Loopbreaker

The dining hall was loud and chaotic as men and the occasional group of women ate dinner.

Francis had simply followed the crowd when the bell sounded, chuckling to himself when Derrek hadn’t appeared like the rest.

God, that felt so good…

Multiple stations with a variety of food were set up. Having simply copied the rest, Francis had two plates filled with different meats, vegetables, fruits, and bread.

He found a table off away from most of the others and sat down, content to consume the food before him.

Halfway through, a figure he had assumed would show up approached. Next to it was one he would have bet money on being with it.

While Derrek was well built and carried himself with all the patience of a bull surrounded by heifers, Aiden was the pinnacle of calm grace. His stride matched his taller, lean frame. Two blue eyes were set on Francis as Derrek and Aiden approached. Other students scrambled out of the way of the pair as quickly as possible.

Choosing not to stand, Francis waited, noticing the sound in the dining hall getting quieter the closer they got.

I swear I don’t need another pecker-wagging contest…

Unlike Derrek, Aiden had barely involved himself with any of the Lancaster children. Being heir to the family, Aiden had other things to worry about. Once, Francis’ oldest brother had told him he was nothing but a bug. If anyone here understood tact, it was his oldest brother. But Francis also knew the dark side Aiden kept hidden. Multiple boys had died to his blade. While Derrek would come at you, Aiden would set you up and then cut you down, all under the protection of the law.

“Francis.”

“Aiden.”

Hearing his name from a pair of lips he was certain had said it maybe five times in his life felt funny.

“I take it the rumors are true?” Aiden asked, frowning.

“I’m not sure which one you’re referring to. But if it's the one where Derrek threw up all over himself in the hall, then yes, that one is.”

“You little–” Derrek started.

A hand stopped the charging bull, and whatever glance the two of them shared, Derrek backed down instantly, though he didn’t hide how his body shook at whatever feelings he was suppressing.

Aiden sighed and pitched the ridge of his nose. “No… that story will sully our family name. What I’m asking about is the rumor that General Stenson himself has backed you and that is why you are here.”

“It’s true,” Francis replied, smiling.

His brother’s lips tightened momentarily, those icy eyes studying him. Francis was certain that if someone dropped a silver mark, it would sound like a thunderclap with how silent the room was. His older brother leaned against the opposite side of the table.

“And why would the General do that?”

“Because some people don’t care about birth order? Perhaps he saw something in me? Or maybe it’s because I have dangerous secrets he doesn’t want to be exposed. Regardless, it’s true. Why does it matter?”

A few chuckles came from those around them, and his oldest brother gave the closest ones a look that silenced them.

“You…,” Aiden started, pausing before leaning closer, “do you have any idea what being here has done to our family name?”

“I don’t give a pile of steaming crap about our family name,” Francis replied, pushing his chair back and standing. “The family hasn’t done right by me or Michael. So, if you're here to ask me to leave or anything else, forget it. I’m not leaving until I’m ready to.”

He could feel Aiden's controlled rage as his brother stared at him, both of them locked in a battle of wills.

“That is… unfortunate. You do realize that many here suffer horrible injuries.”

“I do, which is why I told Derrek if he screws with me ever again, I’m going to break his jaw.”

Laughter erupted from one table, and even when his oldest brother glared at them, the six men at the table, all similar in age to Aiden, didn’t back down.

“We’re going to talk. Just you and me. Know that,” Aiden said.

“I’m not hiding.”

Fingers drummed against the table before his oldest brother turned and started to walk away.

“What? That’s it? I–” Derrek roared.

Aiden grabbed Derrek’s shoulder and pulled him close to whisper something that cut off whatever complaint was being raised.

Noise immediately rose in the room as the pair walked away.

This content has been misappropriated from NovelFire; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

About ten seconds later, a short but squat young man stood where Francis’ brother had been, tray of half-eaten food in hand.

“Can I join you?”

Sighing, Francis nodded and sat down on his chair.

“I’m Tharen. Welcome to your first day at the Spires. If I’m honest, you’ve done way better than most on their first day.”

“Thanks, I think,” Francis replied, studying the dark-haired man across from him.

He was easily about three inches shorter than Francis, but his arms were about as wide as Francis’s legs, and those shoulders had mountains growing on them.

“I can tell you’re checking me out. Everyone does,” Tharen said, flexing his arm. “What can I say, I like the physical side of things. Spend a lot of time moving heavy stuff and eating everything in sight and you can look like me in a few years.”

Francis scoffed and shook his head. “Do you really believe we have a few years? I mean, there’s a war out there and if something doesn’t change, the kingdom will fall.”

Tharen frowned and shook his head slowly. “I… I don’t think that’s true. The King will either win or retreat here. Even if the enemy reaches the capital, we’ll be fine. Ain’t nothing going to breach the Ringwall. Trust me.”

Francis set down the piece of bread he had been ready to eat and tried to absorb what he had just heard.

“You really don’t think it’s that bad? Do you have any idea how many people have died in the last year? Six months tops, and then the army will fall. If our enemies surround the capital, how will you support all the people here? What will you do for food? Clean water? I mean, what about those outside Caereenal? What happens to them?”

“The advisors and teachers say it’s not that bad. What makes you think you're right?”

