The door to the chamber creaked open, and light flooded in. A young mage stood in black robes at the entryway.

  Salamin squinted his eyes to adjust to the light.

  “My name is Igar, and I will take you to the first training.” He was muscular and compact, with intense, penetrating eyes as he took them both in. “You will remove your shoes.”

  Silently, Salamin removed his boots, feeling the cold stone on his feet. It was not pleasant. Lane paused and did likewise.

  The mage and motioned for them to follow.

  Torches lit the corridor, the smoke billowing upward to a vaulted ceiling. Igar stopped before a towering door etched with runes and carvings.

  Energy flowed from the door, and Salamin drew in a centering breath.

  “Enter into the Grand Hall and pay respects to your god, Argor. The doorway is charmed to show deceit by any supplicants that enter.”

  Salamin glanced at Lane. This could go badly in the next few moments. It depended on the strength of the spell and whether Aleda’s magic was more powerful.

  Lane entered first, and energy sparked around her as she moved to the other side, unharmed.

  Igar watched her step through, a brow raised. Had he seen something?

  Salamin drew in a deep breath and proceeded through. The energy swirled around him, and through his arms and legs like the trickle of water in a lake. The sheer energy held him in place, and slowly it subsided, and he stepped forward into a grand hall.

  He glanced back and saw that Igar was watching him, eyes unreadable. They had made it through. The high ceiling and large hall made Salamin feel small as he gazed up at the statue of Argor on a raised dais. Below, the statue, five other initiates sat in meditative posture.

  Hanging on the wall were swords and weapons of many kinds, the metal glistening in the torchlight. At the center of the hall was a circle made of raised red stones. It was a sparring circle.

  All heads turned to regard Lane and Salamin.

  Salamin inclined his head to the statue. Argor had been his god for many decades and had seen him through many battles, and the highs and lows of his life.

  “Sit,” Igar said, “join the others.”

  The five students were a mix of 3 young males and 3 females. They were dressed in the same flowing white robes, and barefoot. Their posture and groomed hair marked them as children of the nobles.

  Salamin sat on the floor and was surprised that it was not cold. The stones were warm under his legs and he relaxed. He’d made it through the door.

  An older mage approached from the side. Long white hair cascaded down the back of his robe, bushy brows raised as he raised both hands to the initiates, as he walked slowly up to the raised dais. “I am Master Paxton,” he said. “We have our initiates at last. Few are chosen for this path. Hundreds turned their backs on hardship for a meager amount of food and brief comfort. But you,” his eyes bore into each initiate in turn, “wanted more.”

  “The next week you will be given the skills to survive the catacombs and find your Fury Stone. You well know that very few have returned once they enter. It has been only the few that enter the Order. Look around,” he said. “It is likely that only three of you will return. Argor is not kind in that regard. He demands sacrifice to advance. Never forget that.”

  It was a lie. Salamin’s face burned. It was a flat out lie. Argor would never demand sacrifice of his supplicants.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Salamin watched the other initiates nod and accept the words.

  “You are free to leave,” Paxton said. “In fact, it would be wise to do so. You will face creatures in the Catacombs that will guard the entrance and will not let you pass. You must be skilled with the sword, and quick on your feet. Your food will be rationed, and you will be assessed for weaknesses and trained.”

  Paxton focused on Salamin. “In return, you must work hard, or be sent on your way. The Order only takes the best.”

  Holding the mage’s gaze, Salamin nodded his understanding. The body he now occupied was not used to hardship of any kind, let alone sword combat.

  “Today, before our god, Argor,” Paxton continued, “you will battle. Not to the death, you will show restraint. Those who are victorious will receive food and sustenance this day. Those defeated will not.”

  Murmurs broke out among the initiates.

  “You will be paired with your sparring partner and given weapons. We will start with,” Paxton paused. “You.” His finger pointed to Salamin and then to another young man. “Stand up, both of you.”

