Private Tales A Bloody Rite of Passage

[Harry]

Luther Urahil
___________________​

It was quite beautiful out. Even atop the Tower, where one would expect winds to lash like whips, the breeze was only light. The sky was a vast expanse of vivid blue, uninterrupted by clouds. Truly, a beautiful day.

Graduation was nearing. The class, still surprisingly large, could see the end. With each day, relative freedom came closer. They lived through hell for over a decade, and they had made it this far. By now all had been scouted by nobility in some way. Some had even been contacted by active Dreadlords, with promises of mentorship being whispered into their ears.

Grueling training became more and more infrequent. The torment they were so used to experiencing seemed to just stop. They were nearly full-fledged Dreadlords now. Ten Apprentices remained.

One could imagine the surprise of those ten when they were jostled awake, barked at, ordered to rise and dress themselves.

Rise, they said.

Put on your garments, they said.

Don your armor, your gambesons. Today, we visit the Tower to say our goodbyes.​

And so to the Tower the Apprentices went. They paraded through the streets under The Academy. They boarded a ferry and sailed across the bay, then ascended up the hill to the Tower, the home of countless hours of pain and training. Each had shed blood countless times in their time at the Academy. Lives had been lost.

Then, what little peace that had gathered was shattered as the Apprentices were taken to the top of the Tower.

Today marks your final day as Apprentices of The Academy. As you all know, your graduation is nearing. You may think that graduation is something that is given. You would think wrong. Here and now, you earn your graduation. Now, line up. This is your rite of passage. One by one, each of you will duel a partner. There are ten. In the end, we expect to name five of you Dreadlords.
​

There was absolute silence. Some of the Apprentices turned to look at each other. Some looked at the ground.

Henry Bauer stared straight ahead as the Proctor called out.

"Luther Urahil!" A pause. "Henry Bauer!"

 

[Talus]

Talus stood quietly, his gaze fixed on the center of the ring.

It had always been part of their training, always been an understanding that everything they did would eventually lead them here. They had all known it since they were ten years old, had always known it since they were but children.

Some would claim that they were still kids, that they didn't know the ways of the world and were too young to fight.

Yet they were fighting all the same.

Talus stood tall. His hands were clasped behind his back, his eyes stared straight ahead. Nothing mattered here. Not friendship, not love, nothing at all. This wasn't about the relationships you had built. This wasn't about the friendship you may have had.

This was about surviving. Talus knew this. All of them did.

They had no family. They had no friends. They had nothing except for themselves. Nothing but Vel Anir itself.

That was what they had been told for the last decade, what they had been taught. They were weapons of war, Servants to the Great Houses. Once they graduated they would have to choose. It did not matter who won, who came out on top, not here.

Not now.

Talus swallowed as he watched his friends step up, his fingers tightening slightly as the drops of rain began to fall from the sky.

He felt lost, unable to say who he wanted to win.

If anyone at all.

 

[Ryan of Tel Idris]

Beneath a cloudless sky of burnished blue came the scion of the Great House Urahil. Even after climbing the Two Thousand Steps to reach the top of the lonely masonry which they only referred to as the Tower, Luther Urahil did not look winded. Cheeks flushed, eyes a sparkling sapphire, he held his helm beneath one arm and waved with a winsome smile at the onlookers, his own classmates and all the proctors, and seemed not to have a care in the world. In resplendent plate, beautifully gilded and embossed with twin gryffins upon the chest that caught the sun with a golden gleam, he looked most radiant in the flower of his youth. Silvery-gold hair caught in the wind and blew out behind Only the scar that stretched long from brow to cheek could tell of the horrors he had seen in this place of death they called the Academy.

He laughed at the sour faces of Talus and others, so forlorn, and his laughter was like gentle silver chimes in the wind. The haughty lord shook his head, at last the trademark smirk twitching upon his unmarred cheek, and turned to gaze upon his opponent.

Something like sorrow flitted through that sapphire stare.

“Oh Hal. I am sorry it’s you.”

