Sunstone - Dishonor's Bane (Book 2)

by Guy Antibes

  “Do you ever wonder why the Master lets the hazing go on? There are apprentices as old or older than you,” Boreko said.

  “No. As a matter of fact, I was pretty resentful when Roniki so arrogantly refused to accept my answer.” He took a seat facing his mentor.

  “Guard against arrogance yourself, Shiro. I’m sure you put yourself above him in your mind while you labored in the kitchens. That will never do. Politics is the bane of Roppon, and sorcerers are particularly affected since most are thin-skinned… and that includes you. A thin skin will get you killed, either during the Final Testing or in service. The Emperor and the bureaucracy can execute any sorcerer for cause… and you don’t get to determine the cause. One must present a certain level of humility at all times.”

  “I never thought of it that way. That means we are little more than slaves.” Shiro rubbed his chin. “I was more free as a farmer.” He realized that his direct way of thinking put him at a disadvantage among other apprentices as much as his attempts at thoughtful subtlety.

  Boreko smiled. “That’s why I’m here. Even for one as old as you, boundaries need to be learned. You aren’t treated like a slave unless you cross them. For what it’s worth, Roniki would never be assigned as a mentor and he would never last a full year as a court sorcerer. Irritating man yet, for all of that he is powerful. Roniki works closely with Yushidon and has a following among the senior staff. Now let us talk about how you are going to adjust your attitude.

  ~~~

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ~

  THE REST OF THE ARMS CLASS PLAYED with their weapons, slashing and hooting battle cries before the class started. Shiro waited patiently for his first weapons course to start. He could see the apprentices had various levels of training. He didn’t know if they brought that training to the Guild or not. He grasped the wooden staff that he had chosen. His father never liked spears or staffs and neglected to teach him the basics. Swords and bows. Shiro counted himself sufficiently trained in those. Perhaps if he used the staff exclusively, his advanced training wouldn’t be so obvious.

  He scratched at the ground with the toe of his sandal, obliterating a few lines of the raked gravel. Soon the lines would blur as weapons practice made a mess of the ordered lines. War did that, but no magic existed that would put the damage and carnage back into order like it did the ornamental lines under his feet. His father had fled from the Emperor’s Guard, taking his mother to Koriaki. Far away from the petty wars that cropped up from time to time between provinces. The emperor allowed the fighting, so his father had told him, to keep the vassals weak. The nobles encouraged manageable amounts of death and destruction so that officials in the imperial capital could sleep soundly at night. Perhaps a big war would be worse. Shiro didn’t know anything about wars and politics, but Boreko told him that he would be learning about them soon.

  He reviewed his own path to this practice field. The village of Koriaki and the tiny provincial vassal who ruled over the northwest corner of the Northern isle had kept a peaceful profile. Shiro had led a relatively serene life, courtesy of his father. Magic, his own, had shattered that idyllic existence by killing his family and exposing him to the whims of the Guild. He spat on the ground in disgust at his ill fortune and waited for the weapons instructor to show up, never once twirling his staff. He’d have chance enough for that.

  “Line up! Tishima, Weapons Master, is about to instruct you.”

  Shiro didn’t recognize the man who called order to the practice ground. There were three ranks of twelve to fifteen apprentices. He took a place in the third rank on the right end. They all knelt and placed their weapons at their sides. He followed their collective lead.

  The students were ordered to stare at the gravel, so when Tishima began his lecture, he resisted whipping his head up to see the instructor.

  “You pitiful excuses! Dog meat all of you, in any kind of battle!” Tishima ranted for a few minutes berating the capabilities and lineage of the group. Shiro couldn’t help but curl his lip with amusement at expressions he hadn’t heard before. Evidently the Guild gave the Weapons Master quite a bit of latitude in training the apprentices. The introductory magic classes he had attended in his first two months were conducted with less student abuse.

  “Stand for Inspection!” Tishima’s assistant, who had introduced the master, yelled once Tishima’s insults had faded away. The apprentices stood still in their ordered rows. Whatever Tishima said worked on these boys and young men. Shiro would follow suit, not wanting to be noticed.

