The Brotherhood: Blood (16 page)

Just as he was beginning to think it would be best to leave and try to return to his classes, the door opened, revealing Daughtry’s tall, lanky form. “Odin,” he said.

After stepping forward, into the room with the magic master and waiting for him to close the door behind them, Odin seated himself in the chair opposite the desk, then pressed back into it, unsure what to do or say in order to initiate the conversation.

“So,” Daughtry said, seating himself in his chair. “What might you be here for, Odin? And my apologies for not arranging study time between the two of us—I’ve been awfully busy trying to figure out just what and where I should start teaching you.”

“It’s all right, sir. My problem is… well… more about someone than about something.”

“Pardon?”

Sighing, Odin dug his fingers into the plush armrests and leaned forward. With a bit of a tremble in his voice, he said, “I got into a fight with a boy the other day.”

“You did?” Daughtry asked, waiting for Odin to nod before he continued. “For what, might I ask?”

“For… well… him hitting me in the nose so hard it bled and getting in trouble because of it. That’s not all, sir. He… he tried to drown me.” Odin paused and took a deep breath.

“
Drown
you?” the mage asked, the stricken look on his face one of pure horror and outrage. “Who did this, Odin?”

All right,
he thought.
How am I going to tell him this?

Rather than dwell on the specifics, Odin took another deep breath, expelled it, then said, “My magic went off.”

“In a fit of fear, I take it?”

“I guess. All I know is that just when I thought I would drown, the boy let go of me and I swam up to the surface to find the middle of the pond erupting in a geyser.”

“That’s some pretty impressive spell casting there, young man—though I must say, that sort of uncontrolled magic can be extremely dangerous, especially since you have no control over your emotions or how you can relate them to your magic.”

“You did what you believed was the right thing,” Daughtry replied, “and that, I believe, is the only thing you could have done. Boys trying to drown boys… that’s absolutely ridiculous, Odin, and I wish you’d tell me who did it, though I do have to say you’re quite a valiant man for sticking to your morals.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I’ll arrange for us to start magic practice as soon as possible. You should return to your class, while the day is still young. Thank you for coming and speaking with me though. It’s much appreciated.”

The moment Odin returned to class, all eyes were on him, as if he had committed a heinous crime which could not be justified. Nervous, unsure and even more unwilling to admit difference to the young men around him, he took his seat in the original position he’d been in before, bowed his head, then crossed his arms over his chest, unable to meet the professor’s gaze or the eyes of those around him.

His thoughts jumbled within his head, his concentration set on things other than the history being explained before them, Odin tore his attention away from the professor and attempted to read the fine lines of scrawled text within his book, but found even in that moment it seemed impossible to do.

Come on,
he thought.
You can do this. You know you can.

Rather than try on focus on the things that were plaguing his mind, he turned his attention back to Artlock and found once more that almost every eye in the in the room was upon him.

Great. Now you’re going to get punished for not paying attention.

He couldn’t necessarily blame himself though, considering the conversation he had just partken in with Daughtry and the emotions that had come with it. He assumed that Artlock, judging from his personality, would possibly leave him alone, as he’d always been good in class before, but without any prior knowledge of the professor’s behavior he couldn’t necessarily be sure. In response, he turned his attention on the board of text set into the wall before them and tried to concentrate, if only to keep out of trouble.

When the afternoon classes came to a close and the pages were ushered down the hall and back toward their individual quarters, Odin found himself longing for home.

To think that he had come all this way only to have thoughts of going back was ridiculous.

It’s all right,
he thought.
Everything’s going to be fine.

Inside his and the other year-one pages’ room, he lay in bed with his eyes set toward the ceiling and tried to sleep despite the fact that many of his peers were doing their best to thwart those attempts. Fighting, talking, squabbling, some punching and kicking each other in arguments inane and without purpose—Odin found himself drawn to the thoughts of what he and Daughtry had spoken of earlier and how such fickle emotions were able to take hold of him without any prior consent.

You can’t help it.