He slid the helmet onto his head, faceguard of the bascinet up.

“But you were never meant for this life.”

He slammed the bascinet down and wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his arming sword. The blade sang as he drew it forth, twin killing edges shimmering in the sunlight.

The Arbiter of the fight looked between them, then nodded.

“Begin.”

 

[Harry]

Hal suffered many sleepless nights. On more than one occasion, his heart suffered from the thoughts of having to kill his friends- his only friends. When he and one of those said friends were called out, he felt a sickening ache deep in his gut. It was a feeling he had not felt for several months.

They stepped forward almost simultaneously, though there was no hesitancy in Luther's motions.

There was some emotion flowing through those eyes, beautiful like the sky, of his friend. However, there was only cold and emptiness in Hal's own. His eyes had shown little emotion since the death of Igot Crane. The corners of his mouth curled upward in response to Luther's taunt. It was a sad, sad smile.

Hal's appearance was much wilder and unkempt than Luther's. His hair, which he once kept neatly cropped, had grown out over several months. His cheeks were darkened from the stubble that grew. A once boyish appearance appeared only grizzly now.

Over time, a rift grew between Hal and his friends. The older Apprentice's actions became more and more questionable. Were he any other Dreadlord, they would have been waved aside and the typical excuse "It is the nature of our kind" would most definitely be uttered. But for Henry, who had been kind for so many years, it was most definitely not his nature.

When the Arbiter signalled, Hal wasted no time. Swiftly, he drew a short warhammer from his belt and in only a couple rapid bounds, closed the distance between him and his friend. He began to gather magic. He could feel coldness swell in his gut, and he kept it there. The pointed end of Hal's hammer came down, its target the top of Luther's helmet.

 

[Ryan of Tel Idris]

Steel rang as Luther parried the overhead blow with a contemptuously lazy flick of the wrist and a smooth step to the side, flowing like water even in his armor.

“Come on Hal,” the helmet made his voice reverberate oddly, “You know I’ve always been the better swordsman.”

Power flowed through the young Urahil and strands of coruscating lightning began to course along the length of his blade with a dangerous hum.

“Show me what you’ve learned.”

 

[Harry]

He quickly brought the hammer back, preparing to defend. Yet, no attack came. Instead, Luther spoke again. Always the talker.

Hal idly waved the hammer. It was clear that he was still unresolved in fighting his friend to the death. There was no way out, however. One would die. He struggled with accepting this.

Begrudgingly, he let power flow forth. It was quick, and it was something he never allowed any to witness and survive. Ice swirled in his palm, and quickly formed into a long, skinny shard about the length of a quarterstaff. It hovered above his hand, and with a weak swing of his arm, the icy spear shot at Luther with surprising speed, magic propelling it forward.

Hal followed up and would look to turn the duel into a melee.

 

[Sierra]

Jaw clenched. She didn't care what they did to her at this point. Throw her off the tower. Bind her and toss her in the Cortosi sea. Leave her in a dragon's nest at the top of the Spine.

She couldn't do it. She couldn't watch two of her friends do...this.

With a look filled with sorrow and a sturdy resolve not to play by the Academy rules with a backbone of iron, fists clenched at her sides and she turned around. Back to Hal and Luther. Back to Talus.

Eyes closed tightly, fists clenched until her knuckles turned white at her sides. The clanging of sword against hammer reverberated through her soul.

 

[Talus]

Talus glanced at Sierra who turned her back and immediately grimaced.

She would be punished for that later.

The Proctors made them watch this, made all of them observe it as closely as they could. The fight was not just about those going against each other, but all of them. Talus knew what she was feeling, the odd tinge of regret, the strangeness of your friends murdering each other.

Yet there was nothing they could do.

One of their friends would die, and as the two of them went back and forth between them Talus began to wonder if it might not have been better for them if they all did.

A grim expression clung to his features.

