Chapter 11: Isolde’s Secret

Cassian shifted nervously on his feet, glancing at Gareth. "Are you sure he's coming? We don't have much time left," he whispered, his eyes darting towards the clock on the wall of the Mirage Chamber building.

Gareth, leaned casually against the wall and gave a nonchalant shrug. "He'll be here. I pulled too many strings and called in too many favors for this not to work. Besides, Professor Thorne is too curious to pass up on something intriguing, especially if he thinks it concerns him directly.”

“So you say.”

“Well, I may have led him to believe that it was…me in the chamber. He thinks I want to join the defense team.”

“Gareth!”

He put his hands up as if warding off a blow. “I know, I know. But I couldn’t think of a better way. As far as he’s concerned, I’m his golden child. Begging him to come see me do my best was the only way I could think of. And even that was a tough ask.”

Cassian rubbed the back of his neck and took a look around the chamber. There were more people here than he had been expecting.

This Mirage Chamber was typically only reserved for trainees in the combat program, or other stakeholders the academy loaned it to on occasion. Inside the building, the Mirage Chamber proper was more or less as big as two basketball courts slapped together. Glass separated the chamber from the special viewing area reserved for students waiting for their turn, and sometimes, faculty evaluating the participants. Even now, the team from whose time slot we were borrowing a ten minute window, sat chomping at the bit.

Cassian's eyebrows knitted together. "I still can't believe you managed to get Isolde a shot in the Mirage Chamber. That's some serious pull."

Gareth chuckled. "Yeah, well, I was surprised when she asked for this. I thought she'd want to prove her research capabilities or something, but I guess she's got something else in mind. She worked out the details with the engineer and everything. Didn’t want me to be a part of it."

Cassian ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head in disbelief. "I've never seen her use combat magic. Have you?"

"Nope," Gareth admitted. "For all we know, she’s got something planned in there that has nothing to do with fighting."

They shared a skeptical look.

Then the squadron team leader, a burly wolfman with a chest that seemed as broad as Cassian was long, approached them. His expression was stern, but his manner of speech was more like someone doing something they knew they shouldn’t and intended to get it over with as soon as possible. He growled, "You get ten minutes. No more, no less. If she's still in there when the time's up, I'll drag her out myself."

Gareth nodded. "Understood."

The head of the hour arrived and Cassian felt like the tension inside him was a chord ready to snap. Had this all been for nothing? Would that bastard Thorne just not show up at all?

Then the double doors to the viewing area opened, and in walked Professor Alaric Thorne, orange beard oiled and trailing an air of self importance like a cape around his shoulders. His sharp eyes scanned the room, quickly zeroing in on Gareth. As a testament to his good will toward his “golden child”, the man’s face softened when he saw him.

Then he approached. “Mr. Ra’Sinclair, Mr. Varn.” He squinted at Cassian. Presumably, he couldn’t place why Cassian was there. But as swiftly as the question occurred to the professor, it was put out of mind. Maybe he decided Cassian was there to cheer his protege on. It was clear he didn’t much approve.

To Gareth, he said: “Excuse my late arrival, but I was…interrupted by Professor Lyra’s replacement, it took some time for her to understand I had somewhere to be.”

The comment made Cassian’s ears perk. Lyra had been replaced? But then, he supposed that was to be expected when she took a leave of absence for an indeterminate amount of time. He would have to meet her when he got the chance.

Thorne cleared his throat of non-existent phlegm. “Well, shouldn’t you be headed to the chamber?” Then he leaned in conspiratorially and whispered. “I know it mustn't have been a simple thing to convince the staff to allow you to sneak in some time out of turn.”

When Thorn righted himself, Gareth laughed uneasily, then reddened. Apparently, he still hadn’t worked out the story to deliver regarding who was really being evaluated today.

Thorne may have noticed something was amiss, but before he said anything, there was the sound of the horn and a blue flashing bulb on the wall between the glass and the chamber— the signal that the Mirage Chamber had been activated.

Then the engineer’s voice resounded—a sound remarkably like a loudspeaker, despite being made with a magic item—and it announced the participant’s team and the exercise, as was the format. “Miss Isolde Wyrmbane. Solo. Survive the Swarm Level 3”

Thorne's eyes immediately flashed angrily toward Gareth, who shrugged, his Perfect Prefect persona cracking for the first time Cassian had ever seen. Or, maybe it was intentional.

