Read The Rising Sun: Episode 4 for Free Online Page A

the training. And that’s usually
when there’s no one at all around. So we have the whole place for
ourselves. I remember learning it all here.”
     
    He swung his hands in a wild wave. A heat
wave like disturbance burst from the air in front of him, gliding
past the balcony and then disappearing beyond it.
     
    “Oh, come on, the smash is amateur
stuff.” said Vestra, shaking her head. “Some of the masters here
can conjure a blaze .”
     
    “A blaze?” asked Qyro, turning to her.
     
    “It means to conjure fire out of thin air.”
she explained. “It’s one of the hardest mystical fighting devices,
and can usually be done only in extreme pressure.”
     
    Ion looked past the balcony for a moment. A
gruesome, twisting sensation had seized his insides. He heaved a
deep breath, steadying himself. For a few seconds, he silently
watched the duel between one of the sword pairs: a middle aged
Elfling and a Blackling. The two of them were locked in a rapid
dance of orange lights: they moved faster than humanely possible,
their ignited swords swirling like ropes of fire. Sparks burst
around them as their swords clashed repeatedly.
     
    Ion couldn’t help feel a silent awe at the
mindblowing skill that they displayed. The three disciples let
their attention divert to the duel for a few quiet minutes,
watching as it slowly dragged itself to the centre of balcony,
growing tenser. It carried on for what felt like ten minutes, with
neither of them letting their prowess slacken even a bit. The black
fur on the Blackling rippled as he jumped, dodged, ducked and
struck wildly at his opponent, who fought back just as
aggressively. The two of them moved so fast, they almost seemed to
flick from spot to spot, their motions a blur and their ignited
swords spinning in a frenzy.
     
    The Blackling’s blade swept around in a wild
slash that would have taken his opponent’s head off, if he hadn’t
leapt back in a split second’s notice. But the Elfling recovered
from the staggering motion in the slightest effort, lunging forth
with a snarl on his face … his sword shining in brilliant orange. A
steely cling sounded, and the Blackling’s sword was sent
flying off: The Elfling’s blade had clipped it by the bottom and
wrenched it from the man’s hold. The Blackling’s eyes, for the
meanest second, had followed his sword as it went twisting into the
air. But the very next second, before he could complete a flinch,
the Elfling’s sword was held before his neck.
     
    A faint patter of clapping ensued from some
of the masters around who’d been watching this. The two masters
concluded their training duel with a deep bow, before the Blackling
picked his sword back up and sheathed it.
     
    Qyro turned to Ion with a grin. “Believe me,
you haven’t seen duelling until you’ve seen Mantra duel.”
     
    “Mantra?” Ion needed a moment to construct a
mental scene of the elderly master dancing around with an ignited
sword. “Is he good?”
     
    “Good?” asked Vestra, smiling. “He’s the best
there is.”
     
    “You’d be surprised if I told you have the
tricks he’s got up his sling.” said Qyro.
     
    Ion shrugged. “Well, he’s eight thousand
years old.”
     
    “Yeah, compare that to the few years we’ve
trained.” said Qyro. “I’ve been here for just over a year, and the
few years before as a stray mystic could hardly count.”
     
    “Why’s that?” asked Ion.
     
    Qyro’s gaze went far off for a moment, as if
in memory, and a dark look shadowed his red furred features.
     
    “Those were dangerous days.” he said quietly.
“Before I joined the Nyon, my earlier master, Tralgor was all I
knew. And we were two stray mystics wandering about the outer
spectrum.” He paused for another moment’s thought. “The regions of
the outer spectrum, as we went about it, was less friendly than you
could actually believe. Apart from just trying to evade the Naxim
constantly, we ran into a load of other deadly