Prologue
At the centre of a broad marble altar adorned with gleaming silver vines, hand beaten to perfection, lay the Stone of Ersinhel. The faint light that glazed the room trickled through the glass ceiling and draped the table in a glowing purity. The glancing of this light off the pale, opaque crystal on the table reflected a pattern onto the polished surface of the sculpted altar. The room was otherwise empty, there were no windows and there was only one entrance. In the centre of one wall was a pair of double doors that blended smoothly with the surrounding white stone and would scarcely have been recognised with a single glance. There was no lock on the door but a man that tried to force his way through would have found himself struggling in vain. In the quiet of the deep night the stone lay under the stars, dormant and waiting.
The School
He woke full of apprehension; hurriedly he scrambled from his bunk and darted towards the bathroom, eager to be the first ready. The other thirty or so young men and women in the dormitory gradually began to follow his example and slowly the building came to life.
Having made himself presentable, the boy rushed from this room and followed a series of wide corridors with walls laden with tapestries and statues, until he reached the Grand Hall. As always he descended the majestic, slowly spiralling staircase of varnished mahogany in sheer awe. The ceiling rose to a height of almost thirty feet and was intricately designed with a precise pattern of stone branches and leaves. Sunlight shone through tall windows and was reflected by the smooth grey flagstones, dazzling the dark-haired boy as he entered. There were many entrances into this hall and each was presented with a proud archway that was carved to resemble two overhanging trees that met at its centre.
Much to his delight, he was the first student present and he busied himself, straightening his dark blue shirt and dusting his black trousers. Patiently he waited and was soon joined by many more students who did not socialise but lined up along one bare length of wall that seemed designed for the purpose. They all looked composed and smart but closely concealed all signs of emotion from their faces making the mood very solemn. No-one talked and the silence was broken only occasionally with a brief shuffling of feet or perhaps the odd sneeze. The girls dressed identically to the boys and had their hair long but tied back into ponytails. The boys all had short hair. Every student was lithe and muscular. The mood grew tenser.
As he waited the boy thought intensely although his face displayed pure calm and content. He was sixty-five seasons old, or sixteen years old as the common people would say. He was of medium height with sharp, alert eyes which were very grey and bore a mood of immeasurable knowledge and keenness. Before long a tall man with a lined face and greying hair walked slowly and smoothly into the hall. He wore the same clothes as the students but also had a pale grey cloak draped over his shoulders. He stopped in front of the assembled and looked intently at each one in turn as they stood in an awkward but complete silence. He observed for a long time then spoke in a deep, thoughtful voice that was not loud but carried great commanding.
“You are now all of the right age. Over the past forty seasons you have studied here and learned Literature, Arithmetic, History, the arts of travel, weapon skills, riding, medicine and foreign languages. You are all of the highest fitness, intelligence, discipline and talent. However, you number thirty-two but only eight of you may fully complete your training to become Hallaren. As such you will be pitted against one another and the winners who show the most cunning, quick thinking and skill will proceed to the Final Academy. The losers will become politicians, generals and scientists but will not become Hallaren.
“In three days time you will all enter the Forest at different places. You will be watched but you will not know from where. You will have to fight one another and whatever you come across in amongst those trees. If you come too close to death you will be transported to safety. The last eight remaining will be the winners. You will be given nothing but a random weapon, which I will supply you with now, and there is only one rule: you may not leave the Forest. Until it is time you will be allowed to research what information you may need, practice your weapon skills and heighten your fitness, now I will give you your arms. Come forward Taquan Kallarmen!” He concluded his speech with a short bark.
Abruptly the grey-eyed boy stepped forward. The Master reached into a large chest, hidden underneath the staircase, and pulled from it a steel katana. Inwardly Taquan felt exhilarated, the katana was his weapon of choice. He accepted it stoically from his Master and returned to his place, the long sword firmly in his grip. When all the students had received their weapons – Taquan noted grimly that one had been given a crossbow – the Master dismissed them curtly and walked away in his slow fashion. The students dispersed, each heading for different areas of the School to prepare for the final examination. Taquan felt drawn to training area to practice with his katana but instead headed for the library where he knew more work was required. He did not feel any more apprehension because he had a weapon with which he was skilled. Even so he resolved to work as hard as he could before the day came for him to enter the Forest.
