9 Days Left

Sigurd scowled at the ground arms crossed as he wandered the outskirts of the academy. The low waist-height wall on his left reminded him that he wasn’t allowed to leave the complex any longer.

Turning to look away from the nearby fields in the setting sun he still saw no sign of Mursi. Goddessdamned kid better come quick if he knows what’s good for him, he complained internally kicking a rock lying in his path.

Sighing, he glanced over his shoulder towards the capital. He’d been sentenced to academy-arrest. He was stuck here until the beginning of next years trimesters. Two, fucking, months of this shit, Sigurd shook his head flexing his Lance into its full length. From here could almost reach halfway across the complex, and yet he couldn’t detect the lazy kid that should’ve been waiting for him. He was the Master, not Mursi.

Growling to himself Sigurd continued idling along the wall cursing his limited freedom, cursing Ragnar for sentencing him, and cursing Ranvir for causing it. The little bitch was the one who’d tried to kill a students, so why was Sigurd the one being punished? He’d save the witless idiot, hadn’t he?

Gritting his teeth and narrowing his eyes, Sigurd turned back toward the sunset. They were finally getting into true summer territory and days were getting longer, fast. He always hated the winter and the near ceaseless nights.

Ranvir went out of his way to attempt to murder a student with the most useless power any tethered could have. Not only did he find a way to hurt someone, but he finds a way to actually kill them, the master sighed, And Ragnar sentences me… Fucking me! Forcing me to stay here, locked in with these insolent and ungrateful cunts we call students…

“Where is that fucking kid,” Sigurd cursed looking around. Still no sign of him. Goddessdamned this place was so fucking desolate. All dry old men and hormonal teenagers that couldn’t even tell night-forsaken time…

Sigurd took in a long breath, he was getting too worked up over nothing. This wasn’t a big deal. Soon enough he would have plenty of time and money to go to the gardens. Then he could finally let some of his frustrations out.

How had Ranvir even done that? Sigurd thought, thinking back to the incident. He remembered the student halting suddenly as the warp kid attacked him, but Ranvir’d done something so quick Sigurd hadn’t realized until later that he’d diverted the attack, parried instead of dodging. And then the boy had done something else.

Sigurd had never heard of the like. Nor had he ever seen a power throw someone that far that fast. When obsidian or ice moved that fast they tended to leave shard sized holes in bodies, not hurl them nearly a hundred feet into the air. Then he’d been forced to step in, it was one thing letting Ranvir get hurt but it was another entirely to let him kill a child.

Sigurd shook his head remembering his talk with Ragnar that night. The old man had actually looked him in the face and told him he should’ve stopped it earlier. That it never should’ve gotten that far. The master rolled his eyes and scanned the grounds once more, “Fucking bastard,” even he wasn’t sure if he was talking about Ragnar or Mursi at this point.

He did look at me a little weird this morning, didn’t he? Sigurd tried thinking back to the man’s idea of making the fifth-years responsible for the training of the students until the teachers came back, or if it went well, until the end of the trimester. A frankly ludicrous idea. What was next, letting second-stages be teachers? Soon they were going to be running around calling first-stages masters and clapping them on the back for their opening tether-space.

Sigurd sneered at the prospect, turning his head away in disgust. There was a reason they’d limited the teachers to the rank of master. You couldn’t just put any man in a uniform and they would be able to teach. It was bad enough that they had to let in people who weren’t even tethered to teach some classes. Too many people left the front lines and distanced themselves from where they came from.

If only they could see that they would serve the greater good so much better by joining the academy. Some know-it-all jackass in a mockery of a master’s uniform was never going to compare to a true tethered who’d stood on the front lines and lived the combat.

“By the Goddess,” Sigurd groaned noticing Mursi finally appear from between the buildings. The fourth-year scanned his surroundings for a moment before finding where Sigurd was waiting. Long limbed and strongly build, Mursi had grown into handsome square jawed features and blond hair bordering on white.

Sigurd restrained the urge to yell at the lout, as he strolled through the fields. He was late, he should be running.

“Good evening, sir,” Mursi said sounding cautiously optimistic.

“You’re late.”

Mursi pursed his lips, obviously sensing Sigurd’s black mood. “I’m sorry, sir. But I’m taking an extra curricular in battle-strategy, Master—“

“Enough,” Sigurd growled. Sigehelm wasn’t a tethered. He hadn’t even been a commander on the field. Sigurd didn’t know where Ragnar had dragged him out from, but it was a travesty that their very own principal abided by that same idiotic sentiment as Ranvir. Soon, he would have little lady teachers running around in skirts.

Clearing his throat, Sigurd calmed his face somewhat as he looked Mursi directly in the eye, “I’m willing to give you a chance to make up for what happened last time.”

“Oh,” Mursi said his face falling. “I—“

“Ranvir has recently been put into isolated detention,” Sigurd interrupted the child. “You need to apply for a position as a guard at the administration tomorrow.”

“But…” Mursi faltered his gaze falling from Sigurd’s face. “I don’t…”

“You will do it, Mursi,” Sigurd ordered through gritted teeth. “Do not fail me again,” he didn’t want to reward subpar effort but he knew he’d never get the performance necessary if he didn’t. “I’ll have another letter drafted for you.”

Mursi looked up his eyebrows raising. Wetting his lips, his eyes squirreled around wildly. “You will, sir?”

“If you can actually manage it this time.”

Mursi nodded, “You just want me to rough him up?”

“Hurt him.”

“For how much?”

Sigurd paused looking down at pathetic student, “Double last time.”

“Sir,” Mursi bowed, “I will break him, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“But only if you succeed.”

Mursi nodded repeatedly even halfway bowing once. If someone even remotely glanced in their direction it would look weird to see the fourth-year so frantically bowing before the master. Not that it should be weird. Sigurd could feel the ghost of a smile on his lips as Mursi’s retreating form half-bowed once more.

Sigurd rubbed the fingers of his right hand he would have to write another letter to Inga, but that shouldn’t be too bad. He hated that he had to ask for her help, but she was at least somewhat amenable to work with. She had some understanding of how the world hung together.

“How many times am I going to have to put a hit out on you,” Sigurd wondered, glaring in the direction of the dorm. “Goddessdamned test of my patience,” Sigurd muttered as he headed towards the Masters’ Tower. At least the tower stood out among the square and boring buildings of the academy. No archaic straight lines, no bland windows.

Looking at the tower, it looked like the home for someone powerful. Wide base in dark stone, the slight arch to the windows, the stark and empty entry leading down into an even harsher basement or higher onto increasingly lavish floors. The usage of domineeringly huge bricks emphasized the looming size of the structure as he stood before it. Sure a single tower wasn’t a lot to work with, but compared to the rest of the complex…

Sigurd shook his head and entered.

Ranvir sat within tether-space tuning himself to the rhythm of the flaw. The more he listened, the more often it appeared. He realized it wasn’t actually one hitch, but dozens of smaller ones, followed by a single larger one.

Sitting within the rhythm for hours, Ranvir slowly tuned everything else out. Even the space itself seemed to fall away as he delved for understanding.