Path of The Calm (Saga of The Wolf Book 1)

by Kris Hiatt

  “You’ll want to get some black shoes,” Smith said.

  “Most likely,” Treace said. “Know of anyone?”

  “It turns out that I do. The same place I got this soft leather, which is Handra’s. She’s a lovely older lady in the northern part of town. Just ask around, I’m sure you’ll find it,” Smith said.

  “Thanks again, Smith. It’s easily the best armor I have ever worn.”

  “Worn many?”

  “Just this, and the one in your hand,” Treace said.

  “Heh, tough competition,” Smith said, smiling again.

  Treace couldn’t help but smile with him. “I’ve got to offer to pay for this,” Treace said, walking toward the Palace.

  “You’re welcome to try, but he won’t accept,” Smith said. “Trust me.”

  “I have to try,” Treace said.

  “Suit yourself.”

  “Thanks, Smith,” Treace said.

  “Welcome,” he said and nodded at Treace before he turned away.

  He couldn’t let the baron pay for this, regardless of what was promised. This armor must have easily cost a kaden, if not several. It would take him a long time, but he was determined to tell Tabor that he meant to pay it back.

  He walked into the palace, nodding to the guards as he passed. He walked down the hallway and turned left, going to the commander’s office, where Treace knew he would be. He marveled at how quiet this armor was. He didn’t make a sound as he walked. Usually his swords banged loudly together and the metal rings on his old armor jingled when he walked.

  He got close to the door and heard talking inside. He decided he would wait until the other person was done, not wanting to interrupt. He leaned against the wall for the time being and the voices grew louder. Treace knew they were close to the door. He guessed he wouldn’t have to wait long.

  “First you make him an elite guard, then you spend a ridiculous amount on some equally ridiculous armor for him. No one’s worth that much,” a voice inside said.

  “He’s worth what I say he’s worth,” Treace heard Tabor say. “Just having him here will gain us a hundred or more new recruits this year. The armor, with the cloak emblazoned, will get us triple that. We need the people and we need to prepare. No one else can draw that amount of people in that short of time. At least not without arising suspicion to the truth. He’s a curiosity to the people and we’ll use him until they tire of him. But right now, the commoners love him.”

  Treace didn’t know where they would put a hundred new guards, let alone three hundred or more, but that wasn’t his concern. What did concern him was why they needed that amount of guards and what they were preparing for. It also explained why all the smiths were too busy to allow him to use their forge. Did Liernin plan on building an army and launch an attack at Shamir? He hoped the conversation would shed more light on the subject.

  “I hope that comes sooner rather than later,” the other voice said. Treace thought he recognized the speaker as Captain Drokier.

  “He is quite good with those swords,” Tabor said.

  “Not good enough,” the man he thought was Drokier said.

  “From what I hear, he’s quite possibly your equal,” Tabor said.

  “Hardly,” the speaker Treace now confirmed as Drokier said. “Besides, one fight doesn’t make him a warrior. He’d be hard pressed against any of our true elite guard, if they were here.”

  “Alright my friend, I know that you’re not happy he’s here, but I have him under my control, don’t worry.”

  “He better be,” Drokier said.

  Treace was waiting for Tabor to scold the man for speaking to him that way, but Tabor said something that Treace couldn’t hear, even though his hearing was very good.

  “Just don’t screw it up,” Drokier said in a voice that had grown louder.

  Treace guessed the man was at or near the door. He had heard enough and moved as quickly and as quietly away from the door as he could, wanting to put some distance between him and the door. He was very glad he was wearing his new armor and not his old; else he would never have been able to eavesdrop.

  Tabor said something else that Treace couldn’t make out from that distance.

  “And don’t you overestimate my need of you,” Treace heard Drokier say as the door opened further.

  By the time Drokier fully exited the room, Treace had turned back around and began walking back toward the door. He was almost to the corner before he turned around and was still many paces away. He whistled as he walked toward the other speaker, who was indeed Drokier.

  “Sir,” he said, nodding to the older man and he walked by.

  “Psh,” Drokier said, virtually ignoring Treace.

  He had planned on talking with Tabor, but after overhearing what he did, he decided against it. He kept walking and hoped that either Drokier had shut the door when he left, or Tabor had closed it himself. He didn’t want to be seen just yet; he needed to find out more about what they were going to do with that amount of men. Where was the true elite guard? He needed time to formulate a plan. He had an idea already, thanks to Tabor, and it was something Drokier was not going to like.

  Chapter 18

  Drevic felt his life ebbing with the blood that poured from his stomach. The old man looked weak and frail, but he managed to stab him badly enough to cause a mortal wound. He never would have guessed that he would die at the hands of a crazy old man that also happened to be the leader of his order.

  He felt a hand on his wound and he tried to push it away, but the old man was stronger than he looked, either that or Drevic was now too weak to fight him off. He supposed it could have been a bit of both. He guessed the old man was trying to heal him, but it wouldn’t matter; it was impossible to heal that grievous of a wound.

