The Killing Grounds Read online

  Maybe speed's the answer? She decided that swiftness might give her an edge and threw the next seven blades without stopping, four found the target and held strong, two clanked to the floor and the last rebounded off the post and hit the large metal box at the base of Black's bunk. The rest of the class went silent, but this didn’t seem to bother Black as he tossed his knife into the air. Alara thought she saw his eyes sharpen ever so slightly as she retrieved the knife, but his demeanour didn’t change. She picked up the rest of her blades and joined the back of the queue to wait for her next turn. The three girls returned to the room and were sitting around Lucinda’s bunk chatting, but Alara felt their stares burn into the back of her head. She considered trying to make friends with the other female members of the group, but their open scorn toward her was plain to see.

  It took several minutes before she reached the front of the group, and her attempts went from bad to worse, with only one blade finding the target. Again she picked up her knives and went to the back of the queue. A few of the boys had dropped out to go back to studying, which left only five apprentices, and her next turn came around much more quickly. As she waited she tried to clear her mind and picture the throw, concentration is the key Alara, c’mon girl you can do this! The bunks were now full of apprentices making so much noise that it was threatening to break her meditation, when the boy standing behind her poked her in the back. “Hurry up and miss some more.” Snickers went up around the room as Alara stood ready to take aim.

  “Five credits say she misses,” someone shouted across the room.

  “I’ll take that bet,” another cried.

  Alara looked around the room that had gone deathly quiet. The bet had drawn the attention of Gideon. He stood and positioned himself in front of the target, blocking Alara’s throw. He smiled at her and addressed the room, “A bet has been called and accepted, and in the traditions of the dorm I call for quiet at all times until the bet is settled.” He called out to the boy that made the bet, “Singh, you say five credits?”

  “Yes A1!” Singh shouted.

  “And Warner agrees?”

  “I do A1.”

  “Front and centre both of you.” Both boys leapt from their cots and stood on either side of the target, staring at Alara. “Du Preeze, these two recruits have made a wager as to whether your skills have improved or not, do you accept to be the catalyst in settling the bet?”

  “I do A1.”

  “Very well then. Since this is the first of your ten flights I suggest that it is only fair that Singh and Warner make ten bets in turn. The first has been made by Singh,” he nodded to the boy, “and the second will be made by Warner. Is this acceptable to you both?”

  “Yes A1!” they replied in unison.

  Gideon addressed Alara, “No pressure!” He smiled but Alara detected a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

  Gideon moved aside and motioned for Alara to continue; she stretched to relieve some of the pain from her back and focused on the target. The hilt of the knife felt warm in her hand, and she closed her eyes picturing the blade's trajectory. She opened her eyes and loosed the blade at the target. It missed but stuck in the wooden pole just above the target area.

  “Five credits to Singh!” Gideon announced. “Your bet Warner.”

  Alara’s eyes went to Warner who was glaring back at her. “Ten credits say she misses.”

  “Accepted,” Singh said immediately.

  “No need to accept Singh, this isn’t optional. Dorm rules state that you have to accept.” Both boys’ heads snapped around to face Gideon. “Unless one of you wants to back out?” He waited a second to see if either boy would submit and then continued, “Du Preeze, when you’re ready,” he motioned for her to take her second throw. This time she threw quickly and hurled the blade, which found its mark.

  “Nice throw,” Singh said.

  “Nothing but luck!” Warner retorted.

  “The only luck here is yours Warner, and by the looks of it all bad. That’s fifteen credits to Singh, next bet.”

  “Another ten says she hits,” Singh replied.

  “Make it twenty!” Warner shouted.

  “Done!” Gideon shouted. “Throw!”

  Alara took aim and found the edge of the target with her next blade.

  “Thirty five credits to Singh,” Gideon announced as he pulled a sheet of paper out from his pocket. “Let the record state that as of this point the overall class situation is this. Warner currently has one thousand and seventy year credits, Singh has one thousand and ten, and that Singh currently sits one place below Warner at six.” The two boys glared at each other.

