Dragonmasters, Part 2

Part 2

  Laskor stood up with a smile, and he and Taron shook hands and went out of the room.  Laskor led him down to one of the basement rooms, where many other teenagers were waiting.  There were a lot of boys, and a few girls, all with their weapons in their hands, all looking a bit nervous.  They sat around a circular table that still had many seats left.  There was a single bright light above the enter gap in the table, but the stone walls were almost completely shadowed.  Taron took a chair and sat down when Laskor left, drawing his sword and looking it over again.  Some teens looked at him and at his sword, but many were too busy with their own thoughts.  A few minutes later, as Taron was going through his memory and thinking about the many weapon designs he’d created, he door opened again and in walked the brown-haired girl.  She took the seat next to Taron but wasn’t really paying attention—she seemed lost in thought.  With a sigh half of frustration, half of wonder at what she’d learned, she looked at her staff and gently ran her hand along the rubies and emeralds.  Taron yawned, and his voice made her jump.
  “Oh!  I didn’t realize it was you!” she said, but in a low voice.  Taron shrugged but he smiled at her.  He knew, somehow, he could trust her, but he couldn’t talk about things just yet.  The others around them didn’t seem to notice their acquaintance. 
  “So, you chose to become a Warrior?” Taron asked.  She smiled and nodded, knowing he was really asking about the secret info they’d received.
  “Yep…always wanted to be one.  I just hope I picked the right thing.”
  “I’m sure you did,” Taron said, but he didn’t notice her side-glance; he was watching three boys at the far end of the table.  After a few moments Taron leaned to her and said, “Keep an eye on those guys there, across the table.  I don’t like the way they’re looking at us.”
  “Who?  Oh…” She glared at them and they laughed to themselves.  “Those idiots…they kept tripping me and taking my stuff on the way in.”  They pointed at her and she glared at them even worse.  They seemed a bit scared but covered it up with laughter.  Their eyes kept jumping to Taron, and it seemed that they were a little apprehensive of him.  He hardened his face at them and they looked away, chatting among themselves.
  After about fifteen minutes the door opened again, and the late boy came in and sat down on Taron’s other side.  He seemed really nervous but hid it very well.  He was almost immediately followed by a tall man in a flowing white robe, with a blue cloak over his shoulders.  He was very old, with a long white beard, but he was not bent with age, nor did his gait seem to suffer as he walked through an opening in the table to a small platform in the gap in the center.  He flung aside his cloak and they saw a strange, beautiful sword on his back.
  “Here you are, the protectors of our future,” he began, addressing them.  “Becoming a Warrior, it is true, brings fame and money, which is no doubt what some of you are after.  But the role of Warrior is not easy; in fact, in many areas, it is far more strenuous and perilous than any other profession.  To become a Warrior, you must have a keen sense of your surroundings.  At all times you must know what is going on around you.”  Taron thought he saw a movement behind several teens in the shadow against the walls.  The old man paused, and Taron swiftly turned around in his chair, his sword out at arm’s length, pointing to a man clocked in black.  He also saw his friend’s staff pointing at the man too.
  “Very good, you two!” the old man said, with a few claps of his hand.  The cloaked man took off the black mask around his face and stepped back.  The other teenagers were looking at them—some in awe; some in self-consciousness, feeling that they could’ve done the same; and some, like the boys across the room, looked at them with hatred.  Many of them looked around and saw, but didn’t really react to, other men cloaked in black.  “Awareness of surroundings, and keen reflexes, are your tickets to survival.  As shown here, an attempted ambush was foiled.  Weapons and strength alone are not the keys to your success; rather, they are the tools you are given.  You must also be able to read your opponent and know what to do for what he does.  A seasoned warrior can predict his foe’s plans by a mere glimpse at his enemy’s bodily movements.  This is critical, especially with the rise of wild animals about.  Many of you will be sent off to deal with reports of these creatures, and the training you shall receive tomorrow will aid you tremendously in these dealings.”  He paused again.  “If any of you are having second thoughts about your choice, feel free to leave at any time.  Some people make hasty decisions, or decisions based on fantasy or dreams, and later regret their decision.  If you do not think you are called to be Warriors, you may leave.  Those who stay through this discussion shall be recorded as Warriors.”  Five or six teens stood up, a bit self-consciously as everyone watched them, and they left.  The old man waited for them to leave, and continued.
  “The role of Warrior is not for the faint-of-heart.  There is bloodshed in combat with sharp weapons such as these,” he drew his sword as he spoke, “and those of you that don’t think you can handle the sight of blood and gore, or are uneasy about killing another living being, are advised to step out now.  For the role of Warrior comes at a price; indeed, many believe that it is underpaid and does not receive as much recognition as it should.  There is glory and fame, but often long after many toiling and bloody deeds against wild things.”  At this a few more stood up, more resolutely than the others had, and hurried out. 