Even so, the fact that he couldn’t control his magic scared him to no end. What if, in a fit of emotion, he happened to hurt or even kill someone? What then, he wondered, would happen, if not life in prison for murder or some other insidious sentence? What did they do to mages in the current day and age? Surely they didn’t burn them, as such witch-hunting had long since died out, especially in the old kingdom, but was there a punishment for equal opportunity for men and women who killed others with powers of the Will?

Not knowing how to react, Odin pushed himself into a sitting position and turned his attention on the doorway at the other side or the room—which, from his current perspective, was cracked open, and slowly being pushed forward.

Sent something?
he thought.
But who—

The idea that his father had sent him a package alight in his mind, he thrust himself forward, off his bed, then to the guard’s side, who instantly turned and began to lead him down the hall.

Things, it seemed, were beginning to look up.

Maybe everything would be just fine.

Stepping forward, Odin pressed the flat of his hand against the obvious cross in the hilt of the sword and fingered the packing parchment beneath his fingers, almost unable to believe that a weapon delivered to him had been allowed inside the walls. Considering the situation with Germa and the fact that a war seemed ready to break out at any given moment, one would think that no weaponry at all would be allowed within the First, Second and Third inner-gate districts, let alone so close to the castle.

Who could have—

You may not know who I am,
the piece of parchment began,
but I know who you are. Please, accept this gift and put it to good use. He will need a friend in the years to come.

“A friend?” Odin asked, turning his eyes on the sword that lay no more than a few short breaths away from him. “Can I open it, sir?”

A blade forged in the blackest metals shined in the light piercing through the window and created the impression of a dark night that could not have been anything more than horrific. The hilt—wrapped in dark red leather—ended in a cross, upon the surface of which sprouted a series of pentagons. The first black, the second silver, the third red, they stacked atop each other as if they were pieces of coin and adorned on the topmost surface was what appeared to be a spear and two drinking horns.

“Is that,” one of the guards began to say, but stopped before he could continue.

The courier narrowed his eyes.

What?
Odin dared to ask, the tension so thick in the air he thought for a moment something terrible would slice through the atmosphere and end his life.

“I believe so,” the courier finally replied.

Each and every hair on Odin’s neck stood on end.

“What?” he asked, shivering, as if a cold wind had suddenly developed somewhere within the mailing office. “What is it? Tell me. Tell me!”

“
What?”

“That’s what happens when you bring Drow weaponry into the castle.”

Odin’s heart stopped beating in his chest.

Drow?

The horrible, the evil, the malevolent, the things that had, at one point, used dark and forbidden magics in order to try and overthrow the Elven kingdom—it was no wonder that the guards were pulling him along, through the grounds and toward the entrance of the castle, then shortly thereafter through the halls and toward a single spiraling staircase that could only lead to the top walls. To think that such a thing had been sent to him was almost madness, considering the light of his current situation, but in that moment, being pulled along behind the guards, it appeared as though the entirety of the world had just been set against him, as if he had just done something horribly illegal in spite of the fact that he had done nothing at all.

No.

“No!” Odin screamed, thrusting himself away from the guards and crying out in pain when the bones in his shoulders ground together and his muscles screamed in agony. “Let me go! Let me go!”

“You’ll be released when we get to the tower.”

“I want to see the king! Dammit!
Dammit!
I’m a person! I have rights!
GODDAMMIT!
Let me go you rotten bast—”

The back of a fist met his face.

Blood exploded from his nose.

Stunned and almost unable to believe what had just happened, Odin turned his eyes up to look at the ever-lingering surface of the fifth tower that rose from the very center of the castle and tried his hardest not to cry, but to no avail.

“Let me go,” he sobbed, trembling. “I didn’t do anything to you!”

“Maybe not,” one of the guards said, “but that doesn’t mean you weren’t planning on it.”

When they reached the entrnace of the fifth tower, which stood lone and foreboding as if it were a creature unto itself, a series of mechanisms were pushed and pulled in and out of place. First the guards slid a number of mental beams that were inlaid into the surface of the door aside, then a group of keys were pressed into a circular lock that, with the last key in place, created a complete circle. The process took several long moments, resulting in a form of mental torture Odin found almost unbearable, before the meticulously-crafted security system was disengaged and the door was thrown open.