Free Rising From the Ashes: The Chronicles of Caymin by Caren J. Werlinger Page B

they joined Enat and Neela who were watching from the edge of the archery range.
    “That is fine, from a distance,” Ivar said, leaning on his sword. “But she’ll never defeat an enemy who has made it close enough for hand to hand fighting.”
    Enat eyed him. “You think not?”
    “Have you watched her spar?” Ivar laughed. “She can’t best anyone here.”
    Enat shrugged. “I told you, you’ve yet to find the right way to motivate her.”
    “And you have?”
    Without warning, Enat seized Niall’s sword and swung it at Ivar, forcing him to leap back and defend himself. She allowed him no time to question her, but began fighting in earnest, the clang of their swords resounding through the sparring yard. All stopped to watch, including Ash. Blow for blow, Enat met Ivar, blocking his sword, he blocking hers as she attacked, but his greater size began to tell as Enat was forced to retreat step by step. She suddenly stumbled and fell. Ivar raised his sword over his head.
    With a scream, Ash fired an arrow at Ivar. It tore through his beard, startling him as he cursed. She ran and leapt between him and Enat, crouching and snarling like an animal, her teeth bared. She raised a hand, and Ivar was thrown backward, the force of her power lifting him off his feet. He soared through the air and landed on his back with a sickening thud.
    All was silent, and it seemed no one dared move for a moment. Enat and Ivar both sat up.
    “I told you,” Enat said. She got to her feet and went to Ivar, whose face had gone from white to a furious red, and offered him a hand. She pulled him to his feet as he glared at Ash. “She only needed the right motivation.”

    “She shot an arrow at me!”
    “She missed you.”
    “By a hair’s breadth.”
    “A hair is as good as an arm if it misses.”
    “Enough.”
    Ash sat with the younger apprentices outside the meetinghouse where the elders and the older apprentices argued her fate. Ash listened to the voices. One was unfamiliar. It belonged to an old man, much older than Enat to judge by his wizened appearance. His name was Timmin. He had been summoned by the others when Ivar and Enat continued arguing Ash’s punishment, or whether she was to be punished at all. Patiently, they had sat and waited for him to come from some distant part of the forest.
    “Timmin is First Mage and prefers to live alone,” Enat had murmured to Ash while they waited. “He studies the stars and the skies, looking for portents as to the future.”
    Ash frowned. “Can anyone see the future?”
    Enat shrugged. “I’ve never known anyone who could. But Timmin is very old and very wise. Perhaps he can.”
    When Timmin arrived, Ash watched him with great curiosity. He walked straight despite being very old, supported by his staff. He had a long, white beard, but sharp eyes, black as Beanna’s, and Ash had the feeling he could see through her when he glanced in her direction before going into the meetinghouse.
    “Summon the girl,” he said now.
    Enat’s face appeared in the doorway, and she gestured to Ash. Ash entered, and Enat stood her before Timmin where he sat in a chair while the others occupied the benches on either side of the long table.
    “Come.” He held out his hand, and Ash approached. His hand, when she placed hers in it, was surprisingly warm and gentle. He held it, looking long into her eyes.
    “Do you remember what happened?”
    “How can she not remember –?”
    Timmin silenced Ivar with a look and turned back to Ash.
    “I remember some,” Ash said. “I remember watching Enat and Ivar fighting. I remember Enat falling, and Ivar raising his sword.” She paused, biting her lip. “Then I do not remember anything until Enat was helping Ivar to stand.”
    “You don’t remember shooting an arrow at me?” Ivar shoved angrily to his feet.
    “Ivar –”
    “She lies!”
    Ash did not know what that meant but understood it to be an insult. She stood as tall as she could, but before