Salatis and the Dark King - Veneficus (Ten Days Earlier, Chapter 2).

Chapter Two: Ten Days Earlier

It had been over one and a half centuries since anyone from the Lazamerian alliance had dared to venture this far south of the great wall, and it was hard to believe the dead lands had once been part of this vast, powerful Empire. The abandoned towns and villages Salatis and the legions had marched through were like ghosts...shadows of their former selves, with all the once beautiful homes bearing the scars of long forgotten battles. Bones still lay where lives had been violently ended, trees and brush had reclaimed the roads, and vines run wildly out of control. Their capes swirled and flapped around in a wind that never seemed to tire and it whistled as it entered the cottages, with the rotten doors creaking and slamming as if shut by the spirit of an overzealous child. It had been almost 200 years to the day since the Zephantian Empire had violently expanded; conquering all lands without mercy and 30 less since the Dark Kings army of Dredgers had reached the Lazamerian border. All that stood between him and the gateway to the heavens was the Alliance’s Great Wall and his forces thirsty for blood chose to approach from the east; entering Ustulo dessert believing crossing the sands would be easier than breaching the wall.
This was the Dark Kings first mistake.
He had seriously underestimated the God, Ustulo’s affection for mankind and Ustulo seeing his heartless advance commanded the sands to rise up and swallow his army. His timely intervention saved mankind from a grisly end and had killed thousands of the Dark Kings Dredgers in the process, but undeterred by this minor setback the Dark King tried to assault the alliance by sea. Ustulo only able to control the sands was powerless to stop the Dark King’s advance, but he was again thwarted by the Gods. This time by the Goddess Regina who smashed his fleet with waves that came crashing down as giant, powerful hands. His forces had been decimated and most commanders knowing the God’s did not favour them would have given up for fear of upsetting them further, but the Dark King despised the Gods with every fibre of his being, and for a decade he continued to try and destroy this last beacon of hope for mankind, with his relentless assault only ending as the life left his last Dredger.
Silence then fell over the land and several generations passed, with no sign of the Dark King and his unholy warriors. He was gone and the memory of his bloody and brutal campaign had all but been forgotten, fading into myths and legends that were often dismissed and only taken seriously by those who knew better: until now. The beast had again awaked and the Dark Kings army had begun to probe the alliances defences, prompting the Lazamerian war council to act. Their response was swift and they called the legions to arms, sending 25000 men to the north of a fort called Kapici, at the edge of the Zephantian Empire. The march had been hard with the temperature slowly rising as they moved further south, but the mood of the camp was confident. Everyone seemed to be laughing, sharing jokes, somewhat unconcerned with the imminent battle that loomed on the horizon. That was everyone except Salatis who was sat by his fire, slightly more apprehensive of what lay ahead. His thoughts were in a dark and lonely place as he struggled to believe he would have any significant affect on the war and he was still unaware of the great powers he possessed.
His extremely excited nose suddenly sparked into life, disrupting the doom and gloom that was trying to engulf him and the angst of war was pushed to the back of his mind if only for a while. The crackling of fat burning over a spit and the strong smell of meat swirling in the air around him was responsible for his sudden change of focus. It made him think of his home in Saxeus and his father - Hedric. He missed him very much. He was a great cook and had to be with Salatis’ mother, Helena dying minutes after giving birth. Hedric’s love for Helena was deeper than any spoken or written words and he had chosen never to take another wife, concentrating on raising Salatis to be all that he could be and more. This made Salatis’ guilt at his mother’s death sit even heavier on his heart. As a child he would spend hours listening to his father’s stories of their life together and watching the joy on his face as he mentioned her name. There was no doubting Salatis missed the tender touch that only his mother could have provided, but Hedric did not shirk any duties as a father and gave him enough affection for both of them. He believed strongly in honesty and respect; something he had instilled in Salatis from a young age, always saying it was these traits that made a man great. Sticking to his father’s code however was not always easy, but he did his best, only bending them occasionally and ever so slightly.
