There have been many that have professed to be my better. They were crushed by the weight of their false pride and my iron fist.

- Gilgamesh of Uruk.

Meditation, what useless nonsense. Clear your mind of extraneous thoughts? What use was there in pretending to be a rock? It was all mysticism and mumbo jumbo.

Instead, I delved deeply into the nature of my magic. My recollection of scattered bits and pieces of knowledge was clearer here, perhaps due to the very nature of this place—this realm of the subconscious.

Where there were gaps, I could infer. Where there was nothing, I could theorize. Like the philosophers of old, I applied rational thought to my current circumstances. This led me to the conclusion that I had been lied to. In this place, Fen was not, and could not be, the sole master. If it was a creation of the mind and soul, then I had as much control as anyone.

With this realization, I struggled against the constraints of this dream world, calling on my magic again and again. At first, it was just a trickle, the tiniest of echoes, but over time the connection grew stronger. There was a strain, a mental strain that I could not keep for too long that left me mentally exhausted as fought with the limits of the place. Days, weeks, months, or years, the flow of time was fluid here, passed between attempts. Practice with Fen was an exhausting proposition on its own and this added much strain to my already fraught mind. But it had become a project, a great work, and a mark of my rebellion. I had no choice but to divert whatever mental resource I had after contesting with Fen to its progress.

So, in time, not only could I use the dark energies, intrinsic yet alien to my being, but discovered new avenues for their application.

As with all things, it was a matter of time and meaningful practice.

Fen wanted me to forget part of who I was, but I would not tolerate that blatant attempt at deception. She would not find me so helpless for her next, and final, test.

“It is time,” came Fen’s voice, cutting me away from my deeper thoughts.

With deliberate slowness, I opened my eyes, taking in the raw reality of the dreamscape. How long had I been lost in thought? It could have been moments; it could have been years.

“It is time,” she repeated, glancing worriedly at the sky.

My eyes followed hers, looking upwards toward the heavens. The sky was cracking like winter ice kissed by spring’s first thaw, small rents running across the blue ceiling.

It seemed, in this at least, she was telling the truth. I knew my time here was coming to a close. An ending was approaching. About time too, I thought bitterly.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

I replied to Fen with nothing, for words could not improve upon the silence.

“Go into the house, picture what it is that you will need, and meet me outside,” the Weaponmaster stated in a voice heavy with ceremony. “You will need to choose wisely if you are to succeed.”

Out of deference to my teacher, I gave her a quick bow before I entered the house for the first time. Why did I never think of entering it before..? More mystical trickery no doubt. Wait had I stepped in before? But as soon as these inconsequential questions raised their heads, they soon fled from me.

Opening the wooden door, I crossed the threshold of the small dwelling, mentally envisioning the tools that would give me the best chance against the formidable Fen. There was a feeling of dislocation as I entered and my perception was shaken to its core.

Everything was off as if reality was slightly off-center and misaligned. Most different from all of my previous visits.

It was a shifting. Once my senses settled, I was greeted by a familiar sight of the rustic, almost spartan, interior of my teacher’s abode. The earthen walls were unadorned, the furniture wooden and of plain make. In contrast to the simple aesthetic of the room, there was a desk in the corner upon which lay a fine feathered quill and quality parchment.

The ‘realness’ of this place was now a paradox. It felt perhaps even more solid than the created world outside, yet at the same time I sensed that the flow of time here was different. A contrary duality of fast and slow.

Shaking my head, my eyes were drawn to a large heavy iron-banded chest at the foot of a straw bed. On the floor in front of the chest was a halberd, a weapon that I had thought of as counter to Fen’s superior skill.

It was a versatile weapon that was suitable for slashing, thrusting, tearing, and cutting. The halberd also had considerable reach, and though I was not much taller than Fen, I had to leverage what advantage I could.

Normally, being a two-handed weapon would mean that I would have to forgo the use of a shield. However, I had prepared a cunning surprise for Weaponmaster Fen Vaigorus. Deception and trickery were not solely within her purview. In this dance of steel and strategy, I intended to show her that she had no monopoly on guile.

With a grin forming on my face, I tried to rush forward but was limited to a sedate walk. Reality, for lack of better words, seemed thicker here. Kneeling by the weapon, I solemnly ran my fingers across its promised lethality, searching for flaws in its craftsmanship and finding none. It possessed enough weight and heft to smash an opponent down, armored or not. Satisfied, I set it aside momentarily to examine the contents of the large chest.

It opened with an ominous squeak of unoiled hinges, revealing items both familiar and unknown. My plate harness lay within, the battle spoils of the Grass Sea, and the wolfhead helm was a most welcome sight indeed.

Beside my armor was a practical, double-edged short sword sheathed in a black lacquered scabbard, and a slender dagger. As an afterthought, a brace of balanced throwing knives in a tough leather baldric completed the assortment of chosen weaponry.

The sword’s blade was straight and tapered to a triangular tip. It was, at a glance forty centimeters in length, and had a wide crossguard for catching blows. I tested its weight and balance, going through a few series of flourishes, and found that it was of a type that was both suitable for the cut and thrust of combat.

The dagger was a more simple affair. It had a very narrow blade for piercing mail and snaking through the weak points of armor. Added to this was a circular guard and pommel that would allow for greater grip, letting me hammer the point with greater force in close combat. The rondel made for a nice backup weapon.

However, a crossbow and a quiver full of iron bolts were conspicuously absent. I shrugged, accepting that their absence was simply part of the test's nature.

Thinking about it, a ranged weapon would probably be classified as cheating.

At least now I had an answer to one of my earlier riddles. I knew now how Fen had produced our practice gear.