And then something unexpected happened to Thorne’s expression. As if his train of thought was suddenly interrupted. He looked up and squinted past the glass of the chamber. Cassian could swear he saw Thorne silently mouth Isolde's surname. Wyrmbane.

As Isolde’s diminutive frame entered through the doors on the opposite side of the chamber proper, the combat program students gathered around the team leader erupted in jeers.

“Look at the little girl!”

“Does she even know what she’s doing?”

“Soloing a survival exercise, is she crazy?!”

There was a female in the group that shoved one of the men mocking Isolde, then, maybe out of solidarity with someone of her same gender, begane to cheer for Isolde, but even she didn’t sound too sure that anything good was about to happen.

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Cassian ignored it all. His eyes were fixed on Isolde. He wasn’t sure he knew which god to pray to, but he prayed anyway. Willing her to do well. Wishing she knew what she was doing.

Inside the Mirage Chamber, the environment shifted. The plain white room transformed in an instant into a dark, foreboding forest.

Then the first wave of monsters appeared. Three creatures, resembling a cross between wolves and lizards, immediately lunged at her from the darkness behind the treeline.

Isolde sprang into action. With a swift motion, she conjured three ethereal snakes that shot from her hands like arrows, wrapping around the creatures and constricting them until their guts splashed out of their mouths and behind.

The students watching from the viewing area were stunned into silence. Cassian hardly noticed when his own jaw dropped.

A second wave came almost immediately. Larger creatures, resembling boars with tusks made of jagged stone. They charged at her, hooves pounding the ground with earth-shaking force. This time her ethereal snakes snapped out like whips, their fangs latching on their hides for an instant before twisting around to bite anew. The beasts recoiled in pain and no more than a few strides later, they collapsed, mouths frothing and twitching in their death throes. As the number of creatures increased and they closed in on her before she had time to kill or wound, she began to dodge and roll, then strike, moving nimbly with grace and ferocity Cassian wouldn’t have thought possible from the shy and demure girl he’d first met.

Isolde spun, suddenly sporting conjured daggers that looked like fangs. Flashing, slicing, dashing through the horde. Ooze and steam leaked from any wound her weapons inflicted.

She was doing well, but there were just too many enemies. Just when it seemed like she would be overwhelmed, poisonous smoke, cast with a quick flick of her wrist, billowed out in front of her, green and noxious, halting all the creatures on one side so she couldn’t be flanked, and giving her much needed breathing room. It didn’t hurt that any of the creatures that braved the smog fell dead almost instantly.

Even so, despite her skill and her endless slew of deadly tricks, she was taking hits. A smaller, more agile monster, resembling a cross between a lynx and an owl, slipped past her defenses, its claws raking under her arm and leaving a horrible gash across her ribs. Isolde winced, spun on a dime, and thrust her dagger into its eye.

Snake eyes burning gold and green, she persevered. Dodging and rolling, thrusting and crushing. Still, little by little, she collected wounds. A gash on the arm, a gore on the thigh. Until she on one knee and sure to be overwhelmed. Only to defy the odds by conjuring a dome barrier, entirely composed of her spectral snakes, that both served as a shield, and deterrent, emitting poisonous gas everywhere it was ruptured. As it caved, the dome of snakes exploded outward with its poison gas, clearing the field one last time.

Isolde struggled to her feet, her body bloodied, face painted with frustration and defiance. A wolf-like creature with spikes down its back roared as it stepped into the clearing. It stomped to her in three strides, leaping several meters in the air before landing on her and pinning her to the ground. She managed to drive a dagger into its side, but that was the end.

The horn sounded, and the bulb on the wall turned green.

The illusion dispelled, and Isolde stood in the center of the chamber, sweat-soaked and breathing hard, but none the worse for wear, all her injuries having been part of the illusion. Her hair stuck to her forehead, she wiped it off, looking frustrated and dejected. Then she stamped out of the chamber and circled around.

Only then did Cassian realize how the other students in the combat program were hooting and cheering. He finally managed to close his jaw and look over at Gareth who was equally stunned. “What the hell was that?”

