"Those days are over," Conar said bitterly, looking away.
Occultus touched Conar's scarred cheek. "Do these scars hurt you?"
Conar tensed him, but felt no repulsion at the light caress. Occultus' palm was cool, dry, his face mildly curious.
"They hurt," he answered, moving his head just enough to put distance between him and the questing fingers.
Occultus dropped his hand. "But the pain is not in the flesh; it is in the soul, am I right? Do the other scars on your body hurt you as badly as the ones on your face?"
Conar shrugged. "I don't feel anything on my back anymore. You could probably lay hot coals on it and I wouldn't feel it."
"I don't believe we'll test that theory."
Conar smiled. "There's too much nerve damage for it to cause me any kind of sensation." He glanced at his hands. "As for the other scars, none of them matter that much anymore."
"What if it were possible to erase each and every scar? Would you want it done?"
Conar looked up. "Maybe some, but not all."
Occultus raised one thick brow. "Only some?"
"Some don't matter."
"But the ones on your face do."
He stared at Occultus for a long time, probing the man for understanding. Finally, he gazed over the green expanse of lawn. "I've grown accustomed to the man staring back at me from the mirror even if I haven't accepted the sight of him."
"Do you think you will ever accept the sight?"
"What I see when I look in the mirror makes me angry, but mostly it disgusts me. If I can't bear to look at myself, how must others see me?"
"Have children ran away in horror? Have women fled, covering their faces? Do men look at you with pity or laugh at your infirmities?"
Conar smiled sadly. "The people of Chrystallus are too polite and well-mannered. To make another feel embarrassment would be to lose face."
"True. But if not one has ever turned, running away screaming, before regaining those inscrutably correct facades they are known throughout the Seven Kingdoms for having, then you are not nearly as painful to look upon as you seem to think."
"It's painful for me." He put his hand over his chest. "Here."
"Then we will deal with that pain," Occultus said crisply. "I can remove even the faintest trace of your problem in that department, my friend."
Conar leaned forward, his gaze intent on Occultus. "Can you really remove the scars?"
"It is within the realm of possibility."
"Will you?"
"If you wish."
"My brother once told me that I wasn't vain. I never really thought about whether I was. If caring how others see you is vanity, then, I guess I am."
"Vanity has nothing to do with it. How a man views himself is the issue. If he sees himself as some ogre that will scare the animals and curdle milk, then his temperament will become such that he will scare animals and sour milk." He tilted his head and smiled. "But if he sees himself as pleasing to look upon, a man who sets maiden hearts to fluttering, he will either grow terribly flirtatious or unbearably arrogant." The smile widened. "Either way, he becomes a nuisance."
"But if he sees himself as just an ordinary fellow?"
"Then he will lead an ordinary life, with ordinary problems, and end up becoming very ordinary and very boring."
There was a slight smile on Conar's face. "I don't think I'd like to be described as boring."
Occultus shook his head. "I don't believe that will ever happen. So, what would you leave?"
"Among the scars?"
"Yes." Occultus cupped Conar's chin, turned his head from side to side, scanning the face as though he were an artist examining a man ready to pose. He traced a thin finger along a nick on Conar's right cheek. "We shall leave this razor cut. It adds a bit of maturity." He touched his finger to a white line that bisected Conar's left eyebrow. "And this rather sexy scar. Ladies find such things immensely intriguing." The finger moved again, but Conar caught the slender hand.
"We leave this," he said and molded Occultus' hand over the twin furrows on his cheek. "Leave the scars on my back, and this also." He pressed the cool hand into the scar on his left palm.
Occultus looked at him with concern. "Why leave the scars that are most visible? Don't they hurt you the most?"
"Aye, they are the most painful."
"You say the scars on your cheek hurt you so greatly you fear looking in the mirror. Why not erase that material source of your pain?"
