Cracks in Reality

By Alex Siegel

CRACKS IN REALITY is the second book in the Seams in Reality Series.

The Vault is a fortress in the desert protected by the United States Army, and it contains the forbidden secrets of sorcery. Blake, master sorcerer and fugitive from justice, has an inventive plan for robbing the place. He intends to use the stolen knowledge to destroy his enemies and become the most powerful sorcerer on Earth.

Two apprentices are on a mission to kill Blake. Andrew is a war mage, a genius at psychic combat. Charley is a young woman who can command physical forces. Their instructor, Tonya, will turn the two teenagers into warriors capable of vanquishing Blake, if they can endure the extreme mental and physical challenges. A government agency has the same assignment, but the agents are unprepared for the dangers they will face, and they become another threat to the apprentices on their deadly mission.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alex Siegel
• Release date: Sep 26, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310363658

Alex Siegel

Alex Siegel grew up a math and computer geek. At the age of twenty-five, he received a Ph.D. in Computer Science from Cornell. He continues to make a good living as a software developer in Chicago. In his late twenties, he took up creative writing as a serious pastime with the intention of eventually making it his career. This goal has been elusive, but failure is not an option. In 2001, his wife gave birth to triplet boys. People often ask him how he still finds time to write. In 2009, he began the Gray Spear Society series, and he hopes it will be his key to literary fame.

Book preview

Chapter One

Blake Blutstein shook his head with disappointment.

He was standing in front of the Sweet Palms Tavern in Alamogordo, New Mexico. The building had walls made of ugly pink stucco. Arched windows tried to create the impression of a Spanish mission, but neon beer signs completely ruined the effect. The sandstorms that plagued the region had shredded a canvas awning over the door. Looking at the place created the expectation of cheap, watered-down liquor served in dirty glasses.

Alamogordo as a whole wasn't much more impressive. It was a town of 30,000 in the middle of the New Mexican desert. Pick-up trucks were the most popular type of vehicle on the wide, sunbaked roads. The surrounding land was formidably arid and flat. Distant mountains provided the only interesting scenery, but dust in the air gave them a washed out appearance.

Blake entered the tavern. The transition from bright sunlight to darkness forced him to stop while his eyes adjusted. When he could see again, he saw little worth the bother. Fake wood paneling covered the walls, and the ceiling was just sheets of plywood. The bar was so scratched up, most of the veneer was gone. Shelves were packed full of decorative empty beer bottles, many with labels written in Spanish.

Two middle-aged men in dusty clothes were sitting at the bar. They didn't even turn their heads when Blake entered. The place was otherwise empty of customers.

The bartender was a Native American man with long, black hair. He was wearing a black T-shirt and a green baseball cap.

Hi there, he said.

Blake smiled at him. I'm here to meet somebody, not drink.

You can't stay if you don't drink.

Then I'll have tonic water in a clean glass. Thank you.

The bartender frowned and muttered under his breath.

Blake checked his watch. According to his intelligence, US Army Captain Brian Ortiz would stop by the bar for a drink in approximately ten minutes. The captain prided himself on punctuality and strict adherence to a schedule even when he drank.

Blake sat in a booth in the back corner of the room where the light was poor. He calmed himself and cleared his mind. Good sorcery required strong mental focus, and while he could do it under adverse conditions, that wasn't his preference. The bartender brought him a glass of tonic water, and after checking the glass for dirt, Blake sipped the drink.

He scratched his chin. He was wearing a fake beard as part of an elaborate disguise. He never showed his real face in public anymore. The federal government was looking for him with the goal of killing him. Blake had to travel under an assumed name when he used a name at all. Even with the disguise, he avoided every surveillance camera he saw.

A short time later, a Hispanic man in an Army uniform walked in. His black hair was cut short and even all over. A little stubble was growing on his chin, but it was excusable considering he had just come off five days of continuous duty. Blake recognized the officer as Ortiz from pictures.

Ortiz sat at the bar. The bartender immediately served him a shot of whiskey and a tall bottle of beer. Ortiz nodded in acknowledgement.

Blake stood up and walked over. Captain Ortiz?

