THE FORGING OF A BROKEN MAN

chapter five : the village

I followed trent out of the door to the bunkhouse. He walked with a kind of carefree buoyancy that, despite my reservations, eased some of the anger and apprehension I had over the absurd initiation I had gone through just yesterday. At least I think it was just yesterday. Now that I think about it though, there isn't this much wilderness anywhere near the palace. We had to be several days journey from there. "How did I get here?" I blurt out, not really sure if trent would even know. He glances back at me and chuckles. "Well, after the king's sorcerer fixed you up you were in a magically induced sleep for about a week. You arrived here yesterday, just before sunset. They removed the spell from you and let you cool down for a bit before letting you out. Same as the rest of us." He says, as if he's explaining what he ate for dinner last night. "I didn't realize that sorcery was real. I thought it was just a wives tale." I say, my mind racing to grasp what he just said. Trent replies nonchalantly "It's rare, but very much real. There's only a handful of sorcerer's in existence. They say that you have to sell your soul to the underworld to become a sorcerer, and that most people don't survive the transformation. Some of them become hideous monsters in the process." I stop and stare at trent in disbelief. After a few steps he realizes that I'm not following and he spins around, "well come on, we've only got so much time in the day." He says teasingly. "So you expect me to believe that magic and monsters are real, and that I have been healed by one of the few sorcerer's in the world after being beaten almost to death as some sort of insane initiation ritual?" "Yup, now hurry up!" I stood there for a second as he walked away before finally remembering to follow. Was this guy totally insane? He didn't even flinch at the fact that we all had been broken and abused. And what about the old man? Why had the sorcerer killed him? Who was he? I decide to ask trent, " when he healed me, this sorcerer, he killed a man. Who was that?" Trent pauses, but only for a brief moment before the smile returns to his face and he replies, "well, from what I understand to work magic you have to have a catalyst. For big spells, life force is the only catalyst strong enough. The more sentient the, um, catalyst, the more powerful. So, for example, a rabbit would only be able to do for very minor spells, and say a dog would be able to do a much bigger one." He left the implication there, although he didn't say it. People are the most sentient creatures. Horror slowly bloomed in my chest, the very idea making me feel sick.

Trent stopped in front of the strange pond I had seen before, and spun around, "this here" he said, gesturing generally at the pond, "is where we do most of our sparring at first." I just stared dumbly at him with a questioning look, occasionally glancing at the pond and then back to him. He laughed a deep belly laugh, bending over at the waist and turning red in the face. After he caught his breath he stood up holding his stomach, "well don't look so happy about it newbie, you'll have to reign in that excitement!" He chuckled ,"once we get good enough on the beams they let us spar on the ground. You didn't think our training would be easy did you?" He asks the question with a devious glint in his eyes. Then he turns, pointing at each of the stone keeps in turn, "those are where the guards live, and on the rare occasion when the king's sorcerer comes he stays there too." I made note of that, the king's sorcerer was now most certainly fixed near the top of my list. I decide to probe a bit, "the king's sorcerer comes here? Why? Wouldn't that take quite a bit of manpower to escort him here and back? If he's as rare as you say, they'd certainly rather keep him safe in the palace." Trent looked at me quizzically for a second before replying, "the king's sorcerer travels alone. He's a sorcerer, and under the king's colors to boot. Nobody would be foolish enough to attack him. And if they were, they'd regret it!" I scoffed "Surely one man couldn't be that dangerous, especially if he's limited to only using his powers by sacrificing something or someone." Trent fixed me with a steady gaze, the smile falling and his face assuming a serious, stony quality, "the sorcerer can store up catalysts in the rings he wears when he travels. With the power he can store in those rings he can level a small town... I've seen it with my own eyes." At that the breath caught in my throat, "he can singlehandedly destroy a whole town?" I ask, incredulous. "Yeah." Replies trent, "but he's not our concern, right now you need to focus on making friends and doing the best you can. People die here william, this is no playground." Trent's sudden seriousness chilled me to the bone, and I registered the truth of his words. Before I can think of anything to say his smile suddenly returns, and as if nothing happened he gestures at a large, oak building that is short and sturdy looking, with a grey slate roof and says, "that is the armory, when you get to weapons training status that's where you'll get your arms before each match. There's also training weapons for sparring. Lots of cool stuff!" Then he points to a large building, with a wood slat roof, "that's the obstacle building, it will give you your fair share of bruises." And then he turns and points at a long, short building nestled at the base of one of the mountain slopes, "that's the dining hall, everyone will meet there three times a day. In fact, we had better head that way now. It's almost dinner time and you need to meet everyone else" he turns, gesturing to follow. "You get three meals a day?" I ask as I jog to catch up. "Yeah, you're a valuable asset now." Trent says nudging my shoulder, "can't have you staying a skinny little twig forever." And at that it finally sinks in, this is no strange dream. I am going to be transformed from a slave into a warrior.