Seth followed each movement. He watched the strategy, learned the timing involved. Tension eased from his thoughts as his mind opened. He waited only for Valam’s next move, countered as necessary.
For the next phase of training, Valam took Seth to a two-handed stance. He showed Seth how much power could be gained in the attack as well as the defense, although at a cost to maneuverability.
My grip, can you show me again? asked Seth as he defended.
Valam paused to show Seth the proper two-handed grip, then executed a series of simple thrusts, demonstrating how one could use the tip of the blade to impale and rend. Afterward he switched to the defensive, allowing Seth to practice his thrusts.
“Watch your stance. The way you stand is as important as your attack. Place your feet wider apart so you have a good center of balance. It will allow you to move more easily and to react better in any direction necessary.” Valam went through a series of fancy movements to the right, left, forward, and then back. “You see, balance is the key. If your balance is bad, your attack will be poor.”
The two practiced for hours. The clash of metal on metal rang throughout the courtyard. Seth enjoyed the activity as did Valam.
Their thoughts became detached from everything around them. They had only the weapons in their hands.
“You see,” Valam said, lunging forward, “I knew you would like it.”
Yes, it is interesting. There is an art to it, replied Seth as he easily blocked, then swept in for an attack. Would a lighter blade allow for more mobility?
“Definitely, we train with these heavy blades for a reason.” Valam countered with a low thrust, then a parry. “Seth, can I ask you something?”
You don’t need to ask, groaned Seth, straining as the weight of Valam’s blade descended upon him. Seth pushed Valam away, forced the prince to parry against his thrust.
“When I first handed you the sword you acted as if you had never seen one before yet in the images from your homeland I saw numerous weapons.”
Seth switched from thoughts to words. “It is the workmanship of the blade. It is so different from our own. The metal is different, dull and black. I remember ours as bright silver, and it is also the first time I had ever held a weapon.”
“That is strange for me to conceive,” Valam said through clenched teeth, “I have had a weapon of one sort or another in my hand ever since I was old enough to carry the weight.”
Seth started to pass a thought on to Valam, paused to concentrate on his movements and steady his balance. “The Brotherhood doesn’t use weapons. We rely on our skill of movement in weaponless combat. The techniques can be quite effective, as you’ve seen.”
Valam’s assaults grew quicker, harsher. “But how can one fight an enemy who uses a skill which we do not possess?”
“What do you mean?” asked Seth confused, reading mixed emotion in Valam’s words.
“None of my people have your skill of hand. We cannot hope to match you on the field.” Valam lunged at Seth with great vigor.
Seth’s expression grew rigid. He stopped abruptly; luckily Valam pulled his thrust back at the last moment. Seth contemplated the question for a space, he understood Valam was agitated and he wanted to respond correctly. Valam, it is not so. I have explained to you about the Brotherhood, only a select few are chosen, as it is with our enemy, and though the will of the land is in every living thing, few can harness those powers as we do. We would not have come if the need was not great. Queen Mother has seen the paths and she knows what will come without your aid.
Seth chose swordplay as an alternative to further explanation, then changed the subject. Are you going to tell me where you disappeared to?
“Just probe my thoughts, you will anyway.”
“That’s not fair, what has happened? This is not like you, Valam. Has something happened in council that you’re not telling me about?”
Valam slowed the attack to respond, shifting quietly while he spoke. He countered Seth’s jab. “The delegates left Imtal immediately after speaking to my father.”
“They withdrew the offer of support they had hinted of, did they not?”
Valam lowered his sword, took a step toward Seth, speaking in a hushed tone, “This must stay between you and I, not even Adrina must know of this.”
“Agreed.”
“King Jarom requested a gathering. It means he seeks the seat of power which Great Kingdom has always held.”
“Or he has some other plan.” Valam pushed for Seth to explain. Seth turned away. “Tell me, Prince Valam, what does the winner of this competition get?”
“Beyond respect?”
“Beyond respect.”
“Is there anything beyond respect? Don’t you see? Your cause needs popular support and there is no better way to gain such support. People from all corners of the land and beyond attend.”
Then we practice for the competitions.
“No, we practice for ourselves,” Valam said striking out with his sword. “I await my father’s decision.”
Vilmos’ feet hurt from the rocks underfoot and because of the breakneck pace of his abductor. Several times he told the priest he wouldn’t run but the priest, not listening, only told him to keep quiet or he would stuff a gag in his mouth—a thing Vilmos was starting to believe would happen.
Eventually they stopped while the priest gathered his bearings. Afterward, though, it was back to the double-time march through the streets, passing almost to the outskirts of the city. Vilmos wasn’t sure which side of the city they were on. It was difficult for him to get his bearings in Under-Earth as there was no sun to mark direction. It did seem, though, that he was on the opposite side of the city from where he had entered.
