“Wake up, Samuel!”

  ? Sam shot to his feet at once at the yell, but, with his legs still tangled in the blanket, stumbled to one side. A hand grabbed the collar of his tunic and caught him, yanking him to one side. He had a brief impression of something silver flashing past his eyes, and then he was pulled again. Something that sounded like metal screeching against metal deafened him. The hand that had stopped him from falling shoved him in yet another direction, and he heard a grunt of pain, accompanied by a slick sort of sound he didn’t recognize. He fell to his hands and knees, still trying to shake off the sleep that had claimed him.

  ? His boy refused to move any quicker, even as an unexpected sense of panic washed over him. So, rather than trying to rise, he crawled away from the sound of screaming metal and men. Except that it seemed to be all around him. Looking around, his foggy mind was slow to take in what was happening around him.

  ? The Mage Guards were moving all around him, their weapons out and fighting men in ragged, poorly kept armor. Bandits, he thought, the panic intensifying. Bandits! That realization finally forced him awake, and he scrambled back to his feet. Just then, the Mage Guard nearest to him fell from a blade shoved into his back. The bandit that delivered that blow let out a cackle of a laugh, then ran at another Mage Guard who was fighting two bandits at once.

  ? “Back! Form a ring around the caravan!” He recognized that voice at once and turned to see Peran dashing toward the outnumbered Mage Guard. As Sam watched, his body blurred, becoming indistinct. Silver lines of light flashed out ahead of him–Sam would only later realize it was the arc of his sword–and cut down two of the bandits, freeing the Mage Guard to take on their newest opponent. Peran moved like a shadow, barely even stirring the leaves upon the ground as he flitted between the fighting Mage Guards, relieving the pressure on them and directing them back toward the horse-drawn carts.

  ? A strangled yell sounded behind Sam, making him spin in place. He saw with a jolt of horror that a Mage Guard behind him had fallen, and when the bandit looked around for another person, he saw Sam. A wicked grin crossed the filthy face, and the bandit stepped over his latest victim, his sword rising to dispatch the unarmed young man.

  ? “Duck!” Sam wasn’t sure who had barked the order, but some instinct in him obeyed at once. He dropped to his hands and knees once more, and a sword flashed through the space where his chest had been a moment before. The bandit was caught by surprise and looked down at the long, deep wound across his chest, the sword already slipping out of his limp hands. He let out a surprised grunt, and Sam saw a gurgle of blood spill out over his bottom lip. He met the bandit’s eyes for a moment, watching as the realization of his death seemed to come over the stranger. Then he fell to his knees, and then sideways, dead.

  ? Sam scrambled forward, scooping up the dropped weapon. He didn’t think for a second that he could make a difference, but he felt safer with the chipped sword in his hands. It was heavy, so he gripped it with two hands and backed toward the caravan with the other Mage Guards. He hoped that he looked threatening enough that no more bandits would challenge him. He let out a yelp of fear as something bumped into his left shoulder and spun, the sword raised, but recognized Merida. She flashed her teeth at him.

  ? “You’re welcome to try, young Sam,” she said with a bark of laughter. “But you’ll fall even faster than that idiot did.”

  ? He lowered the sword, flushing furiously. He couldn’t believe he’d been about to attack an ally. The chaos of the battle was deafening him and rendering his brain unable to process new information. “What’s going on?”

  ? “Isn’t it obvious?” She shouted, stepping forward to intercept another charging bandit. They exchanged a few rapid blows, the steel sending sparks before Merida rammed her blade through the man’s chest. He fell without a scream, and she jumped back to avoid another strike. “Damn, there’s a lot of them. Never seen a band this big, so far away from a city. Glad we got him with us, though.”

  ? Sam followed her quick glance and saw Peran advancing from the side. His sword swung out three times, cutting down two other bandits. Each attack was faster than Sam could perceive. Like a crowd of children against a war god, he thought. How did a mage become so skilled with a sword?

  ? One bandit did slip past Peran’s attention, either ignored or out of his reach. He ran straight toward Sam, his sword moving to strike. He retreated, letting Merida deal with it. Except that Merida was busy with another bandit to the left. Sam gritted his teeth and made a wild swipe with the sword in his hands. His foot slipped on some mud beneath him, and he lost his footing entirely, falling flat, the sword flying off in a random direction. The bandit still advanced with a laugh, his sword now arcing down to stab at him.

  ? Sam reacted purely on instinct, throwing his hands up. Without a weapon of steel, his magic rushed to his defense, and a burst of raw mana flashed out. It did little more than stagger the bandit–and the two Mage Guard closest to him, but it had saved him from that first attack. He rolled to one side, trying to gain some distance before the next strike came. Except it never did. The bandit went unexpectedly still, his body jerking as if in a seizure. Sam saw the lightning coursing over his body before he fell to his face, splashing into the mud. Only then did he see the small hole in his back, where a spell had burned its way through the thick leather.

  ? Another hand grabbed his collar, hauling him to his feet. Through the haze of tears that the panic had brought on, he saw Peran looking him up and down, checking him over. He nodded, as if satisfied. “Well, at least you attacked somehow. Better than cowering.”

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  ? “How many bandits are there?” He wasn’t sure why that was the first question that tumbled from his mouth. “H-How many of our guards…”

  ? He couldn’t finish the question because the thought of the answer terrified him. Peran snorted and shoved him back in the direction of the carts. “None, now. And we haven’t counted yet. Now wash yourself off. We’ll be setting out soon.”

