“Tell me about your mother.”

The speaker was an elf, at least six foot, his bright grey eyes fixed on the girl before him. There was no judgement in his eyes as he leaned back in the wooden chair and took a deep breath of the cold air wafting through a nearby window. When he got no answer, he said,

“Your year is over, Belkai. Your voice is no longer forbidden.”

The girl looked up at him with green eyes that reflected her uncertainty. She swallowed nervously, then answered with a conviction that surprised him.

“I have no mother, Master Brimur.”

“The woman who gave birth to you,” Brimur prodded, not moving as he studied her. The response itself was not unexpected. “Tell me about her.”

“There is nothing to tell,” Belkai replied, absentmindedly brushing a strand of auburn hair off her face. “She left me and my father when I was six. I barely knew her when she decided to make a new life.”

“But you’re sixteen now,” the elf remarked. “Where is she now?”

“I never asked,” Belkai said honestly. “Nor do I wish to. She made her choice.”

“So you left your father.”

“I left behind a life of making leather,” Belkai shot back. “I never left him. We will stay in contact, now that I may.”

Brimur nodded, then looked out the window at the grey skies. He smiled as he turned back to her. “Your instructors say that you did well in your silent year. You learn quickly.”

“They are good teachers,” Belkai allowed. “And I did not break my oath.”

“No, you did not.” And that was impressive, Brimur had to admit. Of the fifteen who had joined the Order the previous year, nine had either broken their vows or simply left. That was a higher attrition rate than normal, though the toll was always high on those who endured. He sat forward and put his hands on the small table before them. “So tell me, Belkai, hopeful Child of the Wind, what do you think of the Order that you have joined?”

That was a hard question for her to answer. She bit her lip as she thought, only giving her answer after a few moments of silence. “It is…intriguing. Unexpected.”

“Explain.”

“We are not permitted to speak for a year, but we train. We learn. I expected an isolated year in contemplation.”

“And instead you laboured hard in utter silence.”

“On my part, yes.” Belkai smiled. “It was something of a relief.”

“It reveals a greater reality than what you would normally perceive,” Brimur said, and Belkai nodded.

“I have learned much.”

And she had exceeded most of her companions, Brimur knew, though he kept silent on that point. There were more tests to be faced, and they were best faced without too much ego. She would succeed, Brimur decided as he watched her. There was a rare determination there, whatever the source may be.

“Go in peace, Belkai,” he said, coming up to his feet. She did the same, and gave a short bow.

“Good day, Master.” She turned and walked out of the room, her scarlet dress blowing in the sudden gust of wind that came through the window. Belkai didn’t look back as the door swung shut, pausing only to enjoy the cold wind that came before the threatened storm. The compound was surrounded by high stone walls thick enough to withstand most siege engines, a holdover from when the Ikari orcs had waged war amongst themselves, before the Unification had brought a measure of tough peace to the war-ravaged land. The buildings were similarly built, though the Order had made them quite comfortable. It was a tough community, hardened and reflecting the nature of the orcs that they existed alongside, but it was also one that valued peace and pleasure in most of its forms.

Belkai followed the sound of shouting to an open, grassy area that was used for combat training. As she drew near, the clashing of steel began to sound above the yelling of the gathered crowd. She pushed her way through until she could see the contestants. Her eyes were instinctively drawn to the orc who served as their combat trainer. He was short for his kind, just shy of six foot, though his light green skin rippled with muscle. He wore nothing but a linen waist cloth as he braced himself, a single longsword held in his right hand. He snarled at his opponent, baring teeth that could crush human bone. His name was Arak, and he had been a fierce warrior in his youth. Now he enjoyed a quieter life that let him enjoy the large quantities of gold that Brimur provided him for his services.

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“Do you yield yet?” the orc growled, and a fleeting smile ran across his lips. His opponent, a young human whose name Belkai didn’t know, spat a glob of blood onto the ground and lifted his sword with both hands. He didn’t speak a word but launched forward and brought his blade down with all his might. Arak stepped to the side, kicked the man’s legs out from under him, then placed his blade against his throat once he’d landed on the ground.

“And we’re done,” Arak said softly. He stepped back and looked around at the gathered crowd. “Know your enemy. Don’t give in to emotion.”

He watched as his opponent slowly raised himself to his feet. He took the sword from him and slapped him on the shoulder. “Never face an orc head on, boy. The weakest of us can crush you. Use your head, find a weakness.”

Arak scanned the crowd, and his eyes rested on Belkai. He smiled and called out, “Belkai! Today your silence is ended, yes?”

