Awakening Arte (The Eldest Throne Book 1) Read online

  The other Grimoires were already here, arrayed across what Roun realized was some kind of arena. There were heavy guardrails along the edges that went up to his waist, and the far side had racks and opened coffers filled with a variety of weapons. He wasn’t sure what material covered the place, but it looked like some kind of dark teal stone. There were scuffs and cracks everywhere.

  An odd statue stood at the center of the arena, and that was it. Roun didn’t see anyone that could be their scribe.

  Laeshiro waved from where he leaned against the stone guardrail. “Could the scribe have left?”

  “We came up right away and still didn’t see anyone,” Oyrivia replied.

  Roun frowned. The others soon lost interest and resumed chatting or lounging around, waiting for the scribe to appear.

  He took one last breath and strode forward. Sethra followed, humming, and then eyed him with curiosity as he circled the giant statue at the center. It seemed like some kind of training dummy.

  There were three élanic lanterns hanging from it, each of them numbered. One on each side of a horse-like flank and one hanging from a protrusion jutting from the back of a humanoid torso.

  What was it depicting? Some kind of chimera? Not one I’ve ever read about… The statue was most of a horse, but with a humanoid torso in place of a head. It had been sculpted to appear as if covered in ornate armor, from horse to the man-half, the latter of which was so armored that you couldn’t make out any actual human features other than the general shape.

  It seemed to be made of deep obsidian, or, more likely, the outer layer was, because it would have been ridiculously expensive to carve a statue entirely from deep obsidian. A crest made of plumes topped the helm; it was colored a dark blue like the threads of the horse-half’s fake tail and the barding it wore, which bore cloth imprinted with Rozaria’s broken targe emblem. In fact, the statue’s left arm held a massive targe off to the side while the other grasped a spiraling lance that looked more ornamental than practical.

  The warrior-horse thing was kneeling and leaning on its weapon, something no actual warrior would ever do.

  “Think it’s a training dummy?” Sethra asked from beside him, echoing his thoughts. “Would have to be an amazing one, if it’s for Grimoires.”

  Roun nodded and knelt. There were scuffs on the ground that showed it had moved, as well as several chipped spots made by the lance.

  “I think it moves on its own!” he said in awe. It sounded ridiculous even to his own ears, but Grimoires already specialized in doing the impossible, so why not?

  “What…?” Sethra said, crouching beside him.

  “Excellent. Very perceptive of you.”

  Roun looked around, unable to pinpoint where the gritty, masculine voice came from—and let out a grunt when Sethra shoved him down.

  The statue’s targe swung over him and slammed into Sethra with a sickening crunch that sent her flying.

  Roun scrambled to his feet, gaze snapping towards the girl despite the scraping, creaking thing rising right beside him. He watched her skid all the way across the arena until she slammed into the guardrail.

  The other Grimoires had turned towards the center of the arena in alarm, their chatter falling away.

  Roun turned with them, remembering the damn moving statue, and barely leaped away from the horse foot that crashed down where he had been standing.

  The others began shouting and moving, but Roun’s attention remained on the statue as it maneuvered to face him. A glowing orb spun over it and burst apart, spilling liquid flame all along the targe, which it had lifted in defense. Its helm turned to gaze beyond Roun—towards Kamil—but it otherwise seemed unfazed by the vanishing flames.

  Well, it is made of obsidian… He frowned and saw that the numbered lanterns were glowing red despite being exposed to the Throne—and that was why he didn’t see the lance swinging towards him.

  It crashed into his ribs and for a frozen eternity Roun feared he might break in half. Instead, he let out a garbled cry and wrapped himself around the lance as it finished its arc. Laeshiro and Kamil were near the statue now. Roun saw it all in a blur, a little jealous at how quickly they had reacted while he slipped down the lance as it lifted.

  The edge of the statue’s targe snapped forward, forcing Laeshiro back, then it swung the lance again, apparently not caring that Roun was still hanging from it. Roun swallowed the pain still thundering through him, let go, and stumbled out of the way of the hoof that stomped down at him. He made it underneath the statue’s targe arm and ran along its equine body—and spotted the swaying lantern on that side.