 

[Ryan of Tel Idris]

Sunlight gleamed off the ice spike as it hurtled through the air far faster than Luther could swing his sword. It struck him in the chest, the wicked tip meeting the steel of his breastplate, and the ice shattered into a thousand shards that whinged off in every direction, scattering across the tower-top. The force of the blow sent Luther staggering backward, chest tight, like he'd just been kicked by a horse.

He doubled over, staring through the thin slit in the visor at the ground. He heard the stamp of feet.

Hal was coming.

"Good..."

Luther straightened slightly, panting, and looked up, just in time to see Hal bearing down on him with the hammer.

But Urahil had managed to keep control of the lightning coursing along his sword, he pointed his blade at the ground, near Hal's charging feet.

"....one."

Blue-white threads leapt from the tip of the sword, blindingly brilliant, and sizzled straight for the spot where Hal's feet should be. Luther could not see clearly through the cascade of lightning, but he heard the cracking as some of the strands struck the stone and ripped it apart, sending tiny slivers ricocheting everywhere.

 

[Harry]

Hal was reminded of how fearsome Luther's magic was. Despite his awareness of it, there was little he could do when the crackling bolt flickered at his feet. His eyes could follow it, and even despite his anticipating it, his body was unable to act. He could only watch as lightning crumbled the floor beneath them and arced from stone to chausses. A grimace broke Hal's stoic demeanor, and jaw muscles danced as his teeth ground together.

Pain was a trifle to Hal- he could move through it. What he could not do was control his leg as electricity caused his muscles to spasm. A rippling pain shot up his leg, causing him to stumble forward. Instead of bringing his warhammer down on Luther, Hal's body careened towards his bent-over friend.

 

[Ryan of Tel Idris]

Urahil confessed to some enjoyment as the blast sent a stunned Hal stumbling forward and into Luther. Their armor grated against each other. Luther placed a gauntlet on Hal’s shoulder, as if to steady his friend.

“Go be with your sister, Hal.”

More sorcerous lightning crackled from Luther’s gauntleted hand in a steady stream that cascaded, a viciously coruscating display of violence that competed with the sun for radiance on the cloudless day as Luther sought to electrocute his friend.

 

[Harry]

“What?” The comment had completely blindsided Hal. He had mentioned having siblings before, but his sister was something he never shared with Luther. His shock and confusion was etched on his face.

Then, electricity flowed through his body. He was deaf to all else but the sound of crackling from Luther’s hand. A lethal flow of lightning began to course through Hal’s body, and on pure reflex he extended both arms to shove Luther away.

“What did you say?” He hissed and stomped towards his friend. Each step left behind a print of ice that took on the shape of his boot. Cold air flowed forth from Hal and whipped at all present atop the Tower. His magic raged uncontrollably, almost reminiscent of a time when he did not have control over his power.

His free hand lashed out at the ground, sending a visible spray of ice and magic at the stone in front of Luther, and upon making contact spikes erupted from the floor towards his gut.

 

[Ryan of Tel Idris]

Spikes of ice leapt from the stone like conjured pikes into Luther’s gut. Steel rang, ice shattered, and Luther was knocked off his feet by the force of them. His abdomen ached beneath the padding and steel covering his stomach. And he struggled to rise as more shards of ice pelted him where he lay.

He slammed up his helmet, unable to see through the slit for his sword.

“What? You think I didn’t know?” He sneered, trying to buy time.

Ah there it was.

“Easy enough for my family to find, it was on Urahil land after all.”

Fingers scrabbled for his sword and he scrambled backward on the ground.

He tried to get up, leaning on his sword like a cane.

“They said you froze her solid. Said it was so clear you could see the body. Tell me, Hal, were her eyes still open? I bet they were. I bet you see them every time you close your eyes, you miserable fucking peasant.”

 

[Harry]

The words of his friend stung worse than the cold that Hal’s body was burdened with carrying. He paused his approach, visibly stunned by what Luther said. He was used to Luther's crude way of speaking, how venomously the young Urahil would talk down on him. He was able to handle it. But mentioning his sister. So vividly reminding him of the scene.

