Autumn 4986, 15 Aoimoth

“Slow down, Squire!” Master Daunas walked around the sixteen Squires. They were all going through the basic motions of knife fighting together, but Shon knew the Weaponsmaster was talking to him specifically. He'd fallen into the rhythm of steel clanging off steel as the eight pairs of Squires went through the practiced strikes of a rehearsed fight. His partner was keeping up, but just barely. If Shon sped up, the boy would fumble, and Shon could disarm him. But that wasn’t the point of this exercise. It wasn’t a sparring match; it was a two man kata. Shon let out a long exhale and slowed down, matching his partner’s pace. 

“Sorry,” Kefir, muttered to Shon, “You should try and get Zihler next time. He won’t slow you down.”

Shon arched an eyebrow at Kefir as the two pivoted in unison, spinning but staying together, so they switched places and continued without breaking rhythm. Or that was what was supposed to happen. Kefir stumbled just a little. He still wasn’t very good at quick pivots like that, and knife forms were full of them. Shon slowed down to wait for him to recover, matching his thrust with a counter as rehearsed.

“Don’t give me that look. I know you want to go faster. Zihler’s the most likely to keep... up...” Kefir had to space the last two words as they dodged each other again. More twists and turns he tended to overshoot.

He wasn’t wrong. Shon did want to go faster, wanted to push himself to his limits, and always just a little beyond, but “Speed isn’t the point of this exercise.” Shon said, and Kefir’s brow furrowed. Though if concentrating on Shon’s words or the continued form Shon didn’t know, “It's precision and practice. Keep partnering with Rerves, who's even worse, and you won't improve.”

They slammed together, the hilts of their daggers locking together as they sidestepped in tight circles. Shon could see at least ten different ways he could end a match right here. His left hand was free, as this was a single dagger exercise, and his opponents hardly ever paid attention to his feet. But that wasn’t the point, and Kefir would learn nothing from Shon downing him now, even if it was.

“Thanks,” Kefir spat sarcastically. Shon gave him a purposefully deadpan look in response, and he continued, “You’re the same, though. You won’t get better if you pick the weakest partners.” the two disengaged, jumping back and falling into a ready stance in one motion. Kefir took a heartbeat longer than some of the other boys but didn’t stumble at this speed as he had the last three times they went through the drill.

“I’m better than Zihler…” Shon said, not in pride or arrogance but in truth. When they had first started knife fighting weeks ago, he had partnered with those who seemed to be at the same level as himself or higher. Pushing himself to reach their level and surpass it. Add to that the fact that he often used his free time for more practice, and Shon had jumped to the top of the class as usual only a week into this new weapon.

Shon brought the topic back around to his point, “Practice is practice no matter how fast I go, as long as I have precision.” and, as if to prove his point, the form reached the culminating move, where Shon and Kefir needed to thrust at each other while turning just enough for the blade to pass by their chests. Shon slowed his thrust only at the end, just enough for Kefir to finish his dodge. Adjusting speed in the middle of a strike without pulling it completely wasn't easy, and they both knew it.

That was the end of the kata, and they both stepped back. Kefir looked down at his knife, sighing, “I suck at this, give me a shield or a hammer, and you wouldn’t have to hold yourself back.” he glanced up at Shon and forced a smile he obviously didn’t feel, “Then maybe I could teach you a thing or two…”

Shon nodded, perfectly serious, and when Kefir didn’t seem to understand, he added, “Exactly.”

The bell rang and the other Squires started heading for the weapons rack to return their knives, but Shon held Kefir in place with his eyes. He looked confused, his expression asking the question before his words could, so Shon explained, “You're better at armor and shields than me.”

That actually got a genuine smile from Kefir, “Everyone is better with armor and shields than you, Shon.” Shon humphed but couldn't argue, and Kefir laughed, “You know, if you spent your extra time actually practicing with the stuff you need practice in, instead of the things you're already the best at, you would get better.”

Shon ran his fingers through sweaty hair. It was only two finger widths long but still needed to be cut. He wanted to argue that practicing with the heavy weapons without armor in his free time was the only reason he was still the top in those as well. But instead, he nodded in acquiescence to Kefir’s observation.