His memories had painted a strong picture of his home and he fell asleep with a smile on his face, dreaming of better... simpler times.

“I will strike you down evil King,” he shouted to his father. His father was tending their vegetable patch, but always gave him his time.
“You will never defeat me boy,” he replied in a deep voice; blocking his blow. His father as always played the role of the Dark King and his giant frame dwarfed Salatis, casting a shadow that blocked out the sun.
“I am Lagos the mightiest warrior to live and you will die on my sword,” Salatis boomed with his 10yr old voice. Salatis struck out again causing the Dark King to parry and threw his free arm towards his enemy hoping magic would flow from his hand.
It did not and the Dark King laughed.
“You are skilled with a sword, my young warrior,” he admitted, as Salatis’ blade danced towards him and he struggled to match the young warriors speed. They worked their way around the garden until Salatis forced his enemy back to the wall and the Dark Kings arm tired. He managed several feeble blocks, but Salatis broke through his defence. His sword forcing its way into the Dark Kings gut, and he took his time to die, working his way to a climatic finish, ensuring he never fell on any of the edibles.
“I AM VICTORIOUS!” Salatis proclaimed, standing in a pose that he felt suited a warrior the likes of Lagos, Lazamer’s greatest commander. His father looked over and burst into laughter, which was not the response he had been hoping for. His warrior pride hurt he ran over to teach him another lesson, jumping onto his stomach and they rolled around for a while, until his father overpowered and tickled him into submission.
“Come let’s prepare dinner,” He requested joyfully, as he stood up and lifted Salatis to his feet. Hedric lovingly ruffled his hair and Salatis followed him into the cottage, trying to mimic his father’s walk.
He looked towards Salatis shaking his head.
“Salatis, go and get washed and put on your best clothes; we need to be on our best behaviour tonight.”
“Yes, sir,” he replied walking to his bedroom. He understood the importance of the evening to come and the need to impress their extremely influential guests, but he did not understand how his father had managed to get him enrolled into the education system, which was only available to a privileged few. To gain entry into such a school, your family had to have connections in high places, needed to have served time in the Lazamerian legions or to have been blessed with magic and as far as Salatis was aware, his father had none of the above.
He walked into his bedroom and a smile instantly formed on his face. To him it was the best room in the house, and everything a young boy could want: a beautiful hand-carved bed with matching wardrobes and a table to study. His father had made it all, including the wonderfully carved dragons that were scattered around the room. He had never seen a dragon and had only read stories of such beasts. They were said to have been killed off long before he had been born, but he still felt as though he was somehow connected to them and they often filled his dreams. Even with all this crammed into his room there was plenty enough space for him to practice the sword. Just entering made him reach for it. He put his hand on the exquisitely crafted hilt and felt courage burst from within. He paused, as there was no time, and quickly dismissed the idea, getting washed and dressed into his best tunic. It was white, short sleeved and went to his knees. He rarely had cause to wear the pointless attire and would have preferred his hard wearing pants and long sleeved shirt, but protocol and his father had forbidden it. He made his way into the kitchen where his father was busy preparing the food, and he looked up, stopping his preparation.
“What a handsome young man,” His father said, causing him to turn red. He moved towards Salatis and went down onto one knee, catching his gold bracelet with the outside of his hand, which caused him to drift off for a moment. He realised his father had gone quiet and he spotted the despair in his eyes, mistakenly believing his thoughts were of his mother and chose not to speak hoping the memory would end well, but it did not because Salatis was only half right. Despair was defiantly in his father’s eyes; however it was not for his mother. It was far more complicated than that and there were many thing Salatis did not know of his father’s past. The bracelet for instance was very much to do with his father’s secret and it had been placed on Salatis’ arm for protection. Protection from what his father did not know. He just knew it was evil and he was not willing to let his son suffer as he had on that terrible day as he and Lagos faced Barda the Barbarian.
“Father,” Salatis said with concern, reeling in his attention. He snapped out of his gaze and blinked away the bad memories.
