The next morning found all twenty-four first-years standing around the training grounds. Several of them were still half asleep, yawning and stretching in the early morning sun. Draco stood in front of his squad, adjusting the straps on the padded leather armour they had all been given. Unlike other mornings, Draco was excited today. Combat training. Something he knew he would excel at. The doors to the small brick building behind them opened and the four squad leaders all came out, each carrying an armful of wooden weapons.
Davon walked up to his squad and handed them each a crude replica of their Spirit weapon: Draco a longsword, Saphira a rapier, Willow a hoop, Arius a pair of kama connected by a thin chain, and Elizabeth a pole with a small weight on one end.
“Sorry, guys, but you will be two members short.” Davon said as he finished handing out the training weapons. “We can’t have Sebastian take part because his magic cannot be tempered, and Elizabeth needs to be taught the basics of combat. So I’ll be taking them with me for the day.”
Sebastian gave the others an apologetic wave, while Elizabeth gripped the pole for dear life from embarrassment, her cheeks bright red. The three walked off, leaving the remaining four alone.
“Well, shit.” Arius sighed, dropping his arms to his sides and closing his eyes, tilting his head back. “That’s just great.”
“Quit your bitching,” Draco said with a nervous smile. “This just makes things more interesting.”
“Alright, listen up!” The Devil Lick, Tywin Lancrest, shouted, bringing the chatting to an end as all eyes turned to him. “Today I will be introducing you to your practical combat trainer! Unlike the professors here, he is not a graduate of the Academy! He is a mercenary from the Drakin Guild, a Fourth Rank Brand! Ladon Ormir!”
Tyson walked off to the side and allowed the man sitting on the bench behind him to stand up and approach. Even from a distance, Draco could sense that this man was dangerous. He was very tall and slender, wearing a pair of dark brown pants with tassels along the outer seams and a black leather vest over his bare upper body. His skin was darkly tanned and tightly stretched over his lean muscles. His long black hair was done up in dreadlocks, which were all tied back in a single tail. His eyes were sharp, like that of a hunter. And on his chest was his Brand, its shape that of what Draco assumed to be a wild horse. A mustang perhaps? The man walked into the middle of the first-years and looked around the training area, a good 300-foot empty circle in the middle of the obstacle course.
“Good morning, kiddos,” he called out in a gruff voice. “As you all heard, I am to be your Combat Instructor. You may refer to me as Mister Ormir.”
“Is this a joke?” came a voice from the white-haired girl’s group. A young man with a black bowl cut and narrow eyes stepped out of the group, a bull whip in his hands. “We are supposed to be taught how to fight from a lowly sellsword?”
Ladon turned to the boy, his expression turning dark.
“What’s your name, kid?” He asked, a wide, toothy grin on his face.
“Dwi-” The response was cut off as Ladon’s hand cupped around the boy’s jaw. With a maniacal scream, Ladon threw the boy’s head backwards into the ground. His body ragdolled across the dirt training field, the boy out cold from the sudden application of cranial violence. Ladon stood, hunched over like a rabid animal that had just been unleashed from its cage.
“It doesn’t matter what your name is!” He called out loud enough to be heard by all of the students. “On the battlefield names, Houses, wealth, status – they don’t mean shit! All that matters is that the person beside you has your back, and that you have theirs. If you are dumb enough to let something as meaningless as a name cloud your judgment or affect your decisions, then you are of no use to anyone out there.” Taking a deep breath, he stood up straight and once again flashed them all that toothy smile. “Now for today’s lesson: Hit me.”
A shiver ran through everyone standing on the training field, several of the students involuntarily taking a small step away from the mercenary. After several tense seconds, the one to snap back to his senses was Jethro.
“Sam, covering fire!” He shouted, adjusting the grip on his wooden axe as his voice roused his squadmates. “Roan, Victoria, with me! Klimt and Wyatt, protect Sam!”
Jethro charged, and his squad fell into action at his words. One member holding a bow with blunt-tipped arrows fired two of them in rapid succession at Ladon, who lazily snatched them out of the air before tossing them aside. Jethro and the other two members he had called, a girl with brown hair and a dark-skinned boy, closed the distance to the mercenary. Jethro swung his axe in a quick diagonal arc, which was avoided by a small back step from Ladon. The girl rushed in on the left and the other boy on the right. The girl’s wooden pole thrust towards Ladon’s chest.
The tan-skinned sellsword batted the pole aside with his right hand, then bent his knees to avoid the massive swing from the wooden hammer coming at his head. Ladon spun low, lashing out a sweeping kick that took the two attackers off their feet. Rising up on one leg, Ladon then struck the girl in the chest with a kick that sent her tumbling across the ground. At the same time, he swung a fist down at the dark-skinned boy’s face, firmly planting it into the dirt.
