The King's Games

2. Jättar

Even though it was technically our summer break until the end of June, Tilda and I spent most days at the school.

Tracker school ran six semesters long - with a five month winter semester from January through May, and a five month summer semester from July through November- and students graduated at the ends of May and November.

Since age mattered with trackers (we needed to be young if we wanted to blend into high school and convince wealthy teenagers that they'd been switched at birth), students usually joined the first semester after they turned twelve, although some kids would wait until they were as old as fourteen before they decided to join.

We lived in Doldastam, the capital city of the largest troll kingdom, the Kanin. That meant that we had the largest and most prestigious troll tracker school out of all five tribes.

The motto on the side of the school read "Jättar Bland Jättar." Literally, it translated to "Giant Among Giants" in Swedish, which had been the language of our ancestors. But the moral was that we were supposed to be the best of the best. By going to this school, in this town, we were on our way to becoming the most elite members of the greatest kingdom in the world.

Tilda and I had enrolled in July 2007, when I'd been twelve and she'd been thirteen. We only had two semesters left until we graduated, and then we'd officially be trackers and servants of the Kanin kingdom.

In the beginning, all the kids would go to the same school - the children of the bakers and farmers, of trackers and the elite guard, of the wealthy royalty like the Markis and Marksinna - all learning alongside each other.

It was when we hit twelve or thirteen we got to decide the path we wanted to follow. Some could stay on track to graduate from high school, and others would choose tracker school the way Tilda and I had.

Trackers were essential to our way life, and respected members of the community. Being a tracker was a choice, a calling. It set you apart from the average Kanin.

But not everyone who joined tracker school would cut it. Every semester, a dozen students would flunk out. Being able to integrate into human society and earn the trust of a frightened, spoiled changeling wasn't easy for teenaged trolls growing up in our isolated town in northern Canada.

We had classes on social etiquette, slang, pop culture, religion, various accents, and fashion. We had crash courses in everything the changelings would be learning in their human classes, because we'd stand out if we looked completely baffled when teachers mentioned Thomas Jefferson or William Shakespeare in a tenth grade AP course.

On top of that, we had to master extensive combat and strength training. Changelings had an unfortunate habit of getting themselves in trouble, and as trackers, we needed to be able to protect them, whether it be from high school bullies or enemies of the kingdom (though it was usually just bullies).

Trackers were also the foot soldiers, if the Kanin were to ever go to war again. We had an elite guard - the Högdragen - that consisted of the best trackers after they grew too old to pass for high school students. They could defend us against most attacks, but trackers filled out the bulk of our army.

The combination of being inundated with information and needing to be in top physical condition was too taxing for many. Tilda was the daughter of two former trackers, and much to her parents' disappointment, her older sister had only tried one semester of tracker school before deciding it wasn't for her.

Tilda was determined to succeed where her sister had failed, though her story was relatively common among our classmates. Almost all of them had parents who'd been trackers, some had even been members of the Högdragen.

In fact, the only one in our entire class with neither parent being former trackers was me.

And that's why we were here even when most of our classmates were at home or lazing around Doldastam. We both had something to prove.

Usually we spent a great deal of time in the library, studying up on human history and culture, but with the competition to squire Konstantin Black coming up so fast, we spent most of our time practicing in the training yard beside the tracker school.

A split rail wooden fence surrounded the yard. Most of it was leveled off dirt, perfect for sparring, but there was a climbing wall and a few other obstacles.

Tilda had her hands bound with boxing tape, and she let her arms hang at her sides. The sleeves of her t-shirt had been rolled up, showing off her biceps. Smirking at me, she motioned for me to come to her.

"Are we gonna do this or not, Bryn?" she teased.

That was all the encouragement I needed, and I charged at her. Tilda was taller and stronger than me - the way most of the competitors in the squire competition would be - but my advantage was that I was quicker.

Tilda held her up her arms, readying herself to block against my shots. I jabbed my left arm, faking her out, and when she coiled to the left, I bobbed quickly to the right. I crouched down a bit, so I was even shorter, and with several fast jabs, I hit in her the hard muscles of her abdomen.

If I quit while I was ahead, that would've been enough to stun her, but I got greedy and kept punching her - even after I should've moved back and blocked myself.

So, Tilda very wisely, swung at me. Her fist collided painfully with my jaw. Dazed, I stumbled backward, and the heel of my foot caught in a divot in the ground, so I fell backward to the ground.

"Ouch." Simon winced on my behalf.

I laid in the dirt, catching my breath, and I tilted my head back to look at him sitting on the fence behind us. I'd refused to train with him today, since we'd be competing officially tomorrow, but he'd decided to hang around and watch me practice with Tilda.

"Are you sure you're gonna be well enough for the fight tomorrow after this?" Simon asked with a cocked eyebrow, his dark eyes conveying actual concern.

"Don't you worry about Bryn." Tilda stood next to me and extended her hand. "If there's one thing she can do, it's take a hit."

"That's definitely true." I smiled at her and let her help me to my feet. "But I can also throw a punch."

Tilda grimaced and rubbed her stomach. "Yeah, I'm gonna feel that tomorrow."

"You wanna go again?" I asked.

She smiled at me, her grey eyes playful. "Always."

The door to the school swung open, diverting our attention. Students had been streaming in and out all day to see if they'd made the list or not. The open try outs for the competition had been all last week, and most of us had been waiting the results eagerly.

This time it was Östen Sundt, along with some of his buddies. I'd already seen his name on the list, but everyone had known he'd make the cut.

Östen had graduated last year at the top of his class, and he happened to be home between missions. His long dark hair fell just above his broad shoulders, and his thick biceps bulged underneath his t-shirt, like they were trying to break free.

He sauntered across the yard, his pals clapping him on the back and telling him how cool and awesome he was. When he looked over at me, he smirked - the way a particularly nasty kid might smirk at a bug before he squashed it under his shoe.

Then he raised his fingers, pointing them at me like a gun, and pretended to pull the trigger.

For some reason, that made all his friends laugh even louder, and they hopped over the fence and walked into town.

"That guy's such a dick," Simon muttered, and I glanced back to realize he'd gotten off the fence and was standing beside me. "I can't wait to take him down."

"Well, I'm gonna take him down," I told Simon, only half-kidding. "I'm gonna beat you tomorrow."

"Good luck to both of you," Tilda said, trying to bring me back down to reality. "Because as much as it pains me to say it, Östen is actually a bad ass, and you're gonna have your work cut out for you if you want to beat him."