He set a quicker pace jogging upward than he had in his haphazard descent, falling into the rhythm of the movement. As such, he was only passingly late for the on-going lesson when he reached the dark marble archway of the Dueling Plateau, two additional flights of stairs up from the resting quarters.

“--very good, Aldrus. If you can knock a rival Draconian flat, square off your shoulders, reverse grip tight about the hilt, and deliver your finishing stroke through the heart. The blessed light of Dei’s Grace will flow through them and eradicate their bond to the great foe.”

Aldrus always relies on his strength, Tyrrick thought, watching for a few more moments before he stepped into the dimly lit hall and joined the other apprentices in the shadows. If anyone else realized he had been late, they did not speak aloud and risk interrupting their instructor. All eyes were focused upon the two tall figures under the narrow morning rays falling to the center of the chamber.

“Now, again. Steady your breathing... and draw!” The thin flash of silver at the dusky rider’s hip rose to meet against Aldrus’ heavier overhead swing, the teen almost a match for Kian’s height.

The force he could deliver with his sword drove Kian back two steps. Then the rider lifted his left hand while at the same time dropping down and back, his hind foot moving in a wide arc. His body turned, allowing Aldrus’ sword to skitter down the ruby blade. In a beat, Aldrus’ power had turned against him. He stepped forward, off balance, and Kian was free to grip him by the cloak and bring his sword up to the apprentice’s throat.

“And that exchange, Aldrus, is what I must pass on ere you may graduate to drakin. When overpowered, use that strength against the enemy and rob them of their weapon, then move to take their head.” Kian lowered and sheathed his sword, lending his hands to help extract the bent tip of the practice blade in the floor.

“Thank you, Instructor,” Aldrus murmured.

Kian offered him a gentle smile. “Now lift your head and tell me what you recognized of my movements. How did I catch your power and distribute it as I desired?”

Aldrus kept his hazel gaze upon the bent sword for several long moments. Then he looked up to Kian’s awaiting gray. “You took the force across your entire forearm initially,” he said, “and redirected down your shoulder, to your hips, legs. Let me feel confident in your retreat. I’ve never pushed you back two steps before.”

“Yes, just as we would expect of a Draconian looming over a disadvantaged Deiman, forcing the surrender of ground. Go on,” Kian said.

Aldrus exhaled. ”I thought I could knock you down. I wasn’t expecting the rapid surrender of your resistance. I lost my own footing, and you moved to capture my head.”

Kian clapped him over both shoulders. “Channel what you are feeling into the bond. Let your dragon absorb those echoes, that should you be forced into combat, Kaikha-rin can anticipate and support you. Now!” he turned away, gaze searching among the gathered children. ”Those who are closest to Aldrus’ skill, attempt to repeat these moves, first the heart-strike, and then to take the head. For those less physically inclined, we may turn toward the traditional lithe arts.”

Could I pull off that skittering side-step? Tyrrick tried to replay the movements, but it had happened so fast. He rolled his shoulder, finding the muscles still aggravated, and shook his head. Not today, at least. Moving off to pair with another boy closer to his size and age, Tyrrick focused on Instructor Kian as he led them through lighter footwork. Then they moved on to taking up their own practice blades and squaring off, a pair at a time in the light, each attempting to read the other’s footwork and breathing for the signs of an impending strike.

When Tyrrick stepped up across from Bryan, he grinned and lowered his head. The hilt felt loose in his two-handed grip. Bryan stared back, lowering his sword and shifting his weight from foot to foot. There! In mid-shift, Tyrrick lunged forward. He swung out low, aiming for Bryan’s wrists. The other boy reeled back, off balance, until he was able to plant his left foot solidly and turn his retreating momentum to his favor. He spun his sword around, crouched, and ducked beneath Tyrrick’s eager attack to wack him hard across the shins. Tyrrick’s momentum threw him over Bryan’s back, and he hit the floor hard, flat on his own back.

“Ow!”

“Eloquent as ever, Tyrrick,” Kian called over, “you are quick, lad, always have been, but we must imbue you with patience. There you are, back on your feet and with the others now. Solid recovery on your part Bryan, and that is a prime example of how to use your stature to your advantage against a charging foe you have no time to otherwise evade.”

Rubbing the back of his head with his free hand, Tyrrick hung his blade up on the wall with another grimace. I guess that’s another bruise for her to make fun of me over later. He reluctantly opened his mind to the bond, and faint warmth washed over his whole body. The pain eased to a mild buzz at the edges of his attention.

Yes, proud rider-to-be? She sent with an obvious yawn. Borrowing my protection already?

Oh shush. I just needed a little extra heat in this cold room.

Her satisfied hum echoed, and he knew she would give him no end of mockery when they laid down for the night. He shook his head and returned his attention to the instructor.

Kian had just declared another match over, almost as quickly as it had begun, and the remaining apprentices were dwindling to the last few. After that, the instructor clapped his hands and gave them all a warm smile. “I believe there was growth demonstrated among each of you today, whether small or large, and come next week we’ll see what has settled in. Some day, these lessons will see you true before the enemy. Now! Let us join Lord Fiore in the forges below.”