  Alara now understood the gravity of the situation. Her throwing capabilities had a direct effect on the year scores of the two boys, and Singh could move up to fifth place on the standings if he played this game well. But the pressure wasn’t on her; she was just there to practice throwing knives at a target. She relaxed and waited for the next bet to be placed before taking aim.

  “Singh’s bet,” Gideon said.

  “He had the last bet A1,” Warner protested.

  “I think not Warner. He placed a bet and you increased the bet, therefore it is his choice,” Gideon said and smiled that sickly sweet smile that Alara was beginning to dislike. Warner snorted but accepted the ruling.

  Singh grabbed at the opportunity and said, “Fifty credits says she hits.”

  Warner was about to say something but Gideon spoke first, “You wish to raise the bet?”

  “No A1,” Warner replied sheepishly.

  Alara took aim, and her blade once again found the outside of the target, which made three hits and only one miss. She was pleased with herself, but the look that Warner threw her way sobered her mood. She was dealing with assassins after all.

  “That’s now an overall score to Warner of one thousand and twenty, and to Singh one thousand and sixty. Singh moves to A5,” Gideon gave the crowd a moment to digest the information and followed up the comment with, “for the moment. Four rounds down and six to go.”

  “Twenty credits say she misses,” Warner said hedging his bets. Singh nodded, knowing that even if Alara missed he would still be equal fifth on the rankings.

  Alara took aim but her blade hilt struck the target and rebounded off.

  “All square after five rounds,” Gideon announced. The next four rounds were traded off as draws as Alara hit twice and missed twice. “Last round,” Gideon announced, “Singh to bet, and Warner you are allowed one raise if you would like to make it.” Both boys nodded at him.

  Singh took a moment to do some mental calculations and announced, “One hundred credits says she hits.”

  “Make it two hundred and fifty!” Warner retorted.

  “Bet accepted!” Gideon shouted over the noise of the others in the dorm. It was normal to have wagers on the knife throws but they were typically kept within a reasonable amount, and this was certainly not reasonable. “Quieten down,” Gideon shouted over the din. “Before Du Preeze makes her throw, it must be noted that should she hit, Singh will remain at A5 and move to one thousand two hundred ninety credits, still some five hundred points below A4, and that Warner will drop from A5 to eighth, losing both privileges and rank. I also decree that each of you donate fifty credits to Du Preeze for her efforts in this battle.”

  “Agreed," both boys said in unison.

  Alara looked around the room, all eyes were on her. Even Black had sat up and started paying attention. Alara reminded herself to check back on the notice board later that night and see who was ranked where on the list. It could be paramount to her success to align herself to the right people. She examined both boys. Warner was pacing up and down, clearly rattled by his decisions, and he no longer glared directly at her. Singh, on the other hand, was staring at her with a look of confidence, and nodded in her direction.

  “I ask for quiet,” Gideon announced over the noise in the room, and silence descended. “When you’re ready Du Preeze, and again, no pres...
” Alara hurled the last blade at the target before Gideon finished his sentence, and it found the centre of the target. A roar of approval went up from the spectators. Gideon was looking at her in amazement. “Two hundred and fifty credits to Singh,” he said, held up the boy's hand and congratulated him on making A5. “I expect cots to be swapped in five minutes.” He turned to face Warner, “Smith is now six and Dunn seven, and I expect you to show them the correct respect.” Warner’s face was pale and he was clearly in shock. “I would like to thank Du Preeze for her patience and also on her score of six hits. With a little more practice she may even give Lucinda a run for her money in the gym.” He looked toward the girl who was now sneering at him for the remark. “The mess is open in ten, fill your bellies then get some shut eye.” He dismissed Singh and Warner and returned to his bunk. Alara retrieved her knives and turned to leave the dorm; Black caught her eye and called her over.

  “Watch your back,” he said and waved her away.

