do.”
One of the warriors coughed out a laugh, but the look on Gilad’s face was enough to silence him. Cal’s feet begged him to take a step back but his heart refused, demanding that he hold his ground.
Bannon wedged his large frame in between them. “Cal has a point. Stop the drums!”
Gilad turned from Cal to glare at Bannon, but didn’t say anything further and stalked away.
“Novices!” Bannon roared. “Pick your weapons! For this last trial, you will conduct a raid on the Fallen. In order to achieve warrior status, you must make at least one kill each.”
“Any rules we need to be aware of?” Cal asked.
“Only one. Don’t die.”
Who knew the Faedin had such a sense of humor? Cal thought with a wry twist to his lips.
Stassi strode to a crude stand that held several bows, swords and wicked-looking spears. “Is this all we have?” she asked aloud, running her hand over the lethal metal.
Bannon frowned. “Many of our weapons have come up missing. Julius has ordered a search of the village.”
“How strange,” she murmured.
“But nothing for novices to concern themselves with,” the warrior chided. “Choose a weapon!”
Since Stassi already had her long bow in hand, Cal moved past her to choose one for himself. He picked out a bow and bounced it in his hand to judge its heft and length. Deciding it would do, he hitched it over his shoulder and filled a quiver full of arrows.
Abram and Leeah both chose swords and began to put them through a variety of practice parries and thrusts.
Cal gestured them closer and bent down to one knee to untie the sack he carried.
“What do you have there?” Abram asked, sheathing his sword in a scabbard at his hip.
Cal pulled out a strip of leather four inches wide. “Here. Take this.”
The Faedin took what was offered, examined the dangling straps and then opened his eyes wide in admiration.
“Tie it around your neck. It will be hard for the Fallen to bite through the leather and, if nothing else, might give you a few precious seconds to defend yourself.”
“Where did you get these?” Stassi asked while she tied hers on.
“Eduard. The clothier. I asked him to make them earlier.”
“Very smart, human,” Leeah admitted with a smile.
A smile. Cal noticed the Faedin were doing that more and more, but before he could think too much on it, Bannon gave the signal.
“Novices! Go!”
Without further discussion, the three Faedin took off in a powerful, graceful run. Cal quickly tied his quiver around his waist and plunged into the woods after them, wishing he had brought a flashlight. By the time he hit the main trail, they had all disappeared.
He took the same trail on the left that he had taken last time, but instead of searching the ground for tracks, he looked for a tree to sit in. It was as much for the height advantage as for his concern that all the noise made by the Faedin drums had spooked the Fallen from their hiding places. If he was lucky, one would stumble below him.
And then what? his conscience pricked at him.
I’ll do what I have to do.
Kill?
Yes.
What other choice did he have if he wanted the Faedin to accept him?
He shoved away his annoying thoughts and found a tree with low branches. The ease with which he pulled himself up into the limbs surprised him. Out of curiosity, he unzipped his coat and looked down. The faint marker stain couldn’t hide the rippling muscle across his stomach. He hissed in surprise and ran a hand across his newly defined chest and the biceps that bulged with strength. It made him wonder just how much bigger he would get. By the length of his sweatpants, he judged himself to be close to six feet now — six inches taller than before he ate the Faedin meat!
He shuddered, scooted in close to the trunk of the tree and removed an arrow from the quiver. As he nocked it to the string, he cocked an ear outward. All he heard were the normal ambient sounds of the forest — the buzzing insects, the
One of the warriors coughed out a laugh, but the look on Gilad’s face was enough to silence him. Cal’s feet begged him to take a step back but his heart refused, demanding that he hold his ground.
Bannon wedged his large frame in between them. “Cal has a point. Stop the drums!”
Gilad turned from Cal to glare at Bannon, but didn’t say anything further and stalked away.
“Novices!” Bannon roared. “Pick your weapons! For this last trial, you will conduct a raid on the Fallen. In order to achieve warrior status, you must make at least one kill each.”
“Any rules we need to be aware of?” Cal asked.
“Only one. Don’t die.”
Who knew the Faedin had such a sense of humor? Cal thought with a wry twist to his lips.
Stassi strode to a crude stand that held several bows, swords and wicked-looking spears. “Is this all we have?” she asked aloud, running her hand over the lethal metal.
Bannon frowned. “Many of our weapons have come up missing. Julius has ordered a search of the village.”
“How strange,” she murmured.
“But nothing for novices to concern themselves with,” the warrior chided. “Choose a weapon!”
Since Stassi already had her long bow in hand, Cal moved past her to choose one for himself. He picked out a bow and bounced it in his hand to judge its heft and length. Deciding it would do, he hitched it over his shoulder and filled a quiver full of arrows.
Abram and Leeah both chose swords and began to put them through a variety of practice parries and thrusts.
Cal gestured them closer and bent down to one knee to untie the sack he carried.
“What do you have there?” Abram asked, sheathing his sword in a scabbard at his hip.
Cal pulled out a strip of leather four inches wide. “Here. Take this.”
The Faedin took what was offered, examined the dangling straps and then opened his eyes wide in admiration.
“Tie it around your neck. It will be hard for the Fallen to bite through the leather and, if nothing else, might give you a few precious seconds to defend yourself.”
“Where did you get these?” Stassi asked while she tied hers on.
“Eduard. The clothier. I asked him to make them earlier.”
“Very smart, human,” Leeah admitted with a smile.
A smile. Cal noticed the Faedin were doing that more and more, but before he could think too much on it, Bannon gave the signal.
“Novices! Go!”
Without further discussion, the three Faedin took off in a powerful, graceful run. Cal quickly tied his quiver around his waist and plunged into the woods after them, wishing he had brought a flashlight. By the time he hit the main trail, they had all disappeared.
He took the same trail on the left that he had taken last time, but instead of searching the ground for tracks, he looked for a tree to sit in. It was as much for the height advantage as for his concern that all the noise made by the Faedin drums had spooked the Fallen from their hiding places. If he was lucky, one would stumble below him.
And then what? his conscience pricked at him.
I’ll do what I have to do.
Kill?
Yes.
What other choice did he have if he wanted the Faedin to accept him?
He shoved away his annoying thoughts and found a tree with low branches. The ease with which he pulled himself up into the limbs surprised him. Out of curiosity, he unzipped his coat and looked down. The faint marker stain couldn’t hide the rippling muscle across his stomach. He hissed in surprise and ran a hand across his newly defined chest and the biceps that bulged with strength. It made him wonder just how much bigger he would get. By the length of his sweatpants, he judged himself to be close to six feet now — six inches taller than before he ate the Faedin meat!
He shuddered, scooted in close to the trunk of the tree and removed an arrow from the quiver. As he nocked it to the string, he cocked an ear outward. All he heard were the normal ambient sounds of the forest — the buzzing insects, the
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