*****
The first two days passed without major event. Taquan practiced survival skills, researched the details of the composition of the Forest and committed to memory a simple map of the area. The School was a large collection of grand stone buildings that formed a complex on the outskirts of the city of Kale. It could house a hundred students easily and adjoined a small forest that was enclosed within high walls of sandstone. There were many doors in those walls but they all required complex arm movements to open, so that only a human could enter or exit. There were rumours as to what inhabited the Forest but only the Hallaren knew what lay underneath the mottled canopy of oak and beech leaves.
Taquan had just completed an hour of katana training with one of the swordmasters. He felt that he had earned himself a break and wandered off into the city. He always loved to marvel at the smooth, paved streets that formed concentric circles around the Great Meeting Chamber. These circles were connected by straight roads that fanned out from the smallest, innermost ring. Taquan decided to head for the market which was a bustling hive of activity on the other side of Kale. He liked to mingle with other people and hear them speak. The awkward silence of the school was sometimes disconcerting. He enjoyed the walk and relaxed his muscles and brain in preparation for the next day. He knew that he could do no more training before it was time; the sun had passed its zenith some three hours earlier and it was still early spring.
When he arrived at the market he strolled down one line of stalls pausing only to look closely when something particularly tasty caught his eye. After a good fifteen minutes he purchased an apple and munched it slowly as he sat on a rough wooden bench watching the people walking by and the vendors praising their wares. He finished his snack and headed back for the School.
When he was only twelve seasons old Taquan and his parents arrived at the city of Kale and bought a very small house near the market, close to the housing areas. His father set up a bakery and, although it was hard to live off his small income, they lived happily enough for ten seasons. Then, when Taquan was entering his twenty-third season, his father burnt his right arm horribly on one of the ovens, leaving him crippled. The bakery shut down and Taquan’s family sunk into poverty. With no money for food or medicine Taquan’s father died of a cruel infection and his mother was filled with grief. Unable to bear her sorrow she too died within a few weeks. On the same day of his mother’s death Taquan was found weeping in a gutter by Mauren, a Master at the School. Mauren recognised his potential and had him entered into the school a few months later.
The School was an odd place. The students did not get to know one another and were taught from a very early age how to hide their emotions. Showing them was a sign of weakness amongst the Hallaren and so it was hard to build and maintain friendships without seeming so. There were no beatings or punishments because none of the children were disobedient. The masters at the School could command a student just by speaking. Taquan wondered if there was some hidden power or spell that they used to do this. The arts of the Hallaren were mysterious and closely guarded. Only the select eight would learn them.
Taquan reached the school in time for the evening meal which was simple but nutritious. He spent his last hour before sleep in the armoury. Mauren, who had presented the students with their weapons, had explained later that they were now the students own possession. Taquan heated the furnace and re-beat his sword, strengthening and perfecting its surface. The sounds of his hammering echoed around the large, steaming room where several other students were adding a finishing touch to their weapons. Taquan added tiny serrations along the blunt edge of the blade knowing that this would be useful in the Forest. Once the metal had cooled he sat at a work bench and, using a mallet and fine chisel, engraved his name and the name he had given to the sword, Arithmiel, onto the plain handle. He hoisted the sword upwards and gave it a few experimental flicks. He smiled; the balance was perfect. Sheathing the katana he returned to his dormitory for a restful sleep before the day of reckoning arrived.
The Forest
Once again the students lined the Great Hall in silence. Each was dressed in a rough, dirty brown tunic and coarse, tough trousers. They all wore long cloaks of mottled green and brown and held their weapons at their sides. None had any satchels or scabbards to aid them in the Forest. Mauren entered the room, greeting them shortly. He proceeded to lead them through one of the side arches along some unfamiliar corridors to a back door. Beyond this door were thirty-one Hallaren masters and behind them rose the wall that enclosed the Forest. Each student joined his or her respective Hallar; Taquan joined Mauren. Then, one by one, they were led away, skirting the tall, irregular walls.
