When encountering an opponent for the second time, a Grievar must not consider the outcome of the previous match. Focusing on a past defeat will only hinder the mind in finding a new path to victory.
Passage Six, Seventy-Third Precept of the Combat Codes
The previous night, as he turned restlessly in his makeshift cot out by Violet’s soft glow, Cego had replayed every possible scenario of the Trials in his head. He still wasn’t ready. But today was the day.
He looked down the wet, cobbled road toward the Citadel, a cluster of sprawling stone structures surrounded by a deep trench. Despite the persistent rain, a thick fog rose from the ground, drifting around the ancient buildings and curling up the tall tower at the center. The Citadel was distinct from everything Cego had seen of the Capital so far: the gaudy glare and raucousness of the city were replaced by a faded, dense quiet here.
“These structures were standing long before the skyscrapers in the Tendrum.” Murray spoke from beside Cego. “Solid stonework, some cracks in places, but sturdy as ever.”
They walked across the trench on a wooden footbridge, and Cego peered over the edge at the dark river that ran beneath. On the other side of the bridge, a Grunt digging at the bank of the trench shouldered his shovel and stared at them from beneath his tattered hood.
The two weaved their way between buildings on the muddy road and past flickering lanterns hung on posts until they reached a set of structures that looked even older than the rest. Grey, pillared open-air walkways ran between vine-snared gazebos at the perimeter. Cego stared with wide eyes through the sheets of rain.
“The Lyceum,” Murray said.
Two large rotundas anchored the Lyceum on either side, each capped with a moss-encrusted dome.
“The sister domes of the Lyceum.” Murray nodded. “Trials are held in the Valkyrie, classes in the Harmony.”
They stepped onto one of the stone walkways, this one with life-sized carved statues set between pillars. Cego’s heart began to race as they climbed a short flight of cracked steps and neared the entrance to the Valkyrie. Even through the din of the heavy rain, he could hear voices echoing from within the majestic rotunda.
“You ready?” Murray put a hand on Cego’s shoulder and looked him in the eye.
“Yes,” Cego said as he stepped forward. “I’m done waiting.”
Torches lit the enormous hall, casting shadows up and down the walls. Thick stone pillars circled the room, each engraved top to bottom with ancient sigils. There were hundreds of kids within the Valkyrie’s round walls. Murray directed Cego to the base of one of the pillars.
“All right, kid, now just a bit more waiting. Old Aon should be out shortly for the commencement.”
Cego nodded and glanced around him at the assortment of Grievar brood. They were all shapes and sizes. Some were stretching on the stone floor while others warmed up by jogging around the perimeter of the room.
Cego’s eyes were immediately drawn to a massive blond boy, his cheeks rounded into a strange smile, who stood like a giant among his peers. Two mercs were stationed at either side of him.
“Who is that?” Cego whispered.
Murray was looking at the giant boy with a deep frown on his face. “Brood of the harvesters. Scouts nabbed him from the borderlands,” Murray said. “Only ten years old. Most don’t try to pick kids up so early. No better than Thaloo’s slavers.”
Cego continued to scan the room, trying to push down the butterflies that were swelling in the pit of his stomach.
A tight-knit pack of kids chatted noisily in the center of the rotunda, separated from the rest, who orbited the fringes. Cego noticed they wore pressed uniforms, many emblazoned with colorful emblems.
“Purelights from the Twelve.” Murray must have noticed Cego staring at the kids. “The big Grievar houses that have been tied to the Citadel for centuries.”
Cego watched the purelights as they pointed at the blond giant and laughed, their glowing yellow eyes unnaturally bright in the torchlight. They acted as if they owned the place already.
Cego’s eyes moved away from the purelights and settled on a boy across the room. He was robed, sitting cross-legged under the shadow of a pillar. What caught Cego’s attention was the steam that steadily billowed from the top of the boy’s shaved head. His eyes were closed and he breathed deeply, quietly, even amid the commotion in the room.
