The Arkanist

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The courtyard sang with the clash of iron in the early morning haze.

Aera watched, standing beside the tall crow-like figure of Alistairr, the master of the Rangers at Svarr. He wore the dark black cloaks, dusted in snow and ash, with a black pelt of fur over his shoulders. At his hip, his sword lay sheathed in leather, the hilt tipped with a marble snowlion’s head, its eyes set with chips of sapphire. The ranger’s face was long and thin with hair black as jet that ran down to his shoulders. His eyes were dark as shadow.

The haze lingered, hanging just over the icy floor, veiling their feet. The courtyard was large, built opposite the Black Hall, across the mud road. It was fenced in by wooden posts, and in the ice and mud yard, several targets and hay soldiers stood, frozen in a white frost. Alistairr would speak few words every so often as Aera watched the fighting. Sometimes, he would speak what the rangers did wrong, or what they did right. Most times, he did not speak at all. He only watched with his long, arced nose, stiff as stone.

After about an hour of watching the dulled steel blades ring and rap, Aera was still watching, her body numb as ice. In a sudden fury, she turned on Alistarr. “Did you drag me out here so that I could just freeze. Or did you drag me out into the cold to watch?”

Alistairr did not take this well. “I brought you out here to learn, boy!” He said it with spite. “If you think yourself better than any of them, go.” He turned and handed Aera a heavy iron blade, and a coat of padded leather to wear over her cloaks. “Go, if you’re so eager.”

 Aera took the sword in hand, her muscles working as she swung it about, and the heavy leather fit loose over her shoulders. “Warrn!” Alistairr yelled to one of the rangers. “This one needs an opponent.” Warrn was a broad man, with a great beard and a longsword bigger than Aera. He loomed over her as he marched across the crunching mud. Aera watched him as he lumbered over, adjusting her leather armor.

Warrn struck first, swinging a heavy slash down over her. Aer met with the flat of her blade and pushed forward, countering with a quick strike at his thick legs. The ranger parried to strike and lunged at Aera, who dodged and rapped the blade across his wrist. His blade dropped with a soft clatter and Aera held her blade at his chest. Warrn was breathing hard, as was Aera, as she felt icy beads of sweat rain down her forehead.

Alistairr called out again. “Warwyk!” Another ranger walked toward her, this one smaller and leaner, with a dark face and wild brown hair. They walked in a circle for a minute, studying each other, until Warwick ran at Aera and drove his sword at her, she sidestepped, and threw a blow at his legs, but he leaped aside and countered with a slash at her upper arm. The blow was met with a high clang of iron as her sword rapped against his. As Aera charged him, she slipped on the mud, and fell, but managed to block the next blow and roll away. With a flurry of attacks, she ended with a hard rap across Warwyk’s knee. He let out a yelp and his leg rumbled to the ground.

Alistairr appeared unmoved. “Umbar!” The ranger he called was quick with his blade as Aera battled him, and she lunged and dodged, but every time, he met her strike. Frustrated, she remembered a move her father had taught her. She grinned, and twirled her blade. Then, she waited for Umbar to attack. He didn’t at first, but after a fair while, he swung a mighty slash down on Aera, which she saw and spun away, catching his sword by the crosshilt and twirled with her wrist until her sword released and twirled on her own blade so that the hilt landed in Aera’s hand and she held both blade at the ranger. “I yield,” said the man, cowering. She threw him back his blade.

“Well,” said Alistairr. “It seems you’re the least useless one we have here.” He began to walk closer to her and ripped Umbar’s blade from his hand and pointed it at Aera. “But you are far too predictable, and to weak in your thrusts.” He swung hard at Aera’s right shoulder, but she parried and batted it away so she had a clear shot at his leg, but he saw it and caught her strike and pushed it away, landing a hard strike on her shoulder, where the armor didn’t guard. Her arm erupted in a sudden pain and she dropped her sword, holding her arm. “As I said, predictable and weak.” He threw the iron sword onto the frozen ground and walked away, his black cloak dirtied with mud.