Anger rose in Hal like never before. "Shut up!" He hissed through clenched teeth.

Thoughts ceased as he barrelled forward and planted the sole of his boot against the sword's crossguard, sending the sword sliding across the stone and clattering against the parapet behind Luther. His weight had leaned on the sword, so when it was suddenly kicked out from under him, his posture buckled down. Luther's head dropped, only to be met with Hal's knee savagely rising up. Luther's head and body whipped backward. Before the young noble could fall to his back, a hand lashed out and fingers hooked under Luther's helmet. Roughly, the helmet was ripped from Luther's head. Brilliant golden locks fell over Luther's ears, and his hair beautifully glowed from the sun.

Hal struck one side of Luther's face with a tightly balled fist, then swung Luther's own helmet across the other side. He raised the helmet above his head, preparing to bring it crashing down again on the battered Urahil scion.

 

[Ryan of Tel Idris]

Pain.

It blinded Luther, made him see black, made acid burn against his throat as nausea churned in his stomach. He heard only the crunch of breaking cartilage and then something hot pouring from his nose.

Blood.

It streamed from a gash on his scalp, matting his hair to his head. It filled his mouth, slick and coppery on bruised lips.

This flower of nobility lay slack upon the stone, his stem broken, his petals bruised, yet somehow it only made him beautiful in his brokenness.

“Did she?” He croaked.

He’d lost his sword again, his fingers scraped along the stone, reaching for anything. They closed around something. A boot? An ankle.

“Or did she scream?”

Eerie laughter bubbled thickly through bloodied lips.

Then, lightning.

It surged through his fingertips and into the ankle he now held as he poured his everything into a torrent as powerful as a strike from a storm. The chausses conducted the current, the metal climbing in an instant to a searing temperature as the blast superheated the very air so that it glowed in a haze like the surface of the sun.

Most did not know that those struck by lightning often lived, but the survivors could show their story in the tree-like web of scarring and the remains of the clothes that had been shredded from their bodies by the force of the divine hammer of the gods.

In this moment, though, there were no thoughts of survivors.

There hung only Luther’s twisted laughter alongside a crackling hum as loud as ten thousand stinging wasps.

 

[Harry]

There was never a scream. One moment, his sister had been twirling in an open field. His other siblings played in a similar manner. The next moment, she would forever be rooted in place, arms spread open, hair suspended in the air. An expression of joy, eternally frozen. A sea of green made unnaturally white. Not a sound came from his sister.

First, there was nothing but the sound of a violent crackling. Then, from Hal escaped a grotesque noise. A cry of rage amalgamated with one of pain. The shrill noise uncomfortably fell on the ears of those all around.

A fierce pain, as if a chain of fire pressed to his skin, rose from left ankle to neck. Under his armor and gambeson, skin blistered.

By the time Hal had the sense to pull his leg back, severe damage had been done. He could feel as something more than Luther's magic burned at his leg. Instinctively, magic exploded out from Hal's leg and steam profusely rose from the chausses. Blistered webs of red climbed up the side of Hal's face, almost reaching his eye. He could feel a deep pain all through his body. Ears rang. The world swirled in front of him. While his right eye could see clearly, vision through his left was a blur.

In retreating from Luther's fearsome magic, he stumbled back several steps, left leg dragging somewhat as he escaped.

The physical harm that Luther caused did little to anger Hal. What the older Apprentice couldn't understand were the vicious words that his friend spoke.

"Why," He rasped, anger and grief clinging to every spoken word, "Why must you speak like that!"

For every moment he minded Luther's taunting, wrath surged through him just as electricity had. Tears welled in his eyes. He again marched toward the young Urahil as he clambered against the parapet to rise to his feet.

Each step with his left leg screamed at him, but Hal ignored it. He had been trained for several years to ignore it.

 

[Ryan of Tel Idris]

“Because that’s what this is,” Luther hissed through his broken mouth. “Your filthy provincial brain still doesn’t get it.”