  “Tomorrow those of you who decide to continue on your chosen path will be faced with serious and intensive training.  At any time you are free to drop out and consider another path.  You will be here for three days.  Make new friends, and try to avoid becoming enemies.”  At this Taron saw his friend glare again at the boys across the table.  “In the wilderness, every single second is a chance, and sometimes friends may come at chance, whether to aid or just as a passing.  Look out for each other, for in the wilderness, one is a lonely number.”  With that he dismissed them, and there was a lot of ringing and clanking as everyone picked up their weapons, some bumping against each other as they filed out.  Taron and the brown-haired girl walked out next to each other, and in the hallway they stopped at a wall to wait for their counselors.
  “I still don’t know your name,” Taron said, watching the others walk past, seeking out their instructors. 
  “Oh, I’m so sorry!  I thought I’d told you by now…my name’s Ali.” 
  “Ali…I think I can remember that,” he said, teasingly.  She laughed to herself and ran her hand through her hair.  As they stood there, waiting and watching, the late boy came up to them.  He was thin, as if he’d gone a while without much food, and his armor seemed a bit beaten up and scuffed, but he looked like someone who’d lash out fiercely and lethally if cornered. 
  “Uhhh…hey,” he said, avoiding eye contact.  “Umm…mind if…mind if I join you?”
  Taron tapped the wall next to him and the boy leaned against it.
  “That was…that was cool…what you did in there…”  He seemed really nervous.
  “Thanks,” they both said, and gave each other a side-glance, unsure who he was speaking to.  He was looking around, and seemed to be feeling the air.
  “You guys feel that?” he asked, stepping forward a little, looking around. 
  “Feel what?” Ali asked, watching him.
  “I guess you don’t…”  He seemed a little depressed at it.
  “What are you feeling?” Taron asked.
  “It feels like a storm’s coming…a really powerful thunderstorm…I think we may get a tornado.”
  “A tornado?  In the mountains?” Ali asked, confused.  “I can understand a storm, but a tornado?”
  “Well, something’s stirring, anyway,” he replied. 
  “Does it feel like a kind of pressure from the air?” Taron asked. 
  “Yes…kinda depressing and ominous…you feel it?”
  “A tiny bit, yeah,” Taron said.  Sometimes he was able to sense if a storm was coming, but something seemed to be blocking him now…he figured it was because he was underground underneath a huge building.
Their counselors came back and they separated.  Taron had a feeling that he’d made another friend, but he wasn’t sure.  As they walked back to his room, Taron staggered as something hit his head from behind.  He and Laskor turned around sharply and saw those three boys from the table.  On the ground was Taron’s sheathed knife.  The boy in front of the group smirked at him.
  “Dropped your knife,” he said smugly.  Taron, without taking his eyes off him, stooped and picked up his knife. 
  “Boys, get going,” Laskor said, motioning away.
  “Oh, what’re you gonna do?” the boy sneered.  Apparently he had a problem with authority.  His problem subsided in a flash when a whip lashed his armor from behind, along the sword-belt so as not to really hurt him.  The boys turned around and saw one of the Arena guards there.  His armor was white and gold, unlike the red and blue of the regular guards; obviously this was one of the Elites.
  “Boys, you should know better than to address your elders that way,” the guard said coolly.
  “I’ll have my parents on you for this,” the boy said angrily.
  “Your parents have no jurisdiction here,” the guard replied.  “You are responsible for your own actions as of two days ago.  If you don’t want me to report to your parents on your behavior I suggest you shape up and leave others alone.  And no throwing weapons, protected or not.  That right there is an offense punishable by cell time.  I’ll let you go for now, but if anything else happens, your parents will have to wait fifteen days until your cell time’s up.”  The boys slunk off, and the guard ducked through a door nearby after nodding to Laskor.  The one teen turned and gave Taron a sneer that never would really leave his mind.  Taron and Laskor continued until they came to his room.  Laskor had to leave, so Taron went into the refreshments area and got himself a snack.  There were a few others there but they paid him no mind; they were reading through paperwork.  Back in his room, Taron drew his sword and swung it around a bit.  The metal sang through the air with a sweet whistle.  Cut, stab, block, downstrike, backhand, punch, stab.  He practiced all the moves he knew, a mental image of an enemy taking every blow and getting blocked every time it swung.  If he had another sword he could pull off his dual-wield moves, but all he had was his sword and knife.  After a bit more self-training, Taron sheathed his sword and knife and went to the window.  Afternoon was drawing to an end, but the thunderstorm feeling was drawing ever closer.  Off to the right he though he saw the edge of a supercell, from the direction of the ocean. 
  “Hope it’s nothing major,” he said to himself, and breathed deeply.  The smell of the mountain brought back memories of when his parents would take him on small excursions through the mountains.  He remembered his dad chasing him to a huge waterfall…how he had longed to swim under that waterfall at the time…to find out if there was something behind it…His brothers had always told him that a vast Dragon stronghold lay behind the falls, but no one could ever get in because the water was so fierce.
