Tomas? A faint voice pierced the dream fog. Do you hear me?

A pleasing warmth flooded my heart. Aria. I hear you.

I need to talk to you. A mental sob shook her, reverberating into my own soul. It's hard to hold on.

I shall always answer your call. I found Obeus, although I didn't know he was your father, nor that he was as warm and cuddly as a rabid warthog.

Aria chuckled. Never had such a simple laugh lifted my spirit. She replied, True, but past the shell, his heart is as soft and warm as a little bunny. That much I learned in my years with him. How does he fare?

He is an old man, but there is still wit to his mind and fire in his eyes. I shared a mental image of Obeus.

Aria gasped. How long has it been?

Twenty-two years and one day since the Sacrifice.

I had no idea. Time is an intangible thing here.

Projecting as much confidence as possible, I restated my oath. We shall come for you. That I promise. Be strong, Aria.

Through our mental link, I felt her spirit lift. Thank you, Tomas. Truly, you are my hero.

*****

Sitting behind his desk, the Commandant frowned as he read the letter Magus Obeus drafted for me. Then he read it again, deepening his expression. Bushy black eyebrows lowered, partially obscuring narrowed eyes as he looked up at me. "You are not Blood Born. Why does he want you to train with the new mages?"

Standing before him, I shrugged. "It is a mystery to me too, sir."

"The old man is losing his mind," he huffed, turning his eyes down and returning the letter. "Very well. Report to the quartermaster. Dismissed."

The supply sergeant was a more talkative man, but it took the rest of the morning and half the afternoon to get a uniform, assign me a barracks bed, and fill in all the paperwork. His parting words didn't fill me with confidence, saying, "Good luck. You're going to need it."

The training grounds consisted of a huge grassy field, parts worn to bare ground by the pounding of many boots, surrounded by a number of stone or timber structures in various states of repair. Archery targets, stick figures representing enemy, and mock fortifications sprinkled the grounds. At a far corner sat a sort of obstacle course constructed of rope and wooden poles. Scores of soldiers in dark-blue uniforms practiced their art at various stations. 

The afternoon was unusually hot and still, and the air shimmered with rising heat. But as a blacksmith, I knew heat and drank plenty of water before venturing out. Gauging from the collapsed condition of two soldiers carried away from their drills on stretchers, some did not.

My boots kicked up fine dust as I made my way to a far corner of the grounds where twelve young mages trained, eight men and four women, under the tutelage of an older woman of stout muscular build. They all wore the same blue uniform as mine. By their example, I rolled up my sleeves as I walked. Standing in a straight line, the mages launched pulses of blue from their hands at distant mock targets, blasting them with varying degrees of accuracy and force.

But I had no access to Magic, and I felt like a lamb being sent to play with the lions.

Every mage wore the Bond, a dark sweeping tattoo on their left arm applied by an Oracle. With it came respect and high social status, but also strict obedience to the king. Should a mage rebel, the king could chant a simple spell, thus altering the magic ink into a deadly poison. Hidden somewhere within the palace, the king kept a 'Book of Death', listing each mage by name and their specific death phrase. Mages were just too powerful not to be controlled.

I came up behind the older woman, who rolled her eyes as she berated a young man on the line. He couldn't have been much more than then seventeen years old, and by his morose expression, wished to be somewhere else. "Kinetics are the simplest of Magic expression," she barked. "If you can't do that, what good are you?" Another insult reached her lips, but then she saw me. "What do you want?"

I handed her the letter and noticed the name Hawyn printed on her uniform. She shook her head while reading it, mumbling, "The old man has lost his mind."

I replied, "That seems to be a common assessment, ma'am."

Hawyn returned the letter to me. "Two laps around the grounds." As I froze with my mouth hanging open, her brown eyes formed angry slits, and I gulped. "Are you dim?" she spat. "I meant run, moron! Get on with it."

A few taunting laughs followed me as I jogged off, confirming my fear that the training would not be an uplifting experience.

After countless laps and calisthenics in the scorching sun, being sent to retrieve water seemed like a reprieve. Three mages took delight in mocking me at every opportunity, mumbling slurs and insults at every passing. The apparent leader of the three, a dark-haired man named Ewyn with the highbrow mannerisms of aristocracy, covertly upended me with a pulse of magic. I landed face down on the ground, and the dust caked on my sweat-soaked uniform. The water jug overturned, sloshing its contents onto the dry soil. Ewyn and the other two roared with laughter. The other mage trainees turned away or looked on stoically.

Hot rage coursed through my veins like molten iron. I jumped up, clenching fists and baring my teeth, coming up face-to-face with my tormenter. The Fury also boiled within me, eager for a fight.

Ewyn glared at me, a taunting grin on his face. "What are you going to do, commoner boy? Spill water on me? Oh, wait, you already spilled it." Blue halos surrounded his hands.

"Break it off, Ewyn!" the trainer ordered, shoving us apart with muscular arms. "And you, Tomas, get some more water."

I snatched up the jug and stomped away, trying to convince myself that walking away actually was the best course of action, lest the Fury burst out. The jeers that followed me burned.