“Remember, these guests are of the upmost importance,” he said, ensuring Salatis had eye contact and that he was paying attention. Salatis paused for a second and tried to stop his next words from coming out, but his mouth was already voicing them.
“Have they served in the legions, Father?”
“Why?” he enquired. Salatis knew his words would upset him, but he did not understand why he should have to grovel to a couple of scribes who were not brave enough to fight.
“What have they done to deserve our respect?” Disappointment filled his father’s face, and he regretted the comment instantly as his father’s voice rose slightly, giving away his annoyance.
“Holding a sword and defending your homeland is indeed honourable and deserves your respect, Salatis, but words can be just as effective as a blade, and violence should only be a last resort.” He moved towards Salatis and placed his hand on his cheek. His face carried a hint of despair blended with fear. “When you are forced to kill a man, you also kill a son, a brother, a friend. Your sword entering his flesh is only the beginning and you will return home with the images of his dead corpse haunting your dreams.” The words were spoken with feeling and gave Salatis the impression his father had first-hand experience of such matters, but what would he know of such things? To Salatis he was a simple craftsman and had never been anything but.
“I am sorry father,” he mumbled. The apology was offered for the upset he had caused his father and not for his point of view.
“The conversation is already forgotten. Now, prepare the table and I will get ready for our meal.” His father left to sort out his attire and Salatis prepared the room to receive their guests. First, he lit the log fire and candles, regrettably with a naked flame and not with his mind, as a powerful warlock would have done, and then he gave the chairs a wipe for good measure. The room was looking sensational and by the time he had finished, his father was back, giving his work the nod of approval.
KNOCK-KNOCK.
“They are here, Salatis. Please go and greet our guests.”
“Yes sir,” he replied, walking to the door and showing them into the front room. Both of their guests were in charge of allocating school places, and even though Salatis’ place had been guaranteed, his father still wished to impress them.
Offering his hand, he greeted them both.
“Bolbec, Thea, welcome to our home. This is Salatis.” They both turned and studied him, looking him from head to toe before Bolbec offered his hand.
“Welcome to the school of Saxeus,” he said, still breathing heavily from the walk. “Your father has a lot of faith in you boy.” Salatis nodded and smiled to acknowledge the remark.
“Take a seat sir,” he said, pointing towards Bolbec’s place at the table and he pulled Thea’s chair out for her.
“Thank you young man,” she said impressed with his comportment.
Salatis stood for a moment and gazed at their guests, running through his first impression. At a guess Bolbec and Thea were in their late 40s. Bolbec looked the older of the two; his round head matching his portly body and his hair was thinning on top: completely grey. His tunic’s condition matched his own. It was mostly a dirty white that had seen better days and around the seams it looked a newer white which hinted the garment had been let out for his ever growing waist line. Even the sun had transpired against him with his larger build unable to regulate his heat causing sweat to pool under his arm pit. Thea on the other hand looked to have put a lot more effort into her appearance. She carried herself regally and her clothes spoke of class. She had not one flaw that Salatis could pick on, probably in an attempt to catch his father’s eye. His father had no shortage of offers from the opposite sex, which was to be expected with his looks matching his charisma. Women before they had even heard his voice would often fall into his soft, deep brown eyes and he could have taken many a woman’s virtue if he had not been such a gentleman.
Salatis’ thoughts on this subject however only went as deep as any 10 yr olds would have and he had already moved on to the fact that neither of them were in good enough shape to lift a sword; too many hours sat down eating fine foods and reading scriptures he presumed. His father noticing and breaking his rude stare gestured for him to follow and they returned from the kitchen, bringing with them smoked Herring and vegetables. The food smelt fabulous and the smoked Herring appeared to attack Bolbec’s nostrils, causing his eyes to widen to an unnatural size as his plate was put in front of him. He must have starved himself all day judging by the speed of his reactions and he sat bolt upright in his chair placing his hands either side of his plate. The moment they rested his knife and folk slid swiftly into his grasp.
Bolbec had magic!
