Darkness Rising Read online

  He blinked, and found himself back in his physical body, lying on the couch, shoulder aching, and wishing he could go back to the only place he was ever really happy.

  He shook that depressing thought out of his head a moment before the door opened and a tall, stunning girl with long, flowing blond hair, a slim build and a uniform just like his, rushed through. His sister Jennifer kicked her shoes off next to his and sat on the couch beside his feet.

  “I heard about the test. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, nothing I haven’t dealt with before. Dad’s going to be pissed when he finds out.”

  Jen grinned. “Also something you’ve dealt with before. What happened?”

  “Nothing, that’s the problem. No matter what I try I just can’t get the power to respond.” He ground his teeth. “What’s wrong with me?”

  She squeezed his knee. “Nothing. You’ll make it work eventually.”

  The door slammed open. Damien didn’t have to look to know his father stood there, scowling. “Another failure, boy.”

  Damien sat up and peaked over the back of the couch. Sure enough, Dad stood in the doorway glowering, shaved head red with anger, his uniform flawless, his commandant’s gold shield gleaming. If he got any madder steam would probably shoot out his ears. “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re a disgrace.” He stepped into the room and slammed the door closed. “A disgrace to me, your sister, your mother’s memory, and the name St. Cloud.”

  Damien winced at the barrage, but held his peace. What could he say? If Dad measured his worth by his ability as a warlord, he certainly was a disgrace.

  “On your feet when I’m speaking to you!”

  Damien jumped up and clasped his hands behind his back at parade rest. “Sir?”

  “I’ve had enough of you embarrassing me. One more failure and you’re done. The Citadel is a school for warlords. Weaklings have no place here.”

  Damien blinked. Was his father threatening to expel him? For another student that would be bad enough, but he could always go back home to a normal life. But Damien didn’t just study at The Citadel, it was his home. Maybe it wasn’t much of one, but he had nowhere else to go.

  Chapter 2

  Damien leaned on the table in the little kitchen in their quarters and nibbled on a slice of bread covered with blueberry jam. The normally sweet jam seemed bitter this morning. He hadn’t slept much last night. After his father’s pronouncement Damien had thought of little else. Jen and Lizzy both tried to convince him Dad didn’t mean it, but after seeing the disgust in his face Damien knew he did. Barring a miracle Damien would be homeless in a few months.

  He flexed his shoulder; the pain had vanished overnight, but it still felt a little stiff. His class had sword drills this afternoon and he felt good enough to join in, though he’d have to sit out morning calisthenics or face Miss Ella’s wrath. From behind the door to his sister’s room came the sound of hard-soled shoes on stone. Damien covered a second slice of bread with jam and poured a glass of milk. Jen appeared in a swirl of blond hair. He handed Jen her breakfast and they ate for a while in silence.

  Halfway through her bread Jen said, “I heard you tossing and turning last night. Did you get any sleep?”

  Damien shrugged and washed the last of his breakfast down with a swallow of milk. “Not much. Busy mind, you know?”

  “I’m sure he didn’t mean it, Damien. Dad would never kick you out. He was just upset.”

  Damien washed, dried, and put away his dishes. “He didn’t come home until early this morning and stayed just long enough to grab Lizzy. He can’t even stand to be in the same room with me. I think he meant every word.”

  “Try not to worry about it. Walk with me to strategy class?”

  “Sure.”

  They left their quarters and went downstairs. Students from all years milled around the entry hall, talking, arguing and flirting. Every boy and many of the girls turned their heads to stare when Jen walked down the stairs, the boys in open awe and the girls with a combination of annoyance and jealousy. She ignored them all with her usual cool indifference. No one gave Damien so much as a second glance. Walking with Jen he never had to worry about getting too much attention.

  They turned down the left-hand hall towards the strategy room. Damien had a class there once a week, though they only covered basic, small-scale stuff. He loved strategy class. Since it didn’t require soul force he excelled at it.