The priest stopped, crossed the street, pulled Vilmos behind him. The building they stood in front of was different from those around it. It was built with white stones instead of black and had a single spire that rose into the sky hundreds of feet, making it the tallest building Vilmos had seen in the city.
The priest pushed Vilmos through the front door, sending him sprawling into a darkened antechamber. Vilmos lay still, unmoving. The antechamber’s windows were coaled over and allowed no natural light to filter in. He prayed as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, wondering what the hand attached to his collar would do next.
The room swayed as he was raised from his haunches and thrust into another room, one lit by a conglomerate of lanterns whose dull, yellow spray scarcely touched the darkness. The room held a sense of foreboding. A group of darkly clad men sat at a table talking in hushed tones.
Afraid to move, Vilmos lay motionless as the group of men gathered around him, staring down at him. He knew that beneath the shadows of black the hooded robes afforded were eyes that held loathing. He could sense it.
“Can you believe it, Talem?” hissed his abductor. “All this way to find a mere boy.”
“Are you sure?” answered Talem, lowering his hood to reveal his face as he did so.
Vilmos gasped. If there was one thing he knew for certain about the priests, it was that the hood was not to be removed. He had never seen so many of the priests in one place. At most he had seen two of the dark priests together and even that had been only on one occasion, an occasion that had sent his father into a hysterical frenzy.
“Yes, I’m sure. He was where you said he would be and he followed the lure.”
“I don’t know,” said another, prodding Vilmos with sharp, stubby fingers. “I see nothing of the mystics, only a boy. Lord Boets will be displeased.”
The priests started to debate over him as if he was some kind of prize. They decided to take a knife to him to see if that sparked a response.
He watched a priest withdraw a shiny blade from a black sheath. The priest’s steady hand brought the blade closer and closer.
Terror gripped his mind, holding him while the blade’s fine edge sliced into his arm. The icy sting of pain and the touch of his own warm blood came to him as thr
ough a vision. He did not flinch, whimper, or offer anything for them to gawk at. It was as if he looked in on another’s dream.
“Go ahead, kill him,” said one of the priests, disappointment in his voice.
Another objected, “Why? He’s not the one.”
“We can’t just turn him to the streets. We have to kill him.”
Vilmos was trembling. Only now that the threat of death loomed near did the happenings seem real. He tried to beg for his life, but his pleas only brought laughter.
The priests enjoyed desperation; they fed on it.
“Stand as Gandrius and Gnoble,” the shadow walker whispered in his mind. Suddenly he understood. Memories of old washed before his eyes. He could see the stone giants, Gandrius and Gnoble, standing tall as they defended Qerek from the Rhylle hordes—and it was then that his fear became anger.
He began to focus. A trickle of magic built within him. It circled outward.
The power overtook him; he could deny it no more. Like floodwaters racing along a stream bed, magic in its purest form raced to his fingertips, engulfing the outstretched fingers of his hands and arcing wildly. The deadly flames lashed out, engulfing the priests as though they stood within flaming waterfalls.
The dark priests began to writhe and scream. To Vilmos it seemed a horrendous sight, but he could do nothing to stop the flow of raw magic from within. He closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see their agony, didn’t want to hear their screams.
Adrina followed Myrial to the caravanmaster’s tent. Anyone that stood in their way moved aside when Myrial raised her palace pass. “Being housemistress has its rewards,” Myrial whispered as she hurried along.
Once inside the tent they made their way to the caravanmaster’s table. The table strewn with charts and inventory scrolls looked in complete disarray but the caravanmaster seemed to know where everything he needed was as he passed out orders to those seated around him, often pointing to one of the items on the table.
Emel stood behind the caravanmaster, slightly to the right. It was a position of honor. The position reserved for the caravan’s master at arms. A fresh cut along his left cheek told of a test of steel that Emel had won, if only barely.
Myrial and Adrina stopped in front of the table. The master looked up, spoke. “If you seek passage or wish us to convey goods, you are but late. Yemi will see to you at any rate, turn you away or not as he will.” He nodded and pointed to a tall thin man seated at the far end of the table.
Adrina stood her ground, lowered the cowl of her cloak. She cleared her throat several times in an attempt to get the caravanmaster to look at her, thumped the table when he didn’t. “Imagine I have your attention now, do I not good caravanmaster?”
The caravanmaster’s aid bent over and whispered in the man’s ear. “Yes, princess,” the caravanmaster said, his far south accent only now clear to Adrina, “I did not know it was you. Is there something I can do for the Royal House of Alder?”
“You make for the Territories, do you not?” The caravanmaster nodded agreement. “Good,” she said, smiling. “I would speak to this one.” She pointed to Emel. “Dismiss him.”