And Salatis was initially impressed, but it did seem a waste to him that a man in such poor physical condition was able to wield magic. He could only dream of having such powers and was in envy of anyone who was lucky enough to be born with the gift. Unfortunately for Salatis, neither his father nor his mother had magic in their blood, which meant he would never be anything but ordinary. His moment of jealousy slowly subsided and he took his place at the table as the night got off to a great start, and continued in the same vein, with his father carrying out a very successful charm offensive. Bolbec and Thea hung on his every word, as he talked his way through various subjects and topics like he had mastered them all.
“It is a great honour to have your son in our school Hedric. You should not have left it so long,” Bolbec said boldly as he flaunted his gift, willing his mug to hand. Salatis was mesmerised and dying to quiz Bolbec on his powers, but his father continued as if he had seen it all before.
“Salatis is more than able to catch up Bolbec; my reasons were selfish and I let him go with a heavy heart,” he replied.
“We understand Hedric; the loss of your wife has left you with much responsibility. Salatis is a bright boy and will enjoy the company of others his age,” Thea added softly. His father nodded in agreement. He was trying his best to put a brave face on his decision and Salatis could see the battle within. His father was scared of losing him. They had not spent longer than a few hours apart since his birth and school was a place his father had no control over.
“Father I do not need to go to school. I can learn your skills and become a craftsman,” Salatis said giving him the opportunity to change his mind. The worry on his father’s face relaxed.
“You deserve to choose your own path Salatis. School is where you should be; your life has just begun and to grow you need change,” he said wisely. Bolbec and Thea agreed and the mood lightened notably. This could have been because all that needed to be said had been said or it may have been due to the fact two jugs of wine had been drunk dry. It did not matter to Salatis he was just pleased to see his father enjoying the company and their guests’ stayed late into the night, eventually leaving excited to have such a well behaved scholar coming to their school.

The night had been a real success and during the next few weeks as he waited for his first day of school to arrive he was a bag of nerves. He experienced ever emotion known to man: excitement, fear, doubt. His whole life had been about him and his father. Would other children like him? He had no friends his own age and was not even sure what an average 10 year old would do with his time.

The day was then upon them and he made his way to the school, waved off by his apprehensive father. It was around a 30 minute walk to the east of Saxeus and was situated on the outskirts. He neared the edge of his village and the surroundings grew tranquil, with small groups of trees filling the hill side and wild deer leaping and skipping across the open fields. The school appeared on the horizon; it looked tiny set against the hill side and was still a distance away. Salatis as most young boys would have, made good use of the time, swinging his imaginary sword and slaying all manner of beasts that were unfortunate enough to cross his path. He cut the head off an Ogre that had pushed aside the trees and tried to crush him with its club and then put his sword to one side as he used his magic to defeat the Dark King’s hackling witches. They were no match for a warlock as powerful as Salatis and even the Dark King himself did not stand a chance as Salatis commanded the sky to release lightening into his enemy’s chest. With the Dark King now nothing but a pair of boots and his battle won he arrived at the school gates and took a moment to take in what was to become his new life. The stone building itself was nothing special and its design was basic, but its scale was grand and he realised his first sight of the school from a distance had deceived him. The main building formed a square with an open yard in the centre which he made his way into. The yard looked big enough to hold hundreds of children and was well decorated with art work and flowers; giving its dull shape some life. On the floor in the centre of the square was the Lazamerian alliances emblem, 5 stars representing the five members, protected by the Gods and lead by the point of a sword. Salatis made his way to the edge of the square and walked up the three stone steps that bordered the yard, unsure of where he had to be. An older boy approached, seeing his confusion.
“You new little ‘un?” he asked. Salatis nodded.
“How old are you?”
“Ten,” he replied.
“Come with me I will take you to your class.” The long legged boy turned and walked off at speed, as Salatis followed at an uncomfortable pace behind. They twisted and turned down several long corridors, stopping suddenly, outside one of the rooms.