  Jen stopped halfway down the hall. “Damn it! I forgot my paper. I’ll be right back.” She turned and ran back down the hall about three times as fast as a normal person. She must have pushed soul force into her legs to enhance her speed. He shook his head as she disappeared around the corner. Just once he’d like to run that fast.

  “Well, well, well.”

  Damien turned to find a pair of fourth-year students ambling his way, soul-force-enhanced muscles straining against their uniforms. The tall blond with close-cropped hair was Dirk and the shorter bald one his idiot cousin Donk. Now would be a good time to be able to run like his sister.

  “Our favorite punching bag, out and about without his big sister to protect him,” Dirk said, prompting an evil chuckle from his cousin. “Word is you failed your endurance test again.”

  “What’s it to you?”

  Dirk’s lips curled into an ugly sneer. “Tsk, tsk, you should show your seniors more respect. Perhaps we can give you some practice toughening up. What do you say, Donk?”

  Donk chuckled again and cracked his knuckles. Damien grimaced. This could get ugly in a hurry. “Don’t you two have anything better to do than bother me?”

  The two bullies shared a look then turned back to him. “Not just now. We need our morning workout and you’re it.”

  Damien brought his fists up in a futile gesture. He had no chance of beating them one on one much less together and judging by their grins, Dirk and Donk knew it.

  They lunged for him. Damien ducked and shot between Donk’s legs. He scrambled away then spun to face them. The older boys weren’t using any speed enhancements, which was the only reason Damien managed that move.

  “Slippery, ain’t he?” Donk said.

  “Indeed. Shall we try again, cousin?”

  Dirk blurred and before he could react Damien slammed into the wall, Dirk’s fist snarled in his uniform. His captor leaned forward. “A weakling like you didn’t think you could get away from us, did you?”

  Damien flicked a glance down the hall and grinned. “I wasn’t trying to escape. I was trying to delay you.”

  Dirk frowned as he tried to understand. “Why?”

  Damien nodded back toward the entry hall. Dirk turned his head just in time to catch Jen’s fist with his face.

  Dirk flew down the hall, bounced twice, and crashed to a halt when he reached the far wall.

  Damien straightened his uniform. “That’s why.”

  Jen turned her furious gaze on Donk. Dim as he was, Donk had brains enough to make himself scarce. He ran to collect his cousin as fast as his soul-force-enhanced legs could carry him. When they’d gone Jen relaxed. “You okay?”

  Damien nodded. “I figured you’d be back in a hurry. Funny, they didn’t seem so interested in fighting two on two.”

  Jen snorted. “Those two aren’t interested in anything resembling a fair fight. Are you good to go to training on your own?”

  “Sure. I doubt those two will bother me for a while.”

  Jen scowled. “If they do I won’t go so easy on them.”

  Chapter 3

  Fredric watched the gold griffin circling in the bright noon sun. It was hot again today, too hot for this early in the year. If they didn’t get some rain soon the crops would wither in the fields. He stood just inside the great granite wall that surrounded The Citadel grounds, next to the open space—nothing more than a patch of dirt really—they’d set aside for visiting sorcerers. Far from the fortress and training grounds, sorcerers were able to arrive with a minimum of disruption.
That suited Fredric as he despised anything that interrupted the smooth operation of his school.

  Master Shen’s griffin got lower with each circle. As sorcerers went he was a good one. They fought together during the last northern invasion. He both liked and respected the man, one of the few sorcerers whose company he enjoyed. Master Shen had a case of healing potions for the infirmary, luckily for his incompetent excuse for a son. Why couldn’t the boy be more like his sister?

  Damien works harder than any two students in The Citadel. He’s kind, courteous, and has more pure skill than men twice his age. You’re far too hard on him.

  Fredric scowled, not appreciating having his sword commenting on his thoughts. That was the price you paid for having a demon living in your weapon. “You’re always making excuses for him. If he’s trying so damn hard, why can’t he do what he needs to?”

  I don’t know, but threatening to kick him out of the only home he’s ever had is hardly likely to improve his focus. He didn’t get more than a couple hours’ sleep last night.