  “Someday I’ll reach those falls and find the other side,” he told himself.  “Someday I’ll even find Dragons…”  He wandered out into the hallway and saw Laskor coming back, riffling through some papers.
  “Here,” he said, handing a packet to Taron.  He seemed a bit distressed.  “I’ll be back shortly.  Read this through.”  He quickly walked off, Taron staring after him.  Shaking his head Taron went back into his room and opened the packet.  In bright gold letters outlined in black ink for easier reading was the title “Weaponry and Protection: Legals Every Warrior Should Know”.  With a sigh of frustration Taron leafed through it, reading the titles of the various sections.  He’d always hated reading legal stuff…one page caught his eye and flipped back to it.
  “Human-on-Human Encounters in the Wilderness”, Taron read to himself.  “Odd…”  The pages went on and on about customs and tribal or village disputes, but one page especially caught his eye and he read it over carefully.
  “Under no circumstances should deaths occur, by way of magic, weapons or otherwise, unless it is a kill-or-be-killed situation as dictated and described by Combat Code 64-11.1.  Severe debilitation is allowed only if there is no way of calming the conflict short of death.  See Section 64-10.2, line 15.  In any and all conflicts between two people, one must find a way of either resolving the problem peacefully, or if the chance arises, a non-violent method of escape.  In some cases an attacker will not allow escape; in these cases, combat is allowed, but there is to be no or little bloodshed.  All cuts or injuries must be accidental as described in Section 65-1.5.  Failure to comply shall result in punishment of both parties (chapter 14 Section 10-12b.3).  If the attacker is beyond a doubt intent on death, seek the least destructive means of debilitation in order to end the conflict.  More shall be covered in the next chapter.”
  “Punishment?” Taron asked himself, “I’m gonna be out in the wild far from civilization!  How are they gonna find out if I’ve been in a fight?”  He flipped back to the front of the book and looked at the date.  The book was twenty years old.  “That explains it,” he said to himself.  “The rules have changed since then.”  He remembered his dad reading off legal notices to him.  He’d learned that death was still only a kill-or-be-killed situation, but the rules were not nearly so strict, now with the rise of dark forces.  There were far more robbers and evil people abroad now than there had been that long ago.  For all he knew the new laws and rules made combat fair game so long as he didn’t initiate it.
  Laskor came into the room silently; Taron didn’t notice until Laskor was right next to him.  He jumped with a startled yell when he turned his head and saw the blonde-haired man next to him.
  “I’m sorry, I gave you the wrong packet,” Laskor said, taking Taron’s and giving him another one.  “I realized when I went back that I had picked up the wrong copy.”
  “Is it just me or is a storm coming?” Taron asked.
  “Yes, an intense thunderstorm is headed our way, at a tremendous pace,” Laskor said, that distressed look coming into his eyes.  He closed the door, making sure no one was around, and whispered.
  “Our scouts have reported seeing Dark Mages walking at the front of the system, leading it towards us in an attempt to wipe out you and the others.”  By “others” Taron knew he meant the other future Dragonmasters.  “We’ve done what we can but we can only do so much before it raises suspicion.  The mages are headed straight for this arena.  The storm is predicted to do quite a bit of damage to this arena before it passes, if it does pass.  I pray that the mages don’t cause it to hover over us.”  Laskor sat back in his chair, his hand over his face.  “We have fine warriors here, and one of the best security units around, but melee fighters are no good against magic-wielding mages.  Pray for a miracle, that they do not find an easy way up here…actually, that they don’t find a way up.”  Laskor sat back in the chair with a sigh.  Taron knew somehow that Laskor knew how terrible mages were.  The blonde-haired man was staring off into the distance with a pained look, almost like a creature that knows it’s trapped and is trying to formulate a plan of escape. 

______________________________________________

  Half an hour later Taron looked out the window.  The sky was dark with clouds.  He hoped his prayers were heard.  Laskor had fallen asleep in the chair, sitting up unusually straight for being asleep.  Taron stood up, and the creak of the floorboards woke Laskor.  The man jumped up and in a flash had his dagger in hand, looking around.
  “Oh, geez, I’m really on edge,’ he said, slumping back into the chair.  The air seemed depressing and heavy, and Taron thought he heard thunder.  He opened his window just as a bolt of lightning seared through the sky above with a sharp crack.  When Taron uncovered his ears and opened his eyes he saw a small domestic dragon flying as fast as it could to the Arena.  In the distance, out by the edge of the valley ring, the clouds seemed to be swirling.  It might’ve been his imagination but Taron thought he heard foul voices in the air, as if the air itself were speaking in low, foul tones.