Ortiz turned his head. Do I know you? He squinted.

No, but I'd like to talk to you in private, if that's all right.

About what?

Blake glanced at the bartender. For your ears only.

I'm busy drinking, Ortiz said.

I'll pay for your drinks. Please.

Ortiz had a dubious expression, but he got up and grabbed his drinks. He and Blake went over to the booth in the corner.

What is it? Ortiz said.

Look at this, Blake replied.

After making sure nobody else was watching, he took a giant emerald out of his pocket and placed it on the table. It was the infamous Russian Eye. The stone had a square cut and was the size of his palm. As a historic gemstone alone, it was worth millions.

To a sorcerer, the Russian Eye was priceless. A tiny seam was caught in the crystal structure. The crack in the walls of reality was just the size of a pinhead, but it allowed raw, chaotic energy to trickle in from beyond. Blake could harness that energy and use it to work magic. Without a seam, he had the limitations of an ordinary man, but the Russian Eye allowed him to accomplish impossible feats.

Is that thing real? Ortiz leaned down for a closer look.

Blake blasted Ortiz with a psychic attack. With the ease of a master, Blake found Ortiz's deepest fears and most crippling anxieties which could rob him of his willpower. Blake wriggled into the dark corners like a weasel going after a rat. The silent, invisible battle lasted only a few seconds, and when it was over, Blake was in complete control. He had manipulated Ortiz's beliefs to turn him into an obedient slave. Ortiz would eagerly do anything Blake asked, no matter how dangerous, because Ortiz felt it was the right thing to do.

You're assigned to the Vault, right? Blake said.

The Vault? Ortiz appeared confused.

A big hole in a mountain at the northern end of Mumford Army Base.

"The Physical Containment Facility located in Montaña de la Serpiente."

Sure. I'm going to rob the place, and I need to know all about the security, but let's start with the basics. How much stuff are you keeping in there?

Ortiz feebly resisted the command. Blake gave him a jolt of terror to remind him of the penalty for defiance. Blake could push any button he wanted in Ortiz's mind.

There are 392 PCU's, Ortiz replied in a soft, tight voice.

What's a PCU? Blake whispered.

A physical containment unit. They are steel boxes weighing 50 kilograms each.

How inconvenient. I assume they're locked. How do I open them?

They have electronic locks, Ortiz said, and each unit employs a different, unique code.

Blake furrowed his brow. That's going to be a problem. How are they stored?

In chambers deep underground, twenty PCU's per chamber. Each chamber has a 10-ton door which is typically closed and locked. In an emergency, explosive charges can cave-in the chambers.

Another problem. What's the total mass of all the materials? How much do I have to haul away?

Hard to say, Ortiz said. Maybe twenty or thirty tons.

Blake sat back in his chair. The logistical issues added a layer of difficulty he hadn't fully appreciated until now. Manpower alone wouldn't be sufficient. The job would require a lot of specialized equipment.

When I scouted the facility, I saw guard towers.

Six towers, Ortiz said. They are 30 meters tall and made of solid reinforced concrete. Long-range video cameras and computerized recognition systems automatically identify intruders.

And weapons?

30mm guns in the towers can destroy threats at a range of up to 1.5 kilometers. The ammunition is made of depleted uranium for extra penetration.

I also saw tanks, Blake said.

Two tank platoons, one on active duty and one in reserve. All the tanks are equipped to resist biological, chemical, and radiation attacks. Four M777 howitzers in fortified positions can support the tanks.

And troops?

Two infantry companies are permanently assigned to the Containment Facility, Ortiz said in a dull monotone. The men operate on a five-day duty cycle to keep them fresh.

Blake sighed unhappily. What about sensors?

Multiple rings of sensors extend out to a range of one kilometer. They include motion detectors, heat sensors, microphones, vibration sensors, and lasers.

Blake grimaced with annoyance. His sorcery had a very short effective range. The small seam in the Russian Eye limited him to five or ten feet at the most, and mind-control was the most potent spell in his arsenal. He could create illusions, but they would only fool human eyes, not video cameras. There was no way to use his power to cross so much open ground undetected. The Vault had been designed specifically to keep out sorcerers.

