A few hours before sunset, Kerra called our session to a premature halt.

“You’re still rough around the edges,” she said as I mopped sweat from my face, “but you’re no longer hopeless with a melee weapon. And your hand-to-hand skills are admittedly impressive. What do you think Niels, is he ready?”

The bald weapons trainer regarded me for a long moment, before finally nodding. “I suppose so,” he said. “He’s got all the basics down and he’s personally cleared more bounties than most Gold-ranked Acolytes. He’s as ready enough.”

Niels left Section Overseer Blackmore in charge, then he, Kerra and I turned our backs on the courtyard and headed into the Citadel proper. I had no idea what the hell was going on or why they were being so secretive. My confusion mounted even further when they ushered me to a nondescript spiral staircase, marked “Ascendant Vigilant Only,” which lead down instead of up for a change. I hadn’t even realized the Citadel had a basement, especially since Kerra had left out any mention of it during our formal tour.

The staircase corkscrewed into the earth and the air grew noticeably cooler as we descended. We must’ve dropped four or five stories before the narrow passage finally ended at a curved archway that let out into a huge subterranean complex, complete with weapons and training armor, an expansive archery range, and a depressed circular sparring ring that reminded me of the sandy fighting pit I’d brawled in the night before. A vigil in scale mail was duking it out with what appeared to be a faceless, animated suit of armor. More of the lifeless suits were lined up against the far wall.

There were also several archways that connected to additional rooms.

One chamber was filled with a random assortment of doors and chests. A Vigil in dark leathers was crouched in front of a massive iron gate that looked like it had come off a prison cell. His back was too me, so I couldn’t see exactly what he was doing, but it wasn’t hard to guess that he was practicing Deft Touch—learning how to pick increasingly more complex locks. Another such room, crisscrossed with thin beams of light and pools of dark shadow, seemed custom built to practice Stealth Step and Crystalline Shell.

A Vigil in flowing robes, marked with the sigil of Wrath, slung spells in a domed-shaped room with dimpled walls and ceilings that reminded me of a golf ball. Gold and silver sigils were engraved into the wall panels, glimmering with unearthly power. A lance of fire burst from her palm, slamming into the wall, then quickly dissipating.

“That’s the Arcana Dampening Chamber,” Kerra said, noticing the direction of my gaze. “It was designed by the builders as a way to enhance core cultivation and practice spells. The sigil panels suck up Arcana, then recycle it and release a portion of it back as Raw Essence. It allows Vigils to practice casting dangerous magic in relative safety and the constant influx of fresh Essence means Vigils can cast Arcana-intensive spells more frequently.

“Welcome to Fury Hall,” she continued with a slight smile. “The unawakened recruits train up top, perfecting their bodies and mastering the fundamental basics of Citadel warfare, but this is where Vigils train.” She pointed toward the fighting pit with the faceless mannequins. “Those are Sigil Constructs, animated by the souls of fallen Mortka. They are completely compliant and lie dormant until you fed a trickle of Essence into their sigil port. Then they serve as the perfect sparring partner. But there are rooms suited for practicing every path.

“Truth.” She gestured toward the shadow and lock room. “Valor.” Another room, fixed with small cannons, launched heavy steel balls at a Vigil in plate mail. “Wrath.” She nodded at the spellcaster hurling fireballs. “You will find the truly dedicated down here, honing their abilities to a razor’s edge. Preparing for any obstacle the world may throw their way. The real treasure, however, lies there.” She headed over to the far end of the hall, which had a beefy steel door that looked like it was built to keep out an army of angry Mortka. Large crystalline glass windows flanked the door on both sides. “Come. Watch.”

I stepped up and squinted.

The breath caught in my throat when I spotted a couple of familiar faces inside.

Telent and Kol. Two of the four Vigils who’d help Kerra “escort” me to the Citadel for my trial.

The pair of them were in the fight of their lives.

Silver mist crawled through what appeared to be an otherworldly jungle with purple trees and swaying, burnt orange grass. A huge simian creature with six arms gnashed its teeth and lashed out at Kol with a fist covered in stone. He ducked below the strike, sidestepped a powerful haymaker, then danced away from an uppercut. The creature whiffed, suddenly unbalanced, and Kol crooked a finger. Tangles of brown vine erupted from the loamy earth, wrapping around the monster’s legs.

I lurched toward the steel door, but Kerra caught my arm.

“Just watch,” she said. “They know what they’re doing.”

Telent bounded in with a rapier in one hand and a slim dagger in the other. He slashed at the overgrown monkey’s face, leaving a shallow cut beneath one eye, then bolted under a clumpst overhand attack and dragged his dagger across the creature’s belly. The blade easily cut through skin, muscle, and fat, splitting the monster from navel to groin. Ropes of blue-gray intestine spilled out in heaps. Kol’s summoned vines shot out like striking snakes. They wrapped around the tangles of guts then slide up into the monster’s chest cavity.

Honestly, it was as disgusting as it was impressive.

Kol bent over and slammed his fist into the ground.

The earth rumbled, responding to his will. The Vigil of Balance right himself a second later and his entire forearm was entrusted in thick slabs of stone. He charged forward with a roar and slammed his newly reinforced fist into the reeling creature, shattering its jaw and breaking its neck with a single blow. The Mortka’s eyes went vacant, glassy, and it toppled over, the life already gone from its body. It hit the ground with a thud and broke apart in a cloud of swirling smoke, disappearing as if it had never been there at all.

