Apart from Luna and Jayce, people avoided Tristan over the next few weeks. He had tried to explain that he hadn't killed any farmers but they ignored his protests. He couldn't face them. It wasn't just that he was embarrassed, he was angry and afraid of what would happen if someone pushed him too far.

***

During lunch break one day Tristan took two apples from the Hall and went for a walk alone through the academy grounds.

It was a warm winter's day. Fallen leaves crunched under his feet as he walked. A tiny creature that looked like a swinged squirrel with an antenna on its head peaked out of a hole in a giant oak tree. It stared at Tristan for a few seconds then disappeared again.

Tristan found a large pile of leaves and threw himself onto it and laid down looking up at the blue sky high above and the faint lines of the shimmering dome that covered Tempest.

The sun was making him sleepy, his eyes closed and in the distance a bell rang. Tristan ignored it and began to doze.

A cold shadow fell across Tristan.

He opened his eyes and squinted up at the figure standing over him.

The leaves crunched and Luna sat down beside him.

“This is a great spot,” she said.

She picked up a red leaf and twirled it in her fingers.

“It's funny how we see such beauty in the death of these leaves,” she said. She pointed up at the tree. “You see those ones clinging to the branches hoping they will make it through the winter?”

Tristan nodded.

“They are fated to fall,” she said. “With great effort they could last another week or two, but eventually their green life will fade and they will no longer be able to cling to the source of their life.”

“Did you come here to make me depressed?” Tristan asked.

Luna laughed softly and dropped the leaf.

“I sometimes feel like giving up,” she said. “Just running away from it all. I came here to become a healer and then…”

“I'm sorry,” said Tristan. “It feels like no matter what you try, no matter how good your intentions, there's always something to stop you from succeeding.”

Luna nodded. She smiled then stood up. “I once heard someone say shoot for the moon and if you miss you’ll still land amongst the stars,” said Luna. “But sometimes it feels like the more you get your hopes up the more you are setting yourself up for disappointment.”

“Maybe we can do it together,” said Tristan, standing up. “Even the stars are better than this.”

Luna smiled. “You coming to class?” she asked.

Tristan nodded. “Luna, no matter what anyone says you are going to make one hell of a healer.”

Fortunately the Beast Mastery lesson was outside, so the two did not have far to walk.

Master Marrick the Survival trainer was also the Beast Mastery instructor.

“I am the substitute teacher for this class as Lady Hemlock, the previous Beast Master is away,” said the Master. “My specialities are more in hunting and skinning animals rather than taking care of the little devils but I will teach you what I know.”

Master Marrick led them a short way off to an enclosure. Inside the enclosure were two large shaggy animals about double the size of a cow. The creature’s faces looked like gnarled tree trunks but covered in fur. They had tiny black eyes so deep inside the creature’s skulls it looked like they were peeking out of caves.

“We have three magical creatures that we are currently rehabilitating. These fine creatures,” and the Master gestured at the two large animals, “are oxbeasts, they are a migrating herd animal used for farm labor in the outer regions of Clagos.”

“What’s wrong with them?” Luna asked.

“A case of The Purple Tongue,” said the Master. “Mostly harmless but it can be infectious so it's best these two are kept away from the herd until they have recovered. As you can see they are a bit depressed. Oxbeasts are only happy when they are with family.”

The Master patted the smaller of the two creatures as it stuck its head through the enclosure.

“Interestingly enough,” said the Master. “Oxbeast meat is quite tough and must be cooked at low heats for at least four hours before the meat is tender enough to enjoy but you will get a chance to cook these two up once Spring arrives.”

“Really?” said Jayce. “You can't make us feel pity for the animal and then talk about eating it a second later.”

“Well if it helps we will be slaughtering and skinning animals in Spring but that's for Survival class not Beast Mastery. So don't get the two confused. We don't want you kids shooting these beasts when you meant to be feeding them.”

The Master didn't notice or more likely ignored the class’s looks of discomfort as he opened a small cage. “Does anyone know what this is?” he asked.

It was a bird with a bandaged wing. To Tristan the bird looked like a cross between a woodpecker and a hummingbird.

“That's an easy one,” said Ambrose. “It's a cinderbill they can use minor fire magic.”

The Master nodded. “Their beaks get so hot that they can cut into wood like a knife through butter,” said the Master. “I once was stuck in the woods during a blizzard and had to use one of these little guys to start a fire. Of course I ended up throwing the bird into the pot of melted snow once the fire was lit. Not the best meal, a rather sinewy bird, but it fills the belly in a pinch.”