He spit a wad of blood onto the stone and pushed himself back to his feet, face a mess of purple and black bruising, nose crooked, his old and ropy scar twisting through it all.

Where the hell was his sword?

Nevermind.

He tugged free the dagger at his belt.

“You think I cared about you? You think the son of House Urahil could ever be friends with someone like you, a fucking hayseed who accidentally murdered his own sister? You really are daft.”

The dagger glinted as he pointed it at the limping apprentice.

“I just needed a body in between me and all the other knives.”

Strands of blonde hair like strings of gold fell across Luther’s face, wet with blood.

“And you did such a great job of it, Hal. Really, you did. Watching you struggle on to defend me from those elves? All while I bedded your girl. Gods, it was magnificent.”

He chuckled and spit out another gob of blood.

“Now I’m going to kill you, Henry Bauer. Then I’m going to return to my house, praised as a hero. And nobody will ever remember the peasant boy who died at the Tower.”

 

[Harry]

Hal stopped as Luther began to speak. His eyes darted to the dagger as it was drawn. Luther waggled it about as his hand was a snake ready to lash out and strike. Hal thought a snake was a fitting creature to compare Luther to.

Hal continued his approach with more caution, wary of the knife. In the previous scuffle, Hal had unwittingly dropped his hammer.

He heard every word that Luther spat out all while he eyed the sparkling blade.

"-All while I bedded your girl. Gods, it was magnificent."

What?

Hal's head instinctively snapped towards Sierra for a moment. Behind the loose fringes of hair that hung over his eyebrows, she could see a deep, infinite sadness within frosty blue eyes. He wore an expression of shock, or possibly defeat.

Whatever Luther said next fell on deaf ears. Hal's heartbeat thundered in his ears.

He heard the clattering of armor, and his body reflexively acted in defense. He turned to face Luther, but the snake already lashed out with a single fang and Hal deliberately intercepted the dagger with his hand. The blade effortlessly passed through the leather glove until it could go no farther. His fingers clamped down over Luther's hand. He felt Urahil's arm begin to retract, but it went nowhere under Hal's vice-like grip.

If there was one area that Hal was completely superior in over Luther, it was physical strength.

Frost began to spread over Luther's gauntlet from where Hal's fingers pressed down.

He never wanted to harm anyone. Not once did Henry desire to kill, not through the numerous executions, the numerous elves, the numerous bandits and renegades, not even Igot Crane.

Ironically, for the first time, he wished to kill the man in front of him, who minutes ago he thought to be his friend.

Blue eyes, cold and unfeeling like ice peered into blue eyes, vibrant like lightning.

His free hand, balled in a fist, shot up at Luther's elbow.

 

[Ryan of Tel Idris]

Shocked, Luther watched in abject horror as ice expanded up his arm like the advance of a slow but implacable glacier, freezing his arm solid from fingers nearly to his bicep.

Then Hal struck it with a fist.

Crack.

Steel and flesh shattered as his entire right arm snapped off at the elbow.

Luther screamed as he stumbled backward and stared at the stump, unable to fully comprehend what had just happened.

Tears danced in his eyes, then made tracks through drying blood on his cheeks.

“You fucking wretch!”

 

[Harry]

Luther's arm broke away, which shocked Hal. He knew ice had spread over, yet the speed that it did so was beyond what the caster himself had expected.

So be it.

He grabbed the dismembered limb by the wrist and pulled the dagger from his hand. He turned it, idly observing the frozen appendage.

"What good is a one-armed Urahil?" He mused aloud and kept his gaze on the arm, then looked up at Luther with unfeeling eyes.

Without warning, he lunged forward and swung the frozen arm down towards Luther's head.

 

[Ryan of Tel Idris]

Luther raised his one remaining arm to defend himself. The blow smashed his own gauntleted hand into his face and he backed away from Hal.

“You bastard. You bastard. You’re nothing, NOTHING.”

He sobbed, snot dribbling through his nose, mixing with the blood on his lips.