  He snatched it into his arms out of blind panic and to keep it from smashing into his face. It tore off easily, to his surprise, so he ran with it cradled to his chest and sprinted towards the guardrail.

  If this was a test, then it was too much. There was no way Sethra wasn’t injured, and based on what he’d seen… No, there’s no way a scribe would let her die like that.

  He spun around with the lantern, unsure what to do with it, and found the statue regarding him. It swept Laeshiro aside with its lance and raised its targe to intercept more of Kamil’s glowing orbs—

  —and lowered its stance.

  “Enough,” the same voice from before said. Roun realized it emanated from the entire statue. “One lantern will do for now, though I’m disappointed it took so long for you to discover I was no mere prop.”

  Everyone froze; Roun could almost touch the confusion in the air.

  “I am Yhul, another of the Blue Moon Tower’s scribes,” the statue said. It raised its lance to point at him. “You, with the lantern. You were also the one who realized the obvious. What is your name?”

  “Roun,” he said after a moment.

  “Well done, Roun.” Yhul swiveled his head to glance at the others. “I will not go so easy on you next time. Some of you didn’t even attempt to subdue me.”

  The scribe looked at Oyrivia and the lazy brown-haired boy when he said this, but she didn’t even look back in his direction and the boy shrugged.

  A surge of anger cut through Roun; he had to take a few breaths before spitting out, “So it was a test? Are you insane? What if someone had been killed?” The thought jolted him into aimless motion that left the lantern tumbling from his grasp. “Wait, we need to get healers! Sethra is—”

  “I’m fine,” she said as she stepped beside Roun, startling him. She rubbed her side and grinned. “Well, mostly fine, I guess. Was afraid I’d get in the way, so I stayed back while I caught a second wind.”

  Roun frowned at her. “But… I saw you get hit. There’s no way you didn’t at least break something.”

  Sethra cocked her head. “We’re Grimoires now, Roun. Going to take a little more than that.”

  “She speaks the truth,” Yhul agreed, drawing his attention. “Your incomplete immortality will allow you to evade death so long as enough élan remains within your body.”

  The explanation still left Roun unsatisfied. “It still feels like my ribs are broken.”

  Yhul regarded him as much as a faceless helm could. “The pain should be fading. In fact, your body should sip at the thin élan the Throne shines upon you even now, aiding your recovery faster than would otherwise be so.”

  Sethra puffed out her chest and stepped in front of him, as if she planned to protect him from some perceived threat. “He awakened yesterday.”

  “I see,” Yhul said. “Then your first lesson is this: your ability to deny death means you must instead endure pain beyond anything a mortal would ever experience. As a result, you must learn to master not only your spirit and body but also your mind.”

  Roun let out a slow, calming breath before nodding. “I won’t let it slow me down.” Sethra patted him on the shoulder.

  “Excellent,” Yhul said. “Now let’s see how long it takes to beat a change of heart into you.”

  5

  Roun stood before Sethra, sword held at an angle downwards. Hi
s eyes followed the end of her staff, which she also held low. An expression of serene focus had replaced her usual grin.

  He snapped forward, swinging the blade at a foot, hoping to bait a parry. Sethra used her superior reach to maneuver for a block, but didn’t dedicate to it. The moment she noticed it was a feint, she forced open his guard and thwacked him on the head with a neat twirl of the six-foot-long bō.

  “Got you!” Sethra cheerfully announced.

  Roun rubbed the side of his head as the pain jolted through him and shivered while waiting for it to ‘calm’ into something closer to when he bumped his head into something. A day ago, Sethra’s blow would have been enough to crush his skull, or at least leave him motionless on the ground.

  “Your win again,” he agreed.

  “I’m not keeping score, you know.” She waggled her eyebrows at him and grinned. “Besides, you’d still be at a huge disadvantage even if you weren’t woozy from your awakening. I’ve had a bō within reach since before I could walk.”

