The Blind Valiant

VISIONS OF THE DARK NIGHT.

The grounds of Altair were crowded with loitering recruits of the army, scholars and lieutenants. Some going in and out of the large domed building at the centre of the island for drafting reports.

Marchosias strolled past the wards that gated the grounds from enemies of Kosti Dům.

Altair was one of the many architectural wonders in Evvoia, the temple grounds covered more than a quarter of the island. Training yards, barracks, wild reserves for Evvoian species who had been hunted to near extinction and a grand Reliquary that was second only to its counterpart in Marrąk.

He had been intimidated at first when Papa had brought him and his twin brother here after their tenth birthday.

Marchosias and Fiorenze had been the youngest in their year of enrollment. If it was left to Damaikar, they would continue their education at Cassane. But the Deluge had begun and the Fell armies needed their Infernal Father’s undivided attention.

Six years had passed since then and as March walked through crowds of acolytes his age and older, the younger ones had been transported to safer bastions, he was the one who intimidated on sight.

But he could only think of the arguments he had gotten in with Damaikar about enlisting for the army.

The two of them had always been at loggerheads, always in contradicting opinions that sometimes resulted to raised voices.

Marchosias was the one who could provoke their tutor and guardian, not conceding to his demands without explanation. Even Fiorenze being arguably the favorite, he could not bring himself to question Damaikar on anything.

The latest quarrel this morning over breakfast had been quite fierce that March no longer remembered what the bone of contention had been this time. But March knew he had to leave before he witnessed and experienced one of Damaikar’s punishments.

Because they were inextricably bound, to punish March also meant his brother Fiorenze was punished as well.

March had enough worries to attend to, with his Trials approaching by the blue crescent moon, he needed the uncompromising attention on his studies even if I was at the top of his year.

And for that he needed his brother not be mad at him or hurting from Damaikar’s punishments. Yet the entire journey to Altair, Fiorenze had not spoken a word to him.

“March! Fiorenze!” Someone called out to them as they reached the steps of the grand building and the owner of the voice came shuffling past the cluster of scholars.

A taller boy with straight brown hair with dark grey eyes, walked towards them when March paused in his steps. Fiorenze halted but moved a few steps away, giving his brother some distance he did not want between them.

March recognized the boy and heaved a breath of exasperation. He had a clue why he was coming to bother him and March wasn’t sure if he could endure his friend’s mannerisms for as long as he would have on a normal day.

“Israfel, if this is about not inviting Claure tonight...”

“It’s not although we still have to talk about that.” The boy, Israfel cut off and threw Fiorenze an acknowledging nod all the while keep eyes to March. Everyone knew to never dignify both twins anything other than one entity.

“Then what is it? I’m not in the mood.” March said as he raked wisps of moon silver hair from his forehead and went through the huge bronze double doors that were engraved with series of intricate glyphs entwining all nine insignias of the Infernals.

“You’re always not in the mood, Marchosias. But it seems today has both your moods sour.” Israfel took note of Fiorenze's encroaching scowl. “It’s about the Trials. I heard the Archons have made some changes.”

March stopped and looked at Israfel with a confused glance. But it was Fiorenze spoke, at last, and drew both pairs of eyes to him. “What exactly are they changing?”

Israfel shrugged, “It’s top secret, what’s going round is just what I told you and the fact that it’s going to be very selective this year. At least you two don’t have to worry about anything, with those exceptional sorceries you summon.”

“Don’t be ridiculous of course we do.” March muttered mostly to himself but no doubt his brother and friend also heard.

The interior of Altair was stemmed in different layers and floors and though the building from the outside looked to have three floors, which served as lodgings for most, the hallways descended into the earth for the archives and halls purposed for teaching and training.

“The blessed ones finally shows.” A voice familiar to the three boys croaked as Israfel and Fiorenze turned toward the winding staircase.

March didn’t have to look up to know who owned the deep voice and the snickering sounds that echoed behind. He stopped and narrowed at the boy that was bigger in size than he was but was a head shorter.

