Once the masters were confident that Soren could tell one end of a sword from the other, he was given the chance to train against the drones. He had seen them on his first day in the training hall, but had so far not been allowed anywhere near them. They were hideous, marvellous things. Ugly and ungainly to look at, their smooth movement was almost creepy. They were ancient too, a leftover from the time of mages, who built them to train their soldiers. There were all centuries old, perhaps even over a thousand years in some cases. Such was the quality and skill of their construction that they still functioned perfectly. Perhaps the magic had something to do with their longevity. They were cylindrical and as tall as Soren was, but floated half a metre off the ground when they were activated. They were thicker than an average man and had four appendages at what would be shoulder height when they were activated. Each drone had a number stitched into its brown leather covering and could attack with four different weapons at a time, through a range of three hundred and sixty degrees.
He watched them put student after student through their paces, moving faster and with more precision than most human attackers would be able to. One after another, they scored a hit on the student who was fencing against them, which signalled that their turn was over. A hit was considered to be a kill, and all students were given time to think that over before they were allowed to try again. Soren was tingling with excitement when his turn came. Its massive physical presence created a huge psychological challenge, far more so than when squaring up to a human opponent. Its monstrousness represented the childhood bogeyman he had often dreamt of defeating in battle. What made the challenge all the more appealing was that it had bested all of his peers.
The drone held four individual blunted rapiers, one in each of its hands. They were articulated in such a way that it could attack with all four at the same time if required, which made it like fighting two or more men. There were a number of heavily scuffed patches on the brown leather surface of its body, the leather here both worn but newer than the rest, having been replaced over time. These were deactivation, or kill points. A strike to one of these would turn the drone off. To increase the challenge to the student, the drone could be set to not deactivate until it had been struck cleanly on more than one of the different kill points, up to the full six that were on it.
Master Bryn called the drone by its number and it came to life. For a moment Soren thought he saw a faint blue glow around it, but then dismissed it as a figment of his imagination. Bryn barked out a command and Soren jumped to respond before realising that it had been directed at the drone. They functioned entirely by voice command. It moved forward, gliding silently across the wooden floor toward Soren. Floating as it did, it towered over him. Its ominous advance placed a momentary seed of doubt in Soren’s stomach, but as soon as it engaged him his nerves subsided.
Its attacks were precise and relentless. Unlike a person, it did not slow. It did not need to pause to catch its breath after a particularly intense series of attacks and Soren could see for the first time the value of the intense physical training they were subjected to. In his present condition, still scrawny, weak and unfit, not to mention stiff and sore, the drone would wear him down and strike him even more quickly than it had with his peers.
He knew he could not last long, as the drone did not yet seem to have reached its full speed and he did not expect to be able to keep up with it when it did. When he had watched it attacking the other students it had seemed to be far faster. He began to wonder if Master Bryn was going easy on him, but surely if he was holding his own Bryn would increase the intensity to an appropriate level. Perhaps it was just deceptively fast and it was his apprehension that had increased its apparent speed.
His confusion turned to impatience before long, so he decided to end it. If Master Bryn was underestimating him, he would highlight the mistake Bryn was making to ensure he realised it. As he fended off the attacks, he made his plan. He had seen Amero win a duel in the arena with a flashy strike from behind his back. It began with a quick straight thrust, followed by a twist when he made a second strike with the sword behind his back. He waited for the drone to attack, parried and then quickly stepped inside its reach, thrusting the button at the end of his training rapier into a kill patch on the drone’s left side, before twisting and flicking his sword around behind his back, using the force of the twist of his body to drive the tip home onto another patch on the drone’s left side.
The instant the tip touched the second kill patch, the drone’s arms went slack and it slowly dropped back to the floor. He turned to face Master Bryn and saluted him with his rapier. Bryn had a bemused expression on his face, and waved Soren to the back of the queue without a word.
Soren petitioned River House as Henn and Jost had suggested and was pleased to find that he was quickly accepted. He felt a little sad leaving his small, lonely room at the top of the Under Cadet Dormitory as it had been the first proper home he had ever known, even if only for a brief time. However, life in River was far more enjoyable than the isolation of his attic room had been. For a start his new room was larger, as was his bed. The number of steps he had to climb to get to it were far fewer also, which after a tough training session was a blessing. There was also a sense of camaraderie there that he was quickly included in, purely by virtue of his membership of the house.
Life at River centred around a large common room on the ground floor. The pecking order of the Academy was at its most apparent here, confusing as it was to a newcomer like Soren. Generally speaking the oldest students, the adepti, had seniority over the tyros. That meant if a tyro was relaxing on one of the sofas in the common room, and an adeptus wished to sit there, the tyro had to move. There was another layer to it however. The best students of the Academy were members of the Society of Blades, the name given to the Academy’s prefects, and they were senior to all others irrespective of the year they were in. Membership was attained in one of two ways. The most usual way was when a Blade graduated and either left the Academy or moved to the Collegium to continue his studies, his place became vacant. Students who wished to become a Blade put their name forward and would have to duel for the spot. The winner would be admitted to the Society, and the variety of privileges that this entailed.
The other method was a direct challenge. If a student was ranked highly enough within his class, he could directly challenge a Blade for his place. This was rarely done however, more of a left over from older times than a rule that was in practice. Although any student was eligible to try for membership, in reality, most Blades were adepti, with only an occasional tyro managing to get in, Ranph being the sole example in the Academy at that time, and it was unheard of for cadets to get in. The prospect of being a Blade, and all of the benefits that came with it was immediately attractive to Soren.