  Tishima looked into the eyes of every one of his charges. His stern visage seemed enough to keep his students in line along with his pushes and punches, testing their ability to maintain attention. He finally came to Shiro, who concentrated on looking straight ahead as his father had demanded when they practiced martial drills.

  “You are a sturdy, seasoned fellow. New here?” Tishima craned his head up to glare at Shiro.

  Shiro gave the Weapons Master a curt nod of his head. No talking to superior officers.

  “Mmm.” Tishima slammed his fist into Shiro’s midsection. The blow hurt, but Shiro had received worse from his father, who had taught him to breathe slowly through his nose after such an attack. “Military service?”

  Shiro shook his head with one quick movement. He took the opportunity to focus his sight for one split second on Tishima. The man stood nearly a head shorter than he, but he had the bulk of both age and a lifetime of conditioning. Hardship and dedication to his craft lined his face. The man had seen much, and his hard eyes echoed his undoubtedly stern attitude towards life.

  “Hands!”

  Shiro put the staff in the crook of his elbow and body and extended his hands, palm side up. He smelled the oil used to polish and preserve the molded leather breastplate that Tishima wore. He glanced at the stubbled head, festooned with scars that covered the skin. A career of scars. His weapons teacher undoubtedly had practiced weapons craft in the field.

  Tishima quickly raised his head and caught Shiro’s eyes before he could avert his gaze.

  “I will keep my eye on you. Farmer!”

  Shiro nodded again.

  Tishima stood on his tiptoes and whispered in Shiro’s ear. “Farmer with interesting callouses. Sword, yet you chose the staff. Try your hardest or I will cut out your heart. I can do that without magic…or with it.”

  Sweat beaded on Shiro’s forehead as Tishima moved to the front of the class. He had spent more time with him than any of the others. So much for hiding. It seemed he had a sign on his forehead that said, “Exceptional Apprentice - Treat Badly” Something else for his nightly conversations with Boreko.

  Tishima strutted back to his position and looked out at the apprentices from the raised walkway. “Split into groups with similar weapons.” He whispered something in his assistant’s ear as Shiro looked for others carrying staffs. There were only seven out of the entire group.

  The assistant came over to their group. “You need another man to fill up your ranks. I’ll work with the farmer.”

  The eyebrows rose on the other apprentices. The Guild rules were explicit on leaving the lives of apprentices behind when they joined the Guild. Calling Shiro ‘farmer’ wasn’t an approved nickname. Shiro watched the man as he sauntered back to their group.

  “Follow me.” He said as he led them to a corner of the practice yard. “Practice forms, now.”

  The assistant began with a series of staff practice forms. The others obviously knew the routine and, since Shiro was new, he had to follow along.

  “Your name, apprentice?” the assistant said as he continued to lead the forms.

  “Shiro.” He gave the assistant a quick bow with his hands at his side.

  “Desiku.” The assistant returned the bow. “I will teach you the practice forms until you are proficient. You will not train with any other arms until you are proficient with the staff. Do you understand, Shiro?” Desiku spoke Shiro’s name as if it were dirty, foul and un
pleasant on his lips, however the man’s eyes didn’t show any hatred that he could detect.

  “Practice until the Master declares the session over. There will be no matches today,” Desiku said to the group as he turned to Shiro. “We will work together, you and I.”

  Shiro stood with both hands on his staff to ward off Desiku’s offense.

  “No,” Desiku said with a grim smile. “You will attack me.”

  What could Shiro do? He’d never even seen anyone fight with a staff before. He could use the staff like a very long sword, but his moves would be very clumsy. He eyed a few strokes by the other students and struck out with a horizontal blow. Desiku twisted his hips and jammed his staff hard into the gravel to block the blow. The shock shook the staff and stung Shiro’s hands. He dropped the weapon at the impact and leaned over to pick it up. Desiku slid past him and struck his rear end. Shiro dropped the staff he’d just picked up and rubbed his wound. Desiku slapped at his hands.

