Chapter Seven: Bronze Rank

  "Why do we have to do that? Why can't you just tell us!" Rosalia asked, her hands bunching into fists, her ears twitching with agitation. Her cheeks flushed with a rosy hue that highlighted the delicate freckling across her nose, and her green eyes sparked with frustration.

  Light, but she's adorable when she's mad, Ash couldn't help thinking. Here he was, his family dead, many of the people he knew and grew up around likely dead, and he was mooning after a girl. The realization struck him as absurd, even disrespectful to the memory of his aunt and uncle.

  A tingling shame crept up his neck, warming his ears. He shifted uncomfortably on the floor of Amalia's cottage, the wooden planks pressing against his legs. The air still smelled faintly of herbs and the remnants of whatever stew Amalia had prepared earlier.

  "I'd like to know what in the light those things are," Nick added. The dwarf's dark fingers drummed against the handle of his hammer where it rested at his side, his thick eyebrows forming a severe line above his eyes. His black beard, meticulously braided despite everything they'd been through, quivered slightly with each word.

  Amalia answered Rosalia first, her face an impassive mask that betrayed no emotion. Her violet eyes remained fixed on the half-elven girl, studying her with a detached curiosity.

  "All you need to know is that this is my condition. You cannot pry the knowledge from me, so you have little choice but to comply unless you wish to remain ignorant." Her voice was calm, measured, as if she were simply discussing the weather rather than withholding information about the deaths of their families.

  She turned then to Nick, her dark robes shifting soundlessly with the movement. "Those were kobolds."

  Nick raised a black brow, his lips curling into a sneer. "You mean from that light-fucked story?" His voice dripped with disbelief, tinged with the bitterness that had been growing since they'd fled their burning homes.

  Amalia pursed her lips, and her violet eyes narrowed, the only indication that his words had affected her at all. "I grow weary of your needless swearing, child." The final word was delivered with a subtle emphasis that highlighted the difference in their ages, though Amalia herself appeared no older than thirty.

  Nick smiled, his teeth pearl white against his ebony skin, and shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance. The firelight from the hearth danced across his features, throwing his face into alternating patterns of light and shadow.

  "I don't rightly give a light-cursed fuck, now do I? You're naught but a storyteller to me, and as grateful as I may be to you savin' my life and all, I won't guard my tongue for anyone." His accent thickened with his defiance, the cadence of his speech shifting to match the patterns Ash had heard from Nick's mother on the rare occasions he'd visited their smithy.

  Amalia frowned, her fingers tightening almost imperceptibly around her white staff. For a moment, Ash thought she'd hit the dwarf with it. The tension in the room thickened, oppressive as summer heat. Then her shoulders relaxed, and she shrugged, the movement so slight it was nearly invisible.

  "I suppose I can respect that attitude." A hint of something like approval flickered across her features before vanishing. "But it is as you say, Nicholas. They are indeed from that story. Many things you have seen this night were in that story. And if you want to hear anymore about it, you will strive to meet my conditions."

  The room fell silent as they all considered her words. Ash could hear the soft crackling of the fire, the occasional hoot of an owl outside, and Will's steady breathing as the archer sat with his back against the wall, fingers absently tracing the curve of his unstrung bow.

  Ash mulled it over, staring down at his hands. They were still stained with faint green smudges from the kobold blood, despite his attempts to clean them. What Amalia was offering was the fulfillment of his dream. Since he was old enough to understand what they were, he had longed to be an adventurer. Adventurers knew the secrets of magic. They fought monsters, roamed the lands in search of glory, and protected the weak. Some of his earliest memories were of begging Uncle Derrick for stories about adventurers he'd encountered during his travels.

  But it left a sour taste in his mouth that someone was trying to make him do it in order to learn about the deaths of those closest to him. The bargain felt wrong, tainted. He felt like he had bought a ticket to his dream with his Aunt and Uncle's deaths. The very thought made his stomach twist painfully.

  But what other choice did he have? He glanced around the room at his companions, noting the exhaustion etched into their young faces. Nick's eyes were bloodshot, and Will's normally immaculate appearance was disheveled, his hair sticking up at odd angles. Rosalia looked the most composed, but even she couldn't hide the shadows beneath her eyes or the slight tremor in her hands.