“Oh look even Israfel is here. Somehow I think you owe me, Israfel.”

Israfel frowned distasteful at the boy, “I owe you s**t. Those scripts were as original as whatever your parents sought to term you especially when it should be bastard.” And the muscular boy grabbed Israfel by the lapels of his tunic and slammed him into the opposite wall.

“Neri, how good to see you out of the infirmary. I did not think it would be sooner with the punishment you got last time we met.” The boy named Neri, stiffened and grimaced which made March’s lips curl up into a smirk.

As if reading his brother’s mind – perhaps even doing so one whenever knew with twin godlings – Fiorenze flexed his wrist and a flash of light sparked in March’s hand to form a dagger which he used almost as instant as it appeared to place at Neri’s throat.

March’s motion had been lightning quick, too quick to have been seen. Neri stepped back, dropping Israfel from the wall.

Israfel threw a well deserved and aimed punch to his face causing Neri to stagger back with the echoing sound of bone breaking.

March sighed and tapped his friend’s shoulder with the flat edge of the dagger.

“We’re supposed to be someplace else. You can brawl it out later, perhaps tonight that way you can impress your dear Claure.” And Israfel rolled his eyes before moving for the stairs.

“I gave the i***t the right scripts on the Semant’s Évoluait.”

“You gave him the undeciphered scripts, not exactly the right ones.” Fiorenze informed disinterestedly.

“Not my fault he is a complete dullard and was no good at translating them. Neri is such a thick headed mule, is what he is.”

“Not so if you decide to face him in the arena. He’s at the top of his year in combat training. His kind are tasking when it comes to the arena.” March commented as he pushed the dagger onto his belt.

Israfel scoffed and fell silent as they descended the winding stairs that crept deeper and deeper into the earth.

The stairs were made of smooth alabaster stone that gleamed pearly white with the lights that sparkled from the numerous chandeliers of cut glass.

The sounds of hushed voices and clucking steps on the smooth floors of each level as they walked echoed with familiarity.

The grand halls were never silent even when the acolytes had left the grounds for home, there were still attendants that catalogued the volumes of books and scripts, tutors who resided here.

“Josie said he and Annyka would be at the Veine.” Israfel muttered and moved ahead of me.

“You know he hates it when you call him that.” Fiorenze spoke quietly and shoved March's hands from where he hooked his finger at his belt loop, throwing a frown at him.

“Pfft, he hates a lot of things.”

“But not Annyka.” March said with a knowing smile and Israfel chuckled, in the know of the amusement.

“Oh never her. Sometimes I feel pity for Duncan having to stay so close to his sister to endure all that.” He added as they came around a corner of high shelves of books reaching to the ceilings.

They reached a compartment of wooden long tables that were placed parallel to themselves and to the wall. Acolytes were seated and reading something of interest which they'd taken from the shelves.

Passing three isles of tables and conversing acolytes who had to render their voices to hushed whispers, they reached the least occupied table at the back and found three acolytes of their age.

Two boys and a girl. One of the boys was in deep conversation with the girl and with the closeness of which they angled themselves to each other – his hand placed over hers as she looked at him from under lashes – their intimacy was clear and seemingly uncomfortable for the other boy.

The girl was very pretty with her fiery red hair curled to touch her shoulders and the assertive blues of her eyes.

As the three of them approached , the annoyed looking boy raised his gaze from the broad sword he had in his assessing hands.

“The next time you convene us, please don’t make me wait alone with them.” He was as redhead as the girl and their resemblance was as striking as siblings would share.

The girl snorted, “Give it a rest, Dunrh.” And she smiled at the approaching boys that chuckled with amusement as they sat opposite the three.

Fiorenze caught the other boy’s assessing gaze as it stayed on his face. “You look terrible.”

Dunrh rolled his eyes, “Do they not always look terrible?”

And that brought his sister’s gaze to the twins, “They certainly do.” Her eyes running a check on each of them respectively.