What else do I need to worry about?

The Containment Facility has multiple, independent security checkpoints, Ortiz said. If any are attacked, the entire facility will immediately go into lock-down. All doors will seal. Hydrogen chloride gas will flood key connecting passages.

Blake snarled. Any other security measures?

All staff members must pass a daily blood test before they can enter the Facility. The blood test checks for contamination which might compromise brain function.

Blake knew the truth. Exposure to sorcery caused the human brain to release specific chemicals. The blood test would reveal a sorcerer in disguise or an ordinary person who was a victim of mind-control.

OK. If you had to rob the Containment Facility, how would you do it?

I don't know, Ortiz said. It's designed to withstand a siege. If necessary, we can bring in reinforcements from Mumford Army Base where an entire brigade is stationed. As a last resort, we would destroy the entire Facility to prevent dangerous materials from falling into enemy hands.

Do you know what those materials are?

No. The PCU's are usually sealed.

Blake knew the answer. The United States government kept dangerous artifacts related to sorcery in the Vault. The collection included precious seams like the Russian Eye, but most of it was journals and notes from decades of experiments performed by sorcerers and scientists. The treasure trove of knowledge was worth any price. It could make him the most powerful sorcerer in the world.

That's a problem for me, Blake said. Assuming I can get in there at all, I won't be able to take everything out. I'll have to pick the best plums. Is there a manifest or an inventory somewhere?

The Army doesn't have one. The contents of the PCUs just have code numbers.

I'm not surprised.

Blake expected the Bureau of Physical Investigation had a list describing what each code number meant, but getting that list was another difficult challenge. BPI headquarters also had extreme security measures. The federal government had dealt with renegade sorcerers like Blake before and had learned the hard way what steps to take. They weren't entirely clueless.

Furthermore, the BPI employed other sorcerers, some capable of defeating Blake in a straight fight. He wasn't the only person who had mastered the infernal arts like mind-control. There were people out there who could do it even better.

The Vault was too big a prize to ignore though. The potential payoff more than outweighed the risks. With the wisdom locked away in those secret journals, he could achieve all of his dreams.

Blake would have to be exceptionally clever though. He had enemies of all stripes, and if he made any mistakes, he would pay with his life.

He had an idea. I won't rob the Vault, he thought. I'll trick my enemies into delivering the Vault to me. He smiled.

Ortiz was staring ahead, waiting for another command. His left eyelid was twitching slightly. Blake had to dispose of him. If Ortiz went back to the Vault and took the blood test, the Army would know he was compromised. The BPI would bring in another sorcerer to discover the reason, and Blake's influence would be revealed. Blake couldn't allow that to happen.

You're going to end your own life.

Ortiz didn't react visibly. Why?

Too much stress at work, Blake said. Write a suicide note that talks about the long hours, overbearing security, and relentless pressure. Make it clear that the Containment Facility is an intolerable hell-hole. Then stick a gun in your mouth and blow your brains out. Understand?

Ortiz nodded slowly.

Good bye, Captain. It was nice meeting you.

Blake put the Russian Eye back in his pocket. He dropped twenty dollars on the table, stood up, and walked out of the bar.

* * *

Andrew looked across the valley with a feeling of accomplishment. He had crossed the white, turbulent waters of a river populated by zombie-sharks. He had successfully passed through a forest of trees which randomly lashed out at unwary travelers. He had traversed a desert made of sand which had the texture and stickiness of warm caramel. He had evaded marauding rock-trolls armed with flaming spears. Every obstacle had tested his limits physically and mentally.

He looked down at Charley who was slowly limping up the slope. Her long brown hair was tangled and dirty. One of her brown eyes was half-closed from getting hit in the face by a rock. She had lost a couple of teeth at the same time. Her black tunic and leather sandals provided little protection, and just about all of her exposed skin had bloody scratches. A particularly nasty gash on her knee went down to the bone. His beautiful girlfriend was a complete mess.