“Hey,” Kefir stepped forward and poked Shon with the hilt of his dagger. Even with his thicker winter uniform on, they avoided touching him, “I get what you’re saying. We each have our own strengths and weaknesses. Thank you for trying to help me with mine.” The thanks was genuine this time, now that the frustration of the practice was over, and Shon nodded. Kefir continued, “Why don’t we make a deal? I’ll let you help me catch up to you in this if you let me help you with armor work. Master Daunas wants to get you in plate, but if you can’t even move in banded mail, you’ll never make it in the heavier stuff.”

Shon let his head fall back in frustration but nodded. Kefir laughed and the two returned their daggers without further words. Shon split from the rest of the stragglers in the courtyard, moving towards the bench beside the wall and the barrel for catching rainwater beside it. This deep into autumn, the water was sometimes frozen in the mornings, but Shon preferred it that way. Reaching in, he splashed handfuls of it on the back of his neck. The others would be heading for the hot showers, but with sixteen of them and only ten shower heads, Shon would wait until they were all done before washing properly.

“I’ll meet you after study time!” Kefir called as he walked by to try and reach the showers with the first group. Shon waved without turning around. He knew Kefir was right. He should focus his extra time on improving his weaknesses. But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

***

The mess hall where they had their meals had one long table set in the middle with enough space for fifteen Squires on each side. Around it were set smaller circular tables for the Paladins stationed in Hamerfoss and one larger near the door for the officers. Against one wall was another long table with plates, bowls, and food where they would each gather their meal before finding their seats.

The seats weren’t assigned, but Shon always sat at the farthest end of the Squire’s table, with his left facing the walkway so he wouldn’t bump anyone with his elbow as he ate. No one ever took the spot. It was an unspoken consensus amongst the Squires that that was Shon’s seat. The rest tended to congregate in the middle, talking and poking friendly fun at each other, extending their break into the dinner meal.

Shon took his place and started eating without joining in. They didn’t try to include him most of the time, and he was content to just listen. “Hey, Shon,” Rerves called from down the table, and Shon looked up from his plate to show he was listening, “I hear Kefir’s going to help you with armor tonight. Can I come?” Shon shrugged, turning back to his meal. Rerves went back to his conversation, and dinner continued as usual. The Squires ignoring Shon.

They filtered out of the mess hall as they each finished their dinner at their own pace, some heading to the chapel for prayer and others to the library for study. Shon made his way to the library, pausing in the doorway and debating with himself. If he joined the others at the larger table, they would try and talk to him. They seemed to think it was their duty to include him if he was there. But if he sat alone at the two-man table by the window, they would leave him alone. It meant he wouldn’t be able to ask them questions if one came up, but it also meant they wouldn’t bother him with pointless asides…

Tonight, he joined the study group. The subject they'd started a few weeks ago wasn’t one he had taken to easily, an in-depth history of Gasha province, so he wanted to be able to talk when needed.

It started as soon as he finished the first page, “So Shon, when do you think Master Veon-Zih will be back?”

“Winter Solstice,” Shon answered shortly, rereading the sentence. The others whispered around him about Master Veon-Zih, something about if he would dance with the pretty baker again this year…

“Hey Shon, do you know if Monks train in dancing too?”

Shon placed his finger over the paragraph he'd reached, knowing he would have to reread it after the interruption. He shook his head. When they continued to look at him, he sighed, glaring up at them. This was supposed to be study time… “He learned how after he left the Monastery.”

He reread his paragraph and managed to finish the chapter before running his hand through his hair in frustration at the text. Looking up, he said, “We’ve read about the war between Gasha and Swailand, but this doesn’t say anything about why they went to war in the first place.”

“Fishing rights, I think?” Thom answered, flipping through his own book, “Knowing those Horsa Bast…” he cut off before finishing the curse, glancing at the Paladin acting as librarian, before continuing, “I bet they wanted to extend their fishing to the area around Gasha, and they are just as likely to fight each other as us.”