“Here you are boy; your class,” he said pointing to the door, as he walked off in the direction they had come from. Salatis stood for a moment staring at the solid oak wooden door and took a few deep breaths. He was considering returning home and telling his father he wanted to be a craftsman, but convinced himself to man up. After all it was not the Dark king waiting for him on the other side of the door and even if it were Salatis was sure would he have entered anyway. Everybody was already seated when he finally walked in and the class fell silent as they became aware of his presence. The teacher noticed the quietness and turned to look at him.
“And you are?” she asked in a firm voice. She lacked any emotion in her face as she addressed him and he felt a bead of sweat form on his brow under her gaze. Her features over the years had moulded themselves to match her harsh tone, with her tiny eyes, thin lips and sharp bone structure finishing off the heartless look.
“Salatis, Miss,”
“Do you have magic Salatis?”
“No Miss,” he replied regrettably.
“Very good, magic is forbidden during school. Class this is Salatis; make him welcome. Now take a seat and pay attention, I am Miss Marsila,” she said sharply. Salatis moved sheepishly into the class hoping to see a friendly face, but was greeted by a few awkward smiles while most avoided eye contact. He could handle that and knew with time things would change. He then cast his eye over the large room in front of him and up to the roof; it was high. Without counting everyone individually he guessed it contained at least 30 children: All boys. The girl’s school could not have been any further away, situated to the west of Saxeus. His nose then detected the familiar smell of fresh wood in the air. They must have had work done recently and he immediately thought of his father. Right about now, he would be stood with him helping him to carve one of his many master pieces. He took a few steps into the classroom and his attention wandered to the back of the class where three boys sat together. They were hard to miss as they were much taller than everyone else and, by the look of them, could have been related. All three had wide shoulders, black hair shaved to the bone and a jaw that could have took a kick off the back legs of a horse. This was always the case with Sustantivian’s. They were only born one size and that was big. Social integration had become common practise within the Alliance; with all races having different strengths it made sense to share talent and resources. Ceilian’s were immersed in their faith and always consulted with the Gods before committing to a decision. Their build was slight and they looked ill because of the lack of meat on their bones. Terrian’s brought their skills of working the land. You could show them a dessert and they would still produce a healthy crop. They were a much bigger, thicker set race, which was required with their work involving big hands and strong arms. Sustantivian’s well they brought their brawn and many including themselves believed they had been created by the Gods purely for battle. They were very much of the same build as Terrian’s, but with more definition. Then there was the Raison’s who more often than not brought trouble. They were the least liked of Lazamer’s allies and were a constant thorn in the side of progress, unwilling to make any decision which did not put their own interests first. The Alliance actively encouraged this migrant behaviour, but interracial relationships were still frowned upon and often kept quiet to avoid family dishonour. The biggest of the three caught Salatis’ gaze.
“What are you looking at?” the giant growled as the other two laughed.
“All the Celian’s in the room and you had to look at him?” Nuto said perturbed.
“Fenderal behave yourself;” the teacher demanded, before Salatis could rise to his challenge and give a response. He sat at the first available seat and fixed his eyes only on the teacher, already feeling he was going to have problems with Fenderal and the Sustantivian bullies.
The first lesson began and it seemed quite fitting that it was on Lazamerian history. She went on to explain that Lazamer had once been a country ruled by a monarch and was now governed by a council. This was not news to him or any other child with ears, but something he did not know was that the four other alliance members were once just districts within Lazamer and they had only fell under their own banner during this turbulent transition. The detail Miss Marsila had chosen to share with the children was vague around this period, but it did not matter to Salatis who already had a fair idea of what had occurred anyway, through half conversations he had heard around Saxeus market. His extremely accurate source Mr Lonterp who owned the meat stall next to his father’s claimed that magic was once common amongst their people, until the last King turned against anyone who had the gift. He is said to have killed thousands and only a few with magic escaped his wrath. This was not something Mr Lonterp would have proclaimed out loud though. Nobody felt comfortable discussing the period openly and it was quickly dismissed by his father whenever Salatis tried to broach the subject. Because of such stories many who had magic still chose not to practice it for fear of the King returning and finishing what he started, which seem a bit silly to Salatis. He did not understand why anyone would fear a 240yr old man.