  "We could go look for the information on our own," Rosalia suggested, breaking the silence. She spoke slowly, her tongue gliding carefully over each word as if exploring a new topic she didn't want to get wrong. Her ears, more prominently pointed than a human's but less so than a full-blooded elf's, twitched slightly with uncertainty.

  Amalia remained stoic, saying nothing at first. She merely watched Rosalia with those unsettling violet eyes, her expression revealing nothing of her thoughts. Finally, she spoke, her voice measured and calm.

  "You could try, but where would you look?" The question hung in the air like a challenge, daring any of them to provide an answer she couldn't dismiss.

  Rosalia frowned, her ears reddening at the tips. She glanced down at her hands, her confidence visibly wavering under Amalia's steady gaze. Will shrugged, the movement displacing some dust from his shoulder.

  "We could ask around, surely someone knows where to go. Books are a thing, last I looked." His voice maintained its usual lightness, but Ash could detect a note of strain beneath it. Will had always been the one to find humor in any situation, but even he was struggling to maintain his usual demeanor after the horrors they'd witnessed.

  Rosalia pointed at him, nodding eagerly. "That's right. There must be someone who knows more about these... these kobolds. And if not, there are libraries, scholars..." Her voice trailed off as Amalia's expression remained unchanged.

  "So they do," Amalia acknowledged, "but I promise you that the books you are looking for are hard to find in random villages and farms. Further, the kinds of answers you need are found in books even rarer still." She paused, letting her words sink in before continuing. "Who's to say how long it would take for you to find these things? What will you do if you come across more monsters? Not all can be defeated with a knife and a hammer."

  Her words settled over them like a heavy blanket. Ash knew she was right, and by the looks on his companions' faces, they realized it too. That was the final nail in the coffin on them searching for answers themselves. For most monsters, you needed an adventurer. That's why local villages often put up notice boards, posting monster contracts for passing adventurers to take, paying them with coins gathered from every villager.

  The four of them would not survive a lycanthrope, for example. The mere thought of facing one of the wolf-like creatures with nothing but their current skills and makeshift weapons sent a shiver down Ash's spine. He'd heard tales of lycanthropes tearing through entire villages, their claws rending flesh as easily as a hot knife through butter.

  Amalia gave a gracious nod, acknowledging her victory without gloating. Her face softened almost imperceptibly as she looked at their dejected expressions.

  "Do not look so defeated. I will assist you, in a manner of speaking, in fulfilling my condition." Her voice was gentler now, though still firm.

  "How?" Will asked, straightening up from his slumped position against the wall. His eyes, a warm brown that reminded Ash of freshly tilled soil, showed a spark of interest.

  Amalia raised a slender hand, ticking off a finger as she spoke. "First, I shall take you to Wyrmhaven Academy. Secondly, I will train you, and prepare you as best I can before we get there."

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  "Um... I can put it together that this place is a school, but why would we be going there?" Rosalia shifted in her seat, fidgeting with the hem of her tunic. Her voice held a note of embarrassment, as if she were ashamed to ask what she thought was a stupid question.

  It was Nick who answered, his deep voice resonating in the small cottage. "It's an adventure academy. You go there to learn to be an adventurer." He ran a thick finger along the edge of his hammer as he spoke. "I overheard my Ma talkin' to a trader who said he was headed up there. It's far to the west of us, in the vynterium mountains near Drakoisia." He looked up at Amalia, his expression skeptical. "You'd have us travel clear across Aleria, woman! Has the shadow taken your mind?"

  "Not yet," Amalia muttered, so quietly that Ash almost missed it. There was something in her tone, a weariness perhaps, that made him wonder what burdens she carried.

  Louder, she said, "Precisely. The journey will take us some time, a couple of months I'd say. Time enough to prepare you for the entrance exam."

  Will groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. "Never been any good at tests." His shoulders slumped dramatically, though his eyes held their usual mischievous glint.

  "What test have you taken? We never went to any school," Ash said, his brows coming together in confusion. In the farm community where he'd grown up, formal education was rare. Most children learned what they needed from their parents or through apprenticeships.