  A few minutes later a loud, clear gong sound echoed through all the walls of the arena.  Laskor jumped to his feet and Taron hurriedly followed him as he bolted out of the room.  They doubled back and grabbed their weapons and went out into the hallway.  All the guards and instructors were siphoning the teens and visitors down the stairs as fast as the line could go.  The walls sounded again.  At the base of the third flight of stairs Taron bumped into Ali.  Without a word they grasped hands and went along down the stairs with everyone else.  He bumped into the late boy and grabbed his hand; the boy was standing on the stairwell, feeling the air.  By the time the walls had sounded four times everyone was in the basement areas, which were below at least thirty feet of solid rock.  Somehow, Taron and his two companions ended up the last ones to enter the room they were shown to, and they were the closest to the doors.  Three more times the walls boomed as everyone was safely ushered into the underground rooms.  Taron heard the guards run past the doors through the hallway, shouting out orders and positioning themselves. 
  “I’m scared,” said one of the girls behind him, and several others joined in.  Ali did her best to verbally comfort them; she couldn’t see them in the darkness of the room.  There was a light but when the doors had closed the fire had been blown out by the draft.  There was a dull murmur and hissing of whispers, and a few choked-back sobs of fright, and every now and then the clink of metal as someone’s weapon hit someone else’s.  Taron stood by the door, listening.
  Fifteen minutes passed without any action outside; hopefully the danger had passed.  Taron was sitting against the door, still listening, but he was paying more attention to everyone else in the room.  Apparently he was the only one other than Ali who thought of guarding the door in case of an attack; but then again, only he and Ali, and several others, had been told of the possible danger.
  Twenty minutes passed, and not a sound outside.  Many people were now starting to wonder if they should leave.  Taron still barred their door; it seemed too quiet.
  It was good that he stood there, for suddenly a loud blast echoed through the halls and there came the yells of combat.  Several teens behind him screamed, and there was a loud thudding on the door.
  “Get back!” Taron yelled, drawing his sword and pushing everyone away from the door, also speaking to whoever was at the door.  The door suddenly glowed as if being heated, and it melted into a puddle right at Taron’s feet.  In the brightness of the hallway stood a man covered in black, carrying a long, black staff with an evil design at the end.  Ali picked up her staff and stood by Taron and they heard several other weapons being drawn behind them.  The man laughed; it sounded as though there was another voice speaking from him as well.
  “You young fools,” he said, laughing.
  “In the name of the Almighty you have no power here,” Taron said in his most commanding power, pointing his sword at the man.  The mage stopped laughing as if he’d lost his voice.  Enraged by this command he flung his staff forward, but Taron’s blade met it and with a searing blast of light clove right through the darkly-enchanted wood.  The mage shrieked in several different voices at once and ran, drawing a sword as he headed for a nearby guard.  Taron jumped out of the room and flung his knife.  It hit the back of the man’s head, and in a puff of smoke and a high wail all that was left were his cloak and the leather handle of his staff.  Taron rushed and picked up his knife as five guards ran past him in the opposite direction.  He looked up and jumped back as a long whip cut the air at him.  Ali rushed in as Taron tripped over the cloak of the fallen mage.  The whip-wielder laughed and whipped at Ali, but with a twist of her wrist she hooked the staff around, causing the whip to wind around the staff.  Continuing her motion she sharply pulled the whip from the mage’s hand, pulling him forward.  Taron threw his sword and it sailed right through the mage’s heart, and the dark man howled and turned to dust.  The other mages behind him avoided Taron’s sword and came at him.  They were swiftly outnumbered by other teens suddenly flowing out of the doors, quickly cutting the mages down faster than they could summon their magic.  Taron picked up his sword, blew the dust off the hilt and quillon, and rushed in to join the fray.  Now that the teenagers were loosed, catching the mages off guard, the Arena guards redoubled their efforts and soon the mages were dwindling in number.  There were tons of flashes and blasts, but there seemed to be a strange power in the air that prevented serious damage being done to the defenders, a power that was against the dark men. 
  Taron finally finished off a mage, with Ali’s help, when the hallway went dark.  Everyone turned to the main entrance of the hallway.  Standing there, glowing, was a tall man swathed in black, with black armor all over underneath his cape and cloak.  In his hands he wielded two huge black swords.  They both crackled with bright yellow electric energy as he stood there, quickly scanning the potential threat with unseen eyes beneath the overhanging black hood.
  “I see I have tangled with the wrong crowd,” he said, and as he spoke it seemed as though other voices were speaking too; foul voices that seemed to be his but not his.  The first thing that came to Taron’s mind was demons.  “Well, I’m here for one sole purpose, and no one gets in my way.  I might as well finish what I started.”  His unseen eyes seemed to fix on Taron and Ali.  A few other teens came in around them, sensing the direction of his gaze.  Without warning he disappeared in a flash of bright smoke, and in an instant reappeared behind Taron, grabbing him by the neck of his armor and lifting him with one arm.  With a cry everyone around him either cowered from a sudden, intense fear that seemed to issue from this man, while others started hacking at him.  Their blades passed through him as if he was a ghost, and he laughed.