  “I’m desperate. The masters have tried every trick in the book to coax Damien’s power out and they’ve all failed. Perhaps the fear of losing everything will force him to break through whatever’s holding him back.” The griffin landed in the dry patch of dirt, kicking up a cloud of dust. “Now be silent. I have to deal with the sorcerer.”

  Master Shen hopped off the griffin and waved a hand. The great golden beast vanished. Fredric shook his head. He’d never get used to sorcerers. Creating something out of nothing wasn’t natural. Master Shen wore loose-fitting gray trousers and a matching tunic. His long dark hair hung in a tail that reached down to the middle of his back. That’d make a handy place for an enemy to grab and yank his head off. Over his shoulder the sorcerer carried a leather satchel.

  Fredric held a hand out. “Master Shen, welcome.”

  They shook; he had an excellent grip for a sorcerer. Some of the soft, doughy saps they sent turned Fredric’s stomach. “Commander St. Cloud. What’s it been, three years?”

  Fredric grinned. “Almost four. It’s good to see you, Lon. How long are you staying?”

  The slender sorcerer shrugged. “As long as I can be of use. Training your students to deal with sorcerers is important, even if the best strategy for them is to escape as fast as possible.”

  Fredric’s grin faded at the implied insult. “I’ve killed a sorcerer or two.”

  Lon laughed and shot a pointed glance at the sword at his waist. “You’re hardly an average warlord, Fredric. What’s practical for the King’s Champion is a little different than what’s practical for most of your students.”

  Fredric grunted. Lon had a point; he just didn’t like the idea that there were things out there a skilled warlord with a sharp sword couldn’t handle. He started toward the fortress, angling toward the training yard to let Lon have a look at the second and third years that would get their first taste of sorcery over the next week or two.

  A hundred plus boys and girls stood in neat rows, practice swords in their hands, as they made the five primary slashes, one after the other, over and over again. In another year they’d be able to make all those cuts, as well as any variations, without needing to think. At the far end of the first row his son performed them flawlessly.

  Fredric watched the boy flow from cross cuts to diagonal to vertical and back to the beginning. Despite his failings with soul force, Fredric found nothing to criticize in Damien’s technique. He allowed himself a moment of pride. His son wasn’t a complete failure.

  You should tell him that sometime.

  Lon stopped, his gaze locked on Damien. Fredric ignored Lizzenwar’s comment and moved to join his old friend. “Something wrong, Lon?”

  The sorcerer nodded toward Damien. “Why is that boy training as a warlord?”

  Fredric stiffened. “That’s my son.”

  Lon tore his gaze away from Damien. “He’s a sorcerer, Fredric. A very powerful one.”

  It wasn’t possible.

  If Lon had hit him over the head with a sledgehammer it wouldn’t have stunned Fredric as much as that statement. Shala had been a mistress of the spear and a warlord almost as powerful as Fredric himself. That they’d had a son who was a sorcerer defied belief. “The seer. When Damien was born, the seer said he’d be a warlord.”

  “That much power contained in an infant’s tiny body, I doubt the seer got an accurate reading of which direction Damien’s power flowed. He figured you and Shala were warlords and so assumed Damien would be as well. It’s rare, but seers aren’t perfect. Your son is an external soul force wielder: a sorcerer, just like me.”

  It took all Fredric’s considerable will not to fall to his knees on the spot. He’d pushed the boy so hard, threatened to kick him out of their home, all because he couldn’t make his soul force work. To find out now, after all these years, that no matter what he did or how hard he pushed, Damien would never be a warlord…

  His stomach churned and he feared he might be sick. All the masters had tried everything. It never occurred to any of them that Damien might have gotten misclassified.

  “My friend, I’m aware this is a shock, but Damien needs to go to Sorcery. If he should accidentally tap that massive power and release it with no control he’d level The Citadel and kill everyone here, including himself. I have to take him as soon as he can get ready.”