As he waited for his turn Taquan rehearsed the information he had memorised about the Forest. It was almost four miles in diameter and was a rough oval shape. For the most part the trees were densely packed but clearings and thinly populated areas were scattered around the area. There were several springs all of which could be drunk from safely.
Taquan was jolted from his pondering by Mauren who placed his hand on his shoulder. With a start he realised that they were alone; all the others had passed out of sight.
“You must go. I wish you good luck”
As he spoke he pointed Taquan in the direction of a low, narrow door set into the wall. Briefly muttering a word of thanks he headed of towards the small arch. He had to insert his arm up to the elbow into a hole where the lock would normally be. He then had to grasp a thin, invisible handle, turn it upside down and pull it towards himself. As he did this the thick door swung heavily open. He crept through and sealed the exit behind him. Now it had begun, he was in the Forest.
*****
He took a quick look around before beginning his trek. The trees were closely packed right up to the wall and most of the sunlight was blotted out by the canopy. The ground was littered with leaves the smell of which was earthy but soothing. He could see for perhaps half a mile ahead of him. Beyond that the trees were too thick to penetrate. A squirrel a few yards away that had been digging in the loamy soil scampered up a tree as Taquan began to trudge through the debris on the forest floor. He quickened his pace to a light run, his cloak wrapped tightly about his shoulders. He kept his head down low taking care not to trip on any of the protruding roots that sprung from around the bases of the trees. He held his sword loosely but ready.
He travelled for several miles, never passing over the same area twice, before he came to a small clearing where sunlight shone through the overhanging branches to highlight a shallow pool of clear water surrounded by mossy boulders. Checking the nearby trees for other students Taquan was satisfied and he bent down for a drink. The water was refreshing although it tasted faintly of compost. AS the water dripped from his hands and mouth Taquan stood up and halted suddenly. A hundred yards in front of him a boy with blonde hair and broad shoulders was elbowing his way through some brambles. He held a loaded crossbow in one hand and was using it to beat aside the offending tangle of tough, thin stems. Thankfully he was too occupied to notice Taquan.
Very silently Taquan crouched and sidestepped slowly behind a sprawling oak tree and readied his sword. He peeped round the rippled bark and caught a quick glimpse of where the other student was heading. He considered it safe to move and dashed to the next tree. Not so much as a single twig snapped. From this angle he could see the other boy’s face, contorted with agitation and fury as he hacked loudly away at the brambles with the butt of his crossbow. Taquan wondered why he did not just backtrack then walk around the obstacle. He decided to lure the blonde buy so he could attack him from behind. He bent his knees, keeping his back straight against the tree, and picked up a small lump of tough clay. Weighing it in his hands he spread his legs slightly and threw it so that the boy turned sharply and began to cautiously approach the spot where it had landed with a soft flump. Taquan had judged it perfectly; if the boy approached the lump of clay directly he would leave his back vulnerable. Unfortunately the other student seemed to suspect a trick and he did not approach the spot straight away but started a wide spiral that would change his approach so that he came from a different direction. Taquan had had enough of waiting and decided to charge straight for the other boy. He sped out from behind the tree and sprinted to the next one. The blond boy noticed the movement, lifted his crossbow and fired. The shot flew past only a few feet behind Taquan. Thankfully he had caught him off guard but his aim would now be much better. Taking advantage of the crossbow’s slow loading time Taquan burst from tree to tree drawing closer to his target. He was now only twenty yards away. He stopped behind a beech as he heard the click of the bolt in the crossbow and listened. He realised that the other student could now approach as cautiously as he liked. With a spark of inspiration Taquan reached above his head and tore a dying branch from the tree. It was a good size and his attacker could not have seen what he was doing. He tossed the branch to his right and watched a bolt pierce it right through the centre, shattering it and sending bits of bark flying. Taquan swung round the tree to the left an instant later and raced towards the other boy who stared in horror as he realised he had been tricked. He held his katana low and scythed the air in a powerful uppercut as he levelled with the other student. He did not feel the sword make contact but saw in the corner of his eye his opponent fade rapidly leaving a boy-shaped cloud of smoke that quickly dissipated. He was left alone and smiling. He had made his first kill.
