Descent of Angels by Mitchel Scanlon Page B

line intact.
    Zahariel stabbed and cut as the younger supplicants threatened to overwhelm them and Nemiel did likewise on his blind side. The bout continued for another fifteen minutes, with no sign of the circle formation breaking, and then Amadis called an end to the session.
    Both Zahariel and Nemiel were drenched in sweat, the battle having taken its toll on their reserves of strength. Fighting at such intensity for any length of time was difficult, but fighting at the inner circle was particularly draining.
    Brother Amadis walked amongst the exhausted supplicants as he said, ‘Now you see the benefit of the inner circle and the strength we gain from its presence. Remember this when you go into battle and you cannot fail. It is a truism, but alone we are weak, together we are strong. Each of you will one day face battle and if you cannot look to your brother and know without thinking that you can trust him, then you are lost. Only when such bonds are ironclad do they mean anything, for the moment that trust is not instantly reciprocated the circle breaks and you are dead. Dismissed!’
    The supplicants picked themselves up from the stone floor of the training hall, in ones and twos, wearing linen towels draped around their necks, and nursing tired and battered limbs.
    Nemiel wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve and said, ‘That was a tough one and no mistake.’
    Zahariel nodded, too tired to answer.
    ‘He’s working us hard, eh?’ continued Nemiel. ‘You’d think we were actually about to go into battle or something.’
    ‘You never know,’ said Zahariel at last, ‘we might be. The representatives of the Knights of Lupus are due to arrive later today, and if what I hear is true, we might indeed be making war soon.’
    ‘On the Knights of Lupus?’ asked Attias, coming over with one of his notebooks tucked under his arm.
    ‘It’s what I hear,’ said Zahariel.
    ‘You got all that Brother Amadis said?’ remarked Nemiel as Eliath joined them.
    ‘I did,’ said Attias, ‘give or take a word or two.’
    ‘Maybe if you practised more swordplay instead of scribbling in your books you wouldn’t have left us open to attack,’ said Eliath, though there was no malice in the words, only good-humoured banter.
    ‘And maybe if you weren’t so fat, you’d have been able to avoid their attacks.’
    The boys smiled at the familiar jibes, though they were spoken in jest rather than with malice. In the year since the attack of the winged beast in the forest, the four of them had passed beyond the rancour that had divided them and had become fast friends, the shared near-death experience bringing them closer than anything else could.
    Attias had filled out into a fine figure of a boy, with handsome features, broad shoulders and taut muscles corded around his limbs. Eliath was still the biggest of them, his muscles bulging and powerful, any hint of fat long since burned from his slab-like frame, though he was still the least agile of them.
    ‘Seriously though, you think we might make war on the Knights of Lupus?’ asked Attias.
    ‘I don’t know, maybe,’ said Zahariel, wishing he had not brought the subject up. Brother Amadis had told him that Lord Sartana of the Knights of Lupus was travelling to Aldurukh to protest at the Order’s knights venturing into the Northwilds, and though he had not been told to keep the information to himself, he still felt like he was betraying a confidence in sharing it with his brothers.
    ‘Zahariel, Nemiel, get cleaned up and report to my chambers in fifteen minutes. Full dress surplice, weapons and ceremonial attire.’
    Both boys looked up in puzzlement, surprised at the arrival of Brother Amadis.
    ‘Sir?’ said Nemiel. ‘What’s going on?’
    ‘The Lion wants the best of our supplicants on display when Lord Sartana walks into the Circle Chamber, and you’re it. Now hurry, he’s already here and apparently in no mood to dally. Move!’
    Z AHARIEL SHIFTED NERVOUSLY