Andrew hadn't fared much better, but he refused to look down. He didn't need to inspect his many painful wounds. His assignment was to keep going as if nothing was wrong, and he would do so.

This sucks, Charley said when she finally ascended the slope.

What did you expect? A pleasant jog in the park?

It sucks even more than usual. I'm tired of being in constant pain. These sessions are getting utterly ridiculous. The carnivorous locusts were sadistic.

That's the point, right? Andrew said. To break us?

She rubbed her puffy eye.

You can quit at any time. You know the way out. Of course, that would be admitting I'm better than you. He winked.

Charley sighed. I'll keep going.

We're almost to the temple. We'll be done in twenty minutes if we keep up the pace. Do you want to lean on my arm?

No. The ankle isn't that bad, and you look like you can barely stand up on your own.

The two apprentices hobbled over a ridge and looked down into a valley on the other side. An Aztec temple made of giant gold bricks stood before them. The stone path to the front door appeared unguarded, but Andrew had learned long ago to not trust appearances.

He looked harder. In this world, every puzzle had a solution and every obstacle could be overcome as long as he was smart. He couldn't allow excruciating pain and exhaustion to dull his mind.

The paving stones are bigger than yesterday, he said.

Trapdoors? Charley said.

Possibly.

I don't like how that tall grass looks either. I think it's moving. She turned her head back and forth. Hey, that could be useful.

Andrew followed her over to a giant fallen tree. The wood had rotted, and the smooth bark had peeled off in big sheets. He touched the bark and discovered it was as hard and dense as iron.

Armor? he said.

Charley shook her head. No. A sled.

She struggled to move a big chunk of bark into position, and he squatted down to assist her. The bark was also as heavy as iron. Their many injuries made the task even more difficult, but eventually, the sled was balanced on the edge of the slope.

She sat on the bark, and he sat behind her. He gripped her hips with his knees and held the edges of the sled with his hands. The sensation of her body pressed against his made him smile despite the miserable circumstances.

Andrew used his hand to push off. They slid down the slope towards the temple, gathering speed quickly.

He glimpsed snakes in the tall grass, and their mouths were full of jagged teeth. The impossible creatures snapped at him and Charley as they flew past. He made sure his fingers and toes were tucked safely away.

The tall outer wall of the temple was approaching rapidly. The short trip would have a painful ending.

We forgot to install brakes, Andrew said.

I was just thinking that, Charley said. Jump off on my count. Three... two... one... go!

They rolled off the sled and continued to roll. The tall, stiff grass whipped Andrew's skin until he finally came to a stop. He stared at the purple sky for a moment as he tried to recover from the rough ride.

Get up, Charley said. Those snakes will eat us if we stop.

Andrew grunted and pushed himself up. Sharp pain in his right hand made him check it. His pinky finger was so badly dislocated, it was pointing sideways. He ignored the gruesome injury. We're almost done, he thought.

They staggered over to the giant wooden door of the temple. He didn't see a handle, but there was a ten by ten grid of square panels. Each panel had a number inscribed on it in order from one to a hundred.

It's a puzzle lock, Andrew said.

There must be a clue. Charley looked around. There. She pointed down.

He looked at one of the big flat stones which formed the path leading to the temple. Chiseled words read, One to one, sum to sum, triple and then you're done.

I don't get it, he said.

She furrowed her brow as she stared at the clue. It was hard for him to look at her bruised, bloody face.

A hissing noise made Andrew look up. Toothy snakes were coming out of the grass and slithering towards the apprentices.

You work on the puzzle while I fight the snakes, he said.

OK, Charley said. I think the first half describes the Fibonacci sequence.

Right! And then multiply by three.

Andrew spotted a stick lying in the grass. He ran over, grabbed it, and started swinging at the snakes. They dodged and hissed.

In the meantime, Charley went to the grid of panels. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her pushing numbered squares.

Three... three... six... nine... fifteen...

Hurry up! Andrew said.

More snakes were emerging from the grass. He limped back and forth with desperate energy and swung his stick wildly. His dislocated pinkie wasn't helping.

Twenty-four, Charley said. Thirty-nine... uh.