  The hot, searing pain of the wound started to lessen, and Drevic knew he was close to death. He guessed he was about to find out if Kaden or God was looking over them. If he had the strength, he would curse the old man, but he didn’t, so he laid there, his blood pooling around him as a crazy old man was futilely attempting to heal him.

  The pain receded and was replaced with gentle warmth. It started at the wound, and then spread over his entire body, washing him with soothing energy that calmed his every nerve and muscle. He thought of how the sun warmed you on a cool spring day.

  The warmth increased and became hot very quickly. He didn’t feel pain, but he felt intense heat over his entire body. The heat started to move, first away from his feet, then his fingers. He felt it flowing inward, toward his wound. It got hotter the closer to his wound the heat travelled.

  The most intense, yet painless, warmth he had ever known exited through his wound and he opened his eyes.

  He lay on his back with Nimbril kneeling next to him; the old man’s hands firmly over his wound. He looked into the old man’s eyes and found only gentle serenity. Whatever insanity led the man to stab him was now gone from his eyes. Only a deep and unending caring was visible.

  “You stabbed me!”

  “I’m sorry, my friend,” Nimbril said, smiling as a tear streaked down his face. “But it was the only way.”

  “I don’t understand,” Drevic said, trying to sit up. The old man was firm with his hands, however, and wouldn’t let him move.

  “Shhh, stop thinking and feel,” he told him softly.

  Drevic quieted, and although he wasn’t sure why, he believed the old man completely. He thought, no, he felt that the old man meant him no further harm. In fact, the old man cared for him deeply, as if he were a son. Drevic closed his eyes and emotions washed over him.

  Nimbril was deeply saddened by the loss of Truntil, down to his very core. He held anger too, though not much, and most of it was for himself, although a little was saved for Brental. Fear seeped from every pore, mostly for losing his mind completely, something that the old man felt was near. But most of all, Drevic felt love; it emanated from the man’s very being. He held love for life, for friends, for the
College, for many students, and for a woman that Drevic knew was the love of his life.

  “Open your eyes, my son,” Nimbril bade him quietly.

  Drevic did so and felt the emotions fade slightly.

  “Do you feel you have anything to fear from me?”

  “No, I feel nothing but love.”

  “Could you feel my different emotions?”

  “Yes, I could,” Drevic told him. “Some stronger than others, but they were there.”

  “Just like your heart has chambers for blood, it must, too, have chambers for emotion. Only by separating each, yet keeping them connected, can you realize your true magical potential.”

  Drevic understood it then. It made so much sense that he didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before. The mind needed to be strong, and pure, so that one could focus enough to push through the emotions, yet the heart had to be strong enough to keep each emotion separate, yet close. The more compartmentalized the caster could make their emotions, while keeping them tightly together, the better the effect. Also, the stronger the mind and the further one could separate their minds from their emotions, the more powerful the effect. He knew without a doubt that this was what Nimbril meant to show him.

  “You understand now, I can feel it,” Nimbril stated.

  “Yes, but why do we feel it?” Drevic asked.

  “I have transferred some of my emotional energy to you, a great deal in fact. Humans are linked by their emotions, whether it be love, sadness, or even anger, we are linked. Our emotions are also linked to our memories, which I know you know, but if you transfer the emotional bond, sometimes you can transfer the memory that goes with it.”

  “Are you trying to say that we can learn from each other by simple emotional bonds?” Drevic asked.

  “No, not simple. Truntil and I called it teaching by blood. We found it by accident, after we were drinking one night. I fell and cut my head open on a table in the bar. The lovely lady I was there with was very frightened, but Truntil knew what to do. He found The Calm quickly and healed me so well I didn’t even have a scar. But, you see, I could feel that he loved my lady friend as much as I did. I could see from his eyes as he leaned in and kissed her. It was like I was seeing his memory.”

  “You weren’t angry?” Drevic asked.

  “Oh, no. It was many months before that, before she and I became a couple. But he still loved her, and I knew that he did. I learned it through his emotion and his memory. Later on, we guessed it was due to the severity of my injury and the depth of the connection needed to heal the wound. We started cutting each other, attempting to find more memories attached to emotion,” Nimbril said, looking away.

  “Did you?”

  “To some extent, but nothing major. We decided that the pain we caused to ourselves or each other was not worth the meager bits of information we got out of it. We stopped the process and never told anyone what we had found.”

  “It’s documented now, though,” Drevic said.

  “The emotional link is, yes, but nothing regarding the memories that sometimes come with it.”

  Drevic thought of the lady that he saw when feeling the vast amounts of love that Nimbril held in his heart. He knew it was Nimbril’s love, but didn’t remember knowing why.

  “We broke it off shortly after, and I hear she married a noble,” Nimbril said.

  Drevic forgot how well they could feel each other’s emotions and know what each other was feeling, sometimes even thinking.

  “We’re not only going to Haven to meet Vrindel and the baron, are we?”

  “I wondered if you would feel that,” Nimbril said, smiling.

  “And we’re only going to the priory to tell the Archbishop face to face that we will not accept his offer?

  “Correct again.”

  “What was the offer?”

  “He wanted me to send one of our order to live within the priory for a few months, then one of his order to live within the College for a few months.”