The class groaned and the Master returned the bird to its small cage.

“Come this way,” said the Master. He led the students to the largest enclosure. Tristan was expecting to see something massive but instead the only thing in the enclosure was a small ball of white fur that stared up at them with large silver eyes. “The whooping hare,” said the Master. “This creature usually gets the most ‘ahhs’ and ‘awws’ especially from the girls.”

“Please don't tell us the seven ways to cook these,” said Jayce.

The Master laughed. “Oh no, you don't want to eat one of these buggers,” he said. “No matter how good their meat might taste, it's not worth the awkward noises your body will make after eating it.”

“Why?” asked Jayce.

“Explosive diarrhea,” said the Master. “With a real emphasis on the explosive part. Let me demonstrate.”

The Master reached in for the ball of fluff and the whooping hare stomped its foot.”

“This is to warn other hares in the burrow,” said the Master as he continued to reach for the creature. The hare stopped stomping its foot. Its eyes narrowed. A loud popping sound could be heard and the hare flew leapt through the air and across the enclosure faster than the eye could see.

“As you can see,” said the Master. “The whooping hare has minor air magic. Once every ten minutes it can propel itself forwards at great speeds.”

The Master stepped into the enclosure and strode purposefully after the hare.

“The problem,” he said. “Is that after it's used this ability it is temporarily dazed.”

The Master picked the hare up by the scruff of its neck and carried it over to the class and dropped it into a small box. “You may each pet the creature,” said the Master.

Cora Tempest, a girl with a crooked nose and a permanent scowl stepped forwards first. She reached in her hand and stroked the creature.

“It's so fluffy,” she said.

“Like stroking a cloud,” said the Master. “These were hunted near to extinction about fifty years ago. Their pelts were used to make slippers and ear muffs for the children of the noble families. But thanks to the conservation of magical creatures act introduced by Miss Habbadash Crowley and the Aressean women's circle. These creatures and many others are now protected species, which is a nightmare for hunters but good for nature lovers, I guess.”

Students went up one at a time to stroke the creature, it seemed perfectly happy being the center of attention. Then it was Tristan’s turn. He reached out his right hand and as he did it his skin began to glimmer and dragon scales rippled up his arm. The hare shreiked in pure terror and Tristan got such a fright that he pulled back his hand quickly hidding it under his cloak.

“What did you do to it?” asked Master Marrick as he stormed over to see what had happened. “Whooping Hares once they have used their ability are some of the most docile creatures in Umbra.”

“I did nothing,” said Tristan. “I swear.” But the small creature was clawing at the box trying to escape.

***

Later that afternoon the students climbed the great spire for Combat training.

“Why does it have to be right at the top,” Jayce complained as he climbed the stairs behind Tristan.

“At least you can use that staff as a walking stick,” said Ambrose.

Jayce leant against the quarterstaff. “Not much use for this stick other than for walking,” he said.

Ambrose shook his head. “My family’s Master at arms told us that a quarterstaff in the hands of a master is the deadliest of weapons. Its range, versatility and defense make it the best all round weapon.”

“Then why aren't you using a staff?” Jayce asked as he eyed Ambrose's sword.

“The sword is an heirloom,” replied Ambrose. “It's tradition in the noble houses for the second son of each generation to carry it.”

Ambrose gestured at Tristan’s sword. “Is it not the same in your family?” he asked.

Tristan ignored the question. He wasn't in a talking mood. Infact his mood had been getting progressively worse throughout the day and he felt that he was at a tipping point.

“I'm sorry about that incident the other day,” said Ambrose. “We were all a bit shaken by your news. I was wrong. I shouldn't have spoken to the Master in front of everyone.”

“It's ok,” said Tristan. What else could he say without looking like a bastard.

“Are you any good with that sword?” Ambrose asked.

Tristan shrugged.

“Have you killed anything impressive?” he asked.

“A couple farmers,” Pyson Mews said as he passed Tristan up the stairs.

A few kids laughed and made dying sounds as they passed them on the steps.

“Please Pyson,” said Ambrose. “It was a misunderstanding.”

Ambrose smiled at Tristan, urging him to speak.

“I've killed a serpent king,” Tristan said. He didn't want to mention that he’d also killed two Crimson Guards. That would make things a whole lot worse.

“That's great,” said Ambrose. “How old were you?”

“It was about a month ago,” Tristan said.

“Oh.”