Together this time, everyone marched out and began to jog down the stairs, striking up conversations about the matches. Tyrrick hung back and kept to himself as he replayed how he could have taken Bryan with a little more speed. Just a beat quicker is all I would have needed to be inside of his guard, he thought. Which is better than last week, if only by a couple of moments.

As they passed the kitchen and descended into the belly of the mountain, Aldrus fell back to his side. “You’re dripping with sweat,” the tall apprentice stated.

Tyrrick blinked, and ran his left hand over his brow, coming away slick. The next moment he opened his attention to the bond, still active, and otherwise unnoticed for his expectations of the heat of the forges ahead. He felt the amusement in her thoughts as she sensed him. Yes, Tyrrick?

Are you deliberately feeding me your energy?

Did you not ask for warmth, my rider-to-be? As your partner, I would be remiss in leaving you to become chilled. And your thoughts about the match entertained me, getting so worked up over so simple a loss.

That she was partially correct was all the more galling in the moment. Get back to warming the nests instead of me, Agmentha!

As you wish, Tyrrick. The laughter was gone. He felt a brief flicker of uncertainty, perhaps something deeper, but then she had closed off her thoughts from him. And in the heat of the moment, that was fine with him. He clamped down on his own thoughts, and felt the sudden coolness of the halls. The bond was reduced to a faint connection, that pit in the bottom of his stomach. He took a hard, quick breath, and exhaled. Over and over. It took several moments until he had breathed out the worst of his frustration. He finally lifted his head to meet Aldrus’ concerned stare.

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“Are you well?” Aldrus asked.

“I will be, when she learns to behave,” he said. He shook his head and forced a grin, saying, “You’re really making strides against Instructor Kian now!”

Aldrus rolled his shoulders and sighed. “I’d have died if he was an enemy. Have to think about our moves for longer. Kaikha’s been in my head the whole day, too, pushing me to respond this way and that.”

“Dragons,” Tyrrick said, putting his best imitation of Instructor Lumas’ drawl to his voice. ”Surly, spoiled, mischievous menaces.”

Aldrus’ facade cracked, and he smiled. “Well, that riled him up. When you’re old enough, he wants us to cross blades in the sky. I swear, he’s too proud for our own good.”

“She’ll have to grow big enough to hold my weight,” Tyrrick agreed. “And you would cut me down to ribbons anyway.”

“I do have the advantage of height, I suppose,” Aldrus said. “It was tough luck against Bryan. I’ve told you to stop leaping ahead like that.”

Tyrrick huffed. “Bryan just got lucky again. I almost had him today!”

“Just like I almost had Instructor Kian?”

“Oh, fine. We both have room for improvement,” Tyrrick admitted. “Speaking of, have you gathered enough scales for your sanctified sword yet?”

Aldrus laughed once and shook his head. “Hah. Not even close. Kaikha refuses to surrender any that haven’t been lost in trials against the older draks, and I can only ask a Deiman to spar with us once in a month until I rise to drakin properly. I’ll be lucky just to forge my succession bracelets when that time comes.”

Tyrrick ran a hand through his hair, pausing on the opal band again. She was slow to offer any for this six months ago, he thought to himself. The other apprentices gave a collective sigh, steeling themselves, and both he and Aldrus turned their gazes ahead in time to feel the first hot breeze wash through the hall. And in the distance, the faint ring of metalwork followed. Already, they could hear Instructor Fiore’s booming voice calling out orders.

“Not much further,” Aldrus said. “Careful with how you handle the bond, Tyrrick. She’s as willful as you are.”

“I know, I know.” He shook his head.

”Do you though?” Aldrus gave him another smile, then jogged ahead as the next heatwave passed through the hall.

Before much longer they had arrived before a vast golden archway, and inside of the great, fiery chamber, lines of older apprentices took turns crafting basic equipment for the Order. Sprawled out at the back lay a huge golden dragon, tilting its head lazily to spew flames down the trenches where Instructor Fiore directed from his side. Tyrrick’s gaze took in the lack of wings-- or rather, the misshapen, scarred stumps where they should have begun to branch off. What a tragic loss, he thought.

“Lord Fiore, Agmeddo-kin, always a pleasure to enter your furnace,” Kian called ahead.

Fiore’s dark gaze swept over them for a moment from beneath his bushy brows. He offered his fellow Deiman a dry smile, stretching the assorted scars over his face, some shallow, others running completely though his cheeks to expose a tooth underneath. “Why, the pleasure is of course my own to host more of the next generation for a time,” he called back, and his gaze fell toward Aldrus and one or two other apprentices. “I expect excellent work from them one day.”

The gold dragon gave a racking cough that shook the floor under their feet, and lifted its head to scrape at the ceiling with four-foot long, curled horns. The parted teeth looked like a savage rictus grin as Agmeddo coughed again, and again, before at last settling down.

“I take it your partner is in agreement,” Kian said. “I’ll never quite understand how you taught him to laugh like we do.”

