Year: 3045 AGD
Month: Midwinter
First Thirdday
Death’s Edge Forest
East of Verge
“Sir, I just saw two Dracairei head into the village,” Elandria reported. Her heart was beating fast, not only from the run through the forest, but also the sighting of two Dracair assassins so close to their hiding spot.
“Za’erath and Za’kereth will have to be on their own for now, I doubt they will risk coming back out here once they realize that the assassins are in town.” Sergeant Mcdowell cursed quietly. “I want everyone on full alert. Nothing enters or leaves Verge without my knowing about it. We can’t let those two sneak up on us or we’re dead.”
“Sir…” Corporal Jameson started, moving away from the tree he had been standing next to. His body fell face first into the middle of the group, blood oozing out of several puncture wounds.
The camp became a scene of chaos. Trenton roared a challenge, turning to face the forest where the attack had come from. His form began to ripple as he poured power into his limbs, increasing his potency in combat. Rundig threw a dagger in the Half-Ogre’s direction, knocking away another dagger that had been heading straight for the giant Mage's head.
Elandria nocked an arrow, wishing that she had her other bow out for what was about to ensue. The first thing she did was look above them, and sure enough she saw movement in the canopy.
“Above us as well,” she said, more calmly than she felt. There were several forms moving around the trees. If they were all Dracairei, there was little chance of them coming out of this alive.
“Alright boys,” Mcdowell said, readying his axes. “If you don’t take at least one of them with you, I’m going to take it as a personal affront.”
“Bah, I’m not going down without at least two of ‘em tasting my blades first,” Rundig said, standing up holding some of the daggers that had flown through the air. “Poison,” he spat, holding out the blade, a light coating along its edge.
Crossbows twanged from above them, and everyone but Rundig dove for cover. The stout Dwarf growled as a small bolt clanged off his helmet. He threw the poisoned dagger in the direction that the bolt had come from, and a moment later a hiss resounded through the trees above. Whether the dagger found its mark or had just been too close for comfort they didn’t know, but either way they didn’t have time to worry about now.
On the ground, three figures emerged from the shadows with daggers in each hand. Elandria realized that they faced at least a half dozen Dracairei now, and for the first time in a long time she knew true fear. She drew her bow back and fired at the closest of the three. He moved so fast that he seemed to melt around the arrow, but at this range it wasn’t quite fast enough, and the arrow caught the outside of the assassin’s left arm, leaving a deep gash.
Trenton was now in the fight, his massive form rushing towards one of the Dracairei. Elandria noticed a bolt sticking out of his shoulder and winced. Surely the bolt had some insidious concoction on it that would slowly work its way through the giant man’s system. Then again, they might all be dead by the time it affected him enough to do any harm, anyway.
The Half-Ogre slammed into the assassin that he had chosen as his target, the impact making most of the group stop and watch. Eyes wide open, the Dracairei was obviously surprised by the speed with which the Half-Ogre had moved; it was the last mistake he would make. Trenton ripped the assassin in half and threw the top half into the canopy above, striking one of the assassins above and causing him to lose his perch.
Two more bolts slammed into the Half-Ogre’s back from the canopy a moment before another assassin fell from above, one of Elandria’s arrows sticking out of his chest. Rundig and Sergeant Mcdowell were each engaged with an assassin. Mcdowell was holding his own, dodging most of the assassin’s strikes, the battle a blur of motion. Rundig, however, was being a little more direct, as was his style, letting his heavy armor deflect the majority of his opponent’s attacks.
The foliage around them came alive and began attempting to grab the assassins, holding them in place. Elandria saw Warren’s cloak at the edge of her vision heading towards Trenton. She exhaled a sigh of relief; with any luck the Druid would be able to escape, and if they were extremely lucky he might be able to take Trenton with him.
She was just lining up a shot on the last assassin in the trees when a painful fire erupted in her right arm. Her arm fell, causing her shot to release too soon. Rolling forward she turned around and tried to draw another arrow to shoot whoever had just attacked her. When she reached for her quiver she felt nothing. Looking down Elandria realized that her right arm had been severed from her shoulder.
The Dracairei contemptuously stepped over her severed arm as he stalked towards her. Barely managing to get her bow up in time, she blocked the first strike of the assassin’s blade. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rundig dive into the assassin he was fighting, burying the blade deep into his opponent’s chest. The assassin in front of her came at her again, and she backed away, dodging one blade while knocking the other wide.