Rehlien slid a new book Shon’s way, “Here, read this one next. It gets into the justification a little more than that one.” Shon nodded his thanks, taking the book and placing it under the one he was still finishing.

But his question had opened the door to more derailing chatter, “You really like to know the why of things, don’t you, Shon?”

Shon nodded, hoping this talk would at least be relevant, but “You’re like that in etiquette too. That’s probably why you struggle so much.” Shon shrugged. Etiquette didn’t seem to have a point, but that wasn’t what they were supposed to be studying now, “I find some things ‘just are’ because of tradition…” the boy trailed off as Shon glared at him, his words freezing in his throat. When silence had returned, Shon went back to his book. He should've just sat alone. 

***

Kefir and Rerves were already waiting in the sparring ring by the time Shon showed up dressed in his banded mail. The armor rubbed uncomfortably around his neck and the thick gambeson underneath bunched at his joints, limiting his range of motion by at least a few inches. It also weighed him down, which he'd managed to convince himself was good for strength training, but was incredibly frustrated by for sparring.

Kefir already had his sword and shield and held an extra bastard sword for him, so Shon went right for the ring, stifling a frustrated sigh as he took the proffered weapon.

Rerves grinned at the look on Shon’s face, saying, “We figured you'd be miserable enough in the armor alone, that we should channel some of Soleil's compassion and let you use your best weapon instead of the hammer.” to which Shon was grateful. Making him practice in the armor with a weapon he still hadn’t mastered would've been adding salt to the wound.

“Let’s do some stretches and warm-ups first.” Kefir started, “Your problem isn’t being afraid to take a hit with the armor,” Rerves laughed out loud, but Kefir continued with only a grin, “It’s in having to adjust your mobility. So let's re-imprint that before we try any sparring.”

They went through stretches, the two of them seeming to match Shon in flexibility only because he was hampered by the armor, then moved on to solo sword forms. Even though the armor was only about thirty-five pounds evenly distributed, Shon still felt sluggish. When they moved on to sparring, Rerves beat him soundly while Kefir watched, tilting his head back and forth like Master Daunas and trying to give advice that didn’t help. Shon could fight, he knew the proper blocks and parries better than they did, but too often he would either not make up for his lack of speed or would overcompensate and swing too hard.

Kefir took his turn, lifting his shield and watching Shon raise his sword to the ready, “Honestly, Shon, I don’t know what to do besides have you practice more and just get used to it.”

“Sometimes that’s all you can do,” Rerves said from the side as he slipped off his helmet. Shon knew they were right in some regards but couldn’t entirely dismiss his frustration at the thought that he was missing something that he needed to learn and not just have beaten into him. He was grateful for his companion’s help but annoyed at their inability to teach.

Rerves gave the order to "Lay on!" and Shon and Kefir engaged. Shon could predict Kefir's moves, could practically see them in his mind's eye, but barely reacted in time, his arm not bending as far or fast as he wanted it to. He gritted his teeth, glaring at the other Squire, trying to sidestep around but moving too slow compared to Kefir, who just needed to turn in place. Shon took a step back and planted his feet. If he could force Kefir to make the larger motions, then perhaps he could focus on redirecting the boy’s attacks.

Kefir hesitated. Shon was most dangerous when he stood his ground, and they both knew it. The hesitation just gave Shon more time to try and strategize. Not that it had helped at all before. Maybe if he could somehow slow Kefir down, or focus on trapping his weapon, then it wouldn’t matter that Shon wasn’t as fast as he would be without the damn armor. Kefir tested Shon’s guard with a few half-hearted attacks that Shon deflected, waiting. When the other Squire finally committed fully, Shon let go of his sword with his left hand, twisted to dodge, and grabbed Kefir’s sword arm.

Just stop. Stop long enough for me to hit you… Kefir tried to pull away but couldn’t. Despite the poor grip Shon had with the thick gloves that were part of the armor, the two Squires seemed lashed together. Kefir twisted his shoulders so he could lift his shield to deflect Shon’s oncoming attack, but his feet didn’t move. His eyes went wide, and his shield came up barely in time to hit Shon’s sword, the tip still reaching over to clang off Kefir’s helm with a glancing blow.