The morning passed, with most of it in a dream, as he imagined riding a dragon with his sword in hand and he was soon following a tightly packed crowd into the eating area. It was situated at one end of the open square. He was starving and with the line moving at a snail’s pace he stood on his tip toes hoping to get a look at the food ahead. It was a big mistake and his enthusiasm was soon dented. He caught sight of his first school dinner and his stomach immediately ceased begging for food. There was plenty on offer, but most of it he could not recognise and what he could did not smell as it should. Braving the gruel, he took as much as his belly would accept and he sat alone on the steps that bordered the open square. His first day had not been as he had imagined. In his dreams he had been surrounded by friends, all begging for his attention.
“Do you need company?” someone asked. Unable to recognise the tone, he turned towards the voice and found it belonged to a scrawny looking boy with long scruffy brown hair. His brown school tunic hung off him and his leather lace belt went around his waist one time to many. Salatis was at least a foot taller than the boy and he was only of average height for a Lazamerian. His face was gaunt, but his big friendly hazel eyes gave him warmth that made Salatis instantly trust him.
“Yes of course,” he replied; glad that someone had made the effort. “I am Salatis.”
“Yes I know. You are all everyone is talking about. I am Tristan, a Celian; we are in the same class.” He offered his arm and Salatis accepted.
“People are talking of me? Why?” The statement seemed slightly odd, as he had felt invisible for most of the morning, with no one approaching him or giving him the time of day. He had even at one point had a quick sniff of his arm pits, thinking he may have had some kind of hygiene issue.
“You are the new boy and the others are working you out,” Tristan said with the look of someone doing the same.
“It will not take them long” Salatis replied honestly. “I have no dark secrets; well none that I am aware of.” They both laughed. Fenderal then walked past tensing his muscles, looking over at Salatis as if he had somehow offended his family. He was prowling his way around the edge of the square like a hungry lion, with everyone trying to avoid his attention.
“What the hell do his parents feed him?” Nuto asked hoping Salatis would not do or say anything stupid.
“What is Fenderal’s problem? He does not know me yet he challenges my honour,” Salatis said with his chest out. Tristan looked at him as if he was a few grains of sand short of a dessert.
“Unless you carry magic in your blood Salatis he is best avoided. No one crosses him or his two friends, Decha and Mikhal. They have ruined many a day for anyone who stands in their way.”
“I like this boy,” Nuto proclaimed.
Tristan’s words shocked him. Being a future legionnaire of Lazamer he would have felt a coward using them, but he tried not to judge Tristan as he would have judged himself. After all he was not built to take a blow and he was sure a brisk wind would do him some serious damage. The image of slapping Fenderal to death finally faded from his mind and the two of them sat talking the whole of dinner break, with Tristan taking him through the dangers and pitfalls of a school day. He made school sound like a battlefield and he started to wonder if his father had made the right choice sending him to such a place.
“RETURN TO CLASS,” shouted one of the older boys telling them dinner had ended. Tristan jumped to his feet as the older boy worked his way towards them.
“Come Salatis I will take you to our next lesson. It is one you will enjoy, I am sure of that.” Salatis stood and followed him away from the school ground to where all the other children were gathered. The part of the field they were in was well worn and dust rose as they walked. The grass had all but turned to sand and tiny stones worked their way into Salatis’ sandals. He shook his feet trying to clear them.
“CLOSE IN,” the well built male teacher ordered. Everyone did as they were told. He did not look the type who enjoyed having to ask twice and Salatis knew instantly he had been in the legions. He could tell just by the teacher’s aura and the fact he was covered in battle scars. His Tunic was an off white and tight fit over his toned physique. I bet he got them scars in the Barbarian wars, Salatis thought; imagining fighting a long side him, killing the enemy with every swing of his sword. The teacher’s eye moved over the class, ensuring everyone who should be there was and as Salatis entered his line of sight he stopped.