  “You don’t think it’s a bad idea,” Drevic told him, feeling it was the truth.

  “I don’t. But I don’t think it’s a good idea either.”

  “You don’t believe our gifts were from Kaden or God,” Drevic said.

  “I’ve told you as much, and I can feel that you are unsure about that.”

  “There is truth in that.”

  “Which, once again, is why I wanted you here.”

  “So we are going to visit the Archbishop for a day or two, the baron for days, but we’re still going to stay in Haven longer, why?” Drevic asked, understanding through emotion that Nimbril intended to stay.

  “An old man wants to see the big city again before he completely loses his mind, and Brental is in Kadenton.”

  “I felt that you didn’t care much for him, but I don’t know why. Other than what I know of him anyway,” Drevic said.

  “What do you know of him?” Nimbril asked.

  “That he’s a short tempered ass that thinks mostly about himself. He also despises you for being the Archmagister, something he desperately wants,” Drevic said, being honest.

  “Isn’t that enough reason?”

  “I guess that it is,” Drevic said.

  “Come,” Nimbril said. “Change your robes, and let’s get to Haven. I would like some fresh wine.”

  “How long are we staying?” Drevic asked.

  “For a few weeks, probably. I understand there’s a widowed noble’s wife there that I should see again before I die. We’ll go home after that.”

  “Yes, father,” Drevic said, feeling it was the right thing to say.

  “I like the sound of that,” Nimbril said, putting his arm around Drevic’s shoulders.

  Drevic knew it was crazy, but he felt it in his heart. This man was as much of a father to him as his own was, even though Nimbril hadn’t been a part of his life for nearly as long. Nimbril was going crazy and had stabbed him not long ago, but Drevic loved the man even more.

  He walked to the wagon to change his robes and thought of all the possibilities this new information and his new feelings would provide him. He didn’t have to tell Nimbril that he agreed with most of his plan; he knew the old man could feel it. The part about sending a brother to the Church was something Drevic thought might benefit them. He wanted to think about it more before bringing it up again, though.

  #

  “We should see the baron first,” Drevic told Nimbril several hours later as Haven loomed fully in front of them.

  “We should see Vrindel first,” Nimbril told him.

  “I was thinking,” Drevic began.

  “That you want to take Vrindel up on his offer to stay,” Nimbril said, interrupting him.

  “The emotional link lasts a long time,” Drevic said, amazed that Nimbril could still feel his wishes yet he could no longer feel anything from the old man.

  “It’s been gone for a few hours, I just know you.”

  “Will you allow it?”

  “You are to be the Archmagister in a few months. I should suspect you would want to have as much information as you can to better our order. Of course I will allow it, as I said; it’s why I picked you.”

  “If I agree to stay with him for two weeks, that will give you time to reunite with your lady friend, and give me time to get to understand the Church better. I’ll escort you back to the College afterward.”

  “Along with a member of the Church,” Nimbril said.

  “Yes, with one of their order to see how we operate. Even if I find I agree with you and don’t believe our gifts are God given, they still will. If we can convince a member of their order that what we do has nothing to do with the Church, maybe Vrindel will stop trying.”

  “Perhaps,” was all Nimbril told him.

  “You don’t think it will work?”

  “I don’t.”

  “But you are allowing me to try?”

  “I feel that we must, don’t you?”

  “I do.”


  “Then that settles it then. We’ll see the baron, then Vrindel. I’ll propose you stay for two weeks. When I return to you, we’ll leave, with a selected member of the Church, and go back to the College.”

  Chapter 19

  Treace watched as a few of the men either tried to prove they belonged in the elite guard, or failed trying. He knew he was taking a risk with what he intended to do, but he thought he had to do a few things before leaving the guard, and the sooner he accomplished the first part of his plan, the better. He knew Moff was right; it was time to believe that he was The Wolf. He still hadn’t seen his friend, but after tonight, he figured he’d have much more time to wait and look for him in the near future.

  He watched Salden gain his three straight victories, only slightly surprised that he wasn’t chosen to fight the man. He figured no one was going to challenge him though, so he knew his time to act was almost at hand.

  “Three victories, Salden,” Drokier said. “Second loss Vernard.”

  Many cheered for Salden, who had solidified his spot in the elite guard for another year.

  “Any others?” Drokier asked.

  “I step forward,” Treace said, doing just that.

  The crowd looked at him uneasily. Treace knew they all were hoping he wouldn’t pick them, but they needn’t worry; he had his sights elsewhere.

  “Name your opponent,” Drokier said, looking bored.

  “I name you,” Treace said, drawing some looks.

  “A little ahead of yourself don’t you think?” Drokier asked after shaking his head.

  “Drokier, I challenge you,” Treace said confidently.

  Everyone in attendance sucked in their breath in disbelief and looked around bewildered.

  “Can he even do that?” Plent asked another guard from nearby.

  “Impossible,” said a different one.

  People expressed their views quietly amongst each other, each opinion varied, but Drokier merely looked at him. Treace thought the man looked amused, but he would soon have that look wiped from his face.