Kefir fell backward and Shon, still clinging to his arm, was pulled on top of him. The boy yelled, and Shon rolled, letting go of Kefir and hearing something like glass breaking over the clanging of armor and screaming of his fellow. Shon rolled to absorb the shock of the fall and twisted to find Kefir on his back, his knees still straight and his boots stuck to the ground. Encased in ice.

The ice climbed up his boots to his shins, but Kefir was gripping his arm, trying to pull more ice from where Shon had been holding him. It continued to grow, soon encasing his hand and sword hilt. Rerves rushed forward, trying to help pry the sword free while the ice on his legs grew past his boots and under his greaves. Kefir screamed again, in pain and fear.

The Paladins on the wall began yelling, their leader taking command, sending some to help the boys and others to run for the fortress. Shon watched in horror as Kefir’s legs and arm were slowly encased in ice, his lips trembling and turning blue. He would be covered soon, Shon knew it, could picture it happening, like a waking nightmare. It would trap his brother Squire and anyone else touching it…

The ice started clawing at Rerves fingers, trying to gain hold and freeze him too.

“What in all the hells?!” Master Daunas showed up with a gaggle of Paladins and the Cleric, who all fell around the boys. Some took out their belt knives and tried to break the ice apart; others began to chant spells to either melt the ice or keep Kefir warm.

Master Daunas searched above the throng for answers and, finding Shon, cursed. He ran around the larger group, grabbing Shon by the arm and wrenching him away, practically dragging him across the courtyard towards the fortress proper. Someone called out in triumph as Shon reached the fortress door and Daunas forced him through it.

What had happened? Had they freed Kefir? Would he be alright? What happened?!

Daunas was still cursing as he slammed the door and spun on Shon, who stared blankly through the Weaponmaster. Panic, he was trying so hard not to panic. Was trying to figure out what had happened, trying to play through the entire thing again, picturing it from outside his body. Was the ice what had allowed him to hold on to Kefir? Was it still climbing up Kefir's legs? Was that why the older Squire wasn’t able to pull back and block properly? Had Shon... 

“Calm down, boy.” Daunas reached for Shon’s shoulders but pulled back a moment later, shaking his hands and cursing as they reddened from the cold, “Breathe, boy. Look at me, think warm thoughts.”

Think warm thoughts? What did that even mean? Shon found Daunas’s eyes and saw the Weaponmaster scared for the first time, “Breathe, slow and steady, like old man V taught you. You need to control your energy…” his lips were pale and trembling, his breath coming out in a cloud before him. had it been that cold outside? Shon couldn’t feel it...

Shon closed his eyes and breathed. Control his energy… He pulled himself in, finding his center and gathering around it, “That’s it, boy, like that.” Shon breathed in his energy, his ki, holding it in his gut, storing it for later when he could use it to focus a strike and give it more power, just like Master Veon-Zih had taught him. And just like Master had taught him, he tried to let go of his worries, to clear his mind, if only for now.

Kefir would be alright, almost every adult here could cast healing spells, and at least half of them were with him now. It was okay. Shon could relax, let go, calm down… Suddenly exhausted, Shon nearly collapsed right there in the hallway. Daunas caught him, slowly lowering him to the stones.

Shon could feel himself slipping into unconsciousness, but not fast enough to miss Master Daunas’s last curse, “Damn it, boy, why did you have to be a Sorcerer?”

*** 

“He has to go to the Mages Guild.” Major General Davies Selibra, Paladin head of Hamerfoss, stated to those gathered in his office. It was a simple room containing two sets of closed cabinets on either side of a large desk facing the door with two seats positioned in front of it. Shon sat in one of those seats, his head hanging and fists clenched tightly in his lap.

Master Daunas slammed his palm down on the desk. He seemed too agitated to sit, or perhaps he just didn’t want to sit next to Shon, who was radiating cold like a fire radiated heat, “We can’t, Selibra! He’s the most promising fighter I’ve ever trained. He’ll lose too much time.” the Weaponmaster's words puffed out as white fog from his lips.

