Salamin paced the courtyard nestled within the Keep, waiting for their instructor to return. Besides the door on the side, stone walls towered on every side, making the courtyard feel more a prison than a peaceful retreat.

  Elian remained silent in the corner, and the only sound was the trickle of the water in the pool. Caden had been gone a while, and already the sun was lower in the sky.

  Saban had promised revenge, and Salamin had to be ready. Salamin’s pulse quickened when the outside door creaked open.

  Caden came back into the courtyard with his head bowed, eyes on the ground. Their instructor, Saban, followed him into the courtyard, eyes narrowed as he regarded Salamin.

  “Initiate Sedwick, your turn.” He motioned for him to follow.

  Salamin eyed him, then stepped forward. Behind him, Caden slumped to the ground, his back against a stone wall, eyes closed.

  “Hurry,” Saban said as he held the door for Salamin and motioned for him to go first.

  Footsteps echoed in the hall as they walked together in silence to the Keep’s entrance.

  Saban stopped suddenly. Salamin had to step aside to keep from running in to him.

  The Mage faced him directly, cold eyes assessing, and penetrating. “Why are you here?” He placed a finger on his lips and tapped. “You have no abilities that I can see. And yet…”

  Salamin stood still, holding his breath.

  Saban continued. “Even Caden has power. And with you, none. You are weak,” he paused. “And yet you killed one of our own.” He grabbed Salamin’s right wrist, his long fingers locking on his pulse.

  It was an old trick, seeing inside with the pulse to take a measure of a man. Salamin stood still, hoping the disguise held true.

  With a flick of his hand, Saban released his grip and frowned. “I can’t get a read on you.” His eyes narrowed. “Perhaps there is only one way. Follow me.” Saban continued down the hal.

  Reluctantly, Salamin followed him, and he led into a hidden corridor beside the dining hall. Narrow circular steps led upward into the darkness. Salamin followed the mage, trying to gauge what he was up to. The steps went on for what felt like eternity, and Salamin was out of breath. He looked down, and it was a long drop to the bottom.

  Saban raised his hand and chanted a few words. A door above them cracked open with a click. Light poured onto the steps from the opening. Holding his hand to his eyes to shield himself from the low sun, Saban opened the door.

  Salamin stepped out behind him onto the brick rooftop of the Keep. Below, the town of Parmouth sprawled out into the distant hills. Blood Road stretched to the south and disappeared within the jagged peaks

  Salamin froze when he heard a sword sliding out of its sheath. He turned, and Saban was pointing a sword directly at his neck.

  Raising his hands, Salamin swallowed and glanced at the door. There was no way he could escape down those steps unharmed.

  “This is for my brother Stefan. He was young, but he was destined to become something. He was powerful enough to make easy work of you.” The sword reflected the sun into Salamin’s eyes, and he turned away in pain.

  “And yet, an unbound commoner defeats him in an uneven battle. Kills him.” The sword inched closer to Salamin’s neck. “There’s a sword over there. Take it. “

  Salamin backed away towards the stone smoke stack on the roof. He saw a glint of metal near the base. He checked it with his left hand and felt no power. Of course it would be unspelled.

  Saban took off his robe, revealing a black tunic with red trim worn by the Order during the Northern Wars. No, Saban was too young to see battle.

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  Salamin gripped the sword in his left hand. It was a one-handed weapon, and already he was at a disadvantage. He turned slowly to face Saban.

  The mage stood in a classic ready stance, his sword held outward and ready. Those gray eyes watched Salamin’s every movement.

  “It’s time for a mistake to be rectified,” Saban said. “Killing you will give the Initiates the blood they need to open the first gate. It’s the least you can do.” His blade danced before Salamin’s eyes. “I can do this the quick way or the hard way, it is up to you.”

  Salamin kept quiet. Words were a distraction. Salamin brought his sword forward in a lowered position, a mistake most beginners made. He wanted to put Saban at ease and think he was indeed an easy kill.

  “I don’t see your fear,” Saban said. The mage circled Salamin slowly, assessing his strengths. “Good instincts are no match for skill.”