Over the shoulder of her assailant, she saw Mcdowell get stabbed in the chest by the Dracairei he had been fighting. The veteran Dwarf spat in the assassin’s eye, head-butted him and then put all of his energy into a wide arc, decapitating his opponent. She felt a moment of hope as her dauntless Sergeant turned towards her axe poised to throw at the Dracairei attacking her. Unfortunately, he had used up all of his strength in that final blow, and his axe fell numbly from his unresponsive fingers.
Their eyes locked. I’m sorry, his eyes said as his body pitched forward, betraying its master's will.
Her eyes began to mist and she knew that the next attack from the Dracairei would be her last. That attack never came. As Elandria looked at her assailant, he smiled at her a moment before she felt a painful blow to the back of her head.
Elandria woke with a start, and pain lanced through her head. It took a moment for her vision to clear, and as she looked around she realized she had no idea where she was. Faint light filtered in from a window in the corner of the ramshackle building, giving her surroundings an ethereal feel. The walls around her seemed to be made of some sort of dull gray clay, and the room smelled of moldy vegetables.
She tried to sit up and remembered that she no longer had a right arm. Tears threatened to burst forth, but she tamped them down. There was always time to cry later. For now, she needed to find out where she was and who else was alive, if anyone. Using her body and her left arm, she managed to get into a sitting position.
Someone had put her on a cot in the corner of a cellar. Whoever had done that had also shackled her feet together. She managed to stand and take several tiny steps, giving her a better view of her surroundings. An old carpet was hung several feet away, dividing the room and obscuring her view. It looked like it had once been a work of art, but the swirling patterns of red, green, and gold had turned to brown, gray, and yellow.
She slowly made her way across to the battered carpet, and as she reached up to pull it aside she heard a loud, familiar snort. Pulling the carpet back she revealed the sleeping form of Rundig. The Dwarf did not look good at all. He had bandages around most of his body, and his skin was a pallid gray. Across the room was an old, wooden door that had been freshly reinforced.
“Oye lass, yer a sight for sore eyes,” Rundig said, his voice barely audible.
“Rundig, you crazy old bastard,” Elandria replied. “Where’s your armor?”
“Ach!” Rundig looked like he was going to try to spit and then thought better of it. “Those crazy lizard suckers took it. Took three of the little sprites to take me down, though.” His eyes gleamed proudly. “I ran one of them through before everyone fell, and another of ‘em isn’t going to be walking very well until he can find a proper healer.”
“Do you know happened to Warren and Trenton?”
“Last I knew, some of those Dracairei were trying to hunt them down, but Warren is in his element. If he managed to grab Trenton, they are probably safe. There are worse things in that forest for the Dracair to worry about than our wayward squad mates.” Rundig coughed, a deep wheezing noise followed by a series of rattling breaths.
“Hang in there,” Elandria said. “You can’t leave me here alone.”
“Ah girl, you’ve always been the strongest of us,” Rundig said, taking her hand. His eyes grew wide for a moment. “Lass, ye’ve lost yer arm.”
Her tears flooded forth. She had been trying not to think about it, but it had been there in the back of her mind. You are never going to shoot a bow again. She tried to silence the little voice, to tell it to go away, but the truth was that she was never going to be whole again, and now she was useless.
“Here now,” Rundig said, some of the fire returning to his voice. “Don’t you dare give up! It may seem like the end of the world now, but you can still live a full life if you get out of here.”
“How am I going to escape? I’m a cripple. Even if I managed to get out, I would never make it back alone,” Elandria said, her voice raising an octave. “And let’s say I somehow make it home. What am I going to do? Settle down with some nice young man and make babies? I’m a warrior, Rundig. I don’t know anything other than bloodshed.”
A tear rolled out of the corner of Rundig’s eye. “Lass, ye were a dervish before ye became an archer. Even with one arm there are very few people who could best ye with a blade. Also remember that ye are never alone. There are people out there who’ll stop at nothing to see ye free. I’ll stay with ye as long as I can, but I’m pretty sure I’m done fer. I can feel whatever it was that was on those blades working through my system, and they stabbed me enough times that I don’t have much hope of makin’ it through.”