Major General Selibra sat behind his desk and rubbed his temples, “It’s the law Daunas, he either needs to get a clearance or be sealed.”

“Can’t be a Paladin with the tattoo…” Smith Nangran muttered from his position leaning on the door. Shon was too focused on his predicament to wonder why the Smith was even here. A thin layer of ice began to form at his feet.

“It’s the law…” Selibra said again, weary, “If he had awakened sooner, he might have been able to get his clearance before training, but…”

Daunas threw his hands into the air, bellowing, “It takes years to get a clearance. If they even let him. Those Mages would rather just mark the boy up and be done with it!”

A sealing tattoo. They would want to block the magic. Seal it away in his body where it couldn’t hurt anyone. Kefir had suffered severe frostbite as well as a broken ankle. Lucky for him, he was surrounded by divine conduits and was fine, but what if Shon lost control again? Who would the ice entomb? Master Veon-Zih? Innocent citizens he was supposed to protect? Shon’s nails dug furrows into his palms as he clenched his fists tighter. The ice crawled up the legs of his chair and crystalized on the backs of his hands.

The adults continued to talk around him, “The law is clear, Daunas. The magic either needs to be trained or sealed. There are no exceptions.” The law never made exceptions. It’s what kept everything running at top proficiency. Shon admired that… and understood it, as even now he couldn't control the sorcerous ice.

Shon tried to slow his breathing, relax his hands. The ice cracked over his fingers as he forced them out of their fists. It was responding to his emotions, his fear, and horror at what he'd done. What he was. If he could just pull it in, stifle the emotions feeding it, then the magic wouldn't be able to control him…

Ice continued to inch up the chair, and Selibra rubbed his hands together to warm them. They'd been pointedly and purposely ignoring the winter-like cold since bringing Shon to the office.

“Tattoos aren’t the only way to seal magic…” Nangran stated from the door. Daunas and Selibra stopped arguing, and Shon’s head shot up. He turned slowly to watch the Smith who combed absently at his beard, “Law says sorcerer magic needs to be trained or sealed, doesn’t say how.”

“I know the law Nangran,” Selibra still sounded defeated. “A council of Mages, including one of the rank Archmage, must determine if a Sorcerer is capable of controlling his or her power. If they determine the power is too great a risk to the kingdom, then said power will be made unable to manifest. Sealed.” the Major General recited, most likely for Shon’s benefit. Shon's heart pounded in his chest, and the fires that lit the room dimmed.

“What are you suggesting?” Daunas asked Nangran curiously. The smith only talked when necessary, using grunts and nods instead of words whenever possible. That was probably why Shon liked him so much. It also meant he wouldn’t have contradicted Selibra unless he had a reason.

“Know a guy. Used to make sealing items for the guild…” Nangran said with a shrug, as though Shon’s future didn’t hinge on his point, “Owes me a favor…”

“You’re not talking about that mad hermit who comes barging in here once or twice a year, are you?” Daunas asked, looking stunned.

Nangran nodded with a confirming hum. “Still Archmage in good standing…”

The Weaponmaster looked ecstatic, shouting, “Nangran, you’re a genius!” he slammed his hands down on the desk again, breath puffing out in thick clouds as his excitement grew. Nangran grunted.

Daunas turned back to the Major General, who actually looked intrigued. Shon’s heart tried to beat its way out of his chest. “This is it, Selibra! This Archmage can make the boy a sealing item. I’m sure the Temple will vouch for him. He’s our top Squire.” Shon was still too terrified to feel proud of the compliment and watched Major General Selibra with wide desperate eyes. Ice started forming on his hands again, looking like clawed talons.