Another arrow flew at Ladon as Jethro took another diagonal swing at him. This time Ladon dodged by spinning in the direction of Jethro’s attack while landing a strike of his own; a spinning heel kick to the side of the dark-haired boy’s head. Ladon set his feet firmly back on the ground as Jethro dropped to his knees, then collapsed face down on the ground. It was only then that everyone still standing saw that Ladon had somehow caught that last arrow shot at him in his teeth, almost like a dog catching a stick or a bone.
Silence gripped the training field again as the remaining students took a moment to register what had just happened. Then from one group came a snort, followed by roaring laughter.
“Draco,” Saphira snapped in a whisper, “shut up!”
Her words fell on deaf ears as Draco pointed at Jethro’s unconscious form while he continued to laugh.
Ladon slowly turned to face Draco as the rest of his squad took a cautious step away from their unfortunate teammate.
Across the field, the four squad leaders watched with amusement.
“Think any of them will be awake at the end of this?” One of them asked.
The sole female in the group chuckled. “Not a chance,” she said as Ladon’s feet closed the distance between him and Draco in an instant, putting the mercenary face to face with the now silent and terrified teen.
“What’s his nickname within the Guild again?” asked Davon, taking notes as he watched Ladon crunch down on the arrow in his mouth, splintering it; a crazed expression on his face.
“That would be…” The woman spoke as Ladon’s fist slammed into Draco’s face with such force that the boy did a perfectly executed, though involuntary, backflip. “The Mad Stallion.”
~
Draco and Willow sat at the dining room table the next morning, eating in silence. Maria walked around them and set plates of food down before taking a seat herself.
Draco chewed on a piece of toast, glaring at the orange juice in front of him, his right eye still slightly swollen shut. Beside him, Willow happily chewed on a piece of pineapple, her face and arms sporting several bruises. Draco had no memory of what had happened after being punched in the face the previous day, and the way Saphira had chewed him out for laughing at Jethro’s humiliation had completely soured any joy he had taken from it.
William made his way down the stairs, yawning as he reached the bottom.
“You two had better hurry up,” he said as he walked over to the stove and poured himself a cup of coffee, “it’s going to rain pretty soon.”
Draco and Willow quickly finished their food and gathered their plates, carrying them over to the sink as William made his way to his side of the table and sat down.
“By the way, Maria,” he said as he lifted his cup up, “I heard a rumor that Charles Stoughton has been saying that he plans to stop by today. Apparently he plans to court you.”
“Oh, is that so?” Maria said, her expression unchanging as she set down her teacup. “I shall have to tidy up and prepare to host him, then, won’t I?”
With a small flick of her wrist, a silver flash appeared in front of her. She swung her hand into the light and grabbed hold of the handle of a gleaming steel kitchen knife.
“Where did that come from?” Willow asked as she set her dishes in the sink, staring over at Maria.
“Don’t worry about it,” Draco said calmly as he walked over to the table and grabbed his blazer from the back of his chair. “Come on, we want to beat the storm!” He said, opening the door and rushing out.
Willow dashed behind him, pausing in the doorway to look at Maria.
“Have fun with your guest, Maria!” She said with a smile before rushing after Draco, shutting the door behind her.
“Oh, I will,” Maria sang, causing William to stare at her from over the rim of his coffee cup.
“Just don’t get too carried away this time.” He said, taking a sip as his sister’s eyes flashed evilly.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
~
Draco and Willow just made it inside the Academy when the sky split open and the rain began to pour out across the training grounds. Willow looked back outside and smiled widely.
“I love rain!” She exclaimed as she went to rush back outside into the downpour. Draco grabbed her by the arm and held her inside, giving her a cautionary look.
“There’s no time for that right now. You’ll get all wet, then have to sit through class drenched and cold.”
“Boooo…” Willow pouted before reaching over and taking the lizard from Draco’s head, hugging it to her chest. “But Little One could keep me warm.”
“No,” Draco said firmly, bringing a sad tear to Willow’s eye.
“Okay,” she said, defeated as Terra slithered off of her shoulders and onto the floor.
“Hurry up, you two!”
They looked down the hall to see Saphira beckoning them.
“Professor Horn is already inside!”
“Crap!” Draco yelped as he and Willow rushed down the hallway, Terra following at her master’s heels.
The two reached the door as Saphira walked back in and quickly followed, entering into a room that, at first glance, could have been mistaken for a library. Everything within was polished oak, the walls appearing to be made of bookshelves rather than walls. On the ceiling was a map of Janua, and the room was full of tables, each with three chairs facing towards the front of the room, where Professor Horn sat at his mahogany desk, an open book in hand. He closed it as the final two entered and nodded to the tables.