  Roun grinned back despite the pain. “Is Velle a warrior clan?”

  She nodded and wiped sweat from her face while he did the same. “An old one, but we’re nothing like Rhalgr.” She paused and regarded him for a moment. “Think you can go another round?”

  He swallowed a groan and nodded as he gazed across the arena. Laeshiro and Kamil appeared to be just as miserable, though they still looked better than he felt. He was already bruising and the pain from his wounds lingered. Meanwhile, Sethra and the others had nothing more than what looked like light scrapes.

  Yhul stomped around the arena, maneuvering his giant lance to gesture while speaking with each of them. The exceptions were Oyrivia, who Yhul seemed to ignore, and her partner, the brown-haired boy, who leaned against the arena’s guardrail beside her. Yhul had tried speaking with the boy only to be ignored, but if that had bothered the scribe, he didn’t show it.

  Then again, it was hard for something made of obsidian to show any kind of emotion. Roun shook his head and glanced at the weapons he had selected from the racks.

  “You seemed comfortable with the axe,” Sethra offered. “Here, I’ll use something else, too. Familiarity aside, a bō’s reach is hard to beat.”

  Roun nodded as he eyed the battle axe on the ground while Sethra crouched near their weapons. “My father never enjoyed using anything else, though I guess out in the wild a good axe is as much a tool as a weapon. We used them all the time.”

  “All this chatter must mean you two are ready to try me again.”

  Roun and Sethra both jumped and turned as Yhul’s shadow fell over them. They had learned that the giant could not only watch them all at once but also had uncanny hearing.

  “Select a weapon and prepare yourselves,” Yhul commanded.

  “Can we have another option?” Sethra muttered. “Like throwing ourselves off the tower, maybe?”

  “No.”

  Sethra slumped and let out a long sigh. “Well, it was worth a try.”

  “You,” Yhul said to Roun. “Your skill with the axe impressed me, and you, Sethra, splendidly wield the bō. Neither of you may use them, and Sethra may not wield any polearms at all. One lantern, and I’ll leave.”

  Sethra groaned and picked up a sword while Roun chose a flanged mace. They faced the giant and at Yhul’s sharp command worked together to strike or remove one of the three lanterns hanging from his body—one on each flank and another hanging from his human-like back.

  Yhul hounded them throughout the match, but Roun couldn’t help but sense he was still handicapping himself; the giant’s every movement was fluid and free of wasted effort. It reminded Roun of his father, who, after laughing away Roun’s frustration, had insisted that the honing of foundational skills or even raw talent wasn’t something anyone could teach. Instead, it needed to be hammered into a warrior’s body through countless iterations of practice and many years of experience.

  Yhul’s restraint still didn’t prevent him from battering Roun and Sethra to the ground, though.

  “Recover, and when I return, you will try again,” Yhul said when neither of them could stand. With that, the statue whirled to shout at Kamil and Laeshiro.

  “Ugh,” Sethra moaned. “What’s even the point of this? I know what I’m good with already.”

  “I guess he’s nudging us into thinking about the future,” Roun said after a few gulps of breath. He watched Yhul interrupt Laeshiro and Kamil’s intense duel with his lance. They both grinned up at the giant.

  “What?”

  “He wants us to try different weapons now so we can choose one that pairs well with our arte later,” Roun explained. “There’s a good chance he did also want to see what we were comfortable using, though. That way if someone like you favors a bō despite another weapon being a better fit, he’ll know why.”

  “Wish you had told me that before...” Sethra glanced sidelong at him. “How do you feel?”

  “Like a corpse.”

  “Well, corpses are already dead, so we’ll have you take all his blows next time while I decide whether I want to bother trying for a lantern.”

  Roun snorted. “I think I’m going to reject that plan.”

  “There went my best idea, then. Your turn.”

  They planned their strategy while Yhul circled back to them, but didn’t fare any better than before. Luckily, Yhul’s announcement that their first session of combat training was over spared them from facing him again.