“You’re right. Kind of makes you wonder why they even bothered, doesn’t it?” Elandria said, unwilling to let go of her friend's hand to wipe her eyes. “Warren and Trenton are still out there, and there are always the other boys. Maybe we’ll all get lucky and Stewart Cantel himself will come through on his hunt.”
Rundig didn't seem to be listening. “I think I’m going to sleep now lass, I’m tired. So tired…” he said, his hand sliding out of hers.
For a moment, she thought that he had died, but his chest still rose and fell in a steady rhythm. She stood over him for a while before deciding that she could be doing something more productive with her time. Moving back through the carpet she headed towards the window. The light was even dimmer now, and she realized that it was late evening as she looked through the small portal. A barrel was positioned outside the small window, obscuring much of her view; what she could see seemed to be a small alleyway in this ramshackle little town.
Moving back to the cot she had awoken on, she sat down. With her left hand, she probed the area where her other arm had once been connected to her body. Someone had bandaged the area, but the bandaging was red and damp. Touching the wound brought her small sharp waves of pain, and she then realized that she had been given something to dull the pain of the injury.
Laying down, she decided to try to get some rest. There was little she could do about her situation at the moment and staying up all night worrying about what would happen in the future wouldn’t do anyone any good. Besides, she didn’t want to be awake when whatever drug they had given her for the pain wore off.
First Fourthday
Serenity Valley
Shawnrik had gotten very little information out of Instructor Daymarr the day before. She seemed more interested in finding out how he learned about his coming growth spurts than she was in telling him anything about them. He hadn’t given her any information, but he was pretty sure it wouldn’t take them long to figure it out. Hopefully Instructor Boulette wouldn’t get in too much trouble for telling his student the truth.
He and Verrian had just left Philosophy. Instructor Bluestaff had once again set their minds to racing as they considered all of the angles they had been given on the day’s topic. Today had been a debate on the positives and negatives of being selfish. It still amazed him how many of the students fought so fervently that selfishness was a positive. Intellectually, he understood why they did, but he thought that seemed like an awfully lonely way to go through life.
Shaking such thoughts away, he turned towards a part of the school that he had not yet been to.
“So are you really going to talk to the Headmistress?” Verrian said at his side.
“I am, and you don’t have to go with me. I’m sure there are a thousand other things you would rather be doing with your free time than walking towards the Staff building.”
“Maybe,” Verrian said. “Then again, I’ve never been inside the Staff building either, so it’s either go and read some boring books, or go on an adventure with my best friend. I think the choice is obvious.”
Shawnrik chuckled. He knew that Verrian wasn’t only going with him to see the Staff building, but he decided to let the matter drop, as they both knew that he would do the same for Verrian.
A guard stood outside the building that had a large sign that read simply “Staff.” He raised an eyebrow at them as they approached.
“What business do you have here?” the man said.
“I’m here to see the Headmistress,” Shawnrik replied, attempting to keep his tone strong.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No.”
The man sighed and pulled up a strange device at his side. “Security to Headmistress’s office.”
“Headmistress’s office, go ahead,” a soft female voice replied through the object.
“I have two students here to see the Headmistress.”
“I don’t see any appointments scheduled, what are their names?”
The guard stared at them until they realized that he wasn’t going to repeat the question for them.
“Shawnrik Larston.”
“Verrian Smith.”
“Shawnrik Larston and Verrian Smith,” the Guard said into the device.
“One moment, please.” Silence reigned as the guard glowered at them. The man seemed discomforted by the fact that Shawnrik was slightly larger than himself. He breathed a sigh of relief when the soft female voice returned. “Alright, send them in please, Chuck.”
“You heard the lady,” Chuck said, gesturing to the doorway. “Take the stairs to the right and go to the top, her office is at the end of the hall.”
In many ways, the building was a lot like the rest of the buildings on campus. It was a well-built stone building that seemed old but well taken care of. Shawnrik felt a buzzing in the air in this building that he didn’t in the others though, and his back itched like it did when someone was watching him. They walked past a room that had view screens from one wall to the other. He understood the feeling as he noticed himself and Verrian on one of the images.
Seeing himself was one of the strangest things that he had to get used to when he had first come to the Institute. Before then, he had only seen his reflection in puddles of water and streams. He had gotten used to seeing himself in the mirror that ran along the wall in the boy’s shower room, but seeing himself move around on a view screen was an odd experience. One of the guards watching the screens noticed the boys and shut the door.
