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‘He can’t stay here,’ George said to the other two.
The three of them stared down at the Adept in the courtyard. He had long since abandoned his full armour in favour of a padded jerkin. A sleeveless padded jerkin. He was lithe and light on his feet, not charging in head first but rather holding back and assessing his opponent with shrewd eyes before finally making his devastating move.
‘The boy has not used a single sign throughout his entire assessment,’ Keldar noted.
‘Aye, he’s nae magically gifted, is he?’ Erland agreed.
‘Mayhap the Cats would be a better fit?’ Keldar suggested.
‘Gezras did write to say he’d likely have a lad for us this go round,’ George agreed.
‘Well, if he cannae stay wi us then he cannae stay wi us. Guxart and Gez’ll bring him up right,’ Erland sighed. ‘Ah’ll write them the morra.’
Kiyan scowled at all the onlookers, peering out of caravans and from behind wagons. He wanted to go home. He might not have been as good as the other adepts - his signs were shit, and the armour always felt so cumbersome and clunky - but he at least knew everyone there.
Grandmaster Erland had told him, oh so solemnly, that he would be a perfect fit for the Cat school, that he would thrive and reach his full potential with the Dyn Marv. Kiyan knew he was just trying to get rid of him.
The other boy, Aste, sniffled from where he was cowering behind the Cat witcher who’d collected them. Aste used to be a Wolf, Master Guxart had said, but he was so quiet and so quick that the Wolf Grandmaster had picked him to send to the Cats. The Wolves had owed them a boy for one sent to them a few years prior, Aste had explained.
“Right then, lads,” Master Guxart said, ushering them toward a wooden caravan, painted in bright colours. If this was to be their new accommodation, Kiyan might not mind it too much. Caer y Seren had large dormitory rooms for the trainees and adepts, and he’d had to share with four other boys. Just one doormmate didn’t seem too bad.
There were other caravans scattered in a loose circle around the forest clearing where the caravan was parked. In the centre, was a large stone circle, containing the ash of a campfire. There were horses picketed off to one side in a makeshift paddock between two wagons. Somewhere in the distance a stream burbled. The morning light filtered down through the leaves, dappling everything in shades of gold. Kiyan wanted snow capped peaks and a dimly lit library instead. But he wasn’t getting that.
‘The two of you’ll know, I’m sure,’ Guxart started in that lecturing tone that was apparently common to all training masters, regardless of school, ‘that the mutagens used to create Witchers are derived, in part, from the very monsters we are created to hunt?’
The two boys nodded.
‘And you’ll know that each school uses slightly different formulas, meant to best compliment the skills and traits those schools prize most highly?’
The boys nodded again.
‘What you are unlikely to know, is how this creates certain difficulties when introducing Adepts of different schools to one another. The mutagens create new instincts in a Witcher, as well as new senses. You’ll no doubt have come across many of these already since you’ve been Grassed a good month or two each. These instincts will cause you to see Adepts of other schools as threats, whether you want to or not. The boys of your new training class will have the same problem with you. Intellectually, they know that you are now their brothers and friends. Instinctually, however, you are a threat and threats are not to be tolerated.’
Guxart’s stern face told Kiyan that this was not the joke he hoped it was. Gods above and below he wanted to go home, back to Kaer Seren where the rest of his brothers were roosting. He didn’t want to have to fight a whole cohort of Cat trainees in order to be accepted. If he even could. More likely, he’d just die. He mentally threw every curse he knew at Grandmaster Erland for sending him to suffer this torment. His one comfort was that Aste looked no happier than he felt.
‘As such,’ Guxart continued, ‘we’ve had to find ways to ensure as smooth a transition as possible. It took a while to figure it out, but I’ve yet to see it go wrong.’
As he spoke, another witcher approached, a gaggle of adepts trailing after him, most of them wearing mutinous looks. Kiyan didn’t want to know what was going to happen next. He’d never been privy to the welcoming of a new Griffin, always kept busy with the other young trainees until the new boy was truly a part of their new cohort.
‘In you get,’ the other witcher barked, gesturing for the boys to climb into the caravan.
Kiyan blinked at him, even as Aste moved to follow his instructions, along with the dozen other boys.
He couldn’t possibly be serious?
Suddenly everything that had happened over the last month became too much.
‘Like fuck ah will!’ he bellowed, channelling Grandmaster Erland in his cups, and bolted.
He didn’t get very far. He cleared the firepit in one huge leap and ran for the far line of caravans. He nearly made it. An arm whipped out from nowhere and impacted his ribs. He twisted and snarled and tried to bite, but whoever had him was bigger and stronger than him. Soon, he found himself unceremoniously marched back to Guxart.
‘We’ve got ourselves a wriggly one this year,’ a voice rumbled against his back.
‘Seems so,’ Guxart agreed. ‘Nice catch, Treyse.’
The witcher at Kiyan’s back hefted him up effortlessly, tossing him bodily into the overfull caravan. Kiyan didn’t even have time to start screaming invectives before the door closed in his face. He could barely turn without bumping another body, and he felt an itchy feeling crawling over his skin. He was surrounded, enemies at all sides, and he was unarmed.
A sweet scent filtered through the sharp tang of mutant, and he heard someone make a noise of pleased surprise.
‘There’s cakes!’ Aste exclaimed, grabbing at Kiyan’s arm.
The lure of sweet treats quickly won out over the desire to hiss and snarl at the other boys. They were packed in too tightly to start a fight anyway. There was no space to get any momentum behind a swing. Kiyan still wasn’t happy about their current situation, but he’d tolerate it, for now. Just until he finished his cake, and then he’d start looking for a way to get out.
A warm body leaned into his shoulder, the weight somewhat pleasant and grounding. Aste had clearly deemed him pleasant enough company to rest against him, leaning away from the young Cat adepts.
Were they not technically Cat adepts now?
Kiyan shrugged off the thought in favour of licking the honey off his fingers. He’d had a long day, and the initial excitement was beginning to wear off. His escape attempt hadn’t helped any. And Aste really was quite warm. It wouldn’t hurt to just close his eyes for a moment before he started looking for weak points in the door.