Gareth shook his head, grinning. “Pure awesome.”

Professor Thorne bore an inscrutable expression.

When Isolde rounded the corner and joined them at the viewing area, she was met with a crowd of eager fans. They took turns patting her on the back or jostling her in a friendly manner. All of this looked to be befuddling Isolde.

Finally, Thorne, fed up with the spectacle, commanded “Silence.”

Everyone fell silent, tension thick in the air. It looked like some of them hadn’t noticed Professor Thorne had been among them all this time. Especially, Cassian noted, the wolfman team leader. His fur paled in a way that was all too human.

Thorne waved for the students to make space such that he stood alone in front of Isolde. She seemed to want to look away, but then grit her teeth and faced him.

"You are Isolde Wyrmbane of the Seraphis Wyrmbanes?" Thorne asked, his voice dry.

Isolde's eyes flashed with anger. "Professor, my family has lived in Eldara for three generations. You could hardly call us Seraphan."

Thorne waved her comment away. "Yes, yes. That isn’t what I meant.” He studied her for a few moments more, then smiled. “You've been well trained. As to be expected from one with your family's history."

Cassian heard himself gasp in surprise. He wasn’t alone. Did Thorne just pay someone…a compliment?

Isolde's confusion deepened. "I don’t understand. I failed. I only lasted five minutes in the chamber. I couldn’t finish the exercise."

One of the female students, the one who had cheered her half-heartedly, couldn't contain herself. "Are you crazy? You lasted five minutes in a level 3 swarm simulation—alone! That's amazing!"

Thorne shushed the student to silence. Then pointed at the wolfman team leader. “Do you not have something you must do? Be grateful I do not report it to your superiors that you have been selling time slots in the chamber.”

The wolfman’s ears drooped and the fear of the gods came upon him. He bowed and sputtered and said nothing at all, then turned to the rest of his team and scurried off to the engineer’s room.

Then Thorne pinched the bridge of his nose. “Notwithstanding I abhor interruptions, the trainee is correct. Five minutes in that situation is no small thing. What you did was buy five minutes so that non-combatants could escape a perilous situation. What you did was defend a caravan for five minutes so that your teammates could reach you. You see, five minutes saves lives, young Wyrmbane. And it is commendable that you did it on your own."

Thorne then turned to Gareth. "I understand why you wished me to come here. Of course, that I was deceived, I’m unhappy. But I suppose you judged correctly that I wouldn’t have come if you’d told me the truth, hmm?”

Gareth’s mouth twisted in a sideways grin,, then schooled himself into the Proper Prefect persona. “I apologize for deceiving you, Professor.”

“Given that the three of you are here together and the context at hand, I presume that Miss Wyrmbane would like to join my expedition at the end of the month?”

Isolde’s eyes were once again fierce with determination. After his words of praise, she would not be denied. “Yes, Professor Thorne.”

The professor stroked his orange beard absently, weighing. Then made up his mind. “You may come to my office first thing in the morning to fill out the appropriate paperwork. So long as you agree to obey the instructions of our head of security, I will allow it.”

Isolde took a step forward, so happy she might hug Thorne, then instantly reconsidered and settled on keeping her hands at her waist. “I will be there.”

Then Thorne turned to Cassian. “Mr. Varn, did Professor Lyra not instruct you to seek my aid? I've been expecting you to visit my office for some time.”

“Oh, uh…yes.” Cassian reeled. How much did the professor know? Of course Lyra told him to help me. That only makes sense. Why didn’t I consider that?

Professor Thorne nodded. All was settled. “Very well.” And then he turned and disappeared out the double doors, walking as proud and self-important as he came, but, perhaps, though Cassian wasn’t sure if he imagined it, with a spring in his step.

When he was finally gone, Cassian and Gareth both turned to Isolde, who shrunk under their gaze.

“What?” She asked, beginning to turn red. “It all worked out in the end, right?”

Cassian shook his head in disbelief. Then, resigning himself to the reality that there was nothing he could do to stop her from coming now—and the fact that she was considerably better prepared to face dangers than he was—he sighed and put an arm on your shoulder. “Who are you, and what did you do to our shy and meek friend Isolde?”