  Fredric nodded, pulling himself together. An untrained sorcerer was a grave danger. Lon had the right idea. Damien needed the proper training as soon as possible. He put his fingers in his mouth and blew a shrill whistle. The masters looked his way and Fredric pointed at Damien then gestured for him to come over.

  Chapter 4

  Out of the corner of his eye Damien watched his father and the strange man chat as they walked along the edge of the practice field. A moment later he felt the weight of the stranger’s regard. Damien turned his head and locked gazes with the long-haired man. What the hell did he want?

  The stranger broke the connection between them and said something to his father. He wished he could hear what they were saying.

  While Damien watched, his body kept making the proper cuts without conscious direction from his mind. He’d been doing them since he could stand. They required no more concentration than breathing. His father raised his hand to his mouth and blew a whistle.

  Everyone stopped. His father pointed at him and waved him over.

  What had he done now?

  The Master of Swords turned to Damien. “You saw the commander, move out.”

  Damien sighed and trotted over to join his father and the stranger. Behind him the others resumed their training. Damien clasped his hands behind his back and faced his father. “Sir?”

  “Relax, Damien, you’re not in trouble. This is Master Shen, an old friend of mine. He has something important to discuss with you.”

  Damien turned his focus on Master Shen. “Sir?”

  The strange man smiled, a warm expression filled with kindness. The sort of expression his father never wore. “I understand you’ve been having trouble with your soul force.”

  Damien nodded. So this was some expert Dad had brought in to fix whatever was wrong with him. “Yes, sir, it doesn’t work.”

  “That’s because you’ve been using it wrong. Do you know about sorcerers, Damien?”

  He hesitated at the odd question. “A little, from what I’ve read and rumors, of course.”

  “Would it surprise you if I said you were a sorcerer, like me, and not a warlord?”

  A sorcerer! He snapped a look at his father, who nodded.

  It’s true, Damien. I’m sorry I didn’t realize it.

  When Lizzy confirmed it he accepted that they weren’t joking. A sorcerer. How was it possible? “Is that why my soul force doesn’t work?”

  “It works fine, Damien, just not the way you’ve learned. Sorcerers like us use our powers outside our bodies, the exact opposite of a warlord.”

  Damien tried t
o process what Master Shen was saying, but failed. “What happens now?”

  “You’re going to train at The Tower of Sorcery, the school for sorcerers,” his father said. “Go pack your things and Master Shen will take you.”

  “Yes, sir.” Damien ran for the fortress before they changed their minds. He leapt once as he ran. A sorcerer! He wasn’t a failure after all. His father and all the masters thought they knew so much and not one of them realized he couldn’t do what they wanted him to. It wasn’t that he wasn’t trying; his power just didn’t work like theirs. Everything finally made sense.

  He ran through the front door, up the stairs, and down the hall to their quarters. He didn’t have much in the way of clothes or possessions; Dad thought things just held you down and forced his preferences on him and Jen.

  Damien’s bedroom held little save a bed, table and chair for studying, and a chest of drawers for his clothes. He dug his rucksack out of the bottom drawer and set to filling it. Small clothes, two tunics, two pairs of pants, and dress boots. A horn comb that had belonged to his mother he wrapped carefully in the tunics. Of his meager belongings, he treasured that one the most.

  He opened the top drawer and hesitated before taking the sword and dagger set his father gave him when he began training as an official cadet. The sword was almost identical to Lizzy, from its straight, thin blade right down to the lacquered black sheath.

  He sighed and hung it over his shoulder. The only people he’d miss were Lizzy and Jen. He touched the hilt of the sword. Too bad he couldn’t trade with Dad and take Lizzy with him. He couldn’t of course. She was far too powerful to leave in the hands of a kid.

  The dagger had a short, curved blade and a sheath that matched the sword. He clipped it to his belt. Damien started for the door then hesitated again. He was still wearing his uniform. Only cadets and instructors wore the silver-and-blue tunics and after today he wouldn’t be a cadet anymore.

  Best to make a clean break. He took off his weapons, dug out his black tunic, and tossed his uniform aside. He’d never wear the damn thing again.