Suddenly, the boy’s eyes opened, directly meeting Cego’s gaze. The two maintained their stare for several moments before the boy shut his eyes again and continued to breathe in silence, the steam rising from his scalp.
Cego was about to ask Murray about the boy when he noticed two others jog past him, running side by side. He stared at their backs. One boy was large, with thick, muscled shoulders, and the other was lean, with dark hair.
Something about the two piqued Cego’s interest—the synchronized pace they fell into as they rounded the perimeter of the circular hall. Cego tracked them as they passed to the back side of the room.
The large boy playfully pushed his running partner, throwing him toward the center of the room. The smaller boy caught his balance with a hand on the floor, turning his face in Cego’s direction as he did so. The boy grinned, highlighting a scar that ran across his jaw.
There was no mistaking him: it was Knees. He threw a playful elbow into the ribs of his large companion as they began to jog again—Dozer.
Cego shook with excitement. From the corner of his eye, he saw Murray raise an eyebrow. Dozer and Knees had made it out of the Underground. They’d escaped Thaloo’s.
Cego could barely restrain himself from shouting from across the room but decided to wait until Dozer and Knees circled past him again. Cego smiled at Murray and slid behind the pillar.
Just as he saw Dozer’s bulky shadow cross in front of him, Cego shot his foot across his path, a basic sweep that caught the big boy right on the ankle and sent him sprawling to the ground.
Cego stepped out from behind the pillar as Dozer flipped around, his face contorted in anger until he met Cego’s eyes. Knees spun around, also looking ready to pick a fight with whoever had messed with his friend.
“Cego!” Dozer charged toward him and wrapped him in a crushing bear hug, only setting him down when Cego began to cough from the pressure.
“We thought we be findin’ you here.” Knees smiled and clasped Cego’s wrist firmly.
“You told me I’d make it up here! Remember, Cego?” Dozer yelled.
“You don’t know how good it is to see you two,” Cego said. Amid the horde of strange kids crowded in the big hall, the constant rain pelting the ceiling, and the Trials ahead of him, it somehow felt all right now that Dozer and Knees were here with him.
“How—how did you—”
“You’re not going to be likin’ this…” Knees said.
“Any way you got here, I’ll take it. What happened? Did you escape somehow?” Cego asked.
“No. We be comin’ with him.” Knees directed his gaze across the hall to the pack of purelights in the center.
Cego stared at the pack again. A haughty laugh came from within the group. The cackle dredged up a sharp pain in Cego’s stomach. A boy stepped from their midst. Shiar.
Cego’s anger ignited like oil-doused kindling at the memory of Weep on the ground, Shiar kicking the life out of him. Knees placed a hand on Cego’s shoulder to steady him.
“How—how—” Cego growled.
“Few days after you left, some big-time Scout from Citadel comes to be watchin’ us in the yard. He’s especially interested in Shiar. Scout gets to talkin’ with Tasker Ozark, negotiating on Shiar’s patronage. Few days later, they hit on a deal. Ozark throws in the next two best from Crew Nine along with Shiar there, which be Dozer and me… We be packaged, the three of us,” Knees said.
“Whole time we were riding up on the Lift, I wanted to take Shiar’s head off,” Dozer said. “But I also didn’t want to muck my chance of making it to the Lyceum and meetin’ up with you.”
Cego let out a deep breath. If it took Shiar coming up here to get Dozer and Knees back, he’d take it. They would find a way to avenge Weep when the time came.
Murray stood several steps away, watching the reunion with a smile on his face before returning his attention to the balcony above.
“You two been practicing your techniques? Are you ready?” Cego asked, desperate to take his mind off Shiar.
“Yeah, we be practicin’ the ones you showed us down below. Also, the Lyceum been runnin’ some practices when we got Upworld two weeks ago. Even worked along with those inbreeds,” Knees said, narrowing his eyes at the pack of purelights.
Murray chimed in. “That’s the doing of Commander Aon Farstead. He believes in starting all Grievar on equal footing, though that’s hardly possible with the advanced training most purelights from the Twelve get from birth.”