  She retreated quickly, not wanting to turn her back on him in case one of his knives found its way into her spine, and left the dorm room. She wanted to be the first into the mess and have her fill before going to Lord Osari’s rooms to investigate his library. The list of lesson plans was tucked into the folds of her shirt, and she hoped to find all the books she needed to catch up on studies. It would take a while, but she had always been a quick study. She hesitated at the notice board and examined the list of apprentices. Du Preeze was the bottom name, no surprises there; she ran her finger up the list which as yet had not been updated after her efforts with the knife. She was interested that only the top five were denoted with the letter A before their number, and pondered what the A stood for, Alive, Able, Acceptable, she guessed. A5 was Warner, but that would soon be changed, A4 was Coutts and A3 was Crestley, she didn’t recognise any of those names, A2 was Black, A and A1 Black, G. She read them again to make sure that she hadn’t made a mistake, Gideon and Black had the same surname. Maybe it was just a coincidence, but the blonde hair and blue eyes of both boys certainly made a compelling argument that they were related, possibly even brothers. She would have to investigate this at a later stage. Her stomach hadn’t been fed the whole day and the hunger pangs were starting to make her feel like vomiting. Apprentices were starting to stream into the corridor as Alara made a dash for the mess.

  Five:

  Alara entered Lord Osari’s room and felt a chill run down her back, something was off but she couldn’t put her finger on it. The whole day had been one challenge after another and she felt exhausted, you’re getting paranoid! The fire had burned down to nothing but dark lifeless coals, she’d sworn to her Lord that the fire wouldn’t go out, and hurried to right her mistake. There was enough logs and kindling stored next to the hearth to keep it going for a few days, and Alara found it easy enough to coax the flames back to life. Her body ached in places she didn’t even know existed, but the warmth of the fire felt good as she stretched her back and neck to work out some of the kinks. A wave of healing energy settled her mind and took care of any minor abrasions and lumps, c’mon girl, don’t get lazy, there's still a ton of stuff to do, her eyes settled on the bookcase.

  Torches held in stone sconces threw light into the room, casting shadows off the sparse furnishing as Alara stood examining the plain bookcase, he has all of these fine pictures and paintings and yet all of the furniture is made out of plain wood with rough finishes, this man is so strange. She carefully went through tome after tome, selecting only those she needed for her classes, until the bag that was slung over her shoulder ached with the weight. Enough for now, her eyes went back to the fire and the plush mat that silently invited her to come and rest. The thought of the rest of the class snoring and farting their way through the night disgusted her, but if she didn’t return at some point she was sure questions would be asked. Damn them all and so what if they ask questions, she settled down on the small wool carpet and pulled out a book on poisons and read for a while, but the memories of the day kept coming back to her and breaking her concentration. She gave up on reading and lay back on the floor and closed her eyes. Being an Artist had its rewards, and on more than one occasion today, she had been told to use her skills to her advantage. She let her mind explore the room, knowing full well that it was an invasion of Lord Osari’s privacy, but he had been the one to invite her to use the room for studies in his absence. The walls and furniture were all mundane as she searched for any signs of the Arts; she wasn’t surprised, as Lord Osari made it clear to her that he had no time for “magic users”, as he called them. The question of why he chose her and not any normal apprentice gnawed into her brain. She doubted that he did this on a whim, from what she knew about the man he was fastidious in every aspect of his life, and that would definitely include who he chose to represent him. Her search ended in disappointment, and she was about to give up and try to sleep when she felt a faint twinge in the back in her mind. So there is a spell here. From a young girl she had developed a talent for knowing when danger was coming, and it had saved her from a beating on several occasions. Every instinct in her body told her to leave it alone and ignore the spell, but curiosity got the better of her. She focused all of her skills and searched for the source of the spell, it came from the door leading to Lord Osari’s bed chamber. There was a ward set into the wood that prevented her mind from exploring any further. She pushed harder, but the magic was too strong and held fast. The door was made of blackwood and icy cold to the touch, and a dim light seeped from a thin gap between the wood and the carpet. Using the shadow as a guide she guessed the door to be about thirty centimetres thick. She reached out with her senses to try to find a way under the door, but the ward held fast and pushed her back. Well let's try the easy way, the handle of the door was a bronze knob, but there was no key hole. As her fingers touched the brass a sharp jolt threw her into the air and across the room. She landed with a thump and a fresh bout of pain coursed up her arm. Damn that was sore, she rubbed her aching limb and swore silently at the door. Lord Osari would have known she would try to investigate his chamber; it was part of the makeup of an assassin to be curious. Any successful assassin would spend many hours studying a mark of Lord Osari’s reputation before trying to cash in on his coveted bounty. She picked herself off the floor and returned to her book on poisons and to the mat in front of the fire and went back to studying, but her eyes were tired and the book was boring.