Andrew tried to perform arithmetic in his head while fighting snakes. Sixty-three! he cried.

Right!

She pushed a square. A rumbling noise made the ground vibrate as the massive door swung open.

The apprentices ran inside the temple. Working together, they pushed the door closed and crushed a few snakes at the same time.

Sulfurous smoke made Andrew cough, and the air inside the temple was uncomfortably warm. Lava, he said.

That's good, Charley said. "Tonya always saves lava for last. One more puzzle, and then we're done."

They limped into the depths of the temple. Torches lit walls made of solid gold blocks, and smoke covered the high ceiling. Andrew didn't let his guard down just because they were near the end. Concealed traps were always a possibility.

Charley took a step, and the floor gave way beneath her feet. He grabbed her arm and yanked her back. She had almost fallen into a pit with rusty spikes at the bottom. A dusty skeleton was impaled on the spikes.

Thanks, she said. That would've hurt. The skeleton is a nice touch.

They side-stepped around the pit and continued through the temple. They eventually entered a chamber so vast, it was bigger than the temple that contained it. Andrew smirked at the physical impossibility.

Channels full of burning lava formed a grid on the floor. The channels were narrow enough to jump across but just barely. Marble statues on circular pedestals stood between the channels in some spots, and they were twice as tall as Andrew. The statues depicted six kings and six queens in traditional medieval costumes.

Now what? Charley said.

He looked for the inevitable clue and found it on the ceiling. He pointed at silver letters high above their heads. There.

She read out loud, 'The lovers' eyes must meet.'

Andrew turned his attention back to the statues which were facing random directions. The circular pedestals gave him an idea.

I think it means we have to turn the statues so the kings and queens are looking at each other.

Yes! Charley said. Let's try it.

They hurried to the nearest statue, crossing two lava channels along the way. Hot gases seared Andrew's unprotected legs and groin when he jumped across the lava, but he didn't let the pain slow him down. It didn't matter. It was all in his mind.

He and Charley tugged and pushed on the statue until it started moving. It continued to rotate smoothly on its own until it locked into a new position facing a different direction.

Only certain directions work, Andrew said. We need to try combinations until we pair up all the lovers.

He heard a splash and a sizzle. He looked down and saw a glowing blob of lava near his feet. He turned his gaze upwards and saw tiny holes leaking lava from the ceiling. Of course, he thought. We wouldn't want to make it too easy.

Andrew and Charley scrambled to accomplish their task.

Remembering the directions each statue could face turned out to be the hardest part. Choices had to be made about which kings to pair with which queens, and usually those choices turned out to be wrong. They had to keep backing up and trying new combinations.

All the while, the leaking roof made the job harder and harder. The ground became a minefield of smoking hot blobs, and Andrew sandals were completely inadequate protection. A few times, lava fell directly on his skin causing ghastly burns. The smoke, heat, and pain made his eyes water constantly.

He and Charley pushed on relentlessly. The purpose of the training was building mental strength and discipline. He had to become an unstoppable machine capable of shrugging off any distraction. Only then would he be ready to face Blake.

Finally, the statues were in the correct position. Beams of white light shot between their eyes in a final flourish.

Then Andrew and Charley were back in the real world. The transition was jarring, but Andrew was used to it.

Well done, Tonya said. Both of you continue to impress me. I'm running out of horrors to throw at you.

Tonya was a master sorcerer and Andrew's instructor. She had never revealed her age, but he guessed she was in her mid-fifties. Blue eyes were an attractive feature, and straight blonde hair was another. She always kept it perfectly coiffed and trimmed to a medium length. Her round face had pale, clear skin with only a few wrinkles. She was wearing large pearl earrings and a black dress shirt buttoned up to the collar.

Andrew was seated at a wooden table with Tonya and Charley. Andrew instinctively checked himself for injuries even though he knew he was fine. All the pain and blood had been imaginary.

How long were we in this time, he said.

Tonya checked her watch. A full hour.

Felt like a day. I'm worn out.

When you're trapped in a delusion, the sensation of time tends to dilate.

She had used her powerful sorcery to create the world of nightmares for Andrew and Charley, but it had seemed completely real.

