Tales Of Grimea (25 page)

When he was sure that the two were alright,
Maester Seymore went over to get a bucket of water. It was snowing
then, and so Sung gasped immediately and began to shiver when the
bucket’s contents were promptly dumped onto his face. “Dear
merciful Odin!” he shouted, then looked around with his arms around
his knees. “Oh, oh Odin, my mouth hurts.” The boy spat, and two
objects fell out. Maester Seymore laughed.

“Exactly right,” he called out to Glint,
putting his thumb and index finger together. In spite of himself
the youth laughed, and even Flait chuckled. Their teacher then
healed Sung, although he spent the least amount of time on him due
to the boy’s already remarkable healing abilities. Glint didn’t
doubt he’d have two new teeth by the time morning came. Reminded of
the time, he glanced upwards, craning his neck to see the sky, for
Mount Ash encased their guild from three sides, with castle walls
shielding the last. It was a natural defense from both enemies and
blizzards. The sun was naturally still almost fixed in place, but
had moved a little to the east. Around seven thirty, then. Maester
Seymore rushed his students to complete their fighting rounds, but
Glint’s group didn’t encounter any delays, for neither Sung nor
Flait were able to put up a fight in the format Glint had endured
and conquered. He played a supporting part in both fights, allowing
each to have a leading role. Against Sung Glint delayed the boy
enough for Flait to leap in and restrain the Shönian and did
something similar with the green eyed man, although Sung was able
to surprise the three by demonstrating the drawbacks of Flait’s
armor. Sung’s lightning seemed to go right through and the man fell
almost immediately with a cry.

With their sparring session over, the
students were healed up yet again by their teacher, who proceeded
to give a few general pointers about positioning and using your
strengths to their fullest. “Being an all-rounder is great,” he
said, “But if you see a weapon and it fits your hand, by Sklaver, I
say grab the bugger by the throat and don’t let go.” The students
laughed, but knew the lesson would prove invaluable one day. With
that, the class was dismissed and made their way towards the
castle’s front, where many of the dorms and classes were situated.
Behind the inner keep, second and third circle warriors slept, ate
and worked.

Glint and his two companions were joined by
another man, this one older and grizzled. “Boys,” he greeted them
in a measured tone, and the company parted to allow him place in
their midst. Serk Olafson was a man who excelled in theories, and
although he’d shared Quicksilver after his prime, wisdom seemed to
be his constant companion and made up for the man’s fifty something
years. He touched a finger to his nose, looking at Sung. “Just like
I told you, no?” he inquired. The boy gave Glint a nervous grin. “I
asked him for a few tips on fighting you. That’s why it went so
well in the beginning. But mister Olafson was right: I just can’t’
get around you with speed. I don’t get it. Would you be able to
take him?” The question was directed at Serk, who looked at Glint
thoughtfully.

“I can’t be rightfully sure,” he answered
finally. “Young Glint Stryger is rather talented, and I’m almost
certain he’s trained with someone at least on par with higher
rankers of the second circle, one on one at that. I’m good with my
head, but I don’t know if I’m that good.” At that Glint shuddered,
for he hadn’t told anyone very much about Azrael. The only one in
Quicksilver who knew that the man hid far more than he let on was
Quicksilver’s Lord Alfjötr, and even
he
didn’t know that
Azrael was an unchained. However, it didn’t seem like the
thoughtful old man had figured that one out, and so Glint let his
ever present curiosity get the better of him. “How would you try
it?” he asked, and a smile appeared on the old man’s face. Too
late, Glint realized that a bit of aggression had entered his voice
and kicked himself mentally.

“Ah, youth,” said Serk, showing Glint his
balding head. “What I’d do to start over and come here instead of
Wraith’s Face. Wasted years trying to become a psion and they never
gave me my money back, you know. I might have been teaching you now
if it weren’t for that.” The warrior thought the prospect of Serk
teaching them was entirely pleasant, but knew the coal eyed man
counted the mental strength he’d gained in his old guild as an
integral part of him. He probably hadn’t even asked for his money.
The unassuming blue wrapped around his ring finger shone bright. “I
can’t say what my method would have been,” the man reasoned, “but
I’m sure at some point it will have to be displayed. It’s only luck
that’s stood between us two sparring before.”