  ? He stumbled into Merida, who was at least more pitying. She led him by his arm to the edge of the campsite and handed him a canteen. “Splash that over your face, lad. Get the worst of it off.”

  ? He hesitated at first to follow her order, instead looking her up and down. Her tunic was slick with blood in several places. She wasn’t wearing her armor, he noticed. So she’d probably been asleep when the attack started. Still, she’d reacted better than he had and had cut down two bandits that he had seen. “Are you… Are you okay?”

  ? She looked down at her front, grinning. “Don’t worry, lad, none of it’s mine. I’ve been a warrior a little too long for some country bandit to get the better of me. Now wash.”

  ? She forced his hand up to splash the mildly chilled water over his head, and he swiped at the mud with his other hand, properly clearing his face. He gasped at the temperature and backed away, spluttering once his face was clear. “By the Maiden, that’s cold!”

  ? Merida only cackled at that, and Sam flinched slightly, remembering the cackle of the other bandit as he’d killed a Mage Guard. How had the day started so badly? He hunched his shoulders as he looked around, then immediately regretted the action. There were far too many bodies on the ground for his liking, their blood spreading out and staining the earth in a nasty dark color. He tried to look elsewhere, but in all directions, the signs of the battle were visible. Even closing his eyes didn’t help, because he could smell the blood.

  ? “What’s the final count?” The commander of the Mage Guard was speaking nearby.

  ? “Eighteen.” That was Peran. “We have two dead and four injured. Martin likely won’t last long enough to reach High Thael.”

  ? Sam heard Merida let out a muttered curse at the mention of Martin’s fate. He’d just been talking to the man last night, discussing nothing of note. And now, his life was possibly ending? Without warning, his stomach lurched violently, and the world spun around him. He barely managed to aim for the edge of the trees as he vomited, falling to his hands and knees again.

  ? “Honestly, took ya longer than I thought it would,” Merida said. Her tone was soft and comforting. Almost like a mother’s, and the soothing nature of it pushed him over the edge. The fear that he’d kept tamped down burst out of him in a sob even as he threw up again. He could tell the others were aware of his state, but hoped they weren’t paying too much attention to the pitiful sight. Merida stayed by him, still rubbing his back.

  ? “You did well, lad,” she said warmly. “For a boy that never saw death, you didn’t panic. You obeyed orders and even fought back. That’s nothin’ to be ashamed of, Sam.”

  ? He nodded weakly, unable to conjure the words to reply. He knew he was still filthy, but couldn’t muster the energy to do anything about it. Time lost all meaning as he fell back, wrapping his arms around his knees and curling into himself. All he knew was the grief and fear leaking out of him. Where the others had given their blood, this was the best he could manage. And all the while, Merida stayed with him. Where he thought she might be repulsed or angry at his weakness, she merely comforted him, whispering that he’d done better than expected.

  ? But Sam knew the truth. He knew what Peran would be thinking. His first real test, and he’d failed. Yes, he hadn’t been wounded. And he had fought back. But his magic was too weak. He’d barely staggered the bandit, and now, he was on the ground, curled into a ball like a child. He tried to fight back the fear, but it seemed the harder he resisted, the heavier it pressed down upon him.

  ? Finally, after what seemed like hours, Sam’s eyes dried, and he lifted his head. He was moderately surprised to find the sun just barely peaking over the horizon, its golden light bathing the sight of the battle. He forced himself to look at the bodies again, though much of the shock could no longer reach him. The metal and blood glimmered with a strangely beautiful sheen as the sun hit them. Not enough to cover the horror of the scene, but strangely resonant–the imagery that would last with him for years to come.

  ? And, as the numbness began to fade, taking with it the fear and grief, a new and wholly unexpected emotion arose within him. An emotion so strong that he even shook off Merida’s comforting hand. Anger. Anger at the bandits for what they had done. For their actions that had caused so much death. For whatever force in the world that drove men into such deeds. And with himself. For being so weak. If he had taken his lessons seriously, he might have achieved something today, besides his pitiful showing and breaking down at the edge of the camp.

  ? He had to be better. He *would* do better. The thought of the sword Peran had given him came to mind. He knew now why it wasn’t steel. What would he know of the weapon? It was a child’s toy, fit for a child who knew nothing of fighting. It fit him perfectly. But he’d wear this shame, he decided. He’d allow it to sink deep into him and collect it like his mana. It would be fuel for his conviction. Before he reached High Thael, he’d show Peran that he was more than a child. He would not be weak. He would *not* be weak.

  ? Sam, the boy, the farmhand who dreamed of magic, the innocent child who’d grown up knowing only chores and his mother’s books, was dead. He wasn’t wounded in this fight, but where he’d escaped death, he left behind something like his old self. He buried it as he did the dead bandits, when the order was given to collect and settle the dead in the earth. Then he stood as a silent witness with the others, as someone recited the prayers of the Church, passing the souls along to their next life.

  ? The fire of conviction burning brightly inside him now, he forced himself to look at the unmoving bodies one last time. This would not be the last battle he saw; he was sure of it. He scooped up his belt from beside the dim fire and buckled it on, sliding the sword into its proper place. He’d put up with the weapon for now, while he earned his steel. He had much to learn.