  “Young fools!  Your metals have no influence on me,” he cackled, and the other voices of his voice seemed to laugh as he spoke.  Taron drew the knife his priest had given him, and with a quick twist that nearly choked him on the collar of his armor, he whipped around and stabbed the fiend in the side of the head.  There was something about the blade that made it special; the blade drove home and the man keeled over into a pile of dust beneath his black robes and armor, his swords clattering to the ground and shattering into thousands of tiny shards.  Taron, gasping slightly from the twist and the closeness of his armor on his neck, stooped over and picked up his knife.  As soon as his blade left the cloak, the black cloth and armor swirled towards the door and the man stood there again.  He no longer had a body; the armor and cloak hovered in the air on a wavering, transparent figure.
  “You think you can defeat me that easily?” he asked.  “Not so, young man.  You are brave, but foolish.  You only send me on to greater power now!”
  “In the name of the Almighty I bind you and cast you out!” Taron said, flinging his knife.  The knife glowed and struck the man where his heart would have been, and it stayed there.  The mage shrieked and flashed, his armor and cloak burning up like paper in a fire.  Taron’s knife clattered to the ground and the glow of its blade faded.
  Taron went and grabbed his knife, looking around.  Everyone was staring at him in awe.  Ali started clapping, then the late boy, and then everyone.  Taron froze; he’d never received an applause before, except from his family.  He smiled a little self-consciously and sheathed his knife.  Soon after, everyone was tending to the wounded.  Many teenagers had been burned or hit hard by the spells, and several guards had lost all feeling in one of their arms or legs.  Taron knew a bit of healing, but only with herbs, which were presently not at hand; all he could do was help tie up burns until they could be properly dealt with. 
  Afterwards all the teenagers were called again to the stadium.  It was growing dark, but huge torches had been lit and now cast a fiery glow over much of the stadium.  When everyone was assembled, Taron was singled out of the group, and with a confused look he followed.  Ali reached out her hand and he ran his hand along hers as he passed, though he didn’t look at her.  He was led to the platform above his peers, and the guard had him stand at the end of a long platform that stretched up and out with a gradual taper.  Apparently this was where the speaker had been, though somehow this platform was hidden from view of the one below.  Behind him came an equally-confused Ali, and several other boys and girls.
  “Our warriors-in-training fought valiantly,” came the clear voice from behind Taron, echoing across the stadium, but he didn’t dare turn to see where it came from.  “Because of their unexpected aid the threat of the mages has passed.  Under the leadership of Taron the mage forces were destroyed, and Taron himself defeated the Wizard Lord.  Applaud our future protectors!”  The crowd roared, and up here it was even more deafening than it had been down below with his fellow teens.  On an impulse Taron drew his sword and held it high, and those behind him did likewise with theirs.
  “Leadership?” Taron thought.  “All I did was defend the others and fight off what I could…”  He lowered his sword, and the cheering slowly wound down.
  “And let us not forget those who are not warriors, but still joined the fray and helped rid us of the attack!”  The crowd roared again, and very faintly he heard some others speaking below him, though in the din they were probably shouting at the top of their lungs.
  “Tomorrow begins the official training, but tonight they have certainly proven their skills.  Tomorrow the festivities shall be bigger and grander for this sudden victory!”  The crowd cheered and slowly filed out.  Taron and the others were led off the thin, high tongue of a platform and back to their rooms.  Laskor followed Taron into his room, beaming.
  “You did a fantastic job down there!” he said, his hand on Taron’s shoulder.
  “What did they mean ‘leadership’?  All I did was—”
  “You led the others to aid in the fight, even if it was unintentional.  You showed them that they too could fight, and that they had to.  And for some reason, I think you were the only one able to defeat the Wizard Lord.”
  “How?  Why me?”
  “Who knows?” Laskor said with a shrug, turning to the window.  “There was a power there…I felt it as you entered the hallway from the door.  It protected many of your peers from the potentially fatal magic of the mages.  What exactly did you say?”
  “I just said to the one mage ‘In the name of the Almighty you have no power here’.”
  “That must’ve been it,” Laskor said, looking back out the window.  “Invoking His name in need can work in strange ways.  Ali did a fabulous job, too.  I can foresee the council teaming you two up for a fact.”
  “Teaming up?”  Taron was a bit shocked and confused.
  “Yes, didn’t you read the packet?”
  “Not really…you handed it to me and said to pray threat the threat passed by, so I prayed.”
  Laskor smiled and looked down.  “You follow instructions well, but I didn’t quite mean it at the time.  But in the packet it says that, once you’ve passed training, all Warriors will be paired up with another, maybe even more than one, and be dismissed in groups of two, three, or even four.  Notes will be sent to the families, of course, notifying them of your conduct here, your status—Warrior or other—how well you did in training, and who you are teamed up with.  Of course, teams may disassemble but they must notify an official first, unless the separation is an accident.  Most teams end up dissipating sooner or later but a few stay together for a long time.”
