct confrontation.
"It's starting to look like you were right," Abe whispered to the dwarf. I feared the idea, thought I was gonna panic when I heard the inevitable truth. But in the end I remained calm, my mind ever sound and trying to figure a way out of the unavoidable.
"Accidents happen," I said, repeating after Tristan, and then it hit me like a fart in the rain. "It counts both ways."
Garrick frowned. "What?"
"All we've been thinking about is him trying to kill us," I said. "But if we kill him it's an accident all the same. I say we go out there and look for the flag, do anything to evade 'im. But ... if he does get to us, and we see the murder in his eyes. We kill him. We don't hold back, we don't hesitate, we don't fear the consequences. We put him right in his place."
I guess the sudden change in my voice told them I wasn't joking around. They didn'treply, not one snarky comment. They kept their lips sealed and pondered the idea.
"That's all we can do, really," the dwarf decided. "Whatever the odds, a warg's a warg, eh!"
"I can't ask you to do this," Abe said. "It's me he wants, and I can take him."
Garrick slapped his thigh. "Sure you can, lad. But we're there just in case. We're brothers, remember?"
The boy smirked, big as we hadn't seen in days.
"Garrick," a pale boy –Robert – called, the only human in the seventh group. "You're up."
We threw each other a final look, sprang to our feet and wandered to the outskirts of the forest, casting aside the feeble pillars upholding our morals before tightening the grip around our swords and stepping onto the gamefield.
The irony in it all was that Dale had actually believed I would be safest in school.