  "I haven't taken any, but trust me, I'm rotten at them," Will flashed a grin, his teeth startlingly white in the dim cottage. "I can just feel it in my bones. Tests and I, we're natural enemies."

  Rosalia giggled, the sound like clear water bubbling over stones. Ash flicked his eyes between her and Will, noting the way she leaned toward the other boy, her eyes brightening at his humor. A twinge of something uncomfortable twisted in his chest, and he frowned, looking away.

  "We leave tomorrow morning, so get some rest," Amalia announced, rising from her seat with fluid grace. "I have a few bedrolls I tucked away, I'll get them." She moved toward a small closet, her robes whispering against the wooden floor. "I suspect you all must be hungry, too. I'll get that prepared."

  She paused, her back to them, her voice softening just slightly. "It will be hard to eat, after what you all went through, I suggest you do so anyway. You will need your strength in the days to come."

  Ash had a nagging feeling she was correct. The thought of food made his stomach clench, images of his aunt and uncle's bodies flashing through his mind. But he knew they would need sustenance for whatever lay ahead. He watched as Amalia began preparing a simple meal, her movements efficient and practiced.

  Later, he was made to shower before bed, everyone having grown tired of the stench of the dried green blood on him. Amalia had a shower through her room, which he found was just a simple bed, dresser, and nightstand. The room was sparse, with no personal touches beyond a small stack of books on the nightstand. He wondered briefly what kind of life Amalia led, traveling from place to place, telling stories. Did she have a home somewhere? Family?

  Water sluiced over him, washing away the grime and blood. For a moment, he closed his eyes, letting the warm water run over his face, trying to push away the images of death and destruction that seemed burned into his mind. When he emerged, clean but still haunted, he found his clothes had been laundered.

  "A script," was all Amalia said by way of explanation, handing him the folded garments. They smelled of something herbal and clean.

  He nodded his thanks, too exhausted for questions. The bedroll was thin and the floor hard, but after everything that had happened, he was grateful for even this small comfort. Around him, his companions settled in for the night, their breathing gradually slowing as sleep claimed them one by one.

  Yet sleep was long in coming for Ash. He stared at the ceiling, watching the shadows cast by the dying fire. His mind raced with questions about kobolds, about the strange figure who had killed his uncle, about the journey ahead. He thought of Amalia and her mysterious knowledge, of Rosalia's laughter at Will's jokes, of the home and family he would never see again.

  When sleep finally claimed him, his dreams were filled with burning buildings and creatures with knife-like ears.

  They were woken before dawn by Amalia pressing her staff into their sides. The abrupt awakening jarred Ash from a dream of his aunt's cooking, the phantom smell of fresh bread still lingering in his nostrils as he blinked away sleep.

  "Light, woman! Five more minutes!" Nick growled, pulling the bedroll further up to cover his face. His voice was rough with sleep, muffled by the fabric.

  She poked him harder with her staff, the white wood jabbing insistently at his side. Nick growled again before reluctantly crawling out of the bedroll, his movements slow and resentful. His dark hair stood up wildly on one side, flattened on the other.

  Ash waved her away, already getting up and rolling up his bedroll. The cottage was chilly in the pre-dawn hours, and he shivered slightly as the cool air hit his skin. He noticed Amalia watching him, her head tilted slightly. Was that his imagination or did she look a little disappointed that she hadn't needed to prod him awake? Shrugging, Ash put the roll away, tucking it neatly against the wall.

  "I've prepared travel bags for you all," Amalia said, gesturing to four packs lined up near the door. Each looked sturdy and well-worn, with various pouches and straps. "We are headed to Deharra, and then Brilehaven after that. We will stop at midday and start your first lesson. Let us be off."

  Yawning and stretching, the group gathered their belongings. Ash's muscles protested the movement, stiff from the hard floor and the previous day's exertions. As they prepared to depart, Amalia paused by a sleek black cat that had appeared seemingly from nowhere. She scratched the animal's head, her fingers gently rubbing behind its ears as it arched into her touch. Then she bent down, whispering something to the animal that Ash couldn't hear, her lips barely moving.