  Taron didn’t like this…now he’d have to look after not only himself, but someone else while out in the wild.  He sighed and looked at the floor.
  “Well, you should do well in training tomorrow,” Laskor said after some silence.  He silently left the room, leaving Taron to think.  He looked at the silverscale gloves he and his father had designed and constructed…made of a rare metal found only near his village, the gloves were metal but flexible as cloth, cool in the heat and warm in the cold.  His mind strayed to his father…to his family…to his village.
  “If those mages hadn’t been so surprised, their powers would’ve been greater,” he said to himself, running his hand along the hilt of his sword.  “If their powers tonight were only a small amount…whole villages could be razed in mere minutes…”  He decided that if he was the foretold Dragonmaster, his first task would be to either find the source of power, or find a way to prevent mages from using that power.  He forgot about his money and fame ideal as he thought of the vulnerability of his hometown.


  The sun rose bright and hot the next day as all the new Warriors followed their instructors outside.  The traps and crevices had been either filled on or had stone slabs placed over them, creating a sort of “ancient ruins” appearance.  The teens were left alone after a while, and Ali sought out Taron and they stood there for a while, watching everyone mill around.  No one really talked, which was odd.  A few exchanged greetings, some kids from the same villages would group together, cousins or siblings would whisper occasionally, but other than that there was really no attempt to bond with others.
  “How are we gonna train?” Ali asked Taron after some time.
  “No clue,” Taron replied, taking his knife out of its sheath.  H looked over its worn blue blade, and ran his finger very lightly along the edge.  Their thin friend came outside, late as usual, and headed over to them.
  “You were right,” Taron said after some silence.
  “About what?”
  “The storm.”
  “Oh, that…”
  “Any more weather predictions?” Ali asked with a teasing half-smile.
  The boy laughed to himself and shook his head.  “Can’t feel anything unless it’s a strong weather change.”  He caught sight of the three malicious boys, and Taron followed his line of sight.  The head of the small group glared at them, Taron especially; apparently he was very sour about the knife-throwing incident in the hall.  Another group, this one of three girls, joined them and the six began talking among themselves, often glancing up at Taron and his two friends with bad looks. 
  “Come on,” Taron said, and ushered his friends to a nearby stone slab.  They all sat down, out of eyesight of the group of six, and began discussing their travels to the Arena.  They laughed at Taron’s recount of the guard’s joke when he had reached the checkpoint, but before he could finish, they heard a deep bell sound three times.  Everyone stood up quickly and turned to the Arena.  At least fifty white-and-gold guards came out, with their instructors close behind and lots of attendants carrying racks of wooden weapons and shields.
  “Yesterday you showed your skill as future Warriors,” one of the guards called out over the congregation of teenagers.  “Today we shall test and hone your skills before you head out into the world.”  He walked over and grabbed a sword and shield.  “We use wooden weapons today, but later on you will be using your own weapons.  Today is about the basics, tomorrow will be the real thing.”
  Another guard’s voice rose.  “Come and get the weapons of choice.  You may have two swords, a sword and shield, a staff, or a two-handed sword.  There are also clubs, knives, and if you so choose, whips.  You will be training with these all day long, with no changes.”  Slowly everyone chose the weapons they wished to fight with.  The majority, including Taron and his two friends, chose weapons similar to the ones they already had.  Taron took another sword as well.  After everyone was situated they were split up into groups of three.
  “You will be competing against each other in the groups, but you are also to help each other out,” the first guard called out.  “Pay no mind to the competition, but do your best and stay at it.  You’re in all-day training now; pace yourselves or you won’t make it far.”
  With that the training began.  Their trainers started out with simple basics of grip on the weapon, effective fighting stances, and what/what not to do in combat.  When this was squared away they began practicing defensive tactics with the weapons, and then on to offensive maneuvers.  The lessons flashed by as the day went on, and by afternoon everyone was sore and tired.  They had to keep going until nightfall, though.  A few had to drop out and soothe cramps or hurting joints, and about five had to stop entirely. 
  By the time night came, everyone was dead tired.  They had not stopped for food, and had only had a limited amount of water.  When Taron finally got to his 12-3 room, he though he’d died and gone to heaven. 
  “But there’s still some purgatory to pay,” he said to himself with a sigh.  He wanted to flop into bed so badly, but he was hungry and needed to shower.  He took a long, warm shower, almost falling asleep as he stood under the water, and after he’d dried and got new clothes he went into the rec-room to grab some food.  Everyone there was staring off into space as they ate; they were so worn out from the day.  Apparently the Warriors hadn’t been the only ones undergoing rigorous training—several of the Craftsmen apprentices were worn out from hauling metal around and preparing it for use the next day.  Taron grabbed a few apples and a large sandwich and went back to his room.  The water pitcher had been refilled, and he nearly downed the whole thing with barely a breath.  By the time he finished his food he could barely keep his eyes open or move his sore limbs, and at long last he finally fell into his bed with a long sigh of relief.  He glanced over at his sword, which was still glimmering in the light of the torches and the glistening Sunstones that cast a gentle light through the whole room. 