“A new student I see. My name is Adhelm, but you can call me sir. You must be Salatis – Hedric’s boy?”
“Yes sir,” he replied confidently; wondering how he knew his father.
“Your father is a great man and I hope you are of the same mould,” Adhelm said confusing Salatis further still. “Today we are going to engage in a bit of wrestling. Everybody pair up.” Tristan moved to Salatis’ side and they began the lesson. Tristan attacked like a new born calf and Tristan went down. Salatis helped held out his hand, helping him to his feet and when he attacked again, the same thing happened, but may have been a tiny bit faster. Adhelm spotted the mismatch and dealt with it promptly.
“This will not do; we must find you a more challenging opponent.” He scanned the other children looking for Salatis’ next victim. He was feeling extremely confident after his warm up with Tristan and he could see Fenderal and his minions’, praying to be the one chosen.
“Don’t pick Fenderal…Don’t pick Fenderal…Don’t pick Fenderal,” Nuto repeated.
“Decha come and wrestle with Salatis; he requires a more rigorous workout.” Decha looked towards him and smirked, ecstatic to have been given the task of beating down the new kid and his frame seemed to grow bigger and bigger, as he closed in to teach him a lesson. He was only slightly smaller than his friend Fenderal and he rolled back his shoulders in a circular motion, cracking his neck from left to right. Salatis offered his opponent a nervous smile, hoping to get one back, but Decha just clenched his jaw and by the look on his face Salatis knew he was not going to hold back.
“The slightest of touch and just take a dive,” Nuto advised.
He took a few deep breathes and stood ready as his father had always taught him. They had spent most of his childhood practicing all forms of fighting and his father had taught him well, showing him how to slow down his opponent’s movement in his mind and anticipate their attack. Decha unaware of this and with all his advantage did not see any reason to hesitate; expecting an easy win. Only Fenderal had ever defeated him in a fight and his over confidence was to be his undoing, as Salatis grabbed his wrist and used his weight against him; throwing him and his manly frame to the ground. His chest and face slid across the dirt and he came to a standstill as dust entered his mouth causing him to cough and splutter.
“Well done Salatis,” Adhelm praised. The whole class stopped mid-fight and starred at Salatis as if he had just defeated a God. They had never seen a Sustantivian floored before. Fenderal was less impressed. Decha was still confused and had rolled to his back, unsure how he had ended up in his current predicament and it took him a moment to gather himself. The Incredible strong but equally dim Sustantivian eventually realized it was him on the floor, not his puny opponent and he rushed to his feet wanting to avenge his embarrassment. Again his attack involved too much weight and not enough brain power and Salatis had him eating dirt for a second time.
“GET UP,” Fenderal shouted; urging Decha to jump up and rip Salatis’ arms from his body. Decha scrambled to his feet and charged towards him; hitting Salatis in the midriff, pushing the wind out of his lungs. The impact took them both to the floor, but it was yet another poor decision by the Sustantivian monster as Salatis rolled over backwards and ended up on top. Decha’s brutish reaction was to lash out with a wild punch which fell short and Salatis retaliated with two of his own, catching him in the face. He went to throw a third, but was pulled away with his arms restrained.
“Behave gentlemen,” Adhelm ordered. Decha got to his feet and wiped the blood from his lip. He looked to his friends and they did not look back. He had brought shame to their race and was going to find it hard to live down his defeat. Adhelm stood between them both.
“As in all sport we leave the field with no ill feeling,” Adhelm said expecting a hand shake. Salatis offered his arm, but Decha would not accept.
“Decha go to my study; I will deal with you later,” Adhelm barked; his voice brimming with authority.
“Salatis wait here.” He did as he was asked, frozen to the spot and not wanting to upset him further. The other children dispersed and his voice altered, returning to calm.
“Well done Salatis; you bettered a bigger man with ease. Where did you learn such skills?”
“My father taught me many things sir, the sword, the bow and wrestling. He was keen for me to master these skills, but he does not condone violence and will not be pleased with my behavior.” His father as Salatis knew well had always taught him that violence and anger were not a show of strength, but were in fact a sign of weakness. He truly believed it was dull minds that created conflict and Salatis could not remember an instance where his father had ever behaved in an aggressive manner.