"Because they are the visual reminder of what was done to me. The scars on my back and face were put there by the same man. Kaileel Tohre. I need to be able to see and feel and relive the pain he gave me." He brought the slim hand to his face again and pressed it against his scarred cheek. "I need to be able to reach up and touch the physical source of the agony I endured at his hands. Only then will I be able to bring myself to do what I must do." He removed his hand from Occultus' but wasn't surprised when the fingers stayed on his flesh. He could feel them moving over the scars, gently caressing the ravaged flesh. "I need to be reminded that Tohre, not the evil of what he did to me, but the man himself, is the enemy looking at me from the mirror."
There was deep sorrow in the man's face. "I understand."
"I know."
The slim fingers withdrew. "There will be a convocation of the men who will be the power structure of your force, Conar. In all, with a few who were chosen personally by me to aid you, there will be twenty who will train you. I am having special armor and weapons forged for you and your men. Many hours of preparation have already been made to place you in your rightful niche in this world. I want to know now if you will be capable of fulfilling your obligation to your people. If you will accept the mantle of leadership against all costs. If you are not willing, I would know now before we begin, for I will tell you…if you decide you want to fulfill your destiny, there will be no turning back. You will see it through or I will destroy you. It is as simple as that, for the specialized training you are being offered is for you alone. No other will ever be worthy."
"What makes you think I'm worthy?"
"I have no doubt of your ability. Neither does Brelan nor Shalu nor any of the others. The doubt is in you alone. If you do not find the faith in yourself, you will be utterly lost."
"If I can crush Tohre and his Brotherhood, I will be content."
Occultus stared at him. "How much are you willing to give up to gain your desire?"
"How much more is there to lose?" Conar snapped. "They took away everything I ever held precious. My wife. My children. My identity. They tore me from my world and imprisoned me in a place so vile, so wretched, by comparison, hell would be a resort! They tortured me, maimed me, damn near destroyed me! I ask you again…how much more is there left for me to lose?"
"Yourself."
"You think I haven't already? What is there left of me that was there before I was sent to the Labyrinth? All the things I prided myself in are long gone. My pride. My sense of self-worth, my courage, my belief in my abilities. All gone. I never dreamed I would ever go to my knees to another man, but I did. I did it to survive, Occultus, and to keep my woman safe. I never thought I'd ever beg not to be hurt, but I did. I wasn't given a choice. I never thought to question my masculinity, but I have." He gripped Occultus' wrist in his hand. "You say I can lose myself if I undertake this thing? I just might find myself again if I do!"
"There is one problem you seem to have overlooked."
"Such as?"
"The woman." He gently removed his wrist from Conar's taut grip.
Conar kept his face under complete control. "Everyone wants to talk to me about her, don't they?"
"They won't until you are ready."
"But you will."
"It is a subject that must be broached." He flung a dismissive hand. "I don't mean the particulars of the situation. I ask only because I am curious to know what you will do about her."
Not one emotion showed on Conar's face. "When the t
ime comes, I will reclaim her. She is mine by right of matrimony. I don't give a damn what the Tribunal says. I will take her back by right of sword. She was destined to be mine. Mine she will be, and mine she will stay!"
"Even if in the taking you destroy something, or someone, very precious to you?"
"There is nothing, no one, more precious to me than my wife." One tawny brow rose in challenge. "Do you think I can not best the man to whom she now clings?"
"Once your training is complete—and you will not leave here until it is—there will be no man who can defeat you." He stood, arching his back to work away the tightness. "When the time comes you must decide if the man you will fight is a man with whom you truly wish to engage in mortal combat, for that is what it will be with him. He will accept nothing less; neither will you."
Conar stood also. "She is worth fighting for."
Occultus frowned. "I have no particular aversion to women, but they can be a nuisance to a warrior. You would do just as well without the burden."
"I have no wish to do without her. I have for a long time now. Too long. Anya Elizabeth McGregor will be mine again. If there is no other way to do it, then I will shed that man's blood and never think twice about it!"
"No matter who he is?"
"No matter who."
Chapter 4
* * *
"These are the men of the Wind Force, Conar."