In the palm of his hand an orb of purple plasma grew, filaments arcing out from it like a miniature sun. The gauntlet turned a cherry red beneath the glowing orb and Luther bit through his lip and tried not to scream as the hot metal seared his palm. So bright was the shimmering orb that onlookers had to shield their eyes.

“Too much,” muttered a proctor.

The oppressive buzzing noise it made drowned out all else as Luther poured into it all his malice and terror.

“Die you dog,” he shrieked, hurling the orb of raw, obliterating plasma at Hal.

 

[Harry]

A wicked grin that only Luther could see stretched Hal's cheeks as he, again, raised Luther's own arm with the intention to club the young Urahil. He savored the pitiable contempt that came from Luther.

The joy was temporary as Luther, seemingly out of desperation, began to conjure up... something.

As the orb grew, Hal's hair rose. He frantically took several steps back, dropping the arm as he did so.

Then the orb came towards Hal. He had never seen anything like it from Luther. He didn't know what would happen, but his instinct screamed of the potential danger.

He quickly dropped down and laid his palms flat on the ground. A wall of ice rose in front of him, then another. The walls did not stop rising. He did not see, but the orb passed through the first two as if they were not even there. Ice was useless against whatever danger Luther unleashed. Then, in the midst of the massive block of ice formed from layered walls, the orb exploded. Ice hit Hal first, a chunk of it smashing against his nose. Then he was knocked back from the explosion itself, fire first consuming him before he was sent sliding on his back. The back of his head collided with the parapet, which blackened his vision for several seconds.

When he came to, he was weak. The front of his gambeson was charred. The right side of his chest and up to his neck was burned. He groggily pushed himself up into a seated position and scanned his surroundings. He could not find Luther through the smoke and steam. The back of his head ached, and he felt vertigo once again.

 

[Ryan of Tel Idris]

The shockwave struck Luther and blew him off his feet. He reached a hand out to stop his fall, but felt nothing. Only wind, tearing at him. His stomach lurched into his mouth as he realized he was falling off the side of the tower and into open air.

The wind ripped his scream away as he plummeted. He knew a moment of utter fear, then the ground rushed up to meet him. The impact sounded like the tortured squeal of metal and the wet slap of meat.

Above, smoke cleared, exposing a field of shattered ice atop the Tower and a smoldering Hal.

No one saw Luther.

One of the proctors went to the lip of the tower and looked down. They saw the glint of gilded armor far below. Nobody could have survived that fall.

“Henry Bauer, victorious.”

 

[Harry]

Slack-jawed, Hal slumped against the parapet and let out a deep, audible sigh. He bit the tip of one finger of his glove and tore it off his hand, then did the same with the other. He looked down at his sweaty palms, one of which profusely bled, and curled his fingers. Nails dug into his skin, leaving crescent-shaped cuts that drew blood. The pain was relieving, in a way.

He thought of many things that he regretted. Having to kill one of his friends. The possible truth that Sierra had indeed shared a bed with him. The whole last decade of his life.

A small part even regretted that he was not able to wring the life out of Luther with his own hands.

There was complete silence following the announcement of his victory. He rose, weak and stumbling, and made his way across the Tower. He shoved the Proctor to the side, an audacious act that would be forgiven just that once. Hands flat on the parapet, he looked over the side to see for himself.

He wanted to scream, to cry. Nothing came. The pains that burdened his body were all too real, yet that was all Hal-. No. That was all that Henry Bauer felt.

He turned to face the eight remaining Apprentices. A strange expression was painted on his face. There was the faintest smile as if he were intoxicated, and his eyes were glossed over.

 

[Talus]

Talus did not say anything.

There was nothing to say.

The path that they had traveled their entire lives lead them here. It was a fact of who they were, what they were. It was always going to end this way, it was always going to end up here on this tower.

Fate had decided that fact long ago.

He offered Hal a silent nod, thought he doubted that the lad would even notice it. Talus knew what basking in victory felt like, how it shook you, how it solidified you. After what Luther had said...he wouldn't blame Hal for the satisfaction.