“The Mages Guild hasn’t given out sealing stones for generations…” Selibra hummed, and Shon barely stopped the desperate whine before it could escape, his fingernails drawing blood on his palms as he balled them into fists again, breaking the ice claws. “but we can at least try.” Selibra finished, focusing on Shon, his brown eyes still looking sad, “Are you sure you want this, Shon? As a Paladin, you won’t be able to train with your elemental magic unti-”

“Yes, Sir!” Shon shouted, leaning forward in his seat and breaking the ice off its legs. He fell back a moment later, embarrassed by his outburst. More quietly, he said again, “Yes, Sir. I don’t want this magic. I want to be a Paladin.” more than anything in his entire life, he'd wanted to be a Paladin… 

“Very well,” Major General Selibra stood, resting his fingertips on his desk. Speaking as if to himself, he muttered, “Perhaps this is a sign from Hengist.” looking up, he addressed Nangran, “Tomorrow you will take Squire Shon to this Archmage friend of yours. Gods willing, he will be able to seal the sorcerer magic without hindering his divine capabilities.” he failed to hide a shiver from the cold.

***

Her candles burned hot and bright, flickering wildly as She paced around Her little room. Something was happening in Her tower. There were far too many people with strangers' voices out Her window and beyond Her door.

Brom and Ran continued to visit, but they wouldn’t answer Her questions, wouldn’t take Her for samples, or to see Her treasures. The first made Her angry, the second gave Her energy, and the last scared Her enough to stop asking questions. What if they took Her books again? They hadn’t given Her a reason She couldn’t see Her treasures, so maybe they would soon… maybe tomorrow...

*** 

“Tomorrow,” Morndancer stated as Shaloon let herself into his room. The transfer preparations had taken months. MONTHS! They were Mages. No. Greater than Mages. They were Warlocks. And yet, everything still took far too long. They could instantly communicate with allies across the kingdom but still had to spend time making the proper arrangements. They could travel miles in a blink but still had to painstakingly pack every book and file, disassemble and disenchant the golems guarding the tower over days and even weeks. If it had been a true emergency -if they'd been found- they could've destroyed everything, vanishing all evidence of their presence and research. But the Master Archmages had forbidden it in this case.

“The western Talon is ready to receive us,” Shaloon confirmed, “What of the subjects? Archmage Yarna has no interest in animal husbandry..."

“The Firewyrm is all she is interested in. It is the only reason she agreed to take us.” Morndancer sat on his bed and stared at the pseudodragon perched on his desk, its leathery wings half furled and its tail twitching over the side of the desk, “I will handle the animal subjects tomorrow. Just make sure you are ready to open the portal out when I am done.” she could only open one portal a day, sometimes two but it would leave her incapacitated for at least a day after.

“Tomorrow then,” Shaloon confirmed, leaving him alone with his running mind and the little pretend dragon, that seemed to stare through his skin and into his soul.

***

Shon couldn’t sleep. Once again, his entire future hung on what would happen tomorrow. And just like the divine test and the road to Hamerfoss, there was nothing he could do to speed up the process. It was out of his hands. Out of his control. Just like the ice now clouding the window and the frost freezing the blankets to the mattress.

He tapped the blank page of his open journal with his pencil. The images running through his mind were the last he wanted to solidify on paper. He tried drawing something else… Kefir smiling warmly at him for the second thank you. Rerves leaning forward and shouting to him across the dinner table. The study group conversing in whispers instead of studying…

He wrote about it all between the drawings but everything that happened after pushed at his mind, the scenes forming in his vision. Shon drew Kefir again, lying on his back and tugging at the ice forming on his sword arm. Then a group scene with the Paladins falling around him, their faces focused, and hands glowing with spells to try and save him… Master Daunas’s scared eyes as he ordered Shon to ‘think warm thoughts...'

With two pages full of various sketches and commentary, Shon dropped his pencil and rested his head on his desk. Why? Was this why he was so cold to the touch? Sorcerers were rare; those with ice power were the rarest even amongst them. Should they have noticed something was wrong sooner? Would Hengist really accept someone like him? Chose a Sorcerer to be one of his extensions in Daanlin?

Shon closed his eyes, breathing slowly and trying not to cry. If they forced him to go to the Mages Guild, he would never be able to fight again. He was sure of it. All his hard work and dedication. All those years of disciplined practice, gone in one instance where he lost control. Where he almost killed a friend. 

Everything he was, everything he would be, hinged on the following day. “Tomorrow…” Shon whispered into the dark, his candle finally flickering to die in the cold.