  With that last word, his sword came forward towards Salamin’s weak side, aiming for his right shoulder and slicing down.

  Salamin reached with his left hand and deflected the blow. The swords met with a light clang, and he could sense the power flowing through it. This was not his brother’s sword that increased the mage’s strength. A golden light surged through the sword and down into Salamin before he could switch hands. Salamin felt the power surge through his veins, and with each moment that it touched, he felt his limb turn to stone.

  If he used the moonpath, the shield Aleda provided could be broken. Salamin had no choice. The moon was currently full. He could use it. “Getore!” he cried and saw a silver stream of light leave his hand.

  The painful surge of energy stopped, but his left arm was still incapacitated. Salamin flipped the sword to his right hand.

  The mage stepped back, puzzled, and he looked at his sword and back to Salamin.

  Aleda’s spell was broken, at least for the moment, and a green hazy field was visible before Salamin’s eyes. It was her spell, and now Saban could see it too.

  “You,” he said slowly.

  Salamin raised his sword and gazed back at the entrance. He had to keep Saban on the rooftop, or his cover was blown.

  “How did you get past Paxton, and the others?” Saban took a cautious step forward. “Already bound to a path. A dead path.” His features relaxed. “The Order will indeed take an interest in you.” The tip of his sword pointed at Salamin’s chest. “And I will reap the rewards of the capture. An enemy infiltrating our ranks.”

  Salamin remained still, keeping his sword in a defensive posture. He didn’t want to kill the man in front of him. A young mage with limited skills and some potential. It was a waste.

  “Surrender,” Saban said, “and I won’t harm you.”

  Too much was at stake here. Salamin shook his head and raised his sword higher. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Then you will die a painful death.” He circled Salamin, watching and waiting for a sign of weakness. Finally, he lunged. “For Stefan!” he yelled, and hit Salamin’s sword out of position, going in for the kill. It was a classic move, and Salamin was ready for it.

  The mage had the skills but not the experience. Even with his right hand, Salamin easily parried the different attacks. He had gained strength even in his weaker arm and hand in the last few weeks, and he concentrated on keeping his grip strong. Saban’s attacks were all classic teachings of position 1, 2 and 3, and some combinations. All easily predicted by the mage’s foot placements.

  Saban scowled, as he stepped back and reassessed. It wasn’t working, and his eyes flared with irritation. Once again, he lunged, this time the attack reckless and primal. There was no form, and it left his weak side open and vulnerable.

  Salamin attacked in a swift volley. He’d fought larger opponents on the battlefield, and knew his own weaknesses. Within several strikes, he had Saban on his heels, moving back.

  It was then that Saban realized he was outmatched. His eyes widened, and a look of horror invaded his eyes. The attacks were more frantic and undisciplined.

  The edge grew nearer, and Salamin upped the intensity, going through the moves his own master had taught him. And taught Haldar. The thought of Haldar sent a fury through Salamin. A fire lit that he had not felt in a long time. It was the spark that had fueled his survival in the war.

  Saban could not keep up. His classical lessons did not have an answer to this, and kept stepping back, parrying what he could, and ducking and moving back. Several of Salamin’s blows had landed and wounded Saban’s weak shoulder side. Saban winced, his eyes widening in growing panic.

  Everything Salamin had gone through, the suffering from Haldar’s curse and Cion’s betrayal, it all came crashing down in that moment. Salamin lunged, and Saban barely blocked, when he lost balance.

  Saban teetered on the edge for a brief moment and tried to correct.

  Salamin blinked, and the fury, anger and power ceased. He came back to himself. He reached out for Saban’s arm, trying to right him, but it was too late.

  The mage tumbled backwards and fell. A scream filled the air, then a sickening thud.Salamin peered over the edge to see his body, still and lifeless, on the side of the Keep.

  Pausing on the rooftop, Salamin gazed at the doorway leading back down. Somehow, someway, he’d need to explain this. He looked down at his hands. The second time he’d killed a mage. He would need to explain to Paxton and the others.

  He peered down again at Saban lying dead, sprawled on the ground below, still clutching his sword.

  Salamin closed his eyes. In his moment of anger, he might have ruined everything.