  Almost as soon as Taron’s eyes closed, he was hurled into another strange dream.  He was running through a dark forest, lit by the silver light of the midnight moon, shrouded in the navy-blue nighttime aura.  There was a thick fog almost a foot thick over the ground, and it swirled up behind him as he ducked between the close trees.  What trees!  They were a sickly silver-blue, with shattered bark covered in dark-green lichens that grabbed his clothes with tiny thorns as he brushed against them.  Long, sticky wild grapevines snaked between the trees and sent dead loops down to snag his neck, and ran across the ground in thick knots to trip him up.  The leaves of the trees gave off a faint silver shimmer that made him feel sick.  What was he running from?  What was he looking for?  All Taron knew was that he was running from something to find something…what were those somethings?  He looked around, but all he saw were sickly trees and fog.  Coming to a stop he felt like he was being watched from all around, almost as if the air itself was watching him.  He tried to draw his sword, and found that his arm was hanging dead at his side, completely numb.  He pulled out his knife with his good arm, and stared when he saw that there were weird black shapes and designs on his skin.  His knife glowed along the sharp edge with a red fire that pulsed with his heartbeat…what was going on?  This wasn’t his knife…the blade shape was more like a sinister tooth.  He threw the knife at a tree, and the blade sank in all the way up to the hilt.  The tree gave a shriek almost above his hearing range and withered.  He drew his sword, and dropped it in surprise and horror.  It was shaped like his sword, but the black blade had teeth-like scalloped serrations along the edges, and the blade itself seemed to be the tongue of a hideous face that was the center of the crossbar.  A single eye-like jewel glared at him from the center of the head-like quillon, and the hilt was like a bone from a limb, wrapped in black leather and braced with steel ribs running the length of the bone.  He ran away from the hideous weapons, crashing through the trees, until he came to a wide clearing with seven tall pillars surrounding a stone pentagram.  A blinding flash and a sudden wave of intense fear sent Taron bolt-upright in his bed, gasping for air because he was breathing so fast.  His pillow was drenched in sweat, and his fists were white and shaking.  He opened his hands and found small dark-red crescents in his skin where his fingernails had dug in. 
  “What is going on with me?!?!” he almost shouted in frustration.  “I’m tired of the weird dreams!”  He looked up, almost past the ceiling.  “What do you want?  Why am I having these bad dreams?”  He sat looking out the window for some time, then shook his head and got himself some more water—the pitcher had been filled again by room service at midnight.  Taron judged it to be about two in the morning when he finally settled down a bit.  He readjusted his glasses before heading out into the hallway.  Something felt weird…he didn’t trust the feel in the air.  He grabbed his knife and concealed it underneath his shirt, tucking the sheath between his hip and the band of his pants.  As his eyes adjusted to the light, he became aware of a girl’s figure lying in the hallway.  He ran over and rolled her onto her back—it was Ali, and she was unconscious.  She’d had a torch set with a Sunstone, but like glow-in-the-dark objects it had run out of energy and needed to be set in light again to recharge.
  “Ali!  Wake up!” Taron hissed in her ear, shaking her.  “C’mon, wake up!”  When there was no response he checked her pulse.  She was still very much alive, but seemed to be in an abnormally deep sleep.
  He ran back to his room, grabbed a cup of water, and ran back out, pouring the water on her face.  She coughed and gagged and jumped up, dazed and confused.
  “Hey, calm down!  It’s me,” Taron said when she jumped at seeing him and then tried to attack him.  It only made her worse though, she swung her fist at him again, but he caught it and held her arm steady.
  “Ali, what’s going on?  This isn’t a dream!”
  “Get away from me!” she said; her voice was raspy, as if she’d been screaming for a while and had almost lost her voice.  “Let go!  Lemme go!”
  “Ali, settle down and get a grip!” he hissed.  “You’re not dreaming anymore!  I’m not gonna hurt you!”
  “You’re hurting me right now!” she replied, and pulled out of his grip.
  “Sorry…but what’s wrong?  What’s going on?”
  She stopped to process his question, and then finally looked around at her surroundings.  When she realized it was no longer a dream she sat on the floor, her head in her hands.
  “This is the third time I’ve had a bad dream lately…”
  Taron sat down in front of her; she wasn’t fully awake yet and he wanted to be able to react if she lashed out again.  “You’re having dreams too?”
  “You have them too?” she asked, looking up slightly.  “Ever since I set out from home I’ve been having weird dreams…and I remember them too clearly…”
  “What was this one about?”
  She hesitated and, after looking quickly at him, buried her head in her arms.  “You were attacking me in the woods…”
  “You dreamed about woods too?  What did the trees look like?”
  “Gross blue trees with bark that looked like it was shattered…and their leaves gave off a weird sickening light…”
  Taron was surprised, but needed more information.  “What did I look like?”