“Find a seat.” He said warmly, and Draco and Willow followed Saphira to a table where they all sat; Terra curled up under Willow’s chair as the lizard settled onto her lap.
Professor Horn stood up from his desk and closed the book, setting it on the edge of his desk as he walked around to stand in front of it, facing the class.
“Welcome, first-years, to History. As you all should remember, I am Professor Charles Horn. Now, every year I have several students who scoff at the idea of studying the past. Can anyone tell me why it is important for us to understand and learn from history?”
Once again, the girl with the long white hair’s hand went up.
“Miss Solomon.” Horn acknowledged her, and she stood up.
“Because those who do not learn from their past are doomed to repeat it,” she said, and the professor nodded.
“Exactly. Understanding the past allows us to approach the future with a broader mind and a powerful tool to create a better tomorrow.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Klimt scoffed, leaning forward on his table with the boy who had interrupted Ladon, and a girl with long brown hair that was tied back in a ponytail.
“Oh?” Professor Horn inquired, his eyes turning to the round boy. “What makes you think that, Mr. Woodro?”
“The past is irrelevant. What is there to learn from it? We fought wars, we won wars! End of lesson!”
“What would your family know of wars?” Jethro called from the back of the room. “What with the Woodros always having a convenient illness or injury whenever a deployment comes up.”
“That’s cute, coming from a family whose only use is hitting things,” the boy beside Klimt shot out, giving Jethro a sideways grin.
Jethro shot the boy a menacing glare. “Says the one whose family fortune came from the slave trade.”
“You say that like it was a bad thing.” The boy smirked. “Oh, that’s right!” He feigned mock surprise. “I forgot that your family once were slaves. Wait, wouldn’t that mean that you owe your status to my family? Perhaps you should get on your knees and thank me for you being here, you polished trash.”
The room filled with shouting as everyone began to yell at one another. The only silent table was Draco’s, as he sat there clenching his fists, trying to stay out of it. Beside him, Willow looked around in scared confusion, and Saphira hung her head, her expression hidden from view. Draco couldn’t hold it in any longer and shot up out of his chair, causing Willow to jump in shock.
“Oh shut it, all of you!” He shouted. “None of you would be here if it hadn't been for the Pendras!”
“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Professor Horn boomed from the front of the class.
Everyone froze and fell silent, staring ahead in shock.
“Sit. Down.” Horn’s expression was no longer soft and friendly. His face was hard and stern, glaring at the first-year class.
“Mr. Seran,” He addressed the boy with the bowl cut. “I can see that your father’s views on basic human rights have been passed down to you. Perhaps I shall lock you in chains and strip you of your privileged lifestyle for a month, and have you live as ‘trash’ for that time. Perhaps then you will learn some empathy for your fellow man.” He turned his eyes to Klimt. “Mr. Woodro, one who has never fought in a war has no right to judge the outcome of a war. Pray that none of you ever have to. And Mr. Pendra.”
The professor paused, staring a hole through Draco’s skull. The teen felt a cold sweat run down the back of his neck.
“It may be true that your ancestor was the first to awaken on this continent and aid the Druids in taming this land for all who came after, but do not think for a second that the achievements of your family give you any right to claim them as your own. Your grandfather was a mentor to me and, and I owe her a debt I was never able to repay. Your mother was a rose among thorns in her year, and your brother was the best student I ever taught.” He approached Draco and set his hands on the table, leaning over it towards Draco. “Thus far, you have shown to be nothing but a disgrace to the Pendra legacy. So I suggest you stop throwing that name around before you further damage it.”
He backed away from the table and walked back to his desk, leaving the classroom in stunned silence.
“Now then, if everyone is ready to put their egos aside for the day, let us begin our lesson.”
~
That afternoon, the group sat around on the training field, panting and sweating, having just completed their sit-ups in the mud. Davon walked over to them, writing in his little book as he approached.
“Okay, that’s it for your warmup. Take a breather, then split into pairs for sparring.”
Elizabeth and Sebastian both collapsed, heavily breathing as the others remained sitting. Draco stared at his feet, Professor Horn’s words echoing in his mind.
“Hey, you guys…” He spoke. “...Am I… really a disgrace to my family?”
Willow and Saphira both opened their mouths, then paused, awkwardly looking at one another, neither one sure what words to use.
“Of course you are.”
All three looked over to Arius, who stared at Draco with an indifferent expression.
“You keep claiming that you are going to be humble and not act as a member of the nobility, yet it is all you ever do. You ride the legacy of your family like a prize pony, completely unaware that its greatness has nothing to do with you.”
