Chapter 22
After Scholar Khari’s class, Arcane Guild had a scheduled break for the midday meal, but they were meant to be at the training grounds, dressed in full training regalia—and neither Audra nor Wilder had brought their training contraptions with them.
They barely had enough time to hustle to their dorm room, squeeze into the outfits, and race across the grounds to the far courtyard. Neither wanted to find out what punishment awaited should they be late.
They ran, skidding to a stop when they reached the practice field, Audra wiping beads of sweat from her brow and breathing hard from the exertion, Wilder without a hair out of place and breathing as evenly as if she’d casually strolled across the extensive grounds to get here.
A female whose muscled form looked to be carved from granite stood at the front of the field, a mix of black sand, mud, and clay, her scarred hands fisted on either hip as she surveyed the initiates lining up in her sparring yard. A disdainful sneer twisted her otherwise lovely features.
According to the schedule, this must be Commander Renwick, combat training specialist.
Audra and Wilder hurried to find a place in line. Students were still running to the grounds, finding their own places. Audra tucked away a relieved smile that she wasn’t the last initiate to arrive.
Finally, all forty-eight Arcane initiates were present.
Despite the cold tinge to the breeze, Audra could already scent the boy next to her. Tall, lanky, thick hair pulled into a bun on the crown of his head, and smelly. He clearly wasn’t used to running either.
Still, Commander Renwick made them wait.
Audra’s back began to ache from standing so still in the cold, and her teeth began to chatter uncontrollably. She’d sweat running across the campus, and now, she was paying for it, as the breeze snaked in and around the training outfit, determined to locate and freeze every ounce of moisture.
Then, Audra froze in place, every muscle in her body going rigid, and not from the cold.
Vrenn had just stepped out from within one of three small buildings on the edge of the field.
Audra’s lip curled in disgust, watching as he took his place beside Commander Renwick, twirling a sword. Audra didn’t have to be at the front to know it held a wolf’s head on the pommel.
Commander Renwick and Vrenn exchanged a quick, warm greeting.
Audra had spent the last few weeks searching for this male in every face, and now, finally, here he was. Smugly standing at the front of the initiates, gazing upon them with barely suppressed disdain.
Gods, please don’t let him be Renwick.
But Audra relaxed a smidgen with relief when the female introduced herself as Commander Renwick, Vrenn as captain and second-in-command. Her voice was loud and deep, carrying over the wind with ease.
“In your other classes, you will sit on your asses, safe and cozy within lecture halls as you learn about what it means to be a Zenaidan. Your scholars will show you charts and graphs, pointing on maps where ancient battles took place.” Commander Renwick paced as she walked, as though she shared the same violent energy as Vrenn.
“You might commit their dates and generals to memory, impressing them into your minds for the next test.” She paused, pacing near a rack of weapons.
“But, learning about battles from books—and training for them—are two entirely different matters.”
She pulled a wooden staff from a large bin beside her and began to stomp through the lines of initiates, using her staff to push and prod them until they were lined up in straight rows, no longer unruly, play versions of straight lines.
“Though, don’t underestimate the variety of ways you will be expected to train.
In this class, there will be assigned reading materials.
And I do expect you to study every important battle over the last ten cycles.
Our wins. Our losses. Learn what went wrong and what decisions our commanders made to steer the battles in our favor.
That will be on your own time, though. While you are on my training field, I expect you to bring one thing … and one thing only.”
Audra had the sudden sensation that she was a unit with her fellow initiates, a small part of a bigger whole.
Almost like when she marched and protested with the Nightlys and townsfolk of Salt Hollow, except she chose to be there, knew her cause was righteous, and, in doing so, made her voice heard.
Now, she felt lost as a drop of water, made invisible in a pool.
Commander Renwick reached the front of the field once more, now surveying the initiates in straight, orderly rows.
“Captain Vrenn,” she said, addressing her second, “what might that one thing be?”
Vrenn grinned, a slick, violent thing. Audra felt her fellow initiates react to the sight of it.
His cruel voice lashed across the field. “The ability to withstand pain.”
Audra clenched her teeth together. Pain?
She already had a paper due on the timelines of each cycle for history, forty incras to memorize for incramancy, and now she was supposed to read even more books and willingly be in pain for combat training? She still had two more classes to attend this day.
Vrenn was a male of few words today, because Commander Renwick nodded approvingly and continued with her welcome speech.
“If you leave my field without every muscle singing, you aren’t working hard enough.
If I see anyone putting in less than absolute effort …
your sparring partner will be Captain Vrenn, here, and he won’t go easy on you just because you’re mostly human or inexperienced.
In this semester, you will be trained in the art of war games, combat tactics, weaponry, as well as fighting with scribed weapons. ”
He wouldn’t go easy on them? He was fae … stronger, faster, clearly skilled and capable in the art of death. One punch from him would shatter a cheekbone, break a femur.
“I know what you’re thinking … I can see it in your self-pity-filled faces.
You’re thinking that you’re human. That we are stronger than you.
That this isn’t fair. Well, guess who is stronger than most fae during the winter cycle?
The weakest of all demons. Winter is when they’re the most powerful …
and when we are at our most vulnerable. And they won’t just break your bones, they’ll devour them … while you’re still alive.”
Commander Renwick blew out a long breath. “Enough talk, let’s begin. I need two volunteers with previous combat experience.”
Audra widened her eyes when she saw Wilder’s arm shoot up. Commander Renwick seemed demented as a demon herself. There was no way Audra would volunteer for anything in this class. But she wasn’t the only one putting their lives on the line.