  “Oh my gosh…you were covered in black symbols, your eyes were red, and your armor was all black and red…and your sword was like a black saw coming from a disgusting face…”
  He was shocked—this was definitely not coincidence.  “I had a dream like that too…but I was running through that forest…Ali, I think these are visions we’re having…”
  She choked as if restraining a sob.  “First I learn that I might be a Dragonmaster, and now these visions…”
  “I know…it’s a lot at once…I just hope they let us go after tomorrow.”
  “We’re here for four more days,” she sighed, finally straightening out her neck and looking up at the marble ceiling.  “That’s what I heard…”
  “How did you get up here anyway?  I thought your room was on the second floor.”
  “I heard a noise outside my door, and even though I was really tired I went out to follow it.  Guess I blacked out because I was so tired…come to think of it, how was I lying on the floor?”
  “On your left side.”
  “Explains why the left side of my head hurts…”
  Taron was about to reply when he heard a noise on the stairwell.  He snapped his head around, his hand hovering over the knife at his hip.
  “What?” Ali asked, looking at the stairs.
  “Feels like something bad is near…stay here,” he said, and, staying low to the floor, he crept over to the stairwell.  He reminded Ali of a cat—his body barely moved as his legs and arms carried him to the stairs.  He peered down the dark flight and froze—there were two shadows sitting on the steps, engaged in a silent conversation.  They were not in any way human in form, and too small to be humans anyway.  There was an evil feel in the air as Taron looked at them.  As he watched, his ears picked up a slight hint of footsteps down below.  The shadows seemed to notice it too, for they almost instantly dissolved into the shadows of the stairs and fled along them to the walls, blending into the shadows of the floorboards.  The footsteps were growing nearer, and Taron realized someone was coming upstairs.  He hurried back to Ali, who was just starting to stand back up.
  “You should go back downstairs, someone’s coming up here.”
  “Did you see anything?”
  “I’ll tell you tomorrow,” he said through a yawn.  “Just pray before you sleep, all I can say.”
  She nodded as she yawned, and headed to the stairs after picking up the torch she’d dropped.  Taron watched her disappear under the top stair, then headed to his own room. 


  Someone shook Taron awake the next morning, and through the nearsighted blur of his vision he saw it was Laskor.
  “Your training begins in a few hours, Taron.”
  Taron pulled his pillow over his head and groaned.  His muscles were screaming at him and it hurt to move.
  “I also came to ask about last night.”
  Taron sat straight up, then slumped back down when the sudden movement sent a pain through his back.
  “We found Ali asleep just outside her door and she kept mumbling your name when we guided her back into your room.”
  “Oh…” Taron said, not sure if he should tell Laskor.  But if anyone could help them, Laskor was one of the few here he knew of.  “Well…last night, Ali and I…we had basically the same dream.”  Taron yawned and put on his glasses.
“What kind of dream?”
  “I don’t know what it was…she said I was all painted up and wielding this weird sword as I attacked her in this weird glowing forest…and in my dream I had the exact same weapons and paint on me, and I was running through that same forest.  I think mine came after hers because I felt like I was running from something, and I threw the weapons away because they sickened me.”
  Laskor sat down, staring at Taron.  “Did anything else happen?  How do you know you had the same dream?”
  Taron was hesitant.  “I woke up and felt like something…wasn’t right, out in the hallway, so I went to look and I found Ali asleep on the floor.  I woke her up and she started attacking me, and when she finally settled down she told me about the dream.”
  Laskor paused, his eyes losing focus as he thought.  His eyes snapped back to Taron.  “Did you see any shadows?”
  “Ummm…yeah, on the stairs after our talk.  Why?”
  “Those were Dream Scouts from the enemy.  They’re weird shadow creatures that can imbue dreams on people.  Thing is, oftentimes these things don’t follow instructions, and the dreams they give are sometimes visions of what is to come.”
  Taron’s eyes went wide as it sank in. 
  “What other dreams have you had before now?”
  Taron hesitated, then looked down.
  “You don’t need to tell me now, but the more information I get the more I can help with the problem.”
  “Well…I’ve dreamed that I was flying on a white dragon with a small army of others behind me, and we were looking for someone…I think he was a mage or something, because he threw me out of the sky as I dove at him.  The other dream was where I was running through some woods on fire, and I was calling for help but instead this man in black came and grabbed my throat…”
  Laskor sank back on his chair.  “I cannot tell if these are dreams or visions, but the fact that you remember them somewhat clearly leads me to believe that they are visions of things in the future.  I can’t say for sure.  But everything you’ve dreamed about seems to be linked to rage from you…” he broke off, then after a while he shook his head and stood up.  “Well, you should get ready for training today.  I can’t tell what your dreams are, for they do not give the whole story, and making judgements on fragments is sure to cause errors.  Just try not to let anger get the best of you.”  He left the room, leaving Taron to convince his sore limbs to carry him through the day.