Draco felt his temple throb, and he glared at Arius.
“I was born a Pendra –“ He started before Arius cut him off.
“You won the birthing lottery and popped out of the right womb, congratulations.” The red-haired boy glared back at Draco. “What have you done to build up the Pendra name? Because all I have seen from you in the time I have known you is you running it down into the dirt.”
Draco rose to his feet, glaring at Arius.
“Davon, I would like to spar against Arius today.”
Their leader looked up, reading the mood from the distance, and sighed.
“All right, get your training weapons –“
“No sir,” Draco said, his eyes still locked on Arius, “I wish to use Spirits.”
“Whoa,” Davon said, snapping his book shut and approaching. “That is not going to fly here. Now what is going on?”
“I don’t mind, sir.” Arius said, rising to his feet. “In fact, I too request permission to use Spirits.”
Davon looked between the two and sighed in defeat.
“Alright. First blood or declaration of defeat.” Davon looked to the girls. “Saphira, Willow, I will ask you both to stand by in case things get out of hand.”
Both girls nodded and stood up, Terra wrapping herself across Willow’s body before flashing into the ring blade.
The two boys paced away from one another as the rest of the group cleared the field.
“Draco.”
The lizard, which had been resting on Draco’s shoulder, flashed into the sword. Draco grabbed the handle and lifted it off of his shoulder, pointing the blade at Arius, who held his right hand forward, palm down by his waist.
“Beowulf.” He spoke, and the two-headed beast appeared in front of him under his hand, both heads barking and snarling at Draco. Arius placed his palm on the beast’s back, and it flashed away, reappearing in his hand as a pair of black and silver kama; two short metal poles each sporting a downward curved blade with a chain connecting them.
Draco did not wait for a ‘go’, he charged forward with everything he had.
“Wyvern Rush!” He cried, swinging down hard and hearing the clang of steel against steel. He blinked and saw that Arius had vanished; all he had done was strike one of the kama, knocking it into the ground; the blade buried deep in the dirt.
“So predictable.” Arius sighed behind Draco. The Pendra heard the rattle of chain and felt Arius kick his feet out, then found himself face down in the mud, unable to move. His left arm was pinned to his side, his legs were bound together, and his right arm was wrapped across his own throat.
Arius pulled on the chain, and Draco’s back screamed in pain as his upper body was pulled up off the ground. He glared up at the commoner, who stared coldly back at him.
“Give up,” Arius said bluntly. Draco remained silent, and Arius pulled further back on the chain. “Give. Up.”
“Not a chance,” Draco growled through gritted teeth, his pride burning inside of him, “you… damn nobody!”
Arius said nothing. He simply placed his foot on the back of Draco’s head and stomped it down into the mud. Draco felt his nose crunch from the impact, and felt the warmth of blood running down his lip and back of his throat. Arius pulled him back up and he coughed, blood spurting out from his mouth as he gasped. Arius knelt next to him and pressed the tip of his kama against Draco’s cheek.
“Give up,” he repeated, “or this ‘nobody’ is going to carve his name into your face.”
Draco gritted his teeth and turned his eyes to stare at the blade. He tried to move, tried to wiggle, tried to do anything, but he couldn’t. The first kama he had struck into the ground was acting as an anchor for the chain that had been wrapped around him. He exhaled, his pride extinguished.
“I yield.” He muttered, and Arius dropped the kama and stood up, walking away as the weapon flashed back into the two headed beast. It stood over Draco and growled down at him before rushing off to its master.
Draco lay on the ground, unable to find the will to get up.
Davon sighed and looked around to the rest of the squad, all gazing in silence.
“That’ll be all for today. Go home.” He said before walking back towards the academy.
The group looked around at one another awkwardly before slowly dispersing. Soon only Draco and Willow remained. The girl walked over and knelt next to the boy, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Draco…” she said as he gave a little sniffle. “You did it again.”
“I know.” He started to sob, a puddle of tears forming on the ground around his face. “I know. I keep on going back to the old me. I keep on acting as a Pendra.”
“No.” Willow said, letting go of his shoulder and flicking the back of his head with her finger. “You keep on acting like an ass. You get angry at how Klimt and Dwight act, yet you act just like them.”
Draco fell silent for a moment, then pushed himself up to face Willow. His face was caked in mud, tears, and blood; his nose smashed to the side. Willow smiled sympathetically and grabbed another potion, offering it to Draco, who put his hand against it and pressed it down.
“I’m a lost cause, aren’t I?” He asked. Willow shook her head and uncorked the bottle, reaching forward to tilt his head up and press the glass against his lips.
“Not lost,” she said as she tipped the bottle to pour the liquid to his mouth. “Just slow to start walking your new path.”