He looked about the room, recognizing most of them. Grice and Chand Wynth; Rylan and Paegan and Xander Hesar; Brelan and Jah-Ma-el; Coron and Dyllon McGregor; Shalu Taborn; Roget du Mer; Thom Loure, Sentian Heil, Storm Jale, and Ward Summerall; Tyne Brell; Chase Montyne. Conar grinned when he saw Belvoir.
The burly old warrior grimaced. "Here I thought my instructor days were over!"
There were several Conar didn't know, a few he remembered from the Labyrinth, one in particular, and it was to this man his eyes strayed and lingered.
"Come," Occultus commanded and the man walked over to them. "Conar, this is Misha. He is from the Outer Kingdom."
The man didn't hold out his hand; neither did Conar. They looked at one another, evaluating, assessing. Conar knew they had once met outside that hell hole, he just couldn't remember where and when. "I don't recall hearing your name before."
"His name was never spoken because they didn't know it." Occultus folded his arms over his chest. "He arrived at the colony along with Grice, Tyne, and the others. He never told them his name, either. They didn't need to know."
"But I knew yours," the man said and thrust out his hand to Conar.
Gripping Misha's flesh was like gripping iron. The wrist was inflexible, strong, granite-like and the fingers that closed around Conar's wrist were like the springs in a steel trap.
"I am honored, Highness," Misha, letting go of Conar's wrist. He dipped two fingers to his brow, then turned to join the others standing near a large round table.
Conar looked at Occultus. "I've never known anyone from the Outer Kingdoms."
"Nor are you likely to meet many. They keep to themselves in that barren ice land."
"How did he come to be sent to the Labyrinth?"
Occultus' thin smile was knowing. "He put himself at the docks the day before Sentian and the rest were brought there. He hit a guard and wound up with the others being transported to Tyber's Isle."
"Not very smart."
"It was, if Tyber's Isle was your destination."
"Why would he—"
"To be where you were."
"How did he know?" There was genuine confusion on Conar's lean face.
"We sent him there."
The blue eyes widened. "You knew I was there?"
"From the moment your ship set sail from Boreas Harbor, I knew your destination."
He could only stare at the tall man. Things were coming together in his mind and he knew Occultus realized it. The smile on the thin face with its high, aristocratic cheekbones was teasing.
"You will learn, my friend, that I do not tell all I know."
Conar shook his head in exasperation. "It would have saved a lot of grief for my brothers and son."
"Not when there was nothing they could do to help you. Only Brelan could do that, as it was pre-destined." He clapped his hands, gaining the men's attention. "Be seated, gentlemen! We have much to discuss."
Sitting beside Occultus, with Shalu on his other side, Conar listened to what had been planned for him and grew worried. If he managed to accomplish even half of what Occultus intended, he'd be a formidable opponent, indeed.
* * *
Conar turned a baleful expression to Grice Wynth. He sat down heavily on the floor of the palace guard's training room, sweat pouring from him. The stinging salt of his sweat seeped into his eyes. He ran the back of his arm over his forehead. His head ached and his muscles felt as though they were being pulled apart. Grice had been having him lift progressively heavier weights since six that morning. It was now four in the afternoon.
"As I said, you thought you were in pretty good shape." Grice leaned back in his chair and stretched out his long legs. "Now, you know better."
"I know only that, at this rate, I'll have a hernia before the day is out." He ran his hands over his face. "I lifted enough rocks at the Labyrinth to last me, thank you."
Grice grinned. "But that wasn't professional weight training."
"Weight training?" Conar scoffed. "You've got nothing on the Tribunal's inquisitors!"
"Do you give the others this much trouble, or just me?" Grice inquired, lifting a black brow.
"He gives us all trouble," Rylan sniffed as he limped into the room. His foot, injured so long ago in the waters of the Labyrinth, was bothering him. A sure sign that rain was lurking.
"Even Shalu?" Grice asked.
