Keldras rose from his bed to find himself in a plain, nondescript room.
The stone walls looked as if they had been through a blazing fire at some point, scorch marks still evident.
He moved toward the door.
A plain iron ring hung from a soot-scorched oak door.
He cautiously pulled it open and wandered down a plain stone hallway, where scorched decorations and broken windows provided the only decoration.
Eventually, he came to a set of large double doors.
Keldras pushed the doors open and found himself in a chapel.
On a dais in the center of the room stood five granite statues, each depicting a deity of a different faith.
On the floor before the statues knelt a woman.
Long purple-black hair, tied back in a tail, cascaded from beneath a weather-beaten pointed hat.
Her soft ocean-colored eyes stared at him as he approached, her full, painted lips curling into a slight smile.
Keldras continued to look her over.
Her hat and long blue robes suggested she was a wizard, but what he could see of her figure suggested she had a very athletic build.
His gaze eventually settled on the heavy silver chains coiled around her wrists and ankles.
He couldn’t tell where they began or where they ended.
They vanished into the air itself.
He stopped in front of her, slowly reaching to touch one of the chains.
She pulled back as best she could.
“Don’t,” she said sternly.
Keldras recognized that voice.
It had invaded his thoughts constantly.
“Saphira?” he asked.
She looked at him coldly.
“Why are you here? Does your father want more blood?” Her tone was full of accusation.
“Just tell him I’m done. I’m resigned to my fate. The brief experiences of the outside world I have through you are enough.”
Keldras’s mask of coldness slipped for a second, and he couldn’t hide his confusion.
Saphira looked at him quizzically.
“How are you here, then?” she asked.
“Unsure,” Keldras replied.
“I woke up here.”
He suddenly reached out and grabbed the chain around her left wrist.
It burned.
It felt as though liquid fire had seeped into his veins, replacing his blood.
The pain spread from his hand up his arm, climbing toward his bicep, yet he felt as though he shouldn’t let go.
The mostly healed scar burned with intense heat, as if someone had pressed a red-hot poker against the wound.
Saphira looked panicked.
“Stop! Let go!” she shouted, trying to pull her arm away.
She could see the pain etched across his face and struggled against her chains in vain.
Then a loud cracking noise echoed through the silent chapel.
The silver chain around Saphira’s wrist snapped apart.
She shoved Keldras away with her newly freed hand before he could grab the chain again.
Shock washed over her face.
She flexed her fingers and rotated her wrist.
It was real.
She could move her hand.
Keldras woke with a start.
His arm immediately felt as though it were on fire.
He climbed out of bed and went to the washroom.
Raising the sleeve of his nightshirt, he found a sleeve of blue scales wrapped around his bicep, concealing the scar from the explosion.
He listened for a moment.
Silence.
Saphira?
Silence.
No…
wait.
There was a sound.
What is that?
he wondered.
Something was thumping.
Keldras heard a sharp intake of breath, and then the sound stopped.
He pushed it from his mind and got ready to leave.
Saphira’s mind was racing.
He broke her chain.
He ignored the pain and broke her chain.
She could feel her heart pounding.
It’s so loud.
Could he hear it?
she wondered.
She took a deep breath and held it, trying to calm herself.
Once she felt him returning to his day, she slowly let it out.
The trainees had gathered and were chatting excitedly about the duel.
The Weapons Master stood with his opponent to his left, a smug grin on his face.
Keldras walked toward them, thinking, Let’s get this over with.
The Weapons Master went over the rules of the duel.
When he reached the last one, he said, “You may appoint a proxy if you feel unwell.”
A proxy?
Keldras thought.
This wasn’t a trial by combat or a duel to the death.
If someone was ill, they could simply reschedule.
Just then, his opponent doubled over in pain, clutching his stomach.
“Ohhh… it hurts,” he groaned, tears welling in his eyes.
The Weapons Master bent down, concern written across his face.
Keldras’s expression grew several degrees colder.
What is this farce?
They’re being far too obvious.
His eyes swept across the crowd of fellow students.
Every one of them wore a malicious smile.
He turned back in time to hear his opponent say, “I appoint Brother Bolg as my proxy.”
A massive, bald orc casually sauntered into the arena.
One of his protruding canines had broken off and been capped with a golden ring.
Tattoos covered his heavily muscled arms, and he dragged a massive spiked metal club behind him, nearly as tall as he was.
So dramatic a sarcastic voice commented inside Keldras’s head.
Keldras studied his new opponent.
If Bolg could swing that club effectively, he had no chance of blocking it, and he doubted he could disarm the orc either.
I thought they were just being petty, he mused.
They’re clearly out for blood.
The instant the Weapons Master signaled the start of the duel, Bolg charged.
It was ridiculous.
The charge was clearly a trap—revenge for his brother, Keldras guessed.
He retreated, keeping the spear point of his halberd level with Bolg’s eye.
Keldras knew he was being backed toward the wall, so he feigned a lunge at Bolg’s face.
When the orc lifted his weapon to block, obscuring his own vision for an instant, Keldras pulled back and swept his halberd in a powerful arc toward Bolg’s legs.
The blunted axe head slammed into the orc’s calf.
Bolg roared in protest but continued charging.
During the exchange, Keldras had shifted direction, so the wall was no longer directly behind him.
Bolg swung his club downward, barely missing Keldras and sending up a spray of dirt.
He smirked and swept the weapon in a wide arc, attempting to fling loose sand into Keldras’s face.
Although Keldras shielded his eyes, he still inhaled some of the dust and coughed.
Bolg shoulder-checked him, clipping his side as he tried to dodge and throwing him off balance.
Seizing the opportunity, the heavy club came crashing toward his ribs.
This is it.
Keldras knew he couldn’t dodge in time.
Then the weapon seemed to slow, as though it had struck an invisible barrier.
It gave him just enough time to regain his footing and hop backward.
Trying to buy himself a moment, Keldras thrust his halberd toward Bolg’s foot.
The orc stepped clear just in time.
The halberd drove into the sand with a crack like thunder.
Keldras jerked it free and continued backing away.
Bolg gave chase.
The moment he stepped near the spot where the halberd had struck, the dirt and sand exploded upward with a thunderous crack, throwing the orc onto his backside.
The Weapons Master roared with rage and stormed into the arena, halting the duel.
“This was supposed to be an honorable duel, and you resort to using magic not once, but twice!” he bellowed.
“This duel is over! You’re disqualified!”
“That’ll be enough of that.”
The voice cut cleanly across the arena.
An aged orc rose from the seating above the fighting pit.
He wasn’t large by orc standards, but he was powerfully built, every muscle honed for purpose.
His hands rested casually on the heads of the two hand axes belted at his waist.
He glared at the Weapons Master.
As Azaug approached, both hands rested upon the heads of his axes.
Strange.
Only days ago Valdax had deliberately kept his own hands as far from his sword as possible.
“I came to check on my grandson’s progress, only to find someone who’s supposed to be instructing him instead abusing the rules!” He shouted angrily.
The Weapons Master didn’t dare respond.
The elder’s cold gaze swept across every orc in attendance.
None dared meet his eyes.
“Enough,” he barked at last.
“I’m pleased with his progress, but after witnessing this farce, it’s clear you’ve taught him nothing.”
He pointed at the Weapons Master.
“I’ll give you a choice: a public groveling apology with every clan leader in attendance… or fifty lashes.”
Saphira Prison Scene and Duel Scene Chapter Art https://i.postimg.cc/ZYs1hJth/VOL1-CH-6.png