  Roun tried not to weep in joy when the statue instructed them to arrive at the summit before dawn from now on and sent them off to eat a midday meal. They were to gather back at the same chamber Zareus had dismissed them from afterward.

  They made their way to the enormous meal hall where Kamil and Laeshiro joined Sethra and him for a feast containing the most extraordinary food Roun had ever seen. It was all arrayed on magnificent tables set outside the kitchens and kept warm by élanic slabs, and it seemed like anyone could come and take whatever they wanted at whim.

  “We don’t have to pay?” Roun asked.

  “Of course not,” Kamil said. “Boarding and meals should be the least we can expect from Avyleir Library, though they seem happy enough to provide us with whatever we request.”

  “I wouldn't expect anything too expensive or rare until we’ve made it higher in rank,” Laeshiro cheerfully added.

  Sethra eyed the spread of food across the tables. “If this is the lowest paradise, then I’d be happy to die right here.”

  She made Roun hold both of their wooden trays, to his great embarrassment, and stacked them high with all kinds of dishes. The food seemed to be local specialties, a few which he had only dreamed of ever eating before, but many were treats from foreign demesnes.

  Once their haul satisfied Sethra, they walked around until they found one of the long tables that wasn’t too crowded. Sethra and Roun sat side by side, while Kamil and Laeshiro sat across them.

  The meal hall had a high ceiling and was as decorated as the rest of the library. Since it stood at the far east side of the library grounds, it also offered an outer eating area that opened into a garden that made for a serene backdrop despite the clamor.

  It was nothing like scraping a discarded bone clean while crouched in an alleyway, watching for the first sign of trouble.

  Sethra clapped him on the shoulder, startling him.

  “Eat lots!” she said. “We need to get you back to full strength as soon as possible.”

  He glanced down at all the food and frowned.

  “Something you don’t like?” she asked with her own frown. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

  A quick laugh escaped his lips. “No, it’s just… well, a little while ago even having a midday meal was a luxury for me.”

  Being clanless wasn’t the same as being at the bottom rung of society like most believed; it meant you couldn’t be on the ladder at all. That had barred him from most legitimate work and left only things like indentured serv
itude at a mine or wandering as a mercenary like his father had done.

  “I suppose this is all an enormous leap for you in more ways than one,” Laeshiro said.

  Kamil snorted. “Which makes it even more ridiculous that they couldn’t even spare a day to let him take this all in.”

  “No point in worrying over what you’ve already overcome,” Sethra said through a mouthful. “And Kamil’s right; we’re at least owed full bellies, though it’s not like I’m going to give them a choice.” She patted her stomach.

  Roun couldn’t help but laugh. “I like the way you think.”

  “So do I,” she shot back with a grin.

  They ate a pleasant meal together and washed it down with the best tea Roun had ever tasted, though the watery stuff the Guard drank wasn’t difficult to beat. They paired the tea with little circles of crispy, flaky dough lathered in honey and filled with layers of succulent bean paste. The pastries were so delicious that they brought tears to the corners of his eyes, but Sethra still had to threaten Roun to get him to fit them into his belly.

  They returned to the Blue Moon Tower refreshed and found Zareus alone there. Roun threw himself into one of the armchairs arranged in a semicircle to wait; it didn’t take long for Oyrivia to join them, but the brown-haired boy wasn’t with her.

  When Zareus glanced at her, she shrugged. “I don’t know where he is. I’m his partner, not his mother.”

  “We’re going to begin, then,” Zareus said. If he thought anything about the boy’s absence or Oyrivia’s attitude, he didn’t show it any more than Yhul had. “First, let’s cover a few important concepts; ‘artes’ are what we call the spiritual abilities of Grimoires and chimeras. Every Grimoire manifests several throughout their ascension, and each set of artes—aside from the three we’ll discuss in a moment—is unique unless inherited, such as with Kamil inheriting his father’s artes. A Grimoire’s initial ability is often called an awakening arte, and it sets the theme for those that follow. This is also why librarians focus on your awakening arte when they ordain you and grant you your title.”