“It has, Arak,” she confirmed, and unconsciously stepped backwards, held in place only by the crowd pressing her forward.

“It’s nice to hear your voice.” Arak laughed. “Now show me if your week of contemplation has made you forget what I taught you.”

Belkai felt ridiculous, stepping into the ring wearing clothes that wouldn’t stop a kitchen knife. Arak enjoyed tricks like this, forcing people out of their comfort zone to fight in the least convenient manner. It builds character, she thought as she walked over to the pile of weapons at the edge of the clearing. She had never been physically strong. While other fighters would grab axes or longswords to face Arak, she knew that she didn’t stand a chance in terms of brute strength. Use your head, his voice echoed in her mind. A sixteen-year-old couldn’t win against a full grown orc, not in face to face combat. She bent down and picked up two short daggers with weathered leather wrapped around the hilts. All the weapons were made of solid steel, but their edges were dulled; all the feel of real weapons, but the danger was limited to broken bones at worst. She rose back up, her hands hanging at her side.

“You always did prefer the daggers,” Arak said with a nod. “It suits you.”

They began to circle each other as the orc kept speaking, raising his voice to teach everyone gathered. “Daggers keep you light on your feet. That’s your best defence against a larger opponent. If you can’t beat them head on, you keep moving, and find the right moment to strike.”

“And what if your opponent is simply old?” Belkai asked, and Arak laughed.

“Ah, the silent one has a sense of humour!” he called out. “I should have guessed.”

There was no warning. Belkai had the slightest sense of a shift in Arak’s mind, then his body exploded into action. He leapt forward, his blade sweeping towards her chest. There was no time to do anything but spin to the side and take a few steps back. She hadn’t even brought her daggers up when Arak turned and thrust the sword forward. Belkai stepped back again, just avoiding the point as it stopped where her throat had been.

“Why did Harlow lose, Belkai?” Arak asked, pulling his blade back and standing still. She kept moving, slowly making her way around the circle without taking her eyes off him.

“You’re stronger than him,” she answered, her voice steady despite her growing nervousness.

“No, he lost because he acted on emotion, not a sound mind.” Arak pointed at her with his sword, tracking her every step. “Find my weakness, Belkai. Exploit it, and you will win. Even a troll can be killed with a spoon if you use it right.”

Belkai ducked under another swing, slashing with her dagger to parry the blow. The orc readied himself for another strike, and Belkai took a deep breath. She couldn’t win by force of arms, but she’d been taught other, more arcane, methods of fighting as well. With her eyes locked on Arak’s sword hand, she let her mind go silent as she let her senses reach out to him. She felt his heartbeat, still steady and calm, listened to his lungs as he breathed, felt his legs stiffen as he prepared his next strike. There. As he stepped forward, she locked his knees, and he came crashing to the ground. She leapt forward to deliver the final blow, but he seized her arm, threw her to the dirt, and put the tip of his sword against her left eye.

“That was a dirty trick, Belkai,” he growled, then helped her to her feet. “But that is the point, no?”

Belkai returned her daggers to the weapons pile before answering. “We were taught to have all things in harmony. You never banned the use of magic in the fights.”

“Nor did I encourage it,” Arak replied, returning his own sword before crossing his arms. “Most are willing to learn how to truly fight without such aid.”

“A sixteen-year-old does not win against an orc,” Belkai replied. She looked around at the crowd and smiled. “One must level the playing field.”

“Indeed you must.” Arak nodded, then turned away from her. “Lesson’s over, everyone. You’re dismissed.”

He looked to Belkai. “The speech ceremony is tonight. You have some cleaning up to do, thanks to me. You’ve done well, child.”

As she walked away, Brimur appeared beside him.

“I like her attitude,” the orc said before the master of the Order could speak. “She will do well.”

“There is anger there,” Brimur pointed out. “She needs to learn to harness it.”

Arak threw his sword onto the weapons pile before dragging a chest over. “I’ll beat it out of her. I always do. Then I’ll build her back up.”

Brimur nodded but his mind was already on the next observation. “She will go far, this Belkai. But there is the possibility of great darkness as well.”

Arak straightened and turned away from the weapons that he was about to pack away. He watched as Belkai spoke to one of her newfound friends for the first time. “We all have that possibility, Brimur. The point is learning to channel it.”

“Her pilgrimage is tonight.”

Arak grunted. “She will make it. It’s been many seasons since I met this strong a candidate.”

Brimur smiled and slapped his shoulder. “Then we’ll have our work cut out for us, Arak. It’ll be a long journey for her.”