“What?” asked Tristan.

“Well, we all develop at different speeds,” he said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tristan asked, barely keeping the annoyance out of his voice. The serpent had almost killed him. He had thought that killing the serpent had possibly marked him as a hero in the making.

“I killed my first serpent king at age six,” said Ambrose.

Tristan stopped walking and Luna bumped into him.

“Are you ok?” she asked.

He smiled weakly. “Just catching my breath.”

He leant against the railing and Luna sat on the step beside him.

“I thought there was just one king of the serpents?” Tristan asked, trying his best to sound casual.

Ambrose shook his head. “No, it's a title not a position. Any snake that's twice the size of a human and can use magic is called a serpent king.”

Luna nodded. “Most have minor regeneration magic,” she said. “Their blood is used to make healing potions.”

Ambrose looked impressed. “You’re interested in alchemy?” he asked.

Luna smiled shyly. “I had planned on becoming a healer,” she said. “But after Master Hornfels lesson about the rules of magic. I'm not so sure anymore.”

Ambrose shook his head sympathetically. “Healing is a noble calling,” he said. “You may not be able to help the masses, but us magi will always need a good healer.”

Ambrose held out a hand to Luna. “Come we best be going,” he said. “Don't want to be late. Master Wraithen is a hard man at the best of times.”

Luna took his hand and got to her feet.

“Do you know the Combat Master?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Ambrose. “Old Wraithen One-Arm was the captain of the Crimson Guard till very recently. My father knew him well. We were all surprised that he had taken the position at the academy.”

Tristan stopped breathing.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Ambrose said to him.

Tristan waved a hand at the youth. The Crimson Guard captain at his school. “It's nothing,” he said.

***

The afternoon sun reflecting off of the city of Aressea came into view as the students reached the top of the spire. The one armed Master stood in the center of the arena. He stood in silence and watched the students arriving sweat soaked and out of breath. A few students sat down with their backs against the arena walls. Tristan was sure that the Master was staring at him.

“After that climb I need a nap,” he said as he turned his back on the Master.

Jayce propped himself up with his quarterstaff. “I should be in bed, hoa. Dreaming about roast duck and mashed potatoes.”

“In real life you never know when you might be called to defend your life,” said the one armed Master. “Right now you are unfit and undisciplined. I am Master Wraithen. I am Tempest’s Master of Arms. “My first job here is teaching you how to stay alive. You are young. You think you are immortal. Many have thought that before you and those who come after you will think the same.”

All eyes watched the Master.

“I will not succeed with all of you. Some will fall.” Tristan felt the hairs on his back go up. The Master had clearly looked at Tristan when he had said those words.

The Master walked amongst the students.

“Before the lesson begins,” he said. “I want to assess the skill level of the class.”

“Do we have any volunteers?” His eyes scanned the class then settled on Tristan. “How about you?” he said as he pointed at Tristan.

“You two up front.”

Tristan looked behind him and Ambrose with his hand raised in the air was smiling at him.

“This will be fun,” he said.

“This is a one on one fight,” said Wraithen. “No magic allowed. Deal a killing blow to win.”

The Master stepped onto the sands of the arena and Tristan and Ambrose followed behind.

“Hold out your weapons,” commanded the Master.

Ambrose drew a short double edged sword and Tristan did the same with his sword, Unity.

The Weapon’s Master took a small bell out of his coat pocket. He held the bell over the blades and rang it a single time. The bell glowed and the swords shimmered as a thin pillow of air wrapped around the blades.

“When you’re ready,” said the Master.

Tristan raised his sword. Could his day get any worse.

Ambrose had slowly won over the Masters, then the class, and finally he’d won over Luna. Ambrose was taking everything from him.

“You know how to use that thing?” Ambrose asked.

Tristan lowered his weapon as he shrugged, Ambrose lunged at Tristans exposed stomach. Tristan leapt back narrowly avoiding the blow.

Ambrose laughed. “Good reflexes.”

Tristan stepped forward and swung his sword in a low horizontal attack. Ambrose lowered his blade and parried the attack easily then he immediately counter-attacked in a flurry of blows that pushed Tristan backwards towards the edge of the arena.

Tristan was outclassed and he knew it. Ambrose was toying with him, delaying the inevitable.

Tristan didn't care about winning, he just wanted to smash the smug smile off of Ambrose’s face.

Ambrose dipped his sword tip into the sand and flung sand at Tristans face. He raised his hand to shield his eyes and

Ambrose's sword covered in its pillow of air punched him straight in the gut. Tristan fell to the sand and grunted in pain.