“How do they do that?” Shawnrik asked as they started up the stairs.
Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
“You have seen the little domes in the ceiling around campus right?” Verrian said, pointing at one such dome above their head in the stairwell. “They capture the light in much the same way that our eyes do and transmit the data to those screens. We have a bank of monitors set up around our house, and there is even more security at my dad’s office.”
“That’s amazing. I wonder if the Mages have something like that.”
“From what I’ve learned about these Shapers, I would say that it is entirely possible. I don’t see why they wouldn’t be able to mimic this type of technology. In fact, it might even be easier for them to hide that they are doing it as well.”
“How do you suppose?” Shawnrik asked.
“Well, we need to set up devices with moving parts and wires, whereas they just need to set up an ocular lens of some sort and channel the light back to where they want to project the image. I’m sure that we could build such things into our buildings so that they weren’t as obvious, but that kind of thing isn’t easy with buildings that are this old and so sturdily constructed.”
Shawnrik nodded. Sometimes he wondered what it must be like in his friend's mind; Verrian always seemed to be thinking about a dozen different things at once.
Their steps slowed as they approached the office at the end of the third floor of the building. They glanced at each other and smiled as they recognized their own nervousness mirrored in their companion. Shawnrik knocked.
“Come in,” the same soft female voice that they had heard only a few minutes prior from the guard’s device said.
They opened the door to reveal a small, meticulously kept office. Behind the extremely well kept desk sat a person the likes of which Shawnrik had never seen before. White tufted ears pointed in their direction and emerald feline eyes seemed to take in everything about them in an instant. Those beautifully strange eyes darted to Shawnrik’s left and a small frown stole over her features, and her nose began to twitch.
Following the direction of the gaze, Shawnrik noticed that his shirt sleeve had rolled over slightly, so he tugged it straight. A small sigh of relief escaped the woman a moment before her frown turned into a smile.
“Mr. Larston, Mr. Smith. Welcome. The Headmistress is currently busy but should be able to see you shortly.” She gestured towards a comfortable looking bench along the wall that was just large enough for the pair to sit comfortably.
Shawnrik noticed a plaque on the desk that read Klerrah Starlight, and in smaller letters underneath it read Personal Assistant. He tried to examine Klerrah without being completely obvious about it. From what he could tell she looked to be about a head shorter than Verrian, putting her at about the same height as Dunnagan. Unlike his stout Dwarven friend, however, Klerrah was slight and lithe. Shawnrik had the feeling that the woman could pounce on them at any moment.
They didn’t have to wait long until the doorway on the other end of the room opened, revealing the large form of the Headmistress. Torva Blackbriar was even more impressive up close, but he didn’t think there was any way that he would ever consider the woman attractive. Her dark green skin was riddled with strange growths, and the poor woman’s face looked like someone had hit her with a frying pan. Shawnrik wondered if all female trolls looked like that, but he doubted he would ever have the chance to learn differently.
When she spoke, however, the Headmistress had a voice that he felt could calm a raging pack of Grim’le. Her voice caressed every syllable and made each word important, like an artist slowly revealing sections of their masterpiece bit by bit. “Klerrah, thank you for entertaining these young men while I finished my work. How did they behave?”
“Oh they were fine, Torva, perfect gentlemen.” She leaned in conspiratorially, and mock whispered. “They only stared at my ears a couple times.”
“Well, I suppose there are worse things they could have been staring at,” the Headmistress mock whispered back, causing Klerrah’s eyes to open wide.
Shawnrik thought he caught the flash of a tail for a second before the woman sat back down. She began to move the pens around on her desk, making sure that each faced straight up and down with a precise space between them, pointedly ignoring everyone else in the room. The boys had to hold in a surprised chuckle as the Headmistress turned towards them and winked. She motioned them to follow her into her office a moment before she turned, expecting that they would follow.
Verrian and Shawnrik stood quickly to follow, and Shawnrik’s calf hit the bench, causing it to let out a little groan as it slid backwards. White ears pointed towards the noise and Klerrah’s nose began to twitch furiously. Shawnrik pulled the bench forward and received a slight nod of thanks in return from the small assistant.