“Do not worry Salatis. I am sure your Hedric would understand; you had no choice. Decha and his two friends may have ill feelings towards you and I apologize for that. If they give you any trouble, please come and see me.”
“Yes sir.”
“Now go and join your class.” He did as Adhelm asked, running to join Tristan who was leaning against a lonely tree, waiting in the distance.
“You said you had no dark secrets Salatis. You will have to teach me some of those moves?” he insisted, as he circled around him, bouncing like an over excited child.
“Off course,” he replied. Tristan’s face dropped into concerned.
“I fear you have made yourself three nasty enemies today. It may have been wiser if you had lost to Decha.”
“Do not fear my friend; I could never let someone such as Decha beat me. What will be, will be,” Salatis replied bravely, throwing his arm over Tristan’s back. Their conversation continued and they walked into the school, working their way through the crowd of children who were waiting to pat Salatis on the back and circling around him, trying to get a closer look at their new hero. Defeating Decha had changed his whole day. He was now the most popular boy in the school and the moment felt great.
The next few weeks and months went by with little incident. Fenderal, Decha and Mikhal were around and in his peripheral vision, but had decided against confronting him; unwilling to risk humiliation. His life was good; no it was better than good and although his group of friends constantly changed Tristan remained a Perpetual. His friendship alone was worth getting up for every morning and going to school. Home life was also going well with Salatis and his father spending time apart they cherished their weekends together; working wood and selling it at the market. They were busy loading up their cart to head to the village and the weather was glorious. Market days were a great business to be in on days like today, it raised the spirit and people were more willing to empty their pocket.
“Salatis I have been speaking with your teacher Adhelm; he says you are an exceptional wrestler,” Hedric said looking for a humble response. Salatis looked at him, standing in the new warrior pose he had been trying to perfect.
“Yes I have been known to win the odd fight,” he jested. His father’s face turned serious.
“Do not abuse your ability young man,” he said sternly.
“Of course father,” he replied, attempting to put his father into an arm lock. The mood lightened instantly, as Hedric picked Salatis up and threw him onto his shoulder; carrying him outside into the garden to continue the fight.

The months then soon turned to years and every day seemed better than the last. Today it was Salatis’ thirteenth birthday and he could not wait to see what Tristan had got him. His morning began as every other, walking to school along the road, saying hello to the familiar faces he had come to know over the last three years. Tristan was meeting him half way; they always made their way to school together and they had become inseparable. Salatis spotted Tristan in the distance and waited for him to turn and wave. He was lay on the ground and had not seen him coming, which immediately set alarm bells ringing. In the 3 years they had been friends he had never known Tristan to sit still. He was always on the move which was probably why he did not have an ounce of fat on him. Salatis slightly concerned picked up his pace and as he got closer his fears were confirmed. Tristan was badly hurt and in considerable pain and Salatis ran to his side and fell to his knees.
“TRISTAN ARE YOU OK?” He turned tentatively and looked at Salatis. His face was pouring with blood and one of his eyes had swollen shut.
“I’m ok,” he said softly; struggling to breathe. “They have taken your gift.”
“Do not worry about such things. Who did this to you?” Salatis had never felt such anger and could feel darkness trying to grab hold from within. “They will pay for what they have done.”
“It does not matter who it was Salatis. Can you take me home?”
“Yes of course,” he replied, helping him to his feet and placing his arm over Tristan’s shoulder. They arrived at his home and Salatis passed Tristan into his concerned mother’s arms. He stood for a moment watching as Tristan’s mother fussed over him and could feel his temper getting the better of him. He turned to walk away unnoticed and Tristan guessed his intentions.
“Salatis”
“Please; do not retaliate, give me your word. There can be no winner,” he begged. Salatis only broke stride to offer him a slight smile and was unable to respond in words. He did not want to make a promise to his friend that he knew would not be kept.