“Dead,” said Wraithen Onearm. “The fight is over.”

Tristan ignored the Master’s words.

He sprung to his feet and swung wildly at Ambrose. His sword managed to clip Ambrose on the leg but as the blade should have sliced through flesh it instead hit something solid and that rang out a loud metallic sound. A ripple of shock ran up Tristan’s arm. Ambrose stepped forward and slapped Tristan across the face with the flat side of his sword. The pillow of air stopped the weapon from cutting him but it still felt like he was punched in the face.

Anger welled up inside of him. He spat out a mouthful of blood. He heard shouting but the sound was dulled like it was far off. Ambrose reached a hand out to Tristan and he slapped the hand away.

Tristan pushed himself to his feet and picked up his sword, his arms still feeling like jelly from the impact.

Ambrose was smiling at him. Tristan looked around and saw Luna wide eyed watching him with a mixture of fear and sadness.

“Not bad,” said Ambrose. “You’re untrained but man you’ve got the reflexes of a wild cat.”

Tristan released the grip on his sword and dusted himself off and forced a smile onto his face.

Wraithen Onearm leant close to Tristan and inspected his face. In a low voice only Tristan could hear he said, “A soldier cannot be at the mercy of his emotions for your emotions will have no mercy on you.”

“Yes, sir,” Tristan said weakly. He wasn't in the mood for fortune cookie wisdom.

The Master nodded and turned to address the class.

“Every great swordsman first began as a student. The obstacle that each of you must overcome if you wish to be great is the obstacle of your own mind.”

“But what if some of us just don't have the talent?” asked Sylvia.

The Master shook his head. “A person with talent is soon overtaken by a hard worker. If your fellow students go twenty miles, then you go thirty. Do this and you will be miles ahead of the pack no matter how far behind you began.”

The Master continued to lecture the students as he paced between them. Occasionally he stopped to inspect one of their weapons and gave comments about the craftsmanship and the way it should be wielded. “Your weapon needs to become an extension of yourself,” he barked. “Keep your weapons on you at all times, sleep with it, eat with it, carry it with you until it becomes an extension of your body. In a fight your weapon is your best ally but it is not your only ally.”

The Master stopped his pacing and stood in front of the class commanding their full attention.

“You will be divided into groups of three,” he said. “This is what is known as the Holy Trinity. Three specialist units. One specialized in protecting the squad and holding the enemies attention. One specialized in healing and ranged support magic. Finally the class every student wants to be. The attack specialist, this is the unit that cuts through armor, deals the finishing blow to monsters and gets all the glory.”

Pyson Mews raised a hand.

“Yes,” said the Master.

“Which role are you?” asked the boy.

Master Wraithen scratched the stump of his arm and glowered at the boy. “I'm the one that makes you do a hundred push ups if you ask stupid questions,” said the Master.

Choose your squad well. Your life may very well depend on your choice.”

Pyson raised his hand again.

“Yes Mr. Mews. What is it?” asked the Master.

“Sir, I heard that we get to choose a name for our squad.”

The Master nodded.

“And that we go out on quests together,” continued Pyson.

“I was getting to that Mr. Mews,” said Wraithen. “Throughout the year squads will be pitted against each other in battles, challenges and eventually yes, Mr. Mews, they will be sent out on quests for the king.”

“Is there a prize?” asked Pyson.

The Master gave a tight-lipped smile.

“There are certain privileges that come with being rank one,” he said. “Rank one students will leave the academy with the Journeyman Magi rank, this affords you many opportunities, including where you are assigned, what quests you are offered and what information you have access to. The remainder of the students will receive a Novice Magi rank, which means, you go where nobody wants to go and do the quests nobody else wants to take.”

The bell rang for the end of the class and it was as if a spell had been broken. Silence was replaced with a chorus of talking and students began breaking into groups.

Ambrose was talking to Luna and a group of students surrounded them. Tristan was sure they were all trying to get Ambrose to join their squad. Jayce, who was one of the biggest kids in class, had also attracted a small group of students and Tristan stood alone.

He got the same sinking feeling he’d always experienced as a child on the playground. What if nobody picked him, he thought.

Usually not being picked meant just sitting on the side lines and watching the other kids play but what would happen if no one picked him here?

Groups wandered off to secluded spots to discuss their plans. Tristan saw a few other stragglers looking around as the pool of candidates quickly diminished but nobody would meet his eyes.