  ***

  She was rudely awoken by the sound of the claxon, shook herself awake and was relieved to see the moonlight beaming through the window, instead of harsh daylight. She climbed to her feet and felt her body cry out in pain, a healing wave helped, but the pain was still lingering deeply within her muscles, waiting to pounce on her when she least expected it to. Her eyes started drooping, all she wanted to do was go back to sleep, but memories of the day before flooded her mind, and she jumped up and threw open a window to take in a lungful of freezing air. Snow had been falling all night and covered the courtyard in a pure white blanket; several servants were frantically trying to get the area ready for breakfast service as the man Lord Osari called Nerian barked orders. She was relieved that it was still so early in the day, the servants started their shift at two thirty am and by her estimations they had only just begun. The apprentices would be getting up and readying themselves for breakfast, and if she was quick enough she could make it to the mess before many of them arrived. She packed up her books and stuffed them quickly into her bag and left the apartment, but not before giving the blackwood door one final look. Whatever lay on the other side of that doorway was still a mystery, but luckily Alara liked a good puzzle. She smiled at the door and bowed to it before making her way to the mess hall; you win this time, whoever you may be.

  The smell of freshly cooked bacon and eggs filled her nostrils as she neared the canteen; several boys had beaten her there and were busy filling their faces as fast as possible. The rest of the class was trickling in one by one, a few s
tifled yawns and started moaning about having to eat so early as they queued behind Alara. She filled her tray with fresh fruit and yoghurt and headed for the solitude of an empty table, but one of the boys she remembered being called Dunn, who sat with a small group of apprentices, waved for her to come join them. She didn’t feel like sitting down and socialising with the group, but if she refused they would surely see that as an insult and she didn’t want to make enemies this early in the morning. “Thanks.”

  “It’s my pleasure Mademoiselle Du Preeze,” the boy had an accent that Alara had never heard before. “Your skills with your blades helped me climb to seven last night without any effort from me whatsoever, and for that you have my thanks.”

  “I just wanted to practice my aim.”

  “Then I hope that you practice often,” he said smiling. “This is Smith, Stephens, Githod and Croft. Please do not think Smith is not grateful. He is unfortunately mute and cannot sing your praises.” Alara smiled at Smith but he either refused to return her smile or simply chose not to bother with her.

  The other boys spent the rest of the meal reminiscing on Warner’s bad fortune, and Alara found her mind wandering around the room searching for other Artists in amongst the chattering apprentices. The noise was driving her mad, she liked peace and quiet and found that living around so many people was becoming problematic. The three other girls sat on their own with their backs to the wall, watching the rest of the class. She sensed that at least one of them was a gifted Artist and had blocked Alara’s attempts to mentally examine them; they all glared back at her. They reminded Alara of a coven of Witches that she’d read about when she was a young girl, she hated the term witch, but it seemed to fit them.

  A1 to A5 sat at the head table in silence. She reached over with her mind, but the table was protected and her mind probe was too weak to break the ward. Gideon sat at the head of the table with Black at the other end, looking as dark and menacing as always. The other three sat facing the dining room. Gideon rose and clapped his hands once, “Class if I can have your attention please.” He waited for the chatter to die down. “The Quartermaster has asked me to tell you that there will be a meeting in fifteen minutes, please make yourselves available. That’s all,” he said and went back to his food.