“What else can we do, bound to the earth all these years? The eastern wall is yours.” Fiore dismissed them with that, turning his attention back to the drakin. They had paused, taking a welcome few moments to rest, and Fiore was having none of that. “Holt, keep working at that helmet, not all of us have thick enough skulls to dent a Draconian’s sword!”

“As expected of the Lord of Flames,” Kian said, his expression wry. “Well, let us pick up from last week. Everyone, find your table and supplies. And as a reminder, don’t worry about the little imperfections. These practice blades are only to get your grasp of the steel, to feel out the flow of dragon’s breath. When the time is right, we’ll once again incorporate your dragon’s scales to harness Dei’s Grace, and by her will each blow will strike true.”

Tyrrick looked at the misshapen lump he had last hammered out. Which way was up again? He turned the maybe-dagger around, running a thumb over the surface. It wasn’t much, but he thought he recognized a little of the pattern he had aimed for the last time he stood here.

He dragged out his anvil and then his hammer. Then he slid on his thick leather glove, fully encapsulating his hand, took the lump in hand, and waited for his chance to dip into the slot in the trenches. When the dull gray was awash in creeping red, he lifted his glowing steel out and hurried over to his table to secure it.

He steadied his breathing first, remembering the instructor’s past directions. When the time was right, he took the hammer in hand and began to strike. Off and on, heat, strike, cool, repeat, for the remainder of the hour, he worked over his tool, and each step brought it just a little closer to something he could eventually call a proper blade.

He was the last student who Kian observed, and the instructor offered Tyrrick a smile and ruffled his hair. “You’re getting there. Not everyone is meant for the forges, outside of Dei’s guidance, but perhaps in two more sessions you’ll be able to wield this for our swordsmanship class.”

“Thank you, Instructor Kian,” he said. The rider moved along while Tyrrick took in his final effort for the day. Longer, and with blunted edges. At least it has edges now, he thought to himself. And I know which way is up and down. He knew better than to look over at Aldrus’ table, where the older apprentice would have produced yet another completed sword. He glanced over to Bryan’s, which was only a little closer to a finished weapon than his own. He shook his head and returned his attention to Kian.

“--there we are, another session coming to a close. However, I would like to provide a final effort ere we all march off to replenish our bond at mid-day feast,” he was saying. “Lord Fiore, if you wouldn’t mind assisting?”

Fiore paused in mid-order, turning to give his fellow Deiman a dry stare. “And what is it we may assist you with, Kian Corvos?”

Kian smiled brightly in return. “Why, the destruction of an old, mid-grade dagger of mine.” He motioned to a dark red sheath on the wall, one of several. “A relic from my own youth. Yet still imbued with Dei’s Grace, even after all of these years.”

“So you haven’t explained that degree of the bond?” Fiore’s bushy brows met. He looked over the apprentices, then back to Kian, and now he was grinning, a truly severe expression on such a scarred man. “Corvos, I would be delighted to pass along this lesson.”

“As I expected you would, Lord Fiore,” he said. He turned and spent a few moments staring over the collection. Then he nodded, picked up the third closest, and drew out a shimmering red dagger. He turned toward the students. “This one took me over a year to gather enough scales from Gundhra when I was only an apprentice two decades ago. When a weapon is made with your bond, it becomes an extension of the bond itself, a device to respond from your will as much as theirs.”

“And when that weapon is broken, the bond cries out in pain,” Fiore said. “Each of you will have to go through this ritual prior to advancement beyond the rank of a drakin. Learn to prepare yourself well and early. The Draconians know that to break a Deiman’s Coronacrux is to inflict an almost mortal blow, and protect themselves in turn from eternal death.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad,” Kian said, but his own smile looked rather forced to Tyrrick. “Now! I have taken the moments to prepare, and Gundhra has also withdrawn from my thoughts in preparation, easing back our tether to each other and each to this dagger. If you would be so kind, Agmeddo-kin?”

The golden dragon lifted his head and coughed again, laughing. Kian took one last deep breath. On the exhale he turned, and flung the blade end over end through the air. Agmeddo’s neck stretched forward, and a single bright blast of flame engulfed the weapon. Kian’s sword-arm tensed, his fingers clenching into a slow, tight fist. He hissed between his teeth. What little was left of the dagger hit the floor as a glowing globule of hissing scrap.

“And that,” Fiore said, “is an example of the pain even a fully trained and ready Deiman endures as a fraction of their connection with our lady is lost. Now imagine the agonies of your fully immersed Coronacrux being shattered in the heat of combat. Or caught in a nexagon’s breath.”

Why do we forge such double-edged weapons then, Tyrrick almost asked.

Kian straightened, turned to them, and answered the unsaid question. “Despite the risk we take, our sanctified swords grant us the means to also instantly disable, and slay our foes who have become too corrupt to redeem. Unlike these daggers, which hold a drop of light, the Coronacruxes are a captured river of grace waiting to be driven forward. Endless life can be put to rest at last, granted mercy. Peace. Yes, they are our foes, but once upon a time, they were also our brothers and sisters.

“With that, class is dismissed. My thanks, Lord Fiore, Agmeddo-kin.”

“The pleasure was mine, Kian Corvos.” Fiore returned to calling out directions, pushing the drakin.