He looked over at Charley. He certainly preferred the real-world version to the battered woman in the delusion. Plastic clips held back her shiny brown hair. She was tall and thin with a narrow face. Her brown eyes always stared directly at him with an intensity he didn't normally see in girls. A green sweater fit tight enough to show off her curves.

Are you OK? Andrew said.

She nodded. Just a little stiff from sitting without moving. She stretched her arms.

He stood up, and the sudden change in blood flow made him dizzy for a second. He leaned against the table to steady himself. He had been physically paralyzed the entire time he had been in the delusion.

The apprentices were training in the basement of the Fine Arts Building of Theosophical University. They had spent an enormous amount of time there lately. The seam chamber had practically become Andrew's home.

The Theosophical Seam dominated the room. Normal eyes couldn't see it, but to a sorcerer like Andrew, it was impossible to ignore. His inner eye perceived it as a pulsating black vortex. It had the general shape of a frozen lightning bolt except it constantly vibrated. An endless gush of chaotic energy poured out and provided the juice that made sorcery possible.

He didn't feel quite right, so he shuffled over to a complex machine in the corner and turned it on. Marbles began to roll out of holes on top. They shot down chutes, wound through corkscrews, bounced off plates, rode on conveyor belts, dropped into funnels, passed through hidden pathways, and performed dozens of other tricks. It was a symphony of basic physics. He and Charley had built the machine from individual parts, and they were still making tweaks. It was a fun project, but it also served an important purpose.

Sorcery tended to undermine the rational parts of the mind. Prolonged, intense exposure could cause a sorcerer to forget what was real. Andrew had gotten lost in his own imagination many times during his training, and in severe cases, the condition was life-threatening.

Watching the marble machine restored his sense of order. It was solidly grounded in laws that hadn't changed in 13.8 billion years. Unlike himself, the marbles followed predictable paths and could never go insane.

Charley joined Andrew in front of the machine, and they held hands. After a few minutes, he felt better. Memories of rock-trolls and a golden temple faded away.

He turned back to Tonya. Are we done?

For now, she said, but the session ran long, so you'll have to go straight to martial arts. No time for a break.

His shoulders sagged. His mind was exhausted, and his body would be next. He wasn't a great fan of martial arts.

Get moving, Tonya said.

Andrew and Charley went to the solid steel door which protected the seam chamber. The door probably weighed a ton, and pushing it open took a lot of strength. The apprentices walked into the corridor outside.

Tan tiles covered the walls of the basement, and the floor and ceiling were just plain concrete. Decades of grime encrusted pipes and ducts hanging overhead. Florescent fixtures cast bluish light, and a few bulbs buzzed annoyingly. Mechanical equipment behind closed doors added deeper notes to the constant background noise. The basement wasn't very pleasant, but it was the perfect place for dangerous secrets.

Andrew and Charley didn't have far to go. One of the storage rooms in the basement had been converted to a martial arts studio just for them.

They walked in and found two men wearing white karate uniforms and black belts. One man was Agent Dan Easton of the Federal Bureau of Physical Investigation. His light brown hair was short and even. Stubble covered his chin as usual, but the stubble wasn't long enough to qualify as a beard. He had a handsome face and a slim, muscular body. His sculpted good looks always made Andrew want to stand between Dan and Charley to keep them apart, although she had never expressed interest in him.

Agent Dan was the official liaison for Andrew and Charley. Dan's job was to keep them safe and make sure their important needs were met. Sometimes he acted like a fussy parent, and other times, he was more like a parole officer. The apprentices needed his permission to go anywhere.

The other man in the room had four stripes on his black belt. Andrew didn't know his real name, but everybody called him Tungsten. He was over six feet tall and solid muscle from his bulging neck down to thighs like tree trunks. His skin was the color of coffee with plenty of milk. His head was shaved bald except for a short Mohawk down the middle. A scar ran from the corner of his nose out to his ear. His lips were curled in a slight snarl revealing two gold teeth in front.

You're late, Tungsten said.

The session with Tonya ran long, Andrew said. It was rough.

You don't look hurt.