Later, once the others had departed, I approached Hawyn as she walked toward the barracks. "Ma'am, may I talk to you?"

"What do you want, Tomas?" she replied with a grating voice.

"All I did today was exercise and haul water, ma'am. Isn't there something else I could do?"

"I don't know what Obeus was thinking." She muttered, rolling her eyes. "You are just a commoner. What else could you do?"

"There must be something, ma'am."

The blue glow of magic appeared on her raised hands while she directed her attention to a nearby trash pile. A discarded and rusty iron rod about as long as my forearm floated toward us, surrounded by shimmering blue halo. When Hawyn brought her hands closer together, the rod spun and bent to a right angle. Then it fell to the rocky ground with a clank.

Hawyn pointed at the rod. "When you can straighten the metal, you may train with the mages." She turned and walked off toward the setting sun.

I picked up the bent rod, dusted it off, and grinned. There was more than one way to shape metal. A weapons forge laid just beyond the barracks. And I was a blacksmith.

*****

Wonderful aromas teased my nose and churned my empty stomach when I entered the mess hall. Rows of wooden tables and benches that could seat hundreds consumed most of the floor space, although sparsely populated this late in the evening. The kitchen and serving line occupied one end of the long building. Folding wooden dividers separated the seating into two sections: the larger area for enlisted soldiers, and the other for officers and mages. Since I trained with the mages, sort of, I had access to the latter, which meant better food, better seating, and tableside service. The downside was the company. A dry loneliness swept through my heart as suspicious eyes tracked my movements, including those of Ewyn and his ilk. I found a seat at an empty table.

In no time at all, a pretty girl with long braided auburn hair, wearing a brown smock with a white apron, appeared at my table bearing a bowl of stew and a pewter tankard of ale. She couldn't have been older than sixteen. "What is your name?" I asked.

"Ebelle, sir," she replied, bowing her head.

"Well, Ebelle, thank you for this. I am famished."

"You are welcome, sir," she said as a warm smile brightened her face. "Let me know if you need anything else."

The stew was delicious and the ale superb. King Reza may be egotistical and prone to military squabbles with neighboring kingdoms, but he knew the value of good food and ale for maintaining a functional army.

A yelp and the crash interrupted my meal. Two rows over, Ebelle struggled in Ewyn's grasp as he pulled her into his lap. A tray of tankards scattered across the floor, their spilled contents expanding into a puddle of ale.

"Let go of me!" she yelled, bucking in his lap.

"I just want some of your special service, sweet thing," Ewyn countered, tightening his grip on the girl, then pressing his lips to her cheek. His companions chuckled.

Ebelle spun on his lap and landed a backhanded slap across his face. Enraged, Ewyn jumped up and threw her to the floor, sending her tumbling among the spilled tankards and ale. "You bitch!" he spat.

I could not allow this to continue. "That is no way to treat a woman," I called out, while weaving between tables toward him. "I think you owe the lady an apology." The mess hall went quiet.

"You think so, common boy?" He came up in my face, sneering. "Do you know who I am?"

Putting a hand to my chin, I replied, "Someone not burdened with excessive charm? No? A reminder that the Creator God has a warped sense of humor? Am I getting close?" A few chuckles broke out in the audience. But at once, I regretted my words. Why did my tongue so often overrule my sensibility?

Ewyn bared his teeth and stretched out his hands. A blue halo surrounded them. Others near us stepped back, forming a makeshift battle arena. The Fury in me stirred again, rising with indignation. I took measured breaths, trying to calm it.

As many eyes bore down on us, Ewyn, like me, must have reconsidered the wisdom of a fight here and now. He dropped his hands and let the Magic fade away. A grin rose on his face, but the eyes showed no amusement. Turning to his companions, he said, "The commoner is funny." His head snapped around and the grin collapsed. "Let me give you some advice, common boy. Training can be dangerous, and sometimes people get hurt. You should be careful."

Not much veiled, that threat.

"So noted," I replied with a curt nod. "Thank you for your concern."

With a snap motion, Ewyn signaled his friends to depart and the chatter in the dining hall returned to normal.

Ebelle came to her knees to clean up the mess, mopping the spilled ale with her apron. I kneeled beside her to help, picking up the tankards and stacking them on the tray. When her moist eyes turned up to mine, I said, "I am sorry about how he treated you."

She glanced left and right, then wiped the moisture from her cheeks. "I thank you, sir. But you should not have defended me. Ewyn is the son of Lord Gawyn."

Oh... That explained Ewyn's sparkling personality. Lord Gawyn was a mage and the king's right-hand man. And well known throughout the kingdom for his zealous brutality. Nobody ever wanted to see him on their doorstep.

After that sank in, she shook her head. "And I am just a commoner, merely a servant."

I lent a hand to help her stand. "You are a girl who deserves respect." I winked. "Sometimes us commoners need to look out for each other."

The warm smile returned to Ebelle's face as she took the tray. I think I made a new friend.

Returning to my dinner, I took another swig of ale and mumbled to myself, "What am I doing here? Maybe the old man has lost his mind."