Torva Blackbriar stood on the other side of the door to her office, closing it quietly after the boys entered. She held up a hand to get their attention and pointed back towards the door she had just closed conspiratorially. A few moments later, they heard the tell-tale slide of the bench as her assistant returned the bench to its precise position. They all shared a silent chuckle as the Headmistress walked past them to the far end of the room to sit at her desk.
On their way to the two chairs that sat in front of their Headmistress’s desk, they took the opportunity to scan the room. Every wall was filled with pictures and every available shelf space held different knickknacks, some next to framed pictures. Shawnrik had the feeling that each and every object in the room had some significance to the woman who was in charge of their education. The sheer amount of memorabilia made him wonder just how long Torva Blackbriar had been at the Institute of Learning.
“Shawnrik,” she said gesturing to one of the chairs, followed by a gesture to the other. “Verrian.”
The boys took their seats tentatively, suddenly nervous.
“I’ve heard good things about you two from your Instructors. They say you are both extremely intelligent and diligent workers. Verrian, I’ve heard that you have a knack for your studies from your Instructors in Game Theory and Linguistics. I’ve also been told that you are performing above expectations in both Basic Offense and Strength Training.”
“I don’t know about all of that, ma’am, I'm just doing my best,” Verrian said.
“Well, keep at it. From what I understand you have one heck of a head on your shoulders.” Torva grinned. “Shawnrik, I’m told you have a great interest in Mythology and History, and Instructor Boulette seems to think that you’ll surpass your father in fighting ability soon. He already thinks you could have won an arm-wrestling contest.”
“Thank you,” Shawnrik said, trying not to let such thoughts sink in too deeply at the moment. “From what I’ve been told about him, I will take that as quite the compliment.”
“That’s right. You don’t have many memories of your parents, do you?” Her voice softened and he had to fight the urge to cry like a baby at her tone.
“No ma’am, sometimes I have dreams about them, but their faces fade by the time I wake up,” Shawnrik said, a tear slipping free and rolling down his cheek.
The kindness in those large brown orbs was nearly unbearable, and he looked away only to see his roommate crying in the seat next to him. Shawnrik sighed and put a hand on his friend's shoulder.
“I have the same thing happen with my mom,” Verrian sniffed. “At least we have pictures of her, so I can refresh her image every now and then.”
“Oh!” The Headmistress said, standing quickly. “I think I have a picture of them! Now, where was that?” She browsed the pictures on her walls and shelves for a little while, occasionally picking one up and smiling before putting it back down and continuing her search. “Here it is.”
Verrian’s head shot up, and Shawnrik suddenly felt sick. He had come here to talk about his growth spurts, and now he was suddenly going to see his parents for the first time in over nine years. The Headmistress held out the picture for Shawnrik to take, but before he could make his hand move Verrian grabbed the picture.
“Oh wow! Look at that!” Verrian said studying the image. “He looks small beside her, but he wasn’t, was he? From what I’ve heard, he was bigger than anyone except the Giants.”
“That’s right,” Torva said, taking her seat. “Well, the Giant-kin and any of my kin had they decided to pursue anything other than scratching their own backsides and rutting in the rain.”
The regret in her voice was palpable and Shawnrik wished they had the time to delve deeper into that particular subject, but he had a feeling that it would take much longer than the hour they had. Suddenly, there they were. Verrian was holding the image in front of his face. He wasn’t able to stop the stream of tears this time and their images blurred. Wiping his eyes, he stared at the image, trying to drink in every detail.
His mother Lilly Lightfeather and his father Aerick Heartstone stood outside the library. She was talking about something, her hands in the air trying to express some unknown concept, a smile from one corner of her face to the other. Her hair was a light brown, and the eyes that sparkled so brightly in the picture were a slightly larger version of the yellow topaz orbs that stared back at him every time he looked in a mirror.
Standing tall and holding a stack of books half his own height was his father. His eyes were at an equal height to her chest. He was listening intently to whatever it was that she was describing, a small smile tugging on the corner of his mouth. The light hitting his dark hair made it look like a dark blue, and his eyes were like well-cut brown tourmaline. Well-honed muscles seemed to barely register the large pile of books that he carried, and he held himself with a surety that Shawnrik recognized. It was the same look of self-assured superiority that Nim, Ashur, and Dunnagan all had; it was the look that men get when they have been through things that few others will understand.