  “That won’t do, farmer.” Why did all of his opponents call him farmer? Mistokko, Tishima and now Desiku. He didn’t believe it to be an expression of endearment, but Mistokko’s tone was gently chiding compared with the derision he heard in the two weapons instructors’ voices.

  Mistokko. Shiro smiled and turned to face Desiku. He grabbed one end of his staff with both hands and backed up, dragging the weapon on the ground. Desiku walked closer. Shiro grunted and quickly pushed the staff with all his might until it was between Desiku’s legs. He flipped the staff up and stopped his upward motion just before he would have struck Desiku in his crotch. The staff went well past the loose pantaloons that the man wore.

  Desiku inhaled deeply as Shiro quickly withdrew his weapon making it ready for a defense. The assistant just stood and grinned with his fist on a hip. “Not many would be so bold, Shiro,” he said, this time the smile on his face seemed genuine. “Definitely offensive.” He snapped his staff and rapped one of Shiro’s hands, making the knuckles burn with pain.

  Shiro held fast and snapped his staff back, but Desiku had been prepared for another attack. The rest of the practice followed what had just happened. Shiro had moved through Desiku’s defenses twice more, but his arms, side and backside were spotted with bruises and stiff when Tishima whistled the practice over. Shiro looked around only to find half of the class remaining.

  “Do you have a class now?” Desiku said.

  “Not for an hour and a half.”

  “Good. You need to know the practice forms.” Desiku said. He lifted his chin to Tishima and nodded towards Shiro. The Weapons Master nodded back.

  Desiku ran Shiro though basic staff practice forms for the next hour as the participants gradually left the two alone in the yard.

  “You picked those up quickly. It’s obvious you’ve been taught sword forms. Now for something more advanced. You will not use these around the other apprentices.” Desiku demonstrated remarkably different forms. The basic forms dealt with stationary motions of thrusts, swipes and defensive postures. The new ones were all about flow and footwork. Shiro recognized them to be as sophisticated as the sword forms he knew, but they were designed for staff work. They would take longer to master, but he could see the power that Desiku displayed.

  Shiro bowed to his instructor. “Thank you for your forbearance on the field today.”

  Desiku laughed throwing his head back. “Master Tishima can pick them!”

  Shiro furrowed his brow.

  “You have the posture and stance of a potential adept with the staff. Your footwork and reactions are all wrong for this weapon, but you will learn. We will practice after every session, you and I, until we can show Master Tishima your prowess. Then both of us will show you enhanced forms.” Desiku’s emphasis on the word enhanced didn’t surprise Shiro. That meant magic. Shiro looked up and saw two men observing them, Master Tishima and Boreko. Both of them nodded to him.

  ~

  “You were with Master Tishima?” Shiro said. What game was his mentor playing with him? He never told him about his swordplay with Mistokko.

  Boreko smiled, only curling up one side of his lips. “We are old friends and both of us served in the Imperial Army. We were one of the few members of the guild to fight for the Emperor as soldiers, not as sorcerers. You know another of our select little band, Captain Mistokko of theWicked Wind.”

  Shiro pursed his lips. “Is this common knowledge?”

  Boreko’s smile vanished. “Not particularly, but I will not tell another now that Tishima knows. Only a select few learn craft in enhanced fighting from Tishima. One of them is Desiku, your personal instructor. The Guild frowns on such activity, but the art must be preserved, no matter what the current council thinks. One must be an outstanding warrior first and foremost and then learn the art of subtle insertion of power in your fighting. Mistokko told me he introduced you to the technique, but don’t think you’ll be getting off easy. Tishima will train you harder than any of the others.”

  “So I have no hope of sinking into obscurity in the ranks.”

  Boreko’s smile returned as he shook his head. “None, but you’ll look like you’ve been singled out for punishment because of your rough origins. Desiku won’t hold back as you get more proficient. Learn to live with painful bruises and hopefully you’ll avoid broken bones, but I wouldn’t put it past them. You’ll see enough from the healers to get sick of them.”

  “I’m too old for this,” Shiro said.

