The smell of the blade, it’s the first thing she always

recalls from her dreams, not the pain or the heat, the

foul stench of dead blood and muck tarnishing the steel,

if you could even call it that. Then the sounds and the

screams of battle, her eyes open and are flooded with

darkness, towers of smoke, in front of her the sky opens

and shards of ice bigger than trees poured down onto

the field, crushing, impaling all those unfortunate to be

in their path. Somehow she manages to pull the blade,

from her side, it’s dull and has left a flesh wound, barely

a wound at that, in front stands the man who drove it

into her side, his stance is sloppy, his demeanour tries

to betray his fear but he stinks of it, his eyes are the

giveaway, he’s never seen this before, his first war and

he’s on the wrong side.

Then her arm swings upward from her side drawing the

blade clasped to her side in its ornate sheath, it gleams

pristinely even in this dark place and then in the same

motion she rips up and then down, careful to wipe the

blade clean before covering it again.

The man falls to his knees, his makeshift armour, a tunic

with some ancient chainmail split and shredded by her

blade, his flesh sliced cleanly open, the blood inks out

and dyes the clothes, he falls forward in the mud,

making no sound, only dying.

Opera is pulled from her dream, the air is cold, the

water tossed into her face even colder, ‘Get up girl’,

with her hands bound, she wipes her face and eyes, the

others are already standing, she clambers to her feet,

the man holding the bucket checks her shackles, his

hands finding their way around her body, he leans and

smells her hair ‘Might just save up my wages for you

girly’, he grins a broken smile, his breath clings to her

skin and soaks her hair – this was her life now, it had all

changed so much in only a few days.

Three nights before she was sitting by the fire while her

father recounted old stories, great battles, tremendous

creatures and of great evils and the mighty heroes who

vanquished them. Great evils? She didn’t think they

were real until the village she called home was visited

by them, twisted shadows of men scouring through dark

nights, they happened upon the sleepy hamlet and in

one night, they had destroyed it all, her home, her

family, her life. Amidst the chaos, her father had

smuggled her out of the village into the brush, he held

her close, his voice choked back a farewell before he

turned and left her in the woods and returning to fight

for his people. She watched it all burn, she heard their

screams and all she could do was weep until she was

overcome by exhaustion.

She walked for hours until she stumbled on a merchant

caravan, a middle aged man he offered her a bed and a

ride to the city of Waterbridge, it was all too good to be

true. He sold her to these men and now she was headed

south through the Wastelands and to a place she’d

never even heard of.

Her wrists were sore, her legs ached but she was pulled

into a march, her line was mostly men but behind her

was another woman, older, she’d only spoken once,

asking Opera if she knew where they were and then

falling silent when Opera shrugged her shoulders. As

they walked her mind wandered to the dream she’d

had, it was the same dream every night now since the

attack, she was on a battlefield, she’d slain the same

man each night, was there some meaning to it all?

It was too hard to concentrate or even give it a lot of

thought, her hunger pains had returned and as hard as

she tried to ignore them, she could feel her body

beginning to give way to it, “Hang in there little one,

tonight we will be free”, the croaked whisper came from

behind her, she turned her head slightly, from the

corner of her eye she watched the woman, her head

bowed as if she’d said nothing.

Did she imagine the voice?

. . .

One month ago...

He lay in bed awake, priding himself on, the crow began

to call, priding himself on the fact that he had risen each

morning every morning for the last year before that

blasted bird had time to erupt the monastery into the

daily morning frenzy. He turned in the bed, sliding his

feet onto the cold stone floor, stand up, he wiped what

little sleep remained from his eyes and stretched

upward and then swooping his hands down into the

bowl of clean, clear water, he glanced at his reflection in

the bowl and smiled.

It had been almost three years since he’d been sent to

the monastery at White Cliff, his parents had wanted a

scholar so they paid to have one, regardless of his own

wants and wishes. These stone buildings had been his

school and his home and admittedly things didn’t start

off so well but he’d settled eventually and was now

beginning his new year with a sense of enthusiasm,

helped by the fact he would finally begin his

apprenticeship under Master Bottick, regarded as one

of the best practitioners of medicine in the entire

country, if not the entire world.

Slipping out of his room, his eager steps were almost

two at a time, his robes were simple and plain all but for

the green sash he’d received the night before, a mark of

his achievements so far, all the third years wore them to

highlight their dedication to scholarly pursuits. He

twisted and turned each corner of the dormitories

sharply, sidestepping and curling around one or two

familiar faces with a speedy good morning, he’d made it

into the Grand College grounds in record time.

The place had finally stopped putting him in a state of

awe, for a monastery, White Cliff didn’t spare the

expense in construction and decoration. Thick stone

walls for protection against any possible attack where

painted inside with lavish carvings, golden framed

paintings of iconic masters and ancient thinkers, high

mahogany beams suspended delicate tapestries.

Deeper into the college grounds closer to the Offices of

the Masters, displays were laid out of old artefacts and

timeless pieces dug up during hunts and digs, that was

where he was headed this morning to meet with the

man who would help him become all he now wanted, a

healer, a doctor.

The door to Master Bottick’s office acted as a final

barrier to Lee, his future lay inside he grasped the black

iron handle and turned, the door didn’t budge, instead

the lock banged and rattled, a mocking sound. Maybe

he was early?

Behind him he heard footsteps, a Page, the First

Master’s Page no less, ‘Novice Lee, your presence is

requested in the First Master’s office, if you’d like to

follow me sir’. The page turned on his heel and headed

to the end of the hallway, Lee was confused but

gathered his thoughts, perhaps he was to meet Bottick

here, maybe he’d misheard the instructions or misread

the letter of acceptance, it would be fine he convinced

himself.

The Page glided the door open, no doubt this fellow was

the envy of all the other staff, he must get paid more,

he’d have to put up with First Master Varun, a brilliant

man matched only in intelligence by his temperament.

The office was rather simple, he’d only been in it once

before, when he first arrived and it hadn’t changed

much since then bar a few more dusty stacks of books.

Inside Varun was sat behind his desk, another man, was

eyeing the shelves and shelves of books, his fingers

gliding along the aged bent spines of the books, Master

Artafas.

‘Good morning Novice Lee, forgive me but I don’t

believe in dawdling about this subject, Master Bottick

has passed away.’

Abrupt and to the point, his face didn’t even twitch

when uttered the words, surely the two scholars were

friends or even acquaintances not that you could tell by

his reaction, Lee stared in disbelief, ‘How?’

‘What do you mean how? He is dead, what more is

there to know about it? My boy it would seem that you

are in fact the only third year without a mentor and that

simply can’t be. For the time being I have assigned you

to Master Artafas, while his pursuit of Forgotten Arts

might not be to your taste, I’m sure some study is better

than no study even if it isn’t the most challenging’.

Lee couldn’t believe what he was being told, just like

that his future was gone, once more what he wanted

didn’t seem to matter and now he was being saddled

with a Master nobody else wanted?

‘Now if that’s all, I ask that you both leave me to my

work’, Varun waved them out the door, the Page closing

it firmly and quickly behind them both.

Artafas shuffled down the hallway not even

acknowledging the Novice as he brushed passed him,

his mind lost in the pages of the tome he carried, he

disappeared behind another door that closed with a

resounding thud.

Lee stood in the hallway piecing together everything

that just happened.

Chapter II

“Run and Hide”

Coming next month!