“Because I was there!” Francis shouted, banging a fist on the table.

People looked in their direction, and he realized he had been louder than he’d intended.

“Listen, I’ve watched the soldiers die. I’ve seen the beasts we fight. Do you have any idea what they can do to a soldier?”

“I call bull,” Tharen replied, leaning back in his chair and giving him the stink eye. “Aint no way it's that bad--the instructors say it isn’t. You’re telling me that everyone here is lying?”

Francis was about to open his mouth and then stopped. A tingling sensation washed over him; across the giant dining room, he saw someone he hadn’t expected to see again for some time. Kaelith appeared to be frowning, eyes locked on him.

“All I can say is I’m here to get stronger,” Francis stated. “The size of one’s arms isn’t the only way to measure power.”

Blowing a raspberry, the stocky man stood and grabbed his tray. “All you Lancasters are alike. Crazy.”

Watching the man return to the table from which he had come, Francis ignored the looks and stares he received from others. No one else approached his table, and that suited him just fine.

***

“It appears we have a new student in our class,” the instructor said, nodding to Francis. “Welcome to Basic Fighting Techniques. I’m Captain Lucan, and what I say goes. Do you understand?”

Francis nodded and a few chuckles came from the other students. All of them, except Francis, were already wearing armor.

Gods, Derrek is an arse… of course he wouldn’t tell me to come dressed.

“We’re going to pair up and spar with shields.”

About a third of the fifty students gathered groaned and the Captain shrugged.

“I know… It’s not flashy but today we’re focusing on using a shield correctly. I’m going to be occasionally swapping out with your partner. Today, I want you to try and focus on getting the ability you want. Remember, it takes hours upon hours of intense concentration and fighting to unlock them and most of you, if you’re lucky, will have one by next year. Those who are truly gifted will have two by graduation.”

Two in ten years? Just how hard is it to get skills? And what’s the crap about thinking about the skill you want?

“I’ll pair you off. No trading till I say--stop switching spots, you fools.”

Some chuckles came from a few in line who were moving every other person away from each other.

As the instructor moved down the line, Francis tried to think about his acquired skills and how he’d gotten them.

I suppose I took this approach for Strong Bones… Same with Brawling. I mean, after I knew it was possible and there had to be some--

“Two!” the captain shouted, breaking his train of thought.

Blinking, Francis nodded.

“You'd best get dressed instead of standing here, Mr. Lancaster. Trust me when I say the armor helps when you get struck, and you’ll want all the help you can have.”

“Uh yes, sir!”

Unsure if the man's knowledge of his name was good or bad, Francis dropped his backpack to the ground and started pulling out the padded armor, quickly getting ready.

***

“Go!”

A loud gong sounded and twenty-five pairs of students started attacking each other in the ten-by-ten squares they had been placed in.

His opponent wasn’t charging as some did; instead, the older teen was holding his ground, shield and sword at the ready.

“Truburn! No skill comes from standing still!”

As the captain’s voice rang out over the fighting nearby, Francis’ opponent moved forward, weapon slashing in a low-to-high attack before thrusting out with his shield.

Francis parried and blocked, letting himself get pushed backwards a little to minimize the force and get a feel for his opponent. Attacks came in combinations Francis had seen Kels use a few times in his early training.

Truburn or whatever the boy's name was didn’t use his hips as much as Francis had expected, but the attacks came with fervor. Even better was how often a kick or shield strike came.

“Lancaster! Stop taking it easy on him! Do something!”

Not wanting to get on the instructor’s bad side, Francis obeyed the captain’s orders and attacked. He knew he was far stronger and faster, and without making it look too bad, he had the young man on his back, the tip of his sword to the boy's chest in a dozen or so strikes.

“I yield!”

Nodding, Francis sheathed his sword and held out a hand.

“You… don’t belong here,” Truburn said.

“What do you mean?” Francis asked.

“The Captain is right. You were toying with me. For a moment, I thought I could hit you or overpower you, and then I realized that you were not even trying. Just how good are you?”

“You going to tell me your skills and their levels first?” Francis asked.

His opponent winced. “Sorry… I got a little carried away. Names Truburn.”

“Francis.”

“Yeah… we all know. Seems all you white-haired ones are freaks of nature. I mean… did you really make your brother puke from a single punch?”

Chuckling, Francis nodded.

“What in the world are you two doing?” the captain called out. “You’re here to train, not to kiss and tell stories!”

Francis spun and found the instructor glaring at him.

“Draw your sword, Lancaster. Let me see what the General sent me.”

The Captain whistled and a gong sounded.

“Back up! We’ll use nine squares for this. You all pay attention, and someone get two healers over here now!”

Francis wanted to smile, but he knew that whatever happened, a beating was likely about to ensue. He stretched his shoulders, keeping his eyes on the instructor and moving to where the Captain now stood.

“Rules are simple. Hit me and don’t bleed too much,” Lucan said. “I’m going to test you and push you--most likely punish you as well. If you've got a skill, use it. Don’t go for my neck, head, or heart and I won’t go for yours. Got it?”

Nodding, Francis set his feet, wondering what kind of fighter the Captain was.

“Begin!” the man shouted.