The Touch of Astoroth

Chapter Three

Coyra Sovern and Trikk Kkeern.

That was who the masters picked for their poison gathering mission. It made scene, fitting into everything Master Fayrro was trying to accomplish. If they succeeded, Trikk would be given other missions, and if Coyra was with him, they were likely to succeed. Also, if they failed, Coyra would get most of the blame, because she had so much more experience.

The next week and a half, Coyra trained, but she couldn't stop thinking about the stolen luck charm. If Izmeel really were guilty, that changed things, though she wasn't sure what. They were still at war. But now there seemed to be reason behind the Kermerranians. Fact was backing their side now. They were still vile, evil, and deserved to die painful deaths, but they had a reason for fighting. It was strange how much that bothered her.

Still, she didn't have that much time to dwell on it. Master Fayrro seemed to be determined to make sure Trikk could manage this mission, and had everyone hunting each other around the hills, until well after midnight almost every night. During the days, he drilled them all so hard in sword play, that for once, even Fyn was glad they slept in hammocks, because they were all so bruised, that they couldn't sleep on any solid surface.

One night, Coyra was stalking with Fyn, when they saw movement a little further down the hill. The two were not doing very well. They had recently been separated, and another team – Yalda Elfkin, and Stiln Farnum – had attacked Fyn while Coyra was distracted by a rope trap set up by the masters. Fyn hadn't been hurt too severely, but he still had to wear the white cloth representing a bandage, and not use his left arm. It would be nice to stop being the hunted for a little while.

Coyra motioned, and they headed down towards the soft crunching sound, Coyra with her bow drawn, Fyn with his dagger ready.

The two reached a tree, and, peering around it, saw Trikk on the other side, standing in a pool of moonlight and practicing his sword thrusts – all alone.

What is he doing? Fyn signaled.

No idea, Coyra signed back.

She lowered her bow, as Trikk dodged an invisible opponent, and slashed at another. He was doing a good job keeping silent, Coyra reflected, as Trikk rolled to avoid an imaginary sword blade, but his form was as lopsided, and clumsy as ever. Her bow was loaded with training arrows, blunted so as not to wound, but they would bruise, and of course the shame of being shot by an opponent you didn't know was there could ache worse than a sword cut. Coyra shook her head and turned to Fyn who seemed to agree with her silent decision. He gestured and the two of them creped away, to find more offensive opponents.

They spent the rest of the night stalking Lem, whose partner had already been killed. By the time they finally accosted him, all three of them were so tired, that when Lem surrendered, even Coyra didn't object. The three of them trudged back to the academy grounds, where they joined the already sizeable crowd of students who had given in to exhaustion.

Coyra noticed dully, as they trooped back to their sleeping rooms, that Trikk was not among them.

Two weeks after the announcement of the poison mission, Coyra and Trikk woke early, and met at the stables to saddle up, and be on their way. No master saw them off; There was no information to give them: No scouts had made it alive in and out of the Kermerranian camp.

As Jeggin trotted up the steep path out of the valley, Coyra glanced behind her to make sure Trikk was still there. The boy was unusually silent this morning, and he looked smaller than ever mounted on top of his pony, Sova. When he caught Coyra's eye however, Trikk's face split in an excited smile, and there was an exuberant squeak in his voice as he said, "This is amazing! I didn't realize father was serious!"