My parents. How did random burglars kill them? He realized a moment after he had the thought that he had voiced it aloud when the Headmistress replied.
“That is quite the question, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean?” Verrian asked, looking back and forth between them.
“The night my parents were killed...” Shawnrik looked as his hands as Verrian pulled the picture back to look at it again. “… the watchmen said that it looked like a burglary gone wrong. There’s no way that common burglars would have killed my parents though, is there?”
“It…” The Headmistress sighed. “…is very unlikely. Both of them were quite capable, and even surprised they should have at least taken a few of the burglars with them.”
“So, someone planned it. Someone went out of their way to murder my parents.” Shawnrik’s hands were balled into fists now. “But why? What did they do or know that was worth going all the way to Safeharbor to eliminate them?”
“I can’t answer that,” she said, leaning back in her chair.
“Can’t, or won’t?” Shawnrik leaned forward.
“Can’t, I promise you. I can think of several groups that might have liked to see your father dead, but I know of no reason worth going through that much effort.”
“Who?”
“Shawnrik…”
“Who?”
Torva Blackbriar sighed. She took out a bottle and poured a dark liquid into the cup in front of her, taking a large drink. “Aerick was instrumental in stopping several Dracair assaults on several of the smaller border towns in the Blade’s Edge Mountains. He was a thorn in their side for ten years before he left with your mother.”
“That’s one,” Shawnrik motioned for her to continue.
“He was a thorn in the side of the High Elves, helping at least a dozen Half-Elves escape the hunters.”
Verrian shuddered. “My dad told me about the Hunters. Groups of six Elves whose entire purpose is to hunt down and capture, or kill, Half-Elves.”
“And your father probably doesn’t know half of what those people are capable of,” the Headmistress said. “They do not forgive or forget easily.”
“Alright, that’s two. I’m guessing there’s at least one more group you can think of?” Shawnrik placed his elbows on his legs and steepled his hands, looking at her over the top of them.
She nodded and began to pour another drink.
“His tribe, right?” Shawnrik said, drawing a look of surprise from the Headmistress.
“Let me guess, Sara told you what happened the night her father died?” She sighed. “Did she tell you that the Elders told Daerian to not bother to come back if he didn’t kill your father?”
“I don’t think she knows the specifics, but I think she suspects something like that happened.” Shawnrik cupped his face in his hands. “You think the Elders sent someone after him?”
“Or told someone where to find him,” Verrian whispered.
Torva’s expression told the boys that she thought Verrian was very close to the truth. “I can’t prove anything, and some of the Elders who were in charge then have since passed on. I do suspect that they worked with either the Dracair or the Hunters to accomplish their task. When your father took the Heartstone title, I believe he learned something that the Elders thought shouldn’t be taken outside the tribe.”
Shawnrik felt the tension in his body begin to release. He hadn’t even realized how tense he had gotten during the conversation. A drop of warm liquid dropped onto his forearm, and he realized that he was sweating. Standing, he stepped around his chair and began to pace the length of the room, limbering up his body and mind.
“Is that why you boys came to see me today?” Torva spoke after the room had been silent for some time.
“No,” Shawnrik said facing the door, his teeth gritted. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I came here to find out what you know about the change I went through over a year and a half ago, and the changes that I’m likely to go through in the future.”
“Ah, I’m guessing that is what Instructor Daymarr wants to see me about tomorrow morning, then.” Torva replied. “I want you to know that it was my decision not to tell you. Of the few Instructors that understood what could happen, all of them tried to convince me to tell you.”
“Then why didn’t you?” Verrian asked.
“For one thing, we have never dealt with someone who has quite the genetic makeup of our young friend here. We are not sure what is going to happen, or when.”
“What do you mean?” Shawnrik paced back towards the empty chair.
“What I’m about to say is extremely personal information. I know you boys are good friends, but this may be information you want to keep to yourself.”
Verrian began to stand, taking the hint, but Shawnrik put his hand on his roommate's shoulder.
“It’s alright. Whatever it is, I don’t keep secrets from my friends.”
Looking back and forth between them, the Headmistress’s shoulders seemed to slump as she came to the decision to tell them what she knew. “Shawnrik, do you know what DNA is?”
“Uh, that’s the stuff that makes people who they are, right? Some sort of biological computer code?”
