The Wielder Trials. Franca Ogbonnaya
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with air-white edges.
Britea found her gaze straying back to the leader, whose features looked familiar.
“Do I know you?”
The leader frowned. “I certainly doubt it. One such as you would never have access to the circle I run with. The question is, who are you?”
Britea was a bit stunned by her haughty tone. “I’m…I’m new.”
The blond rolled her eyes. “Nice name, ‘I’m new.’” Her friends laughed as Britea’s confusion turned to anger.
“My name is Britea D’Tranell. I just joined the college over the weekend.”
“So,” said the brunette, “she’s a nobody. She definitely looks like one.”
“Wait,” the blond said as she studied Britea with narrowed eyes. “I’ve seen you before. Lianne, this was the peasant girl I saw at the front door a few days ago. She’s the one who kept us from getting in on time.” Her tone was frigid.
Lianne turned back to Britea as she crossed her hands.
“Let me guess, you got rejected from one of the other colleges and came here? Or you’re another Weltonian loser trying to learn something?”
Britea’s eyes narrowed. “No, I’m just a late wielder form Weldaros.”
The three girls stared at her in shock.
“A late wielder?” asked the brunette in disbelief.
“You’re lying,” said Lianne.
Britea glared at the leader. “Why would I do that? What do I gain by lying?”
“Little, I suppose,” said the blond, a sly glint in her eyes. “However, you can prove you’re being honest by wielding for us.”
Britea blinked. That was the most stupid suggestion she’d heard in a while. The three girls looked like they were waiting for a trained pet to perform.
“No.”
Lianne blinked. She was probably not used to being denied.
“What?”
“I said no. I wear the uniform with my wielding marker, so that should be enough for you. Besides, according to the Creed, we’re not allowed to wield without supervision.”
Lianne went pale with rage. “Do you know who I am? I’m Lady Lianne Arkei, related to—”
“King Wilhem,” finished a stunned Britea. “You’re Lady Selina’s sister?” No wonder she looked familiar. Lady Lianne Arkei bore a striking resemblance to the arrogant but beautiful wielder who had looked down on Britea when they had met at sea.
The young noblewoman was even more incensed at Britea’s words. “How do you know my sister?”
Britea’s shock disappeared, only to be replaced by a cold rage as she recalled how the older sister had humiliated her. “Oh, we’ve met.” She didn’t bother to hide her anger.
Lianne walked up to her, eyes blazing. “You will wield, at my command.”
Britea stood her ground. “No.”
Lianne’s right hand balled up in a fist. Britea braced herself and she tightened her hold on her bag of books. She could already envision swinging it at the noblewoman.
“Shouldn’t you all be in class?”
The startled students turned to face the newcomer. He was of average height, lean with iron-grey hair in a plait framing a scarred face with chestnut-brown, almond-shaped eyes. He wore a walnut-brown leather jacket over form-fitting, similarly colored pants with knee-high boots. Britea’s gaze was drawn to the earth-brown edgings of his jacket. Wait, his outfit wasn’t that of a student! Was he an instructor?
“Master Caren,” began Lianne. Britea’s eyes widened when she heard the name. Lianne continued. “I was just explaining to the new wielder the rules around here when she insulted—”
“I asked if you shouldn’t all be in class?” interrupted the instructor in an even but commanding tone. It didn’t take Britea long to see the students were intimidated by the oddly attired master.
“We were on our way to class,” the blond one hastily answered, “but she,” she pointed a finger at Britea, “delayed us so—”
“Which class?” demanded Master Caren in the same mild tone.
“History,” replied Lianne with a sullen look.
“Then get to it.”
The three glanced at Britea, clearly wondering why she wasn’t being admonished. Master Caren kept staring at them until they finally beat a hasty retreat.
Master Caren turned back to Britea.
“I’m Britea D’Tranell and I’m…new.”
Caren smiled, his scarred features softening. “I know. I’m Weapons Master Pietor Caren.” He looked at her bag. “Your stance needs some work, especially if you were trying to swing a bag that heavy at your opponent. But, I’m sure you know fighting between students is a grave offense, so, it is fortunate that didn’t occur today.”
Britea felt her face go red. She felt it would be wise to keep silent.
“Warden Asteros told me all about you.”
Wait, what? Should she be worried?
“I trust I shall see you applying for the combat and defense class?”
“Um, yes?” said Britea, hoping her reply would make him leave her alone.
His smile widened. “Good. Then let’s proceed in that direction.”
“You mean now?” asked a startled Britea.
“No time like the present,” answered Master Caren cheerfully as he indicated the path they would take.
Filled with dread, she fell in step.
“You’ve had your first assessment for class placement?”
“Yes, Master Caren.”
“‘Sir’ will do.”
“Yes, sir,” said Britea nervously.
“How did it go?”
“Not as well as I would have liked, sir.”
Master Caren nodded. “Good.”
She shot him a stunned look.
“You’ve realized your limitations, and I can see you’re preparing for the next engagement.” He glanced again at the heavy bag she was carrying.
“Uh, I got books from the library,” she hastened to explain.
The weapons master chuckled. “Clearly. What is the Creed?”
Britea was thrown by the sudden question. “It’s…uh, the…” She struggled to recall the recitation “…any wielder must submit themselves to one of the three colleges for training. Exemptions: Weltonians. That is the Creed the public knows.”
Master Caren glanced at her, and she hurried on. “But for wielders both new and old, there is a more extensive Creed.” She took a deep breath and recited:
A wielder must be trained by a registered college. Exemptions: Weltonians.
A wielder must never use their talent to harm or kill except in self-defense.
A wielder must always endeavor to serve the people of Malaquey by fulfilling a Year of Discovery.
A wielder must never divulge the secrets of the colleges or wielder training to any outsiders.