As they went towards their dorm, Glint
thought to himself that the first rankers around him retained much
of their fight, although he was lauded as the top of his peers.
Despite his shy nature, the youth burned with the desire to fight,
and knew he wasn’t going to spend much time with them. Perhaps it
was some stroke of luck that had him join Quicksilver a year before
the first circle’s ascension exam to the second. Perhaps that luck
was by design, orchestrated by a raven haired man.

There was one hallway that lead to the inner
court from Quicksilver’s first circle dorms, and one that lead away
towards the second building, where most of the actual work
happened. Glint thought about these as he put his green tapard on,
for members were instructed to keep the expensive fabric out of
harm’s way and so removed it when training. “Sung,” Glint said.
“Quicksilver is pretty focused on teaching new members, huh?”

The thinner warrior thought about it for a
second as they stepped atop expensive carpeting lined with golden
colored borders. The ground beneath it, peeking for a few feet off
the walls from each side, was of planks polished a deep brown.
These particular walls were of wood themselves, a lighter shade of
brown, and Glint knew the opposing hall after the inner court would
be the same, snaking all the way towards the master’s office. Glint
snickered, for he’d remembered Alfjoetr Christon looking comical
sitting at a table with a quill barely larger than his thumb the
one time Glint had been taken to him shortly after arriving at the
guild. Sung gave him a confused look, then said, “Yeah, I suppose
it is. What’s got your brain there and not on Felicia Lekk?” Glint,
startled, looked on ahead where, sure enough, Felicia was working
hard on a strut, keeping a confidant gaze straight ahead whilst
swinging her hips back and forth seductively. Glint shuddered, then
gave Sung a look that must have said a thousand words, for his
friend laughed. “Alright, alright, I just felt sorry for the girl.
You know how hard she tries.”

“She thinks her body and face are all she
needs in this world. I wouldn’t touch her with a stick.” In fact,
He’d told Marie about Felicia’s attention seeking fascination with
him on his last visit, and his mother may as well have been a fury,
the way the gingery haired woman exploded. For a second he thought
she was going to strike him, but he’d assured his Normal mother
that he didn’t want anything to do with the lass, but also that he
wouldn’t be hurtful.

Thus Glint felt doubly bad when Sung winced,
whispering, “Ouch! I mean, I agree with you, but that would hurt to
hear. Every life’s a road, and people are shoes, so I’m sure
there’s a road she fits on perfectly. Let’s just say we hope she
finds someone who appreciates the way she is or a better yet, a
change of heart.”

“You’re right,” relented Glint, seeing
Felicia walk off with her perfect ponytail, nice clothes, make up
on a face that could have been sculpted and a body right out of
someone’s fantasy. He hoped she’d give up soon, at least before he
ended up having a sparring match against the dark headed girl with
armor in her studded earrings. He appreciated Sung’s eccentric
accommodation for everybody else, for it was the opposite of
Emilia.
Who isn’t really my type, but is probably a better
person now than Felicia would ever be. She’d probably set her in
her place.
“Anyways. I was thinking about how they put our
building out front. Obviously, it makes sense to put the important
things in the back in case someone attacks, but it’s also so that
the young ones get to fight next to the older guild members, right?
They should get ready at about the same time.”

“Huh, yeah, that’s true,” said Sung, but
then looked towards Flait and Serk. The older man said nothing,
gesturing towards his companion with the bird’s nest for hair. For
a while he said nothing, then ventured with, “Symbol?”

“Rather good. I’m sure the founders wanted
to make sure that the forefront of our guild lies in youth,” The
man chuckled at that, “But I heard they also wanted to show a
symbol of strength. You haven’t seen yet because we’re often
training when it happens, but delegates from other guilds, councils
and nobles come here often enough. They have to make their way
through our hallowed corridors, lined with armors and likenesses of
honored members. Then they witness our training in the court as
they go through lavish surroundings before heading in and meeting
Lords Aje, Luke, or the titan himself. It’s a symbol for us not to
forget the young, true, but the founders’ choice serves as
intimidation too.”