  Salamin eyed his opponent. He was a head taller than himself, and muscular. Short cropped hair accentuated his high cheek bones, and proud jutting chin. Perhaps he was from one of the royal houses, Salamin thought. Dark eyes regarded Salamin in return, revealing intelligence, and perhaps some knowledge of the Void.

  This was not good. Salamin didn’t want to be kicked out before he even started. He drew in a deep breath and looked over at Lane. She gave him a reassuring nod.

  “Elian Crest,” Paxton said with a nod. He handed the initiate a sword. Silver with a sharp blade, and metal hilt. Elian weighed it in his right hand, then swept it up to the light.

  “Sedwick Draken,” the mage continued, and Salamin stepped up, and took the other sword. His muscles quivered under the weight of it. His burned right hand could not hold it. The left hand was the only answer, and it felt awkward in his grip.

  “By Argor’s grace may the best Initiate win,” Paxton bowed to the statue, and Elian did the same.

  A moment later, Salamin followed suit.

  Rapt silence fell over the hall as Salamin faced his opponent.

  “Begin,” Paxton commanded from above.

  Elian stepped closer, his eyes focused as he circled. Salamin kept a defensive posture and turned to keep Elian in his sight. He’d faced much stronger opponents, yet at this moment, Salamin’s pulse sped uncontrollably fast. The fear was reaching him, and this was not even a fight to the death.

  Without hesitation, Elian swept in quickly for the kill, his sword up, and slashed down towards Salamin’s right side.

  With the sword in his left hand, Salamin came across and parried in time. Metal clashed against metal, and for the first time, Salamin could feel Elian’s strength.

  They kept their swords crossed as Elian forced Salamin backwards. He had to retain control. Elian was controlling the fight and moving Salamin into a bad position.

  Salamin side stepped to the right, slipping his sword out from the pressure. It had been ages since he’d held a weapon, and already his arm muscles burned.

  He had to get Elian on his heels. Already, he could tell Elian had extensive training. Salamin feinted to the right, and when Elian raised to counter, he lunged to the left, the tip of Salamin’s blade almost hit home.

  Elian countered at the last moment, his brows raised in surprise. He stepped back momentarily to reassess.

  Then Salamin felt it. Elian was mouthing a spell, and the energy surged through his hand and up towards the sword. Was that allowed here? Salamin glanced to Paxton who watched them in rapt silence.

  Salamin focused and saw the spell in his mind. [Strength Bender +10]

  A Void spell. Elian had received training. Already, Salamin’s energy was running at low levels. Magic changed everything.

  Elian lunged, slamming his sword down from left to right. Salamin parried just in time but buckled under the pressure and weight. Salamin broke free but quickly realized he could not defeat Elian with strength alone.

  Salamin stepped free of the hold, and brought his sword low, striking towards Elian’s left side. Fighting with his left hand was his only advantage at this point. His opponent was right-handed, and this was the only weak spot Salamin could find.

  Elian barely parried, as Salamin’s blade touched flesh. A red stain emerged on Elian’s white robe.

  Wincing with the pain, Elian’s eyes burned with hatred. Then came a wave of thrusts that Salamin parried, but Elian was again forcing him back on his heels. Salamin’s years of training were coming back but were no match for the sheer anger and strength Elian possessed.

  A wave of energy came at Salamin from his right. A momentary flash blinded him, and it was just enough for Elian to strike his sword hand.

  Pain flashed through Salamin’s wrist as his sword went clattering to the stone floor. Elian pointed his sword at Salamin’s neck, a grim smile on his face. “Looks like you will go without food this day,” he said.

  Paxton clapped from the dais. “Well done, Elian, son of Coron. Stand down.”

  Elian stepped back and lowered his sword.

  Salamin’s face burned with anger, mostly at himself.

  “Sit, Sedwick. You can watch the others before your fast.” Paxton motioned with his head back to the circle.

  “We will start the next fight. Lane Reval, please stand.”