  The morning air was crisp and clean as they stepped outside, a stark contrast to the smoke and death they had left behind. Morning dew sparkled on the leaves and grass around them, catching the first hints of dawn light. Ash's breath turned to white mist as it met the air, dissipating slowly before his eyes. A bird chirped nearby, its cheerful song incongruous with the heaviness in his heart.

  Aunt Dara sure would have enjoyed this morning, he thought. She had always loved dawn, often rising early to watch the sun climb over the eastern fields, a steaming mug of tea in her weathered hands. The memory brought a sorrowful shadow to his face as they trekked through the forest and to the road, their boots crunching on fallen leaves and twigs.

  It felt wrong, somehow, for time to march on after what had happened last night. For birds to sing and dew to fall and the sun to rise, as if the world hadn't just been shattered for four young people. Yet here they were, traveling to an academy, moving on with life not even hours after everyone they had known had either been killed or lost.

  Ash felt his throat constrict, his teeth pressing together hard as he fought against the wave of grief threatening to overwhelm him. The weight of it pressed down on his chest, making each breath a conscious effort.

  "We're doing everything we can, Ash." Rosalia appeared beside him, her green eyes filled with understanding concern. She had always been perceptive, quick to notice when others were struggling. Her own grief was evident in the tightness around her eyes, but she still reached out to offer comfort.

  Ash looked away, unable to bear the kindness in her gaze. "We're betraying them. How can we just move on like this? Like nothing happened?" The words scraped his throat, bitter and painful.

  Amalia's voice cut in, slicing through his self-recrimination with cool precision. "On the contrary, you're doing exactly what your Aunt and Uncle would have wanted." She walked a few paces ahead, her back straight, never turning to face him as she spoke. "Besides, you're pursuing answers the best way you know how. Answers you're not even aware you're looking for, even."

  An icy hand latched itself around his heart at her cryptic words. What did she mean by answers he wasn't even aware he was looking for? Ash bit back a retort, swallowing the questions that rose to his lips. He didn't want to argue with her this early in the morning, not when they had a long journey ahead.

  He ground his teeth together, frustration building inside him like pressure in a sealed pot. She has all the answers, and refuses to give us even one! Light, but the woman frustrated him. They were all being blackmailed, and what made it worse, they could do nothing but dance to her tune.

  She did save your life, a small voice in his head reminded him. He acknowledged the thought with some reluctance, but it did nothing to help his mood. The debt chafed at him, another link in the chain binding him to this mysterious woman and her agenda.

  Rosalia took his hand and squeezed, giving him a comforting smile before moving ahead, falling into step with Nick. Her fingers were warm against his, the brief contact grounding him in the present moment.

  Her presence was like a warm fire on a chilly night, lightening the unseen burden of grief they all carried. She did this even despite carrying her own sorrow, her own losses. Rosalia was a good person, kind in a way that seemed rare and precious.

  And beyond beautiful, Ash thought, dipping his head to hide his blushing face. The early morning light caught in her red-gold hair, turning it to living flame. He found himself watching the graceful way she moved, the gentle sway of her hair, the animated gestures of her hands as she spoke with Nick.

  Soon they found a clear area a little ways off the road, a small glade where the trees opened up to reveal a patch of sky above. The ground was relatively flat and dry, with enough space for them to spread out.

  "This is a good spot to camp," Amalia declared, setting down her pack. "We will continue onward tomorrow. Go and fetch us some wood, all of you."

  They all obeyed without question, setting down their packs and dispersing to search for suitable branches. Ash wandered deeper into the trees, gathering fallen wood of various sizes. The simple task was almost soothing, requiring just enough attention to keep his mind from dwelling too deeply on everything they had lost. The forest around him buzzed with life, insects humming and birds calling to one another in the branches above.

  After a cheery fire had been built, the flames crackling and sending sparks into the morning air, Amalia nodded with approval. She lowered her hood, revealing her full face for the first time since they'd met her. Her features were striking rather than traditionally beautiful, with high cheekbones and a strong jaw. Her eyes, those unsettling violet orbs, seemed even more intense in the daylight. She stretched, rolling her shoulders as if to loosen them after carrying her pack.

  "Very well then," she announced, her voice carrying a note of authority that silenced their quiet conversations. "It is time to begin your training, children."