Knees nodded. “Yeah, we be up against quite a field.” The Venturian sat on the stone floor, stretching out his legs as he looked at the room of Trial-takers. “I hear purelights usually be takin’ most of the placements. Last year, they say almost all the students that got through the doors came from the Twelve. Our chances be looking pretty dim right now.”
“Purelight or not, it doesn’t make a difference,” Cego said confidently. “I’ve seen you two in the Circle. It should come down to skill, and I know you have what it takes.”
Knees shook his head, always the pessimist. “I like to think so too. But I been doing some scoutin’ of my own and we be up against some of the best. For starters, we got Shiar over there. We know what he be capable of when he wants to get ahead.”
“He’s just one kid, though, there are supposed to be twenty-four accepted each year,” Cego said.
“Yeah. I know, I’m just gettin’ started. And I’m thinkin’ Shiar might be the least of our worries,” Knees said. “They be sayin’ Gryfin Thurgood is a shoo-in.” Knees nodded to a tall, chiseled purelight with an athletic build at the center of the pack. “Thurgood House always got a kid in the Lyceum, one brother every few years.”
Murray cut in again. “True. Even I had a Thurgood in my class. And there’s one on the current Knight team—Tullen Thurgood. Darkin’ good wrestler. Wouldn’t be surprised if his brood had some of that skill.”
Cego’s heart sank again. Murray always had a way of boosting his spirits.
“Speakin’ of famous names—over there with rest of the inbreeds, we got a Halberd kid goin’ into the Trials with us,” Knees said.
Cego’s eyes widened. Artemis Halberd. The nation’s most famed Grievar Knight and the current champion. Captain of the Knight team. The man who carried Ezo on his shoulders.
Cego looked among the pack of purelights for a boy who resembled the elder Halberd—a mane of red hair, sculpted jaw, thick, muscular shoulders, legs that looked like they could spring across a ravine. He didn’t see anyone who matched the image in his head.
“Where is he?” Cego asked.
“She,” Knees said. “Solara Halberd.”
Knees nodded at one side of the pack of purelights. A thin girl stood straight-backed at the edge of the pack, a red braid of fiery hair falling across her shoulder. She gazed at the torches, her eyes giving off a determined amber glow.
“She hits hard,” Dozer said, rubbing at one of his forearms. “Training two days ago, I got paired up with her. Just holding pads, she nearly kicked right through them. Fifty straight and she wasn’t even breathing hard.”
Though Cego believed his friend, he couldn’t picture Solara slamming kicks into Dozer. She had a sharp nose to accent her almond-shaped eyes. He could see the slight resemblance to her father with the red braid of hair, though he guessed she must have taken after her mother with her more delicate features.
Just when Cego realized he’d been staring for several moments at the Halberd girl, she cast her eyes toward him. Cego looked at the floor.
“Uh… what about him?” Cego quickly turned his attention to the boy with the bald head sitting beneath the pillar. “Was he at training earlier?”
“Nope. Haven’t seen him till today,” Knees said. “Walked in by himself, drippin’ wet. Kid didn’t say nothing, just sits down and starts his breathing, steam comin’ off his head like that. Hasn’t moved in the three hours since we got here.”
“Bet he’s trained by the Kirothian Priest Knights!” Dozer whispered. “I heard they can hold their breath for over two hours and can expand their blood vessels to prevent getting choked!”
“You’d believe someone tellin’ you the spirits of Ancients be real too, haunting these very halls.” Knees jabbed at Dozer’s stomach playfully.
Dozer raised a hefty forearm to block Knees’s shot and followed with a pawing right of his own that the Venturian ducked. Cego had missed these two.
Just as he was about to ask them what they thought of the Surface, the torches around the room flared brighter, dispelling the shadows along the walls. New torches sprang to life on the balcony above, where Murray had been keeping his eyes throughout the wait.
Several figures stepped forward onto the balcony. At the front was Aon Farstead, commander of the Lyceum, and by far the oldest person Cego had ever seen. Aon leaned against the railing, hunched over and wrinkled, dwarfed by the three other men who stood behind him.