“Six of you? Out of this whole guild? You’d better hope the Heir is discovered soon, or this entire platoon is going to be a feast for the demons.
” She pointed. “You and you, come up front and state your names.” She pointed at Wilder and a man with short, braided locs tied in a neat ponytail at the nape of his neck.
At Commander Renwick’s urging, they stated their names once they reached the front.
The initiate revealed his name as Nepthys Avara.
Nepthys towered over Wilder; his muscles looked to be carved from the same granite as Commander Renwick’s.
Since sparring was part of this class, she suddenly hoped even more that Scholar Khari wouldn’t make them wait too long to cast incras. Audra would need to master a healing incra quickly.
“Now, I’m going to scribe a simple illusion incra on Wilder here.
I’m going to transform her into a demon.
All demons are shape-shifters, but this is the shape many prefer, and likely what you will see on the battlefield.
” Commander Renwick addressed Wilder. “Initiate, stay still, this illusion won’t last for long, but it may be disorienting at first.”
Wilder tensed her jaw but nodded firmly.
Commander Renwick pulled a charcoal pencil from her pocket and drew an incra on Wilder’s training outfit.
The incra was too small for Audra to make out.
In tandem with the rest of the class, Audra leaned forward and then quickly took a step back, though at least she didn’t scream like some, as Wilder changed, expanded.
Her short, manicured fingernails blackened, lengthened, turning into razor-sharp claws.
Her lovely, strong jaw widened, elongating.
Her fine white teeth lengthened, yellowing with stains until they were as long as daggers and sharp enough to bite through bone.
She stood, a grotesque creature, her eyes dancing with alarm, hulking at eight feet tall, her skin now the color of hematite.
She was mind-numbingly terrifying.
“This is what you will be fighting. Demons with a lust for blood and the physical prowess to see that they satiate their craving.”
Someone toward the back began to cry, great heaving sobs.
Vrenn’s face contorted with rage. “Who is that crying? Tears on a battlefield are a great way to be targeted by the enemy—and to give away your platoon’s position!”
The cries quieted but didn’t entirely stop.
“Nepthys, be a dear and throw Wilder to the ground, without cutting yourself to ribbons on her claws,” said Commander Renwick.
Nepthys swallowed, but for his worth, he didn’t hesitate.
Planting his boots into the earth, taking the space of a breath to survey his opponent, then he lunged at the demon’s …
Wilder’s … middle. With a grunt, he flung one leg between hers, hooked it on her ankle, and pulled, using his weight to counterbalance hers.
If all had gone to plan—if he had been up against a human opponent like he was used to—he would’ve flipped her to the ground. As it was, Wilder didn’t budge.
Commander Renwick nodded, as if that had gone just as she thought it would, but she didn’t sneer or belittle Nepthys. “Thank you, Nepthys. You may return to the ranks.”
He nodded once and slipped back in among the initiates.
“In this shape, they have a lower center of gravity, and this one, as you can see, has massive feet, making it difficult to knock off-balance. Your best bet is to sever an artery or stab one of their three hearts.” Commander Renwick pointed out where their hearts and most vital arteries were located.
“Because they have three hearts, their circulatory system pumps at an alarming rate—a nick at this artery”—she pointed to the one on the inside of a scaled thigh—“will have them bleeding out in fifteen seconds. A dead demon is one less vermin we must worry about. Aim here if you can.”
“But what about their scales?” someone asked, their voice wavering with fear.
Commander Renwick glanced away, her expression suddenly shifty. “A dagger with a well-scribed incra will slice through their scales without any resistance.”
Audra pressed her lips into a thin line. Something about that didn’t sound right. Why wouldn’t the demon wear armor, then … with their own incras? Unless they couldn’t scribe their own? Were Veridian fae the only magical beings to cast incras?
She raised her hand to ask this, but was ignored, as they were separated into groups and instructed to practice aiming for the hearts and arteries on straw practice dummies. Audra stayed clear of Vrenn, who stalked the grounds, periodically correcting initiates’ form.
As she hacked at a dummy with a dull practice dagger, Audra’s hands began to shake so badly, she dropped the weapon. She squatted down, her breathing heavy, jagged, and uneven.
She was drowning in all that she did not know, all that she had yet to learn. She watched Wilder, still at the front, as a few trainees attempted, unsuccessfully, to upend her.
The illusion of a demon … It was so terrifying, so absolutely wrong to witness with her own eyes.
And this, if the fae were to be believed, would be who they fought if they didn’t graduate top of the class?
This horrific, twisted, wrong creature that supposedly wanted nothing more than to taste their fucking bones.
There was no way in Death’s promised slumber that Audra would be fighting any of them, let alone an army.
Promises of wealth and assimilation into Zenaidan high society were fine and well, but nothing more than seeing that creature in the flesh instilled in her that she needed to be at the top of the fucking class. She wouldn’t leave this to chance.
She picked up the dagger, adjusting her grip to the way they’d been shown. She slashed at the painted area on the dummy. Again. And again, her teeth clenched painfully, her arm singing with the ache of using muscles she’d never used before.
She would gain every bit of knowledge they offered; she would soak it in like a toddler learning to speak, and then … whatever knowledge they kept from her, because that would be the most beneficial, she would find a way to acquire that too.
She would dig and scrape and claw her way too it if she had to.
And if that meant viewing most of her fellow initiates as competition? She angled the knife, aiming it with precision, so that when she lunged, it severed the practice dummy’s leg from its body. Then, so be it.