Tristan wandered into the stadium that surrounded the arena and sat alone.

Jayce saw him sitting there and waved at him. Tristan knew that Jayce had better options than him. He couldn't use a sword, he wasn't smart, he couldn't control his magic, he wasn't even allowed to use his strongest spell.

Tristan looked away not wanting to meet Jayces eyes.

“I hate these things,” Jayce moaned as he walked over to him.

“You in a squad?” Tristan asked.

Jayce shrugged, “Of course,” he said.

“That's good,” said Tristan. “Who else is your squad?”

“Well there’s you,” said Jayce. “And me of course.”

“What? I didn't think you’d want to be in a group with me,” said Tristan.

“It's not that bad,” said Jayce.

“Well apart from you and maybe Luna, nobody’s speaking to me anymore,” said Tristan.

“It will blow over,” said Jayce. “When I was much younger they called me Jittering Jayce. I was afraid of everything. I was afraid of the dark, I was afraid of death, and snakes, spiders, water, man I was even afraid of crossing bridges and we lived on the lake, there were bridges everywhere.”

“How long before it stopped?” Tristan asked.

The mohawked youth shook his head. “Oh no, those kids still call me Jittering Jayce. It just stopped bothering me.”

Tristan stared at him.

“So who’s the third?” Tristan asked as they sat on a low wall overlooking the city below.

“Do you have to ask,” said Jayce.

Jayce nodded his head at a group of students who were standing on the arena sands. Luna was standing amongst them looking uncomfortable. Probably feeling guilty for not joining us, Tristan thought.

Luna caught his gaze and waved. She detached herself from the group and walked over.

“Sorry I got caught up,” she said.

“Ambrose recruit you?” Tristan asked.

Luna shifted from one foot to another. “He asked,” she said.

Tristan’s jaw clenched of course Ambrose would ask.

“And you said yes,” said Tristan. He shook his head. “Of course you did. Who wants to be in a group with the farmer killer.”

“It's not like that—” said Luna.

“You don't owe me an explanation,” interrupted Tristan. “Ambrose is clearly the better choice.”

Luna glared at him. “Can you let me finish my sentence? As I was saying. They needed a healer and asked me to join.”

Tristan shook his head.

“I said no,” Luna continued. “I told Ambrose that I was already taken.”

***

The students slowly began to drift back down the stairs and to their dormitories but Tristan stayed behind. After all the students had left he approached Master Wraithen One-Arm who was standing in the center of the arena swinging a sabel sword over and over in the same chopping motion.

“It can't be my pleasant company that's kept you here after class,” said the Master.

Tristan wasn't sure what he wanted from the Master but he felt that if the Master was a Crimson Guard and was there for him then he’d rather find that out sooner than later.

“Are you here for me?” he asked.

The Master frowned. “I'm here for you all, Tristan Bell.”

That wasn't the answer he had expected. The Master slid his sword back into its scabbard and walked over to Tristan.

“Is your defeat in the arena still stinging, young man?” he asked.

Tristan shrugged then nodded.

“How do I beat someone like Ambrose,” he asked. “He’s been trained as a swordsman since he was able to walk.”

The Master scratched the stump of his missing arm. “It's about seeing the situation from a different perspective, young man.”

“What does that mean?”

“You have something Ambrose doesn't have.”

“What?” asked Tristan.

“A fresh defeat to learn from.”

“That’s a good thing?” asked Tristan.

The Master nodded. “You live life forwards, young man, but you understand it backwards,” said the Master. “Look back at your defeat, what can you learn from it?”

“Don't rush in,” said Tristan.

The Master nodded. “What else?”

Tristan shrugged. “I don't know, maybe not to pick a fight with someone better than me?”

The Master smiled then scratched his cleanly shaven chin. “Other people’s gifts are there for us to enjoy and learn from, not for us to be jealous of.”

“I'm not jealous,” said Tristan. “I just want to get better.”

The Master nodded. “You want to be excellent?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Training is what’s expected,” said the Master. “To be excellent you must go beyond what’s expected. If other's train for one hour, you train for two hours.”

“Will you train me to be excellent?” Tristan asked.

“Why?” asked the Master.

“So I can win,” said Tristan. “So I can be the best.”

The Master shook his head. “I can't train you to be the best, but I can train you to be your best.”

“What must I do?” asked Tristan.

“Recognize what you are good at,” said the Master. “And when you have found it, come back to me and I will show you the next step.”