“You were right, Kol,” Telent said causally as he dismissed his sword and dagger. “That was a much more effective tactic than I would’ve thought.” He ambled over to the wall and hit his palm against something just out of sight. The jungle flickered like a dying lightbulb then disappeared entirely, replaced by a circular cavern the size of a football stadium.

The ground was rough gray stone and at the center of the cavern were five concentric golden circles inlaid directly into the floor. Above was a vaulted patchwork dome, constructed of huge interlocking, opal tiles. Hanging from the ceiling were a series of huge golden arms with large crystal lenses attached to each end. Honestly, it looked like some a giant baby mobile made by an overeager, occultist Hot-Topic mom.

The steel door released and swung outward with a soft hiss, fine tendrils of silver mist clawing their way into the room.

“Kerra,” Telent said, as the door fully opened and came to a stop. “I was wondering when you’d finally show up—though I didn’t expect to see the old battle-ax tagging along. How in the bloody world are you, Niels?” He slapped the weapon master on the shoulder like an old friend. “It’s been ages since the last time you kicked my arse. I must say, you’re looking well. All that unbearable exercise you sear by is keeping you spry.”

“It’s good to see you too.” Niels offered the man a broad smile in return. “It has indeed been a while, though my training yard is always open. Even for renowned Vigils, such as yourself. Whenever you have some free time, you’re welcome to stop by. I’d be happy to teach you a thing or two, if you ever have a mind to learn.”

Telent winced and clutched at his side playfully. “The offer is much appreciated, but I remember the last lesson you taught me a little too well, I think. Hope old Ironsides here is treating you better than he used to treat me,” Telent said, shooting me a wink. “All things considered, training with him might be a touch more painful than a good clean headsmen’s ax to the neck. Still, I’m damned glad to see they decided to keep you alive. We owe you for saving our arses back with the Elder Bear and I hate having outstanding debts.”

“Yes!” Kol boomed. “That is how you end up with an angry ghost haunting you. But don’t think we’ve forgotten about you, friend Boyd! We just been busy, busy with our current assignment.”

“That’s actually why we convinced Kerra to bring you down here,” Telent admittedly sheepishly. “Me and the boys, well we felt bad that we haven’t had time to pop by and give you a proper welcome. So we conspired with Kerra and Niels to commission a thank you present of sorts. It’s not a beer, but it’s not nothing.”

Kol lumbered forward and pulled out a crescent-bladed ax, similar to the one I’d been training with for the past couple of days. It had a gleaming blade that drew down to a sharp point at the bottom, a wicked spike jutting from the top—perfect for thrusting attacks—and a second curved spike protruding from the back, custom designed to punch through even heavy plate armor. The haft was crafted from polished ebony wood and the handle was wrapped with strips of leather. Gold and silver sigils burned along the surface of the ax head and ran down the shaft of the weapon.

Not just an ax, but a weapon skin. A Mortka forged weapon skin.

I silently accepted the weapon, turning it over in my hands. I ran my thumb over the sigils etched into the metal. The skin was solid, but it weighed nothing at all.

>>

Mortka-Forged Raven Peak Axe

Type: Mortka Forged Steel, Blunt Weapon

Class: Master

The Raven Peak axe, so named for its distinctive curved beak head, is lighter and far more maneuverable than its larger, two-handed brethren. Its keen blade, crafted from Reinforced Mortka Steel, will never lose its edge. Favored by both mounted calvary and front-line infantry, the Raven Peak Axe is a versatile weapon suited for battle against a wide array of foes.

Primary Effects:

Weapon Skin: Item can be applied to any base Soul Bound melee weapon, transforming it into a Standard Hand-and-a-Half Sword.

>>

“Are you sure?” I asked, squinting at the weapon, then looking between Telent and Kol. “This thing must’ve cost a fortune.” Probably not as much as the blue basilisk armor I’d barter for at the Steel Griffin, I thought, but not cheap either.

“We're plenty sure, and we all chipped in. Me, Kol, Amherst, Jori. Hells, even Justiciar Kerra helped,” Telent replied with a shrug. “We felt like it was the least we could do, considering. Niels picked the weapon out for us. Said it would be a good fit for you.”

I side-eyed Kerra. She shifted uncomfortably from side to side.

“Besides,” Telent continued, “you deserve it. Word on the street is you managed to lay Niels there out on his back in a hand-to-hand bout.” He cocked an eyebrow at the weapons trainer. “If there’s any truth to it, you’ve earned that weapon a hundred times over just for all the laughs you’ve provided us.”

Niels spread his hands in admission. “I was as surprised as anyone else, I can assure you.”

“Ha! Wish I could’ve been there to see it.” Telent chuckled. “That smile of his used to haunt my nightmares back before I ascended. The man doesn’t have a mean bone in his body, but he’s still one of the scariest, most tenacious opponents I’ve ever faced.”

“I don’t know what to say,” I replied, clutching the handle tightly.

“You don’t have to say anything, friend,” Telent replied matter of factly. “Just do us a favor and put it to good use, eh? There’s a lot of bad things out in the world and we could use more good men like you out there handling them. Now, much as I would love to stay and chat a little more, we have a rather pressing meeting with the Keeper. There’s something nasty out there killing folk and we aim to put a stop to it.”

“But we do still owe you a beer,” Kol said gravely. “Once we slay this beast that hunts Wildspell we shall all celebrate together and drink mead from its skull! Consider the ax and down payment until then, friend.”