"Well, not every one of us, I suppose." Rylan chuckled. "He fears that one. I know I do!"
"Do you, little brother?" Grice had taken to calling Conar the pet name both Brelan and Jah-Ma-El used. He could see the pleasure it gave his companion.
"I may be stupid, but I'm not crazy, Wynth. I dread Tuesdays. The training isn't all that difficult, but his tongue can whittle a man down to size in seconds. The least little thing I do wrong…" He ran his finger across his throat.
"Better you than us," Rylan agreed.
Occultus had set up a schedule of training for Conar with men who were experts in their field. He was allowing Conar six months of vigorous training before the next convocation occurred. It would be then that the men would report on Conar's progress before the entire nucleus of the Wind Force. There were eleven who were coaching him on the weekdays, and the weekends were split with three men on Saturday and three on Sunday. He wasn't given a day he could call his own.
As Conar rested, he listened to snatches of conversation between Rylan and Grice. They were discussing him as though he wasn't there. He tuned out the words. It was bad enough to hear their words from the days' training in his sleep at night—what little sleep he got, for either Se Huan or Brelan were forever nudging him awake—but the sleeplessness was starting to take its toll. Mornings found him bleary-eyed and exhausted, impatient with criticisms, petulant when admonished, downright abusive when told to do extra to make up for his failings. As if the daily regimen of physical and mental nagging wasn't enough, he had to hear them in his sleep and when he rested!
Shalu: "That is a spear, you little son-of-a-bitch, not a piece of paper! You do not toss it away, you aim it and throw it!"
Paegan: "If you hit the water like that again, you'll break your fool neck! Tuck you head under your arms! Extend! Extend, dammit!"
Roget: "That's not strategy! That's stupidity. What the hell makes you think such a ploy would work? You'd think your great-aunt Petunia had taught you how to reason!"
Storm: "Use your knees. You can control a horse better with your body than with your hands. Let him know who's in charge. Who taught you how to ride? Sadie MacCorkingdale?"
Chase: "No, no, no! Aim above you
r damned target, not at it! The arrow will naturally fall with gravity. I wish I knew who'd taught you how to string a bow!"
Tyne: "Who the hell taught you how to wield a sword? Your mother?"
Misha: "Who taught you how to run? Your grandmother? A four-year-old could beat you in a foot race! You need to develop rhythm. Your stride is wrong."
Rylan: "Who the hell taught you how to throw? Your wet-nurse? Throw that boomerang like that again and it'll take your fucking head off!"
Thom: "Animals are not trusting by nature. You have to earn their loyalty. Rush up on a beast like that again and you may not live long enough to remember what you did wrong! Who taught you to saddle a horse, anyway?"
Even the words from Occultus were often sharp and scathing when he mispronounced an invocation or forgot the words. But Jah-Ma-El's hard remarks were the worst. Conar had had no idea how intelligent and nimble minded his brother was.
Or how wise.
"You must learn to see yourself as an empty vessel, Conar. Devoid of substance, drained of knowledge but ready to be filled. Embrace the teachings as though you were a man dying of thirst. Drink it in. Savor the feeling as it slides down your parched throat, for just as water will replenish life, so will correct knowledge save your life and the lives of those dependent upon you."
Brelan joined the three men in the guardroom. He glanced at Conar sitting on the stone floor and raised a brow. "Is this how you train him, Wynth? He doesn't get mollycoddling from me."
With a tired sigh, Conar came to his feet. "Is it time already?"
"I'll meet you in the boxing ring. Do ten laps around the gym before I get there."
Conar opened his mouth to protest, but seeing the others looking at him, he snapped his mouth shut, vividly remembering the last time he had played hooky.
He'd been tired of it all and had gone for a swim. He knew no one would follow, not where he was going, so he stripped and plunged into the waters of the large outside pool where training had been held. He had looked up to see Roget standing on the wooden walkway surrounding the pool. Du Mer was glaring at him.
WINDHEALER Page 28
