The Currents of Magic

Chapter One

It was just past sunrise on the first day of March, and the town of Vanroc slept. A lone boy walked along a cobblestone road on his way to Martial Training. His name was Meyer Brant and he was sixteen years old. He was even more gangly than most boys his age, and already when he stood straight, he was taller than most grown men.

Meyer plodded by the modest homes in his town, his feet carrying him along while his mind wandered. The end of the training cycle was nearing, and he wondered if his father would attend the promotion ceremony should he advance. His father had never attended in years past, but on those occasions, Meyer had only advanced rank. If he advanced this year, he would graduate into the Vanroc Guard. Meyer swallowed hard, and kicked a pebble on the ground. There was no reason to delude himself. The Guard could award him the honor of silver shield and his father still wouldn't be there.

As Meyer approached the barracks, the dull ring of metal against metal pierced the morning stillness. Soon the sound blended with the din of many voices, and as Meyer rounded a bend in the road, the barracks appeared before him, its moss covered walls standing out against the clean gray stone of the surrounding houses. He entered through the main gate into the training yard, and the sound of combat amplified in his ears. Several dozen Martial Recruits were scattered around, sparring with blunted weapons. On the other side of the yard by the armament building, the rest of the recruits stood clustered in small groups. Meyer approached an older group of recruits, resting his hand on the shoulder of a curly haired boy. 

Ian Trent turned at his touch.

"How's it going?" said Meyer.

"Other than the wilderness session I have today, no complaints," said Ian.

"Gotta love a good old wilderness session," said Meyer. He took his hand off Ian's shoulder and stared around the huddle of recruits. "Right boys?"

The other boys looked up at him. A few shuffled as though to make space, but there was already enough room in the circle. Finally, a round boy named Henry Dobson spoke.

"Well, I guess that's one perk of still being in the Third Rank," he said. "No wilderness sessions."

"And you don't have to wear these stupid chains either," said a boy named Mason. As he spoke, he reached into his shirt, and pulled out a grayish necklace. It was made of fine metal links with a single strand dangling from its center. A narrow pendant engraved with an abstract pattern hung at the end of the strand.

"I can't even take it off at night to sleep," Mason added. "Won't fit around my head."

"That's the whole point of a lifelink," said Ian. "It's supposed to be impossible to remove without its other half."

"Spare me your commentary," said Mason. "I just think it's a waste we even bother with the lifelinks. When have they ever been useful?"

"I don't know," said Dobson. "If I were outside the walls during a wilderness session, I'd be glad to have a lifelink. Would be good to know that even if I got lost, the Wilderness Master—what's his name?"

"Tarkin," said Ian.

"Would be good to know that Master Tarkin could find me," finished Dobson.

"Which raises the bigger questions," said Mason. "Why do we even bother with wilderness sessions? All we do is prance around in the hills while Tarkin yells at us. Maybe if Rip realized there's no reason to bother with animal tracks and hiding in tall grass, we could be done with wilderness sessions and lifelinks."

"Quit complaining," said Ian. "When it comes to Rip, I have bigger concerns. Just yesterday I was in a sparring session—"

Dobson jerked his head vigorously towards the garrison building, and Ian stopped talking.