For a while everyone within earshot admired
the walls, floor, trophies and massive chandeliers with new eyes.
Then Sung joked, “Like Flait said, symbol.” They all laughed at
that. Then suddenly a bell tolled, and everyone froze, tense. The
corridor they stood in was filled with guild members, and all of
them stood in attention, one and all. Lord Luke, second in command
of the guild, stood there as well, although he started to smile.
The man had long ears, almost pointy in their nature, as well as
blonde hair with fringes that framed delicate features. Far up high
the bell tolled, having been fashioned from the armor of Dresula
Stormweilder, a founder of the guild who had been called a boulder
of a woman. It almost sang, once of warning and another of victory,
struck as it was with the hammer of Dresula’s sister, Ursula, whom
many said was a beauty to be envied. When the bell was struck
thrice, everyone’s breath stopped… then so did the tolling, and all
the members moved at once. The students, of course, ran towards the
Iron Door. There was a crowd already waiting, for three tolls
announced the return of Quicksilver’s master, Alfjoetr Christon.
Glint didn’t move towards the front of the crowd.

Alfjoetr was a behemoth of a man. Wearing
Greybear fur as a vest, trousers cut at the knee, many would think
he were insane when considering the cold of mount Ash. However, the
man shrugged it off, and it seemed every step he took shook the
ground beneath him. “Is that him?” asked a young boy next to Glint,
and the warrior answered, “Yeah, that’s the titan alright,” with a
mixture of pride and distate. He didn’t enjoy seeing the giant with
the bead sprouting shaggy hair very much, for a drunken Alfjoetr
had beaten him quite severely almost three years ago. Even the mark
Glint had left when pulling out a handful off the man’s beard was
perfectly healed.

Alfjoetr was surrounded by guild members
faster than one could sneeze, all asking about his trip and
offering to take things for him. “Bahahaha,” came his mountain
slide of a laugh, “No gifts this time. Here, boy, carry this bag.
And you take this!” despite being able to carry enormous weight,
the man had apparently split his pack into many smaller bags, which
he began handing to volunteers before cackling with delight and
gazing up at the bell. “Greet ye, Dresula!” he shouted, and those
around needed to cover his ears. Glint wondered that the man didn’t
rip his throat with his own voice. “Now, before I go to rest, let’s
get the rituals over with. Who here seeks to clasp arms?”

At once, guild members all about made way,
forcing everyone backwards so that a square arena was formed. This
was the moment Glint had waited for, and his heart beat fast.
Suddenly he breathed, and it settled. This was a time for a fight,
and there was no need for shyness. The sky above, cloudy and grim
as it was, seemed to approve, for the sun sent a beam towards the
warrior as his hand was raised. He’d fought Alfjoetr once before,
and wanted to see how he’d improved. Glint’s bracers sent thunder
into his heart, and he felt ready. All around, guild members in red
and blue and green tapards stood solemn as four hands shot up. He
was the only one of the first circle. Besides him, the others were
Maester Seymore Jambe, another Maester Glint didn’t recognize, and
lord Luke. The titan’s laugh rumbled across the front courtyard
again, and he walked, the ring moving, until one wall was just
before the steps leading to Quicksilver’s castle door. This was to
his left, and Glint was part of the crowd directly before the man.
Alfjoetr grinned. “Four! And one brave soul from the first. I
applaud ye, child. What be yo- oh,” the man interrupted himself
with a snort a boar would have been proud of. “It’s you. Very well,
child. Get your armor ready.”

Naturally, those that hadn’t seen Glint
raise his arm now gasped. It was borderline blasphemy for one in
the first circle to fight their guild master. It simply wasn’t
done, and in many other guilds a similar match up would never be
allowed. Booes began to resound, and Glint’s determination wavered.
This wasn’t what he’d bargained for. However, there was no other
chance to fight Alfjoetr again, and there was no better test to see
how far he’d come. Glint stayed in place, knowing that he needed to
climb ranks as fast as possible for his own goals and those of
Azrael, and knowing that he was willing to accept punishment if it
came to that. The sound climbed in volume until they were almost
chanting at him, and Glint could feel their negativity keenly on
his very skin.