  “Age is not an excuse,” Boreko said with a grin. “Me excluded, of course.”

  “Of course.” What kind of danger were these three men putting him in? “Why do you trust me with this information.”

  Boreko leaned back and looked at the ceiling. “You are a unique talent and, to be quite frank, a fish out of water in the Guild. Without our help we think your survival is in peril. It’s in peril even with our help. Remember our conversation on culling? Now that I’ve observed how the instructors treat you, caution is necessary. Those who aren’t a threat are given mundane positions. Those who would challenge senior staff disappear. We won’t speak of this again.”

  Shiro hadn’t expected that. He knew the Guild would be a hostile place, but Boreko’s frank opinion startled him and it brought back into focus his original fears. He wouldn’t survive without help and, as much as he was loath to admit, he needed their assistance. A tinge of desperation marked his mood as Boreko reviewed his progress with the magic lessons, nodding his head when Shiro explained how he had held back during the student demonstrations.

  ~

  The Guild enrolled him in classes that reminded Shiro of a puzzle box. You’d solve the first box only to find another puzzle box within. In his case, the spare time that marked his first few months at the Guild began to shrink. His time available for his lessons with Desiku and Tishima likewise began to decrease.

  He sat down for his first day in Political Theory. Since Shiro only had a command of the common language that all Ropponi spoke and the basic alphabet that comprised the phonetic basis of that language, his first few weeks concentrated on using a bit of his talent to learn languages. There were two other Ropponi languages, one for merchants and another for the nobility, each with their own special alphabets. There were four other languages spoken in the world of Goriath and those would follow after the apprenticeship ended.

  The instructor for this course looked like a scarecrow, thin and skeletal. His shaven hair revealed tattoos of some kind that Shiro couldn’t decipher. The man perpetually sported a disdainful scowl as if he had a battle staff up his rear end.

  “Why is the Ropponi political model superior to that of all other countries?” the professor began one day.

  No one raised their hand to respond.

  “Shiro?” he said.

  After he waiting for his frustration at being singled out to diminish, he nodded to the instructor. Without any idea, Shiro rose and bowed to the professor, as did every student for every question. “I’m unfamiliar with the politica
l systems elsewhere. Aren’t they kingdoms?”

  The bald head turned red and the professor’s eyes narrowed. “Are you truly that stupid that you would ask me for the answer?” The man turned to a shelf and lifted up a thick book to show the class as if it were a stick to beat Shiro.

  “I give you one week to read this and write out the answer to your own question in court language. You are dismissed until you return with your work.”

  Shiro bowed and received the book with both hands extended. He took three steps backward, facing the professor before he turned around and left the room. Other apprentices gave him dirty looks or evil grins. Their reactions were no different from fellow students in other classes. He hadn’t done anything to these apprentices. No power was required for this course, yet his classmates still jeered. Maybe they also called him ‘farmer’ behind his back.

  ~

  “You’re so much the outsider, Shiro. You are older than many apprentices and more proficient than all of the sorcerers when they were at your level. Even the Guild members aren’t excited that you’re here,” Boreko said as they sat in a small court. “You are here to learn and I suggest that you absorb all you can. As for your assignment, I think it a blessing. Read the book and I will discuss the political systems with you. The true worldview might be a bit different than what is written.”

  Shiro wondered what that might be, probably more cynicism. Mistokko didn’t hide his very well, but Boreko assumed a more circumspect attitude except for the one time he talked about using one’s Affinity in arms.

  Boreko left him sitting. Shiro tried to think of what kind of perspective he’d need to apply to his assignment. He walked to the commissary and brought a rice bowl and a pot of tea to his room, before he began to study for his report. He took a sip of tea before putting the pot on a tiny warming brazier. One heated the brazier with talent at the Guild.

  He took the book and felt the heft of the pages. A book that thick must be very expensive, just from the cost of the paper. The Guild had riches to spare, he supposed. Shiro bowed his head and said a prayer to his family god. He had no idea how many Ropponi prayed to this same god since each family kept the identity of their ancestral gods secret.