*****
Two days later Taquan woke to the sound of twittering birds and the pitter patter of light rain falling on leaves. He yawned and brushed aside the screen of vines and bracken that had obscured his resting place. As he stretched to prepare his tired limbs for another day of searching he noticed the sunlight filtering through the canopy. At that angle it must be late morning, he thought, he was getting a bit lazy.
Taquan had claimed five more kills since he had defeated the blonde boy with the crossbow. Two had been simple close quarter fighting, those had been the easiest and most enjoyable. He had sneaked up behind one girl as she was drinking beside a pool and had theoretically caved in her head. One boy he had been loathe to kill while he slept on one night-time stroll. He had waged the conflictions of honour and success in his mind and had decided upon the latter. One had stumbled into one of his traps: a tripwire concealed in the earth had activated a mechanism which set loose a large swinging branch. Apart from students he had encountered two wolves and a bear which he had dealt with efficiently although the bear had given him a shallow, but nasty, scratch along his leg.
After visiting a nearby spring he continued through the forest at a brisk walk. Surely, he thought, there cannot be many more combatants left. He had already taken far more than his fair share. This fact was not a source of worry to Taquan, in fact, he was quite proud of himself.
Some hours later he was picking his way through a rocky area that was thick with nettles, the rain had ceased long before. He had met no-one since the day before. Spying a laden blackberry bush he consumed a light lunch and continued. A hundred yards later he stopped. Something did not feel right. He felt his instincts screaming. There was a feeling that someone else was close by. Turning his head slowly he looked left straight into the eyes of a girl who was in a position identical to his and not fifty yards away. They stood in silence, eying one another. Taquan noted her weapon, a two handed claymore, and ran some tactics through his head. He could fight her face to face or he could lead her in a mad race and lure her into one of his traps. She had survived this long so he would not underestimate her.
They both made the choice at once and turned to face one another in ready stances with feet widely planted and knees bent. She raised her sword high and he kept his low. Slowly they drew closer to one another, circling. The ground in this area was thick with leaves and littered with low bushes but there were no trees. She lunged first swinging the claymore in a crippling downwards curve. He parried and counterattacked, his sword searching for a piece of her flesh. She matched his attacks and he matched hers. After a few minutes they both retreated a few steps, sweating and panting. This time he lunged first. He held his sword curiously and as they connected blades he twisted the katana in his grasp. The serrations found purchase on the plain edge of her sword and Taquan whipped his blade to one side, tearing hers from her grasp. She grunted and jumped back, tripping on a root and landing flat on her back. Without pausing she grabbed a handful of loose earth and flung it in Taquan’s eyes which he instinctively closed. This gave her time to snatch up her sword and make a low, wide sweep. Sensing her actions without seeing the, Taquan leapt back but the claymore bit into his thigh. Blood spurted onto the leaves. Wincing with the pain but making no sound Taquan retreated, limping. He felt enraged, furious and crazed with madness. She had been defeated by pure sword skill and yet she resorted to flinging mud into people’s faces. His rage built, filling him. He frothed at the mouth and his whole face contorted with sheer madness. With a howl of insanity he crashed forwards, ignorant of the pain in his thigh. Tie slowed down. He could see her face show, slowly, very slowly, a look of utter surprise. She seemed not to move. He felt his anger spreading to his arms and he swung his sword furiously. The force of that blow would have felled a small tree. Then he was past her, snorting deep breaths through his nose and shaking violently. The rage subsided. His breathing slowed and his expression of fury vanished abruptly. It was replaced by one of immeasurable terror; he was staring at his sword. It was dripping with blood.