“As you wish, Your Highness.”
Emel glared at Adrina as he walked toward her. “My princess,” he said, stopping in front of her. “What is your will?”
Adrina beaded her eyes and turned. The three exited the tent without a further word passing between them. Myrial took the lead as soon as they were outside. She walked to a secluded area where they could talk.
Adrina was near tears when they stopped. She turned to face Emel. “You were going to leave just like that? Without so much as a goodbye and taking what’s mine with you?”
“It was for the best, Myrial knew.”
Adrina turned to Myrial. Myrial said, “Yes, that’s why I brought Adrina here.”
“Why?” Adrina asked Emel. “Why are you doing this? You don’t need to, it serves no purpose.”
“There was an opening, I’ve pledged my service.”
Adrina grabbed Emel’s chin, turned his face so she could see the long wound clearly. “I see, and you got this how?”
“I am told it will heal without scarring. The blades see and understand.”
“They understand that if you slip up they can cut your throat and take your place. That’s what they understand.”
“That’s not fair, Adrina. I’m needed here.”
Adrina slammed her fists against his chest. “I need you. I can’t do this without you.”
Emel grabbed her wrists. “You’re doing this without me.” He stopped, looked at Myrial, seeming to judge her thoughts by her eyes. “Don’t you understand? I can make a difference here. I’ve decided, I’m going.”
“Going where?” Adrina glared.
“The Territories, surely you know that.”
“What use to you is the orb then? Why did you take it?”
“It is for the best. I have seen what it can do to you. I will be its keeper and where better a place than the wilds of the Territories. It will be safe there and you will be safe from it.”
Adrina played a hunch. “The southlands are a long way from the Territories.”
“The caravan’s to Krepost’.”
“And you shall be there before the winter snows set in the forests?”
“Yes, before the snows set.”
“Return in the spring?”
“Yes, in the spring.”
“Yet I see no winter gear being packed, and your caravanmaster—”
“—Your point being?” Emel snapped. Myrial took a step closer, another step and she’d be standing in between them.
“I’m getting to that. I’ve eyes you know, and ears. I see, I hear.”
Emel swept around Myrial, grabbed Adrina about the shoulders. His firm grip caused Adrina to wince in pain as he pushed her up against the wall behind her. He had been holding the orb in his hand and had dropped it just before taking action. Myrial picked up the orb. She attempted to wedge herself between them. She looked back for a moment to ensure that no one was watching or near.
“Forget what you think you know,” Emel said, despite Myrial’s attempt to put herself between them.
Myrial held the orb up for both of them to see.
“That’s not fair,” Adrina said. “You were using the orb. You know?”
“Yes, I do,” Emel said.
“And I,” said Myrial gripping the orb, smiling as she tried to remember to breathe and focus as she had learned from Galan.
“What then do we do with what we know?” Emel said, releasing Adrina.
“Nothing,” Myrial said, pushing the two apart. “Nothing at all.”
Adrina straightened her dress, and glared. “You will remember to treat me like a lady, like the princess that I am. Do not touch my person again, I warn you.”
Emel scrunched up his eyes, wondering at her sudden formalness. Then he followed her eyes, turning, understanding as he saw several palace guards approaching. Their look said they were on official business. Before the guards got too close, Emel snatched the orb from Myrial’s hands and slipped it into the leather pouch around his neck.
None of them were really sure what the guardsmen had seen, if anything, so they waited.
“Your Royal Highness,” the two men said as they came to stand before the trio. “We’re minutes from sealing the city. You must come with us at once, by order of the king.”
“My father?”
“Yes, you’re to return to the palace.”
“What’s going on? I demand that you tell me.”
The guardsmen looked at each other, unsure what to say for a moment. “Please, I beg of you. I’ve a family to think about, and I cannot—”
Adrina raised a hand as a sign for the guard to stop speaking and he did, midsentence. She turned back to Emel, touched his hand. “It won’t be the same without you. Be well.”
Emel put his free hand on top of hers. “And you,” he said as he turned an
d walked away.
Swordmaster Timmer’s presence near Valam and Seth was potent. Casually, the swordmaster walked over to Seth and corrected his stance and grip, tossing a sharp glare at Valam, then sat back down without saying a word. Thereafter Timmer conducted their movements with a point of his hand or a gesture, grunt or groan, never breaking their concentration.
Seth was gaining speed and agility dramatically—it was through Timmer that Seth had related his years of weaponless combat training with sword fighting. Indeed the movements were in many ways similar, and as soon as Seth realized this he was able to tap into his previous training and deliver attacks that increasingly put the young prince on the defensive.
Complete Kingdoms and the Elves of the Reaches Page 59