But March waved them off, “It’s nothing. I just haven’t had breakfast yet.”

“We could go get something. I’m hungry myself.” Dunrh muttered and his sister rolled her eyes.

“Why is that not shocking?” Israfel replied sarcastically with an obvious look on his face.

“It’s fine.” This time it was Fiorenze repeated with a stoic expression before looking at the girl.

“So what’s this all about, Annyka?”

Annyka cleared her throat and moved away from the dark haired boy at her side. “I got wind of some news concerning the area and I don’t think we should go ahead with the plans especially tonight.”

“What? We are not missing this chance especially when Dunrh messed up my last kill.”

“Right we forgot how much of a rager you could be. You were playing with the damn thing and it could’ve escaped and warned off the rest of the nest.” Dunrh retorted at Israfel’s jibe.

“Why? What did you hear?” March asked, ignoring the two bickering boys.

“A squadron sent from Iglesias to look into it.” Josiah was the one who answered. “They would certainly span the range with their numbers and getting involved... the Madrigals will kill us.”

“Speak for yourself, Josie.” Israfel rasped and a flash of sadness went through his face.

Josiah who was about to react to the demeaning nickname Israfel had just called him, relaxed and wore almost the same shared understanding as Annyka beside him. Israfel had lost his parents at a siege.

March sighed and patted his friend in the back with the little sympathy he could muster. It was a difficult thing to show certain emotions to placate others around him, he and Fiorenze’s training had become something of a detriment to expressing our emotions to others.

And March could occasionally tell how uneasy that made those who knew them most; calling themselves their friends and comrades, when they were not even sure either he or his brother felt the same way towards them.

“It’s fine if you want to stay behind. We can handle it besides it’s less likely that we’d be caught.”

Annyka frowned, “Fiorenze...”

But they both knew what cautions she was going to spew to prevent them from doing this tonight on their own. March was an excellent decipherer of aiyar, even without the use of spells and he had read all of them the moment he had met them years ago on his first day as an acolyte.

Even Josiah who was nearly as composed as March was, had cracks which he had exploited and could see through.

“No. Fiorenze and I are doing this alone, Annyka. But thank you for offering.” And they all knew that nothing could change his mind after that.

They did not understand the reason behind his zeal to see this through with just his brother at his side. But they had come to feel accustomed to the twins excluding the world from their private dealings.

They would not because it was a secret that they both had kept for years now. A secret they shared with one other person.

“Told you they would say that.” Dunrh said and reached out an open palm towards his sister who glared at him but pulled a counselor from her purse and dropped it into his palms.

“You should know better to bet against their infuriating self isolation, Annyka.” Israfel chuckled and Josiah shook his head.

Fiorenze shared a baffled look with March. And like many other times, they could knew what the other was thinking. Often wondering as did a lot of the populace of the Altair, why they both associated closely with these Fells and not their fellow godly Infernals.

Marchosias and Fiorenze were the prodigies which tutors were eager to have under their wing. Acolytes admired them and some even feared the dark mystery of their sorceries which had been said was as devastating as that of the Infernal who trained them in his image, even at age of sixteen.

Yet they associated themselves with the likes of Israfel, gambling-addict Dunrh and Josiah who was in crude terms a bastard.

But that question only had to make March and Fiorenze remember the manner they had spent most of their childhood secluded on mountain peaks with only Damaikar to speak to. And the father of the Infernals was not known as a talker.

Somehow the friends everyone believed undeserving for their company, provided the childish experience they had missed out on.

“Moira still has that revelry thing this week. I’ll just go tell her to move it so that we can have a cover story for our absence should we need it.”

Josiah looked at Fiorenze, “I’m guessing you have to promise March’s attendance otherwise she will not do it.”

Fiorenze nodded, throwing March a look, “I don’t have to worry about that. What with him owing me a favor, he has nothing better to do.”

Whatever you want, brother. I do not like you pissed at me. March sent the thought to his departing twin.