“Welcome to the Lyceum, Trial-takers!” Aon whispered, yet his voice echoed around the wide circular chamber.
Aon’s milky-white eyes darted around the room, reflecting the dancing light from the torches as he spoke. “You hail from many roads. You hail from faraway lands that have never seen the famed domes or the ancient libraries of the Citadel. You hail from Deep caverns blanketed in myriad shades of light. You hail from houses rooted in Ezo’s history.” Cego glanced over at the group of purelights. He saw Shiar’s chin raised proudly, as if he were born of the Twelve.
“You hail from the very minds and spirits of the Ancients, the Grievar who stood at the dawn of combat itself.” For a moment, Cego felt Aon’s ghostlike eyes on him, as if staring directly through him, before continuing to dart around the room.
“You hail from many roads, but now you only have one that lies before you. This is the path of the Grievar. The Trials were built by the Ancients to distinguish those young Grievar worthy of acceptance into the Lyceum. Those students accepted will continue the tradition of learning techniques passed down for centuries. Those accepted will tread a lightpath all Grievar seek, yet very few follow.
“From the Lyceum, our Knights are born with the strength to protect Ezo and provide a beacon of light at the darkest hour.” Commander Memnon stepped forward on cue, his broad shoulders stiff and his hard eyes scanning the room with authority.
“From the Lyceum, our Defenders are born with the spirit to guide the hand of PublicJustice and represent the downtrodden during their time of need.” Commander Pugilio stepped forward, the tallest man on the podium, yet he seemed smaller than Memnon, with his sagging shoulders and drooping mustache.
“From the Lyceum, our Scouts are born with the sharp eyes to spot the tiniest glimmers of hope within the darkest corners of our lands.” As Aon spoke, Commander Albright stepped forward, dressed in a collared uniform, his chin held high.
“The Lyceum’s halls are sacred to all Grievar, even those outside the Capital, even those who live beyond Ezo’s borders. Though many schools around the world have sought to replicate our process, none possess our collective technique and wisdom.
“That is why we must be discerning with our Trials. For those who enter the Lyceum’s studies must represent Ezo’s next generation—our leaders, our light, our honor. All Trial-takers that are gathered in this hall today are distinguished already, whether it be by blood, skill, or spirit. By day’s end, as the Trials are finished, we shall be even more distinguished. Only a select few will enter the Lyceum. Twenty-four students total,” Aon said.
The kids in the room looked around at each other, some appearing fearful at the sheer weight of the competition, while the purelights stood steadfast, whispering among each other, never even considering the thought of getting cut.
“I can see some of you stand confidently with the Trials looming before you. You do so rightfully. To your sides stand the strongest and most skilled Grievar brood of your generation. Many of you already have an extensive knowledge of techniques, conditioning, and combat strategy,” Aon said. “However, the Trials are not made as a pure test of strength and skill. The Trials are made to test your potential to endure. Each of your Trials will be unique. The light within the Hall of Trials knows you already. How you move, what your strengths and weaknesses are. Where your pride and fear live. The light will exploit this; it will seek to unsettle the unstable stones in your walls of defense. You would be wise to tread warily—expect anything.”
The crowd of Grievar kids hushed. Even the purelights quieted.
“Those students accepted into the Lyceum will not only be the best but the most enduring. They will be able to handle any situation in front of them, even during the darkest hours.
“The lightpath of the Citadelian is not an easy one. It is one filled with sacrifice. You will give up the luxuries, the love, the very trimmings of life that you may depend on. But you will gain something even more valuable: honor. We fight so the rest shall not have to.” Aon whispered the mantra with reverence.
Aon lowered his head, his eyes closing as he took a deep, labored breath. He lifted his chin, quiet for several moments. He cocked his head as if listening to something before raising his fist to the air in salute.
“Today begin the Trials! May the best emerge from the darkness.” Aon’s closing remark was punctuated by the swish of a massive sliding door opening at one end of the hall.