“At the very basic idea of it, yes. We have information here that isn’t available anywhere else on Terrazil and we still don’t completely understand all that DNA is capable of. We are, however, able to compare samples from parents and children and be reasonably sure of what we will find.” She began to reach for the bottle on her desk again, but instead of pouring anymore out she placed the lid back on and put it away. “Something messed with your coding. Things that should be dormant aren’t, and other things that should more than likely be present are turned off or have been replaced. It is like something dug out every scrap of potential inside of you and weeded out many things that could be perceived as weaknesses.”
“Wait,” Verrian said. “Is that even possible?”
“If you would have asked me a month ago, I would have told you no,” Torva Blackbriar replied. “Dean Swiftfoot believes that it was an extended process that happened slowly over the course of a year or more sometime in the last several years. In most people, such alterations could cause drastic and painful changes as soon as the body accepts the new information, but your body already had a system in place for drastic physical changes. Your body had already been preparing to go through the change that affects a small portion of the people who have the blood of the larger races running through their veins. We believe that the first change was far more drastic than it normally is because your body was setting up a framework to build upon based on new schematics.”
“That’s amazing!” Verrian said, clearly trying to resist the urge to come inspect Shawnrik up close, as if he would be able to see the changes with his bare eyes. “What, or who, could do something like that?”
“That is a question we do not know the answer to. We have seen things like this done on a much smaller scale by the Mages, but I’m not even sure that they could pull something like this off with a concerted effort. And it is definitely not something they could have done without Shawnrik knowing about it.” Torva sighed. “Harolinde says that the first Dragons were able to do something similar, but I would say that fits more into the myth and legend category than real science.” She shook her head. “Such a fine scientist, but he puts so much stock in the records of his people.”
“Dean Swiftfoot said that?” Verrian asked his gaze suddenly far away. “Interesting.”
Shawnrik had a feeling deep down that he might know what had messed with him, but until he knew for sure he was going to keep that information to himself. He might not keep secrets from his friends, but this secret wasn’t his to give away.
“So how many more of these do I have to go through, and are they all going to be as bad as the first?”
“We believe only one or two more at most,” the Headmistress said. “Harolinde believes that whatever Dunnagan did to help you through the first transition, it allowed your body to complete more changes than had originally been intended for the first transition. The consensus is that the next changes will be much more manageable, though still dangerous.” A light blue tear rolled down her cheek. “I wanted you to be a kid for at least a little while before you had to deal with something like this again. Cypheria knows you’ve dealt with enough in your time.”
“As his roommate, what kinds of symptoms would he show if this was about to happen?” Verrian asked.
“Usually it starts out like a fever. It should become apparent within the first few hours, however, that it is not. The process is extremely painful. If you think it is happening you should message the surgery center, they will know what to do.” She looked at Shawnrik. “You have been through this before though, so if you start feeling like you did before it happened the first time you should make your way to the clinic on your own. Make sure you notify someone you are on the way though, I would hate for you to pass out in a dark corner somewhere and die because of stubbornness or bad luck.”
“Do you have any way to tell when it will happen?” Shawnrik sat down.
“Unfortunately, we don’t understand enough of the process to make an accurate projection. Harolinde believes it will happen before the end of the year though.”
“Alright.” Shawnrik looked the Headmistress in the eyes. “I understand why you wanted to keep this from me. I might even have considered doing it if I was in your position, but if you receive information about me that could be vital to my survival…” He gripped the arms of the chair tightly. “…I would hope that you will let me know.”
“I appreciate your restraint,” Torva said. “It shows that you have a head on your shoulders and have been trained well. I promise that if I learn anything else or if new information that affects you directly surfaces, I will let you know.”
“That’s all I can ask,” Shawnrik said, standing and heading towards the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Verrian placing the picture of his parents on the desk reverently.
“I don’t like it,” Verrian said, looking at the Headmistress. “But I understand too. Still, what if he died because I didn’t know how serious it was?”
Shawnrik opened the door to leave, but he heard the Headmistress’s reply before he stepped into the next room.
“That point had been raised, but I told them that you had enough sense to call someone if your roommate suddenly became sick.”
“That’s a lot of hope. I don’t know if you heard, but this guy is kind of weird,” Verrian said, running to catch up to Shawnrik.
“Thanks,” Shawnrik said wryly.
“You’re welcome,” Verrian replied with a wink. “That’s what friends are for.”