The damage is between the ears.

Tungsten frowned. Well, I'm not going to take it easy on you.

Andrew wanted to come back with a snappy reply, but he thought better of it. Tungsten had absolutely no sense of humor and just two moods: grim and grimmer. The BPI had picked him for his combat skills, not his interpersonal skills. He was an ex-soldier with a drawer full of shiny medals. He knew everything there was to know about killing and had probably invented a few new ways.

The martial arts room had blank, white walls. Blue padded mats covered half the floor, and the other half was bare. A heavy bag hung in the corner alongside a man-shaped punching dummy. A wooden shelf held accessories such as jump ropes, boxing gloves, pads, a rubber knife, a wooden sword, and so on.

A cloth partition in the corner created enough privacy for a dressing area. Andrew went behind the partition, grabbed a karate uniform from a shelf, and changed his clothes. He still had a white belt, but he felt he deserved a colored one. After weeks of intense, daily training, he didn't consider himself a beginner anymore.

Charley took her turn behind the partition. While she was changing, Andrew began his routine of stretching and calisthenics. He had learned the value of warming up properly. The training was hard enough without fighting a pulled muscle.

Dan and Tungsten already had a little sweat on their brows. They did some light sparring while the apprentices got ready. Dan was a pretty good fighter, but Tungsten was vastly superior. Even when they were just messing around, the big man made Dan look inept by comparison. Tungsten had amazing flexibility for a muscle-bound behemoth.

After fifteen minutes, the apprentices were finally ready to begin the class in earnest. Andrew still felt a little disoriented from Tonya's training, but the exercise was helping to ground him. Vigorous physical activity was a great antidote to the side-effects of sorcery.

Get into a stance! Tungsten ordered.

The apprentices settled into basic defensive stances. They raised their fists protectively.

Stronger, Tungsten said. Root yourself into the ground like a tree.

Andrew settled a little deeper into his stance. Growing roots from his feet was out of the question, but he tried to have root-like thoughts.

Tungsten walked over to Charley and pushed her shoulder, knocking her off balance. Andrew didn't like it when Tungsten put his hands on her, but Andrew kept his mouth shut.

Always stay on your feet, Tungsten said. You can't win a fight if you're falling over. Come at me, both of you. Try to move me.

Andrew reluctantly walked over and grabbed Tungsten's muscular arm. If was like holding onto a statue. Charley grabbed the other arm, and the two of them pulled with all their strength. Tungsten didn't move an inch.

You see? he said. Balance is key. It's much more important than being big.

But being big certainly helps, Andrew thought.

The lesson continued with basic punches and kicks followed by advanced combinations. Sweat was soon dripping down their skin. Everybody, including Dan, took turns sparring with each other. Andrew didn't like sparring with Charley because he didn't want to hit her, while fighting Dan or Tungsten was frustrating. They were so much better than Andrew. He always felt like a clumsy fool when he faced them.

He was learning though. He and Charley weren't athletically gifted, and neither of them enjoyed physical exertion, but Tungsten was molding them into martial artists regardless. The BPI had chosen a good instructor.

The last part of the class was practicing with weapons. Tungsten grabbed a rubber knife and walked over.

Let's work on disarming techniques, he said. Andrew, you first.

Tungsten stepped into an aggressive attack stance and put on a fierce expression. It wasn't hard to imagine him wielding a real knife the same way.

Andrew had learned a few ways to disarm a man. He approached Tungsten warily. Without any warning, Andrew slapped the back of the hand holding the knife while simultaneously striking Tungsten's wrist on the other side. The wrist bent, but the knife didn't come loose.

Harder, Tungsten said. Don't worry about hurting me.

I wasn't, Andrew thought.

He repeated the technique using all his strength, and the knife flew out of Tungsten's hand. Andrew grinned with satisfaction.

Good. Tungsten walked across the room and picked up the knife. Charley, do the same thing.

He approached Charley with the knife held in a menacing manner. He probably weighed twice as much as her. Even though the knife was rubber, she shrank back instinctively.

Come on, he said in an aggressive tone. "Pretend I'm Blake,